“—and I won’t hesitate to pull her from the festival if these demands aren’t met!”

Pinkie Pie shrunk low to the ground, teeth gritted in the plaintive hope that the off-white stallion before her would stop shouting. She wanted so badly to call him a mean meanie-head and walk away. This certainly wasn’t how her friends talked to her! Or townsponies! Not even Limestone got so bad, unless she’d touched Holder’s Boulder, in which case she knew she deserved it!

But crouching there, with Svengallop looming over her… Pinkie couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Her throat felt dry, her would-be comebacks turned to ashes, and—

Suddenly there was a loud *SCREECH* from all the festival’s huge amps and loudspeakers all at once. Svengallop jerked back and raised his eyes toward a spot above and behind Pinkie. She turned in time to see a huge burst of pyrotechnics light up the top of a particularly massive stack of amplifiers that stretched well above the top of the adjoining stage.

In the center of the flames was the silhouette of a pony.

The fire didn’t abate. But it shifted, tapering in front and flaring even higher in the back, bringing the pony’s corpse-painted visage and studded black hoofbands into sharp relief. It glared straight down at Pinkie—no, at Svengallop—then hefted a long-necked guitar with an appearance like six strings trying to escape from the skull of a deadly beast.

“Foolish mortal,” the pony’s voice boomed—and Pinkie noticed it had a glowing horn, which might’ve been the source of its amplification. “You would terrorize the mortal realm to keep your prissy little pop-princess from discovering true power?”

“I…” Svengallop swallowed. “I don’t know what you—”

“SILENCE!”

Thunder cracked, and lightning speared down from the sky, as the pony adjusted a dial on its guitar. Pinkie’s muzzle crinkled as a pungent and distinct odor came wafting on the breeze from where Svengallop stood trembling.

“Countess Coloratura, I know you can hear me. My time in this realm grows short. But behold: the power of Tartarus unchained. Behold: true power. Behold… then claim it as your own, if you dare!”

Then the pony strummed, and Pinkie and Svengallop alike were blown off their hooves by a sound-wave of incomprehensible power. They were sent tumbling end-over-end across the festival grounds as the single chord was followed by others in rapid succession…

Trixie relaxed into the chair next to Starlight’s bed in the Castle of Friendship, then squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself a moment to simply soak up its plush softness. Trixie really must ask if there’s a spare one of these around, she thought to herself. One deep breath led to another, and then another, as a smile crept across her face. How many times has Trixie visited her Great and Powerful best friend, yet never thought to rest her weary hooves from the road in this most magnificent of chairs?

A gentle tone from a clock on the wall disrupted Trixie’s reverie. She huffed and pouted at it. Perhaps Trixie should work in some more teacup practice while she’s waiting? After a moment of considering the thought, Trixie furrowed her brow. I wonder what Starlight’s up to in there, anyway? Didn’t she tell Trixie that she just needed a minute, and then she’d have something ‘fun’ to share?

Slowly, reluctantly, Trixie pushed herself up and out of the chair. Her hooves were a bit weary from the road, truth be told; but she felt torn between concern for her friend, and irritation at being made to wait. She crossed to the door of Starlight’s dressing room—Must be nice to have one of those!—and knocked.

“Starlight? Starlight! Trixie is quite ready to see this ‘fun’ you promised!”

She jumped at the loud *BOOM!* that sounded behind her. Then she turned, and blinked several times as she struggled to get her brain around the juxtaposition of Starlight having suddenly appeared amid a hodgepodge layer of dime-store, teenage-rebel nonsense.

“Hey Trixie!” Starlight said, smiling widely and breathing as if she was winded. “Whoo… sorry, I forgot how good that felt. I completely lost track of time!” A grimace worked its way across her corpse-painted, heavily-mascara’d features. “Which… is gonna cost me, big time. I ended up having to put an entire festival’s worth of pizza on my Amareican Express card. Thank Celestia they didn’t decline the charge!”

“What…?”

“Oh, the getup!” Starlight stepped back, raising her forehooves, gesturing at herself with one while hefting a really weird-looking guitar with the other. “Yeah, it turns out I don’t fit the jacket anymore. But the rest of it is how I went around in high school! I was the terror of Sire’s Hollow. Oh, and I still remember how to play a couple songs. Wanna hear?”

Trixie kept her gaze even, and smacked her lips. “Yeeeaaahhhh, Trixie’s gonna go with ‘no’ on that.”

“You… don’t like metal?”

With a slow shake of her head, Trixie walked back over to the chair and sat down. “It’s not just that, of course; you look ridiculous! Though Trixie is indeed more a fan of music that doesn’t threaten her eardrums, and that has things like melody, and recognizable words… not ones about horrid things like disembowelment, either.”

A grimace of fiery condemnation—totally accentuated by the makeup—settled over Starlight’s face.

“Now if we’re done with this… highly questionable ‘fun,’ I believe that Trixie was promised a selection of one or more fine pizzas?”

Starlight raised the guitar. Her horn flared. And she strummed—