I'm not figuring out a pun or Andrew W. K. song title for this, (dons shades) deal with it.
Although quite often a location full of people, activity, and noise, the outdoor playing field of Canterlot High School was currently quiet. Dead quiet. The teams of students often there for a game or practice were gone, instead replaced by two middle-aged gentlemen with more determination in their eyes than any rival schools could ever hope to muster. Likewise, the bleachers were empty, the only spectators two pink skinned young-adults with expressions clearly showing there was more at stake than who got to celebrate a victory for their homecoming.
Standing with his fist at his side, one of the men, a pale-tan gentleman with a coif of hair that looked like it was placed atop his head rather than grown, narrowed his light blue eyes as a slight breeze rustled the trees of the school campus. If he felt the chill wind through the brown sweater he wore over his buttoned-up shirt and plum tie, or through his maroon slacks, he made no indication.
Mirroring the sweater-wearing man’s stance, the wrinkles on the other man’s peach-colored cheekbones tightened, his eyes hidden behind a pair of massive black sunglasses. Atop his head sat a black pork pie hat - which somehow felt like it completed a set when paired with the oversized shades. Not to be left out of the theme, the man’s clothing consisting of a black jacket over a maroon buttoned-up shirt and dark coffee colored slacks joined the ensemble. All together, making it appear as if the man stepped out of the very shadows themselves.
“Don’t do this, Mr. Doodle!” one of the spectators shouted in a high-pitched voice. In this case, Pinkie Pie stood with her hands balled into fists and held under her chin as she clenched her teeth tightly, her sky blue eyes a picture of dread as she stood a few yards behind Mr. Doodle, her science teacher. “You have soooo many students to still teach driving too and so many papers to grade!”
“Yo, calm down, Mr. White,” the other spectator said to the hat and sunglasses wearing man. This spectator wore a red and green horizontally striped beanie over a mess of dirty blonde colored hair. His oversized jeans and similarly oversized unzipped yellow hoodie rustled in the air, allowing the serpentine dragon printed on his black shirt to peek out briefly. He likewise wore an anxious expression, but his own light turquoise eyes suggested that this was pretty much just a slightly more stressful Tuesday than the last. “This is ludicrous, man. Even by your standards.”
Both men spoke in unison, “Shut up Pinkieman,” their commands barked out at their respective companions coming out in an eerie amalgamation in near stereo.
“This has been a looong time coming, Pinkie,” Mr. Doodle declared.
“This… poser, would be the word, Pinkman?” Mr. White said, his question coming out more as a statement spat out of his mouth than a question asked. “This poser needs to be put in his place.”
“Okay,” Pinkie said, her face tightening, “but maybe not here? At school? Where crimes become, like… ten times more illegal?”
“Listen to the bitch, Mr. White!” Pinkman shouted.
“HEY!” Pinkie protested.
“Sorry!” Pinkman offered. “I’ve got, like… Tourettes, but specifically for the word ‘bitch’.”
Pinkie smiled and shrugged. “Alright, fair. I’ve got Tourettes, but specifically for almost literally everything I do.”
Pinkman smirked. “Word, yo.”
“Pinkieman, focus!”
“Chill, bitch!” Pinkman said to Mr. White. “But she’s right! I mean… I know this place has like, symbolic or nostalgic importance to you two, but what are you gonna do!? Smoke each other right here at school?!”
A burst of laughter escaped Pinkie’s lips, “I don’t think I brought enough lemons if it’s that kind of party!”
“Don’t be silly, Pinkman,” Mr. White said.
“Hello, that’s my job!” Pinkie exclaimed.
Mr. White’s brows tightened as his right hand slowly slid towards the left side of his waist. “Mr. Doodle here has been at school all day and is wearing a sweater. There’s no way he has a gun on him.”
“Pinkie!” Mr. Doodle exclaimed. “The bag, if you please!”
“Okay!” Pinkie said cheerfully as she pulled a large ziplock bag full of some white crystals out of the mess of curls on top of her head.
Mr. White’s hand ceased moving. “Mercury fulminate…” he uttered as his wrinkles tightened further.
“That’s right,” Mr. Doodle couldn’t help but smirk as Pinkie gleefully delivered the bag to his waiting hand. “Enough to blow this field off the face of the planet.”
“Hey, WHOA!” Pinkman exclaimed throwing his hands up in front of him. “I didn’t sign up to be blown up today! Also” — he looked over at Pinkie — “you kept that in your hair?!”
Smile on her face, Pinkie just shrugged. “Well, I don’t have pockets for keeping highly unstable explosive material on hand… also I can’t explode things with magical powers…” a shadow not nearly as dark as the grin behind it appeared on Pinkie’s face as she steepled her fingers in front of her. “Yet…” she added cryptically.
“It seems we’re at an impasse, then,” Mr. White said, punctuating his statement with the word. “El Burro, or should I say, Copycat…”
Pinkie pursed her lips slightly. “I would have gone with ‘mirror-mule’ there…”
Pinkman thought for a moment. “How about ‘ditto-donkey?’”
Pinkie breathed in a huge volume of air. “Oh my gosh! That’s even better!” Without warning, Pinkie immediately broke into song.
“Yankee Ditto went to town,
“Yelling loud at Pinkie,
“Stuck some fulminate in her cap
“And called it sparky-sparky!~”
Pinkman began to clap rhythmically as Pinkie continued, much to Mr. Doodle’s and Mr. White’s chagrin.
“Yankee Ditto made some meth,
“Yankee Ditto Donkey,
“Beats the pants of Skyblue yeah!
“And keeps those meth heads happy!~”
“Well, shit,” Pinkman commented, big smile across his face. “She’s sold me.”
“Shut up Pinkieman.”
“This is no time for jokes!” Mr. White snapped.
“Or songs, for that matter!” Mr. Doodle added.
Pinkman rolled his eyes. “Listen, if you two wanna get yourselves killed in the world’s stupidest turf war, fine, but I kinda want to be… literally anywhere else but here right now.”
“This isn’t about turf, Pinkman,” Mr. White declared. “This is about pride. This is about eliminating sub-par product from the streets once and for all.”
“Sub-par?!” Mr. Doodle exclaimed angrily. “My product is every bit as pure as yours!”
The dark façade of Mr. White’s face finally cracked as a smirk appeared on his face. “Food coloring.”
Mr. Doodle’s face scrunched up as he tossed a glance back at Pinkie.
Pinkie gave Mr. Doodle a nervous grin and shrugged. “I just thought customers might be tired of ‘blue’ all the time! Plus then they could tell it apart from the other stuff!”
Rolling his eyes, Mr. Doodle turned back to Mr. White. “Well at least I never got stupidly stuck in the desert for a few days because my partner left RV keys in the ignition and destroyed a generator.”
“Rumors and hearsay,” Mr. White countered tilting his head askew as confusion set upon his features. “Nothing but an urban legend.”
Mr. Doodle’s forehead tightened. “How do you start an urban legend about guys cooking methamphetamine in an RV in the desert?!”
It was Mr. White’s turn to toss a wayward glance at his partner.
Pinkman threw his hands up in the air. “Hey! I’m the one who suggested the battery!”
“You also suggested a robot,” Mr. White said dryly. “Though, I’m trying to figure out how that Cranky here—”
“That’s Mr. Doodle or ‘El Burro’ to you, Salty!”Mr. Doodle snapped.
Mr. White’s head snapped back to face Mr. Doodle. “‘Salt’ or ‘Salter’, also your cook name is ridiculous.”
“Right,” Mr. Doodle said rolling his eyes. “Because ‘Hiesenbridle’ is just so cool.”
Mr. White grunted in displeasure. “Do you mind?” He pointed behind himself. “I’m trying to berate my idiot partner here.”
“Fine, fine, go ahead!” Mr. Cranky replied.
Mr. White turned and glared at Pinkman. “As I was saying, how is it that El Burro here even knows about that?!”
Pinkman shrugged. “Skinny musta shared that story with this Anon-a-Miss chick on MyStable. I’m guessing that’s where GTA 3 reference here heard it…”
“There’s a page on MyStable our stories are being posted to?!” Mr. White exclaimed in irritation. “I guess we should all just all turn ourselves over to the police now.”
“Chill, dude,” Pinkman said, “it’s all in code names but mostly about students here at the school! But now there’s like… a few thousand people just watching and submitting stories. Hell, most of the not school ones are about all the stupid shit Law Squall gets up to.”
“Oh, great,” Mr. White said sarcastically. “So instead of us being incriminated, we just look like idiots.”
“Well, so does everyone in the city really,” Pinkie quipped. Giggling, she added, “Really this feels like someone’s attempt to focus on a small group of people spiraling hopelessly out of control because… uh…” Pinkie tapped her chin thoughtfully a few times. “… reasons… I guess…”
Mr. Doodle raised a finger and shushed Pinkie. “Quiet, Pinkie. He’s berating his idiot partner. You of all people should understand this is an important aspect of the partner relationship, estúpido.”
Pinkie folded her arms in front of her chest. “Hey! Don’t do Spanish at me! I’m the one who taught you Spanish! Also, you suck at it!”
“Pinkie!” Mr. Doodle snapped. “Be quiet!” He motioned to the man in black in front of him. “Mr. White has the floor.”
“It’s alright,” Mr. White said, “I’m done.” Tossing a glance behind him he added, “for now.”
Pinkman responded by tossing a couple of digits, one from each hand, in Mr. White’s direction.
Mr. Doodle smirked. “Speaking of looking like idiots, I am given to understand you spent an entire day chasing a fly in your lab.”
Mr. White’s head whipped around. “Pinkman!” he snarled.
“Okay, that was all me,” Pinkman admitted. “You made me waste hours on that fly, though… and I’m the one who killed it while you napped!”
Pinkie smiled to herself, “Hehehe… Symbolism.”
“Montre de Dios, Pinkie!” Mr. Doodle snapped. “You’re doing it again!”
“Right, sorry,” Pinkie said, “because expecting me to be quiet is such a reasonable expectation.” She rolled her eyes. “Also, it’s pronounced ‘madre’, smart guy.”
Pinkman snorted out a laugh.
His forehead tightening, Mr. Doodle continued, “Well, at least be quiet so I can pile on more embarrassing stories onto Mr. White’s plate.”
Mr. White sneered. “‘A toy with every teenth’!”
Mr. Doodle spun around. “Piiiinkieeee!” he roared.
“WhaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaat?!” Pinkie protested. “We needed a catchy slogan and everyone loves toys! I mean… I was going to use the phrase ‘taste the rainbow’ with our product, but Dashie uses that when she asks someone if they want to go down on her!”
Mr. Doodle groaned.
“That’s right,” Mr. White said. “You’re the ‘happy meal’ maker of methamphetamine!’”
Mr. Doodle took a few steps forward as he held up his bag of volatile explosive crystals. “Well, at least I never cooked in my underwear. What’s wrong, Car Wash? Couldn’t afford sweatpants?!”
Not to be outdone, Mr. White reached into his coat again and likewise closed the distance. “Okay, Driver’s Ed… Let’s finish this right here, right now.”
Pinkie and Pinkman were there restraining the two men in an instant.
“Dudes, this is crazy!” Pinkman exclaimed.
“Yeah!” Pinkie agreed. “Super-de-duper chocolate nut bar with nougat and caramel crazy!” Pinkie said with a snicker. “Whoever doesn’t die, assuming we ALL don’t get exploded, gets turbo arrested!”
“FINE!” Mr. Doodle snarled. “Then how about we face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No ticks! No weapons! Skill against skill.”
Mr. White’s face tightened. “You mean, you’ll put down your mercury fulminate and I’ll hand my gun to Pinkman and we’ll try and kill each other like civilized people?”
“Oh, snap!” Pinkman exclaimed with a smile on his face.
“Princess Bride, yo!” Pinkie added, mirroring Pinkman’s.
“Word!” Pinkman added as he and Pinkie exchanged a quick fist bump.
“Alright, fine…” Mr. White said as he slowly and discretely unhooked a holster from his waist and handed it to Pinkman. “Mono y mono…”
“Don’t do Spanish at me,” Mr. Doodle said as he handed the bag to Pinkie, “that’s my thing.”
Mr. White shrugged. “Considering you’ve just been riding my coattails for years, I figured turnabout's fair play.”
Within mere moments, both men were on the ground struggling to feed the other man his own headgear.
“Why do you wear a toupee?!” Mr. White shouted as he shoved the mess of black ‘hair’ in Mr. Doodle’s face. “Couldn’t face baldness without looking like an animal crawled on your head and died?!”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mr. Doodle shouted back as he smashed Mr. White’s pork pie hat into his face. “I was going to get headgear from the ‘stupid hat store’, but the clerk said they just sold the last one to you!”
Shaking their heads, Pinkman and Pinkie both turned and began to walk away from the schoolyard tussle being carried out by two fully grown men.
“So, uh…” Pinkman began. “You uh… a senior here? Like… over 18, senior?”
Pinkie brought a hand up to her mouth and let out a mirthful laugh. “Right, because a statutory rape charge would be your greatest concern in this case.”
“Hey!” Pinkman protested. “Those sex offender labels are no joke, yo!”
Pinkie bat her eyelashes at Pinkman a few times. “My age is a vague number that can be scaled up or down a few years depending on what the plot demands as I find myself stuck in this last year of unending high-school purgatory.”
“Uh… Rad?” Pinkman replied. “I was gonna ask if you party, but maybe you’re already on something…”
“HAH!” Pinkie exclaimed. “You’re reaaaaallly asking if Pinkie Pie parties?! Bitch, I am the part-aaay master!”
Pinkman rubbed the back of his head slightly causing his beanie to shift up and down. “I didn’t mean like… a birthday party, but uh… you clearly sling meth, so—”
Pinkie quickly stepped in front of Pinkman and put a finger up to his lips. “Hey, I just met you and this is crazy,” Pinkie pointed past Pinkman, “but our science teacher meth-lab running partners are beating on each other, so let’s get high together, maybe.”
Pinkman grinned widely. “Word,” he said simply.
“SAY MY NAME!” Mr. White screamed as he and Mr. Doodle continued to tussle on the ground.
“HOW ABOUT YOU SAY MY NAME!” Mr. Doodle countered.
With that, Pinkie and Pinkman continued walking side by side, Pinkie’s left arm resting comfortably on Pinkman’s shoulders and Pinkman’s left hand grabbing Pinkie’s waist, both leaving their own cranky, salty partner behind as they wandered off to indulge in more fruitful endeavors.
Author's Note
This was going to be the opener to chapter three of Not Another Anon-a-Miss fic, but it kinda ran long... also it's only tangentially related to the plot of that and doesn't really move it forward.
Also, it has something of an ending and doesn't need much explanation if one gets that Mr. Doodle and Mr. White have a sort of shared connection to Canterlot High.
Random tidbit, this was going to be the cover until I pitched the "Heisenberg emblem, but for 'El Burro'" thing to Nova.
[17:10:50] Justice3442: if you wanna make it an angrier donkey version of the Heisenberg emblem.
[17:10:58] Nova Firimil: Pinkie would
[17:11:08] Justice3442: hehe
[17:11:19] Nova Firimil: Either that it the massive smile one... Not sure
[17:11:43] Justice3442: She probably started with a smile and got yelled at
[17:12:11] Justice3442: "If you're going to do something stupid and incriminating like BRAND our product, at least take off the smile! But you should--"
[17:12:14] Justice3442: But it was too late
[17:12:19] Justice3442: Pinkie was already gone.
[17:12:28] Justice3442: And Cranky was talking to air
More to come as I write them up!
