Crabnonymous 2

>bloop
>...
>bloop
>...
>blrrrblblblrlblrblrbl
>Hm, yes, that should be sufficient.
>Content with the mass of bubbles frothing out of your mouth, you gently scrape them off and affix them in the corner with the rest.
>You've built up quite an impressive collection today, and stand back to admire your work.
>Though, in retrospect, you wonder... why?
>...Oh, right, because you are a crab.
>Funny how often you forget.
>Sometimes, you have this strange feeling that once, you were not merely a small chitinous crustacean.
>That once, you were something much bigger, much smarter, much... less delicious.
>Usually you push away such thoughts with some scuttling or bubbling.
>And since you were already doing the latter, you redouble your efforts.
>It was getting harder, to forget.
>You knew one of these days bubbles weren't going to cut it anymore.
>...
>Maybe just a few more, over on that side.
>brlbrlblblrllbllll...
>There we are.
>Satisfied with the state of your bubble collection, you scuttle up the tiny embankment, out of the shallow water and onto the miniaturized beach that had been put together for you a few weeks ago.
>Amusingly, there was a tiny umbrella set up, like one you might find in a particularly fancy drink, providing a small speck of shade for the dollhouse beach chair resting beneath it.
>Occasionally, you think it was put there to mock your wide, inflexible body, with which you may never know the comforts of modern seating.
>You still tried from time to time, though.
>The plastic coconut tree was a nice touch, however.
>Scuttling over to its semi-gloss finish, you settle in at the trunk for your afternoon 'post-bubble sitdown.'
>Not that your body was truly capable of sitting.
>But 'post-bubble not-standing-up-anymore' didn't have a very good ring to it.
>You took this opportunity of neither scuttling or bubbling to observe your newfound caretaker; a large (relative to yourself), winged yellow horse creature.
>She flitted about the room in her usual routine of taking care of the menagerie of wild animals she shared her house with.
>Which included you now, you suppose.
>But you were a simple thing to care for; provide ample room for scuttling and bubbling, and make sure there's a bit of algae clinging to the glass that you could scrape off and feast upon.
>She still made time to chat with you every now and again, however.
>Or at least, she talked to you, while you clacked back at her.
>Politely, of course.
>No need to be rude to your host.
>Yes, much of your days passed as such; nothing too exciting or life-threatening.
>Except for today.
>Today was the one day every week when... |she| came by.
>The White Menace.
>To be totally honest, you weren't entirely sure why you despised this one so vehemently.
>She had never actually brought you harm, or scorn, or really even acknowledged your existence.
>Perhaps it was some deep-seated primordial memory buried somewhere deep within your crustaceous cranium.
>Maybe in a past life, your kind and hers were mortal enemies that did battle in spectacular displays of high-budget effects and choreography.
>Maybe you just wanted to bug the pretentious piss out of her.
>Regardless of your reasoning, you made sure to mentally fortify yourself for the impending encount–
>There is a knock at the door.
>She comes!
>The yellow one flaps down to the floor as she prepares to open the gates of Tartarus themselves.
>You can only watch in horror as the portal is opened, and the perfumed beast is allowed passage across the threshold.
>She smiles a smile of impending doom, and speaks the words that would end the world.
>"Hello Fluttershy, is Opal ready?"
>Thankfully, the world does not see fit to end yet.
>Additionally, you were perhaps being a tad over-dramatic.
>This revelation did nothing to quell the trembling of your mighty right foreclaw, which was primarily used to attract mates.
>Not that there were any of those around lately, so mostly you've been using it for... other purposes.
>On the plus side, said purposes seemed to be making it bigger, thus improving your chances of actually attracting a mate, should one come about.
>You feel as if something of dire importance is slipping your mind.
>You refocus on the front of the tank to find all was white and purple.
>Sweet Captain Crapjack's seafood platter! The beast was right there!
>In a panic, you skitter back and forth, desperately searching for safe passage away from certain destruction.
>Unfortunately you once again overestimate the size your scuttling grounds and slam into one of the clear glass walls of your enclosure, knocking you onto your back.
>May the devil take whatever demon bastardized your beloved sands into this aberrant mockery of a burrowable medium!
>What may once have saved your simple life, now doomed you to whatever unspeakable horrors this vile creature might enact upon your now vulnerable underbelly.
>Having no other recourse, you consign yourself to your fate.
>...
>Well, come on then.
>You extend one eye past your upturned body, to find the avatar of your destruction simply staring down at you, one expertly plucked eyebrow raised in confusion.
>"Alright, here she is."
>The White Menace turns away, attention taken by your yellow savior.
>Doom narrowly avoided, you go about righting yourself; scooting along with your primary claw to the water, where the added buoyancy allows you the proper agility to reorient with.
>Clambering back onto the beach, you can't help but take a long, hard look at your life, after such a narrow scrape with death.
>What exactly were you doing here?
>Was there more to life than just scuttling and making bubbles?
>What was out there, beyond the unseen confines of your new life?
>What amazing, heretofore unseen worlds could you find, and then scuttle in?
>Why does the sky go dark, even when you're far from your tree?
>...Hold on.
>You peer skyward, to find a wavering purple squiggle, hanging over the top of your tank.
>Tracing it back to it's point of origin, you find an unusually menacing posterior.
>The fool! She's left her rear flank unguarded!
>Now was your chance to strike, before she could end you whenever she saw fit.
>Through sheer force of will, you push the clouded thoughts of scuttling and bubbling out of your mind, and set into motion what would be your greatest achievement.
>Using the power of your primary foreclaw, you grasp that damnable lounge chair, and drag it out from beneath the umbrella.
>With every ounce of decapodian dexterity you have, you climb on top of it, and then scramble onto the paper umbrella.
>This flimsy construction would not hold your weight for long, so you had to move quickly.
>But... to where?
>Curses! The molded leaves of your tree are far too distant to reach, even for your unparalleled claw.
>It seems you have no choice.
>Rearing back, you put as much strength into your tiny legs as crab physics would allow.
>With a mighty "clicka clack" of unmatched resolve, you leap with all your might.
>You go about an inch through the air.
>Falling well short of your goal, you reach your claw in one last ditch effort, and clamp down.
>You can feel the dull pressure of something unyielding between the serrated edges of your appendage.
>Success!
>You proceed to dangle limply from the small plastic leaf.
>...Seems you have encountered a slight problem.
>Once again, you have forgotten just how stiff and unwieldy your body was.
>Funny, that.
>You hear the beast titter with delight.
>Was she laughing at you? Laughing at your failure?
>...No. You will not give up. Not when victory is so close at hand!
>Diverting all your remaining strength to the elbow of your claw, you start to swing yourself back and forth.
>Further and further you swing, the base of the poorly rooted false tree threatening to give way at every apex.
>With one last push, you swing high enough to grasp another few leaves with some of your back legs.
>Carefully, you scurry onto the top of the canopy, clacking your claws in triumph.
>But the battle is not won yet.
>You look up, to find your target swinging back and forth as its host idly chats with your fluttery friend.
>It was only in range for an instant at every pass.
>You needed the right timing for this.
>...
>Missed.
>...
>Missed again.
>...
>Confound you, hold still!
>Enough of this.
>With unbridled fury, you push yourself further than crabkind thought possible, and leap towards the accursed coil.
>Rivaling the power of the very seagulls themselves, you cover an astonishing |two| inches this time.
>Time slows to a crawl.
>It's right in front of you.
>You reach.
>...
>clamp
>The white beast stops talking.
>She looks back at you.
>You stare death into her eyes.
>She shrieks.
>"Aaaiieee! Get it off! Off my perfectly primped tail!"
>The world turns to blurs of color and sound as you are violently whipped through the air.
>Victorious as you were, you are now at the mercy of this unstoppable destroyer.
>But you do not falter, and keep your grip tight.
>You would not lose here!
>Faintly, you can hear your only ally trying to calm the enraged eradicator, but it would do no good.
>This was between you and her, and nothing would stop either of you until one lay cold and unmoving in the sands.
>...God, you could go for some sands to burrow in right now.
>Wait, no!
>Distracted by thoughts of burrowing into the safety of sun-warmed sand, you don't notice your quarry preparing one final snap of her tail, far stronger than the rest.
>Your lose your grip, and go flying.
>So, this was it, then.
>You fought bravely, no one could deny that, be they man, crab, or horse.
>But invariably, you shall soon meet your end against the hard, unforgiving floor far below, as you always expected you might.
>At least you were spared the fate of so many of your brothers, and would not have your innards devoured with a side of potatoes.
>Although you supposed that could happen after the fact.
>It matters not.
>What matters now is that soon, your struggle would be at an end, finally giving you freedom to scuttle amongst the clouds.
>Heaven better have some bitchin' sand.
>...
>pomf
>...'Pomf'?
>Since when does chitin cracking asunder against hardwood go 'pomf'?
>You extend your eyes, to find yourself in the downy embrace of one of the many cushions of the winged one's couch.
>Apparently Poseidon was in a good mood today.
>If he had ruling over upholstery as well as the seas, anyway.
>Coming to your senses, you take a quick check of your condition.
>And then, you see it.
>You can hardly believe your eyestalks.
>Gripped tightly in your claw, was a matted tangle of deep purple hair.
>Looking back to whence you came, you can see the yellow one trying to console your clearly distraught foe.
>Though the war may not yet be over, you take solace in this victory.
>You know now that this creature is not beyond damage.
>And if the creature is vincible, then it |can| be defeated.
>Maybe not now, not today, but someday.
>Someday, you would– whoa now
>Too occupied by your post-battle reflection, you did not notice your caretaker's approach, after having sent the beast on it's way.
>You dangle from her mouth as she carries you back to the confinement you called home, dropping you onto the sands with a 'pliff'.
>She gives you a look somewhere between mild anger and disappointment.
>"We don't grab onto ponies' tails without their permission, Mr. Crab. You know that. Especially not Rarity's."
>So, the beast has a name.
>You'd do well to remember that, even though you've had trouble with names in the past.
>You couldn't even remember the name of the one before you now, who's shown you more compassion than any other in this world, even if it requires you to live in such relatively small containment.
>These things would come in time, you hoped.
>You gave her a clack, signifying that you understood.
>Seemingly satisfied, she went back about her daily business, and you to yours.
>Looking back to the tuft of triumph in your claw, you wonder what you might do with it.

>Perhaps you could craft it into a hat.