Vignette Valencia didn’t ask for much in life.
Well, that wasn’t true. She actually asked for a lot. She was a self-absorbed, narcissistic, borderline sociopathic social media addict. Vignette was a bit demanding. She needed constant attention, validation, and adoration from her millions of obsessed internet followers. Vignette Valencia demanded the most luxurious, extravagant, and opulent that life had to offer. A diva through and through, she was a prima donna that asked, nay, demanded everything that she wanted in life, not caring who or what she had to drag down in order to reach her demands. So, Vignette actually did ask for much.
Currently, though, she wasn’t asking for much. Just a salad.
Of course, she needed a very specific salad. Not some three-dollar McDonald’s bullshit. No, Vignette Valencia would accept only the best in greenery. Which is what brought her to Palaté, the trendiest, most overpriced bistro in all of Canterlot City. It was a common occurrence for her to find herself at Palaté, tweeting and SnapGabbing in an attempt to scrape together enough empty praise from strangers to get her through the day without having an emotional breakdown. She was so focused in her own vanity that she almost didn’t notice her waitress arrive at the table.
“Howdy, there, an’ welcome to Palaté. What can Ah… Hold up a second. Valencia?”
Vignette looked up from her phone, confused and slightly annoyed to see her waiter was none other than Applejack. She was surprisingly prim and neat, in the all black uniform of Palaté, and she carried with her a pen, a pad of paper, and a bemused expression.
“OMG.” Vignette’s voice lacked anything that could even be confused for enthusiasm. Despite making friends with those Rainboom girls, she still wasn’t particularly fond of any of them. They had, after all, ruined her very poorly laid out scheme and tarnished her very short-sighted vision for her very impractical attempt at very unnecessary social media fame. “I didn’t know you worked here, Applejuice. I didn’t even know a person like you would even know about this place.”
“Well, since y’all over at Equestria Land decided not to give me that job fer whatever reason, Ah figured Ah should keep lookin,” explained Applejack. “An’, wouldn’t ya know it, the owner of this place is the grandson of Granny’s ex-boyfriend from like the 1890s, and he left her some stocks in the business. Long story short, she owns the place now.” Applejack chuckled at the strange, kinda unbelievable and contrived series of events that led her to this new summer job. “Small world, huh?”
“Totes. So, can I place my order now, or do we have to catch up some more?” asked Vignette. “Cause I’m so over this whole small talk, witty banter thing, honey. I’m literally dying for a bite to eat.”
“Right, sorry. What can ah get fer ya, Valencia?” asked Applejack.
“Finally. I’ll take the house salad, light on the croutons, and vinaigrette on the side.” Valencia returned to her phone, searching preemptively for the perfect filter for her inevitable salad SnapGab pic. “And a water with lemon.”
“House salad, light croutons, side of vinaigrette,” said Applejack, scribbling down Vignette’s order. “Alright, sugarcube, just sit tight. Ah’ll be back with your water faster than you can say tumbleweed.”
Vignette rolled her eyes at Applejack’s southern drawl, which was so not in this season, and kept on flipping through her SnapGab filters. Her short attention span and chronic need for validation came together and ultimately stole her focus away from preparing for her salad pic. Instead, she took to Twitter, pumping out a quick tweet about running into people you hate in public. It was boring, basic, and uninsightful (most tweets are), but, more than all of those things, it was a Vignette Valencia tweet. That meant 3 million people saw it, and the adulation from strangers Vignette never met began to flood in.
Oh yeah. That’s the stuff.
Once she was done stroking her own massively inflated ego, Vignette finally set her phone down and patiently waited for Applejack to return. She grimaced slightly, a pang in her stomach. She was hungry, more hungry than she thought. It felt like her stomach was knotting up, the beginnings of a stomach ache. Vignette chalked it up to poor nutrition, as well as the stress of being a world-famous, multimedia celebrity.
The sacrifices she made for her fanbase were ceaseless. Truly, she was a hero.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Vignette looked up, no less annoyed than the first time she saw Applejack. The waitress set down Vignette’s salad, light on the croutons, and, strangely, a tupperware container filled with what appeared to be baked beans. Applejack took a seat across from Vignette, giving a small smirk. “We’re all out of that fancy vinaigrette.”
“That is so not on. What kind of sad excuse for a salad doesn’t have vinaigrette?” groaned Vignette, rolling her eyes. “Oh, and, bee tee dubs, what are you doing?”
“Ah’m on break. Figured we could do some gettin to know each other over lunch,” said Applejack. “Seein’ as yer the latest magical yahoo me an’ my friends beat an’ all.” She opened up her tupperware and dug into her beans with a spoon she produced from her breast pocket.
“Employees at this place eat lunch for free, and you still packed… beans?” asked Vignette, confused and irritated in equal measure.
“Mh-hm. Ah ain’t one fer the fussy stuff we serve here. Ah’m a simple gal.” Applejack shrugged, shovelling a spoonful of beans into her mouth. “Jus’ some good, ol’ fashioned, southern style baked beans is enough for me. You should give it a try.” Applejack offered the spoon forward, at which Vignette fiercely shook her head.
“Pass. At least one of us is happy with their lunch,” groaned Vignette. “I can’t eat this without vinaigrette. And by the by, you totally forgot my water.”
“Aw, shit, that’s on me. Gimme two shakes, I’ll be right back with that.” Applejack rose from her seat and hurried back away from the table. Vignette tapped her finger restlessly, not very used to waiting or going without something. Normally, when she wanted something, she got it immediately. The very concept of not getting what she wanted was entirely foreign to her.
A thin, gaseous black wisp floated from the ground, swirling around Vignette’s table. She watched it fly, tumbling and twisting in on itself for a bit before flying into Applejack’s container of baked beans. Vignette blinked twice, shaking her head to make sense of what she just saw.
“Not this shit again,” sighed Vignette. She was kind of over Equestrian magic at this point. It hadn’t done much for her in the long run. The last thing she needed was to get swept up in more of this magic, supernatural, otherworldly bullshit. Vignette stood up, preparing to move, when she smelled the beans again.
Suddenly, they smelled really, really, really good. Like, the most delicious smell Vignette had ever experienced. Sweet and savory and utterly delectable in just about every way. Vignette darted her eyes from side to side, hoping to avoid being seen, and swiped the bowl over to herself. She took Applejack’s spoon, dug into the beans, and took a great, big, bite.
They tasted fine. They weren’t bad. They were good. Not great. Just gine. Like, nothing super special, nothing worth writing home about. Just some pretty standard, average, perfectly edible baked beans. Vignette wasn’t sure what she was expecting. The smell was borderline mesmerizing, but the taste was just… fine. Vignette shrugged to herself, then took another bite. And another bite. And another one after that. Her stomach began to turn slightly, a bit agitated, but she didn’t think much of it. She just kept munching Applejack’s beans, waiting for her water.
She didn’t have to wait much longer, because Applejack returned in short time with a glass of water for Vignette. She chuckled as she approached, setting down Vignette’s drink and claiming her seat. She watched as Vignette stuffed her face with beans, the internet celebrity having scarfed down almost half of the tupperware.
“Well, Ah did tell ya to try it,” chuckled Applejack. “Here’s your water, by the way.”
“Thanks,” said Vignette. She stopped stuffing beans in her mouth for long enough to take a sip of her lemon water, and she immediately felt worse off for it. Her stomach was bubbling, turning over itself in a hot vat of sugary, savory, beany goodness. She pushed the tupperware closer to Applejack. “Uh… Sorry about eating your lunch. Like, for realsies, I don’t know what came over me. That was majorly un-chic of me.”
“Aw, it ain’t nothing to worry about. May as well finish the whole thing now.” Applejack shrugged, pushing the beans back. “If you, of all people, are willing to try mah southern cookin, Ah reckon Ah can give something off this bougie ass menu a try.”
Vignette nodded uneasily, then resumed eating her beans. She wasn’t even sure why she was still eating them. They genuinely weren’t that great. But, for some reason, she just kept shoveling them down her throat. Even as she felt her stomach protest more and more, she just kept eating beans. Applejacked looked down at a menu, scanning for something to order, completely oblivious to her newest frenemy’s sudden ravenous hunger.
“So, what’s good here?” asked Applejack. “Ah was thinking about one of them panini sandwiches or something. What do you—”
Pfffffft!
Applejack set down her menu, her brow cocked at the blushing, mortified expression of Vignette Valencia. Neither girl said anything at first, each preferring to wait for the other to take lead. When neither did, Applejack cleared her throat and decided to take charge.
“Did y’all just cut the cheese?” asked Applejack. Vignette’s mouth gaped slightly as she tried to formulate a proper response. Nothing came to her mind, so she did the only thing she could think of.
“Uh… No?” lied Vignette, almost unheard over the bubbling and churning of her stomach. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew it was a long shot. Applejack definitely heard it. More than that, though, she could definitely smell it. It wasn’t the absolute most offensive thing she’d ever smelled, but it was definitely a fart worth apologizing for.
“Valencia, it’s alright,” said Applejack, stifling a laugh. “Ain’t nothin to be ashamed over. Everybody let’s one loose every now and then, girl. Sure, maybe not at the lunch table, but—”
PFFFFFFFFFFT!
Another fart, louder this time, creaked from Vignette’s body. She slammed her head against the table, hiding her face in shame, while Applejack just laughed and laughed. Unbeknownst to her, a dense, visible green cloud of stink floated from beneath Valencia’s bottom. The fart cloud wafter across the table, enveloping Applejack’s head.
“Whoo! Them beans goin’ through you like—” Applejack inhaled, getting a deep sniff and mouthful of Vignette’s flatulence, and gagged on the putrid stench. “Sweet Jesus, Son of Mary! The hell, girl?!”
“I’m sorry! I can’t help it! It’s those beans, you must’ve put something in them or something!” exclaimed Vignette. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe it was that Equestria magic or whatever that I saw go into them.”
“You saw what?!” hacked Applejack, barely able to breathe. “Why the hell would you eat something that Equestrian magic flew into?!”
“Maybe because someone ran out of vinaigrette for my salad!”
Pfffffft!
This one was smelled almost before it was heard. Sour and rancid, like bad meat and eggs. Vignette couldn’t believe that something that bad had come from her, or anything, for that matter. It was absolutely horrid by every definition of the word.
“Oh my god,” gagged Applejack. “Well, are you okay? Aside from the hell portal in yer asshole, Ah mean.”
“I mean, I guess? My stomach is kinda turning. Cramping a bit, like I’m on my period or something,” groaned Vignette. She clutched her stomach, feeling another inhuman fart stir in her bowels. She clenched her sphincter, trying her hardest to hold it in, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle.
Pwarrppp!
The heat that Vignette felt waft out of her asshole was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It made her fidget from the sudden, unnatural spike in temperature that her fart had created. There was a faint hiss, and the smell of something burning (although it was hard to make that out under the overpowering stench of Vignette’s flatulence). Vignette stood up, looking down at her seat with pure horror etched onto her features. Her fart was so powerful, so hot, so smelly, that it literally burned a hole through her panties and trendy designer jeans.
“Do something!” exclaimed Vignette.
“The fuck do you want me to do?!” Applejack pinched her nose, but that didn’t especially help to block out the smell. “Fucking hell, girl! I think you need to see a doctor!”
“None of this would be happening if I just had my fucking vinaigrette!” Every other word in Vignette’s sentence was met with a small, almost delicate (but no less pungent) fart. “Fix this!”
“Ah can’t think straight with your toxic ass goin off every ten damn seconds!”
Thhpbb!
Another stink cloud erupted from Vignette’s asshole, this one a deeper, darker green. It was so foul and dense that it actually sank, consuming the chair that Vignette had been sitting on. Vignette watched in half-awe, half-horror as the acrid cloud of her fart melted at the plastic and metal that made up her chair. The entire piece of furniture dissolved into a thin, greenish-yellow pool of liquid on the floor.
“Did you just melt a fucking chair?!” said Applejack, tugging at her hair in pure disbelief. “How is that even possible?!”
“I don’t know!” Vignette was just as distressed as Applejack, if not more. She couldn't think, absolutely baffled by what was occuring. All of this over some stupid magic and a salad with no vinaigrette. Not that she could be blamed for that. A salad without vinaigrette is rabbit food, and Vignette refused to eat it, no matter how desperately she wanted to enjoy her salad. Now, she was farting like a drunk on Cinco de Mayo, and there was nothing she could do to solve the problem. Now, she had a dry salad and a chair that her rancid farts had melted into a thin, possibly-acidic liquid with a vinaigrette-like consistency.
Cautiously, Vignette dipped her finger into the melted chair and gave it a testing lick. Sure enough, it tasted like plastic and steel, just like she would expect a chair to taste. So her farts didn’t seem to affect the taste of whatever it melted. Vignette glanced up to Applejack, texting like mad in an attempt to get in contact with the Rainbooms to hopefully figure this out.
Vignette bit her tongue in thought for a minute, a devious plan forming in her brain.
“Hey, Applejuice,” said Vignette. “I have an idea.”
“Huh?” Before Applejack could get much more out, Vignette leapt over the table and landed in Applejack’s lap. “Get the hell off me, girl!”
Vignette did no such thing, instead grinding her bare, exposed ass onto Applejack’s lap. She clenched her stomach muscles, tensing her entire body. For the first time that day, she didn’t fight it. In fact, she did quite the opposite. She forced out the most pungent, rancid, paint-peeling, nose-burning, stomach-turning fart that anyone had ever smelled.
RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!!
Applejack gagged and coughed on the vicious stench, the thick, greenish cloud consuming her and making it impossible to breathe. It smelled like death, like the most vile, rotten, awful garbage in the history of creation. Applejack tried to scream, but the stink filled her mouth, coated the inside of her throat, and made it impossible to produce any noteworthy sound.
Applejack felt it on her thighs first, the heat unlike anything she had previously experienced. She felt her skin blister and melt, the hot, thin remnants of her flesh dripping down the sides of her meaty, bone-exposed legs. Terror was the primary expression on Applejack’s face, followed chiefly by disbelief and the most visceral of disgust.
“V-Valencia…” wheezed Applejack, barely able to speak through the dense cloud of Vignette’s pungent ass-stink. Vignette grinned madly, then forced out another horrible eruption from her ass. Her stink melted through Applejack’s legs, dissolving down to her knees. Vignette stood up, then bent over, aiming her asshole directly at Applejack’s face, and let out another fart.
FLRRRRPPPPPPP!!!!!!
Applejack thought she had felt the worst of what Vignette’s butt had to offer, but she was wrong. Before, she had a few moments for the fart to at least begin to dissipate before she smelled it. This time, she caught a fresh dose directly to the face. Applejack was certain that she contracted pink eye immediately, but that was the least of her worries. Her hair, eyebrows, and lashes sizzled away into smoke before her skin began to cook and boil. Her eyes began to bubble for a bit before they popped, leaking foul, disgusting pus down what remained of her cheeks.
Vignette Valencia just kept on farting, cackling madly as her stink clouds literally melted Applejack, flesh and bone and everything in between. She dissolved slowly, over the course of about ten minutes. Soon enough, Applejack was entirely melted, save for a few chunks of meat and sinew sitting in the puddle of Applejack juice sitting in the chair. Vignette grabbed the glass that held her water and dumped it onto the floor, then tipped the dissolved Applejack into the now empty glass.
“There we go!” said Vignette. She took the slightly-chunky, bloody, gorey liquid and slowly drizzled it over her almost-forgotten salad. Finally. Some good fucking food. Vignette grabbed her fork and used it to take a great big bite of her now-dressed salad.
It was bitter, and a bit metallic. There was an unmistakable fruity undertone, just barely cutting through the bitter acidity of the “vinaigrette”. Vignette hummed, impressed by the taste. Applejack made for quite an edible dressing. Sadly, Vignette still felt like her salad needed something. Some sweetness, savoriness, earthiness. Vignette’s eyes fell on what remained of Applejack’s beans, and she grinned. She took the beans and dumped in onto the salad, then took another bite.
Now it was perfect. She made short work of the salad, finishing the whole thing, beans and Applejack and all, in a matter of minutes. When she was done, her stomach bubbled from a combination of magic beans and cannibalism. But Vignette Valencia didn’t care. She got what she wanted, as she always did. A Palaté salad, light on the croutons, with Applejack vinaigrette on the side.
Was that too much to ask?
