"I'm a Rapper Now. Rappers Are Cool."
Ditzy tapped her hoof against the metal grate that formed the floor of the TARDIS and waited. She studied the walls of the large room, once again refusing to attempt to understand how the whole “bigger on the inside” stuff worked. It was like trying to figure out Pinkie, but harder. It was only harder because, according to the Doctor, there was a logical explanation for it.
So she waited.
“Doctor! Are you almost done?” she groaned. “I’ve been sitting here for hours!”
“Just a minute, Derpy!” he replied.
“My name’s still not Derpy,” she grumbled. “It’s Ditzy.”
“Of course it is, Derps!” The Doctor walked into the control room and smiled at Ditzy. He struck a pose in his sagging, baggy jeans and tight white sleeveless shirt. “What do you think? Oh! Almost forgot!” Returning to the TARDIS’ spacious closet, Ditzy heard sounds of him rummaging around in a box of gears. When he stepped out again, against all odds, he looked even dumber. A backwards orange and white baseball hat adorned his head, and his pants were even lower than before, showcasing his spotted pink underwear to Ditzy, who was able to observe the horror from dual angles.
“Doctor.”
“Yeeeess, Derpy?”
“You are not wearing that. Go change.”
“But, Derpy, I’m a rapper now. Rappers are cool.”
Ditzy facehooved. “Rappers are not cool.”
“You just wish you were as good a rapper as I am. And as good looking, too.” The Doctor brushed a stray fleck of rust off of his shoulder. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He winked.
“What!” she shouted, almost falling over as she leaped to her hooves. Her cheeks turned a slight red. “There’s—you—I am not jealous! You look ridiculous!”
“Please. I’m the Doctor. I am always in style.”
“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This is all wrong! You can’t just . . . wear that!” Ditzy gestured wildly at the Doctor with her forelegs, but he simply trotted past her, heading for the controls. She spun around to face him, saying, “You can’t save galaxies looking like that!”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because—” She paused for a moment. Why couldn’t the Doctor be dressed like that? She stared intently at him, fully absorbing every detail.
She could feel herself catching cancer. “Absolutely not. No. No, no, no. I mean, you just, why . . . No!”
“And who said anything about saving galaxies? I’m a rapper now. Rappers are cool. And rappers, by extension, don’t save galaxies.” The Doctor began flipping levers around the circular control panel, but the hourglass-like piston remained motionless, meaning that they weren't moving. “That’s odd,” he muttered, pressing a complex sequence of buttons, his hooves flying across the panel.
“What’s odd?” asked Ditzy, walking up the stairs and standing a respectable distance away from the Doctor's new outfit. “Besides your clothes.”
“We should be moving. Really we should.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, moving!” The Doctor waved his hooves around. “With the noises and the rumbling. And I don’t know why we aren’t.”
“I think the TARDIS agrees with me. Go. Change.”
“Hmm? No . . . that’s not it. I don’t know what’s happening, but . . .” He stopped moving completely. Then the Doctor’s ears twitched and angled behind him, Ditzy’s ears mirroring the direction
The quiet sound of a humming mechanism echoed faintly from one of the many hallways branching off of the control room. The Doctor faced Ditzy, eyes wide. “Stay down,” he whispered, pointing to behind one of the many twisting pillars.
“Is that—”
“Yes!” he whispered urgently, glancing around wildly.
“How did it get in here?”
“I don’t know!” he said. “It should be impossible.”
“Well, figure out something!” Ditzy said.
“I’m workin—
“Face me, Doctor,” screeched a demonic, electronic voice, its halting tone providing no doubt as to the speaker.
Ditzy and the Doctor slowly looked away from each other and looked towards the sound of the voice. The creature that greeted them was one of cold-hearted evil. It was the mortal enemy of every living being. It brought death and destruction wherever it went. That race had brought more strife upon the the universe than any other. Planets were still burning, and entire species no longer walked among the living. Stories of them made foals eat their vegetables and grown stallions fill out tax forms.
It was a Dalek.
Its cold, unforgiving exterior was a wide oval at the base, but narrowed down to a circular turret at the top. Metallic half-circles covered the sides of the Dalek at regulated intervals, and twin lights adorned the sides of its dome. Its appendages was an eggbeater-like laser gun and, what appeared to be, a microphone. Its final feature was a single eyestalk with a glowing blue lens on the end.
Petrified in mortal terror, Ditzy felt bile rising in her throat as she noticed something particular about this Dalek. A massive golden dollar sign—roughly the size of her body—hung from around its “neck,” and not one, but three baseball hats of varying sizes were stacked atop it “head.” And, wait a second. Daleks didn’t have microphones as arms. “I challenge you, Doctor! A rap battle to the extermination!” it said, lights flashing.
Something deep inside Ditzy broke. “What.”
“I accept!”
“What.”
The Doctor pushed Ditzy gently to the side, causing her to fall on her rump, and took a step forward. “Let’s begin! Can we have a beat, Derpy?”
“What.”
“You know, like bu-skk-ska-ss—”
“No matter,” said the Dalek. “ We will begin without. You will be exterminated.”
“Bring it.” The Doctor extended his hoof skyward, and a microphone fell into his grip.
“I don't understand,” Ditzy moaned, clutching her head.
“I’m a Dalek. And you can’t stop me.
“I’m going to bring you down. You’re nothing but a pesky bee.
“Shooting up planets with my laser; your little ‘driver’s fussy.
“I can take a hit, not lose my life.
“You’re on your what? Ninety-ninth?
“So prepare for your fate; let me give it to you straight.
“It is time to exterminate!
“Puh-leaze, I’m the Doctor. And I never tire.
“You think your so tough? Silly, you’ll scuff.
“I’m gonna hit you so hard, you’ll join the choir.
“I’m calling your bluff, getting real rough.
“I’ve taken out fleets of your kind, you’ll be the same.
“Going down in fire; no glory or fame!”
“Superior rapping detected. Selfdestruct, imminent.” With a loud bang, the Dalek disappeared, leaving nothing but a pile of dust and a wisp of smoke.
The Doctor brushed his forehoof against his shirt and smiled down at Ditzy, who was sitting, open-mouthed. He offered a hoof to her, but she just stared dumbly at the air where the Dalek used to be. “Are you okay, Derpy?” he asked gently.
She blinked. Once. “Doctor, what happened?” Shaking her head, she focused on the Doctor’s blue eyes, attempting to anchor herself in reality. “I just had the strangest dream about you having a rap battle with a Dalek.” She placed a forehoof in the Doctor’s outstretched leg and allowed him to help her to her hooves.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t a dream, Derpy.” He placed his hoof under his chin and stroked an imaginary beard, muttering quietly.
“No, I'm sure it was a dream,” she stated. “Now what do we do?”
“For starters . . . I think we need to head to the secondary control room. The TARDIS always keeps a backup in case the primary fails. Well, and a backup secondary. Well, and a couple dozen more.” He nodded as he spoke. “Follow me, and we’ll have her up and running in no time!” He quickly turned around and galloped down a hallway, baggy pants almost tripping him every few steps.
As he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, she shook her head quickly. “Coming, Doctor! Wait for me!” Fluttering her wings, she sprinted ahead, not stopping until she was by his side.
“So, Derpy.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Doctor: my name is Ditzy,” she groaned.
“Since when?” he asked, giving her a rather particular glance out of the corner of his eye.
“Since always, but you never listen.”
“I always listen to you, but I know you’re wrong and that you secretly like it. There’s a difference, you know—” He lifted up his foreleg and attempted to loop it over her shoulder, but immediately tripped over his pants and fell over.
Ditzy giggled as she watched him climb back to his hooves.
“As I was saying, like a nickna—” A sound that they knew all too well resonated from close behind them. Heavy duty pistons slammed metal hooves into the ground, filling the hallway with reverberating echoes. The creature methodically, deliberately marched from its hiding place in an intersecting hallway to directly behind the pair. Then, mercifully, it stopped, and Ditzy was able to hear again. “You will be deleted.”
Quickly turning around, the Doctor and Ditzy were met with another terror of the galaxy: a Cyberpony.
Shiny metal encased the pony from head to hoof. It’s eyes were soulless black holes in a face that could show no mercy. It had a headset-like antennae attached to its ears, and a thin black line served as the creature’s mouth, glowing blue whenever it spoke in its robotic, halting way.
“You will be deleted—”
“Oh, no.” Ditzy, realizing that this particular Cyberpony was wearing clothes, sat down in a rush. “It wasn't a dream.”
“—unless you rap battle me.”
The Cyberpony was wearing not one, not two, but six baseball hats, each one balanced at a jaunty angle atop its head. And not only were its pants around its ankles, but its purple and pink underwear, as well. Worst of all, it was wearing a hoodie. A black hoodie. Ditzy almost threw up.
“I accept.” The Doctor nodded, eyes narrowing.
“My name is generic Cyberpony number 9,253,923,024,231,893. And . . .” It drifted off into awkward silence.
“Is that it?” asked the Doctor.
“No. Can I start over? I have no idea how I’m supposed to continue that.” If a robot without emotions could sound bashful, it would sound exactly like that Cyberpony.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow while Ditzy desperately tried not to black out again. “I don’t really think that—”
“You’re too late now; now we've begun.
“I'm a metal-plated rapper, and I've already won.
“With my unrelenting gait, and my methodical tone
“I'll make you wish you could call you mom on your phone.
“I'll give you an upgrade like none you've ever seen.
“I'll tuck you ugly face inside your spleen.
“I can see you pale, you pathetic welp.
“But you can't call on anyone for help.
“Defeat is yours, and you’re welcome to it.
“I'll delete you when we're done, and you can't stop it one bit.”
“You think you’re all that? You’re sadly mistaken.
“Metal-plated? Psh, I'm shaken'.
“You think you’re tough, but I know you’re faking.
“I’m the King of the Box, I’m the Lord of Time,
“And when I’m finished, you’ll be crying.
“I've killed scores of your kind, and they couldn't stop me.
“Though I’ll make your end special; I’ll drop you in the sea.
“As you sink to the depths, I’ll ignore your pleas.
“I’ll just cross you off my list and drink my tea.
“Nooooooooooo,” cried the Cyberpony dramatically, still without emotion—a rather impressive feat. As its knees impacted into the metal, Ditzy felt the entire floor rumble. The Cyberpony slowly wobbled. Then it fell the rest of the way, faceplanting without any form of dignity whatsoever.
“Come on, Derpy, let’s find that control room before something worse shows up.”
“What could be worse than having a rap battle to the death with a Dalek and a Cyberpony?”
The Doctor had a pained expression on his face. “I’ll give you one example: the Judoon. Have you heard them talk? They can’t lose!”
“What do you mean?” asked Ditzy, once again being helped to her hooves.
“Bo lo fo cho so lo,” stated the Doctor.
“What?”
“See? That’s just a sample of their language! They don’t even have to say anything intelligent! Though, come to think if it neither do I. . . .” The Doctor slowly tapped his hoof on his chin. “Who even said I had to rap in English? And more importantly, why does a Cyberpony and a Dalek suddenly feel the urge to rap battle me? It doesn't make any sense. . . .”
“Can we just get to the control room?” Ditzy muttered, rolling her eyes. “We can figure this out later.”
“Hm? Right. Of course. Follow me.” The Doctor began trotting away from the defeated Cyberpony, Ditzy fluttering her wings to close the distance.
“Are we almost there?”
“I think so. It’s a bit hard to tell for sure, thou—oh. We’re here!” Rounding a corner, the Doctor waved his foreleg at an open doorway; through it, an exact likeness of the original control room could be seen—minus the Dalek dust—but with the addition of minimal light.
“Do you think there’s anything waiting for us?” whispered Ditzy.
“Absolutely not! The TARDIS has a completely impenetrable force-field surrounding it.”
“So where did the Dalek come from? And the Cyberpony?”
“. . . Well, I don’t think there’s anything in there,” the Doctor muttered, lowering his voice. He took a tentative step into the room and looked around, Ditzy close by.
“I don’t like the way this looks, Doctor. . . .” Ditzy said quietly, pressing up against the Doctor's side.
“There’s nothing here. See?” As he spoke, he pressed a button on the console, causing the lights to flare to their full brightness. “Nothing to worry about!”
A voice from an unlit corner of the room made both of them jump slightly. “Hello, Doctor.”
“No . . . it can’t be. . . .”
“Who can’t it be?” asked Ditzy.
“You’re dead!” The Doctor ignored her in favor of the shadowy pony.
He let out a menacing chuckle. “Do I loosh dead to you?” he said, slowly stepping into the light.
“Well, no.” The Doctor frowned. “You look quite alive for a cadaver. I’m actually impressed.”
Ditzy rubbed her eyelids. “Uh.”
“What?” the pony asked.
“You—” started the Doctor.
“Look ridiculous,” finished Ditzy, punctuating her sentence by throwing up.
The pony was “wearing” underwear, but they weren’t even on his body; instead, they were tied to his ankles with hoodies and dragging behind him on the floor. He had at least a dozen chains around his neck, and each one displayed a gold-plated “swag” pendant in the middle. He had a half a pair of jeans on each leg, but they appeared to be on upside down and dragged around his ankles. the other pant leg dangling freely. He wore two sets of sunglasses: one for each eye. Massive golden braces lined his teeth, causing his lisp, and finally, on his head was the prime epitome of swag—it was a baseball hat, but with a 360 degree brim.
“I challengshe you, Doctor, to a r—”
“You know what? Buck. This. I can’t handle another one!” shouted Ditzy.
“Excushe me?” asked the Doctor and the mysterious pony in unison.
Wiping her breakfast from her mouth, Ditzy jumped into the air and flew toward the pony, forelegs extended. Wings straining, she picked up speed. “N-no, wait!” he slurred, attempting to scramble away, but his swag anchored him in place. He held out his hooves in a feeble attempt to ward off his attacker, but not a second later, Ditzy smashed into the pony, shattering him into thousands of pieces. The pieces faded away and dissolved into nothing as she landed where he used to be standing.
“Eww, ewww, eww! Dead pony! Dead pony!” she cried, immediately backpedaling. Not watching where she was going, she tripped over a wire and into the Doctor, knocking him onto his back.
“Ung,” he groaned as all the air was forced from his lungs.
Rolling off of her landing pad, she scrambled to her hooves and looked around wildly, eyes spinning. “What happened, Doctor? Did I . . . is he . . . ?” Finally getting her eyes back to normal, she watched the pony reform in from of her eyes. Except, the pony was just a blank mannequin-looking form. A clear bell sounded from the center console, spitting out what looked like a receipt.
The Doctor watched her with a pained expression as she tentatively trotted over.
She yanked the receipt out of the console and squinted while reading the fine print. Most of it was technical information that was beyond her understanding, but what caught her attention was an error code at the bottom. “Error code 3671: interactive hologram program forcefully interrupted by excessive force? Please manually restart?” She looked over at the Doctor. “What is this?”
“Well, er, I may have not been, erm, entirely honest with you.” The Doctor climbed to his hooves and blurted out, “But I can explain.”
“Oh?” With one word, the temperature of the room fell to below freezing.
“I may have set up the whole thing up,” he muttered.
“Oh?” Ditzy face was expressionless, accompanied by a smouldering fire behind her eyes.
“Well, you know how we almost died fourteen different times on the last adventure? You mentioned—er, shrieked—during our impromptu magma boarding experience that you wouldn’t mind a less dangerous trip for a change. I figured, what safer place than the TARDIS? But to keep things interesting, I thought we could do something fun and new, like rapping! I did try to get you to participate, you know. . . .” The Doctor drifted off into an awkward chuckle.
“So. All of this was an elaborate ploy to spend some ‘safe’ bonding time with me?”
“Uh. Yeah?”
“And it never crossed your mind to tell me that we weren’t going to die if your sub-par rapping skills didn’t come through?”
“Oi! My rapping is—er, I mean, I thought about it.” Rubbing the back of his head, the Doctor took a sudden intense interest in a scratched piece of the floor.
Muttering to herself, Ditzy shook her head.
“Oh, and before I forget, there’s, uh, I baked a muffin for you.”
Looking over at the console, Ditzy saw a small plate, half-hidden by a towel. She lifted up the edge and saw what appeared to be a crisped husk. She poked it with her hoof, and it dissolved into ash.
“I know it was fine when I put it there. . . .”
Ditzy brought her hoof up to her lips and waited until the Doctor drifted off into silence. “Doctor.”
“Yes?” he asked, leaning closer.
“You are an idiot. A sweet idiot, but nonetheless an idiot.” She trotted up to him and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, then smacked him on the back of his head. “Now, I’m going to go to my room and contemplate exactly how much I hate you right now.” With a flap of her wings, she was gone.
The Doctor shrugged then trotted over to the console. After flipping a lever, he smiled as control was restored. “Mares,” he grunted, sending the TARDIS spiraling through time.
And, unfortunately, Ditzy’s breakfast spirling directly into his face.
