Gone Out With a (Muk)bang
Over the years, Zipp Storm got used to all of her sister's crazy shenanigans. However, when she saw a long line of servants carrying trays of food into Pipp’s streaming room, she couldn’t help but notice that this just took the cake.
Not just one cake either; several of them, including a chocolate cake filled with more chocolate and some chocolate sprinkled on top. Zipp wiped her forehead with the gym towel hanging around her neck and landed next to the servant.
“Stop right here!” she exclaimed. “Where are you going with this?”
“Princess Pipp ordered us to bring this cake to her chambers,” the servant replied.
“Did she tell it to you personally?” Zipp asked.
“No, your highness,” the servant said. “She called the head chef, and the chef called us, as usual.”
“It seems there was a misunderstanding,” Zipp said in the most princessly tone she could muster. “Most food was indeed to be delivered to my sister’s room, but this is my post-workout cake and is supposed to go to my room, okay?”
“Oh, okay.” The servant blushed. “I mean… Yes, your highness. I guess it was a misunderstanding.”
“Don’t worry, it happens all the time.” Zipp shrugged. “What’s your name?”
“Wind Chaser, your highness.”
“Nice.” Zipp smirked at him. “Bring this cake right to my room, Wind Chaser. I’ll get there shortly.”
She turned away, wondering if Pipp would notice the lack of cake; given the long line of servants crowding the corridor, Zipp thought it was unlikely.
It wasn’t just cake, as far as she could tell. For some reason, Pipp apparently wanted noodles. Lots and lots of noodles, as well as pizza, fish and chips, various salads, smoothies, curry, chilli, and many more kinds of food, in quantities that made Zipp’s stomach twist. Zipp sniffed and decided to follow. Her workout had left her famished.
She entered Pipp’s streaming room, storming past the guards and the technicians to find her sister reclining on a beanbag chair and stuffing herself with noodles. Bits of the tomato sauce stained her coat; her hooves were covered in grease, but she didn’t seem to care, talking to the camera.
“Pipp, what the hell?” Zipp asked. On the screen behind her, she could see the chat filling with messages; for some reason a lot of Pippsqueaks loved it whenever she crashed Pipp’s stream. The compilations of her best moments were among the most popular of Pipp’s videos.
“Hi, Zipp,” Pipp said, swallowing a large bite of noodles. “Do you want some pizza?”
“I’m not gonna refuse, to be honest.” Zipp looked for a place to sit down, but the other beanbag chair was half-buried under piles of popcorn. She grabbed a slice of pizza from the table and took a large bite. “What’s going on here? From the amount of food, I expected a party of at least twenty ponies here. Well, a party also known as orgy.”
“Nah, that’s later today. You're not invited, Princess Spoilsport.” Pipp took a slice of parmesan from a large block and ate it before gorging on some pickled cucumbers. “Right now, I’m gonna fight crime.” She grabbed a slice of cake with enough whipped cream to give the whole kingdom diabetes.
Zipp looked at the empty jar of pickles, the cake, and her own pizza. “Are you pregnant or what?”
“I said I’m gonna fight crime, not–” Pipp took a bite of cake. “Wait, what gave you that idea?”
“Nothing.” Zipp took another slice of pizza. “How are you gonna fight crime anyway? Sit on the criminals’ faces or block the door with your fat ass so they can’t escape?”
She looked at the chat and immediately regretted those words; she lost appetite, but gained some precious knowledge of what Pippsqueaks were into. “Can you ban the guy who wants me to sit on his face?” Zipp asked.
“He’s donating a lot,” Pipp replied. “As for fighting crime, I’m gonna take some unsolved case files from our kingdom’s criminal records and try to solve them while eating all this delicious food. Pippsqueaks love this.”
“That’s interesting,” Zipp said, grabbing a taco. “For once you had a good idea.”
“I know.” Pipp pointed at one of the numerous screens in her room. “Look at this guy. Ten years ago, somepony eviscerated him and then threw his head into the fountain. Nopony knows the culprit.”
Zipp looked at the screen and winced. Then she looked at her taco and winced again. The chat filled with messages such as “ripp Zipp” and laughing emojis. Also, "ripp zipp," which really annoyed her. She was a princess, not a sub, and deserved a capital letter.
Pipp swallowed a large bite of spaghetti and looked at the photo. Tomato sauce covered her mouth, dripping on her pristine coat. “They say that the victim’s liver was missing. The murderer may have eaten it.”
Zipp groaned and looked at the chat.
Oof, that’s just nasty.
Liver? I barely knew ‘er!
I’d stuff my lovely pudgy princess Pipp with food all day until she’d be too big to move <3
**** Wait guys, I think that’s my uncle.
@CloudDoomer lol, rip
big oof
F in the chat for CloudDoomer
That's my Uncle Lucky! ohno ohno
The chat turned into a long row of F’s.
Zipp asked, "Where is that 'F' thing from?"
"Call of Duty: Modern Warhorse," Pipp said. Then she smirked at the camera. “So, now we’re gonna search for the murderer of CloudDoomer’s uncle. Has anypony heard any rumours or anything like that? Maybe some older viewers remember this case?”
Zipp swallowed her taco. “Maybe someone from the family? They’re usually the first suspects.”
“True,” Pipp said, reaching for a spring roll. “If you ever find my body floating in the fountain, remember that Zipp may have had something to do with that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do something as unsophisticated as throwing your body into the fountain,” Zipp said. “I’d, for example, poison the spring rolls.”
Pipp’s hoof froze halfway to the plate. “What did you do with the spring rolls?”
“Nothing.” Zipp grabbed a spring roll and sunk her teeth into it. “Yet. The peanut sauce would be a great vector for an organic biotoxin. The forensics ponies would find it, but not be able to prove it wasn't natural. Also, I don’t think you can be murdered easily. You’re streaming almost everything you do, there’s no way to kill you without hundreds of witnesses. Not to mention that you’re guarded all the time, so strangling you in your sleep is almost completely out of the question.”
“Zipp, stop,” Pipp muttered, but the chat seemed to disagree with her.
Story time with Zipp!
Go, Zipp!
Let her continue, it’s interesting.
Zipp may be athletic, but she’d look much cuter if she was chubbier…
Zipp swallowed the rest of her spring roll and cleared her throat. “For starters, I’d use some sort of EMP to disable all the mobile devices. It’d only take some 1.21 jiggawatts but then it’d get rid of most of the witnesses. Still, I’d probably not get close. Maybe using some sort of a drone to shoot you or to explode somewhere near you? But on the other hoof I wouldn’t want to kill someone innocent, so maybe something long-distance? I could hire a unicorn to zap your brain and–”
“Zipp, would you, please, shut up? Someone may get ideas.” Pipp groaned, grabbing another slice of pizza.
Zipp nodded. “That’s why I’m describing the most ridiculous way possible and not something easier, like whacking you over the head with a baseball bat when you’re in the toilet.” She turned to the camera. “Don’t do that, by the way. She sometimes forgets to turn off the microphone when she goes there, as a certain compilation can attest.”
Pipp frowned. “Hey, Pipp Petals – The Symphony of Nature has been deleted from–”
Zipp chuckled. “Pipp, dear, you know that you can’t delete something from Canternet so easily.”
Pipp shook her head and cleared her throat. “Anyway, we were supposed to find the killer, right? Did anypony hear anything about this case?”
Suddenly, they heard a bubblegum pop melody, cheesier than the stack of quesadillas in front of Pipp. Zipp raised her eyebrows when Pipp grabbed her phone and looked at it.
“Some unknown number,” Pipp said.
“Pick it up, then,” Zipp replied. “Maybe they know something about your case.”
Pipp trembled. “I’m scared of unknown numbers.”
“You what now?” Zipp exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Of all ponies, you are scared of unknown phone numbers?”
“It’s because–”
“Oh right,” Zipp said. “You’re nineteen and you still ask mom to schedule your doctor appointment. Who then asks Sergeant Zoom.”
Pipp frowned. “Have you ever had someone call you at 3 AM to ask if you’d be interested in cutting off their dick, cooking it, and eating it?”
“Pippsqueaks be crazy,” Zipp muttered. "My fans call me—"
"You don't have fans, Zipp."
"I have seven,” Zipp replied. “They call me at 3 AM to do some cardio or blast our glutes."
Pipp furrowed her eyebrows, her face contorting in a different way with each possibility she pondered about. "Blast your glutes? Is that a euphemism for—"
Zipp brandished her sweaty gym towel. "Sometimes it's literal. Also, can you pick stories that don’t make me lose my appetite?”
“Someone HoofTimed me at 2 AM and asked if I’d endorse their invention,” Pipp said. “Which was a sex robot based on me.”
"Did it have a dick?" Zipp asked.
Pipp nodded her head sadly, confirming. "Bigger than the Palace's Memorial Spires."
Zipp’s ears went up. “Do you still have their number?” She looked at the camera. "Dude, contact me."
The phone rang again. Zipp looked at it and winced. “This song sucks. What are you, thirteen?”
“Oh, shut up.” Pipp grabbed the phone and tapped the green receiver icon. “Hello?”
The voice sounded a bit annoyed, even under a heavy layer of distortion that made it almost completely unequine. “Can you stop talking about me? It’s getting kinda annoying.”
Pipp frowned. “Uhh… are you a murderer?”
Zipp facehoofed and shook her head.
“Can everyone stop calling me a murderer?” the caller asked. “I killed a guy ten years ago because he was annoying and since then I managed to forget about it. I make the best horseshoes in Zephyr Heights, but do they call me Breeze the Horseshoe Maker? Nah. I have a store on Main Street, but do they call me Breeze the Store Owner?”
Zipp coughed. It sounded suspiciously similar to but ya fuck one goat…
“But can you tell us why you ate his liver and cut off his head?” Pipp asked, smiling nervously at the camera.
“I forgot to eat breakfast and he wanted to speak to my manager,” the mysterious pony replied. "I don't have a manager! This is a sole proprietorship!"
Zipp looked at her hoof. The address of the farrier was stamped on the steel. “Wait, are you that guy who owns the horseshoe boutique? Gentle Breeze?”
The caller chuckled nervously. “Of course not! Why would I use my real name? I was being, uhh… metaphorical.”
Pipp looked at Zipp and her nervous grin turned into a frown. “Keep talking to him,” she whispered in the Royal battle language. “Thunder is about to get his location.”
Zipp nodded. “Right,” she said. “A metaphor. What do you think about society?”
“What society?” the pony who definitely wasn’t Gentle Breeze asked.
“The society we live in.” Zipp shrugged. “I assume working in retail brings out the worst in ponies. Unlike, uhh… for example… Abortion. It only brings out the kid in you.”
There was a long pause on the other side of the line. The chat, on the other hand, had a field day. “Uhh… What?” said the voice.
“Kid. As in, a baby goat or baby in general.” Zipp looked around in panic, desperately looking for inspiration. “Did you know that I once fucked a goat?”
Pipp froze; not daring to look at the chat, she grabbed a large cake and cut herself a slice – or rather roughly a half of the cake.
“In college. On a dare.” Zipp wiped sweat off her forehead. “I was drunk, he was drunk, his GPA was higher than mine—I was second in the class rank—so I wanted to get some smarts by osmosis…” She shrugged. “He’s a CEO of some company now. Also, it’s fine to fuck a goat. It's not as bad as idioms made it out to be. Your princess commands: don't be racist. Everypony should fuck goats.”
Pipp swallowed the cake and grabbed an enormous bottle of champagne, almost bigger than her. She knew all too well which clip from her stream would get the most views over the next few weeks. Or even months.
“You have problems, Zipp,” the murderer said.
“Says the guy who ate someone’s liver.” Zipp shrugged. “Who’s crazy now?”
“I was sick for a week.”
Pipp looked at the message from Thunder. “They found him,” she whispered.
Zipp took off. “It was nice embarrassing myself in front of my future subjects, but I have something to do!” She threw Pipp her phone and flew away, joining Zoom and Thunder who flew towards the main street of Zephyr Heights.
Pipp shook her head. “A goat?” She took a slice of another cake and swallowed it in one go. “And now, excuse me, Pippsqueaks, I’d rather die of overeating than cringe.”
She looked at the chat and read the most recent messages. “You’re asking for my opinion on the goat thing?” Pipp grinned at the camera. "Well, if Zipp fucked a kid, she'll get put on a registry, amirite?"
The chat booed.
“Okay.” Pipp sighed. “Back to dying, then.”
Pipp didn’t die of overeating, despite her best attempts. Fifteen minutes later, Zipp came back, limping slightly. Pipp nearly choked on her carrot cake when she saw that her sister now sported a black eye.
“He lied to us,” Zipp said, grabbing a quesadilla. “He was Gentle Breeze after all.”
“What happened to you?” Pipp asked.
“Turns out, chasing a criminal after a workout and stuffing myself with all this food wasn’t the best idea,” Zipp said. “He punched me and then I couldn’t catch up with him.”
“So he ran away?” Pipp asked.
“Nah,” Zipp replied. “Zoom kicked him in the balls. He's under arrest while undergoing emergency surgery at the hospital.”
The silence was only interrupted by a collective “oof” from the chat.
“So, we caught the murderer of CloudDoomer’s uncle,” Pipp said. “We still have food left, so we may as well check out another mysterious death. This one is from Maretime Bay.” She pointed at the screen displaying a photo of a blue stallion in glasses, smiling awkwardly at the camera. “Argyle Starshine. We don’t exactly know how he died because Sunny never told us, but–”
Suddenly, the lights in the room went out. Pipp looked around; she could still see due to the light coming from multiple screens around the room, but they also went out a few seconds later. She grabbed her phone and looked at the chat.
Wait, what happened?
The murderer got them!
Wasn’t me, I swear!
Pipp’s ass needs to be about 20% squishier, don’t you think?
It’s me. I’m done with this!
“Sunny?” Pipp asked. Suddenly, someone knocked the phone out of her hoof. In the ensuing darkness, those Pippsqueaks who kept watching the stream could only hear the sound of a breaking bottle and something heavy dropping on the floor.
“For the last time!” Sunny exclaimed in the darkness. “He died of intestinal cancer and diabetes! Which, in case you don’t know, was caused by his poor diet!”
The light came back. Sunny was nowhere to be seen, but a trail of scattered plates and camera stands showed well her escape route. Pipp got up from the floor and rubbed her head, groaning. Her mane and coat were covered in champagne.
Zipp chuckled. “Do we search for the pony who did this?”
“Shut up,” Pipp muttered, looking at the chat.
O O F
Ripp Pipp
So that’s why your basement is full of canned beans! I always thought you were a prepper or something.
Those are dad’s supplies. He was never a great cook.
You’d better come back quickly. I’m making lunch.
Great, what is it?
Beans with pineapple. I’d invite Pipp and Zipp, but I think they’re full.
Pipp dropped herself back into her beanbag, grabbed a bag of chips, and pulled up the next case file, which showed a black-and-white crime scene photo. "Okay, last one. Prince Consort High Altitude, found poisoned at a high-priced brothel in the Red Horseshoe District about a year and a half before I was born."
Her phone made the sound of an incoming notification. She looked at the screen and frowned.
Pipp, dear, we don't investigate that one.
Zipp's good eye went wide when she looked at the photo, the black eye swelling shut. "D-daddy?"
