April 20th, 3096 Imperial Calendar (1523 AD)
Border of Whitetail Woods
"🎵Well, mah fiddle was mah daddy's 'til the day he died!
Took me bah tha' hoof an' held me close ta his side,
He said, 'live a good life 'n play mah fiddle wit' pride!
And thank Celestia yer a country pony!
My daddy taught me young how ta Buck an' how ta widdle,
Taught me how ta work an' play a tune on the fiddle,
Taught me how ta love an' ta give just a little!
And thank Celestia yer a country pony!🎵"
"🎵Well, ah got me a fine family, ah got me old fiddle,
When the sun's comin' up, ah got cakes on tha' griddle.
Life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddle!
Thank Celestia ah'm a country pony!🎵"
With that, Soundboard played several more bars on her instrument, sending a comforting series of notes echoing out through the trees. The others began clapping, while Southern blushed slightly. "Well, thank y'all. It's a song ah remember from one 'a the reunions, an' since we're doin' campfire songs, ah thought it'd be appropriate."
"Hey, you don't need to justify yourself", Pumpkin Cake said. "It was fun, anyway."
"Yeah", Maraschino said, nuzzling the side of her neck.
Depressi couldn't help but smile at the sight of the two. He adjusted his position on the long bench, idly scanning the several tents and his friends and brother, sitting on other longs. They had an extra day off of school, and Southern had suggested a short camping trip on the edge of Sweet Apple Acres to pass it. They'd been out there for the past day, having set up in the morning and spent the time in the woods.
It was honestly more like what he and DJ had been expecting when they first arrived in Ponyville. Playing games and racing in the woods. Swimming in a small lake, just on the border with the rows of apple trees. And finally, roasting food and singing songs around a roaring campfire.
As if on queue, DJ lifted his stick out of the blaze, raising it up like a torch. It almost resembled one either, save for the small stream of liquified sugar running down the side. Soon, the fire was extinguished, revealing an almost completely charred treat called a Marshmellow.
DJ looked at the charred stick, small trails of liquified sugar running down it. Depressi looked close at him, an experienced eye noticing his unoccupied paw quivering and shaking without prompt. Concern rose up in him for a few seconds, before he took a few breaths and pressed it to his thigh, tossing the stick into the fire. "Stupid things."
"That's the third one, DJ", Pound Cake admonished. "Is it really that hard?"
"It's not that cooking like this is hard; I've cooked like this before. It's just these things burn so damn easily and they sort of blend in with the fire."
"Maybe you just have terrible eyesight?", Soundwave suggested, finishing putting the fiddle back in its case and placing it next to her other assortment of instruments. Unlike the others, who had lugged the tents, food, and other stuff to the sight, she had brought an assortment of musical instruments.
"So, anyone have any ideas for what to do next?", Flurry asked. "I mean, we've done... Me, Pound Cake, and Southern. So, any suggestions?"
Depressi looked at DJ, shooting him a small smirk. "Want to give them something of ours?"
"Sure, why not?", DJ replied, removing his thankfully no longer shaking paw from his leg. "Any ideas?"
"Why are you asking me? You know more and know them better than me", Depressi said.
"Ya got somethin'?", Southern asked.
Flurry said, "No. The two are just bickering."
"Actually, I do have something", DJ said, looking to Soundboard. "Did you bring a drum?"
Soundboard checked her assortment of carrying cases, eventually pulling something out. "I got a pair of Bongos", she said, resting them on her lap.
"Alright, that will do", DJ said, walking over to her. He spent the next minute or so talking about her, tapping the drum lightly and showing her the rhythm for the song. He said, "Got it?" When she nodded, he made his way back to his section of the log, sitting down and taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes, gazing at the fire, and began to sing:
"🎵Life is like a Dice Game,
we roll the dice every day.
The Gods gift one with luck,
the other, toil and trouble.🎵"
"🎵So come on, Comrades,
take the cup in hand.
Two sixes on, the table.
One, is for, the Fatherland,
the other, is for you.🎵"
Depressi had caught onto the song, and smiled somberly. He recognized the song instantly; it was one of the older marching songs that the Pryhan Army still sung, and had more than once been woken up by the Pedes singing it during early morning drills. Still, he wasn't one to object, and joined his brother as they continued on.
"🎵We roll the dice until the table breaks,
following old Pryhan custom.
Many of those who mocked the game,
have left from amongst our midst.🎵"
"🎵So come on, Comrades,
take the cup in hand.
Two sixes on, the table.
One, is for, the Fatherland,
the other, is for you.🎵"
"🎵Still we roll the dice for luck and grace,
and for great success.
And perhaps soon for our very lives,
When bolts and swords sing.🎵"
"🎵So come on, Comrades,
take the cup in hand.
Two sixes on, the table.
One, is for, the Fatherland,
the other, is for you.🎵"
"🎵But fear itself we never know,
no matter how the dice may fall.
We'll fight for hearth, home, and Fatherland,
With hope, that we shall win!🎵"
"🎵So come on, Comrades,
take the cup in hand.
Two sixes on, the table.
One, is for, the Fatherland,
the other, is for you.🎵"
Over time, the others had joined in the song. Though the lyrics were certainly a bit... weird for them, they nonetheless joined in, the voices mixing with the rapidly beating drums and the sounds of nature to create a truly unique sound, even as the song began to wind down.
"🎵And even as we embrace our End,
we wish to swing the cup.
And in our Goddesses loving grasp,
sing, of our homes and families!🎵"
"🎵So come on, Comrades,
take the cup in hand.
Two sixes on, the table.
Two, are for, the bliss.
That's enough, for me and you!🎵"
Silence reigned over the campsite after the song came to an end, only broken by the roaring flame. All eyes fell on DJ, who sighed. "Sorry if it's a bit... out there for you."
"Yeah, that was a bit... extreme?", Pumpkin Cake said.
"Was certainly a bit much", Southern said. "But beyond that, ya got a purdy singin' voice DJ?"
"Yeah", Soundboard said. "Like, I can see you as a performer or something. That was pretty good."
The others took turns admitting the same, returning a facsimile of a smile to DJ's beak. Before he could respond, however, he yawned, spreading his beak open to its near limit. "Sorry, tired. I'm going to turn in."
The others nodded, wishing him a good night. He headed for the tent he and his brother were sharing. As he did, he grabbed a small bottle out of his pack, slipping a pill into his mouth. He took a quick swig from a canteen afterward, washing the pill and its horrid taste down. He put the canteen back in its slot, as well as the bottle back in his bag. However, as he went into the tent, the bottle fell out, falling into a small indent in the ground, partially hidden from view.