Celebrating Years and Years of Whimsy and Imagination
Mavra’s Entry

“I am the terror that trots in the night!” Exclaims Mavra.

“You have to go to the bathroom because of a bad dinner?” Garrison retorted.

“No, no, Gar! It’s my entry to tonight’s ambush! I’m trying to portray my ‘dramatis personae’!”

“Is that Latin for having the trots?”

Stomping a forehoof Mavra growled. “NO!”

“Then what’re you trying to say?” Asked Garrison.

“I,” Mavra said, trying to regain some dramatic atmosphere, “Am the terror that trots in the night!”

“Still sounds like having to make a midnight run to the bathroom.” Garrison laughed, “Hehe, ‘run’.”


“Ok, go ahead with your case of the midnight trots.”

Mavra hmmfed, again trying to reclaim some dignity, orating, “*I* am the terror that trots in the night!” A quick glance at her skunk friend revealed a smile across his muzzle, but keeping quiet. “I am Black Mare!”

“Black Mare,” Garrison mused, “The initials are ‘BM’. Still have potty on the mind, Mav?”

Mavra hid her face in her palm. “Egad…”

“Besides, it sounds like Darkwing Duck, and if you’re trying to imitate him, don’t you need another line between the ‘terror’ and your title?”

“Like what?”

Garrison shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s your idea.”

Mavra sighed and started over. “I am the terror that trots in the night! I am the noun that shall verb your noun!”

She finishes with aplomb, “I AM BLACKMARE MARE!”

“Now you have a double-M for your BM.”

“Shut up, Gar.”