DX Entity

by Bama_Brony

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Slice of Life, Human, Sad
Length: 4911

Life has a strange way of showing what's important and sometimes it takes a break from your own reality to understand the improtance of family, friends, and your place in the world.

I wasn't ready. I am never ready. But, it seems that life does it's own thing regardless. The world was a place I wasn't really around for and one day my daughter decided that I was more of a child than she was so I did the most illogical thing; I proved her right. Now I'm a "stranger in a strange land" to quote Mr. Heinlein. I wasn't ready for this, and Equestria I think, wasn't ready for me.

Takes place between season 3 and Equestria Girls.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-30 00:30:01 UTC

Chapter One: Fox Hunt

The constant tapping was starting to get on my nerves; every tap felt like a tap dancer was dancing across my skull.  Since when did my one on one time with my daughter become a game of who can go the longest without speaking?  Hell, I tried numerous times and all I got in return was a inattentive yeah or a no.  Who was she texting?  Was it one of her girl friends or was it that boy, I think she said his name was David, who is way too old for her? The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not having any of it.

Snatching the cell phone from her hand, I quickly dumped it in my old ford's glove compartment amongst yellowing papers, mostly old insurance cards and the truck's registration. Her eyes were wide in horror at what I just did. I turned to my daughter to give her a satisfied grin.  Yep, I'm a bitch.  And I can tell that is exactly what she's thinking too.

"Mom!  shrilled my daughter Maxine as she tried to open the glove compartment.  After watching her struggle to get it open for a few moments, I dangle the key in front of her.

"It's locked, baby girl," I teased.

She didn't dare try to take the keys from me.  She wasn't that dumb, but sometimes I wonder.

Folding her arms across her chest, she turned toward the window.  I could see that she was pouting from her reflection in the glass.  Teenagers, eh!

"So, how's life been treating ya?"

Without looking from the window she said, "Seriously, you're going to ask me that after taking my phone?"

Whipping around she tapped her chin and then said in a very sarcastic tone, "Let me think... how about peachy!"

I clean my ear out with my pinkie and then flick the ick out my window.

"Is that any way to talk to your mom?"

Reaching down, she quickly unsnapped her seatbelt and then opened the door.  Stepping out, I sniggered at her trying to straighten out her skirt.  My god I'm glad I'm not that prissy.  Hearing me laugh at her she responded by glaring at me.

"You're not my mom.  You're just my mother.  My mom's name is Emily Fairchild and you are nothing like her!" she hissed before slamming the door and stomping her way over to the old tire swing in the yard.

Ouch!  My bleeding heart, yeah right!  My one mistake was not aborting you, you snobbish little brat.  I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel.  Trying not to let what she said get to me.  Who is she to judge my mothering skills? Who was that fucking judge to judge me too?  I didn't really blame her or the judge.  Who I blamed was that bastard who knocked me up all those years ago, that selfish pig!

The silence was deafing, so I did the only logical thing.  I created noise.  That noise came in the form of static from my old Icom IC-706MkIIG.  The static crashed in what sounded like waves, like the waves of an electronic ocean; which looking at the frequency wasn't all that odd.  The 80 meter band was like that in the daylight hours, a symphony of static strings and symbol crashes.

Changing the bands I was greeted with a much lower noise floor.  I adjusted for a optimum standing wave ratio or SWR. Reading the little bar I noticed that it was at 1.7 which was pretty good all things considering.  Rolling through the frequencies I found what I thought was a Puerto Rican station, if the KP3 prefix was any indicator, on 14.175 Mhz.

"CQ CQ Calling CQ this is KP3UMC Kilo Papa Three Union Mike Charlie calling CQ and standing by" said the voice through the static in a slight spanish accent.  He was mobbed by calling stations shortly after.

From the sound of all the stations calling him, which sounded like a car crash of static and voices, I knew that was a pile up.  Jeez can some Amateur radio operators get excited about talking to someone outside of the states, even though Puerto Rico was technically an U.S. providence.  What the hell?

I picked up my mike pressed the PTT button and gave it a go.  If my daughter won't talk to me might as well find someone who will even if it is just for a second.

"KP3UMC KP3UMC this is KB5AYC Kilo Bravo Five Alpha Yankee Charlie"

I waited.

"KM6ALD this is KP3UMC you're 58 Fifty-Eight, my name is Julio Fernandez, my QTH is San Lorenzo, Puerto Rico. QSL?" he returned to some other ham radio operator that wasn't me.

Figures.

I tried a few more times before growling in frustration.  Damn all those hi powered hicks with nothing better to do than to spend all their money on gear that will drown me out.

Clearing my voice I decided to do something different.  After practicing my lines a few times I hit the PTT again and with a little giggle in my talk I said, "KP3UMC KP3UMC this is KB5AYC Kilo Bravo Five Alpha Yankee Charlie"

You would have thought I was the voice of God by how quick he returned, him and others.  The others I ignored.  Being a chick in a hobby that was mostly male had its perks.

"KB5AYC this is KP3UMC you're 57 fifty-seven, my name is Julio Fernandez, my QTH is San Lorenzo, Puerto Rico. QSL?"

I beamed my little ploy worked.  Of course it worked, it always works.

"QSL, KP3UMC this is KB5AYC you're 58 fifty-eight, my name is Karen—"

"How is this any different than me texting my friends?" asked a very peeved Max, effectively cutting me off, as she leaned her head in through the window.

I groaned and then procured her cell from the glove compartment.  Dropping it in her hand, she gloated and then walked over to a bench which sat a few feet not too far from the tire swing with victory in every step.  Okay, she is my daughter so I couldn't hold too much against her.  But that didn't mean I wasn't going to give her a piece of my mind—

"KB5AYC this is KP3UMC you're 57 fifty-seven, my name is Julio Fernandez, my QTH is San Lorenzo, Puerto Rico. QSL?"

Oh, yeah.

"KP3UMC this is KB5AYC you're 58 fifty-eight, my name is Karen Venmeer, my QTH is Rockford, Illinois. QSL?"

"QSL, thanks for the contact Karen, 88 and 73.  QRZ?" he said politely before moving on to the next contact.

I flicked the radio off and stepped out of my truck, taking care not to scratch my chrome step bars.  The tuck kind of needed them with the four inch lift.  My boots landed in the gravel with a crunch and I headed over to the weather worn bench.

My daughter was once again tapping away at her Nokia.  I hate cell phones and not without good reason.  And to see my daughter absorbed in that infernal contraption just pissed me off.  She sat there with her legs crossed in her tweed skirt, I think its tweed.  I was never very fashion forward.

  I stuck my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans and after walking around behind her, I leaned forward to get a peak of who she was texting.  And just as I suspected I saw the name Daniel at the top of the screen.

"Won't David be pissed at you for talking to this Daniel dude?" I asked as I leaned over a put a hand on her shoulder.

She twisted in her seat and gave me a hard look.

"You looked!" she said almost flabbergasted, "could you not afford me a little privacy."

I threw my hands up.

"Well excuse me for trying to keep an eye out for ya."

She dropped her cell in her purse and then got up, again taking time to press the wrinkles from her skirt.

"I don't need looking after! I'm fourteen and I can handle myself," she said while strike what I assumed was her independent stance, with her backs straight and her feet planted directly under her shoulders.  Standing like that she looked more like a line backer than a lady, and secretly I loved that, because it was me.

"Well then miss independent I bet you put a hand on yourself all the time.  Because you're too much of a snob for any boy to want to hit that," I said with a sadistic grin which quickly turned to a sour frown as the implication of what I said hit me.  Ugh... brain bleach... now... I just imagined my daughter...ugh...  I shuttered.

"Oh my god, Mom!" Max covered her mouth, her face twisted in disgust.

"I'm so sorry I didn't—"

Her face took on a red glow as she lowered her hand from her mouth and curled her fingers into a tight little fist.

"You never think!"  she shouted.

I walked around the bench and the flopped down in it.  Chewing on my bottom lip, I conceded that she did have a point.

"Look I'm sorry... I just don't know how to do this mom thing, okay" I rubbed the back of my head, "I don't know how to connect with you and I try..."

She sat down beside me and I could tell she was still fuming.  She would look at me and the she would turn away only to look right back at me.

"You know what your problem is mom?" she said sounding more afraid than angry.  Was she scared of me?

"What, baby girl?"  I leaned closer to her and put a hand on her knee, "everyone has their own theories on what exactly is wrong with me, so go ahead and tell me what you think."

She took a deep breath and then pushed my hand away, "Your problem is that you don't know when to grow up."

I could feel my eye twitch in agitation.

"Right from dear oh dads play book, eh!"  I stood up and through my arms out wide, "What else you got?"

She swallowed.

"You can't be my friend and my mom, it's just doesn't work.  So, you have got to choose one and stick to it."

"Why the hell not?  Up until a few years ago you thought I was cool and funny.  It wasn't until you dad started shacking up with that Emily chick that you started to go all hostile on me.  Is she the one feeding you this line of shit?"  I yelled.

"No, the problem is that I out grew you," she said at almost a sob before she dashed off the bench into the house.  I heard the front door slam and then a few moments later her bedroom door.

My insides boiled and mixed with a small bit of shame that I had left which set off a reaction somewhere between my head and my heart.  I leapt from the bench and then turned around and flipped it over. Storming over to the tire swing, I gave it a good solid kick sending it high and wide.  I turned around and screamed my own frustrations.

Why did children have to be so—

Something hit me from behind and knocked me face first into the lawn.  I could taste green in my mouth from swallowing a mouthful of grass.  Rolling over, I spotted the offender: the tire swing.  It pissed me off.  It reminded me of a time when my daughter wasn't some snooty little brat.  It reminded me of the fun we used to have.  It reminded me of him.

I stood up and took out my pocket knife and then made quick work of the old rope holding the tire airborne.  Hitting the ground with a thud, it rolled a few feet and then fell over on its side.  The age of innocence was over.

"Karen are you alright?" asked a diminutive voice from before I felt a soft hand fall on the small of my back. Looking back over my shoulder I saw the wide face of my roommate and best friend.   Her small eyes held nothing but concern for me.

"No, I'm not alright." Tears started to form in at the corners of my eyes, "my daughter hates me and it's my fault."

Her arms found their way around my waist and she guided me to the steps of the porch.  I sat there my hands wrapped around my knees as she stroked my hair, trying to calm me down.  It usually worked but this time was different.  This time I was reliving some of the worst pains in my life and there was nothing that could consol me.

After what seemed like forever I stood up and walked over to my truck.

"Where are you going?" asked Caroline.

"I'm just going out okay," I opened the door and crawled inside, "keep an eye on her for a few hours, I gotta go blow off some steam."

"The gym?"

"Yeah, the gym."

My 1985 ford's engine roared to life as I turned the key, drowning whatever Caroline was saying.  I shifted it into gear and backed out the drive way and found me a comfortable stretch of black top leading into town.

I turned on the radio, this time opting for the more conventional one, and I slid in a CD.  The riffs started to pump into the cab; the talk box was my thunder to the lightening in my mind.  Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" always soothed me.

I slid my hand into my pocket and rand my thumb over the smooth coin in my pocket.  As I rode towards my destination I kept stroking it.

Pulling into the gym's parking lot, I pulled out the coin and pressed it into my palm.  The golden eight shined with a light layer of sweat that had accumulated on it over those few minutes.  I rolled down my window and then tossed it out.

Wheels squealed back onto the black top.  The rubber of the tires seemed to stick to the road as if to heed my progress.  Every face that I saw seemed to be shaking their heads no.  An old man standing at one of the cities numerous bus stops, held up what looked like a bible.  My imagination was always creative and this was just my conscious trying to convince me not to do what I had set forth to do.  They weren't real.  My need very much was.

The bell rang above the door.  It signaled my exit from my self imposed purgatory and into my own private heaven.  Life of every color danced inside bottles, every one of them a genie ready to help me wish my anger and memories away.  Jesus turned water into wine so it couldn't be all that bad.

The ebony skinned cashier stood there looking like an angel.  She was the gift giver, the live giver and all she asked for in return was for me to sell my soul.  And right now, I felt like selling it cheap.  Grabbing a bottle of Russell's Reserve, I quickly paid the price and walked out the door.

I drove back home.

Sitting in my driveway I tore off the top and took a long swig.  Eight years down the drain.

"I'll drink to that," I said and then grinned before taking another swallow, this time rolling the bitter sweet solution in my mouth before swallowing.  My eyes went misty for the second time that day and the only cure was another swallow.

The bottle was already a quarter empty when I stepped out of my truck.  My tongue was already tingly.  Several years sober can kill a girl's alcohol tolerance.  I had some catching up to do.  I took another swig and swung open the door.

"Momma's home!"  I bellowed and then giggled.   Walking into the living room I spotted both Max and Caroline vegging out on the couch.  They were both already in their PJ.  Ha, who wears PJ's anyways?  Give me a pair of short shorts and a baggy T any day or rather any night.  Hell they even came off once I got in bed.  Apparently they had more modesty than me... prudes.

A look crossed Max's face.  Her eyes drew back into pin pricks, the same kind of look a cat gives a dog just before he takes off after her.  That kid should really not be afraid of me.  I haven't ever laid a hand on her and yet she looks at me like I'm the devil.

"Karen!" said Caroline sharply as she rose to her feet and started to push me back towards the kitchen.

"What the hell, Cee?"  I stutter as I'm pushed through the door way.

"What the hell yourself, Kay!" she shouted running her hands over her head.

I raised my eye brow and then chuckled.

"This is not funny, Kay!" she poked me in the chest, "Eight years down the drain, eight years."

I shrugged, "so what?"

She turned away from me and leaned against the fridge, "when are you going to grow up?"

I froze.  There it was again.  Strike two for the day.  My stomach churned and I felt angry again.  I felt like a radiator ready to blow off some steam.  The room seemed small, oppressive even, and there was Caroline looming tall, the cork on my bottle of happiness.

I stepped towards her and raised the bottle, wanting more than just to strike that disappointed little frown off her face.  It was the same little look that my parents would give me, when they would come and visit me in juvy.  The same look my daughter's father would give me when I would try to spice up our love life or just have a good time.  I was a better fuck when I was drunk anyways.  That same sad little smile and I hated it.  I hated it with all my being.

The bottle came down and crashed into the side of her face as if on its own.  A splash of red sliced through the air and spilt to the floor.  Caroline backed up and fell over the table, her body and the chairs crashing to the floor on the other side. The blow loosened the cap and the golden liquid fell to the floor mixing with the blood in any infernal cocktail.

And all the while, Max screamed.

Looking at the mess I created, I couldn't move.  I couldn't even believe what I had seen.  It was also so sobering.  And I just stood there blank, emotionless, and in shock.  The cries of my daughter falling on my deaf ears, I felt so far away and I ran.  The sound of the bottle crashing to the floor proceeded my slamming of the front door by only a few seconds.

Black tires on a black road rushed me away.  My life had spiraled out of control.  The road didn't seem very straight.  I felt like I was crawling up the back of giant squirming snake and I pressed on.  My daughters screams still ringing in my ears.

The road stretched on.

An ambulance and several cop cars passed me by and I felt my throat grow dry.  Were they going to my house?  Would they be looking for me?  Was Caroline dead?

I didn't know and I was too scared to find out.  The old road met the highway and as I pulled out on Hwy 20, I knew then that I had two options; turn around and go back or keep going forward.  I was a child, or that is what everyone seemed to think, so I did the childish thing and went forward.

Miles past me and my driving slowly started to improve.  Why I hadn't been stopped was beyond me.  I guess luck was on my side.  The lights of the tri city rose like the sun in the distance.  I had been to Dubuque before and it was a nice city, or it was a nice city if memory served correctly.

It was the home of one of those funny little mysteries, a number station that only came broadcasted once every two and a half years.  Funny thing is it didn't broad cast numbers; it was a pulsating throb, which was really wide spectrum.  The FCC had checked it out numerous times over the years and found nothing.  I had searched for it and so had many others and we all found nothing.

I pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot and pulled out my cell phone.  Yes, even though I hate the little bastards I had one.  Gazing at the date I almost pissed myself, April 25.  For the next seventy-two hours the throb would be heard.  I flipped on my Icom and tuned around until I found it.

It was on the high end of the 40 meter band, just barely above the noise floor.  I don't know why but it was soothing sound.  I briefly wanted to turn around and turn myself in.  I chose not to and then started to cruise around.

I hadn't gone a few blocks when the blue lights found me.  I couldn't have been swerving too much.  If I stopped it would be game over.  If I ran it would be game over.  I stopped.

The jingle of his batman like tool belt preceded him.  The short guy had to stand on his tip toes to peer inside my truck.  He raised his flash light and tapped on the glass.  Rolling my window down, I gave him a polite smile.

"How can I help you officer?"  I asked sweetly.

His face pealed back in disgust.  After a few moments of fanning his nose he asked to step out of my truck.  I did.

The city lights flashed off his badge as he frisked me.  Then he asked me to walk the line, I did.  Damn was that one wiggly line, I felt like I was trying to walk in a bouncy castle.  He pulled out what looked like a fancy inhaler.  I knew what it was and I wasn't having any of it.  My life is in the drunk tank and frankly I don't give a damn.

I snapped my foot forward catching him in the nads.  He bowed forward and I rammed my knee into his nose.  The short guy's head hit the back of the black top with a wet splat.  I imagined his brains oozing out of his ears.  I didn't hit him that hard, but it was fun to imagine.

Dancing my way to his car like Harley Quinn, I found his keys in the ignition.

"Okay, where too Mr. J," I giggled as I slipped inside.

The cop trying to get up and I took that as my green light.  I rushed past him in the police cruiser and headed on my way. I heard a voice over the radio and I did the only think I could think off.

I picked it up, pressed the PTT and spoke.

"Hiya, blue bloods... shorty can't come to the phone right now leave you message at the beep... BEEP!" my voice coming out sounding rather manic.

More blue lights came into view.  I punched the gas and the race was on.

"Making my way down town, coppers in bound, faces past, and if I slow down I'll be bound!" I sang at the top of my lungs.  I was so caught up in my lyrics that I didn't see the car parallel parked.

The throbbing started to scream through the police radio, it never was present on the VHF/UHF bands.  It was strictly an HF phenomenon, and yet there it was and I was feeling strange again.  I wanted to go back home.

"Errrrrr crash!"

I felt weightless for a moment.  Not only weightless but without any emotion accept pure bliss.  I felt like I had been forgiven, like everything was going to be okay and then I heard it, the throb.

My head felt like it was full of cotton candy.  My body felt much worse than that.  Gazing up from the steering wheel, something was oozing into my eye.  Wiping my face clean I saw what looked like runny ketchup on the back of my hand.  That quickly left my mind, I could question that later.

I had apparently run into a statue; a big shinny reflective horses ass.  Below it was what looked like a mirror.  And it was cracked and glowing.  I assumed it was just the head lights.

Freeing myself form the car, I fell to my knees.  The glass littering the ground dug through my jeans and sliced at my tender skin.  The throbbing was getting louder.  It took me a moment to get to my feet.  It took a few steps towards the source of the throbs before I fell again.  This time glass found its way into my hands.

Biting my bottom lip, I struggled through the pain and crawled towards the throb.  I felt whole in its presence.  The sound of tires squealing to a stop didn't halt my dedicated crawl.  Feeling in my bones, I reached up and placed my hand against the mirror. It buzzed electric under my finger tips, and I saw my reflection, only it wasn't my reflection.

I saw a sad colorful creature gazing back at me.  Her coco colored eyes were pained and hallow.  It was like she had no soul.  The good feelings melted away.  And I felt alone, more alone than I had ever felt in my entire life.  I hated being alone.

The throb ceased, and I screamed.  Pounding against the glass, I heard a sound unlike anything I had ever heard in my entire life.  A deep rumble more felt than heard.  I felt my insides twist and contort, I was on fire and I was freezing.  The rumble continued and something stuck at my core like a thousand needles.  A pincushion, with each stab a memory flashed through my mind, some happy others sad.

One struck me like a hot branding iron and I sobbed.

"Miss Venmeer, say hello to your baby girl."

The mirror cracked and I felt like water going down the drain and I felt no more pain, no more sadness, but neither did I feel happiness.  I felt neutral.  I felt blank, and I felt free.

***

Fire light danced across the crystalline walls of the hall, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.  There were talks of renovating the hall as well as parts of the entire castle.  It was nothing short of a heritage site.  The current occupants of the grand palace were both old spirits and despite their youth, they chose to keep much of the old furnishings as close to period as possible.

Standing outside of a rather ordinary looking door were two guards.  Both of them hoof picked for this assignment.  One of them held his grown with the resolve and dedication of his station. The other guard didn't fit the mold.  The mold might as well have been broken after him.  And all in all he liked that notion.

"The armor is going to chaff my coat is it, Stone?" wined the smaller of the two as he shifted his armor with a hoof.

Stone didn't bat an eye.  Why they had chosen to punish him the presences of the neophyte was utterly beyond him.  And to put him with a complainer was even more mindboggling.  Perhaps his lieges were testing will.  It was the only thing that made sense.

"I give up!," huffed the smaller stallion as he dropped his spear, "I made a mistake.  I thought that I would look handsome in armor, I do, but still all of this standing around is not worth the effort."

Stone sighed.

"Pick up the spear Cotton or I'll have you on report."

"You wouldn't!" shrilled Cotton as he stepped forward now nose to nose with his superior officer.

"I wou—" curtly replied Stone as something wet ran over his muzzle.

Stone's eye twitched as he realized what Cotton had done, "You licked me!"

"You should see your face, Stony, you're ba-lush-ing," giggled Cotton as he ducked a punch.

Another spear hit the floor and Stone took another jab at the colt, "I'm going to kill you, you cur!"

Cotton spun around and smacked Stone across the muzzle; this time with his tail, before he leapt up and took flight.  The giggling pegasus stuck his tongue out at the stallion below before turning around and dropping his croupiere flashing stone his plot, stallion bits and all.

"I will have your head for—"

"CRASH!"

The two stallions turned to face the door.  Stone snapped up his spear and rushed inside followed closely by the still musing cotton.  They weren't prepared for what lied within.

A strange carriage painted mostly white with steaks of blue had somehow found its way inside the room.  It had crushed an antique settee, Stone could care less but, Cotton had other reservations.

"What a waste," he said as he mourned the loss of the fancy couch.

It was the strangest carriage Stone had ever seen.  For one the wheels seemed to be covered in some kind of inky black substance he had never seen.  Giving it an experimental poke with the button end of his spear, it gave slightly.  Poor construction, he thought.  It also had what looked to be some kind of light on top of it, which was bathing the room in white and blue.  It reminded him of the lights used in some of the dance clubs in Canterlot.

"What is it, Stony?" asked Cotton as he hovered above.

"I don't know."

Something moved at the edge of Cotton's vision.

"Whazzat?"

Stone couldn't see what Cotton was asking about so he walked around the carriage, his eyes never leaving his fellow guard.  Cotton's mouth fell open and his ears lay back against his head.

"Mother of Celestia!"

One the floor was a creature unlike any he had ever seen.  It was mostly hairless, the lone patch of fur clung to its head like a bad toupee.  It was breathing and now moving.  The creatures head turned upward and its deep brown eyes met the steely gray of Stone's.

Raising its forehoof, it mouthed something in a language beyond his understanding before collapsing to the floor.

Stone did the only thing he could.

"Fly fast Cotton and retrieve our Prince," he said as he pointed to the door with his hoof, "Make haste and bring Prince Armor now!"