Alicorn: Director's Cut

Alicorn: Director’s Cut

>as is the norm, you are Anon
>and, to cut to the chase, you have recently adopted an alicorn fluffy
>yeah, that’s right
>a genuine, purebred alicorn fluffy
>with a white coat and a dull rainbow mane to boot
>it’s easily a fluffy worth tens of thousands of dollars
>but you got her at a steal
>Celestia, as you named her, because you’re unoriginal like that, has a reason for her low price
>she’s depressed
>like, worryingly depressed
>like, nearing the “wan die” loop depressed
>apparently, many of the other fluffies picked on her at the shelter because of the fact that she had both a horn and wings
>alone they’re fine
>together, though, they make her a “munstah”
>it doesn’t make much sense to you, but when it comes to fluffies, what does
>doesn’t exactly help that she was born with a missing leg, either
>so you’ve spent most of your day trying to cheer her up
>and it’s been a spectacular failure, to say the least
>spaghetti, games, toys, everything has absolutely failed to work
>”What’s got you so down, anyway?”
>”Am dummeh.”
>”No, you’re not. You’re different. That’s not a bad thing.”
>”Am bigges’ dummeh! Nu one wuv ‘Westia!”
>”Well, what if I told you that I love you?”
>”Yuu daddeh! Daddehs wuv fwuffies! Buh udah fwuffies nu wuv ‘Westia! Dey say “ooh, wook at ‘Westia, ‘Westia haf dummeh wingies an’ hownie ting, ‘Westia munstah”!”
>”You know that isn’t true.”
>”Den why aww da fwuffies teww ‘Westia am munstah?”
>”Because they’re just mean fluffies. That’s all.”
>”Aww fwuffies tink ‘Westia am munstah. Dat mean ‘Westia am munstah.”
>Celestia slumps down onto her belly and begins to sob into her hooves
>this isn’t gonna be easy
>think, think
>you need to figure out a way to get her to cheer up about her horn-and-wings situation
>suddenly, you come up with an idea
>acting quickly, you pull up an image of Celestia off the internet
>”Celestia! Look at this, would you?”
>Celestia, still in tears, manages to take a look at the picture
>”What do you think of her?”
>she seems confused for a second, trying to piece together the relevance of the question with the issue at hand, but decides to just answer
>”P-pwetty…”
>”Pretty, hmm? Well, in that case, take another look. See how she’s got wings, and a horn? Just like you?”
>”Mmm-hmm.”
>”Is that a pony you’d call a monster?”
>Celestia looks up at you, her tears finally coming to a stop
>she rubs one of her eyes with a hoof
>”Nu…munstahs nu pwetty.”
>”Exactly. You’re pretty, so it doesn’t matter if you’ve got wings, a horn, or both, or none. You’re not a monster in any way.”
>”Buh udah fwuffies nu know dat.”
>valid point
>”And we probably couldn’t convince them too easily, huh?”
>”Nu.”
>”Well, there’s always other options.”
>”Hmm?”
>”I’ve got an idea. Maybe we could style your mane a certain way and get it to hide your horn, especially considering that it would be way harder to hide your wings,”
>”Den…fwuffies see wingies…buh nu hown…”
>”Then they don’t think you’re a monster, and when you’re at home, you don’t need to hide your pretty little horn from anyone, because you know it doesn’t make you a monster.”
>on the words “pretty little horn”, you tap the point of her horn and smile at her
>she sniffles, and you wipe away a lone tear that remains of her cheek
>”Well? How’s that sound?”
>Celestia looks up at you with a huge grin, and hugs you as hard as her stumpy little hooves can hug
>”Wuv daddeh. Daddeh am bes’ smawty.”
>hey, looks like you’re a smarty now
>time to get to work
>you’ve got some hair gel, a comb, and a blow-dryer
>let’s see what you can do

>after about a half hour of slopping glop into Celestia’s mane, combing it out, attempting to style it, setting it with the blow-dryer, and eventually just mucking about, you finally manage to create something presentable
>she complained about the stickiness of the hair gel, but there’s only so many sacrifices you can make in trying to hide her horn
>her mane now completely covers her horn, and even has a little curl at the end of it
>”Okay, close your eyes. Daddy needs to get a mirror.”
>”Otay!”
>you rummage about for a little mirror, and hold it out in front of her
>”Alright, open your eyes.”
>she does so, and you see her little jaw go slack
>”Hown gone…”
>”No, silly, it’s not gone. It’s just under your mane.”
>slowly, a wide smile begins to spread across her face
>”Su pwetty, daddeh! Fankies! Wotsa wotsa fancies! Wuv daddeh!”
>she spends the next minute examining her new mane style, doing little poses like she’s a tiny fluffy model
>hnng
>”So, do you maybe wanna go to the park and see what the other fluffies think of your new horn-less style?”
>she flinches at the words “other fluffies”, but quickly gives a tiny, cocky smile to the mirror, her eyes trailing up to her now hidden horn
>”Pwease?”
>”That’s the spirit.”

>and that’s the story of how you got Celestia to the park
>you’re sitting on a bench, looking up hairstyling techniques on your phone while Celestia romps about with the other fluffies
>the fluffy park doesn’t so much have playground equipment as it does massive stretches of grass and sand pits here and there
>as of right, Celestia and the other fluffies are playing some variation of tag
>they’re quite clearly trying to play it right, but it keeps on ending in tumbles and hugs all around
>well, she’s trying to play
>she doesn’t seem to understand the rules, what little there are, and seems to be doing her own little thing
>you decide to leave the fluffies to their own devices and continue browsing through hairstyling tricks
>as you read, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and turn to see a middle-aged man
>”Yes?”
>”Just wantin’ to start up a conversation, son. Say, is that your fluffy over there? The one with the rainbow hair?”
>”Erm, yeah.”
>”Well, that one over there is mine. Green one, with the brown hair.”
>you take a look, and sure enough, there’s a fluffy of that description playing around
>”Managed to get a rainbow-maned pegasus, hmm? People pay a lot of money for that.”
>”Well, actually, she’s a, uh, alicorn.”
>”An alicorn, eh? Where’s her horn?”
>”Under her mane.”
>”Why are you covering that up? That’s a good thing.”
>”Not according to the fluffies at her shelter, apparently. She’s a “munstah”, from what they say.”
>as soon as the words escape your mouth, you notice Celestia fall over
>normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, but you notice her hair part ever so slightly
>and her horn pops out
>”Oh, no.”
>you start to get up, but the man stops you
>”Wait. Watch how this turns out.”
>”What? No! I need to get her out of there before they start picking on her.”
>the man shakes his head
>”Shelter fluffies don’t usually have the best qualities. They tend to be bitter that they don’t have owners. I mean, naturally, it would go away when they do get owners, but some of them take it out on others. Most of them are just sad, others remain optimistic, but then there are those that become like smarty-friends.”
>”I…how did you know all that?”
>”I work at a shelter, son. You start figuring these things out after a few years.”
>”But I don’t know if I should just sit back and watch.”
>”Trust me. These things have a way of working themselves out.”
>against your better judgement, you sit back down and look over at the group
>Celestia seems blissfully unaware that her horn is showing, but one certain red fluffy notices
>”Fwuffy haf wingies…an’ hown ting?”
>a few other fluffies hear this, and look over at Celestia
>one tiny pink foal shrieks, and hides behind her mother
>”Mummah! Munstah!”
>a tiny chant of “Munstah!” begins to spread through the crowd
>Celestia begins bawling into her hooves
>ah, shit
>you rush over and scoop her up into your arms, and begin heading out of the park
>shooting a glare at the man for stopping you, you begin a long walk home
>”Why fwuffies nu wuv ‘Westia?!”
>”I don’t know. I really wish I did.”
>”Daddeh say ‘Westia pwetty…’Westia say ‘Westia pwetty…buh udah fwuffies say ‘Westia munstah.”
>”Maybe…maybe I was wrong.”
>”Wha’?”
>”Maybe just being an alicorn and having a different mane doesn’t really make you pretty.”
>Celestia looks up at you, and lets loose a fresh volley of tears
>”Daddeh say ‘Westia nu pwetty? W-why nu pwetty?”
>”No, I mean…look, what I meant was that we shouldn’t think that your looks are what make you pretty. It sounds cliché, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
>”Den ‘Westia haf gud insyes?”
>”I dunno about that.”
>she sniffs, and slumps in your arms
>”Westia nu haf pwetties ow gud insyes? Dat why fwuffies nu wuv ‘Westia?”
>”You…you’re right. Like when you were playing that game with the other fluffies. You weren’t following the rules, right?”
>”Buh dose wuwes dummeh. Mowe fun when nu wuwes.”
>”Well, maybe more fun for you, but not for the others. They probably thought you were just being a silly friend, and when they saw your horn, a monster.”
>”Westia pway nu wuwes games ah big housie.”
>”Wait, really? That…actually explains quite a bit.”
>she looks up at you, confused
>”Well, if you weren’t playing by the rules, they might not have liked you. They may have even thought you were a meanie fluffy, with…bad insides.”
>”Den if ‘Westia haf gud insyes…”
>”The other fluffies might not think you’re a monster, with or without wings and a horn.”
>”And if ‘Westia nu hown an’ gud insyes…”
>”They definitely won’t think you’re a monster.”
>she lets out a puff of breath, pondering the situation
>you make sure to stop by the drug store on your way home
>you pick up some kids’ medication and a box of hair dye
>the “rose” one looks nice
>you pay up, and continue on your short journey
>by the time you get back to your place, Celestia’s made her decision
>”Daddeh, nu wan’ hown-ting.”
>”I figured as much. Are you sure about this, Celestia?”
>”Mm-hmm. Gud-insyes ‘Westia nu wan hown-ting an’ wingies. Nu fun when nu wuwes. Wingies an’ hown-ting gif hewties ta wuwes. Buh wan’ wingies. Wuv wingies.”
>”Well said. For a fluffy.”
>you go to the medicine cabinet and grab some light medication
>with any luck, it’ll knock her out long enough for you to do your operating
>you boil some spaghetti, and crush up the pills
>hey, if you’re going to spike a meal, might as well be a meal she likes
>quickly, she gobbles down the spaghetti, and lies down on her belly
>”Westia haf sweepies-feew.”
>”I know. But when you wake up, your horn is going to be long gone.”
>”Whewe hown gonna go?”
>before you can answer, she stifles a yawn and plops down to sleep
>you didn’t quite think what you were going to chop the horn off with, though
>digging around in the cabinets reveals a long bread knife and a cleaver
>cleaver it is
>you line up your swing and chop though the horn in one solid go
>she doesn’t wake up, and there doesn’t seem to be any blood
>from what you’ve heard, there aren’t many nerve endings, either
>besides, you cut fairly high
>not enough to cut through the base, and not too little to poke through a mane or draw suspicion from any other fluffies
>you dab some rubbing alcohol on the stump just in case
 >while she’s out, you figure now’s a good time as any to apply the dye
>mix with water and apply, simple enough
>when you’re finished effectively painting her hair with the dye, you have to let it sit for a half hour
>easy enough, she’s probably not waking up anytime soon
>you watch some television
>an old rerun of Friendship is Magic, natch
>you try to reflect on your mistakes as an owner
>maybe she’ll come out a better fluffy by the end of this
>or maybe it’ll all spiral out of control from this point on
>you don’t know
>you can only hope for the best