• Published 26th Jul 2015
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The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Absurd Things

Author's Note:

This was a little while ago. A few years, think. Three. Two and a half, maybe? Ponies say that I'm very famous, but—truth is—DJ P0N3 didn't get really popular until just recently. Before then, I was the rave of the underground scene. Now, I'm becoming a household name, I guess. Almost like you, DJ Capricorn—they're starting to play samples of my music for advertisements and just—y'know—background noise.

Anyways, years ago, I was visiting Orlandoats. Harmonicide should find that interesting. There's a convention center not that far away from the major tourist attractions, and one weekend they had a trade show advertising Sonata Shelves turntables and other such recording equipment. It attracted musicians from far and wide. I was asked by Sonata Shelves execs if I could perform a sort of "mini-concert" at the actual show. Since it wasn't too terribly far from a tour Roadie Beau and I were doing in Mareami, we decided to hop on over and give our best to the convention.

I like doing that, by the way. Making appearances at smaller, more unassuming gigs makes me feel happy, for some reason. A lot of ponies wonder why I visit so few venues on my yearly tours compared to other musicians. It's not that I consider myself some elitist goddess of music and everypony "should be thanking their stars" whenever I so much as show up. It's just that I like having my schedule open enough for me to do things spontaneously. I'm sure that Beau feels the same way. What are good musicians if not flexible, y'know?

So we show up at this convention, and at first it seems... well... pretty okay. There're plenty of young ponies in attendance, probably because a lot of them found out at the last second that the two of us would be performing there. Oh, well, I guess that sounds kind of lame. I'm sure most of them were there to check out and sample the latest in recording and playback technology, so we can't chalk it all up to Beau and me.

Still, it made for a nice, active crowd. A lot of ponies looked surprised that we were there. So, I thought, "Great. I'm only making a small splash." So when asked if I was going to hang out between performances to give out autographs and meet fans face to face, I thought, "Well, sure!" Beau agreed. He felt that there weren't enough crazy ponies there, chomping at the bit to see me. So, we made up a booth at the last second and had sort of a chillaxed "hang out" session.

Blessed Celestia, were we mistaken. I mean, the fans were cool and all, but there was way more of them than Beau and I had guessed. What's more—despite the fact that the convention had asked us to show up at the last second—the ponies running the show simply did not have enough security to cover such a "concert," much less an autograph session right after. This is right after the representatives of Sonata Shelves had promised and reassured us that "It's Okay!" and "We've got it covered!" and "Knock yourselves out!" Well, Beau and I were starting to fear that we wouldn't have to knock ourselves out—the fans would do it for us! Before we knew it, things started to get rowdy. A bunch of Gallopex fans showed up, and you know how they can be.

We didn't want a stupid riot on our hooves, so I suggested to Beau that we delay the second concert until an hour or two later so that we could handle all of the ponies who had crowded together for the autograph session. I know that must sound really weird, and most self-respecting DJs would probably just want to get the buck out of there at the first sign of trouble. And, y'know, I don't blame them. But it became super obvious that the ponies running this convention didn't have any idea what they were doing, and if Beau and I skipped out and the crowd decided to go all diamond dogs on the convention hall, then the press was gonna fall back on the two of us—and by that, I mean just me. And I don't for a second believe what they say: about there being no such thing as "bad publicity." I was just a month away from releasing a new album and I didn't need a bad rap hovering over my head or else the record company's check my bounce, y'know what I'm saying?

So, like, we hung out there... and a two hour delay turned into a three hour one. On the opposite side of the convention hall, ponies were moaning and groaning cuz they were promised a second concert—but Beau and I were being held up by this other crowd. And even when we did toy with the idea of abandoning our table and skipping across the Convention Center, we just took one look at the whole two bouncers they had given us and figured out, "No. Not gonna happen."

And y'know, it wasn't too terribly bad, so long as you stared straight ahead and kept your tunnel vision on the friendly pony fan in front of you. None of the unruly members of the crowd seemed to find their way to our table for a heart-to-heart... at least until one guy showed up.

I could have sworn I saw this weirdo out of the corner of my shades, but I chalked it up to my imagination. Then he shows up at our table, and he's... like... his coat is all bleached white. I could tell he was a natural brown-hair, but he turned it all ghost pale. What's more, he colored his mane several tones of blue and spiked it. He also wore purple shades and... don't get me started on the fake unicorn horn he had on his forehead. In case you can't tell, he was a male earth pony trying his best to be... well... me.

Now, I'm all for cosplaying. I think it's a form of flattery both awesome and adorable. But this guy's style stopped as far as his getup threw him, and the rest was a rambling, stuttering, salivating mess. And this was stuff we observed before he began prattling off about how we were "soulmates" and "two sides of the same coin" and a whole bunch of other nonsense. I was getting a bit freaked out, to tell the truth, 'cuz I figured that this dude wanted a lot more than a simple autograph. But Beau?

Beau was just a snicker or two away from laughing his head off. He thought it was hilarious. And I thought it was hilarious because he thought it was hilarious. The day had gone so deep into the toilet because of one absurd incompetency after another that we both were nearly rolling with pent-up laughter. And neither of us is willing to let loose the first giggle because we swear that guy is gonna snap and turn all Normane Bates on us the very moment we so much as titter.

Call me a coward, but Beau was the first one to show some guts. This guy was going on, rambling and drooling up a storm for maybe ten minutes, and normally fans are only allowed to hang out with me for only two minutes at a time. And at some point, about the umpteenth time he's said that he and I are "mystical mirrors" of each other, Beau smiles and points and says something like "Yo, dawg, she can't even talk!" And he's like, "What?" And Beau says, "You can speak but she can't! So what are you even saying?"

And the guy gets super silent. And I can see his eyes twitching. And his voice turns from a melodic gold to a deep, sullen brown—well... I guess none of you can understand that. Let's just say that I knew... I knew he was about to show his true colors. Literally.

It about chilled my heart when I saw him smile. His voice turned to pure gold, which was the most frightening thing of all... because it was unexpected. He says, "It's okay! I can fix that too! I can fix anything!" And he grabs Beau's pen—the sharp fancy fountain one he carries with him on tour, and he starts jabbing it towards his own neck.

Now maybe I'm a bit more morbid then Beau, because the first thing I thought of is: "Holy Celestia on a bike, he's gonna stab his own vocal chords out!" So I make a mad dash with my horn, yanking his hooves in place so he can't—y'know—gash a hole in his own throat. Everypony else is just gawking at this, as if it's some crazy ballet that we've orchestrated to hype up the convention. Then, on top of all that, Beau goes all white knight and just... friggin' tackles the guy. Or at least he tries to. Poor meathead falls flat on his belly and rolls over the table. This, of course, breaks my concentration, and I lose grip of the crazy stallion's hooves. The pen goes flying. Everything is saliva and pandemonium. It's somewhere around this point that the two bouncers stop staring up the show mares and realize that Tartarus has broken loose, only they start stomping on this guy like he's on fire and they need to put him out.

And, y'know, I would have felt sorry for the guy, only the whole time—instead of yelping in pain—the guy's shouting: "Aim for the throat! Aim for my neck! I wanna become a cool mare!" And it's around this time I can't see, because that's what happens when I want to laugh. I can't see. I was blind as a bat in the middle of a mosh pit and all I felt like doing was laughing. Thankfully, Beau got hold of the situation, though I don't know how. Cuz he's braying like a zebra in heat. Still, he musters up the courage to drag us both out of there. The crowd's lost its mind laughing at the poor guy, and it's just the break we need to make our exit and leave everyone else in the dust. Gotta hoof it to Beau, there. I never seen a stallion move so fast, even with his tail caught on fire. I remember the two of us huddled in the elevator—we weren't going anywhere. We just sealed ourselves inside so we could lean against each other and collect our breaths. We were both grinning so hard that it nearly knocked me unconscious. Anyways, after a good ten minutes, we snuck out of the elevator and snuck our way to the opposite hall.

And we performed our concert, turned everypony's frowns upside down, got the heck out of Orlandoats and never ever went back.

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