A Page Well Turned Over
“I'm sor-”
“Fluttershy, stop. It's not your doing, it's his. You don't need to apologize.”
I look through the door to Fluttershy's kitchen, seeing Printed Page in the front room trying to wake up old Satchmo to get out of here. We agreed (Well, more like he stated, I disagreed, Fluttershy gives me a look, then I agreed.) to take a walk to Applejack's farm, but it has to be us alone; No Fluttershy, No bear, not even a little Machiavelli to piss on him at some infrequent time. Just Page, an old pomeranian and I.
De-fucking-lightful...
“Okay... Woundsalt, I feel like it's been a while since you and Page saw each other. Am I right?”
I nod.
“How long?”
“Since the magazine went bust five years ago.”
Hell, I never kept tabs with anypony from back then. Well, they can't pretend they didn't know where I was.
“Oh... okay. Well, try to bring up some good memory from back then...”
“Of which there is none.”
Fluttershy looks at me like I just spat on one of her budgies. “Seriously?”
“... Well, there was that interview with Satchel Mouth, but that's because I know that's his favourite musician. Oh Celestia, how much he wanted to do that interview. I bring that one up to piss him off.”
“Oh... Well then, scratch that. Just don't bring up any touchy subjects” Fluttershy looks out to Page in the other room. “But by the looks of things, he might bring up one.”
I look out as well. “Such as?”
Fluttershy's pupils meet mine. “Printed Mint.”
“... What about Printed Mint?”
“He's... not with us.”
“Well clearly. What, did you mistake him for Page? Don't know why you can, they look nothing alike.”
“No, no! He's... gone to a better place.”
“Ohana Islands?”
“No! Upstairs!”
“This place has an upstairs?”
“No! He's kicked the bucket!”
“Don't worry, he's got maids to clean up after him.”
“He's passed on!”
“Passed on what? It better not be my fucking po-”
“HE'S DEAD, WOUNDSALT! Oh my goodness!”
We both look back at Page, who clearly heard us. We both nervously giggle and wave at him until he looks some other way.
“Sorry.” I whisper to the pegasus through my teeth. “So... when did that happen?”
“Last week, on the day of Twilight's coronation. It was in the paper somewhere but the report sort of got drowned out by erm... 'Sparklemania.'”
I smile for two reasons. One, it is very hard to keep a straight face when the word Sparklemania is announced. And two, a pony who manipulated media for a living dies and gets the back pages.
Poetic justice is the best justice.
“Right, so try and avoid that, unless he brings it up. Anything else?”
“One more thing.”
she gets closer to my hear.
“Be gentle. You know how Doctor Brainstorm was the closest thing you have for a friend?”
I nod.
“You're his Doctor Brainstorm right now.”
Oh goody.
“Say, that poem Fluttershy has in her house; It's very... Lovely.” He says as he yanks old Satchmo from a tree. “I thought you hated lovely.”
“Yeah, It's kinda meant for foals so...”
“Ah, fair enough. An audience like that probably doesn't deserve the usual Salt treatment.”
I wait until we hit the bridge before I give him back my reply.
“... Is there anypony out there who DOES deserve the usual Salt treatment?”
He laughs. That's one thing I found annoying about Page. He laughs too easily. And not a pretty nice laugh, like the fillies, but a sinister laugh. It's a laugh that could sneak up behind Fluttershy's giggle and stab it through the chest.
“Hoooo...” He gasps as he winds down his evil, nefarious laughter. “Oh my goddess, did I need a laugh. So I figured the fact that Fluttershy shouted out the words 'He's dead' as loud as she possibly can means that you just found out about dad.”
Well, so much for trying to avoid the touchy subject.
“Yeah... Is that why you're here?”
“He put in his will that he wants his ashes on a mantlepiece at some restaurant here. He used to love the place. The salad there is fantastic.” He says as old Satchmo found another tree to sniff around.
“What, no burial?”
“Well, if there was a burial there'll be a long queue before you can dance on his grave.” he smiles as he magically picks up his dog and levitates him away from the tree.
I can't help but to snicker. I now I shouldn't, but that one just got out of nowhere.
Page has never said anything bad about Mint before.
Now that I think about it, he seems... different. Whether I like this difference or not, I am unsure. I know I can't stand him before; So maybe, JUST maybe I can survive five minutes with him before imagining to punch him.
“Forgive me for the lack of experience on losing a loved one , but... You seem very chilled given the situation.”
“Well, I was planning to just lie there and mentally break down like anypony else,” he states as he turns to me. “But then some kind of epiphany came to me, you know? Like, some sudden realisation that I have...
Choice.
I could choose to take this as the average sucker or I can make it an opportunity to do things I was afraid of doing because every time I even think of doing it, I get the image of my dad shaking his head. Do you get that with Brainstorm?”
“No. But admittedly, that's probably because I never listened to him anyway.”
He points at me in an ecstatic manner. “Ah! See? But I can't, I mean, couldn't do that with Dad. I always listened to him, followed him blindly. I was a sheep! I was just following a leader; My leader, my Dad! Now I AM that leader!”
“...Yeah!”
“ I can do things!”
“Yeah!”
“I CAN NOW FIND OUT FOR MYSELF WHAT I CAN AND CAN'T DO!”
“YEAH!”
“I CAN SAY WHAT I CAN SAY WITHOUT LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER FEARING HIM TO BE THERE!”
“YEAH! YEAH! BUCK YEAH!” Oh sweet Luna! It's like he's radiating excitement through his body and into me! I can't remember me feeling this alive... ever! Go, new Page, go!
He calms down and does a deep breath. “...And that leads me into something I always wanted to say to you.”
Uh... New Page? What are you doing?
He takes of his shades and looks directly at me.“Look, I feel like I've been holding my feelings back for... well... always.”
I-is he... doing what I think he's doing?
“And ever since the Poetry Corner started, I wanted to say something to you...”
No. No, he isn't...
“And even after the magazine got canned, I had the urge to head to that statue at night and just... tell you how I feel. What I really feel.”
Oh holy fuck, he is... Don't panic, Woundsalt. It's just your rival confessing that he's gay and in love with you, no big deal. Just say that you respect him telling me this but you aren't sure if the relationship will w- FUCK HE'S GETTING CLOSER! PANICPANICPANICPANIC
He holds my head in place and get closer and closer and as soon as his mouth reached my ear, he whispers.
“You're right. My dad is an asshole.”
…
I laugh.
He laughs.
We laugh.
We laugh louder.
We eventually calmed down.
“Oh my goddess, do you have any idea how good that felt!” he shouts.
“Oh I can only imagine.” I say, still a little short of breath. “You know, for a moment there, I thought you were coming on to me.”
“What? Oh no no no no no!” he says. “No way in Tartarus! It's bad enough I had to look at the fan fiction we have in my fan mail sack!”
My ears prick up. “Fan fiction? You mean ponies were writing about us being...?”
“Still are!”
“Oh no...”
“Don't get me wrong, there are some out there that are awesome. Like there's this one called Magazine Days, in which it's more about me discovering myself and then breaking the bonds of my dad's control over me and you doing everything you can to make it work; Really touching stuff. But most of them?”
He shivers.
“Just be thankful what my dad does to your fan mail bag, Wound.”
My ears prick up again. “What fan mail bag?”
“Well... You know that humongous sack that post-pony lugged into my dad's office you keep asking about?”
“Yeah. The one that always come out empty aft- That thing was my fan mail bag?”
“Yep.”
“Th-that was three times the size of your bag!”
“Yep.”
“... And that mother bucker just gave me-”
“The hooful of complaints in that tupperware box, which he had to scrounge for in that pile of letters. He then burns the rest. Thus was his routine every mail day.” he said sitting by the side of the road. The best thing about him knowing me for so long is that he knows when it is coming.
“... THAT MOTHER BUCKING-
-AND HE WILL KNOW MY NAME IS WOUNDSALT WHEN I HAVE MY VENGEANCE UPON HIM!”
…
“I know it sounds weird, but I kind of missed those black outs.” He says calmly as he pets the dog to attempt it to relax. “I don't know for the life of me why.”
“D-did I say anything out of line there, or...?”
“Not really. Well, there was that one about finding his urn and peeing in it, but... hey, if there was anypony who deserves to do that, it's you.”
I smile. “So... I have fans.”
“You have fans.”
“More fans than you.”
he nods.
“Why did Mint not want me to know that?”
“Why did he keep you in the same stuffy office? Why did he tell you you're not allowed to decorate that office? Why did he give you the dead eye every time he walked past? He wanted you to gone, man! He wanted you to quit!”
“Then why did he not fire me?”
Page looks at me as he stands up again. “Because you aren't the reason he hates you, contrary to belief... he hates you because of that cellist.”
“... You know, speaking sense would really help me the fuck out, Page. What does Octavia got to do with this?”
We start to walk again.
“Octavia, according to Dad, is the reason the Canterlot Horn doesn't exist anymore...
It was pretty clear it was either you or her who'd win the competition. No other foal would get close to you two. However, the way Dad decided who the winner was down to one thing: who would bring in what type of audience? Your poetry, as it has proven throughout the years, brought in the Renters. A bigger audience, sure, but a cheap audience. Throughout the years, they complained about the prices and how you can't get the magazine down here in Ponyville. Maybe it would've been a good idea to expand the circulation and lower the price a little, but it wasn't a good idea to my dad. He would rather watch this company burn... as it did.
Octavia and her talent, on the other hoof, didn't bring in the Renters. She brings in the high class, the 'sophisticated', the ponies who would STAY in Canterlot and wouldn't complain about price! Hell, he could raise the price and they wouldn't mind; what's two more bits for somepony who has a billion? And, ever since she got that cover shoot she wanted she was performing at the Grand Galloping Gala, only refusing a few times for her University Degree! Imagine the advertising for the Canterlot Horn if one of their contracted artists were in the Gala! Your poetry isn't worth that! Your poetry isn't even worth the doughnut shop next door!
So naturally, he went with the better choice; Octavia Philharmonica. But she turned him down, telling him she only wanted the front cover and to give the contract to the pony who came second... you.”
“... He decided a fucking children competition by what they represent on the social ladder?”
Printed nods.
"and decided to let the magazine die instead of listening to the Renters?"
Printed nods again.
“Your dad's an asshole.”
Printed smiles. “My dad's an asshole.”
His eyes wander over to something behind me. “Hey, can you wait here with Satchmo for a sec? I need to do something here.”
I turn around and notice a bank behind me. “Waiting for the will money to come in, huh?”
“Something a little more important than that.” he giggles.
As I wait, I ponder about Octavia. Even though Page doesn't know about the date, he said some things that makes me worry about it. I mean, he's right; Octavia is the high class, the financially insured; And I, whether I have these fans or not, am the low class, a 'commoner.' A nopony.
… Why is she even here? I know for a fact they pay Gala musicians insane amounts of money! She could have a penthouse in the best side of the city, but instead she's slumming it down here beside Tartarus with a DJ for a room mate?
And while we're on the subject, why do I need to know Neightalian?
Page walks back out with a couple of pieces of paper, an inkwell with a quill in it, and and envelope.
“What's all this?”
“Well, when I was at the door, I overheard you and Fluttershy talk about the book and how you didn't get anything for it.” He floats the papers closer towards me. “These are the rights to your poetry which my dad gave to me after his passing. I figured that I am the last pony on this earth to deserve these, so just sign the bottom of the back page here.” He floated the envelope towards me. "And in here, is a debit card and the details of an account which has half of my share from the book. All yours.”
My jaw drops. “Oh sweet Celestia. Page you don't need to-”
“Of course I fucking need to, you idiot. Sign the paper.”
I pick up the qu-
“One condition, however!”
OH BUT OF COURSE THERE IS!
He looks me dead in the eye. “You have to tell me a place where I can get my first drink. I figure a booze hound like you already knows a place?”
I smile. “Well, I haven't been there yet, but I know a pegasus who runs a bar called SorriNa..."
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I truly expected Bulk Biceps to pop out of the bushes to scream "YEAH!" during their little conversation.
He then what the rest?
This story is looking good, and Woundsalt is an awesome name. Keep them coming!
4599181 I'm thinking he probably burned the rest.
4598991 Glad I'm not the only one
3 things:
1- I fucking love this fic.
2-This fic deserves more likes and faves.
3- Wound x Page... i would ship the shit out of it.
4599181 Oops! Always something! good catch!
4601474
1. Thank you!
2. Thank you!
3. ... I ain't stopping you, Go ahead!
4601875 M/M FOR THE WIN!
Fantastic development left me with a huge smile on my face! However, going to a bar today may not be a good idea...
Little edit:
I look through the door Fluttershy's kitchen
The door TO Fluttershy's
And Magazine Days is a reference to the fic University Days, isn't it?
I would ship WoundPage so hard, man. I would join the fanclub mentioned earlier which I now suspect to have a majority of WoundPage shippers. I would read all that delicious fic and cry from all the feels. I would write that fic.
This is hilarious.
4598991
I find it funny how that guy has like, 3 different names thanks to fans. That one, Snowflake, and Roid Rage.
Dear Gods above, I swear, I was inching closer and closer to my screen with every. Fucking. WORD!
This piece of dialog, good sir, is a golden masterpiece!
4601848
Can you please stop killing me with the comedic gold that is this story? I've laughed so hard it turned into a nasty cough several times over, for each chapter.
)
(PS - What am I saying? Let the Comedy Gold flow, you literary genius, you!!!
There's some Samuel L Jackson hidden in here!
I just realized that Satchmo is short for Satchel Mouth. It's the little details!
"I know a pegasi" I think you meant 'I know a pegasus'. For some reason I keep seeing that mistake be made by various authors, despite pegasi be clearly used as the term for more than one pegasus in the series proper. There were a few other minor errors, but this the one that irked me the most.
Really liking the story so far.
That... Well... damn! I'm stunned... thoroughly stunned
*Hng* Them feels...
I regret not reading this sooner.
izquotes.com/quotes-pictures/quote-once-is-happenstance-twice-is-coincidence-three-times-it-s-enemy-action-ian-fleming-229170.jpg
It really is.
Can't, he's dead.
And a fucking dumbass.
I'm glad things are going well for Woundsalt now.
But, he couldn't deny that Woundsalt's opinions brought the ponies back for more. So he kept all of it a secret to
A: spite him, naturally
B: make sure that he didn't get a swollen head.
And C: enable him to keep paying Woundsalt (probably) less than minimum wage and keep all the cash he should be raking in.