A Memoir of An Equestrian Rapper
Allow me to introduce myself real quick. I'm MC Ace Spade. You know, the rapper whose name is famous all across Equestria? Let's be honest for a few seconds. If you don't know my name or Vinyl Scratch's, you've probably been living under a rock for the past six years.
In the unlikely event that you actually have, let me fill you in. Me and Vinyl together are the High Rollers, the most famous hip hop group from the Crystal Empire all the way to Appleloosa. Okay, fine. The most famous and the best.
Now, I might come off as egotistical, but growing up in Los Pegasus, it's kind of a part of who I am. Speaking of growing up in Los Pegasus, it had a huge influence on my life. I mean it. Huge.
Me and Vinyl are unicorns. You know what that means if you're a teenager in Los Pegasus? You're not part of the gang. Back then, most of the guys who called the slums home were a bunch of pegasi way in over their heads. Los Pegasus isn't Cloudsdale. For fuck's sake, the mayor when we me and Vinyl were teenagers was a god damn earth pony!
That's not to say we didn't have our fair share of fun. Oh, man, rap battles, street fights, you name it. For a desert punk, there was - and still is - nothing better. Seeing as it was pretty much a 24/7 party there, I only have a few strong memories.
There is one that stands out more than the rest, though. It stands out by far.
There was this one huge piece of shit. His name was Thunderlane. Back then, I wanted to bust his fucking face open every time I saw him. Seriously, the guy had the nerve to throw trash at us, take my gambling stuff - you get the picture. And to top it all off, he would never shut the fuck up.
For the most part, I just put up with it. I mean, really. We were, what, thirteen back then? It was eleven years ago, that's a fact. But then, there was that one day where all the piss the guy had spewed from his mouth boiled, and I had no choice but to show that asshole who the boss was.
It was June 26th, 2002. Or, wait. Was it July 26th? I don't really remember. All that matters is that it was summer, and you knew it as soon as you trotted outside. Eighty-five degrees, Celestia making you go blind with the sun, all that shit. Long story short, it was fucking beautiful out. Then again, what else could you expect from Los Pegasus?
The "spot," as we called it, was a dump by contrast. Basically, it was a empty lot where a bar or something used to be. The owner moved the joint across town, and we had a place to hang. Pretty simple story.
Anyway, let me give you a taste of the atmosphere. Hip hop music was blaring from one mare's boombox. Haha, yeah, remember those things? I think the song was by Most Wanted, but I can't really be bothered remembering. Anyway, remember how I said street fights were part of my life? That switch was kicked up quite a few notches that day.
When me and Vinyl got there, a ton of ponies were in a circle watching something. We went over there and tore through the crowd. Two stallions, Thunderlane and some unicorn, were duking it out in the middle of the crowd. Both of them were caked in blood, and I think the unicorn had lost a few teeth.
Thunderlane got on his front hooves and bucked the other pony in the face. He flew back through the crowd, landing with a quaking thud.
"Go back to where you came from, magic boy!" Thunderlane taunted. "Pegasi only!" The unicorn ran off.
Vinyl responded, "Hey, mohawk. Me and Ace are getting real sick of your shit."
The black pegasus turned his head toward us, that shit eating grin on his face. "What's the matter, DJ? Afraid of a little blood?"
"No, I actually like the taste of blood. My point is, you're an arrogant, self-centered piece of shit."
"Well, then, why don't you go tell your mommy about me?" Vinyl's mom had entered a coma a few days before this. Thunderlane knew full well about the incident, and used it to insult Vinyl.
I felt it was time I stepped into this.
I got right in Thunderlane's face and snarled, "Listen to me, you little shit. You've been acting like this for years, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. You make one more of your retarded decisions, and I will eliminate all your pieces from the board. Whether it's a rap battle or a game of craps, I will send you back to the dump you came from.. Do you understand?"
None of the things I said to him even made a dent in his thick skull. He went as far to snatch Vinyl's glasses and toss them onto the ground, shattering them. Vinyl, her piercing red eyes showing, glared at him. He chuckled. "You think you can rap, kid? How about you look at the side of your flank. What do you see there?"
"A spade," I replied.
"That's right, magic boy. Is there a microphone or anything? No. You're a blackjack dealer as far as I'm concerned, pal. Besides, white-coated fuckers can't rap, anyway."
His hypocrisy was making me sick to my stomach. I retorted, "Now, hold on a second. You tell me I can't rap because of my cutie mark when yours is a thunder cloud? Where's the logic in that?"
"My cutie mark means that I'm a 'striking' rapper. It's meaning is supposed to be cryptic."
As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. Some ponies did have cryptic cutie marks. I had met a teacher once whose cutie mark was smiling flowers. At first, I didn't know what in the blue hell that had to do with teaching, but she told me it was because she loved to make her students smile.
I realized I had to prove myself. "Listen, fucker. You and me, rap battle, right now. Vinyl's my DJ, you find your own."
He snickered. "A cakewalk, but I can't resist a challenge. Get your little DJ over to the turntables and let's do this." He walked over to the mare who owned the boombox and I walked over to Vinyl.
"Let's show this fucker out the door," I whispered.
"Right behind ya." She galloped over to the turntables and began scratching. Within seconds, the battle was underway.
I don't want to say I was a natural, but... well, I was. I felt no stress at all. The words just flew from my mouth. To be honest, I suprised myself. I admit, I can act before thinking, and I thought I had no chance for a second. When I started rapping, though, I just felt comfortable.
Kind of like it was my talent.
Thunderlane couldn't keep up. He fumbled a few verses, and by verse 16, his tiny brain broke. I had won. I expected for me and Vinyl to be booed out of the lot, but we actually got a huge ovation. Thunderlane, suprisingly, accepted the loss and ran away.
Me and Vinyl ran over to each other and hugged. "Hey, Ace," she commented, "I think I know what your cutie mark really means."
I was way ahead of her. I was never meant to be a blackjack dealer after all.
I was an ace at rapping.
Author's Note
Hooray, another extremely short one-shot! This one was written in Ace's dialect at some points, so you get an idea of who he is. He may seem like a jerk at times, but he's pretty chill.
-Jimmy-
