Boomer Storm


                                            >Pipp comes into the room sobbing, stumbling over coils of wire and lumps of half-forgotten machinery in varying states of repair as she does.

                                            >"I screwed up! I've really, totally screwed up!"

                                            >You glance up from your work and watch her close in, only managing a confused grunt in the face of her tear-streaked mascara.

                                            >"Look! Look on Clopper! They're cancelling me!"

                                            >Pipp thrusts her phone into your grime-streaked face. You go cross-eyed trying to focus on the rapidly scrolling feed, saturated in angry emojis and all-caps broken sentences.

                                            "Uh, is that bad? I'm... trying to fix this, it's related to the power outages, not sure if you noticed," you tap the generator with your screwdriver.

                                            >"What? Did you not hear me? I'm being *cancelled*!"

                                            "I have no idea what that is. Weren't you promoting a thing last week? Did it not work out?"

                                            >She snorts contemptuously.

                                            >"That was last week, Zipp, that was ages ago."

                                            "Uhh--"

                                            >"I launched my new perfume line, 'pIpp'—that’s with an upper-case ‘I’—but some FILLY found out that we've been sourcing ethanol from chemicals instead of corn! The entire internet is blowing up, and I literally cannot right now!"

                                            "Cannot...?"

                                            >"Exactly! I can't!"

                                            "Wha...? Are you looking for advice on ethanol production, or something?"

                                            >You rub your fuzzy ear, your eyes wandering off to one side.

                                            "I suppose corn would be better for the environment, but Zephyr Heights is better fitted for petrochemicals. I'd have to speak to the engineers about--"

                                            >"Zipp!"

                                            >You flinch, your little sister's face an inch from yours.

                                            >"You. Don't. GET IT!”

                                            "I... don't?"

                                            >"Right now, everyone in Zephyr Heights knows that my newest perfume isn't green, and they are totally freaking out."

                                            "I thought it was kind of a reddish-pink? This is the one that smells like burnt toast, right?"

                                            >Pipp stares at you. She sticks a frustrated hoof in her mouth, bites down just about as hard as she can, and lets out a scream.

                                            >"You're so… slow! How are you our chief engineer!?"

                                            "Look, Pipp, I never really got this social media thing, what exactly is the problem?"

                                            >"This! This is the problem!"

                                            >Once more her phone is thrust at you. Once more you stare in bewilderment at comments like:

                                            >'Pipp confirmed for exploitation #PippPetalsIsOverParty’

                                            >'Never buying anything from her again. I’m literally shaking right now.’

                                            >'Helo beautiful Pipp please send nude bitch lasagna’

                                            "Uh, have you tried blocking them? Is that still a thing?"

                                            >"Block them?! That would send completely the wrong impression. Influencers are supposed to *engage* with the userbase, like it bolsters mental market-share and indirectly promotes the brand if my posts are seen by as many ponies as possible, and if I respond to as many ponies as possible—even the bad ones."

                                            >You cock your head, brow furrowed.

                                            "So it's... good that they're mad, then?"


                                            >Pipp's snout wrinkles.

                                            "I mean, if they're all angry about something you're doing, doesn't that mean you've got a ton of ponies at least talking about you and your product? So isn't this all a win for you since you're the center of attention?"

                                            >Pipp stares, and stares some more.

                                            >A smile slowly blossoms on her face.

                                            >Suddenly, she gives a shout and flings her hooves around your neck.

                                            >"You're a genius! Ohmygosh, Zipp you're the most amazing sister ever!"

                                            "I-I'm so confused, I'm sorry--"

                                            >"I've gotta go, I need to capitalize on this right now! Ohh, Maudaline will be so psyched about this!"

                                            "Who is... Maudaline...?"

                                            >"My brand and marketing manager-- gotta go! Love you forever, sis!"

                                            >A peck on the cheek, another squeeze-hug, and in a pink and purple blur, she's gone.

                                            >You stare at the spot she just was, then turn back to the generator in disquiet.

                                            >You scratch behind your ear with your screwdriver, then shrug and shake your head, returning to your work with a grumble.

                                            "Zoomers..."