Aragón at Bronycon: Some Legends are Told, Some Turn to Dust or to Gold · 10:43pm Jul 31st, 2018
Nobody punched me at Bronycon 2018.
All your money was fucking wasted.
Note: While every single thing told here actually happened, and while most conversations are almost verbatim, this blog is a dramatization*. This means details will be added to make everything more literary, and also I’ll probably jumble the order of events here and there because, honestly, my memory is shit.
*As in, told as if it were a story. It doesn't mean it's false. Couple people being sassy at me in Discord saying I'm saying this is fake, when it ain't (ask anybody of the people mentioned here! It's rather accurate actually). Boo. Booooo.
PROLOGUE: THE TRIP
There’s something ethereal about waking up the day you gotta catch a plane. It’s the start of the journey, right, even though it hasn’t technically started. No matter how little you slept, you aren’t really tired – at least in my case, adrenaline is pumping so hard that you feel like you’re floating. You’ve slept less than 4 hours, but you can’t go back to bed.
“SIS. SIS HOLY SHIT. I’M LEAVING THE COUNTRY.”
“Hrrmf.”
“SIS I’M GOING TO BALTIMORE.”
“Hrrmf. So?”
“I AM GOING TO TAKE A PLANE AND THEN I’LL BE AT THE OTHER SIDE OF THE—”
“OH MY GOD WHO GIVES A SHIT.”
Even if it’s 5am and your plane doesn’t take off till noon.
The trip to the airport was a joyride. Half my family phoned me to ask what my plan was at Baltimore.
First, my father:
“Okay.” It’s 9:30am, so he’s at work, but he’d walked out of the office to talk to me about this. “Two things.”
I nod. He can’t see it, this is a phone conversation, but it’s the thought that counts. “Two things.”
“Don’t go to the hospital.”
“…What?”
“When you get hurt, don’t go to the hospital. You know how expensive it is, to spend a week at the hospital in Baltimore? Because I looked it up.”
“When I ge—When I get hurt?” I say. “What, are you expecting me to step off the plane and get immediately run over by a fucking bus?”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay, that’s fair. How much for a week hospitalized?”
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit. Okay.” I pause, look up, make a mental note. ‘Do not get ran over by a bus’. “So what’s the second one?”
“It’s about the souvenirs you wanna buy while you’re there…”
Second caller is my mother.
“Son, your father looked up how much for a week hospitalized, and—”
“He told me already.”
“Oh, good. Also, don’t get any girl pregnant!”
There’s another pause.
I rest my back against the wall. “You know what, Mom? I think you and I have vastly different ideas on what a Brony Convention is going to be like—” I remember the Bronycon Orgy that got cancelled “—but then again okay no yeah, you know what, that’s also fair. No pregnancies.”
“Good, good.”
“No AIDS either.” I frown. “Also, y’know, little distressing how you didn’t mention that?”
“Oh, you know, that’d be your problem, so I don’t really care—but grandchildren? No, no, no, I don’t want no tiny Americans over here. Also, regarding the souvenirs…”
Third caller is my sister.
“Holy shit. Did you know that a week at the Baltimore Hospital is apparently thirty thousand bucks?”
“I’m hanging up.”
I make it to the airport.
Right, so this is the plan: Fly to Toronto (that’s a 7-hours flight), wait five hours, fly to Baltimore. Bitchin. I get in the plane—ooh there’s a plug! I can charge my phone!—and I get ready for the trip.
A girl sits right next to me. She doesn’t even look in my direction. She just immediately plugs her phone, opens Instagram, and starts browsing it. We take flight. I fall asleep.
I wake up five hours later. The girl hasn’t moved a fuckcing inch. She’s still browsing Instagram, she has clearly not even unpacked her food – it’s right there on her trail, looking exactly like it was five hours ago – and her phone is still charging. It’s plainly clear that I’m not gonna have a chance to plug my phone at any point.
I still take it out, though. The plane has Wi-Fi. I Whatsapp my sister.
“You know,” I write, “I think I’ve just met my first millenial.”
“You’re a millenial.”
“No, I mean a true millenial.” I look to my right. The girl to my other side is watching a movie on a tablet. “Oh, shit,” I write. “This other girl is watching Sherlock Gnomes!”
“???”
“The movie? It’s definitely Sherlock Gnomes, I’m sure of it. I recognize the main character from the dab gif.”
I post the dab gif.
This contact has blocked you
I get to Toronto. It’s pretty cool! I like the airport. It’s nice.
“Your flight to Baltimore has been cancelled, sir.”
Oh god dammit.
Singularity Dream was a superhero here. I got rebooked to fucking New York. You’d think Washington DC is closer if my destination is Baltimore, and you know what? I’d agree! God, fuck the Toronto airport. I ended up landing in New York.
(I looked both sides before stepping out of the plane).
And Singularity Dream drove aaaaall the way there, and then aaall the way back to Baltimore for me to get there. Driving through Manhattan at night is hell if you’re the driver, but amazing if you’re a tourist. For the first two hours, I kept trying to have an actual conversation but I kept getting distrHOLY FUCK IS THAT A SEVEN-ELEVEN.
“Yeah.”
HAHAH I HAD NEVER SEEN ONE. WHY IS IT CALLED SEVEN-ELEVEN.
“…Good question, actually! I guess it might be sort of a 24/7 thing, how long they’re open, but that wouldn’t make sense unl—”
HOLY FUCK IS THAT A JIMMY JOHN’S.
After two hours of this, mid-sentence, I just slump and fall asleep. I'm too tired. In my dreams, I can hear Singularity Dream sighing with relief.
THE FIRST DAY
I stay at LazyReader’s house; he’s a great guy, but more on him later. We go to Bronycon and he walks me to Quills and Sofas, because the first thing I do is to immediately get lost.
“Dude, the doors are numbered. Just follow the signs to 328?”
“I’M BAD WITH DIRECTIONS, OKAY.”
More on this later, too. We make it to Quills and Sofas.
Quills and Sofas (from now on abbreviated as QnS) was the place where Fimfic authors hung out whenever they didn’t know where to go. It was a room with six big round tables and a bunch of typewriters, and everybody went there to meet the rest of the Fimfic bunch. There were no quills, there were no sofas, and sometimes it was almost empty.
That very first time I walked in, it wasn’t empty.
God dammit this is EXACTLY what mom warned me about
Man, talk about being overwhelmed. At Bronycon you wear a badge with your name, but it’s really easy for it to get flipped over, so you can’t see who’s who. I was wearing mine right, but everybody else wasn’t—so from my perspective, an angry mob of enormous Americans is suddenly surrounding me. My tiny European instinct is on Red Alert. THE COLONIES, it screams. WE'RE AT THE COLONIES. THESE ARE REBELS. RUN.
I didn't run, though, and -- surprise! -- nobody mugged me, or stabbed me, or impregnated me. Turns out most folks just wanted a handshake, or a hug, or to say ‘hey there!’ Djthomp picks me up and twirls me around like a princess. FanOfMostEverything pats my shoulder and I am keenly aware that he is probably twice as strong as I am, even if he doesn’t look the part.
I can’t count all the people I meet here. Super Trampoline, FanOfMostEverything, Bloons, Elusive Badgerpony, Regidar, Majin Syeekoh, Swan Song – I’ll spend most of Bronycon with these last few guys – Sapphire, Crystal Wishes, Anzel, Iryerris, Nen… The list goes on and on. I’ll talk about all of them in more depth later. Octavia Harmony wasn’t at the con yet, but he’d arrive the next day.
Singularity Dream kept hitting three-pointers here, making sure he’d earn the MVP badge by a lanslide. He printed a copy of Evil is Easy, Governing is Harder and got pretty much every writer who walked by the room to sign it:
And then there’s Pascoite. He sees me, and then he gives me a bag with a tiny bit of pascoite, the actual mineral – it’s just a thing he does– and then as a special gift, he hands me a crystal of aragonite.
“Holy shit,” I say. “This is a surprise!”
He just smiles, knowingly. “Glad to hear that.”
“Thank you very much! You really didn’t have to.” Pause. Frown. I look around the crystal a bit, taking it in. “Uh, where did you even get this from?”
“Oh, you know. A dealer.”
“…A dealer? Wait, what do you mean, a dealer? What kind of d—”
I look at Pascoite.
Pascoite looks at me.
He keeps on smiling.
“…A dealer,” I say.
“A dealer!” he says.
I walk out of the room, thinking, gosh, Pascoite is a total lad. Also, judging by that stare, I am convinced he would kill a man if he had to.
I’m by Vendor Hall, the place where all the merchandise is sold, looking upwards. Majin is with me. Also looking upwards.
“Man,” I say. “That’s a lot of fuckpillows I’m seeing around.”
“Yep,” he says.
“Like—holy fuck.”
“Yep.”
“I wasn’t expecting this much softcore pornography at Bronycon.”
“Yeah. That was your first mistake.” Something catches Majin’s eye, and his face suddenly becomes sharper, twisted. There’s a twinkle in his eye. “Oh?”
“Hm?” I follow his gaze. There’s a booth by us, one that I assume is a joke. Tell me about your OC – 5 bucks, it reads. You pay and then you get to blabber about your ponysona. “Odd. I—holy shit look at that. Look at that Sweetie Belle fuckpillow.”
This gets Majin to look away from the booth, but only slightly—the twinkle in his eye is still there. When he sees what I’m pointing at, however, it seems like he’s forgotten it all. “Wow,” he says. “You can clearly see where they’ve edited out her vagina so it’s safe-for-work.”
“Jesus christ,” I say. I hear my phone ring, and pick it up. Regidar. “Yo,” I say. “Perfect timing, I was about to call you. Maj and I wanted to go grab a bite with some guys, wanna come with us?”
“Sure, where are you?”
“Oh, uh. At Vendor Hall.”
“Vendor Hall is enormous, dude. Where exactly?”
I look around, trying to find a landmark. There’s no use, everything looks the same—except for a thing. So I just frown, and talk slowly over the phone. “We’re, uh.” I squint. “We’re under Sweetie Belle’s vagina?”
“Holy shit, I know exactly where that is.” Regidar hangs up.
He finds us in under five minutes. It’s easy to spot Sweetie Belle’s vagina from far away; it’s pretty big, and hung up rather high.
That’s Bronycon for ya.
The water I’m drinking has too much ice; it gives me brainfreeze. “Aaaah! Fuck!” I say between gritted teeth after putting the glass down. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, that hurt!”
“ARAGÓN!” Sapphire is a tiny Asian girl with a voice like glass. It’s nice, and it can be really pretty, but it can also stab you through the ears and leave you bleeding. “DON’T!”
I cringe. “Don’t what?”
“THERE ARE CHILDREN RIGHT NEXT TO US!”
We’re at a classic American diner – Johnny Rockets – eating a burger, so I can have a True American Experience. It’s me, Regidar, Majin Syeekoh, Sapphire, Swan Song, and Iryerris.
…And some children, apparently. I look around, and yeah, there are some by the tables. There’s also the waiter’s kid, who’s attending some tables. Adorable lil’ dude, must be like, seven or so.
“Okay.” I look back at Sapphire. “There are kids. So?”
“DON’T SWEAR IN FRONT OF CHILDREN!”
“Oh my god, Sappho, who gives a shit.”
“WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?!”
“Aragón,” says Swan, browsing Discord on the phone, barely looking at me. “You’re such a bad influence.”
“What?” I look around, everybody’s looking at me. “What, is this like, a thing? You don’t swear in front of children in America?”
“YOU DON’T!”
“That’s so fucking dumb, though?”
“ARAGÓN!” Sapphire yells again.
Irye, Regi, and Majin all look at me with varying degrees of bemusement and pity. “Yeah, man,” Irye says. “I guess just try not to talk like that that much.”
I sigh. “Shit, okay, I guess I’ll—“ I blink. “Ah, fuck. I just did it ag—AH, FUCK!” I cover my mouth with my hands. “SHIT!”
All the children are looking in our direction at this point.
I uncover my mouth. Sapphire is glaring daggers at me, the rest are all laughing. “Uh,” I say. “Sorry? I’ll try to behave.”
Majin sighs, taps my shoulder. “Sorry, guys!” he says to the children. “He’s European! He’s European, that’s just how they do this!”
Irye is laughing, whispering “oh my god” to himself, and then he suddenly lights up. “By the way!” he says. “I’ve got you a present!”
“Oooh?” This gets my attention. “What is it?”
He gives me my present.
The whole table is laughing. The only one who’s not giving me shit by this point is Regidar. Calmly, he grabs a candy from my present – after I offer it to him – and chuckles as he learns why raspberries and blackberries are a sore spot of mine.
Regidar in person tends to dwarf the rest of the room. He’s the quintessential surfer dude. There’s a mop of blonde hair on his head, a sort of swagger in the way he walks that only Majin can match – and by the end of the convention, Majin will have terrible back pain from it – and I am fairly sure he hasn’t surfed in his entire life.
He comes from Hawaii, though. I suppose that must be it.
Then there’s Swan by my side, of course. Swan is the only person who rivals Regidar and Majin when it comes to presence. I sip some water as I think this, noting it down mentally for the blog I’ll write when I get h—OH SHIT FUCK BRAINFREEZE SHIT FUCK FUCK.
AGH.
“ARAGÓN!” Sappho again with the earstabbing. “OH MY GOD!”
Swan chuckles. “Aragón, it’s just water, holy shit. You’re such a little bitch.”
Then, to the Discord chat, using voice-to-text: “Yo, Aragón is such a little bitch!”
Everybody chuckles again, except for me. I take my chance. I just look at Swan with feigned horror, but also with the hint of a smile.
“Swan,” I say, hand to the side of my face. “Gosh. You can’t say that. There are children nearby.”
Swan slaps me right across the face.
Back at Vendor Hall.
“HOLY SHIT,” I yell. “IS THAT SAILOR MOON.”
I run to a booth, to see a pin with an obscure symbol in it—Sailor Moon, indeed. It’s something related to the wand the main character used in Season 3 or so, and then pins of all the characters. “Oh my fucking God,” I say. “There’s Sailor Moon shit in here!”
There’s a pause as the rest of the people with me catch up.
Then I look at them. “You know,” I say. “I got really excited back there? But self-awareness just kicked in and wow now I’m just embarrassed.”
Swan has caught up all the way while the vendor looks at me weird. “Aw,” Swan says after looking at the pins. “No Chibiusa. That’s a shame.”
“That’s a relief, you mean,” I say. “Chibiusa is shit.”
Swan slaps me across the face.
“Ouch! Hey!”
“My girlfriend likes Chibiusa.”
I rub my face. “Well, then your girlfriend has shit tast—”
Swan slaps me.
“Ouch! Okay. Okay. See.” I frown. “Right, see—the joke here is, I say that, and then you say ‘well of course she has shit taste, she chose m—’”
“And then Swan slapped you again.”
“I kept thinking that it’s a shame it wasn’t a punch instead; that way my followers would’ve gotten what they paid for. But yeah Swan just slapped me again.”
“Right. You’re aware you deserved that, right?”
I’m at QnS again. Sitting down with some folks—GaryOak is there, and he looks imposing; by the end of the con we’ll both wish we hung out with each other more often. R5h, too, and he’s sitting down and talking to me and Sapphire. R5h is interesting, because his internet persona and his real life persona don’t quite match; in Discord, he’s demure, almost clinical, sometimes. He’s the voice of reason. In person he’s got enough manic energy to get electricity to Puerto Rico all winter.
Majin is there, too. Majin is always there. He taps my shoulder and distracts me from the conversation. “Hey,” he says, and points to a girl who’s right by our side. “This is Door Belle.”
“Hi!” the girl says. “I’m—I really like your blogs!”
I light up at this. Door Belle – the name rings a belle. Either a Discord chat or a Fimfic comment; I don’t know why, but I do remember liking this one a lot. So I get up, greet her, grab her by the shoulders and kiss both her cheeks. “Hi there!” I say. “Door Belle! It’s so nice to see you!”
Pause.
Majin is staring at me, eyes wide.
Door Belle is staring at me, eyes wide.
I’m still grabbing Door Belle’s shoulders.
I think at this point you can clearly see the Youtube buffering video twirly thing in my eyes as the gears slowly click, and then I let go of Belle. “Ah, shit!” I say. “Sorr—”
“He’s European, sorry, sorry.” Majin walks in, takes the awkwardness away, pats me on the head. “Sorry, it’s just how they say hi, he’s European.” Like a disappointed mother.
“SHIT I’M SO SORRY.”
“It’s okay! It’s okay.”
“FORGOT I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT IN AMERICA.”
“He’s European,” Majin says. “Very European.” Looks at me. “Aragón.”
“I’M REALLY EUROPEAN SORRY.”
Door Belle eventually laughs this off, we talk a bit about my blogs. I think, okay. Be careful from now on. No buses, and no kissing women to say hi. Bad Aragón. Booo. Booo.
I can’t really help it, though. It’s how we say hi. I’m telling this to R5h, who is not quite believing me, I think. But for real! It’s how we say hi in—
“Well, well! I knew I recognized that accent.”
I turn around, and Bookplayer is there. I immediately light up again. I like Bookplayer’s blogs a lot, she’s one of the few users I follow on the website—and I’m quick to say hi to her. “Oh my God, you’re Bookplayer!” I say. “I’m a big fan!”
“And you’re Aragón, right?”
“Yeah!”
“Glad you could come.”
“Is my accent that obvious?” I ask, smiling. I kinda know this already, though; in my head I sound perfectly fine, but when I hear recordings of my voice in English, I sound like I am constantly gargling semen. But, y’know, I’m not gonna tell Bookplayer that. “Thought I could blend in.”
“It is!” she says, smiling.
Bookplayer is tiny in person, and looks—honestly?—like a mother. Which, I mean, makes sense. Other users are quite different from how you imagine them in person; Bookplayer and Bad Horse are not like them. They’re exactly what they sound like. But more on that later.
Some more pleasantries are exchanged, and then I’m about to leave; the author dinner is waiting for us, and I promised Wanderer D that we’d talk in Spanish to each other to scare the gringos. “Real pleasure to meet you,” I say, going in for the cheek kisses. “It’s been a—”
WAIT HOLD ON. MENTAL NOTE. MENTAL NOTE.
I stop myself before Bookplayer even notices that I was gonna go all Spaniard. She leaves, and I turn around to find Majin looking at me.
I’m smug as hell. “Did you see that?” I ask. “Pretty smooth, huh?”
Majin seems unimpressed. “You’re proud because you didn’t accidentally harass Bookplayer?”
“Hell yeah I am!”
There’s a small pause.
“You know, on second thought it’s kinda sad how this is an actual accomplishment for m—”
“You should stop talking.”
“I really should!”
Sad news: I can’t see Wanderer D at the author dinner. We’re eating at an irish tavern, and it’s impossible for us all to sit at the same table. I end up having lunch just with Majin, Regidar, and R5h, but it’s really fun.
Happy news: it’s in this tavern that I will get to meet Bad Horse for the first time in my life.
It’s been raining cats and dogs for a while, but the rain stops just enough for us to get to the tavern from the convention center and avoid getting soaked.
“Why are you looking both sides before crossing? Walking light’s on.”
“Gotta be extra careful. Made a mental note, you see? I don’t have thirty thousand dollars.”
“What?”
I get a shepherd’s pie and a salad at the tavern; I can’t finish either of them. You Americans eat way too much. At one point I go to the bathroom, and when I come back, someone stops me.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Bad Horse. I’m glad you could make it.”
We shake hands. He has a strong grip.
I said earlier that Bookplayer and Bad Horse look exactly how you expect them to look like; and I stand by it. Bad Horse speaks slowly and carefully, as if measuring every word he’s going to say. He has a soft voice, one that’s good for talking, but perfect for explaining. He sounds and looks like a university professor. I immediately take a liking to him, but it’s almost hard to speak when you’re talking to someone older–I am painfully aware of my baby face. I got carded when I asked for a cider earlier.
(I am also painfully aware of my own idiocy, but I’m European? So that doesn’t count.)
“I’m Aragón!” I say. He already knows it, but it’s the thought that counts. “Thanks!”
Bad Horse immediately goes shifty eyed. “We don’t… hate each other, do we?” he asks, pointing at his chest, then at mine, then at his again. “We get along.”
“What? Yeah!”
“Because a lot of people hate me.”
Yeah okay I can relate to that. “Nah, not at all! I am a big fan of your blogs, I love to read through them all!”
“Right.” Bad Horse pauses. He is, as I said, careful when talking. I let my mouth blabber, he’s precise. He makes sure he uses only the right words, one at a time. His grip is as strong as ever, right up until we stop shaking hands. We’ll move on to talk about fiction (horror, in particular) soon enough, and it will be great, but before that, he repeats, one last time: “Because a lot of people hate me.”
In that moment, I wonder who would win in a fight. Pascoite, or Bad Horse?
I only come up with an answer once the talk is over and I’ve sat down with my friends. I drink some cider, and I muse on this, and then it clicks.
Regidar.
Regidar would definitely win.
We’re walking out of the tavern. Don’t worry; by the end of Bronycon, I will have talked to Wanderer D, and I will scare me some gringos. But first, I see that Majin and Regidar are sharing something I’ve never seen.
“You vape?” I ask, pointing at the odd tubular thing they’re putting in their mouth. They’re blowing smoke after sucking on it, so I assume, that’s either an ecig or they’re sucking a dragon dildo. “Didn’t know you vaped.”
“Yeh.”
“We do.”
“Right. Forgot you two are fucking losers.” We’re walking back to the tavern, because it looks like it’ll rain again soon, and we rather not go through that. I point at the ecig. “Can I try it?”
“Sure.” Majin hands me the thing.
I look at it, idly wondering how can a person unironically start to vape and still look at themselves in the mirror. I suppose these two solve that by being unable to look at their own face anyway. “What flavor is it?” I ask, right before putting it in my mouth.
I take a drag.
“Tobacco flavor.”
BLAGH. AGCHK. GACGHJGK GAGKCJK GAGKCAJKGK.
AGHGK.
GGAAAGJK.
I put the thing down. “OH MY FUCKING LORD,” I yell between coughs. I’m crying a little, and Majin takes the ecig back. “WHAT THE FUCK.”
“What. Is it too strong.”
“YOU HAVE EVERY FUCKING FLAVOR IN THE WORLD AT YOUR DISP—GAGCK GAKGCH JAGGGHJ JAGJ—AND YOUR FUCKING DISPOSAL.” I stop to take a breath. “AND YOU CHOOSE TOBACCO.”
“Yes.”
“FUCKING CHOOSE DONUTS OR MINT OR SOMETHING. YOU BORING SHIT.”
“Nah that’s for pussies.”
GAGHK. KAKCJG. AGGHKJ.
“Yo.” Majin looks at Regidar and points at me. “I think he’s dying. I guess 36mg was too much.”
“We should get him some Gatorade?”
“I’VE NEVER—GAGH—NEVER HAD GATORADE BEFORE ACTUALLY.”
“That sounds like Gatorade then.”
There’s a vending machine at Bronycon that actually sells Gatorade, so right there and then, I have the first Gatorade of my life.
“This tastes like gummy bear piss.”
That offends Swan ever-so-slightly. Majin will finish my Gatorade; I couldn’t finish the fucking thing. Both call me a little bitch. The Gatorade doesn’t sit well in my stomach; I need to run to the bathroom, shit my lungs out. Swan and Majin point and laugh. Majin is nonchalantly vaping and drinking Gatorade while this happens.
Both call me a little bitch. Again.
There’s a panel soon enough that we’re gonna attend, so we go to QnS and chill a bit before that. Sapphire and Swan are with us, but I lose them; Regidar wanders off, R5h disappeared ages ago.
I find myself alone for the first time in ages—and then I notice that a person near me has a badge with a name I recognize. “Bookish Delight?” I ask, pointing at it.
Bookish smiles. “Yes!”
“Nice to meet you!”
Bookish Delight is—I’m sorry, this is the only way to say it in words—a darling. He’s charming and happy, he talks with childish glee and looks at stuff with unmitigated wonder. You can’t not like Bookish. He’s what dreams are made of. We chit-chat, the kind of pleasant nothingness that’s impossible to remember after the fact. I just know I was relaxed, I felt right at home.
Then he awkwardly laughs and points at my badge. “Sorry, but… Who are you, again?”
Fucking irony: it’s flipped around. How the tables turn.
Man I didn’t ask Bookish for permission before making this. I’M SURE HE’LL FIND IT IN GOOD TASTE.
I flip it around and fingergun him. “Sorry, man,” I say. “I’m Aragón!”
Bookish reacts wonderfully.
He opens his mouth, comically, then slaps his face and points at me. “You’re Aragón!” he says. “The Aragón! Oh my God!” He laughs—it’s contagious—then looks around. “Oh my God, I’m just walking around and talking with all these legends, it’s unreal!”
One can’t help but laugh when hearing the word ‘legend’, but this really makes you wonder. Bookish Delight is one of those names you immediately recognize, and here’s this rightful fucker, acting as if Aragón were someone you give a shit about. Still, I’m only human. This is really flattering. I’m delighted.
“Geez, right back at you,” I say. “Man, this is so great! Are you coming to Majin’s panel?”
“Sure am!”
Along the way, more people have joined the conversation—one of them, Zyrian, hilariously defines himself as ‘the guy who looks like his own OC’. One almost feels tempted to ask, all sassy-like, if he’s supposed to look like someone else’s OC. But if you did that, he’d win the talk. He’s seen it coming. He actually, indeed, does look like his OC. His skin is bi-tonal, it’s dark and light at the same time, and the OC reflects this. You can’t sass this man. He’s already sassed you back.
He’s an an insightful person, and from what I hear, a pretty good editor. He sends me a private message – ‘call me if you need anything edited’ – and I immediately write it down.
Look at me, fucking networking at Bronycon. Hellooooo.
“You know,” Bookish says then. “I have to say—you talk exactly how you write! It’s like, amazing. And you talk so fast!”
“And I sound like I’m gargling semen at all times.”
“Yeah! Just like in your blogs!”
I’m serious: you can’t not like Bookish.
The panel’s name is Good Clean Fun. It’s about adult humor. I get in with LazyReader and Mitch H.
Mitch H is big enough to rival, even dwarf, people like Djthomp, or Singularity Dream. He looks like your uncle, the one who probably knows how to skin a deer. He buys me a beer, gets something stronger for himself—“lightweight,” he muses, after I admit I’m getting dizzy with just the one—and we sit down.
Good Clean Fun is hosted by Aquaman, Majin, and GAPJaxie. It’s a pretty good panel. They’re all charismatic people, the panel is well-researched. For the nth time, I lament not being able to plan this whole thing in advance, and not being able to host a panel myself. I wonder how it’d go. I wonder what I’d call it.
…Probably just, ‘Little Bitch’, to be completely honest.
The panel ends. We stay there for a bit, then we walk out—and I run into Horse Voice.
Horse Voice is tall, and he wears a jacket with his avatar on the back. He got Scribbler to sign it; he’ll tell you even if you don’t ask for it. He’s so glad he got it. We’re all, I think, a little bit envious.
Horse Voice and I hit it off soon enough, as he’s charmingly blushed when I mention I’m a big fan of his work. His reply is, almost word for word: “Hi, thanks, I am terrible at taking compliments.” I think we all can relate.
He’s tall, and looks like a skinhead who works at a kindergarten. I add him to my mental list of Fimfic People I should Never Fight because Holy Shit He Probably Knows Kung-fu or Something. It’s an ever-growing list.
The man behind Biblical Monsters moves with nervousness, he tries to look at everything at the same time. He has a small smile, but one that comes from the heart. I tell him he’s the only writer I know, alongside Kitsunerisu, who can reliably pull off pony horror. I wonder, this time without telling him, if he’s aware of how fucking impressive that is. I am fairly sure he’s not. Such is the tragedy of being a smart lad, I guess.
He laughs at this, and then has no idea what to say, because—holy shit he is bad at compliments. Dude. Dude just fingergun me and wink and then awkwardly change topics, it’s what I do. I mean I know it’s awkward but fuck it people are gonna slobber all over you anyway, you might as well roll with it.
He then says something:
“You know—no offense, of course? But you sound nothing alike your blogs! I know you’re Aragón, you sound Spanish and all, but I can’t quite mesh the person in front of me with the, with your internet persona?” He points at me, up and down, waving his hand. “You’re so, so jaded in there, so ‘I have to put up with all this bullshit’, and in person you’re so happy!”
I laugh. “You’ve read the romance blogs?”
“Yeah, I think!”
“It shows!” I remember the Harem Comedy blog. I get flashbacks. My smile fades. “Shit, man. It shows.”
I like Horse Voice a lot. He looks and sounds like he’d make a great friend. I suppose that goes without saying.
Too many things happened during the first day; this blog can’t go on forever. But after this, I walked out, and I went home to sleep. And while I was at it, I noticed the people around me, and it got me thinking.
“I’m walking among legends!”
Legends.
Hmm.
I wonder, as I walk out the hall, great writers around me—there’s Aquaman, that’s Majin over there, I can see Horse Voice still, Shakespearicles just walked by—if in ten years anybody will remember this. I know I will, though. This community is niche as hell; us writers constantly joke at Bronycon that being Fimfic famous is like being great at masturbating: good for you, but, innit a bit sad?
But still, y’know. These people are important to me.
Look, Fimfic unironically changed my life. MLP is why I know how to speak English; I might get a job because of it. Fimfic is the reason I learned how to write, and I definitely graduated because of that. Literally the only reason I managed to get to Baltimore in the first place was because of my fanfiction.
Fimfiction.net is a community. And, like all communities, it has mythologies. We have heroes, and villains, and stories. We take sides, we pick fights, and we make friends. It sounds corny—it is—but sometimes corny things are true. That’s how reality works.
Some of the people here, they’re greater than life in my mind. Because shit like My Little Dashie, like Background Pony, like Past Sins – they’re not stories. They’re pillars. They’re something we all know about. We might like it, we might not like it, but we all know about them. They’re mainstays. They’re important.
And I’m walking among them.
In this moment we’re all just humans, and we all look the same to the common outsider. Here there are no followers, and no avatars, and no horsefame, fickle as it is. The badges flip over by themselves, and all you have to do to make a friend is walk up and start a conversation.
I’m thinking all this, and I know that in ten years, I’ll remember everything.
This is what legends are made of. This is how legends are born. And right now, in a way, I’m one of them.
To be continued.
Next time: Crystal and Anzel, and Nen and Bloons, and Iryerris and all the people who didn’t appear here. The panels, and all that went down there. The other author dinner, the scared gringos, and the end of every story that was started here.
Honesty before all else: the phone conversation depicted here was actually with Majin, and the one who pointed out that Sweetie Belle's vagina was clearly edited out was Regidar. They're switched around in here, although to be honest both said similar things as the con went on.
For flow reasons, and for other reasons that will be more clear later in part 2, I simply switched them around and simplified the events slightly.
Also, if you met me at the con and don't see yourself here, PM me if you wanna make sure I remember you (but chances are I was gonna mention you in Day 2 anyway; Day 1 was long enough as-is).
GATORADE IS GOOD YOU COWARD
Holy fuckin' shit Bronycon sounds like a blast. Stupid intercontinental travel.
4911429
He said, drinking piss.
It was a pleasure organizing your ass over here.
Wow, even your blogs are gems.
But did you get any boys pregnant?
Super Trampoline's signature looks exactly like I'd expect, as well.
I want to make something very clear.
Aragon conspired to program a robot in my Discord server to post that gif every time it detects the word 'dab'.
cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/229042330009600001/473989568178159616/unknown.png
cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/229042330009600001/473989742548090901/unknown.png
If I'm not in Day 2 your ass is grass
4911446
How on earth could you not be in there? There was just not enough time here, but you've got your own spicy description and everything.
4911445
And it NEVER stopped being funny. Especially because I think me and Vlade are literally the only people who ever enjoyed it.
I didn't have the chance to really drive it home in person, but: you are an absolute treasure and I was very happy to meet you, even if briefly.
Oh my god.
This is my shtick, at least in situations where it won't come across as assault.
The guys running this booth are my good friends, they made like 200 bucks off it.
I totally missed Bookplayer at the convention and I am sad.
I also have yet to meet Bookish and that makes me sad too.
Glad we got to meet at Quills. You have an admirably refined demeanour and air of class about you in person - and on here you just speak my fucking language.
Oh, tell Regidar i'm sorry for bringing so much alcohol to Trick's party, tee hee hee
Nah, but I know someone who could probably skin a deer. She traps beaver, and tans deerskin, and could break me over her knee if I sassed her. She's mildy amused by the whole pony thing - she's an actual equestrian, complete with the boots and hat and outfit.
You were pretty much exactly what it said on your internet tin; I suppose you could call that internet persona integrity? Honestly, both BronyCons I've been to have been refreshingly light on personality drama; not every fandom's cons can have that said of them.
4911452
I fuckin' hate it
I blocked the bot over it
Go drink some Gatorade and shit your lungs out
I'm super glad I got to meet you!
If you for some reason find yourself in Michigan (Home of myself, Wanderer D, Admiral Biscuit, and ROBCakeran53,) you for sure have a place to stay.
We'd also have to go out for drinks. That is a must.
Also, am I really that sassy?
As I understand it, 7-11 is named that because back in the days before stores were regularly open late at night those were the hours. Now most of them are 24 hours, but if everything else in town closed at 5 or 8, a store that was open untill 11 was... well, convenient. A convenience store, as it were.
And it was great meeting you. I wish we'd crossed paths more. Of course, I kind of had the feeling I came across as a mom (I have no idea when that happened. Beware, kids!), so I was somewhat aware that there were probably much cooler people who wanted to talk to you.
I wouldn't have felt harassed if you'd been European at me. I mean, first, you're European, and second, I hug. I hugged Bad Horse at least three times over the weekend (though once was at Ghost's request, so it was European-by-proxy.)
4911469
Who's dick do i have to suck to get ROB down here next year?
4911472
Don't worry, he'll be there. By force if necessary. We all will make sure of it
4911469 Aragon should definitely come. Rob and Admiral would teach him how to fix American cars with tape, possibly how to shoot guns... we could have drinking competitions... talk writing... have cooking competitions... would be fun!
The only thing I regret was not carrying you princess style. You know I could have, so, you better be back next year so we can settle that.
Or, you know, we could meet somewhere else since we're both actually European and shit. That would probably be easier.
It was a pleasure meeting you! Unfortunately, I got stuck with the one panel slot you definitely wouldn't be able to go to, because it and the adult humor one were the only writing panels put against each other, and how can Aragon not go to the adult humor one? It would be blasphemy.
Also, Bronycon is one of the few places in the world where I could be considered a good bet in a fight.
Having met Bookish, he is a class act. Also, I really enjoy your blogs.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS HURTS MY SOUL TO READ, I WANTED TO BE THERE AND MEET YOU AND NOW I LOST THAT CHANCE FOREVER!!! FBBFLFLFLFBBNFA;LKJDF- That was a really cute picture of your reaction getting the candy, handsome man~
Was great meeting you, though I didn't directly introduce myself... partially because I didn't know it was you at first and Majin was like 'that's him'. Wing introduced everyone though, so close enough. Awesome that you got to make it and not get hit by a bus.
...And goddammit I remember that Sweetie pillow but didn't look that close. It's going to haunt me now.
Unless you struggle to lift tissues, that definitely isn't the case.
I thought I saw someone holding a print version of Evil is Easy! Ugh, can't believe I never signed the winner of a contest I ran.
I know, right? Is the vendor hall just implicitly 18 and up, or do parents do scouting runs first so they know which bits to avoid? Or maybe that guy that sold custom goggles just offers child-sized ones with cardboard lenses.
...
Oh god, I just remembered the three IDW artists that were there this year. I'm... pretty sure they didn't have direct line of sight to any of the porn?
You were already in the Hall of the Hanging Vagina. I'd have thought you were long past embarrassment.
Heh. We got the same thing at the pub. Of course, you ordering the same amount of food as me... Yeah, that wasn't going to end well. We need that much to fuel our giant American bodies.
You would make an excellent wizard on the Discworld.
Entirely accurate.
Bookish is indeed amazing, as is Horse Voice.
I do wish I'd spent more time with or at least around you. You were just kind of in the corner of my eye over the course of the con. Heck, I can't even be mad you went to Good Clean Fun instead of my panel. Given the choice between adult humor and how to write a story in as few words as possible, I know what you're going to choose.
I know we didn’t interact a ton but I’m glad I got to meet you and also drink your coffee. Look forward to the rest of this blog series.
4911442
My IRL handwriting is indeed shit.
As the convention went on I know I got more and more annoyed about the amount of near porn on open display in the vendor hall. Particularly the CMC dakis, but the regular ones too. Not a good look for the fandom, and I'd swear it was worse than in previous years.
There's a reason I still try to read all of your blogs, long after I could keep up with this site's output.
Yesssss
"Okay, I'm at the welcome pavilion by the luggage claim."
"Okay, see you there."
Go there, no sign of him.
"Excuse me, miss airport employee, is there more than one of these?"
"Yes there is!"
"Son of a bi**h!"
Then I speed-walk from one end of the airport to the other. Again.
33.media.tumblr.com/0c28131b4cbdf30e7e6611dd1aec13c0/tumblr_njj397Y3KU1rqrq7ho1_500.gif
4911550
cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/250761547566022656/466107317914697729/sailor_moon_maracas.gif
Darnit, I was close, but I got distracted and you got away before I could give you a hug.
Ahem. A very manly hug, of course. Great to see you there.
78.media.tumblr.com/f375ed8bdf3495c6d438cdba35d3b3ad/tumblr_okx53361Nf1rkcev7o3_400.gif
I had fun too.
oh and yeah as someone who likes Gatorade (and whose biggest vice is gummy bears) that is bar none the most accurate description of the drink I've ever read
Oh my god, there's more? This is the best thing I've read in possibly ever. XD All of this was worth it, I'm so glad you got to go to Bronycon so we could get this.
My money's on Pascoite, though I wouldn't put it past Bad Horse to win via underhanded means somehow.
A more fitting descriptor of Zyrian I have never seen.
Damn now I really want to go...
Man. I’ve been fortunate enough to go to BronyCon every year, and after a while you kind of fall into a routine. Press stuff, panel stuff, Q&S stuff, “Good to see you again” stuff, “Hey you’re new cool to meet you finally” stuff...
And then you write this and I read it, and I’m reminded so palpably—almost painfully—of how INCREDIBLE BronyCon was the first year I went. How many names I couldn’t believe I was connecting to faves, how mindblowing all the merch in the merch hall, the fact that fuck me in the fun hole you can do a panel on writing here and people actually come and listen; I remember literally making a list on my phone of every single person I met just so I could remember to gush about them on FIMFic later. In total seriousness, I was on my way out of the fandom in 2013, and that one convention turned me around completely at a time when I sorely needed it.
I’m excited for next year and going out with a bang, but it’s blogs like this—peeps like you—who remind me why I stuck around. Reading this felt like being back at BronyCon again for the first time: just as wild, just as crazy, and just as much indicative to me as it was to you that whatever the hell all this really is, it’s something truly special that nothing else in my life will ever quite be like again.
Anyway, I came here to say that I have a habit of arm-wrestling people I see for the first time at BronyCon, and I didn’t get to do that with you this year so that’s my bad. Gotta come back for the last hurrah so we can take care of that.
I’m 8-0 all-time, for the record.
OH MY GOD, I WAS MENTIONED BY ARAGON! MY LIFE IS COMPLETE!
Also, gatorade is amazing and vape *is* disgusting.
*reads the blog hoping for a mention*
*is not mentioned*
*Real Life Lurking has been upgraded by +2 points!*
Naw, but I'd not expect such. I'm one of those randoms who gushed over you and then faded into the back because... well... you just said it better than I ever could:
Gosh... Right in the feels, that. That's every Bronycon for me, even if I've been to Baltimore every-
I MISSED SHAKESPEARICLES?! DAMNIT, I WANTED TO CHILL WITH HIM AGAIN AND TALK CLOP- I mean shop! I knew I should have gone to Trick's party instead of taking pictures of Crystal and Anzel outside the Gala, charging Pinkie Pie's phone, and trying to draw with NCMares...
4911476
Ooooo! Can I come too? I want to see Biscuit in his natural environment. And maybe cook something.
4911602
/
spooky voicehypnotic voiceYouuuu waaaant toooo cooome toooo Bronyyyyyuycooooon...
Youuuu wiiiiill doooo so neeeeeext yeeeeaaar...
Paaaaaaaaay noooooo attennnnnnnntiooooooon to the Biscuuuuuuuit behiiind youuuuu wiiiiith the PresentPerfect-siiiiiiiized saaaaaack of hooooooldiiiiing...
Ohhhhhwoooooooeeeeuuu...!
Had I known you were looking for someone to punch you, I would have gladly done so.
Also, where the hell were you all con? We only saw each other for the hello-goodbye as you were making your farewell rounds.
As a dude who has distance-hiked, and who volunteers for Search and Rescue — basically, one of the small class of people who could credibly want Gatorade on an I.V. drip [1] — I have to say it's a good sign that it tasted like gummy bear piss.
Gatorade has the bizarre property that it only tastes good if you need it. If you were dehydrated and low in electrolytes, it would have been like the nectar of the gods gently brushing against your palate.
As for the rest, sure sounds like it was an awesome experience! I'm glad I get to experience the con vicariously this year. Looking forward to going next time.
--
[1] Another fun survival fact: If someone's ever critically-like-needs-medical-attention dehydrated and you're out in the middle of nowhere, if you've got Gatorade, mix it with water 1:1 and you've got a very, very close approximation of medical-grade oral rehydration salts.
Do NOT do this with Powerade, which is basically non-carbonated soda. And if you think Gatorade tastes like gummy bear piss … pretend that they're the same drink but Gatorade is the version people drink in Europe. Then imagine what the American version would be like.
Dude, I'm SO glad you got to go. Especially since apparently next year is going to be the last BronyCon (as far as I can tell, last BronyCon, but not last Brony con, like BABS). These blogs are what I've been waiting to see from you, because you always have the best and most comedic perceptions of how things go down. Can't wait for tomorrow (or whenever you post).
I'm going to TRY and go next year (last chance, obviously). Let's see if you can hop across the pond again.
4911642
This.
This blog post was a joy to read. You captured the feeling of being at Bronycon for the first time in a way I'm not sure I could anymore.
Thank you.
... Yeah.
If the contents of my fridge are any indicator, Regidar can't win a fight against a small bag of apples.
That said, he can win the shit out of uncountable amounts of pounds of ground beef, so as long as I keep him around I should have a pretty good Bovine Deterrent AgentTM. I'll just need to keep him away from orchards.
Man, these blogs entertain me more than most stories.
Oh man, this brings me back to when I went to Bronycon in 2016 – including your reaction to Bad Horse. My fandom highlight is still playing a weird logic game after midnight with him, Skywriter, Bradel, and I think Horizon was there too at some point.
I hope you make it next year.
Also, if it makes you feel better, back when I met a non-brazilian girl for the first time during my first job, I went to greet her with a kiss to the cheek, and much awkwardness ensued.