art author:darth_maracas death drowning family foal herd melting molten


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All the Silver Ponies.

>You are an artist.
Your life has been spent creating abstract and strange things for the people of the world.
Any money you collect you off your exibits you donate, giving those in the art community a favorable view of you.
But you've grown tired of your art lately. You feel as though all of your work up to now has been just one copy after another; that the spark has been taken from them. You want to try something else.
While you don't use your laptop as much as you used too, you decide that you've become desperate enough to ask those on your seldomly-updated blog for some suggestions.
One person said you should draw naked women; you blocked him for such a stupid idea. Come to think of it, all of their suggestions are dumb. None of them sound right.
If it's not boobs it's just sex, if it's not that then it's their disturbing pairing of two characters from a piece of work you don't know; worse are those Homestuck suggestions.
You shake your head, are about ready to close your laptop and succumb to your malady of artistic-apathy, when you find an unopened Email. Besides how creepy it is that someone
found your email, whats even creepier is their suggestion. Ponies in Silver.

For a moment you thought this fellow suggested you waste time making molds and actually casting molds. When you inquired on it further, he said he didn't mean for a mold to be cast.
"Have you ever seen those casts of Ant-Hills in solid Aluminium?"
That made your mouth drop. <i>Was he really suggesting that you find a den of those foul, smelling beasts, and pour liquid SILVER down the opening? Do they even dig directly down?</i>
"There are dens all over your state, if Faux News is right. You should be able to find some."
You asked him about where you're going to find the silver, and who'd be willing to suffer the cost for something that expensive.
"You're a Rising Star in the artistic community. Go find one of your Silver-Smiths or something. Use Aluminuim if you must."

For a while, you seriously consider that man's idea. As far as you were aware, no one had made an attempt to use Fluffy Ponies in that particular manner. Oh sure,
people had used them for art before. Either as living decorations in gilded cages, or with various modifications during "Fluffy Pony Shows". Think dog shows, but with even less respect
for the creatures. You remember catching the trail end of a Tv Special entitled "THE FLUFFY SHOW" when you were passing by FluffyTV™. You had never seen so many
Fluffies in one place, more over they were all decked out in various costumes and had their fur trimmed and fluffed. You consider anyone that could keep a Fluffy still
to apply all that stuff, like a hat or tiny costume, an artist in patience. Still... You did know a metal-worker that had some experience with this sort of thing.
He had made about four Ant-Hill castings and two Termite-Hill castings. Maybe if you could talk to him, tell him what could happen if you and he were the first to
make such a casting...


It's been one month since you got that email, and in that time you've convinced your friend to follow you. How conveniet that your friend just happened to have a particular
distaste for the little beasts on a level far beyond yours. While you wouldn't go out of your way to kill them, you wouldn't stop one from getting ravaged by a dog. Speaking of those little things,
he had found a den not to far out of town. According to him it was of moderate size, just enough to hold about four or five Fluffy Ponies. You hop into your truck and drive out, a small batch of equipment in the trunk.
Driving out of town wasn't too hard, traffic during winter tends to be light since everyone's indoors. With the fresh batch of snow on the ground, you figure those little guys would be inside their homes too.
You wonder what family has been selected for this little artistic experiment, do they have newborns or any foals at all? While you weren't so into this at the start, and taking that suggestion with a grain of salt,
you've slowly begun to feel a sudden change in you; You feel that this would be the perfect way to break this art-block. It took a week to convince your friend, and the rest of the month to build a working cruicible that was big enough
for all that silver you've got. Several pounds weigh down the back of your truck as does the cruicible itself, and all the other things you need.
The longer you drive, the colder the temperature begins to drop. Your friend in the seat next to you cranks up the heater and plugs in his crappy music.
Eugh. Country.

After twenty minutes, you're on the outskirts of town. Nothing but farm and trees out here. Wild country to you, but a second home for your buddy. Dude grew up on a farm like the one across the road, and he feels right at home.
He was able to bring you to that den he found, and what luck! It was so cold that they had made a pile in the center. Peering in with a flashlight yielded better results.
You counted five small tuffs of fluff; two brown, one a blue color, one a red and a startling black with beige stripe in the center. They were all asleep and in one group, which took out steps 1. and 2.
The next step was ceiling this front hole. You guys had gone ahead and bought bags of soil and sand to pour over the hole, which you were in the process of doing. Your friend was unloading the cruicible and charcoal, setting it a little far away
from the den. Didn't want them hearing you guys, but then the thought of <i>wouldn't they hear the soil being poured in the front of their hole?</i> came to mind.
You figured if you did it quick enough they wouldn't have time to react. You cut the corners off four of the bags and begin to rapidly dump it's contents over the door to the home of the little pests.
For the first three bags they don't seem to hear anything, which was good because they were beginning to wake up. By the time you started pouring the fourth bag, the hole was almost completely covered, which caused a rather uncomfortable yip to sound out.
"Wai dawk tymes commin'? Nu dawk tyme yet, pweeze nu, nu!" But he was cut off by the falling earth. Hearing his little squeaks made you shiver; you never get over how they sound like children.

But with the hole patched up, you guys can move on to the next step. While he got the crucible out you got the silver. Several heavy bars, about twenty in all that were about a foot long by six inches wide and three inches tall.
You hope that he can get the temperature high enough that it'll boil the metal; it's already four degrees last you checked, and the wind is not helping in the least. While he's prepping the forge and that thick stone cup needed to pour the metal,
you move to the den. With a shovel you plan to dig a small hole at the top of the mound, just big enough to pour the metal in. Even before you can bite the Earth with your spade, little voices screech in terror.
<i>Where'd the yellow-ball go? Why does my mouth taste dry? Why can't we leave?</i>
You almost pity them, almost; but pity is not enough to stop your shovel from penetrating the mound and lop some dirt behind you.


When you finally break the chamber, scores of shrieks yell out at the sudden cold filling in and the bright light from the clouded sky.
"AAH!" Yelled one who felt a heap of frozen ground crumble onto him. "MUNSTOR!" Most, the bigger ones, ran to the far walls of their den except for the very small ones. They were young, possible a few weeks or months old.
You didn't count younglings.
A frail little one, about as big as your hand, sat right in the center of the opening. Eyes squinting and front legs held out in the standard 'Upsies' manner.
"H-hewwo. Yu hewe tu sab' fwuffeh? Gib new homies, nummies?"
A frown pulls at your lips as you see the others come into the light, sitting on their back legs too and holding their hooves up to you.
"Pweeze, fwuffeh styuck! Nee' hewp!" Cried the patriarch.
"Sooo cooo'. Nee' warmfph!" Plead the matriarch, who with her back legs gently hugged her two smallest. They clung to their mother's teat for dear life, with one trying to suckle to keep calm.
"Nee' nummies fo' miwkies, fo' babbehs! Babbehs hab' tummeh owies, dey nee' nummies!"
"Yu gon' sab' uhsh? Be nyu daddeh?"
You can't stand their little cries, and as you work to cover the edges of the top with snow, dirt, and sand so they couldn't climb out, their little cries and pleas get to you. <i>They sounded like children, frightened children.</i>
Could you really go through with this? You never liked Fluffy Ponies, but you'd never go out of your way to abuse them. You might have broke right there and called this off, were it not for your friend grasping your shoulder.

"I know man. We're doing them a service."
"How? We're going to cast them in molten metal." You said.
"We're going to make them live forever; no one will ever harm them again, and they'll never feel like this again." Your friend's abuse-philosophy was strange. And yet, it felt a little comforting.

You shake your head and get up; the padding was done. All you had to do now was melt the silver, and as you turn to leave you hear thier little voices cry out. "Nu! Nu leaf ye'! Pweese! Cam' back! Pweese, pweeze!"
He told you to wait in the car, turn on the radio and relax. He'll get the metal ready and then you and him could pour it in. You don't know if you'll be able to watch the molten silver run down and drown them, but you remember why you're doing this in the first place.
<i>It's for Art. Even if it's terrible, it'll still inspire someone else to make something better.</i>

You wait what feels like an eternity before the door is banged on by his giant fist. The sky has already grown a dark gray, and the temperature is now less then two degrees. The wind actually helped the crucible by feeding oxygen to the forge. The silver is nice, molten, and ready to be poured.
"You can wait in the car still if ya' want."
"No! I <i>need</i> to do this. I mean, then why did I come out here?"
Your friend nods, and after pouring the silver into the transfer ladle - the vessel used to transfer molten metal - over to the mound. Those little creatures are still there, waiting your return.
Seeing you raises their spirits that maybe you have changed your mind. "Wook! Big Hyoomon back!" Cried the first one to see you. They hadn't even tried to escape through the hole, they were waiting for you to pick them up.
Your frown comes back, and something in your mind clicks off. They could've left. Their fate is now their own. That sickening feeling in your stomach returns, but it's not from pity. This was rolled up from disgust.

You roll the ladle up to the edge of the mound and whistle, calling the Fluffy Ponies over. "Phew, Fluffies!" You call in your sweetest voice, trying to sound as parternal as you can.
They waddle up to the opening and stare blankly at the two grown people above them, whose shadows blot out the gray sky. "Yay! Hyoomon back, an' brou't daddeh!" The two smallest ones hug each other in joy, while a somewhat fat bright cyan one is dancing on her little hooves. The parents weep happily; they'll finally be warm again, finally have a home.
Finally have love.

"You fluffies must be cold! Is this true?" A chorus of 'yeah!' screech into your ears.
"You must be thirsty! Would you like something warm to drink?" Once more you are greeted with 'yeah!' Your buddy's smile is noticeable, and it looks like he's even beginning to chuckle.
Even you fall victim to that infectious disease, and chuckle along with him.
"Y... Y-You fluffies want to look pretty too, don't you?"
This question surprised them; why did the topic go from talking about drinkies - possibly even milkies - to looking pretty? They looked at each other questioningly.
"We nu wook pwetteh?"
"Oh! No no, you do, you do! But I can make you MORE pretty! So pretty, that people will just be throwing SPAGHETTI at you!"
They all sucked in their breathes for a collective gasp.
"Yay! Mistah, mayk fwuffehs pwetty! Pweeeeese!"
A smile pulls up on your lips as you begin to tip the ladle over.
"Well then, let me make you pretty~" You coo, as the glittering silver water begins to drip over the edge; a single drop preparing to fall onto the first foal you encountered. He had his mouth open, tongue hanging out, waiting for the delicious taste of that strange wa-wa to drip over him.

It fell right down his throat, searing his esophagus shut and introducing him to a pain worse them belly aches.
He tried to scream, but nothing came out; he tried to move, but he was paralyzed with pain. His parents saw then the mistake they had made, when the eyes of the foal began to water and widen.
Not in joy as they had thought, believing that their foal would finally know something other then a belly ache, but in fear.

"Babbeh!" Cried the mother, who ran over to her foal to grasp him in her chubby little arms as the vessel poured it's boiling contents right ontop of them.
Their fluff curled and singed, their flesh melted together as they fused into a single entity in that silvery, molten water. A tear fell from your eye; they are beautiful.

"Spechaiw fwen'! Babbeh!" Cried the patriarch, running forward and jumping into the pool, either unsure or too unintelligent to realize his doom. His legs burned under him as he screeched loudly, scaring the foals up to the sides of the walls.
They watched in horror as their father tried to waddle back to "shore" with two pairs of silver boots in tow, but he couldn't make it. He collapsed on his knees and sank into the ever growing pool around him.
"Nu!" The other two cried out, the sister in particular shedding her last tears.

She covered her face with his hooves and began to cry, desperate tears to stop you from filling their den up. "Nu! Nu nu nu nu nu! Nu, pweese hyoomon, stahp, stahp, stAAAHP!"
But she was soon consumed, and would be cast in her torment forever. Her brother was desperately trying now to crawl up the side of the cavern, managing to find support on a few roots that jutted out of the soil.
He gripped it with his teeth, but he was malnourished and weary. His teeth have grown soft and his jaws lacked strength. WIth a bit of shaking thanks to your friends clever stomping, he'd break his teeth trying to hang on and fall backwards.

Que the dramatic music and slow-motion footage, as the last foal of this family-herd falls into a pool of molten silver. His tiny arms trying desperately to grab hold of something, his eyes locked on the sky above that was blotted out by two mean hyoomons.
When his back hit the searing water, and his body sank like the Titanic, his last thought was of you. He cursed you, with all the anger a fluffy could. And then his eyes went black.

You continued pouring until you were sure that there could be no way they would come out, then pulled the ladle up and moved way from the hole. Fumes of burnt hair and feces nearly gagged you and your friend to death, and you two decided to wait in the truck for the piece to cool.
Thank god you brought a shovel.

The Art exhibit was a smashing success! After shaving off the huge extra-bits on that silver casting, you were able to show off your casting as the center piece for the gallery.
"The futility of the Fluffy Pony", cast in Silver. Along the edges, all connected by a thin disk of silver, were the family locked in their last moments. The mother clinging to her dying foal, the father giving up and drowning in molten metal, the sister locked in her state of fear...
And the brother, with only four long, thin whisps of silver keeping him locked to the sculpture. He looked like he made a splash when he fell in, something you accented and exaggerated with your sculpting. His final moment looked dramatic, and "spoke" to those eccentric rich people that often bought your artwork.
You'll make sure to split the money from the sale of this piece with your friend; 100K, for that one piece!

You contact your friend again after the exhibit.

You want to do one in Bronze now.

Uploader Darth_Maracas,
Tags art author:darth_maracas death drowning family foal herd melting molten
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- Reply
Darth_Maracas: Something a little different now.

- Reply
guodzilla: @Darth_Maracas: interesting!! I would like to see someone draw this...
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Anonymous1: very nice

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Budgie_Smuggler: Beautiful.

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RevMe: This is awesome, though I think I'm overthinking it... but how would this work? Wouldn't the silver used to cast the den end up completely covering the fluffies? (also, wouldn't that be a LOT of silver?)
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Anonymous2: @RevMe: yeah, that'd be a fuck ton of silver, i guess it assumes they made the den as small as possible for them to live in?
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Darth_Maracas: Oh yeah. They used a fuck ton of silver. But since I'm high on stronk painkillers I kinda forgot to put HOW much silver and give proper dimensions to the den.

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RevMe: @Darth_Maracas: (And besides, it's a good story/creative idea besides.)
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Anonymous3: >When his back hit the searing water, and his body sank like the Titanic, his last thought was of MIWKIES
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Darth_Maracas: Shit anon that would've been a good line.
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Anonymous4(2): @Darth_Maracas: i mean, the biggest issue is that they're larger animals, and it would basically just be like, a dome shape, except somewhere in there would be the fluffs, you know? The ant mounds are interesting because they have all these branching tunnels and chambers that go all over, so I mean, I think we all get the idea, but not sure it works quite the way you think it would, or that most of us would want.

We're all thinking something like a Pompeii, right? Idk how to tweak it to make it into that, and maybe I'm overthinking it because im drunk, but... yeah...
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Darth_Maracas: @Anonymous: Well I thought I had made it clear that the protagonist shaved the silver around the Fluffies to show off them off.
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Darth_Maracas: @Anonymous: But you just gave me an idea.
Gold. Dipped. Fluffy Ponies.
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Anonymous5: I usually prefer mad science, but mad art is a nice change in pace.
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