The Legend of Epic Sax Spike

The Legend of Epic Sax Spike: A Tale of Wonder and Unparalleled Satisfaction

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Chapter 4: The Roaring Silence of Closure and Its Implied Subtleties

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“I’m sorry, Spike! You’ll just have to trust me on this one!” Twilight yelled, as she and her five friends ran towards the horizon.

“But…” Spike faintly objected with an outstretched claw, only for it to slowly drop with a defeated sigh. How was he supposed to know where it was? With a quick shake of the head, he turned and began sprinting back towards the city, hoping it wasn’t too late.

He burst (sorry, BURS) into the nearest establishment, Le Restaurant Stéréotypée Français pour les Chevaux, hoping his first guess was successful. “Puis-je vous aider?” the fancy French pony asked at the door.

“Uhh…” Spike began, “avez-vous vu le septième point?” he asked with a confused look on his face.

The pony mirrored the confused look. “Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?”

Spike threw his arms up in frustration. “Regarde, je n'ai pas le temps pour cela!” He stormed past the befuddled waiter, and entered the main room of the restaurant.

He started to look under tables, hoping to find the missing item. As he dodged tables, he overheard conversations from the customers.

“… et je lui ai dit son pénis ressemblait à moustache d'un clown!” a young mare stated.

“Haha, vous allez, ma fille!” Spike said to himself. “Maintenant que j'y pense, depuis quand dois-je comprendre Français?”

“…mais je l'ai violée avant qu'elle ne puisse crier à l'aide!” an older stallion jovially boasted.

“Wow, je veux faire la fête avec CE mec!” Spike said with a chuckle, as he stealthily scoped under the stallion’s table; just as bare as the innocence in his soul.

“Pouvez-vous me blâmer? Ses parties génitales puait de vinaigre!” a stunning mare asked her group of friends.

“Eh bien, je suppose que les filles ont leurs priorités, trop...” Spike said, as he approached the final table in the far corner. A rather stylish stallion sensed his upcoming presence, and shot him a dirty glare.

Spike hesitantly reached the table , and the stallion spoke, “Nous savons tous pourquoi vous êtes ici, jeune dragon.” He began, “Vous cherchez le septième élément de l'harmonie?”

“Vous fils de pute!” Spike yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “Où est-le? Alors aidez-moi Celestia, je vais te tuer, sauf si vous me le dire!” The fellow customers began to look back at the developing “scene”.

“Calme, vous tromper! Si vous devez élever la voix, laissez-nous au moins changer notre dialogue.” The stallion stated sternly. “Etes-vous couramment l'anglais?”

“Un peu.” Spike responded with folded arms.

“Oui, un tel langage horrible, mais bénéfique. Etes-vous sûr que vous pouvez tenir le rythme?” the stallion asked.

“Je suppose que oui...” Spike answered, as he took a seat.

“Très bien.” The stallion said, as he cleared his throat. “Now, I’m sure by now that you’ve realized that I’m aware of the seventh element’s location.”

“I’ve figured as much.” Spike responded, leaning further back into his seat. “So, where is it?”

“Hmm, one must question a spectral adversary in the confines of a dining establishment.” The stallion stated.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Spike asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I thought you said you spoke English.” The stallion said flatly. “In layman’s terms, what is the opposite of this fine eatery in the realm of culinary service?”

“What, you mean like fast food?” Spike asked with a cocked brow.

“Correct. Now, you have three main chains within this town; McDonalds,” Spike made his best Dolan impression at the thought of “McDolan’s”, “Burger King and Wendy’s. I have in front of me three cards, one of which is the current location of the element. Choose wisely.”

Spike grazed each restaurant in his mind, carefully mulling over his options. After several minutes, he drew a logical conclusion. “I choose…” he swiped the left card from his hoof. It had Burger King’s classic logo glossed atop the card otherwise designated as the “Joker”. The stallion shot up, and pushed Spike to the ground, bursting out of the restaurant.
“Oh non vous di-iiint!” Spike said, snapping his fingers and jerking his head from side to side. He rushed out of the restaurant, only to be knocked back on his ass by the roaring power of a fighter jet engine blasting just hooves away from his face.

The powerful aircraft blasted off, just after the stallion stuck his head out proclaiming, “La course est lancée, jeune dragon! J'espère que vous avez emballé cercueils pour vos amis, aussi bien!”

“Vous morceau de merde! Vous aurez de la chance si je fais un autre spectacle! Je veux dire que diable-” he knocked over a nearby pile of empty cans left for recycling, “Vous avez ruiné ma Taco Mardi!”

Somewhere in a distant universe, he could envision a French Texan saying “Je suis votre hôte, l'homme qu'ils appellent Ghost, et encore une fois, je tiens à remercier tout le monde pour le tuning dans avec moi.” He looked up at the daytime sky, and shed a tear. He then rushed through the town, hoping to catch up to the impressive aircraft and its less-than savvy pilot.

He BURS to mach 2 speed, narrowly avoiding the idiotic townspeople with every step he took. Every move he made, every bond he broke, every breath he took, he was watching the jet, and slowly catching ground. After several minutes, the fast food wonderland was in sight, and it was truly anyone’s race. With a skidding halt, Spike stopped at the rear of the restaurant. He rushed over to the front, only to be stopped by his handsome adversary.

“Well well well, il semble que vous avez été défait, jeune dragon.” The stallion had a triumphant laugh, just before he was full-nelsoned by a charming stallion.

“Oh no you don’t, dear boy. Snips, Snails, NOW!” Just as the French bastard began to struggle, the two young idiots bound themselves around his back-hooves. “Alright Derpy, ATTACK!” Just then, a gray Pegasus flew into sight, bumping break-neck speed with an outstretched hoof towards the stallion. The wind suddenly blew slightly east, and she instead flew through the roof of the establishment.

The stallion said with a chuckle, “Je n'ai pas de mesurer correctement votre popularité (SNAPPLE), il semble. Mais peu importe! Le septième élément est le mien!” The stallion broke free from his vice, and BURS (SWAG) into the restaurant. He quickly scanned the area, hoping to catch sight of it before the stubby purple beast could enter the establishment. Spike rushed into the eatery, and almost immediately noticed the spherical stone being used as a paperweight to hold the receipts at the main counter. The two locked eyes, and charged towards the counter.

Unfortunately for the stallion, his French blood began to take over, and he suddenly bolted in the other direction. “Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, vous bâtard écailleuse!” Spike slowed and turned around, utterly dumbfounded. He chose to merely shrug it off, and continued towards the element.

“Excuse me, can I see that for a moment?” he asked the colt behind the counter.

“Oh, that? Sure, I guess.” He answered, obviously going through puberty.

He picked up the sphere, and slowly eyed it from every angle. He noticed the engraving began to faintly glow. “’Burs’. ‘Burs’? I don’t get it. What’s ‘burs’ mean?” At the third utterance, the sphere shot up several hooves and shined a blinding glow towards the indigo imbecile. It slowly moved atop the dragon, and lowered itself. When it made contact with him, a blinding white filled the restaurant for a few moments. He hesitantly opened his eyes, only to realize he was now sporting a bitchin’ gold chain which read in sapphires, “Se vanter de la Côte”. “What the hell?” Spike asked, as he got a good look at the chain.

Fancy then entered the eatery to explain, “Don’t you see, Spike? The seventh element was within you all along!”

“But… but what is it?” Spike asked, tilting his head.

“The element of swag, dear boy!” Fancy answered. Spike’s eyes went wide along with a gasp.

“You mean my swag is gonna save all of Equestria?” he asked with hope in his voice.

“Of course! Shall we be on our way, then?” Fancy asked with an outstretched hoof.

“Fuck that shit! Let’s get some donuts!” Spike proclaimed, slapping away Fancy’s hoof and began to walk toward the door.

“But what about your friends?” Fancy asked frantically.

“Who needs friends when you got all this swag?” Spike answered as he turned around and struck a manly pose. Almost on cue, Carrot Top and Berry Punch slid to both sides of him and began to caress him.

“I thought you were different, dear Spike.” Fancy said, as he dropped his head in defeat.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Let’s go get some donuts!” Spike suggested.

“Hmm, now that you mention it, I have had a hankering for some icing-doused pastries as of late…” Fancy scratched his chin in deep thought, “alright, then!” The two then headed to Donut Joe’s parlor.

A fun afternoon of merrymaking and vigorous drinking ensued, as Spike jumped atop of the counter and practically screamed, “Un autre beigne! Extra arrose!” The three shared a hearty laugh, and subsequently passed out.

. . .

Spike tore down the ad posted on the side of the library.

Wanna vamp like a New Foaleans champ? Want the skills with the sound that kills? Want the bitches on your dick like ink on a BIC? Then p-mail the ‘corn with the golden horn! John Colttrane now giving lessons in a city near you!

“I’ve heard of this guy,” Spike said to himself, “he’s one of Twilight’s favorite musicians. I’m not a fan of jazz, but man, can he blow some sax!” He crumpled up the ad and threw it into the nearest recycling bin. He entered the library and began to prepare lunch.

Several minutes later, Twilight approached him. “Hello, Spike.” She said with a warm smile.

“Oh, hey Twi’,” Spike responded, “what’s up?”

“Just checking out what you’re making for lunch.”

“Oh, well, I figured I’d go the minimalist route today, so I’m making a strawberry salad with raspberry dressing.” He stated, as he continued tossing his salad.

“Ooh, sounds delicious!” Twilight exclaimed. “I hope you’re planning on making a large batch; I invited Rarity and Pinkie over for lunch so we could discuss plans for Fluttershy’s birthday party.”

“Oh, alrighty then, I’ll be sure to make it for four!” Spike said.

“… Ok then, so feel free to stop licking yourself, and hop to it! They’ll be here in half an hour!” Twilight said with a giggle, as she left the kitchen.

Spike groaned, “If you say so.” He brushed his teeth, and got to work. Thankfully, he had just enough to work a large salad together within twenty or so minutes. Just as he finished, he heard thumps at the door. “I’ll get it!” he yelled, as he opened the front door.

“Hiya, Spike!” Pinkie yelled, attempting to merge her face with his. “Twilight told you we were coming over, right? I hope she did! OOH! Maybe it’s better if she didn’t so that we SURPRISED you! Are you surprised? Are ya? Huh? HUH?”

Spike squirmed his way from between her head and the oak finish. “Yes, she told me you were coming over.” He answered, slightly annoyed.

“OH! So you know what we’re doing here, then! So, do ya got any ideas for the party? I was thinking pink and yellow STREAMERS, with strawberry-lemon ice cream cake! NO! Cheesecake! NO! Ice cream cake! NO! Chee-” her mouth was stuffed with a decadent brown substance.

“Pinkie, I’ve been working on a new brownie recipe, what do you think?” Spike said half-heartedly.

“Mmm-mm-mmm!” Pinkie responded as she scarfed the brownie down in a large gulp. Her tongue ran across her face in sheer bliss. “Spike! That brownie was super-duper tasty-wasty!” she proclaimed, bouncing up and down. “What’d you use to make it?”

“Oh you know, the basics.” Spike answered with a shrug.

“I must say, Spike, I’ve been in the mood for chocolate as of late myself. Might I partake in one of these delicacies?” the sultry white unicorn asked as she entered the library.

“Oh, sorry Rarity. I kind of made that brownie specially for Pinkie; I didn’t really make a whole lot.” Spike sadly stated. “I don’t care if you’re Aphrodite herself, touch my stash and you’re dead meat, bitch.” He thought to himself.

“That’s quite alright, dearie. Now where is Twilight? We absolutely must get this show in the road.” The unicorn said, as she sat herself on the couch.

“Here she is!” Pinkie yelled as she stuck her head out the second-story hallway, holding Twilight by her head and shaking her for all to see.

“Pinkie, please let me go. I have to finish putting these books away.” Twilight said, slightly annoyed herself.

“But isn’t that why you have an assistant?” Pinkie asked. Spike shot her an angry glance. “Just you wait.” He thought to himself, laughing maniacally inside his own brain-organ.

“Oh alright, I’m coming.” Twilight groaned as she walked down the stairs with the bubbly pink nuisance at tow.

“Say, have you girls seen those flyers strewn about town? That famous saxophonist from the town over is offering lessons!” Rarity exclaimed.

“Ooh! Ooh! I did hear about that! They say they had to surgically remove the saxophone from his mouth once!” Pinkie said, jumping twice before tripping over herself.

“Pinkie, are you ok?” Twilight asked, concerned for her psychotic friend.

“I think so.” Pinkie responded, attempting to regain her composure. The room began to spin and colors began to mix. Her mouth started to lose saturation, and she started seeing things in dimensions she once remembered. She chose to simply keep her mouth shut, and sit down on the couch.

“So who’s this saxophonist giving lessons?” Twilight asked.

“I believe his name is John Colttrane.” Rarity answered.

“Oh, John Colttrane? He’s one of my favorites!” exclaimed the purple bookworm. “Is he charging much? Not that I would apply, but I’m just curious.”

“I don’t know, dear. It just has his p-mail address at the bottom.” Rarity responded, recollecting the sight adjacent to her boutique.

“You guys talkin’ ‘bout that saxophone guy?” Spike asked, placing four bowls of salad on the table.

“Oh my, thank you, Spike. Yes, we are. Do you share Twilight’s interest in the fine arts?” Rarity asked, gathering a forkful of salad.

“Fine arts? Most jazz sounds like cats in heat!” Spike thought. “Not really. Why, do you?”

“Oh, absolutely! Jazz truly is the finest form of musical expression! Wouldn’t you agree, Pinkie?” asked Marshmallow McGee. She looked over to see her maniacal friend in a translucent state. She stared through her with a glazed look of understanding on her face, and slowly nodded her head.

“So you like saxophonists then, Rare?” Spike asked condescendingly.

Both the tone and nickname confused Rarity greatly, but she merely shrugged and said, “Of course! They’re very talented, charming and dexterous musicians!”

“Is that right?” Spike continued his tone, finishing his salad. He took his bowl into the kitchen, and placed it in the dishwasher. “I’m gonna be upstairs for a while, if you need me.” He said, passing Twilight. As usual, Twilight ignored him and continued talking with her two awful friends.

He hopped aboard his minibook, and logged on to the pony interwebs. He remembered the p-mail address, and began his letter:

To: jcolt@woohah.com
CC: None
Subject: Lessons

Hello Mr. Colttrane,

I was interested in taking lessons with you. My name is Spike, and I’m a dragon residing in Ponyville. I’ll be frank here for a moment; I’ve never touched a sax in my life, and the only reason I want to do this is for a frail attempt to get into a hot bitch’s drawers. Feel free to send me your hourly rates!

Thanks,
Spike
spiketheswagon@firemail.com

Four Months Later…

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” Spike said hesitantly, looking through the curtain at the hundreds of on-looking ponies.

“You got this, man!” Colttrane said, slapping Spike on the back. “I got faith in ya!”

“Well, if you say so…” Spike responded, stepping out onto the stage…

THE END