Pinkie Princess and the Fight Against Evil

Pinkie Princess blinked rapidly after she killed the ring light. Her performance was over. Her artwork of shape and form finished. For now. Like the mystical ring light, which bent brightness into a liquid arc, banishing shadow and blemish, she mathematically projected her three dimensional presence into the fourth dimension of time, opening portals to new understanding of the heart, like an arcane spell caster shaping the mystical energy of the universe into wonders.

She rubbed the circular red afterimages burned into her retina, smearing her makeup and covering her hands with glitter. But it felt better and she could see more clearly. She breathed a deep sigh and wondered if it was relief, contentment, or somewhere inbetween.

A cat sat before her.

It was large, but not fat. Well, not too fat. Its fur was white. Not blindingly so, as it wished, but also without a trace of yellow, which it dreaded. He was meticulously groomed, as if to make up for his lack of pristine whiteness. His eyes were green; deep and vibrant, and they did not look upon her pleasantly.

“What?” she said, in equal measure amused and annoyed by its attitude.

“Are you finally done?” the eyes seemed to ask.

“Yes, yes”, she said, rolling her eyes and tapping on keys and screens. Software and systems shut down, their electronic lights dying even as their surfaces gained a sparkling quality through the spreading of glitter. “Did I miss feeding time?” she asked, sarcastically.

The cat’s tail twitched, saying “No. Something more important.” The tail stilled after this, and the creature’s eyes went slightly out of focus, as it became lost in thought considering this assertion, which in any other circumstance would be preposterous.

While the cat was distracted, Pinkie Princess pulled a moistened wipe from a tubular container and watched with delight as another took its place. The magic of this simple trick of consumer packaging always brought a smile to her face.

She proceeded to start wiping glitter from the surfaces of her workspace. “So, what’s up Blanco?” she asked of the cat.

The cat shifted its focus back, and angled its ears, indignantly proclaiming “You will address me by my proper name!”

“OK”, said Pinkie Princess, unperturbed, continuing to dab at her monitor. “What’s up, Queso Blanco?”

Both ears swiveled forward, and the cat squared its shoulder at this affront.

Pinkie Princess rolled her eyes again, and in mock theatrics bowed, waving the tissue in submission, “I pray for forgiveness, great and noble Prince Queso Blanco”, she said, then turned back to her job. It became apparent that she was making no progress with the glitter. For all her effort at removal, more kept spreading from her hands. With a quick, bird-like, peck of the hands, she snatched another wipe from the magical cylinder, again smiling as it appeared unchanged, yet a clean wipe was now in her hands. She proceeded to clean her hands with it. “Although I don’t know what makes you a prince.”

“My mother was a Queen”, the cat said, evenly. “As to what makes you a princess…?”

She looked at him sternly, raising a finger.

“There is evil afoot”, said the cat.

“Well, we certainly can’t fight evil while covered in glitter, now can we?” she said, moving to cleanse her face with another magical wipe.

“Most certainly not”, said Queso Blanco by diligently licking his paw, paying careful attention to reach between the toes. For he knew how contagious glitter was.

Pinkie Princess, now glitter free, crossed her arms and tapped her finger on her chin. “Now. What would be the right thing to wear?”

Queso Blanco offered no suggestions. His lustrous fur was perfect in every way, and suitable for all occasions. Correctly licked and combed, it shed dirt, rain, and ill informed comments. His human’s propensity for cavorting about in this or that made no sense to his feline mind and dignity. Anything she might wear would be as good as anything else she might wear. It mattered not.

“But not that!” shouted Queso Blanco standing on all fours of a sudden, and, with a sheer effort of will only arching his back slightly.

An enormous hot dog stood in the room. It’s tawny, perfect bun graced either side of well roasted, glistening red meat, with stripes of brightly colored condiments gracing it from end to end, defying gravity. Pinkie Princess popped her head out of the top of the costume. “No?” she asked, pouting slightly.

“Absolutely not!” said Queso Blanco, sternly, quivering with offense. “It is not dignified. How can we face evil if we are not dignified?”

“I thought we might make it laugh itself to death”, she said, sighing. She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. Then her eyes lit up.

“Not the cockroach costume either”, warned Queso Blanco.

Pinkie Princess’s face fell. She settled for some blue and white striped culottes, a white, boat necked top, and an enormous pair of sunglasses, because she liked the mystique they gave her. Queso Blanco gave his approval by his absence of complaining, and led her downstairs to the kitchen.

But, in passing the kitchen, the siren call of food was too loud, and they had to stop so that Queseo Blanco could eat his evening supper. And while he was eating Pinkie Princess texted a few friends, and he had to wait for her to finish that. But before she could finish that, he had settled into a short nap that was not to be interrupted.

Suffice it to say, that evil was not fought that night.

But it waited. As it always does.

Lurking.

It was very good at lurking.