From The Cradle
To certain ponies, socialising could be such an exhausting drag. In a world where it was socially encouraged to go out and meet new people, the more introverted individuals would slump their shoulders and exasperate, approaching such situations with a reluctant attitude of ‘okay, if I really have to.’ This was a boat that Death Metal found herself in quite often. All the fancy dinners and receptions that she attended would drain her by the end of the night to the point where she got so fed up and irate that she could hardly feign a smile anymore. Granted, she was there for Pearl, but all the important business ponies or rich asshats her girlfriend had to talk to made her feel like a third wheel from time to time, just standing by and looking pretty, something she had always wanted to avoid.
Rich and powerful or not, these were not the kind of people she wanted to become friends with, so she didn’t have a whole lot to say to them. After all, what was she going to talk about? Her interests? Her days in the arena, or that time she crushed some stallion’s nuts under her foot? Guaranteed they’d drop their expensive champagne on the floor in shock if she told them about herself in any real detail.
Yes, Death had a tough time making friends, she always did ever since she was a filly. School didn’t do her many favours in that regard since she had a hard shell surrounding her, even in her early days. That shell began to crack when she eventually met Pearl Necklace and, against all odds, they fell in love with each other. This was the beginning of the end of her second dark period, and she was finally opening up to the world again. She had met several new ponies in the wake of this, some of them even starting to become friends, and she was even getting married to Pearl soon! It was still hard to believe.
But even then, there was something missing. Even though deep inside she was happier than she’d been for a long time, she had never forgotten about the most influential pony she had ever met, and her first true friend. Her name was Amaranth, and not a day went by where she didn’t think about her. She was beautiful, her mane black as night and her kind eyes the same green hue as Death’s. Her strength helped her to become stronger, and a lot of her interests as well as her appearance were largely thanks to her. To put it simply, if it weren’t for Amaranth, Death Metal may still have been just Daisy Meadow. But the cruelty of life rears its head at the worst times. Amaranth passed away several years ago, and it hit Death so hard it plunged her life into darkness again, until recently. It was a sad and painful memory, one that she cried over many times, but one she would never ever forget, lest she would never forgive herself.
But that was it, the thing that was missing. Her new friends were nice, but there were very few common interests. Metal music was something that shaped her into the mare she was today, but she had no one to talk to about it. They either didn’t like it, hardly knew about it or thought they knew but completely misunderstood it. Even Pearl, who was subjected to it regularly, just considered a lot of it horrible noise. This was not due to a lack of trying, she simply had different tastes, so Death never held it against her.
That being said, Pearl wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t try to fix this situation. Her being the head of Crystal Ball Inc. and her practically owning half of town now, she had a lot of strings she could pull. That was why Death was sitting in the passenger’s seat of the hot rod this friday evening as Pearl drove along the road.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Death said, gazing out the window at the buildings flashing by with her arms crossed, “but why are you playing taxi for me? I could’ve just drove myself.”
“Because I’m not letting you drive back home drunk, duh!” Pearl answered cheerfully.
A small chortle passed Death’s lips and she shook her head. “I go out one night and you immediately assume I’m gonna get drunk?”
“Yes, I do,” she said smiling. “Don’t overdo it though! If you throw up in my car on the way back, I’m rubbing your nose in it.”
“Yes, mom,” she scoffed. “Fuck, that’s what it feels like. Like I’m a kid being dropped off by her mom.”
Pearl started laughing, and since they were waiting at a red light, she leaned closer to Death Metal and pinched her cheek, much to her chagrin. “And what’s wrong with that? I think that’s a cute idea!”
“Urgh,” Death slapped her hand away and rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with that shit, bitch.”
“Now that’s no way to talk to your mother,” Pearl winked, before planting a kiss on her cheek and accelerating again. “Besides, you said you weren’t gonna complain.”
“I’m gonna body slam you.”
They continued their drive as the sun was beginning to set. It wasn’t a very long drive since the destination was on the other side of Ranchtown, so they were only a couple of blocks away now. “Pearl, there’s still something I don’t get,” Death said to break the silence, making her girlfriend hum. “Why aren’t you coming with me? We always go to your events, and trust me, they ain’t always fun for me, so I figured you’d give this a try for a change.”
“Oh?” Pearl replied with a lilt of surprise in her voice. “I didn’t think you wanted me to. You wanna show me what your world looks like?”
“Ehm… My world? I mean... I guess…”
“Or maybe you just can’t miss me for that long?” she smirked as she shot her a quick glance, in which she caught an angry glare and a small blush. “Sure, next time I’ll come see one of your crazy loud music concerts and stand in the crowd with a bunch of rowdy, drunk hooligans. For now though, the point is that you’re going to mingle with ponies of your kin, without me so you don’t have to hold anything back. It’ll do you good, honey!”
Death let her implications slide and gazed out of the window again. While Pearl did have a point, she still kinda wanted to see what her reaction would be. The look on her face would have to have been priceless. “You’re not nervous, are you?” Pearl asked as they were only a street away. Death only answered with a groan. She kind of was, but didn’t care to admit it out loud.
Finally they arrived at a place known as The Cradle. It was a music venue that could hold about 800 ponies, so it wasn’t particularly huge, and it was situated right next to a pretty busy road. They specialised in alternative music, but were mostly known for metal shows, as the many posters stuck to the walls made clear. There were already several ponies standing outside in small clusters, smoking and/or drinking beer from a plastic cup. A lot of them wore band shirts, and considering the acts that were playing tonight, some of them were quite explicit.
Pearl pulled over when she found an empty spot near the road and put the car in park. “Right, here we are! You’ve got your ticket?” she asked, to which Death nodded as she undid her seat belt. “And your pass?” Another nod. “And you know where to go after the show, right?”
“Yeah, yeah! I got it!”
“Great! I’ll come pick you up later tonight then!”
“Do I wait for you somewhere?” she asked.
“Nah, don’t worry about that. I’ll come looking for you. You just have fun in there, and try not to beat anyone up without a good reason,” she laughed.
Death Metal gave her a small grin, and they shared a kiss on the lips for a good five seconds before she opened the door and stepped outside. “Love you,” Pearl chanted sweetly and blew her a kiss. Death pretended to catch it and put it in her pocket.
“Later Pearl,” she said before she shut the door. She gave one more wave as Pearl drove off, then dug into her pocket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Not being allowed to smoke in the car was a pain, so the craving was big. Next she reached into the cargo pockets of her camo pants and pulled out one ticket for tonight’s show and one very special card. It was a backstage pass. Must not have been hard for Pearl to get, but she always did these kinds of things behind her back. She actually went out of her way to arrange a meet and greet with the headlining band for her.
The band’s name was Mutagenic Discharge, and Death didn’t know much about them. What she did know was that they played brutal death metal, fairly obvious by their hardly decipherable logo, and that they supposedly originated from Ranchtown. Maybe that was why Pearl got a hold of them so easily. Death would have done a bit more research, listened to some songs, but it was all in such short notice she didn’t really have the time. Oh well, she was about to see them live and talk to them anyway.
While smoking, she walked inside the building, handing over the printed ticket at the counter and getting a stamp on her hand in return. The atmosphere of the The Cradle really took her back. It had been so long since she last attended one of these shows, far too long. The place was dimly lit by overhead lights and there were several ponies hanging around the bar, drinking and talking, while loud metal played through the speakers non stop. The black walls were absolutely covered with promotional posters for tours and new album releases, and already there were several empty cups and cigarette butts on the floor.
The crowd consisted mostly of stallions with the odd mare sprinkled in here and there, a lot of them dressed in black shirts, and guys with long hair were not uncommon at all. Leather, metal studs, chains, bullet belts, heavy boots and jackets decorated with band patches. All of it was commonplace here. When walking around in public looking the way she did, she sometimes did feel singled out, but here Death felt like a fish in the water.
As she headed for the bar to get a beer, one of the guys standing in a group noticed her. They made eye contact, and he nodded and gave a small smile before minding his own business again. Death blinked a few times, confused. Did she know him? She racked her brain trying to figure it out when it hit her. She was now something of a celebrity around these parts, so it wasn’t unthinkable a lot of ponies here recognised her. But him leaving it at a small acknowledgement was a big difference from some other folks, who wanted to take a picture of her or felt the need to talk to her. The answer to that was always a resolute no!
Once she got her beer and walked to the stage, this cycle repeated itself. Someone would recognise her, nod or flash her the devil horns and go on with what they were doing. It was a little unreal, but after the second time, she started nodding back. She was getting attention, but nobody was being intrusive, so she couldn’t say she hated it.
On the stage, a couple of crew members were setting up for the opening act, soundchecking the guitar, bass, drums and mics. It didn’t take very long before they showed up, and Death raised her eyebrows a little when they did. Their band was called Manko, and they were extravagant to say the least. The guitarist was wearing a surgical suit slathered with fake blood, the bassist wore shorts that were way too short and nothing more, and his hair was dyed pink. The drummer had put on his nicest sunday dress and the singer wore a gimp suit with a huge dildo embedded on the front of the mask. They were a mish mash of nonsense and they played what was known as pornogrind.
There was distortion on the mic to make the singer’s voice sound as deep and monstrous as possible, and the riffs and drum beats were heavy and very bouncy. As they played, a couple of goofballs in the crowd formed a pit and danced, throwing their hands up and hooking arms with each other. With such song titles as ‘Used Condom Balloon Animal’ and ‘Double Sausage Surprise’, they were hard to take seriously, as if their presentation didn’t do that enough already. They weren’t half bad. Lewd, over the top fun, but oh so weird. They also mentioned between songs that their band name was a in a different language and meant ‘cunt’, so that explained a lot.
They performed for about 30 minutes before they said their sayonaras and began to clear the stage. The crew had 15 minutes to set up for the main act, but luckily the drum set was ready to be rolled in so they didn’t have to assemble it. While the soundcheck was going on, Death Metal managed to work her way to the front, where she could lean against the railing and had a really good view of the stage. Being in the middle of the crowd was a pain in the ass for her with her height, because she couldn’t see jack with all those giants blocking her view. One of her pet peeves for sure.
A big flag with the Mutagenic Discharge logo was raised against the back wall of the simple stage, and after the crew member was done yelling “check, one two” in the mic over and over, the lights began to dim and the crowd responded by cheering and roaring. As the stage went dark, a sound clip began playing over the speakers. It was the sound of gross bubbling, like gasses escaping from a tar pit. The bubbling got louder and deep growls began to rise from underneath, like a monster of some sort was emerging from it. As this was going on, the first member ran up the stage from the sidelines. He was a bat pony with a reddish grey body and dark brown hair and a stretcher in his ear. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and wore dark grey cargo shorts, sneakers and dog tags around his neck. He got behind the drum set and rose above it, holding his drumsticks and raising his horns high. The crowd ate it up, as they once again yelled and cheered, giving the metal salute right back.
A nuclear alarm siren was added on top of the noise, and the growling was becoming more ferocious. That was when two more members walked on stage, again with a lot of fanfare from the excited crowd. One of them was a huge, bearded pegasus, long hair and very dark in colours, though it was hard to tell which with the coloured lights behind him, possibly browns and blacks. His arms looked like they could lift a boulder and he was quite a ways past six feet tall. He picked up the bass and got into position on the left side of the stage.
The guitarist was a female earth pony mare wearing a gas mask. She had vibrant blue and black striped hair that hung over one eye and a lighter blue body. Her tail was cut rather short and she was dressed in black; a long band shirt and jeans that reached her thighs halfway with ripped leggings underneath. She stood on the right side of the stage and proceeded to rev up the crowd with her axe in hand.
Death Metal watched intently, because these were the ponies that she was going to meet later. As the sound clip was about reach the climax with more and more monsters rising from the muck, the lead singer emerged. He was an earth pony with a grey body and long, straight black hair with green highlights, dressed in a standard metal attire with dark jeans and heavy boots. He walked on stage with a brisk pace and immediately greeted the crowd with his index and pinky finger. He took the microphone from the stand and moved the stand behind him, preferring to just hold it. He rested one foot on the speakers at the front of the stage and leered over the stirring crowd in anticipation. Then the sound clip cut to a deep rumbling, and the drummer hit the cymbals to lead in the beat.
They did not start off slow. From the word go, the speakers blasted pure sonic mayhem across the venue. A bass sound so strong and crunchy it rattled the floor and the guitar tuned so low it oozed brutality. The kick drums went off at machine gun speeds and the bat pony laid down some nasty blast beats that were hard to keep up with. Meanwhile, the lead singer banged his head like a maniac, his mane whipping back and forth violently. When his cue came, he practically vomited his innards into the mic. They were deep, rumbling growls and harsh guttural burps, impossible to understand and hard to classify as singing.
They played fast and heavy, the powerful bass doing well to fill in for the fact that there was only one guitar, and she in turn delivered a full and brutal sound that made the crowd go nuts. She even squeezed in a couple of guitar squeals and set her frets on fire with some rapid technical shreds. They rolled right into their next song which started out with some relentless slamming riffs and a high pitched cry from the vocalist.
A mosh pit had formed in the middle of the room and Death Metal could tell by the increasing turbulence behind her. She didn’t really care, since even she was banging her head at this point. This kind of ruthless music was just what she craved to let loose with, and it was always more impressive in person. To a lot of people this would’ve been unlistenable noise that didn’t even count as music, but she loved it. The pure, unapologetic brutality and menacing energy coming out of the speakers was something to behold.
When the song ended, the devil horns rose from the crowd along with cheers. The singer took a drink from the water bottle by the drums, then turned back to his usual spot.
“RANCHTOOOOOOWN!!!” He roared. “How the fuck are you guys doing tonight?” The audience roared back at him and horns went up in the air. “In case you’re wondering who the fuck we are, we’re Mutagenic Discharge, and we’re glad to be home! We’ve been busy representing you guys on tour for the last two months and as awesome as it was, there’s nothing like playing in our hometown, on this stage right here where we played our first real gig so many years ago. Special thanks to those crazy bastards from Manko for opening up for us on such short notice. Now, we’ve got about an hour to fill with pure brutal death metal, so are you ready to have a good time with us?!” He threw up his hands and the audience followed. “Good, let’s do it then! This song is about growing a second head! Apperceptive Cephalic Excrescence!!!’”
After he bellowed the title into the mic, the music ruptured from the speakers again like a wall of sound that bulldozed through the room. The bat pony pounded on the drums with high speeds and precision while the bassist practically pleasured his strings with a three finger walk and banged his head, covering his face with his long mane. The blue earth pony, whose face was still obscured by the gas mask, used a guitar pick to bring forth sick and heavy riffs like it was nobody’s business, while the vocalist used his vocal chords like another instrument, pushing the limits of his sludgy gutturals until the sweat seeped down his face. It sounded like he was going to spew blood any second now, but even that probably wouldn’t have stopped him.
After about 3 minutes, the song ended rather abruptly, leaving the silence to get filled with cheers and yells. After drinking more water to alleviate his no doubt strained throat, the vocalist took off his shirt and poured some over himself to cool off. As he walked back to the front of the stage to face the audience, Death’s eyes were locked on him.
On his grey upper body, he had several tattoos of stitch lines, around his neck and waist, on his left shoulder and right upper arm. They made him look like he was taken apart and sewn back together again. He wasn’t especially ripped, nor was he very tall, but he still had a pretty nice physique with a flat stomach. Now that the water was running down his chest and abs, she had a hard time keeping her eyes off him. She found herself getting a little thirsty, and not the kind that a beer could solve. She snapped out of it when she noticed that his grey blue eyes were looking right back at her, and a look of recognition set in. He smiled and gave her the metal salute, and after taking a few seconds, being caught off guard like this, she nodded and returned it.
“Alright! Last year, we released our first full length album under GoreHound Records, how many of you have that fucking album?!” Several fists rose into the air. “That’s great! If you know what that album is called, then you know the title of this next song, because it’s the title track. This is Swallowing-” he rose his hand to let the audience members finish his sentence, then loudly growled the right answer. “Swallowing the Viral Load!!!”
This was a slower song, but no less heavy, with a lumbering tempo and ominous atmosphere until it picked up speed again in the second half, gaining in aggression while still keeping a catchy rhythm and interesting vocal patterns. It was obvious why this was the title track, because there were several layers to it. “Bestial Compulsions!!!” he announced a few minutes later, not letting the instruments die out so they could burst right into the next one; a bloodthirsty, enraged song with a lot of power behind it. The crowd gave that energy right back, headbanging, fist pumping and moshing like lunatics. Death was digging it too. She was windmilling her long black hair and pounding her fist to the beat of the drums.
The song ended with a guitar screech and the room was once again filled with cheering and hands in the air while the band turned their backs. The mysterious blue mare lifted her mask to get a drink, then said something to the vocalist, but Death couldn’t get a look at her face.
“Discharge! Discharge! Discharge! Discharge!” the crowd chanted. The drummer played along by laying down a beat to the chanting, and the guitarist clapped her hands above her head. The grey earth pony grinned proudly and bobbed his head until the chant eventually fell apart and turned into applause. “Fucking hell Ranchtown, thank you so much!!! This is why we love playing here, you guys go fucking nuts! Tell you what, because this is a special occasion, we have something cool just for you, a world premiere! We were on tour with our friends from Ruptured Globe, an awesome slamming brutal death band from Cloudsdale. By the way, the two best exports from Cloudsdale, as far as I’m concerned, are Amber Cat and motherfucking Slam, seriously!”
That statement got another cheer from the audience as well as some laughter. It put a small smile on Death Metal’s face too, because she knew all too well he wasn’t wrong. “Anyway,” he continued, “while we were touring, we may have been doing some talking, and we may have been writing a little, and we agreed that Mutagenic Discharge and Ruptured Globe are gonna be doing a split!” Next, he waited for the roars of the crowd to calm down before he went on. “We have for you a brand new song for that split that was written during our tour. It hasn’t been recorded yet and has never been played live, ever! Do you wanna hear it, Ranchtown?!”
He put his hand to his ear and the audience responded with a resolute “Yeah!!!”
“Are you sure?! Then here it is! This song is called Submerged In Lye! Let’s go!”
Their music remained brutal and relentless all throughout, and the band played off on the crowd quite well. The tall pegasus who played the bass had a fairly subdued stage presence, but his expression and stature had an intimidating air that fit the music well. The blue earth pony mare banged her head while she shredded and slammed on her guitar, looking badass and confident while doing it. The bat pony drummer was a ball of energy, and he had to be for the beats he had to lay down. Sometimes his face would be crumpled during the more intense parts, but he pulled them off very well regardless. The vocalist belched his lungs out of his body and kept the hype up between songs, quipping about titles and the fact that he sometimes forgot the lyrics to a specific song, but it didn’t matter because nobody could tell anyway. They kept going until they only had 5 minutes left of their set.
“Unfortunately, this is our last song of the night.” The crowd responded by howling and whistling in protest, but he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “I know, but we can’t keep doing this forever. I wanna thank every single one of you for hanging out with us tonight. We appreciate the support, and we promise you, we’re gonna be coming back again and again, we swear! Stay fucking brutal, Ranchtown! This is your last chance to go fucking crazy, and I wanna see a huge pit right here!” He pointed to the middle of the crowd, where a bunch of guys were already getting ready, raising their hands in the air. “I think you already know what song this is, don’t you?! Mutagenic!” He pointed the mic outwards and the crowd bellowed right back.
“Discharge!”
“Mutagenic!!!”
“Discharge!!!”
“MUTAGENIC DISCHAAAAAARGE!!!”
For the last time, the band played their hearts out and delivered one more blood dripping chunk of musical insanity. A song that crushed hard, made the pit go crazy and made for an excellent finale. Death Metal was impressed. Her neck would probably be a bit sore the the next day, but she didn’t care. This was the most exhilarating night she’d had in a while, and it left her feeling content. She almost forgot that it wasn’t over for her yet. When the show came to a close, the musicians dragged out the ending as the spotlights stopped flashing and shone down on them. They raised their devil horns in the air and the audience followed suit.
“Thank you, Ranchtown! Have a good night! See you next time!”
The drummer hit his snares a couple more times and the guitar shredded frantically, and with one more powerful bang, it was all over. The audience applauded and cheered, every fist in the room going skyward. The masked blue mare threw her pick into the crowd the moment she was done with it and held her guitar high. The drummer did the same thing, coming from behind his set and tossing the sticks away for two lucky people to catch. Then all four gathered at the front of the stage and lined up, throwing their arms around each other. They took a bow to an applause, then scattered and began to walk off stage.
As the lights came back on and people began to vacate the venue, Death Metal opted to stay where she was for a little while until the crowd thinned out. The music playing over the speakers now sounded like nothing after what she just heard in terms of loudness, and she was dying to have a smoke, so she promptly lit one, not caring if it was against the rules or not. While the crew was busy clearing out the stage, disassembling the drumset and taking down the flag, the lead singer suddenly ran back up the stage. He waved at Death Metal and she looked back at him, then he gestured towards the side of the stage, where the backstage entrance was. She nodded, and he gave her a thumbs up, and she fished the backstage pass from her pocket.
Security was quick to let her through, especially since the lead singer already met her before she could even show off the pass. “Hey! Death Metal, yeah?” he smiled as he extended his hand to her. He had put his black Mortician shirt back on, but his face was still wet with water and sweat. She returned a small smile and shook his hand. “Hehe, I’ve heard a lot about you, but then again, who hasn’t? My name’s Grave Rush. You enjoyed the show?”
“Yeah,” she responded. “You guys were pretty sick.”
“Thanks, and good to hear. Come on, this way. We’ve got a room all for ourselves tonight.”
Death followed Grave down the dimly lit corridor. Strangely enough, he was a lot more soft spoken and calm in person than he appeared on the stage. Either he was exhausted from busting his ass like that for a whole hour, or he had an onstage persona that served him well. Either way, he took her to a door deeper down in the backstage area and opened it, revealing a rather small room with a couple of couches and some mirrors, as well as a sound system through which music was playing. The black walls were plastered with many stickers and small posters of bands that probably performed there. It reminded Death a bit of her own bedroom back in her apartment.
“I don’t think it was sold out, maybe about six hundred ponies?” The blue and black haired mare said, then turned to the door as it opened. “Oh, hey Rav! Found her already?”
Death saw her face for the first time, and she had striking yellow eyes and a ring piercing in the left side of her lower lip. She was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and had a cigarette between her fingers, of which only a few nails were painted black, namely her thumb, middle and pinky finger. Her voice sounded a little lazy, like she was already a bit drunk. She smiled big and waved at Death Metal. “Yo!”
“Yeah, she was still hanging out in front of the stage,” Grave said. “Guys, introduce yourselves to her while I get her a cold one. You do drink beer, don’t you?”
“You bet your ass I do.”
“Haha, I immediately like her,” the blue earth pony chuckled, making Death crack a smirk. “I’m Neon Blue, but I’d prefer it if you called me Shrapnel.”
“Shrapnel?” Death echoed. Damn if that wasn’t a cool name, but it sounded vaguely familiar to her, though she couldn’t recall from where.
“Because she shreds!” The bat pony sitting on the table by the mirrors said with a grin, flashing his elongated canines. “Hi, I’m Blast Beat, but you can call me Gristle. Everyone does. You know, you’re the first chick Rav managed to pick up in a long time,” he laughed, then turned to Grave who was crouching down by the fridge, and he flipped him the bird without looking.
There was laughter, and then everyone turned to the massive, dark brown pegasus sitting in a single seated couch, slouched back and holding a bottle of beer. He looked at Death with a stone faced expression, and he just nodded. He didn’t say a word. This took her aback a little, and she just looked back, blinking, as if they were in a staring contest.
“Ehm, yeah, that’s Tremor, real name Stone Ridge,” Grave said as he handed her a bottle of beer, keeping one for himself. “He hardly ever talks, but when he does, you feel it.” He brought a hand to his chest and tapped it. “That’s why we call him Tremor. Real nice guy though, wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Ah, I see... Hey,” she said to him, making him give another nod. “You all have nicknames?”
“That’s right,” Shrapnel said while Death sat down on the sofa next to her, taking a big chug from her beer. “We’ve all known each other for a pretty long time. It’s also pretty cool to have stage names that people can know us by, you know?”
Death nodded. She was no stranger to using a nickname herself, although in her case, it had almost completely swallowed her real one. Not many knew about it, save for Pearl of course. Her eyes followed her hand as it pointed to Grave, who had just plopped down on a single seated couch next to Tremor’s. “Grave’s nickname came from Ravenous, but it turned into Rav because it was too much of a mouthful. Not to mention, it’s in his name. We called him that because he’s a zombie,” she laughed.
Grave chortled and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, a real walking corpse that feasts on flesh. These stitches are a hundred percent real, too.”
The white earth pony raised her pierced eyebrow at this, obviously not buying much of it, especially since Shrapnel started laughing right after. “Nah, he’s our zombie. He just consumes a lot of zombie movies and games. It started to rub off on him. He embraced it and so did we.”
“What about Gristle?” she asked, gaining the attention of the reddish bat pony.
“That’s from a username I used online when I was in highschool,” he explained. “Gristle Licker, it was. Eventually everyone started calling me Gristle, and it stuck. It’s a cool name, so I’m happy with it.”
As she was trying to think of something to talk about, Death noticed the gas mask that Shrapnel wore on stage lying on the table. She picked it up and looked into the red glass lenses. This thing looked legit, made of hard leather and very sturdy with a filter on either side of the mouth. “You always wear this on stage?” she asked.
“Not always, but I just love these kinds of masks. I have several of them at home. I like collecting them. You can try it on if you want.”
Death turned the mask around and attached it to her face with the straps. The lenses turned everything red, and it was very comfy, but also pretty hot. She wondered how Shrapnel performed with this thing on her face in a hot room for an hour on end without dropping dead. She turned to the blue mare and she was grinning back at her.
“Oh yeah, that really suits you! It goes well with your hair and piercings and all.”
“You think so?” she asked from behind the mask with a muffled voice.
“Totally! You look so badass right now, I mean, even more than you already did.” Her eyes then lit up as she got an idea. “I totally gotta get you one of these!”
“She’s right, you wear it well,” Rav added. “You could replace Shrapnel in the band, no problem.”
She shot a nasty glare at him and flipped him off, after which the both of them chuckled it out. “I have a really dope one at home, dark blue with red spike studs. It’s one of my favs, but I only wear it for my solo gigs.”
“Solo gigs?” Death asked as she took the mask off and looked at it again. The thought of owning one of these did get her a bit excited, because it looked really cool.
“Yeah, I’m a DJ and a producer. Drum & bass mixed with hardcore. I usually play at raves under the same stage name. It’s, like, a side project of mine,” she explained before she drank from her beer.
Suddenly, the pieces started falling into place. Death remembered where she heard her name before, but she thought about it for a few seconds before saying anything, just to be sure.
“Yeah, that dance music business,” Gristle interjected, dangling his legs over the table and flapping his wings. “Not really my cup of tea, but at least it sounds pretty dark and evil, not like that mainstream crap you hear on the radio.”
“Do you know Night Moon?” Death asked suddenly after digging into her memory for a bit. The surprised look she got from all the members spoke volumes.
“Yeah!” Shrapnel replied. “He was the one who got me into the EDM scene in the first place. Night Moon and I go way back!”
“Uhuh. He’s like a bro to us. We hang out regularly to play videogames or grab a few drinks and stuff. I think we even turned him into an honorary member of the band at one point,” Grave chimed in. “Kinda crazy that you know him.”
“Small world,” Gristle added, to which Tremor hummed and nodded. This made Death look up, since this was the first thing she had heard come out of him. Despite his size, she almost forgot she was in the same room as him. And she thought she could be a quiet one.
“I met him when he was still playing in the underground clubs. I saw him again in the Cloudstone Club recently,” she explained, lighting a cigarette and taking another drink. Before she knew it, she was leaning back in the couch, all relaxed like she was at home, a smoke and beer in hand. The metal music playing in the background put her in a familiar place, and it made her feel far more sociable and at ease than she ever did at those fancy gatherings or frat parties she sometimes found herself at for her bodyguarding job. Pearl was right. Meeting with like minded ponies was doing her good.
She learned about some of the ins and outs of the band. Everyone pulled their own weight, taking their responsibilities for their own parts. Grave, or Rav, wrote the lyrics and came up with song titles, as well as making some of the visual artwork. Based on the theme and words, Shrapnel wrote the music in collaboration with Tremor, preferring jamming sessions to come up with ideas. Gristle had a good feel for how the drums should go to compliment the guitar and bass, so he filled that in afterwards. Once that was done, they’d come together and the lyrics would be fit onto the music, figuring out vocal patterns and applying corrections where needed. Then they’d do some practice sessions together before the songs were finalised. This was how they always did it and it worked for them.
The band name was a collaborative effort that took a couple of days of brainstorming, where they wrote down a whole bunch of words and terms and see what fit together. After some deliberation, and making sure the name wasn’t already taken, they settled on Mutagenic Discharge.
“It’s a pretty awesome band name,” Shrapnel commented on this. “Makes me think of a cumshot that creates mutant babies or something.”
Their music was not very marketable and got virtually no air time, save for the odd specialised internet streaming radio. It wasn’t making them rich by any means, but none of that mattered. They were making the music they wanted to make, and as long as there were a bunch of ponies who liked it enough to buy their records, shirts or tickets to see them perform, it was all good. They were rising in popularity in the scene recently, especially after their tour through Equestria as one of the opening acts for Killproof. It got them a lot of exposure, and the small and humble extreme metal scene in Ranchtown rejoiced at that. Hence why they did the homecoming show earlier.
They spent a long time talking and drinking, Death getting more and more inebriated as the night went on, removing her inhibitions more and more. As they talked about music, what bands they liked and so much more, she placed the fifth empty beer bottle by the side of the couch and smoked her sixth cigarette since she got here. Maybe she was overdoing it a little, but she literally didn’t care one bit. Everything was just a pleasant haze, and it’s not like the others weren’t doing it. Grave had her matched in the beer department and that left him in a very similar state, smoking one cigarette after the other.
Speaking of Grave, she’d catch him staring at her every now and again from the corner of her eye. Whenever she looked back and their gazes met, he’d smile faintly and look away like nothing was wrong. They weren’t leers, like he was checking her out or something. It looked more like he was trying to place her. She subconsciously ended up doing the same thing. There was something about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“I swear,” Shrapnel laughed, getting quite tipsy herself by this point. “Rav and Gristle are like two big kids. You should see how they get on each other’s asses when they’re playing video games.”
“Yeah, because Gristle always plays dirty!” Rav said.
“Git gud, scrub,” Gristle mumbled while looking off the side.
“Oh, fuck right off!” he bit back playfully.
“Not my fault you can’t take a loss, Rav,” the bat pony smiled. “Maybe I’m just the better one!”
“Or maybe you spamming the same cheap attack over and over has something to do with it!”
“Maybe, but I still won, didn’t I?”
Shrapnel then turned to Death and shook her head. “See?” They both snickered softly.
“Well, I should be going before things get heated,” Gristle announced as he hopped down from the table. “Still need to feed the dog before she starts freaking out and eats the carpet again. You coming, Tremor?” The big guy silently nodded and rose from his chair, finishing the rest of his beer with a fast chug and putting the empty bottle on the table. “Yo, Death Metal, it was good to meet ya! If you ever wanna chill, just hit me up, okay?” He extended his fist and Death bumped it with her own.
“Later, Gristle,” she said, then Tremor nodded and flashed her some very firm devil horns, a sign of respect for ponies like them. Death returned them and nodded back.
“Take it easy, guys. Good show tonight!” Grave said, yawning a little afterwards.
“G’night guys!” Gristle said as he exited the room.
“Night! See you tomorrow!” Shrapnel finally said. Tremor closed the door behind him, and then there were only three. Death did wonder why they both left at the same time. Maybe they were roommates or something. She checked her phone and saw that it was now 2:17 AM, and nobody had showed up to ask them to leave so far. Not to mention, she had no idea when Pearl was going to come get her, but it didn’t look like Rav and Shrapnel were going anywhere just yet.
“So, Death. Your girlfriend, Pearl Necklace,” The blue earth pony asked, “what’s she like?”
“Well, I said yes to her proposal, so I obviously like her a lot,” she answered dryly as she took a drag from her cigarette. As a big plume of smoke poured from her mouth and nose, she continued. “She was a spoiled bitch when I first met her. Flaunting her fortune all over the place, I couldn’t stand her. We had one big shitshow of a fight, then one thing led to another and we got wasted in a VIP room and fucked. Weird, isn’t it?”
“And then you got into a relationship with one of the richest ponies in Equestria, who pretty much owns the town now. That is kinda crazy,” said Grave. “She talked to me before to set up this meet and greet. She didn’t strike me as a bitch. If anything, she was nice and very adamant to do this for you.”
Death hummed in agreement and shut her eyes, the alcohol making her head buzz as she took another quick swig. “She got better, I know that. But sometimes…” she bit her lower lip slightly. “I like it when her bitchy side comes out again.”
Rav and Shrapnel raised their eyebrows a little when they noticed the faint blush on her face as she was leaning back into the soft armrest, her eyes closed. Maybe she was just dozing off from the alcohol, but in that moment it looked like she was fantasizing. They looked at each other a little puzzled.
“You mean, like, in bed?” Shrapnel asked, more than a little intrigued now. Death hummed in affirmation. “Oooooh, go on!”
“Ehhhhh, Shrapnel,” Grave interjected, raising his hand a little. “Is that really something you should be digging for? Those sound like private matters to me.”
“Oh come on, don’t be a hypocrite, Rav! You and Gristle are always talking about tits and ass when I’m around. ‘Dude, did you see the one with the big juggs in the front row. I wouldn’t mind having her as a groupie,’” she said in as low a voice she could, doing a mock impression of him.
Grave squinted and glared at her. “How is that the same? That’s just guy talk, we don’t mean anything by it.”
“Heh, sure. Plus, don’t think I didn’t notice how you’ve been eyeballing her all night.”
The black and green haired stallion went a little flustered now, then scoffed and turned his head. “So? At least I’m not the one fishing for bedroom secrets.” When he turned back, he saw Death Metal’s emerald eyes gazing back at him. He couldn’t tell if it was an angry glare or not at first, but then she leered down, and her blush was drawn out further. Just like that, the sexual tension in the air was palpable.
Aided by the booze, Death’s thoughts started to run amok. The memories of her sexy times with her girlfriend began to flood back, as well as her one time escapades with Fable and Winter, and the foursome she had recently with Pearl, Splinter and Cloud. She clenched her legs, but that just made her squirm in such an obvious way. She was so bad at hiding her arousal. Just now she wondered what Grave had buried in those jeans of his, and it made her breath flutter for a moment. She did her best to keep her body under control, but the futility was evident by the way Shrapnel looked back at her.
“Does Pearl give it to you rough?” she asked, her rubber bracelets bunching up as she crawled closer to her.
“Yeah. Really, really rough,” she panted now.
“How often do you fuck?”
“Whenever we can~”
Grave was staring in awe from the single seated couch, watching as Shrapnel was now on top of Death, looking into each other’s eyes, drunk with both alcohol and lust. He swallowed hard. He knew where this was going and it was not something he wanted to miss.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Shrapnel whispered against her muzzle.
“You want a fucking piece of me?”