Chickens and Mallows

Chickens and Mallows

Written by RB101

Chapter Eight: Caught Red-Hoofed

A violent and loud knocking at the door soon breaks the embrace we periodically enjoyed, and a soon slamming noise of the door hitting the wall further scares us simultaneously. Alex is standing at the doorway, looking quite irritated. His eyeballs are a faint shade of red, and his hair is topsy-turvy, flying in all sorts of directions. The atmosphere in the room goes dead serious, and dark, meaning that whatever I found pleasing, doesn't make him satisfied. I'm in deep trouble...

Sweetie Belle hops in straight after,with a cheery smile and with her eyes shut. She seems so innocent, that she has no idea what's going on. I'm just glad they're young, and that I have an advantage. I don't think Alex gets what I meant yesterday. Glad it's a Sunday though, I'd be in even more trouble. The time reads 4:20pm, and I'm pretty sure I should make a joke about my friends eyes, but now isn't the time. I should rather focus on my friends angered state.

Alex takes a few steps towards my tired body. “What. The fuck. Did you do?” he sternly asks.

My response involves my hands darting above me, to present my palms to the annoyed man. “Can't I do what I want in this house?” I reply, “Surely we pay half and half, so this room is my property, right?”

“Well, you can't go round f-”

I cover his mouth with my left hand, and I quickly intervene. “Watch your profanity, Alex. We have children in the house.” I glance over to Scoot and give her a wink. I receive one from her. ‘Yeah,’ I internally joke, ‘actual children. Like babies and crap.’ I chuckle at my own joke silently, and Alex doesn't notice, thankfully.

He spits my hand out. “Well she,” he points to Scoot, with emphasis “isn't so much of a child now, is she? And fuck you and your profanity. You've done the worst palm of all.”

I quickly give him a stern look and remind him of a thing: “Do you remember what I said?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he responds, “I remember it as if it were yesterday…”

“That's because it was yesterday, Dummkopf.”

~~~

I turn around to whisper to Alex. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Well, they're young, so of course they'll listen.”

**“And it's our job to corrupt them…”* I joke, fueled with a smirk.*

My only response is a stern look from the nineteen year old crazed man. “What? I found it funny.”

“Not all of us did.” he signals to the fillies, confused at what I said before. It appears that the two of them heard what I said, and now they seem curious as to what I meant.

“Ignore what I said, okay?” I ask.

They nod their heads in unison.

“Great.” I sigh.

~~~

“Let's get things clear.” I begin, “Not all the time I actually mean what I  say, so truth be told, maybe I wasn't joking…” I clarify, quickly giving him a wink.

He stutters for a moment, trying to find his words, and eventually speaks up. “You’re telling me, that this wasn't a joke!?”

“Indeed it wasn't sir. If a brony makes a certain joke, they always take it back when they realise how much of a benefit it can be. That's why I don't trust myself, and that's why you shouldn't trust me on making early decisions involving ponies.” I finish my rant by placing my hands on my hips, and my right eye twitches.

He stands there, mouth agape from my double-bluff, which I recently explained to him.

He walks to me and whispers: “You. Are. An. Idiot.”

“I know.”

The fillies start laughing at my joke. Maybe because of the name calling. I don't understand how they heard, but I guess ponies have really sensitive hearing. Damn you proper anatomy.

Then again it is barely existent in those fillies, so just forget I said that, okay?

Anyways, I give him a pat on the back and he goes back into his room. Sweetie and Scoot are conversing in the corner, and I sigh, walking towards the kitchen. I quickly pull out my earphones, plugging them into my phone, and I begin to play one of the tracks I made when I was younger, called ‘MisTechnic Galactica'. It was, and still is, my favourite creation of mine so far. The wackiness of its name, the slow build-up, to drop, then its end is soothing and skilled for my experience back then, being eight months into the whole music production scene. It's eeriness is enough to question yourself.

The whole music thing began when I was first sat at a piano which was at the age of around five, or so. I really loved playing it, so I took it upon myself to learn advanced. However, when I was 9, I realised I was lacking the bother to follow the curriculum, so I decided to quit taking lessons, and go my own way. Soon after discovering LMMS, back in 2015, I became glued to it, and I started making all sorts of tracks, with the first being named, ‘Across the Arctic’, a seven minute and sixteen second of pure trial and error. I've become much better since, and I still use it every now and then, despite not being so big on it now.

Anyways, back to the current day, and not writing my autobiography this early, I start to boil some water in the kettle, and I let out a massive yawn. I check the time and date again, Sunday, realising I should be asleep. Work is tiring, so I should really get some rest. Having to carry shelves worth of tins (full of screws in it) around a massive supermarket is really tiring. I turn the kettle off, cancelling my early night tea, and I hop into my bed, which Scootaloo is laying on, fast asleep. I let out a long yawn, and I take myself to the depths of sleep...

...only this time, I don't wake up the next fine morning.