Author's Note

The song introduced in this chapter is meant to be read in the scat singing style as popular with musicians such as Ella Fitzgerald while retaining a degree of wry humor as to the life of impediment as lived by the impoverished singer and is meant to be conveyed with a quite speedy rhythm in the four line quatrains and slow down at the two line stanzas which may be noted by the use of gibberish words. If you'd like to know an example of the style I replicated for this song, I recommend Ella Fitzgerald's "One Note Samba."

Also, Fluttershy the Racist stole my heart.

Chapter 3: The Man in Black

Now, when a horde of teenage girls who have clearly had a rough day start running, it’s generally good advice to avoid them. Usually it means the latest prepubescent pop singer is in town. So naturally mothers and children hurried across even busy streets to avoid their stride and even the toughest of men jumped into alleys to prevent being crushed beneath the heels of a bunch of musically challenged teens.

In fact, a lot of people might’ve not been injured that day if they just took Rarity’s convertible to the place. But honestly, that’s none of my business.

So they arrived eventually to see the relatively well managed two-story shop decorated as flamboyantly as the treats they deal in. The whole building itself looked as though it were good enough to eat! Of course, to actually engage in eating it may violate the terms of one’s dental plan. Especially given the windows, while perhaps indeed being made of rock candy, would’ve still shattered many a jaw.

And after the girls crossed one last street to arrive at the corner where the shop was stationed, they were soon met with the delicate plucking of nylon wire against wood reverberating across a hollow space. Their attention was caught by some elderly gentleman dressed in denim overalls and a well worn flannel shirt. His chocolate skin was sheltered from the overcast sun by the means of a large straw hat. The tones he was playing were clearly from skilled hands, of which was a mystery considering the blisters and callouses that should by all means have hindered his playing. But neither tempo nor rhythm wavered as his old and used hands worked the guitar, tuning it for some future performance.

“Hey, look! It’s the Devil!” Called out Pinkie Pie.

“I think that’s just a guy. How can you tell?” Twilight asked.

“Well he’s got a guitar, he’s hanging outside probably waiting for his food. He’s got to be the Devil!”

Speak of the, well, Devil, he perked his head up a bit at the sound of the girls talking about him nearby and got his guitar into a more suitable position across his torso. One hand on the neck and the other just above the body of it and the fingers plucked and flicked, immediately producing a series of high yet dulcet tones. And then he began to sing.

“Well I’ve been a plain ol’ man

With simple life and a simple plan

I can’t do what I want but I do what I can

Cus I’m a nigger man!”

And after a pause he continued with:

“And just an average man.

Shooba-dooba-dee-shooba-dooba-dee-shooba-da-doobada-dee.”

“I say I’ve been round a lot And beaten’s most what I got

I got freedom but more I sought

Cus I’m a nigger man!

“And a po’ man.

Shooba-dooba-da-shooba-dooba-da-shooba-da-doobada-daa.”

For every time the final verse of a stanza he punctuated it with a jarring twang from the highest note he could find and continued.

“Idle hands can be sinful things

I gots none for the debble to see

My paws are working fast as can be

Cus I’m a nigger man!

“And a saved man.

Shooba-dooba-doo-shooba-dooba-doo-shooba-da-doobada-doo.”

The girls became interested as they gathered around this man skitting and scatting before them, and they leaned in when he began to whisper his next verse.

“Though I can, I still can’t
Years I got and havin’ not
I gots me, that’s all I need
Cus I’m a nigger man.

“And I die a nigger man in solemn peace.

Shooba-dooba-dee-shooba-dooba-da-shooba-da-doobada-doo.”

And to cap off this little song of his he gave two final twangs on the guitar and resumed a slow rhythm, not so much a performance but more along the lines of background music.

“Well howdy there girls, what can I do for you?”

This sudden acknowledgement of their presence caused them to be taken aback, but they soon collected themselves and silently nominated Twilight, who had been taking charge to this point, to speak with the man.

“Well,” She said, pausing a little to try and nonchalantly ask “We were just wondering if you were the Devil.”

Now, most men when called the Devil may have been upset. But this fellow simply continued to pluck strings and chuckled a bit. “Well now lil’ missy, I keep myself so busy I ain’t gots the time to let the debble in me.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, rather dejected. “So you’re not the Devil?”

Another chuckle. “Ha ha, now I may be here on a street corner but no ma’m I ain’t no debble. They says you gotta go to the crossroads to meet ol’ scratch.”

“Well, thank you for your time,” Twilight then turned to the girls and sighed. “Looks like a dead end.”

“Great!” Dash shouted. “Now we’ll never be able to rock!”

The man before them suddenly stopped playing and his face broke out in a cold sweat. “Wait what?”

“Oh, sorry. We’re trying to find the Devil and make a deal with him so he’ll give us musical skills,” Twilight said.

“Oh no no no. That there’s a bad bad idea ladies.” It seems he would’ve gotten up to tell them more, but the proprietor of the store in all his slim body and red-haired glory craned his neck out the front door to see the teenagers were all loitering.

“Pinkie! What are you and your friends doing here? Shouldn’t you all be in school?”

“Oh, hi Mister Cake! We’re just trying to make a deal with the Devil.”

Mister Cake silently mouthed some words to himself before shaking his head. “Oh Pinkie, no need to bother our customers about that. Please, come inside!”

“Sorry, but we really need to talk to this Devil guy.”

“Yeah. Everyone come inside the store and I’ll help you with this.” With this the girls began to grow excited and happily entered the store as Mister Cake held the door open for them all. “Oh, and Mister!” He called out to the gentleman with the guitar.

“Yessir?”

“We got your order ready, Miss Cake can give it to you at the counter. Thank you for waiting.”

The gentleman got up and saw that Mister Cake was replaced at the door by the even more gentle Fluttershy who held the door open for him. As he got up to her to pass her by on his way inside, he tilted his hat in thanks.

“Thank you ma’m.”

“You’re welcome Mister N.”

Suddenly at a stop, the man got himself a big grin and let out another chuckle. “Well now, you know me by name?”

She nodded in reply to this, although in reality she only could guess his name from the song he sang.

“Well shoot, no need for all that ‘Mister’ nonsense, just call me by my name miss.”

“Oh, okay.” Fluttershy gulped before stuttering out “N-Ni.” She was then thankfully sharply cut off by Pinkie Pie who yanked her by the arm back towards the group.