//------------------------------// // The Restaurant at the End of the Universe // Story: Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. // by OneUppington //------------------------------// You can see it from here. You can see it from here, outside the window. They even got his picture right next to him. Printed Mint and his urn. His small, metallic, top of the line urn. … Fuck! Out of all the restaurants in this goddess damn town, it just had to be this one he just had to put his cremated remains in! Why would he even do that? Why would they even allow to have him in there? I don’t know about anypony else, but the last thing I want in the same room I’m eating in is the remains of some dead pony; yet alone, in my case, the remains of my dead previous employer! … Is it wrong to say, however, that I kind of… want to have my boss’ ashes? Can I buy it off the restaurant? I mean, I have the money and willing to spend it. Why not spend it on a little revenge? Why, I can imagine it now! Replacing a pin from a bowling alley with him, buy a nodding bird like the one from my experience with Onderlandwah and have it dip into his ashes (I know how he doesn’t like office decorations of that nature), mix it with my own ink restart my poetry career and use the mix to write free verse poetry criticizing the bourgeoisie and rousing the proletariat to seize the means of production! Well, either that or draw a giant penis. More likely, the giant penis. Or… just have it on a fireplace just like Filliways’ has him. Where I can look at him, wine glass in hoof whether full of booze or not, and whisper to him with a sinister smile… “You had my whole life in your hooves, my good stallion. And now I have your death in mine. Don’t worry, Mister Printed. I’ll give you the same care you gave to me.” … Okay, why is there a niggling feeling at the back of my mind that’s telling me not to do that? Oh, crap… Am I… Am I seriously willing to put my totally justifiable revenge aside because… I’m wondering what Page would think? … Goddess damn it. Okay then. I tell you what, Mister Mint, if my newfound respect for your son prevents me from having you, I’ll do the next worst thing. Criticize the FUCK out of this establishment you loved so dearly! Right, let’s see… It’s so… You. Yeah. It’s definitely you. I can see a pony like you eating here whenever they’re in town. It’s so fucking high end it’s not even funny. Besides from food, everything has a diamond on it. Silverware? Got diamonds on them. The plates? Got diamonds on them. The chandelier? Well, it isn’t made out of fucking glass. The patrons? Wearing diamonds. The waiters? Crystal ponies… also wearing diamonds. Okay, now that’s just overkill. Oop! Hold up, I found the exceptions! The instruments the band of violinists are playing! Not a bit of diamond on them! Good job you… Three? I thought Rarity said they had a quartet, A quartet doesn’t mean three. It means four. Where’s the fourth? “…AND YOU CAN TAKE RINGING BELL’S CANON IN D AND STICK IT UP YOUR FLANK-HOLE, YOU FUCKING INGRATES!” … Oh. I think I just heard the fourth from the alley-way. Sounds like somepony decided to not work here anymore. Can’t blame them. I don’t even want to step in there now, I can’t even imagine stepping in there to work every day. In fact, good for… Her. A mare. That was a mare’s voice. Why is it I got the feeling… … I’d better check. … Wow. She’s... Wow. Wow. … I’m at a loss of words. Why am I at a loss of words? Is it… No. Come on now, Woundsalt. You know there’s no such thing as love at first sight. That’s bullshit reserved for child films and Printed Page’s repertoire. But what’s causing this rare occurrence that I, the pony that’s magically connected to practically ALL of literature, to have been stuck with nothing to say? … Maybe because she’s cute? No, wrong word. Makes me sound creepy. Pretty? Won’t work either; makes me sound like I’m five years old. Gorgeous? No, too frontal. Perfect? No, not even that’ll do. Indescribable? You know what? Yeah. She’s indescribable. The way she holds that dark grey mane, the way she wears that collar, the way she’s looking at the side door with great distaste until realizing I am here and then look at me, smiling… completely indescribable. Wait… She’s looking at me. And Smiling. Buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, buck, BUCK! Say something, you idiot! “Par-” Say something in NEIGHTALIAN, you idiot! “[Pardon me, are you by any chance Octavia Philharmonica?]” She’s laughing! I don’t know what I said that’ll make her laugh, but I kind of like it that’s she’s laughing! “Oh, Vinyl, you… Yes! Yes, I am! I’m guessing you’re the date! There’s no need for the Neightalian, anymore.” Mother fuck - I was worried about that for the whole day! Took drugs for it, for buck’s sake! Ah well. I make a small nod and then look at the door she clearly exited from. “Is this a bad time, or…?” “Hmm? Oh no, no.” she says, sitting down. “Just some idiots who don’t realize that when I say I have a date tonight, it means I won’t be working late. I was planning to quit soon anyway; there is only so many times I can play the same song every mother fucking night!” “I bet the salad isn’t even that good.” “No, it isn’t! It’s just the same salad from down the street with fucking truffles in it! These stupid buck-wits are paying three times as much for that shit!” Ha ha haa! Oh, thank Luna there’s a wall to lean on, otherwise I’ll be rolling on the floor! Printed Mint put his ashes into this place, and it turns out they’ve been conning him? Oh fuck, yes! “And you know what else? They only hire ponies if they either from the Crystal Empire or claim to be Europonean! That’s discrimination if I ever heard it! The manager doesn’t even SPEAK any Europonean language whatsoever!” “So that’s…” Woo-boy! Still tired from laughing. “So that’s why the Neightalian? So you can keep lying to these suckers?” The grey mare shrugs unapologetically. “Is getting a gig that bad in this town?” “For a cellist, definitely. It’s the only one. Not like I need it really, it was just something to keep my hooves busy until the next Gala...” I smile. I feel like something is in order, here. “Well, let’s show them that, shall we?” She looks up. “What do you mean? You heard me back there, didn't you?” “My dear, we may have met for about five minutes, but I can tell there’s still something you need to get off your chest. Trust me, I got something too. Come with me.” We motion her to the front window. “Now, I want you to look at someone here; someone who made your time here pretty much Tartarus.” She nods as we look through the window. I don’t know who she’s looking at, but don’t worry Minty, old buddy, old pal, I know my eyes are on you. “I see her.” I hear my date say beside me. “Do you have eye contact?” “Yes… Everypony in there is looking at us.” I look around. She’s right. “That’s fine. You’re a performer, after all. Keep her eye contact.” Better keep mine with the picture of Mint. “… Now, do you want to give her one hoof or two?” “One.” “All right. Left on three. One, Two… THREE!” I hear gasps coming from inside by the onlookers. There you go, Minty. Consider this my vengeance. “And… release.” Our hooves go down. “So, are you feeling be-” Um… she’s got her hooves on my shoulders. She’s moving closer. She’s going to whisper something in my ear. “Sorry, if it’s a bit frontal, but the bitch is a huge Page Packer. All hail the ‘Salt.” What the fuck was that last p-ulp! … She kissed me! … She fucking kissed me! And that wasn’t a peck, neither. Like, ending of a rom-com kiss. I look into the restaurant. They are all frozen right now, minus one crystal pony. She’s shouting something, probably of the offensive nature, but it’s hard to tell. I turn to the crazy mare. Her eyes are… Well… … Indescribable. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little less flashy?” Hey, if it’s anywhere but here, I am absolutely fine with. “What do you have in mind?” “Well, have you heard of a bar called the SorriNA?” “Oh, uh… I’m on a bit of a routine, so…” “That’s fine. Parfait D’Amour makes a fantastic mocktail. Besides… … It’s Woundsalt Wednesday tonight." … I have a day at this place? The place, run by my old bully, has a DAY named after me. Fuck, Fluttershy’s right. He must have changed. “All right, you’ve got my curiosity now. What’s a Woundsalt Wednesday?” “Y-You never been to one?” “I’m new in town.” Wow, she smirks just as well as Vinyl Scratch. They must be sharing notes. “Oh really? So where out of town doesn’t have a night where ponies dedicate the Great Un-alicorn Woundsalt by reading his words to all who dare to listen?” … That is the most fucked up sentence I ever heard. I have no clue what she fucking said! I’m guessing she meant ‘Where you from, stranger?’, but I heard the word ‘Un-alicorn’ before my name. What in the royal fuck is in the water supply in this town? I’ll just answer the question. “West Canterlot.” She’s laughing again. It’s still nice, but again; what’s so fucking funny? She looks at me, and says the second most fucked up sentence I ever heard. “You know he comes from there, and yet you don’t know who he is; what kind of impersonator are you?"