Thread: Supsatire & Hypergondala (MLP)

The boat house was absent of movement, but if you looked past it to the far edge of the lake you could make out a green pegasus pony plodding from the water, something shiny clutched in his teeth. With a stumbling trudge he carried the waterlogged glass bottle to the pile of assorted objects on the sandy beach. A tattered book and a cracked lantern were among them. With a tinkle of glass the bottle joined the pile, and seconds later the pony did too. He flopped overtop of the rubbish with a long sigh like a deflating balloon. He looked like he could use a good nap, and maybe a massage, and a fresh glass of tangerine juice. His long hair had fallen into disarray, obscuring his eyes and had seemingly faded to a dull purple despite it's earlier periwinkle shine. His eyelids were heavily with sleep and a pair of dark circles had formed below each blue eye. He would have loved to sleep, but residing on the lake had it's other responsibilities. Each day was something different. Just yesterday he had needed help a number of beavers with repairing their lodge after a heavy windstorm, something Fluttershy would have normally been happy to do had she not been babysitting a trio of fillies at the time. Today he had spent hour upon hour diving and sweeping the lake for rubbish, relinquishing only a handful of effects Littering was a rare occurring crime in Ponyville, but sometimes the ponies were a bit lax about after-party clean-ups. He was sure that the bottle had been a souvenir of the weekends beach bash, as well as the lantern. He couldn't fathom how the book could have wandered into the lake. He didn't care either. He gathered up the rubbish in a cloth bag and set off towards his house. The journey across the lake was slow going, as he found himself drooping dangerously close to the water and occasionally dropping the bag when he yawned. Bag still slung over his shoulder, he plodded across the patch of lawn and up to his door. The inside of his house was cluttered, but comfy. Organized chaos seemed appropriate. A collage shelves ran along the perimeter of the single, narrow room, and on the shelves were a curious assortment of objects, all collected from either the bottom of the lake or during his morning flights through Ponyville. There were umbrellas and balls and shiny pieces of stone. There were patched saddlebags and mirrors and rolls of twine. There was even a shoebox devoted entirely to bow ties. He pushed the lantern up beside a cracked coo coo clock and the bottle joined a crate of other bottles, standing out among it's shiny, clean counterparts. The book was laid out on a table by a window to dry. After his other discoveries were commonly sorted, he flopped down on the squashed bed and his eyes fluttered closed, sleep enveloping his exhausted mind and body. A half hour later, but to Dollop it seemed like a fraction of a second, the clock tower chimed six o'clock in the distance and he pulled himself out of bed with many a grumble. As much as he wanted to sleep, he wasn't going to pass up his new friend. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to meet someone who was nocturnal like himself. After a feeble attempt to tidy his hair with a wing, he was out the door and on his way to Ponyville, mouth open in almost a constant yawn.