Jump to content

Bogle's Lot.


Recommended Posts

Bogle's characters with pertinent links.
I'm open to any roleplay idea pitches.


Maenad Descent
Young Mare

Author of The Truth of it All book series
Conspiracy theorist

Very As Above, So Below inspired because I love it--shut up


Thread Log::
Active > Saddle Arabian's Treasure WOE
Active > The Nameless City Beneath The Waves WOE


Attic Wit

Editor and Poet

Very Anne Carson inspired as I eat her works for breakfast


Thread Log::
None yet


Young Mare
Book Dealer

Very The Ninth Gate inspired because I'm envious of Depp


Thread Log::

Active > From the Top FFA

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 3 weeks later...

More on my characters::
Rather, a dump post for odds and ends concerning them

Drabble    >>    Maenad Descent  &  Attic Wit



Maenad Descent frowned over the back of the couch at Attic Wit. “Are you done yet?”

“I think,” Wit started off by inflecting as much awe as he could into his words, “That I may need another red pen.”

Slighted, Maenad Descent’s frown transformed into an enraged scowl. She did, however, remain in her seat. “Do you always have to be so cruel?”

he red glow of his horn dimmed as he looked up from the stack of papers he had been editing. “Yes. Yes, I think I do because this,” He tapped a hoof on the top of the stack pointedly. “This could be a brilliant work of satire on consumerism or something. But it’s not. You’re serious.” With anypony else he would have lied, but he’d long since stopped gentling his words for Maenad. She deserved every bit of Attic Wit’s Truth.

“Of course I’m serious!” ­­

“Topic aside, you can’t rant about how vile and evil something is and then be so gleeful with your retelling of your espionage escapades. The whole thing reads like a bad attempt at comedy.”


She blinked. “Comedy, you say.”

“You stalked three businesscolts for a month and included humorous anecdotes of them. You made your villains relatable and you have an entire chapter just ragging on candies you don’t like.”

Maenad let out a contemplative grunt and then twisted to face forward again.

Attic Wit barely restrained himself form rolling his eyes at her. During the course of the few years he had known the mare he had gotten comfortable in her presence and understood her better, but he still had standards he wanted to impress upon her. Her books were the only “major” thing he had a hoof in as most of his work was still for copywriting—soul-sucking marketing and faux praises to stuff newspapers with more content. The Truth of it All were so far the only books his name was attached to, the only things he could have any pride in. “I want you to outline your main arguments and your evidence and then rewrite this all. Be more serious with it and definitely don’t break into any more rants on specific candies unless you’re claiming they’re poisoned.”


She groaned and adjusted her goggles fitfully. After a few beats she did nod. “Fine.”

“Be comforted you’re not on a deadline.”


“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not impatient with myself to get it out. This is important after all! Ponies have to be warned!”

Wit stared at the back of her head for a long moment. The draft on the small table before him was dedicated to the idea that candy companies were in the middle of a grand plot to turn ponies everywhere into candy-zombies for their own various ends. Attic Wit still had no idea where she had come up with the long explanation of what a candy-zombie was, but she’d written that part well at least. Her delusions were amusing and she did make great attempts to at least appear to adhere to the scientific process. A for effort and all that jazz.

“Should I start on that before or after looking at your corrections?”


Wit sniffed slightly and used his magic to deftly float a few smaller stacks he had pulled aside from the main work. “These are chapters and bits that are fine for the most part. For the rest I think you should write the outline first, then read my corrections on the old stuff, and then you can sit down for the rewrite.”

“Well, that’s a doable plan at least.” Maenad waiting for the stacks to drop onto the low coffee table before her. “You don’t mind if I crash here until I’m done, do you?”

“I really don’t care, just don’t breathe a word of this place to anyone. I’ve an image to maintain as much as you do.”

Maenad swiveled her head back to him at that. Genuinely confused, she asked “What image is that and to whom would I ever say anything? Why would your apartment even be a secret to begin with?”

He took a steadying breath in an effort to alieve the tension that he set into his shoulders. “How about you just humor me as I do with your surrealist diatribes?”

She considered that carefully, more than he thought she should, and then she nodded to him. “Quid pro quo—understood.”

Thrown off balance, Attic Wit ended up turning an uncomfortable expression back to the rest of Maenad’s manuscript. “There’s a degree of… whimsicality that I strive for you know. It fits better if they think I’m some sort of vagabond like you, living free.”

“This is about that Bard nonsense, isn’t it?” Maenad didn’t bother to reign back the derisive edge in her revelation. The two ponies were far from friends, but over the years they had settled into being relaxed enough to bicker without any threat to their working relationship. “It’s only easier for me to hide from my enemies if I keep on the move is all.”

“You don’t have any bucking enemies. You don’t even have fans.”

“Well,” She struggled for a moment to think of her rebuttal. “You don’t have any fans either. You haven’t managed to be anything like a Bard at all, even.”

“Like you have managed to be a Truth Seeker. All you really do is run about spastically and indulge in your overactive imagination like a foal.”


Maenad bared her teeth at him. “At least I can say I’m making an effort and accomplishing something.”

“But you wouldn’t be accomplishing that without my help.”

The mare snorted and pointedly looked to the row of her published books on a nearby bookshelf. The sight of the ten plus volumes there birthed a victorious grin on her face. “I think my life is working out pretty well.”

Unable to say the same about his own life, Attic Wit frowned and focused back on his editing.



Link to comment
Share on other sites


This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

  • Create New...