Late afternoon sunlight lanced through the quiet music room at Canterlot High, casting heavy shadows as it played across a head-high stack of plastic chairs that had been left near the window.
But the silence was broken when a boy in jeans, a T-shirt, and a black jacket kicked the propped-ajar door fully open. Flash Sentry bopped and strutted into the silent space with a gait whose unevenness likely owed to balancing a white coffin-shaped guitar case in his right hand, and a smooth black smartphone in his left hand. A long white cord connecting the phone to a pair of earbuds he was wearing flailed through the air as he alternately pumped his limbs and headbanged. Yet still the only sounds in the room came from the squeaking of his sneakers on the aging tile floor.
“Aaaaaare you gonna take me home toniiiiiiiight,” he suddenly belted at the top of his lungs. A moment later, he stumbled over a cord that hadn’t been taped-down to the floor, breaking both his verse and his confident swagger. He steadied himself, shot a dirty look at the cord, then turned his gaze to the shelf of tools and equipment next to the window. After glancing back at both his guitar case and phone, he set the case down next to the offending cable, placed the phone down upon it, and unplugged his earbuds.
A growling—though clean—guitar riff chased all vestiges of silence from the room, accompanied by steady but powerful drumming, all supported by a thick bass undercurrent. After smiling and seeming satisfied with this state of affairs, Flash strutted toward the equipment shelf, hand already reaching towards the gaffer tape. And again he picked up with the chorus: “Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin’ world go ‘round!”
Flash turned back, gaffer tape in hand—and shrieked as he caught sight of the two figures who’d been sitting in the low-lit silence of what he must've assumed had been an empty room.
In response, Limestone Pie deepened the furrows on her brow, gave her sister Pinkie a look, then nodded toward the light switch.
Pinkie got the lights. Flash paused his music. Limestone settled into a glare.
“Harmony on a stick, guys,” Flash panted, still catching his breath. “What, are you trying to make sure I get my cardio in even though it’s a band practice day?!”
“Ooo, that’s a good idea,” Pinkie chirped. “I mean, no, we just got here early and thought we’d use the time to study a few of the tabs you gave us last session—but come to think of it, the keyboardist from Rammstallion walks on a treadmill while playing live sometimes, so maybe we could have you do that, too!”
Both Flash and Limestone looked at her with furrowed brows.
“What do treadmills have to do with anything?” Limestone growled.
“You listen to Rammstallion?!” Flash gawped.
“It follows from what Flashie said—and of course I do, silly! We’re trying to play heavy, right? Well, I went and did some homework on what ‘heavy’ means these days!” Pinkie gave Limestone a huge wink. “And it sounds like I’m not the only one who’s brushin’ up on what’s thick and heavy, if ya know what I mean?”
Limestone’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at Pinkie’s crack about her bottom—to say nothing about what Flash had just belted out! She turned her eyes down toward the bass tabs resting on her lap, as if she might find answers there. But all it did was remind her how difficult one of the songs was, which led her on a short trip from frustration, to general anger, and to specifically being mad about the lyrical indecency that she’d just heard.
She sneered at him. “What kind of immature crap is this, shouting out how much you wanna go home with a girl just ’cause she’s got a… a…”
“Fat bottom?” Pinkie offered.
“Right!”
Pinkie shrugged and cocked her head to the side. “Well, I mean, if you were gonna go home with someone, wouldn’t you kinda want some meat on their bones?”
Limestone turned a look of wide-eyed incredulity on her.
Flash tensed, but after a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of the chairs off the stack by the window and sat down, straddling it. “Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you guys when I came in. I guess I got into the music. I mean, you heard the riffs and beat, right? It’s pretty much one of the catchiest rock songs ever.”
“So being ‘catchy’ makes it okay to go around singing about how much you want to do it with random fat girls,” Limestone snarked. “I mean, I think the whole ‘objectifying women’ thing gets overused sometimes… but the shoe fits, Charlie.”
Flash pursed his lips. “Say, Pinkie—”
“Giving privacy!” she shouted, already halfway through the door. It slammed behind her with a rattling reverberation that made Limestone’s teeth chatter.
“Limestone—”
“Don’t you ‘Limestone’ me, that was weird and you know it. What’s that song even called, anyway?”
Flash chuckled. “It’s literally called ‘Fat Bottomed Girls.’ And for what it’s worth, it’s probably one of the all-time classic rock songs. Great old band, great old song… heck, I bet your dad would’ve sung along to it back in the day… if he ever sang along to anything. No offense to your dad, I just mean… y’know.”
Despite the undercurrent of uncertainty she felt about the lyrics, Limestone couldn’t resist chuckling at the mental image of her dad bombing down the road in his old blue pickup truck, blasting his radio as loud as it would go, and bellowing “FAT BOTTOMED GIRLS!!!” at passers-by.
“And look,” Flash continued, “I know this whole dating thing is still really new for us—”
“You mean for me,” she interrupted.
“All right; sure, I mean for you. But I also mean for us. Because without you, there is no us. And I want there to be a you, and an us. I like how it’s going, and I want to keep it going.”
Without really thinking about it, Limestone squirmed a little in her seat. “But then… why sing stuff like that? I mean, you’re not some big horny rock star, right? It’s not like you go around just… like…” She gestured indistinctly with her hands.
“Doing it with random fat girls?” he echoed with a smile.
“Right. I mean… right?”
“Definitely not. That isn’t how I roll. And for what it’s worth, I don’t just mean the size thing… I like to think I’m not so shallow that it’d make a difference one way or the other. What I’m really looking for is the right girl in my age range; someone who I can make a real connection with.” He gave her a wink. “Or I was looking, until recently.”
Limestone felt heat rising in her cheeks and chest. She quickly turned her thoughts back to the lyrics themselves, seeking something that would help her to stay angry—and therefore in control—in the face of his disarming charm.
“Well… but… then, why listen to it or sing it at all? Why would you associate yourself with something that’s contrary to what you really want… and frankly antisocial? I mean, it’s not like someone couldn’t take it the wrong way if they didn’t know the song.”
“Clearly,” Flash deadpanned. But after a few moments of thought, he shrugged. “Because sometimes it feels really, really good to throw your head back and shout something ‘antisocial?’ I mean, it’s kind of freeing, y’know? Like have you ever been out driving on your own and just shouted whatever crazy, random stuff you felt like at the top of your lungs, safe in the knowledge that no one would hear you?”
Limestone gave him a deeper frown.
“Okay! Sorry, bad example—I forgot that you don’t have your license. But do you know what I mean? Like think about some of Maud’s lyrics… I don’t think she would actually want to have some of the stuff she writes about happen to herself or anyone else.”
“Heh. Yeah. You wanna talk about someone who’s actually super-horny…” Limestone paused for a moment, losing herself in thought. It dawned on her that she could share a relevant example from her own life, though the words seemed to catch in her throat—it was difficult trusting them with anyone else.
She locked her eyes on Flash’s, and saw both affection and acceptance returned in them. The quiet of the room and the fading light gave their conversation an almost hallowed, or confessional, air. And from that familiar feeling, Limestone felt a desire to open a part of herself to the boy who had shown her so much care and understanding, even in the relatively short time that she’d known him.
“I say things in the quarry, sometimes,” Limestone almost whispered. “Like when it’s early in the morning and everybody else is still asleep up at the house… I go out with my coffee, I pick up my pickaxe… and sometimes I swing it a couple times first, and sometimes I don’t… but I talk to it, like it’s my friend. I tell it how I’m feeling, or what I really want to do. Because I know it’s always got my back, no matter what crazy things I say to it.”
Flash blinked silently for a few moments. “Okay, that’s… pretty hot. But yeah, there you go. So I could get after you for talking to yourself—”
“To the pickaxe.”
“Still hot! Or I could guess that sometimes just getting the words out can help you decide how you feel about them, right? Well, it can be the same way with the music. Sometimes it’s more about going with the feeling of the words than what they’re really telling you. And I know not everyone gets into it that way, but for me… when I’m alone and I crank that up, pretty much the last thing on my mind is actual girls or their actual butts. For me it’s all about cutting a little bit loose and having some room to be free. And same with a lot of other lyrics in a lot of other songs—it’s not like I actually want to overthrow society, or celebrate a monster rampage.”
“Yeah, I guess we’re starting to get a few of those now that magic seems to be more of a thing,” Limestone said slowly. “I can see how it’d be good to think about that sort of thing through singing, even if you sing about the rampage itself.”
“Right. And clearly you can take it to an extreme, but that’s not really what it’s supposed to be about. Right?” Flash gave her a tentative smile.
Limestone nodded, but then blushed, smiled, and scoffed. “Some boyfriend. Singing about other girls' butts…”
Flash stood up from the chair, approached her, and took her hands in his. The warmth and strength of them brought even greater heat to Limestone’s chest, and a feeling of butterflies to her stomach.
“Limestone, first and foremost, I appreciate you for your intellect and personality.” He gently massaged her palms with his fingers, sending little tingles of sensation through her hands and down her arms, which intensified the heat she felt within. Then he leaned closer, winked, and whispered: “I'll confess, though, that I do think you have a nice bottom. Not a ‘fat’ bottom, but a bottom that looks strong and firm while sacrificing none of its curves for the muscles within. Certainly a bottom that would bear all due appreciation someday by a lucky fellow in a strong, committed, meaningful relationship with you… and your bottom.”
He pulled away, smiling subtly, and seemingly in complete control of himself. But for her part, it was all that Limestone could do to contain the raging heat and sweatiness that his words had inspired in her.
“I’ll go get Pinkie,” he said with another wink. “Wouldn’t want to miss practice with you, or your…” He simply left the words hanging as he turned away.
Limestone slumped back in her seat, fanning herself desperately with the music tabs. And it occurred to her that maybe—just maybe—they should think about adding that song to their repertoire.