Woundsalt, Mother Bucker.

by OneUppington


Bitchin' in the Kitchen

“So what was it like, working with The Horn?”

“Okay, look; if we’re seriously going to talk about The Canterlot Horn, we’ll have to keep refraining from calling it that. I know ponies call it that, but it’s making me sound like a gay prostitute.”

The DJ laughs as she pours herself more apple juice. “Consider it noted.” She holds up the carton close to my muzzle. “Want some more, there?”

“Please.” I hold out my glass as she pours some of the Apple Family's finest into it.
I find it quite fascinating that the best thing that happened during my twenty-four hours here in Ponyville is somepony breaking and entering my new digs. We're just talking about each other for now; she shares stories about the craziest shit she saw during her gigs at clubs around Canterlot, while I try to whittle out another story about Octavia out of her. That noodle restaurant one was a doozy.

“Tell you what though; a gay prostitute would have better work conditions.”

“Really? How bad could the work conditions of an art magazine be?” Vinyl Scratch asks before taking a look at The back of a Wheat-Os box.

“I, from the very beginning to the bitter end, was writing poetry in a stuffy, small office farthest away from any bathroom or window. The same one from when I was Eight years old. I wasn't allowed to decorate it, neither.”

“Whoa, that's... cruel.” Vinyl says as she puts down the cereal box. “But you had something to keep you going, right? Some fan mail?”

“I never got any fan mail. Only the Printed Page Pack wrote in, so naturally it all went to him… buck that spoilt brat and his dad.”
Printed Page was the other employed poet in my Poetry Corner. Bucking unfair how he got all the glory and left me in the dust. Granted, inevitable, but still unfair.

“Oh, so Printed Page is Printed Mint's son? I knew there was a relation, but those two look nothing alike.”

“He definitely got his looks from his mother's side. Might be the only thing going for him besides that silver spoon up his tail-hole. I swear, if I had to count the times that buck-wit got something out of his dad, I would need an abacus big enough to squash Fillydelphia. You know what I got from Mint?

Nothing.

Well, not really, nothing. Every month he hands me a small plastic container consisted of complaints from pompous bores who give me life is beautiful lectures and how ponies like happy poetry about puppies, rainbows and things that don’t remind them of the reality of an hierarchic order where the more bits in your wallet the more up the social ladder you are and the more up the social ladder you are the more likely you can get off scot free for any crimes you committed!”

“So they want you to change your writing because you were... making them unhappy?”

“Eeee-Yup.”

“Which was what you intended to do?”

“Eeee-Yup.”

“... So you just flipped the hoof at them and continued writing what you feel?”

“Of course I fucking did. I only got on my soapbox once a month and talk whatever I want to talk about in the most creative ways I can imagine. Only I had that soapbox. If those buckers want happy poetry which convey little to no message and isn't meant to alter the way they think, then they should just read Page's shit again.”

Vinyl smirks as she pours the cereal box contents into the bowl with her magic. “Or get their own Celestia-damn soapbox!”
“Or get their own Celestia-damn soapbox; that's right!”

We both laugh in unison.

“You know what the oddest thing is? I'm still sad it shut down and can't imagine why.”

“Well, you’ve being stuck in that office for... what, thirteen years? That's definitely long enough to grow an attachment to the place. Maybe what you got there is the workplace equivalent of Stockholm syndrome.”

“I had a psychologist hanging around me all my life, and yet you sounded more professional right now than he ever did.”

She smiles cheekily, taking her shades back to the cereal box. “And my Parents thought getting a degree from Manehattan U was pointless.”

I chuckle and then started to drink more apple juice. You know, Vinyl Scratch is probably the greatest pony I ever met in my life. Sounds like an overstatement, I know; but… She doesn't bullshit me, knows what to say at the right time and she listens to my opinion without having the urge to stab me.

Is this... Friendship? Does that mean I can skip a few friendship lessons? If I just rock up to Pinkie Pie's place and wave Vinyl in her face, I get a few days off writing some letters? That feels like a good trade to me.

“Oh crap, is that the time?” Vinyl Scratch said as she looks towards the clock by the fridge. “I need to get back before Tavi starts to get worried.”

Wait, she's going? Bu- but I want to know more about her! And Octavia! And...

“Some guys will be coming in to move my stuff out of here. Just keep the door unlocked for them; closest thing Ponyville ever got to a crime was somepony trying to steal a book from a hospital because she was too embarrassed to go to the library to get it.”

Wait, wasn’t she here for the night to avoid a battering by that grif- Ah, never mind. If she needs to go, she needs to go. Not like I'm never running into her again in a small town like this.

“All right. Hey, maybe next time you can get Octavia over here and we can finally meet face to face.”

The DJ looks at me like I'm a tough trigonometry question at the end of a test. “You mean you never met her face to face when during the competition? I thought she would at least tell you the contract is yours!”

I shake my head. “The only contact I got was the magazine representatives. In fact, I never met any of the entrants, even Octavia. Damn shame really. I always wanted to meet her. Say thanks for giving me eleven years of something… semi-wonderful.”

“... I think I know how I can repay you for letting me stay for the night.”

Oh dear goddess, the smile on Vinyl's face right now. That is most definitely the smile of a mare with a plan. A terrifying plan. Why is it I always seem to have the smiles associated with terrible plans?

“H-how?”

“I was organizing a blind date between Octavia and Slim shake. He's sure as hell won't be out of the hospital in time for it, but since I haven't even told her his name, yet alone anything about him... How's about you meet her tonight, instead? That way we can call it even.”

Sounds to me another favour she owes me rather than calling it even... Wait, did she just say...

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, a little short notice, I know... but I already shifted the date around enough already. Hell, this was supposed to be my birthday present for her six months ago, for buck sake!”

Again, sounds like another favour she owes me. Maybe I should turn her down; The CMC could make a terrible scene like it always did, and I don't want to risk it with ponies that I could actually like and respect. It is bad enough I trusted it to stay down while Vinyl's been here. However, if I blow this off, this little relationship we built overnight will sour and I might never meet Octavia. That's two things I don't want to happen. Hmm... Maybe I should leave it to the Elements of Harmony to say no for me. I'm quite certain they know how to make a kind refusal.

“Well, I might need to run this pass to my new mom's friends. But good chance they're going to be strict and say...”

“Oh but of course he could, darling!”

“GAH! FU...



… SO PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF LUNA, NEVER EVER DO THAT AGAIN!”

I see a very flustered white mare with a swirly purple mane. Rarity is in the library. Or was, I might have killed her. No, wait, she's breathing. Good. That would've been a tough letter to send to Twilight.

“T-That was...”

Oh shit. How am I going to explain what happened just now to V-

...SO SWEET! You totally destroyed her! The swipes about her coming in rudely, the attacks about her sister’s latest report card, the part about her inner shame about her parents- Holy shit! Tavi told me that you are one silver-tongued son of a Diamond Dog, but... Damn!”

Huh... Well okay then. Maybe I shouldn't explain it, and totally pretend I did all that on purpose… whatever that was. The CMC is hard to understand, anyway; let alone explain.

“But anyway; Good morning, Rarity. How are you?”

“Hmm?” The intruding unicorn mumbled out of her broken state. “Ah! Good Morning! I mean, I'm fine! I mean... I'm Sorry, Darling. I knocked on the front door, and it just opened by itself. Then I heard you two in here and... I am quite surprised at you Woundsalt. I expected you to get a friend quickly, but not THIS quickly.”

“HE'S GOT A WHAT?”

“Sounds like Rainbow Dash is right outside the door.” The now (seemingly) recovered unicorn states. “Come on in, dear and see for yourself!”

Well, at least I got a warning before the sky-blue blur enters the library kitchen as quickly as she possibly can.

KOFF! HACK! KHEEEEEEEEEE... Could at least be warned me about the dust cloud that would accompany her. Might need to find a broom sometime between lessons; clean this library up a bit.

“Oh!” The pegasus exclaimed when the dust clears, discovering herself to be less than an inch away from the DJ’s face. “Hey, PON-3! It's been a while, huh? How long ago was it, Cadence's wedding?”

“Just about.” She smirks back. She does a lot of smirking. Then again, if you can smirk that good, I guess you can flaunt it to the world.

Wait, what did she call her?

“Pawn… Three?”

“My stage name… Made back when E meaning three was socially acceptable spelling in the DJ scene. I’d change it to something else but… I can’t think of anything.”

“Ah, okay.”

Funny, I thought that my magic will possess me and say how stupid that is. Why did that not happen?

“So, like I was saying… I should get going. Just get to the front of Filliways by Eight-thirty and she’ll meet you there. I suggest not to wear anything too fancy, though. Something low-key.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Scratch.” Rarity assures the DJ by putting a hoof around my shoulders. “I’ll make sure that Woundsalt will be dressed to kill.”

The DJ hops out of her chair and walks towards the door. Before she even left the kitchen, she turns around.

“Oh, and one more thing: How good is your Neightalian?”

Huh... Kind of a left field question there.

“Why the hell do I-ACK! Signora, vi accorgerete che le lingue del mondo sono le mie ostriche.”

Did my magic just…

“Great! I have no idea what you just said, but I’m quite certain that meant pretty good.” Vinyl grins. “She’ll explain why you need to use it when you get here. See ya around, buddy!”

And before I can explain that what I said was not my doing, she’s gone.

The remaining two ponies look at me for a while.

“I must say,” Rarity says. “I never would have guessed you knowing the language of love, Woundsalt.”

“Honestly?


… Neither did I.”