Rise of a Philly

I grunt as a pony in the crowd jostles me. I glare at him, but I doubt he notices. I just brush it off and continue to make my way to the front of the crowd. It's slow going, but my will is strong. I didn't sneak out just to stand at the back end of a room, hoping to maybe hear a rhyme or two. I'm so glad that even though the entrance is guarded, they were rather lax about letting me in. My brother was a big help in that, just had to agree to look after me. Of course, he's not my real brother. Just a friend, and occasionally the awesomest babysitter ever.

I do respect him, but I still took my first chance I could find to make a break for the stage. I don't need him looking over me all the time, I'm old enough to look after myself! I mean, I don't have my cutie mark yet, but that's hardly an indicator of anything. Besides, I reckon it'll be in something awesome, like my bro slash. He's a DJ, that's why they're so cool about letting me in here. He has gigs here sometimes. It's also the reason I'm here.

See, this isn't exactly the most legal hangout... I may have insinuated something along the lines of blackmail. It went along the lines of "take me to one of your gigs or I'll tell," ... er, more or less. There was a little bit of resistance, and a lot of rules... a couple I think I'm breaking. Oh well, it's worth it, his place is awesome! I mean, it smells, and half these ponies either disgust me or appeal to my pubescent mind in impure ways, but it's awesome.

I finally make it to the stage and prop my front hooves on it, looking at the two ponies on it in awe. Slash's gig isn't for a while so I can admire some of the other artists here. I notice the ponies lack instruments, their only holding mics. Are they acapella singers? beat boxers?

"And here we have Mic the Microphone!" A grayish stallion with a brown mane raises his hoof. His brown mane has a bright red side, it's the same color as the magic holding up his microphone. "And Chyllin Flows!" The other pony is a pegasus, but with a blue coat and steel grey mane. A single blue streak off the corners, outlining his hair. Also holding a microphone. As the two start it immediately becomes obvious to me what's happening, they're having a rap battle. I listen, but not too intently.

Maybe to another colt their language might be horrifying and foul, but that's the language I grew up around. I listen, commending the two rappers for their skill silently. I wish I had a talent, especially a musical talent. Before long their session is done and the stage is clear, I stomp on the stage as the rest of the crowd cheers.

"Any rappers here that want to display their skills?" The announcer asks, I'm about to turn to look back into the crowd when I'm pushed forcefully onto the stage.  I get up and become aware of a large amount of attention. I turn to find the announcer looking at me in amusement. "A kid huh? Get lost?" He asks, I freeze up as I try to think of a way to play it off.

"No..." I reply lamely.

"So then, you want to show off your stuff?" He asks.

"Look at him, he's so little. Like a filly." somepony nearby snickers.

"He doesn't even have a cutie mark," somepony else says. I slowly back away from the stallion offering the microphone.

"Nah, nah, I'm good bro," I laugh softly.

"Hah, backed down just like a filly too," I hear somepony say. I try to ignore it.

"Just get off the stage, little filly!" Somepony from the crowd calls out. My ears swivel, but I don't turn my head. I'm imagining how somepony would breathe if their head were shoved up its own ass. That same stubborn defiance and recklessness that made me come here, manages to rise again and makes me stop backing away and take a leery step forward.

"That's the spirit, just spit a couple rhymes kid. They don't gotta be quick or clever, heck, at your age mine hardly made sense." He says, tossing me the mic. I catch it, but it fumbles in my trembling in my hooves. Why did I do this?

"Dude, you can't seriously be thinking about letting this talentless kid embarrass himself up there." At that comment my head snaps to find who said it, I narrow my eyes.

"Yeah," he raises his voice to address me, "so kid, you got a stage name?" He asks. I do now...

"Yeah, just call me Little Philly MC. That's Philly with a PH for all you dumbasses out there," I say, pointedly throwing a glare at the pony who kept throwing the snide comments.

"Kids got a mouth on him, and some flare. I like it." The announcer says.

"So then, filly. Let's hear some rap. Like he said, you don't gotta be fast." He snickers and my eyes widen. Why would I antagonize him? I don't even know how to rap. I catch Slash's eye and I can see him face hoofing repetitively. Our eyes meet and he seems to throw me a look that says I'll cry at your funeral. He knows I've committed social suicide, I know I've committed social suicide, and soon everypony else will know too. But, despite this, I have this overwhelming urge to prove them wrong. To prove that, despite all odds, I can rap. I hear a beat starting to play and verses seem to form themselves in my mind. I ignore all the distractions and focus on those verses.

"I'm only gonna do this once, so pay a-fucking-ttention." I say, then I dive in. "Rap fast? Fuck that, tongues fast. I don't wanna run fast, eat too much fast. Fun racks, smack that buttcrack, get my nutsack from bagged nut cracked. Just fat, much like munchlax. Slash that rugrat. Hit that cum fast, cunt slash, make that blood slash, fuck yeah. Fun had stuffed that fucking rucksack. Oh no you know you flow too slow, so home you go. Or so I'm told, too old, too bold to break the mold and show I'm undersold. Here I sit, a titan, fighting for my right to write and spit in spite of all the time I spit, getting high, and typing shit." My mouth is on autopilot by now, because theres no way I'm consciously doing this. I see Slash looking at me with his jaw agape, but it's not just slash. A good deal of the audience looks that way too.

"What I gotta do to get respect? Run into your bitch with my dick erect? Fuck comcast I switch direct cause my internet just won't connect. Oh no, I won't stop clopping. By the time my pants are dropping, cock is throbbing, think it's wrong and I'm just clopping. Pony cherry popping. Gentle, tender, bend in, mend her, freak defender, see the splendor, gender bender, first offender, won't surrender, vender, render. Animal, cannibal, call me hannibal, handily, mammal, edible, admittable, a difficult, minimal, genital, tentacle, cynical, syllable, so unkillable." I make sure to hold the mike close, but I motion with my other hand.

"I'm just spitting words that rhyme in some semblance of making sense, shaking fists not taking hits. Like busta rhymes, I'm breaking necks. Breaking fast because it's morning, killed this beat so be in mourning." I watch as the crowd slowly gets more into it, and as they knock themselves out of their stupor. I see a large flash, probably a camera! They want to take pictures! I pose as I continue to rap. The stallion from before is looking continually more irked by my performance, but I don't dare stop. As the words and rhymes flow I feel this strange sense of euphoria, like I'm at one with myself.

"Go by the name of Philly, dont be really silly. Hilly-billy quickly wrap that chilly willy when you're feeling pretty, filly." I watch as the crowd turns on the stallion who was giving me a hard time earlier, he turns around and leaves. I swell with satisfaction at that. Not only is rapping energizing, it's empowering.

"I'm just a lyricist, can't stop killing it. gone," I resist the urge to drop the mic as I pant from the exertion. "Haha!" I laugh a couple times before lifting the mic back up. "Oh... man, I don't want to hear none of you motherfuckers saying, that I'm not good enough!" I exclaim. I hand the announcer the mic and he smiles stupidly at me.

"Well, that's all the time we have for the rap sessions, but boy! What a way to end it. You could go far Little Philly, you might be on par with some of our older more experienced rappers!" He says, I just puff my chest out proudly and step off stage, Slash is walking towards it. He stops by me and I stop by him.

"I'm feeling a bit mixed on the situation currently, but you just got your cutie mark, so I'll be nice for now." He says.

"... wait, what?!" I glance back, and sure enough. There's a cutie mark on my flank. "Look, look, I got my cutie mark!" I whisper excitedly. Slash nods and motions for me to follow him to the stage so he can look after me.

"Yeah, but It's in rapping." He says, putting on his shades and handing me a pair. He looks over the top of the glasses and quirks an eyebrow.

"So? Rapping is fucking awesome!" I announce as he starts to set up for his gig.

"Well then, smart guy, what are you gonna tell your parents when you wake up with a cutiemark?" I pause at that and finally reflect on the situation a look of abject horror and then rage crosses my face.

"Buck!"