• Published 3rd Apr 2013
  • 11,818 Views, 1,573 Comments

Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. - OneUppington



Meet the most cynical pony in Canterlot, who under the latest Princess' orders, moves to Ponyville to meet up with the Mane Six for his own quest to find friends. Many Swear words ensue.

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Much Ado About Nothing

“… She will be getting it annulled after the Princess Summit. Provided that there is a way to annul an adoption without looking like a horrible pony in the eye of the media. Especially since she’s particularly popular as of late.” Rarity finish explaining, levitating a book towards me for me to put on the shelf with the others.

Page is silent as he holds the ladder.

… She told him the entire story. How Twilight went into reception asking for paperwork of my release. How Type Face fucked up the paperwork. He’s been quiet ever since. I wished for this, once upon a time. A quiet Page.

But not like this. And not right now.

“Do you believe this, Woundsalt? That the receptionist had a bad day in the office?”

Oh thank Cadence, he speaks! “Well, I don’t see Twilight as a pony who lies about something like this. Besides, I’m willing to bet Type Face did it on purpose to screw with me. I wouldn’t put it past her. We have what you’d call a ‘Hate-hate’ relationship.”

“Like every relationship you have in Canterlot.” Page quips.

“True, true. Next book, Rarity.”

I see a book float towards my hooves. Let’s see…

“Mister Page,” I hear Rarity says, breaking my concentration. “I think it’s safe to say with great confidence that this secret must stay in the library for-”

“Oh, no argument here, Miss Rarity. Don’t you worry.” Page interrupts. “I won’t reveal this. One condition though… Fuck the media. You tell Twilight to annul this immediately.”

I look down at the two. Page, what the fuck are you saying?

“I’m sorry, come again?” Rarity also asks.

“Forget what the paparazzi think.” Pages replies. “As of my father’s passing, I am now the owner of Printed Media, the largest brand of newspapers and magazines. What I say is what the paparazzi think, and I say the child that everypony believes that exists… doesn’t want to be royalty anymore. That they, whoever the buck they weren’t, realises the stress of being the child of the newest princess is too great to handle and they request an annulment. Princess Twilight, while saying that she loves this non-existent child, understands and rips up the adoption papers. The unknown orphan is never heard from again and Twilight will continue pretending that butter can’t melt in her mouth.”

Shit, that’s insane! However… It’s insane enough to work! Granted, it’s lying but it’s still the truth. I don’t want this and I feel like I’ve been stressed out since I found out; really, the only lying we are doing is the lie everypony else created: The kid.

“But… but…” Rarity stutters. “But what about the other brands? Wouldn’t they have anything to say on the issue?”

“Au contraire, Miss Rarity.” Page quickly replies. “You do not know the lesson I learn frequently being the heir of Printed Media.”

“Which is…?”

“Nopony fucks with Printed Media. Printed Media has knowledge on everypony and everything. More than other any corporation does, at least.”

“Oh, do they now?” I interfere. “Okay, ignoring this adoption fiasco, since you just found out about it, what else does Printed Media know over other companies?”

He looks at me. “Celestia left an unofficial visit Saint Diamond Heart’s crying yesterday afternoon. Ponies have only rumoured why. A reporter of mine discovered it is because of a secret Saint Diamond Heart kept… One she didn’t see coming.”

I sigh. “Let me guess. Trombones?”

He blinks. “You mean you know that?”

Rarity blinks. “Trombones?”

I sigh again. “Yeah, I had a prophetic dream I didn’t tell you girls. It was a little fucked up.”

“Oh, the one for Celestia’s eyes only.” Rarity squirms. “Say no more. Twilight did mention it. She didn’t write to us what it was, unfortunately. Or should I say fortunately?”

“Fortunately.” I nod.

“Definitely Fortunately.” Page nods along. “Trust us.”

“That I shall.” Rarity says, not nodding. You’d think she would be somepony who’d continue a starting trend. “Well, I leave you two to the rest of the books and pack for the Princess Summit.”

I look at the pile. Yeah, that doesn’t need three ponies to sort out. In fact, by the looks of things they all are copies on the shelf already; including the one in my hoof. So we could just put these in storage and call it a job well done. The shelf is full enough already, anyway.

“Okay. See you later, Rarity.”

“Take care, Miss Rarity.” Page bows. “Make sure Twilight annuls this as soon as she can.”

“I’ll make sure she will. Adieu, Mister Page.” She says as she walks out of the door.

The moment it closes, a question came out of my possibly, but logically guaranteed not-brother.

“So, how many times have you verbally ripped her high-class lifestyle to shreds?”

I couldn’t help smirking as I come down the ladder. “Hard to say. I don’t remember what I say in surges, remember?”

He guffaws as he looks around. Before moving the cart with his aura. “True… Look man, I got to be honest with you. When I saw that certificate, it… well, let’s say it’s the cause of vomit number two and three.”

“No kidding.” I reply, leading the way to storage. “Are you surprised that it’s a secret to the public?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “And a good thing too. This could break your reputation. You’ve seen the folks at that bar last night. I can’t imagine how well they’ll receive this if it comes out.”

“I can see that.” I say as I put the book in my hoof onto the floating cart. “Then again, those guys forgave me for not knowing I had a fanbase.”

“I… I think this might be too much for them to be in a forgiving mood, Wound.” He says concernedly. “These ponies love you for being you and the fact that you say what you feel and believe; especially when it comes to your hatred of Celestia. Yet here you are being close to royalty. It feels like you sold out your feelings and beliefs!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I hate Celestia…” I begin my rebuttal as we walk over to the storage room.

“You do realise you wrote the proses titled ‘When Whitey Raises the Moon’, ‘The Revolution Will Not be Rated TV-Y’ and ‘I Bucking Hate the Bucking Princess’, right?”

“Okay, I can see why it would come across that I hate the Princess, but…

… want an Average Donut Joe running things and just have her doing what she has been doing in the last thousand years. Is that too much to ask?”

… The fuck was that? Was that a surge? It sounded… calmer.

Page, alongside myself, stays still for a moment. “Was… was that you right now or your magic? Because you don’t usually go on and on like you just did unless you have a blackout, but that sounded less… rage-y.”

“I… I think it was a blackout. It’s been weird since I got here. It made me cry in front of Apple Jack’s Family yesterday. Still don’t know why.”

“No kidding?” Page asks as he returns to moving himself and the wagon, eventually reaching the storage door. “You know, I never really saw you cry before.”

“Really?” I ask as I open it up. “You’d think all the times were hanging around my cubicle you’d catch me writing something.”

“What does that got to do with…” It was then that his mind has clicked. “You write with your own tears?”

I nod as his mouth figuratively and almost literally hits the floor.

“Holy crap, so that hermaphrodite at the bar last night wasn’t joking about you crying ink?”

I smile. “Like someone who owns a bar shall ever lie.”

He giggles… It seems nicer than it used to be.

“True, true.” He smiles. “Speaking of, do you mind if we head back to the SorriNa on the way to that arcade Rarity was on about? I think I left my wallet there.”

I can only blink at the question before answering with my own. “You… want to come with me to this arcade?”

“Why not?” Page shrugs. “I’m not planning anything today. Besides, I never really been to one before. Have you?”

“… I think I woke up drunk in one. Or it was it a casino? No wait, I remember. It was on a table of an illegal poker game.”

“I’m so happy you’re out of West Canterlot, Woundsalt.” Page Presser said calmly as he puts the cart away.

“Me too, good buddy.” I sigh as I close the door. “Me too.”

Author's Note:

By the way, for those who are familiar with Gil-Scott Heron, those first two poem titles are for you.

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