Chapter 2: The Mothmann Hypothesis

Holler’s first impression of the salon was that anypony who was anypony who was gay probably got their mane and tail done here. Part of him, rather a large part in fact, hoped he could get through the experience without getting hit on.

Unless they had a mare who worked there. That could be neat.

‘Yes, but they’re most likely a superdyke or faghag.’

“Oh don’t be vulgar,” he grumbled. “Let’s just get in, get it done, and get out.”

“Now who’s vulgar?” said a voice behind him. Hollar practically jumped out of his coat. Spinning around, he saw a stallion give him a wink and a smile and walk inside.

‘Sweet Celestia do not go in there I’m begging you.’

“That’s nice,” he said a little too loudly. The stallion stopped as he opened the door, and gave Rock a smile over his shoulder.

‘...fuck.’

Rock waited for a moment before he trotted in to make sure he didn’t seem like he was following the other colt in, and opened the door. The first thing he was aware of was that the place smelled like every manecare product in the world. EVER. “Holy mother-” he threw his hoof over his nose, and started breathing through his mouth. It was a slight improvement. Everything would taste like aerosol for days.

The mare behind the counter, a ‘broad’ if there ever was one, took one look at him, and kept chewing her gum, returning her attention to the article she was reading. Her hair was done up in a beehive on her head, and Rock didn’t know if he’d teleported to the fifties or the middle of New Colt City. “Welcome to Clip ‘n’ Trip, what can we do to ya?”

‘Oh god what is that thing?’

Not responding, Rock simply asked, “I could use a touch up. I’ve been told I look a little... shaggy.”

Before the mare could give a response or even a proper once-over, a rather feminine voice said from behind her, “Well I’ll say. You look like something the cat dragged in after playing with it all night.”

Rock’s attention turned to somewhere a little to the left of the receptionist, and he saw the stallion from earlier. A tall, lanky fellow, his green mane was done up in blonde highlights and he had matching blonde streaks going through his lighter-green coat. He looked like an under ripe watermelon with anorexia. “Excuse me?” Rock asked, bewildered. Any anger he’d felt at being insulted had walked out the door and been replaced with a serious case of the ‘What the Bucks?’

“Well don’t just stand there, get over here,” said the stallion, grabbing him by the hoof and leading him to a seat with all the grace of a freight train with a tow line. Holler sat down rather indelicately and blinked. “Um...”

“Now, I’m Sparkle Spray, don’t laugh, and I’ll fix this right up. What do we want? Color? Style? Something completely new?” Sparkle rambled off a few more options, until Rock finally caught up with the situation and raised a hoof to silence him.

“Um, Haute Couture sent me here. I just want to look more... trim and tidy. Less like a featherduster. And I’ll tip you for every pass you don’t make at me,” he explained.

Sparkle huffed. “Well you’re no fun. What was that out there, then? Talking to yourself?”

Rock nodded, stonefaced. “Yes.”

The effeminate stallion just sighed. “Fine then. At least you’re a friend of Hottie’s. So how is he?”

“He... well. His roommate died today.”

The first thing that Rock noticed after he’d finished his sentence was that the room had been very noisy when he’d walked in. Something he hadn’t paid attention to until now. This came to his attention when he realized how quiet it got. “Switch... Switch is dead?” Sparkle asked, all of his luster gone.

Rock nodded again. They’d obviously known him pretty well. “Yeah,” he said quietly, slowly realizing all eyes were on him. “I don’t know all the details, but apparently he... well, he lost it or something. He...” a slight pause. There was no easy way to say this. “He did it himself.”

The room as one gasped, and slow murmurs started building throughout the room. Sparkle shook his head furiously. “Oh no no no he would not. Not our little Switchboard. Something else must have happened.”

Rock just looked at him. “From what I’ve heard he... he carved a bunch of numbers or something into the wall and... then he cut himself. I didn’t see.”

Sparkle was still shaking his head in denial when another stylist piped up. “You know what I bet it was? That Fried Circuit colt he was forced to work with. That stallion must have given him something. Maybe slipped him something ugly, made him crazy.”

Rock’s ears perked up. He’d heard of Fried Circuit before. Callous unabashed stoner of a pony. “I didn’t know he was working with that walking lab accident.”

Spark’s face grew determined and fierce. “You know I’ll bet you’re right, Shiny. We oughtta go have a word with him!”

There was a rousing chorus throughout the room, making Rock a bit nervous. “Hey now, um, I get that your upset, but could we... maybe save it for when you’re not holding scissors so close to my head?”

Sparkle looked at Rock like he’d forgotten he was there, and at his hoof, where he was indeed holding a pair of styling scissors. “Oh my stars would you look at that I’m so sorry.” Sparkle then started to trim at Rock’s mane, working frayed ends and loose hair out of the way. “I just know he did something and I’m gonna talk to that colt about it!”

Rock thought about that. Setting a vengeful fashionista with sharp objects on a pothead might not go anywhere good. “Um, how about I go talk to him? I could maybe ask him what they were working on or something, and then report back. And if he did give Switch something to... loosen up, or whatever, then you can have at him.”

Sparkle smiled gently. A few others voiced some agreement, and Rock noticed the volume had returned to the salon, even if the tone was a bit different. “That sounds great. You go dig up some dirt on him or something and report back like a good little soldier. You do that and I won’t charge you for this.”

Rock liked the idea of free anything, so he nodded. “Sure. Finding him shouldn’t be hard. Just follow the smoke, right?”

A few ponies laughed at that. The overall attitude that somepony had done something to their friend had given them all something to focus on instead of being sad. Sparkle patted his head. “I think I’m gonna like you, Mr...”

“Oh, uh, Rock. Rock Holler.”

“Mr. Holler,” Sparkle said slowly. He smiled.

‘Oh great, he’s probably thinking about how to turn your name into an innuendo.’

Shiny, the stallion who’d spoken up earlier, asked from his chair, “So how do you know Hottie?”

“Oh, I live down the hall from him in the dorms. They were... there were police in the hall earlier and I’d dropped by to see if he was okay. I asked him to come with me to get a manecut, but he said he had some phone calls to make. To Switch’s family,” he elaborated, when Shiny raised an eyebrow.

The other colt’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, right. Well, that was a nice thing to do, anyway. I bet he’s the one who told you to come down and get trimmed up?”

“Actually my roommate. It kind of... came up when we were talking earlier. Something about scaring mares away,” he said sheepishly.

He could have sworn he heard somepony say ‘dammit’ very quietly. Shiny raised an eyebrow again. “You’re straight?”

“...yeeess....” Rock said uneasily.

Shiny paused, and laughed, shaking a free hoof. “Oh, no, not like that, sweetheart! We don’t discriminate here. And that certainly explains your... order. It’s just, usually the stallions that Haute sends us that turn out to be not massive colt-cuddlers look like brick shithouses. We just figured...”

Rock sighed. “I’m an artist. Of the not-so-starving variety. Muscles are about as useful to me as a third wing.”

Sparkle gasped. “Ooh, what kind? Do you paint? Write poetry? Are you a musician?” He whittled away at Rock’s tail as he spoke.

‘This guy’s fast.’

“...stoppit...” Rock muttered under his breath. He stopped when he realized Sparkle was staring at him via their reflections. “Oh, no, not you. Just... you’re fine.”

Sparkle laughed. “Talking to yourself again, are we? You’re not loco in the coco, are you?”

“I don’t think so, but my therapist would disagree,” he answered dryly.

“Well, tell that little voice in your head to keep it down. I can’t talk and work at the same time, honeybun.”

‘...what?’

Rock walked out of the salon a little later, feeling much more refreshed and a tad gayer. Once they’d gotten past the whole discussion of Switch and ponies had calmed down some, the atmosphere returned to normal. The world must go on, after all.

‘They’re probably going to go home and cry themselves to sleep after this.’

“Seriously, don’t be mean,” Holler grumbled.

‘I’m just saying. They’re not indecent. Just in control. For as long as they can, anyway. I’m guessing it will hit them later. That or they’re all holding onto this Fried Circuit thing. Seeking Justice for the wrong-done, and all that.’

“Whatever gets them by,” he muttered to himself. A few ponies glanced at him, but he was used to it. They wanted to know where the sound was coming from, that was all.

‘Right. Not everypony’s out to get you, dude. Except the ones that are.’

“Isn’t that the same line of logic that says crazy people don’t know they’re crazy?” Rock asked nopony in particular as he opened the door to administration. He noticed an officer talking to a secretary off to the side, most likely following up on Switchboard’s death.

‘But you don’t think you’re crazy.’

“...I hate you.”

‘I love you too.’

“Can I help you, son?” Rock was pulled out of his not-so-inner dialogue by the voice of an older stallion. He looked up and saw what he assumed to be a professor or at least a staff member standing next to him, a grey coated old colt with a white mane and tail.

Holler paused for a moment, trying to remember why he was there. “Oh, um, yeah. I was... I’m trying to find Fried Circuit. Do you...”

The old stallion huffed. “Know where he is? Thank Celestia I don’t. I’d tan his hide. But if you’re looking for him, try the basement of the applied sciences building. He and that poor pony Switchboard were working on some kind of class project downstairs. Goddess knows why the cops ain’t talkin’ to him. From what I heard Switch went out of his gourd. Wouldn’t surprise this old mule if he’d given that poor colt something.”

Rock nodded. “That seems to be the popular theory. Thanks for the help, Mr...”

“Steel. Steel Rod. I’m one of the engineering professors. And you are?” he asked, holding out a hoof with a smile.

Rock took it and gave it a shake. “Rock Holler. I’m in the Arts Department.”

Steel gave him a curious look. “You’re not going for one of them Art History degrees, are ya, boy?”

He shuddered. Art history. Where degrees go to die. “No sir. I’m studying Music Theory. I’m particular to Tonality and Transformational theory, myself.”

Steel blinked. “Well that’s something. Certainly better than most of the ‘artists’ you meet around here. Hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope it isn’t whatever Switch found. I’ll bet it’s what killed him.”

Rock was taken aback by that. “You don’t think he killed himself?” he asked quietly.

Steel looked around, and moved the two of them off to a corner. “Look, I don’t know much about what Switch was studying. He had me for a few classes, but he was a bright kid. Determined. You don’t go from zero to crazy like that overnight. There’s a build, see. I seen it before. Somethin’ happened to ‘im.” Rock could detect an accent seeping through the old stallion’s words. “Far be it from me to step on anypony’s grave, but I think he found something he wasn’t supposed to. And from what I hear? He ain’t the first. Maybe this Fried Circuit got somethin’ to do with it, maybe not. But if you want answers -and Celestia knows the cops ain’t lookin’ for ‘em- he’s where I’d start. If I was any kind of inquirin’ pony.”

Rock nodded and shook his hoof again. “Thanks, sir.”

“Don’t sir me, boy. I work for a living.” Steel smiled. “You go out and get whatever answers you think you need. Just don’t tell me. Some things ponies ain’t ought to know. And you tell anypony I talked like this ah’ll string you up by yer fetlocks on an ol’ engine block an’ use you to teach my class why you don’t do... certain things while the engine’s runnin’.”

Rock half laughed, half cringed. “Yes sir.”

Finding the Applied Sciences basement was easy. It was one of those places where you look until your instincts tell you to walk away, just go home, and you keep going anyway.

‘Dude, do you know what they do down here? Experiments, man. Like, on ponies. These are graduate students and the like with college funding and lots of concrete between them and whatever they’re not supposed to be messing with.’

“Will you shut up?” Rock grumbled. “We’ll be fine.” His voice echoed ever so slightly down the hall, but was quickly drowned out by a large cacophony of noises from rooms being used by science students with way too much freedom. “I think.”

‘No, I think. You do.'

“And yet we’re still alive,” he drawled. He kept walking until he came across a door without sound coming from the other side. Peeking his head in, he saw the room to be empty. Probably wouldn’t be for long, though. Free lab space was a commodity from what he understood.

The next room he came across that was at all quiet had a lot of radio equipment in here. From what Steel had told him, Switchboard was getting some kind of Broadcasting degree. This must be the place. He trotted in, slowly, and took a look around. Stacks of papers and circuit board, wires and assorted hardware littered several tables in a rather cramped space. None of it was on.

Well, almost none of it. He did see a small radio sitting almost by itself on a table, as if the rest of the equipment was giving it a wide berth. A little light on top showed it was on, but there was no sound. Then Rock noticed the headphones.

“Maybe it’s a news channel or something,” he said, and kept walking. He turned his attention to the notes. Most of it was in lots and lots of technical jargon that he didn’t understand; some of it was equations and the like that, at a glance, he understood, but not their applications. And some of the pages, in the margins, just had numbers written on them.

[3-5-6-2-1-0-9 by 5-6-2-2-2 over 5-4-4 by 5 over 6-7 by 7-7. 0-1-3-2-0-9-0 by 0 over 0-9 over 5 and 6-7-3-4-2]

Most of it didn’t make sense. Why write ‘by’ when he could just use an x or an asterisk? Why ‘over’? Just write the fraction. ‘By 0‘? That was 0. ‘Over 0‘ made even less sense.

[6-4-0-2-4-5 by and over 3-0-9-2-0-9-9-9-9]

It all looked like just plain gibberish. And the farther he read, the more of it there was. Eventually, some pages were nothing but nonsense.

[3-5-6-0-2 by 6-5-0-0-3-3 over 5-9 over 1-2 by 0-7-6-9-0‘

“What?” Rock asked himself.

‘What?’

He shook his head and put the notes down. “I guess it wasn’t so overnight as they thought...” Rock trailed off when he realized he could still here the numbers.

“7-8-3-4-9-7-6-4-9-1-6-8-1-7 by 3-5 over by 2-3-6-3-8 to the 5-7 and 3-4 5-6 1-2...”

‘Dude, is that you?’

“No. Is that you?”

‘No.’

“9-0 to the 6-7 to 5 over 4-3-2-5-4. 9-8-7 by 2-5-1. 5 by 4. 5-9 by 3-8. 8-7. 2-7...”

Rock looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Eventually, his eyes landed on the lone radio. And the headphones. “Those are some loud as shit phones.”

‘dude...’

“What now?”

‘My crazy senses are tingling. If you have to ask the voice in your head ‘Is that you?’ and he says ‘no’? Something’s fuckin’ wrong, man.’

Part of him knew he was right, but he wanted the damn numbers to stop. Or at least know where they were coming from. He trotted over to the headphones.

‘Dude don’t do this I’m telling you-’

And put them on.

Author's Note

This story is proving more and more fun to write. Thoughts, questions, recipe ideas? Let me know.