Buck it

by Fox in a Box

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Comedy
Length: 3725

Rainbow Dash is 85 years old and she is selected to give a speech at the Wonderbolts annual Royal Canterlot Ball. She is NOT happy.

Rainbow Dash. Once adored throughout all of Equestria, former captain of the revered Wonderbolts. Heh, those days are over. She's eighty-five years old now, bitter, angry, and short-fused. The Wonderbolts are full of queens now. They've disowned her. Tonight, she is to give a speech at the Wonderbolts Royal Canterlot Ball. Let it be a night the accursed organization will never forget.

Rated Mature for strong language and adult situations.

Also, image completely unrelated, but it helps with Dash's ego.

Published 2013-01-13 00:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-13 00:50:01 UTC

Buck it

Dear Rainbow Dash,

You are hereby cordially invited to attend the Wonderbolts Royal Canterlot Ball! Join us as we celebrate the 200st anniversary of the formation of our organization. Don’t forget to bring the chips and dip! Kidding, catering by “Hard Cider, Buck Yeah” will be provided as always. Looking forward to your being here!

- Your Wonderbolts

Dash scrunched up the letter and, disgusted, stuffed it hastily into her front pocket. She grunted, and rose her crinkled old nose to the ceiling of the cab in a spiteful fashion.

“200st,” Dash said, regarding the invitation. “Hopeless. All of ‘em. Organization’s been goin’ straight downhill ever since I left the damn thing.”

Despite the fact that that self-centered proclamation was slightly biased, Rainbow Dash was at least in some respects correct. The Wonderbolts Organization, world renowned for aerial acrobatics and flying shows, was bringing in more revenue than it had any year previous. It sold out shows all across Equestria, and some of the stars were the most instantly recognizable ponies in recent history.

But, to Rainbow Dash, that’s all they were. Stars. They weren’t flying studs like the Spitfire’s and the Soarin’s she recalled. They were actors and actresses, mother-buckers if one wanted to get personal, as Dash was never respected as a former captain of the esteemed organization, besides back in her “Hay Day”.

“Bunch ‘a little prissy daisy pickin’ plot suckers,” Dash swore. She loathed them. She loathed the entire organization with all of her fragile, eighty-five year old frame.

So this was the deal, this was the whole shabang so to speak: In honor of the 200st (how the fuck they missed that in the invitation is unbelievable) anniversary of the founding of the Wonderbolts, the organization had sought out several former captains and well known members to come in and give a speech about their time spent with the organization. Dash had accepted, reluctantly, because she was once loyal to those cocksuckers. Now she was bitter and old, and instead of a speech, what she was prepared to give would be nothing less than slander and tomfoolery.

The night was bound to be full of debauchery. But buck if Rainbow fricken’ Dash cared. Hell, she was Rainbow fricken’ Dash! Element of Harmony! Captain of the Wonderbolts! She deserved and demanded the utmost respect.

Of course, all senile old mares demand that.

Still, it would do her good to wipe those pearly white smiles off of all of their tight young faces.

“Dog bucking lily licking sissies,” Dash swore again.

“We’re arriving at our destination, ma’am,” said the driver to Dash, who replied by fitfully ruffling her dress of which she had a severe distaste for.

Rainbow sighed. It was one of those “fuck this, let’s get it done” sighs, not one of those “deep in thought” sighs. She looked out her tiny porthole, and the glorious and amiable lights to the big city of Canterlot struck her, and lit the night sky like a madpony searching for an U.F.O.

“Canterlot,” said Dash with a devious grin. “Do you like Canterlot, driver?” she asked, still gazing out the window absent-mindedly.

The driver partially turned around to call back into the cab. “Oh, yes, Miss Dash,” he said, “When I was a colt, I used to-”

“Oh, come off it,” Dash interrupted, turning. “Canterlot’s full of narcissistic hayfeathered half-wits.”

The driver didn’t waste a beat. “Oh, yes ma’am. They’re a bunch of mother-buckers, no doubt.”

With this, Dash smiled. Being old had certain advantages, and on top of that, being once famous only added to that. It was especially beneficial when she had to make an appearance somewhere, such as tonight. People had to deal with her because she was a “special guest”. They were approaching the designated drop off zone, ponies young and old, pristine and regal in their fancy garb stepped from out of their ornate cabs.

“Buck you,” mumbled Dash to herself as she gestured to everypony that trotted toward the front gate, “and you, and you and you and you.”

Rainbow Dash sloppily slipped out of her cab, rudely ignoring the driver’s hoof to help her down. She was anything but eloquent, ladylike; she made Discord look like a bitch.

Dash sucked a big breath into her antique lungs, and exhaled sarcastically slowly. “Smell the air!” she said. “That’s the stench of nobility! Of endless grace and supernatural beauty!” Dash started to crookedly trudge up the floodlit red carpet. “Smells like old cabbage.”

Cameras flashed brightly and media everywhere were awestruck by the old mare making her way into the Canterlot Ballroom. They weren’t in awe with her dress, or her style, or her unusual mane. It was more “who the hell is this clogging up the walkway?”. Whispers of her spread rampant throughout the crowd, and every once in a great while, she would be gracious to hear a voice say “hey, that’s Rainbow Dash!”. Of course, her sanguine joy would only be reversed by others’ incredulous whispers of “who?”.

“Cock-eyed dick biters,” Dash cursed, and hobbled faster.

Rainbow followed a stallion donning a fancy white tuxedo through the front gates of the Royal Canterlot Ballroom, which, to Dash anyway, was affectionately referred to as the “Horseshit Sanctuary”. This was because 40 years ago, a natural disaster had stricken Canterlot down, and the Ballroom was one of the only structures left mostly intact afterward. They had ushered hundreds of families in, only then to realize the place didn’t have sufficient toiletries. Um... yeah.

And so here she was. Back in the Royal Canterlot Ballroom, where she had many a dance as a Wonderbolt herself. A lot of fond memories were played out on this very dance floor.

“Buck this place,” Dash said as she squabbled in.

Nevermind.

The place was looking spiffy and grandiose, all kidding aside. The architect had apparently been been a stickler for gold, as it lined the walls and false archways, even the pillars. The lighting provided the appropriate atmosphere for quaint small talk and polite laughter. But Dash had a theory that in all of their sultriness the Canterlot nobles were incapable of laughter, and instead primal, gutteral noises would sound from their throats if they tried such a task.

Yeah. Looks can be deceiving, this place sucked.

Still, it wasn’t the scenery that caught Dash’s eye, it was the mare who stood gallantly at the center of the dance floor, a halo of ponies surrounding her. She was the star of the show. She was the current captain of the Wonderbolts.

Phantom was her name.

“If it isn’t the foal bucking starry eyed harlot from the marsh,” Dash said to herself. “Oh, this’ll be great.”

Boy, did Rainbow Dash have the words for this starfucker. Dash would love nothing more than to pop that mare on the nose, to kick her to the curb. She was the worst captain the Wonderbolts Organization had ever adopted into their ranks. She rarely flew at practices and she could care less about her fans as long as they adored her and worshipped her every wingbeat. She was the epitome of ineptitude and selfishness. And yet, every feather on that mare must be worth a million bits each. If she and Dash got into a tussle, she was certain that bitch would be giving loads to charity by the end of the night.

Dash would avoid her for now. She’d wait for the speech. Instead, she scurried over to the bar, where the company “Hard Cider, Buck Yeah” was catering their services for the Canterlot nobles. Business was slow, because the nobles did not believe in alcohol.

“Cocktail,” Dash deadpanned. A lanky stallion behind the counter nodded and rushed to ready the drink.

There was light music playing from the bandstand at the other corner of the Ballroom. Rainbow Dash recognized one of the ponies as Octavia, who, like her, appeared to be quite unhappy with her being here. Octavia was about as elderly as Dash was. Apparently, she hadn’t lost a step with that instrument of hers, which was both fascinating and disappointing.

“Well,” came a voice to the right of her at the bar, “if it isn’t the fabulously fallible Rainbow Dash.”

Dash turned, and for the first time since she had received that forsaken invite in the mail, she smiled. “Soarin’!” she cried, greeting her long time friend and former Wonderbolt teammate. “What the buck are you doing in a hellhole like this?”

Soarin’ chuckled and shuffled over a couple of seats. The two shared in a hug, and Soarin’ said, “You haven’t changed a bit for your age! How’d you come to grow so cold and bitter?”

“Right when I realized how brittle and futile the system was,” replied Dash. “You never told me that being a Wonderbolt sucked before I signed those papers, Soarin’. And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”

Soarin’ only grinned. “Imagine taking part today.”

Just then, the bartender served Dash her cocktail. She thanked him and gratefully took a sip. “That’s a nightmare I’d rather not think about,” she said.

Soarin’ casually rested a hoof at the bar, and gave Dash a look. No, not that kind of look. They’re each well over eighty and I’m not that ill in the head.

“You’re thinking about her, that I know,” Soarin’ said. “What have you planned for this evening’s festivities?”

“Nothing much,” Dash said. “Just a small speech. Five minutes at most. Nothing special.”

“Doubtful,” Soarin’ said. “You hate her, and knowing you, there isn’t any way that you’re squandering this opportunity to take her down.”

Dash took another dainty sip of her cocktail. “Maybe you’ll find out tonight,” she said. “But let’s not talk about it.” Dash’s faded fuchsia eyes trained on Soarin’s. “How’s Spitfire?”

Soarin’ sighed. “Worse. But the kids are in town to visit, so at least that has lightened her mood a bit.”

Hm. Spitfire was Rainbow’s idol when she was a kid. If Dash’s mood could have soured any more, it just did. “I see.” Dash stopped the dainty shit and downed her cocktail. “You can tell her I said hi?”

Soarin’ smiled. “Yes, and don’t worry about her at all. She’ll be fine, and she’ll be excited to know I saw you!”

“Oh,” Rainbow Dash said, “I’m a senile old bitch, tell her she shouldn’t be so excited.”

Admitting it is the first step.

Soarin’ laughed an old and wheezy laugh. “Not a bit, Rainbow Dash. Not a bit.”

Dash ordered another cocktail, and the bartender immediately turned around and got to concocting another one. Soarin’ stirred in his seat. He looked to get up and rest in another corner, wait for Rainbow Dash to give her speech, and then leave the Ball altogether. Because, of course, he had felt the same way about the organization ever since he had left. And so he rose from his chair.

“I’ve got some others to meet, Dashie,” Soarin’ said. “So I’ll leave you to make some bad decisions here at the bar. Looking forward to your speech.”

Dash looked over. “I am too,” she said. “It’s going to be a tear-jerker.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” said Soarin’ with a grin.

Soarin’ threw his gentle hooves around Dash, and she returned the embrace. Then, Soarin’ left the bar, left Dash to drink herself silly. And that was the plan. What good was a speech for the most prestigious organization in the world if she wasn’t first drunk off her ass?

It was time for a changing of the guard.

Dash sipped at her cocktail. “Long live your Wonderbolts,” she said.

Dash sat at the bar sipping on cocktails for a good hour. Nobody came to greet her, nobody said a word to her, other than the bartender with the occasional “jeez, lady” that he’d mutter under his breath. Rainbow Dash was a kooky old bat. But now she was unquestionably hammered, and that was a dangerous combination.

It was nearly time for her speech. One hundred and seven year old former captain of the Wonderbolts, Flash, had delighted the audience with his appearance this evening, and had just ended his presentation. Unfortunately, he had forgotten half of it. Dash cackled at the sight. The old stallion had cobwebs in his ears, and repeatedly cried “What?” into the microphone as his helpers attempted to remind him of what to say.

This is exactly why Dash never scripted anything.

Flash had to be escorted off of the stage, and through the process it looked as if he were under the false impression that he was flying in a Wonderbolt competition.

Dash downed her final cocktail. “Time for the show,” she slurred, and stumbled from her stool.

On stage, the despised Phantom had taken Flash’s place under the spotlight. She smiled a one million bit smile and grasped hold of the microphone.

“All right, ladies and gentlecolts, let’s give another round of applause for our special guest, Flash.” Ponies in the audience politely clapped their hooves together. “Thanks for coming, sir,” Phantom said through the ovation.

“Next up, we have a very special guest from Cloudsdale. She was captain of the Wonderbolts fifty years ago, and, more importantly, is an Equestrian hero: A former Element of Harmony.”

Dash wobbled toward the stage, pushing stuck up Canterlot nobles away as she cantered on, horribly intoxicated.

“Ladies and gentlecolts,” Phantom said with a grand, fake smile. “let’s put our hooves together for Rainbow Dash.”

There was a timid applause put together as Rainbow Dash tripped up the steps, and gave Phantom a look, though it wasn’t so much a look as a retarded cross-eyed glance. Supposedly, it is the thought that counts.

Dash shuffled over to the microphone, where she hiccuped loudly into it and leaned on it heavily. Fortunately, this microphone was plastered to the stage; otherwise Rainbow Dash would have been in for a nasty spill onto the lap of the elderly stallion standing in the front row.

Phantom left her there. Dash breathed into the microphone like a puppy that had just taken laps around the house.

“So,” she began, and swerved toward the edge of the stage, but miraculously maintained her balance. “Here we are.”

Soarin’ watched from the back of the Ballroom. He had this wide, foalish smile on his face, spread from ear to ear.

“Yes, the longevity of this organization is indeed something worthy of celebration,” Dash continued. She liked to be wordy when she was drunk, something she got from her friend Twilight Sparkle. “But perhaps we have misinterpreted the overall message to take away from the current festivities you are all so enjoying.”

Dash hiccuped violently into the mic. “This is not the occasion to eat, drink, and be merry, friends. Well, it isn’t as if any of you ever do that anyway. In any sense, though in your ignorance you may not understand, it is my pleasure to announce to you all, that what you do not realize, is that we are at war. The good of the Wonderbolts Organization is slipping away while you idle. Soon, there will be no Wonderbolts. Soon, we will only be hearsay. And so, to sort of remedy and expand upon this fact, instead of a speech... I would like to tell a story.”

At this point in time, Phantom was frowning severely.

“This is a little tale I like to call Phantom, and the Night of Many Cocks.”

Audible gasps came from the audience, and mountain fresh ice water was spewed from the mouths of many. Dash nonchalantly unfurled a slip of paper that she took from out her pocket. It was the invitation she came with.

Dash imagined to be reading from the paper. “It was a night like any other night,” she started innocently enough. “Phantom was out sucking off stallions on the street corner, not for money, but for pleasure.” Things already started to go downhill. “Oh, there were round ones, long ones, small ones, thick ones. She tried them all. Yes, it was just another night.” Dash winked and gave a wry half-smile. “Little did she know, that tonight was going to be special. Tonight, she would set a record that few have been brave enough to ever attempt.

“Tonight, she’d set the cocksucking record.”

Everypony in the audience could only stare in absolute shock.

“For you see,” Dash continued, “by day, Phantom was a well-known and respected pony. She was captain of the most wonderful organization in all of Equestria, the Wonderbolts, and had all the fame and the money in the world. Little did folks know, that this was all a rouse, a trick, and that Phantom was indeed not captain of such a renowned organization, but was instead a hooker, and a pretty one at that, who roamed Mane Street at night looking for lonely stallions and a fat chode to suck.”

Phantom was fuming. Everypony in the audience was giving her odd looks, as if they were unsure of whether or not to believe the tall tale.

“Anyway, tonight was special. Tonight, with a gleam in her eye, she proclaimed to all of the world I’m going to suck the most dicks anybody ever has in one night!. And so a goal was made. And she would stick to this goal. And she would accomplish it.

“Off she went, wasting no time, going right at it. There she was, double hoofing it, two at a time, a line extending round the block. Her ability was unparalleled, and her inexplicable knowledge of a stallion’s weak spots were something only a true professional would ever know.”

Phantom looked to her stallion, who could not help but put a smile on his face. He hid it away when she looked, because he knew he wouldn’t get any if she noticed.

“They came and went, pun intended, and then, satisfied, moved on. Phantom soldiered on through the night. 10, 20, 30, 40... the record was meant to be broken, it seemed. It belonged to a mare from Las Pegasus, who got to 50 in one night. But that record would not only be broken, it would be shattered.

“50, 60, 70. Phantom could not stop and would not be stopped. She was on a roll, on a sacred mission that would define her. Deep into the evening she worked. Deeper and deeper she went, pun intended.

“And at the end of it all... she hit 100.

“The crowd rejoiced and sang a song. Phantom, for the first time, could be proud of herself, because her parents never loved her and she never had any talent. But now she had found her talent. And it was not being captain of the Wonderbolts. It was not being a famous little bitch on television. It was being... a cocksucker.

“And so we raise our glasses to the new Wonderbolts!” Dash proclaimed. “Because they aren’t truly Wonderbolts, they’re phonies who model the uniforms. Thank you.”

Dash abandoned the microphone and exited off stage. The crowd was positively stunned. Not a word was uttered from their eloquent and normally loquacious mouths. They hung agape, in fascination and wonder.

It was strange. Dash’s riveting fabricated tale was raunchy and cretinous, but, in an odd way, there was truth to her lie. No, Phantom was not a hooker. But she wasn’t a Wonderbolt, either, not in the eyes of the former members.

A circle formed around Dash as she left the stage. Immediately, Phantom stepped into that circle. Dash smirked.

“Hey baby, how are you?”

“Save it, bitch,” Phantom snarled. “What the buck was that?”

Dash held her composure. Her drunken composure, but held it nonetheless. “That?” Dash asked rhetorically. “That was the ushering in of a new era.”

“Bullpuckey.”

Dash frowned. “Bullpuckey?”

“You’re a cunt, Rainbow Dash. Never had a mother, you were the worst captain in Wonderbolt history. Your ratings were similar to that which is held in a dumpster, which is where your mother lies.”

Oh shit. Oh, shit, those were fighting words.

“Talk about my mother, one more time, and I’ll rip your head off.”

“Bring it on, old mare!” said Phantom, flipping her off, only then noticing her severe lack of a middle finger. She put it away. “Your mother was a cunt licker.”

“Buck you, Susan Boyle!” Dash rasped, and lunged forward, tackling Phantom to the floor, where she set upon ripping out the extensions in Phantom’s mane.

Everypony gasped and backed up. This... was the greatest thing to happen inside of this establishment since it had been erected.

Now, if Rainbow Dash had been, perhaps, sixty-five years younger, this cat-fight would have been drool-worthy. However, she was not... and so the stallions all sort of backed away, and shielded their eyes so that anything nasty was not to be their misfortune to see.

The only exception to this was Soarin’. He was seen in the corner laughing his ancient bucking ass off.

“I’ll tear your eyes out, bitch!” Dash screeched as the rolled with Phantom.

“Buck you!” Phantom cursed, and spit in Dash’s eye.

This couldn’t go on for much longer. Dash was a spunky, yet delicate eighty-five year old mare. She would tire out, or break.

But not before she stole a lock of Phantom’s mane.

A couple of stallions had had about enough of the scene, and they pulled the two mares off of each other. Dash held the lock of hair in her dentures, clasped tight. She grimaced, her eyes burned into that of Phantom’s, and Phantom clutched onto her head, hurting.

“Long live your Wonderbolts, mother bucker!” Dash cried.

Author's Note

"Hey, Twilight 'ol buddy 'ol pal," Dash said into the phone, her voice soft and relaxed. "How are ya? Hm?" Some incoherent muttering came from the other end of the line, and sounded like pleasant chatter. "The Ball? Oh, yeah, it was great. My speech was as stirring as Celestia kissing babies and Luna painting stars," she said. More muttering from the other end of the line. "What? No, don't turn on the T.V.

"Hey, listen," Dash continued. She started to wistfully twirl the phone cord in her hoof. "I need you to bail me out of the Canterlot Jail."