//------------------------------// // I'm Gonna Pop Some Nags // Story: Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. // by OneUppington //------------------------------// “Ion Disruptor?” I nod. She’s been repeating it since I started getting into my hoodie and jeans. “I… I think I’m missing something here.” Vinyl groans, shaking her head. “Why are you naming yourself like a weapon from a crummy science fiction novel?” “It’s something I picked up in a science book once.” I start explaining. “See, nerves in an equine body are generally negatively charged. Neurons have proteins in the membranes that allow certain ions to pass through, like calcium, potassium, and chlorine. When salt dissolves in a wound, it breaks down into the positive sodium ions and negative chlorine ions, and the increase in chlorine disrupts the balance, triggering the nerves there. On top of that, nerves can't normally allow positive ions inside, but the influx of negative ions in the neurons opens some of the passages in the nerves, allowing the excess sodium ions in, triggering the pain. That is why salt hurts in a wound. It disrupts ions. Hence… Ion Disruptor.” “Wow... Well, ain’t you a little scientist?” She smirks. “Just like mommy.” “Ha ha,” I say jokingly. “What would you have come up with?” She looks up to the sky in thought. “Well… okay, this is going into your fanbase a little. There’s this joke character they made up like a mascot to represent the False Salts who use the likeness for hook-ups. What’s he called again, now…? Oh, yeah! Salt-Lick the Pimp!” … “Okay, one: No.” I start. “and two: Isn’t the main idea of the rap name is to hide my true identity until I reveal it? Something so close to my real name might be a little too obvious.” “Fine.” She utters. “But no offence, Woundsalt, Iron Diffuser or whatever the hell you came up with won’t cut it. You need something a tad more gangsta, something a bit more street, something that… well, something you didn’t get from a science book. You’ll get laughed out of the place with that name.” Hmm… I look around in thought. She’s right. It’s a tad too nerdy for a rap-battle. I better think of something with a bit more street cred. Something short. Something everypony should like. Something that’ll have make my true identity a mystery… Hmm, I wonder if… Heh, it’ll work. “How about… uh… Spirit Projection?” I look back at her to see her nod and grin. “Dude… that sounds hype! It’s like you spit out fireballs and shit! Spirit Projection, bucking A- Where did you get that from?” “Oh… somewhere in here.” I say pointing my hoof to my head… while looking at Mister Bobby-Bird the Second as his beak, or as my little thesaurus-like mind could also call it a projection, dives repeatedly into the cup of rum, being a spirit. Thanks, little buddy. You earned yourself that drink. “...And this is what Slim Shake calls the ‘Sad-Buck’ track.” She says, about to press a button on her stand. “I doubt we’re going to use it, but it’s perfect if you got a verse for making Hater D look like someone to pity than respect. It works best with little action from me, though, so it better be a good verse to please the judges.” I nod as she hits the button, making this ‘Sad-Buck’ track starts to play. Quite a quiet, sombre affair; especially after the last few jams, which was practically explosive, loud and clearly there to accompany vivid, voluminous verbal volleys. The only similarity is how the names the replaced rapper used to call them. It’s nice to know there is a comrade in support of the word ‘buck’ out there. We were in what one would call a dressing room. One that needs a bit of renovating, admittedly. It seems the small theatre this tournament final is being held in has seen a lot of better days. Could be worse, I suppose. Could be in some abandoned warehouse about eight miles away from civilisation. She told me the rules of this thing on the way there. Seem simple enough; Flip a coin to decide to go first, each side does two verses each, a maximum of three minutes each verse, no touching the other team or you're disqualified… I wonder what causes that last one? “Not a bad set.” I say, taking the headphones off. “I’m thinking the Bucking Big Bang first and we see how what we play when round 2 c-” I hear a knock on the door before I finished my sentence. Vinyl seems to get the message because she was nodding as she walks to the door. She opens it up slightly for a few seconds, looking through the crack, then makes the gap for… a big ass fluffy coat. I’m certain there’s a pony inside of it, but damn that’s a big ass coat. It looks incredible. “What up, 3?” I hear under the coat. “Just came to meet this substitute rapper Hater D’s complaining about.” “Hey, Mac. Spirit Projection, this is Mackerel Shore. He’s the guy running this… Wait, she’s what?” “Yeah, she’s demanding us to get the real name on Spirit Pro… ject...” The coat stops talking for a few moments. I think whatever the hell’s underneath it just figured out who I was. “Holy bucking crap. Holy bucking crap!” A sea-blue head finally comes out of the coat, accompanied by a big shit-eating grin, a couple of widened brine-green eyes and a two hoofs jumping to one of mine for a shake. Something tells me somepony’s fanboying the fuck out here. “It’s… it’s an honour to meet you, sir!” Squeals the tournament runner. “I was a fan the moment the Poetry Corner was made!” “Uh… hi?” I say as his hoofshake rumbles across my front leg. “Er, Mister Shore. If you don’t mind, please keep your voice down? We kind of don’t want ponies to know it’s really me until during the main event. Kind of a big reveal thing we’re planning.” “Hmm? Oh! I got ya.” He says, putting his hooves back in the coat. “Just a heads-up, though, if you’re going to do that. You better head out there with your hood up. Ponies could recognise you by what you’ve done with your mane. Looks amazing, by the way! Really makes you look mature!” “... What I’ve done with my mane?” He blinks a little bit. “The… the new white bit. Everypony’s only seen your mane in all black. I said something out of line, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I really like it, though. Very edgy!” My roots are showing? I know I haven’t re-touched the black for a while, but surely it hasn’t grown that much already, can it? I look into the mirror. It has. “Uh, so...” I hear my partner say as I stay looking at the mirror. “This complaint...” “Ah, yeah... Nothing to worry about, really.” Mackerel says, as I see him put his head back into his coat in the reflection. “All I have to go back to her and tell her that if she really wants his real identity she’ll have to give you her’s; she’ll withdraw her complaint. She does this to every opponent who’s not up for revealing their real name in her bracket and the moment we press the issue, she drops it. Nothing but a mind game to test the gumption of her opponents, I think. Still, I had to check in to see him anyway. Always good to meet ponies in the trade, especially if you never heard of them before… is… is he going to be alright? I mean, this is going to be the first time on a stage ever and he seems… distracted.” “Hmm? Oh… he’ll be fine.” Vinyl waved off. “He’s been going through a lot of shit lately, that’s all. I’ll keep him focused, you make sure the crowd’s hyped, okay Shore?” “Okay, 3. If you say so.” mumbles Shore as he sees himself out of the locker-room. “Break a leg out there, Mister Projection sir!” I put up a hoof of recognition, not letting go of my gaze in the reflection as I see Mackerel Shore head out the way he came in. Vinyl turns to look into my reflection as well. “Okay Wound,” she whispers “I know you’re in a delicate place right now after all that’s happened today, but can you please get your head in the game now? I don’t want to go out there with you crying again.” “No, no. I’m not crying.” I reply to the blunt but reasonable words of DJ PON3. “I’m… thinking that maybe I should stop dyeing.” “Really?” “Yeah, really.” I say, turning to her. “You heard it from Mackerel Shore just now, everypony’s only seen me fully dyed. Maybe… maybe I need to show them the real me.” “So the white’s your actual mane colour?” I nod. “Well… are you comfy with it? I mean, you were hiding it for years.” “Kind of forced to, admittedly.” I correct her. “Carers were worried about losing me in snow.” “Heh...” She guffaws. “Tavi wanted me to try out a white mane one time.” “Really?” “Yeah, but I kinda like this blue, you know? I feel like this is more me. I’m a redhead originally. Made ponies think my eyes were red too, the bucking idiots.” We giggle a little. “Maybe what you need is a new colour.” Vinyl says afterwards. “A little change in look can change the mind a little.” “What do you have in mind?” “Well… what is your favourite colour?” “Bl-” “Besides black.” She quickly intervenes. “Seriously, leave black to the goth-foals. Black’s nothing but a shade, anyway. What’s your actual favourite colour?” There is nothing but silence and thought until there was another knock on the door. We must be in the busiest fucking dressing room in the world or something. “Quick, put your hood up.” Vinyl urgently says. “If Mac can spot you for the mane, somepony else will.” Good call. I do so. She opens the door slowly. The look on her face is one of slight confusion and caution. “Is there a reason why you are here?” She snarls to whoever’s out there. Oh shit, don’t tell me it’s Hater D. If I swear to goddess if it’s Hater D I’ll... “Miss Scratch, please. I came to apologise to you over my partner’s actions. What she did was wrong and if it weren’t for contractual agreements I would drop her like she was a hoofball. I hope these are a suitable token of sympathy?” Okay… it’s not D. For one, that’s definitely more of a male voice. Also, whoever this individual being may be is holding a bouquet of roses abundantly high for both ponies and griffons. Almost like something that walks on their hind legs. “Well, at least one of you knows how to be a good sport.” Vinyl grumbles, levitating the bouquet into the room. “Anything else?” “I would actually like to meet this individual that made Miss D angry enough to rip a pillow to shreds last night.” The stranger chuckles. “I feel like it is a crime that only one of us has seen this pony.” Vinyl looks to me, “Your call.” Well, he seems nice. “Yeah, bring him in.” She open the door all the way for me to f-WOAH! Sweet Celestia, what is he trying to do, blind me? I was going to say it was a diamond dog, but the poor thing is more bling than diamond dog! Gold chains, gold rings, gold… anything! I know these guys are usually attracted to shiny materials, but damn! “Spirit Projection,” Vinyl starts to introduce us to each other. “This is Grandmaster Flint. He’s Hater’s DJ for this thing. Flint, this is Spirit. He’ll be replacing Slim Shake.” “Hello!” He exclaims with an open paw. “By the sun, so there is such a brave soul to dare face us after her heinous acts!” “Huh… yeah, brave.” I suppose that’s what one would call blindly going into something you have little to no experience in doing. I put my hoof in his paw and we shake. “Here’s hoping for a good show.” “Oh, I’m certain it’s going to be phenomenal.” Says the diamond dog. Wow… this seems like quite a contrast compared to the hostilities of Hater D. Or the illiteracy, might I add. Did I just hear a diamond dog say ‘phenomenal’, a word with four syllables to it? No offence to our opponent here, but I always thought that diamond dog’s are a little… well, I never expected a four syllable word to come out of a diamond dog’s mouth, let’s just say that much. I wonder... “If you don’t mind me asking, Mister Flint, but you seem like a very well educated being...” “Compared to my brethren, yes.” He nods. “I say with pride that I am a black sheep. Ran away from the mines near Puddingshire when I was a small pup, found myself at an establishment of two very kind and talented musician ponies. They gave me a place to stay and eat as long as I learn some of their craft and never looked back since. Unpleasant places, those mines. The closest thing to an education down there is grabbing one by the head, putting their nose onto a diamond and the words ‘This is all you want’ repeated ad nauseum into their ear. Ghastly. Simply ghastly.” Wow… that’s bucking brutal. Nice to know changelings aren’t the only ones with bad upbringings. “Anyway, enough about myself.” The dog continues. “I must ask you a question about the world of False-Salting. It seems quite an interesting use of visual attributes that can bring in a pretty penny. Tell me, Mister Projection, have you ever used your body for ill gains?” Oh! Uh… I better think up something quick. We can’t have me pretending to be someone pretending to be me without a story like that. “I wouldn’t call it ill will gains at it were, but I used to be in a dating service.” “Really?” He snickers. “How interesting. Any devious tales from that occupation?” Erm… Uh… “My last date with them was this stallion who wanted me to put up a trombone somewhere.” He blinks a few times under the shock. I do a quick look at Vinyl as she mouths the question “Seriously?” Sorry Vinyl, I panicked. “My word… I take it the trombone was in an uncomfortable place?” “Most definitely.” So sorry, Vinyl. “I downright refused, he complained and the service dumped my ass.” “I say, that seems a tad cruel of them.” grumbles the dog. he seems to have bought the story. “Firing you for something you weren’t comfortable with.” “Oh trust me, the False-Salt dating game has some bucking darkside.” Another false False-Salt story might be something to seal the deal. Or… maybe tell him about Betty’s ordeal. “I know a filly whose company was telling her that her client paid way too much in a gift for her just for him to go home with just a peck on the cheek if you catch my drift. Thankfully, she actually likes the guy so she might; but the bucking gall on them, right? Telling her she has to do it?” “I most definitely agree. It’s appalling!” He proclaims. “Thank goddess you left! Anyway, it is best for me to take my leave before Hater D starts getting nervous about where I am.” “Okay.” I say as I extend my hoof for another shake. I feel like I did well. “May the best pair win.” “Hmm, yes indeed.” He says, a little more flat than he was during our entire conversation. Something tells me he’s not confident that he’s on the best pair, right? If so, great. We might not even need to reveal who I am at all and still win if that’s the case. “Oh, and one more thing, PON-3... … If you want to truly know what we think, it is best not to eavesdrop. You could get bad information that way.” Grandmaster Flint opens up the door, looking at our clearly stunned faces. Our secret plan was based on false assumptions. They knew. They knew all along, the cunning bastards. “May the best pair win indeed, O Great Unalicorn.” snickers the son of a bitch as he closes the door.