Stick Figures

CHAPTER VI

The next morning, I sat up, feeling a little dazed. The alcohol from last night hadn't fucked me up too bad, but I still felt a little shaken up. It was easily a little past noon, but nopony was up except for me. I Struggled to push myself off the couch. I slowly walked over and opened the door to take in a breath of fresh air from outside. At my hooves was a letter from Printing Press. I picked it up with my magic and took it inside with me. Sitting down in the chair at my desk in the corner, I grabbed my dry quill and used its tip to open up the letter.

Sliding out of its paper sheath, I unfolded the letter and began to read it. My half smile faded into a frown which then morphed into a face of anger. The letter said that Printing Press didn't believe that my story was real. He said that he would have accepted it had it been marked as a fictional story, but he was expecting an autobiography. I crumpled up the paper using my magic and then combusted it, turning it into a pile of black dust on the table which I blew out of the way so I could put a fresh page down and grab my quill so I could write to the fucker.

I wrote a letter back to him telling him that if he wanted to accuse it of not being true, he should make sure it isn't first. Then I demanded he drag his stupid ass over to Ponyville so I could drag his ass through the Everfree forest to show him the living instruments, unless I was able to pull Bassman away from his work long enough to drag him back to Ponyville for a few minutes. It wouldn't seem worth it to him, though and I wouldn't blame him considering it was, like, a three hour walk.

I shoved the letter into an envelope and then galloped off to the post office, hoping to catch Ditzy before her shift ended. All the other employees there fucking hated me. Unluckily for me, she wasn't there. Instead, there was a dark green stallion with a dark green mane, dark green eyes, etc. standing at the desk looking like he was just about ready to break out a knife and slit his throat he was so bored. I recognized him. I had seen him working here before.

"Gah, fuck, not you," he grumbled. "Whaddaya want?"

I put the letter on the counter along with a bit for postage. He sighed and grabbed it with his mouth. I would say it would have made Printing Press mad, but Printing Press and this guy were both earth ponies. He grabbed the bit after throwing it on the counter behind him. "There, you're done, now leave." I gave him a death glare as I turned and left.

Walking in the door, Octavia spun around with a confused look on her face, her long black mane following behind her head. "Where have you been, Phantom?"

"Post office," I replied in the most mundane tone possible.

"Why the anger?" Vinyl interrupted, popping out from under the table. Her horn was glowing and I saw a rag on the floor. I figured she was cleaning up some regurgitation of hers from last night.

"Printing Press doesn't believe my story is an autobiography," I sighed, sitting down at the small desk.

"Why?" Octavia asked innocently.

"The whole talking instrument thing didn't seem possible to him," I explained. "I don't blame him for thinking that, honestly."

"What are you gonna do about it?" Vinyl added.

"I'm gonna drag the prick here so he can see for himself!" I slammed my hoof on the desk while I shouted.

"Better go get Bassman in that case," Octavia suggested.

"I guess I've got nothing better to do," I sighed. I turned around as if it was a drag to do and proceeded out the door. After making the walk through the forest, I made it to the cave where the instruments resided. It seemed less lifeless to me. There were a few lights set up inside and there were a bunch of random instruments around and about doing various things, most of them were practicing though. "Bassman!" I called out.

He turned to face me. "Phantom!" he shouted happily, wheeling over from his workbench to where I stood. "What's up, man?"

Taking my mind off of the question at hand was the fact that there were so many instruments milling around that I was wondering if Bassman had finished all of them. "Are all of the instruments fixed?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he smiled (or would have if he had a face), putting his... metal balls at his sides as if he were putting them on his hips.

"What happened to your hands?" I inquired.

"Oh, I took 'em off!" he said. "I don't need 'em anymore and I can't play with 'em on, so I took 'em off."

"Okay, anyway," I continued. "I need you to come back to Ponyville for a little while. Printing Press doesn't believe what I sent him is an autobiography, so I need the proof that these "living instruments" I talked about actually exist."

"Makes sense," he responded. "I guess it'd only be logical to go with you, so let's go." He turned on his one wheel to face all the other instruments in the cave. "Everyone? I'll be back sometime tomorrow! We practice when I get back, okay?"

"Okay, Stick Figure!" a Scottish accent called out.

"Stop calling me that, Ace!"

By the time we had gotten to Ponyville, Bassman was able to figure something out. Why couldn't I teleport us there? "Why couldn't you just have teleported us all this way?"

"I can't do teleportation magic," I sighed. "I'm slightly disabled magically. I can't perform any advanced spells such as teleportation. It really sucks."

"I'd only assume," Bassman said.

We made our way to the train station to see if Printing Press was on it. The Equestrian male system is unusually fast. They use teleportation magic to get letters to other cities and such. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was on that train.

To my (un)surprise, Printing Press walked off of the train, his marigold coat and dark crimson eyes made the small glasses he wore look kinda stupid. On his flank was a picture of a typewriter with a page in it. He turned his head to see me, then he looked at what was standing next to me... his jaw hit the ground beneath him.

"Dear Celestia, you weren't lying!" he gawked.

"Why would he lie about something like this?" Bassman spoke up, motioning to himself.

"Are you convinced, or do I need to drag your ass into the Everfree forest to show you the rest of them?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fine, thank you," he nodded, sounding a little nervous for whatever reason. "I guess I'll just go back then. Send me the next few chapters in about a month. I'm guessing that'll be enough time for the story to... progress further." And at that, Printing Press turned and got back on the train, looking like he had just seen a ghost. Bassman and I stood there in silence for the next few minutes. Finally, the train gave a mighty puff of smoke and then departed.

"Well, that was interesting," Bassman said after a moment or two of silence.

"Certainly," I agreed. We turned and began to walk back the other way. The story would certainly progress, but not in the way that anypony would have expected.