News.
Fear mongering shit, all of it.
He sat on his haunches on his living room couch with the newspaper in front of his face. The headline, Yak-Equestrian War Escalates!, made him roll his eyes. Every month, this same newspaper would print out the same article with a new coat of paint; never saying anything new but still somehow managing to scare more ponies into cowering fear. Ever article ended up saying nothing but "What could their next move be?" and yet ponies still bought the paper and fed into the fear.
Rumble didn’t really care about the war- its effects never made themselves noticed to him, so why should he acknowledge it? His brother Thunderlane, on the other hand, let it change him. First chance he got, Thunderlane had signed his soul away to the military and off he went to fight this pointless battle.
It left Rumble all alone in their house in the middle of Ponyville, a town full of idiots and cowards. With the exception of himself and his friends, every pony in this Celestia-forsaken village seemed incompetent at being anything other than nameless pedestrians to fill the streets, as if their lives were nothing more than their barest personalities.
With a grunt Rumble rose from the couch and went into the kitchen, grabbing himself a can of soda. I'll leave one day, he told himself. One day.
Don't wanna be an Equestrian Idiot
Don't want a nation under the new media
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mind fuck Equestria.
Just outside Ponyville was a bridge that crossed a relatively small river, which held water as blue as can be. The green grass rolled through the fields in the wind. It was a peaceful day.
Or, rather, it was a peaceful night.
Rumble, still in his early years but by no means a kid, still made time for friends. Three to be exact.
Nearly every night, Rumble, his three friends and some other ponies who happened to share their interests would meet up by the bridge late at night. Most times they just sat around doing nothing but talk and sing along to whatever song came to their minds. Rumble was in no way an introvert- just the opposite, in fact. He loved being talked to. He loved talking to ponies. He loved being talked about. And each and every time a pony from their small group of ten or so ponies saw him, they talked to him.
They looked up to him.
As he saw the small fire they had lit by the bridge come into view, a wide grin grew on his face. He quickly ruffled up his hair and rubbed his eyes to smear his slight eyeshadow- these ponies were big on the punk scene, and he was no different- and took a deep breath.
With a crazed yell, he hopped over the fire and in the middle of the small crowd of ponies, who began whooping and laughing at his display.
The suburbs weren't a bad place to live, if you knew how to liven it up.
He smirked to himself and turned away from the cheering ponies.
"Rumble!" He heard a voice call, more familiar than the others. "Over here!" A slight ways away from the crowd were three colts sitting by their own fire. One was orange with a blue mane and tail, but his coat was covered by a black jacket. His eyes were a sharp green. His name was First Base, and his cutie mark was a football. The second one was a little older than the rest- the others being around nineteen, but he was twenty one- and his coat was a deep shade of brown, matching his mane and tail. His eyes were a brilliant gold. In his younger years he would wear a colorful propeller hat, but now he wore a simple grey baseball cap. He was named Button Mash. His cutie mark was of a game pad. The final pony, whose name was Pipsqueak, had long since discarded his pirate motif and now settled for a regular style. His mane was slicked back in a tidy manner, and had out-grown his foreign accent. He wore no clothes, revealing his cutie mark of a printing press- he acquired it along with his friend Featherweight, who had a similar cutie mark. The three colts smiled at Rumble and held up their cups of hard cider, gesturing him over.
Rumble jogged lightly to his friends and sat next to them. “Well, well, well...” Button Mash slurred. “If it ain’t the Jesus of Suburbia himself, huh?” He said teasingly. That name- the Jesus of Suburbia- was a nickname that Rumble came up with for himself a few years back. Ever since then, the punk scene of Ponyville seemed to accept him as just that- a leader and the one to lead them out of this hellhole of a town.
Rumble bashed his shoulder into Button’s and smirked. “From the bible of none of the above!” He taunted. He and his friends shared a laugh, each one raising their cups once again before chugging. Rumble scoffed, “What, didn’t save a glass for me?”
With a groan, Pipsqueak reached to his left and pulled up another cup. “Quit your whining, man. You ever known me to skimp out on a cider? Like hell I would.” He passed the cup to Rumble, who began downing it immediately. “Celestia dammit, Rumble, don’t down it so quickly. You know how hard it was to get five barrels of this shit?” Pipsqueak glared at the pony, still drinking his drink. “Oh, sure. Ignore me. See if I care, Jesus.” He said mockingly.
Rumble pulled the cup away from his face and sighed contently, licking the last of the cider from his lips. “Yeah, whatever, ‘Squeak. Bitch about it all you want, I don’t care.” Rumble said nonchalantly as he placed his cup at his side. “So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” He asked.
First Base shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “Hangin’ out with my brother tomorrow. He’s goin’ back to the Crystal Empire the day after. Princess Cadence needs him on a scoutin’ mission or somethin’.” He grunted. He was always like this when his brother, Flash Sentry, went back to the Empire. The two were close, but lately they seemed to be drifting due to the massive amount of time that Flash spent by the Crystal Princess’s side.
Button just smiled. “Sweetie Belle said she wanted to go somewhere. Probably out to dinner or something.”
Pipsqueak groaned. “That mare again? Dude, didn’t she break up with you two times by now?”
Button looked away sheepishly. “M-Maybe. But this time seems different. More... Natural, I think. We were kinda forcing the relationship earlier, but now...”
“Yeah, yeah.” Pipsqueak interrupted loudly. “As for me, I plan on stayin’ home gettin’ so drunk I can’t see straight. I’m livin’ the fucking life, man.” He said with a grin, grabbing his cup and refilling it with cider.
Rumble smiled softly, looking at his friends. They all had plans- okay, well, maybe not Pipsqueak- and at least one of them had a special somepony. What did he have? I’m the Jesus of Suburbia, he thought to himself. Shouldn’t I have something to show for that? To do something to live up to my name?
The teen looked down and his smile fell. “Alright, guys,” he said begrudgingly as he stood. “I’m gonna head home. You fuckers keep doing whatever.”
As he walked away, his friends said their goodbyes. He didn’t hear them.
Well maybe I’m the faggot Equestria
I’m not a part of a redneck agenda.
Now everybody do the propaganda
And sing along to the age of paranoia.
