Betwixt Silver and Gold 1:

Javelin

Chapter 1

Hustle and bustle. The same ponies, bumping into each other again for the hundredth time in as many minutes. Tempers were frayed to the snapping point. Standing behind her twin turntables at the back of the room, the only thing Vinyl Scratch could think of to do to make this situation bearable was to play something...anything. Music, she had so often found, had powers beyond that of any mortal unicorn’s horn. Unfortunately, music was the one thing she was forbidden to make. At this rate, she figured, the angry crowd would descend into a rampaging mob in less than an hour. Something had to be done—but what?

A pony stood in the doorway for several minutes, silently taking in the scene. Finally, he pulled another pony aside and asked the most important question he could come up with: “So what’s this all about then?”

Vinyl Scratch perked up her ears. This was the first new arrival in hours. The newcomer was at the opposite end of the hall from her, but she could easily pick his voice out from the others.

“It’s a party,” replied the annoyed voice of the second pony. Vinyl had heard this pony’s voice in multiple conversations over the course of the evening so far. If anypony was going to pick a fight tonight, he’d be the one. So far, though, he was zero for eighteen in his attempts to get a rise out of anypony else.

“Yes, a party scheduled to start at 4 pm, on a Tuesday,” the newcomer replied, as if that fact was an insult to his sense of propriety. From his voice, Vinyl judged him to be a earth pony with a Northern accent (for even Equestria has a North), but there was something...extra...about him that she could not identify. “Also, this is not much of a party; everypony is so long in the face. Well, we’re ponies, so I should say...longer than usual. And you’re all walking around in a circle instead of stopping and looking at the exhibits. Of course, considering that it is now 10:15, that’s not that unusual, but you’re not even doing the circling part very well—there’s so many of you in this tiny space that you’re all bumping into one another, ebbing and flowing like the stopped-up drain of a sink being attacked by a crazed otter with an oversized plunger!”

This babble of talk had managed to gain the attention of most of the crowd, which quieted down to hear how this pony would be put in his place. The pony the newcomer had engaged in dialog stood silent for several moments, soaking up the antagonistic encouragement of the others as he tried to come up with the most devastating reply possible. “Well, aren’t you the clever pony!” was the best he could come up with.

If he was hoping to push the new pony’s buttons, he failed completely. “Ah, you noticed!” the new pony gleefully replied. “I find it always helps to get things off on the right...hoof to get that established up front. Now then, if this is a party, who’s the guest of honor?”

“That would be Prince Steadfast,” said the voice of a third pony, stepping forward to take his turn. “This here Sports Wing is being dedicated in his honor.”

“‘Sports Wing’?” asked the newcomer incredulously. “Looks like the basement to me. And is Prince Steadfast the pony whose gigantic papier-mâché head I walked under to enter this museum?”

“That’s the one,” said the third pony, in a mixture of curiosity and hopefulness. The necks of the crowd leaned forward expectantly, for they knew that the new pony was on the edge of a precipice.

“For a sportspony, he could stand to lose some weight!” the new pony remarked with what sounded like a cheeky grin. “And did you say ‘is being dedicated in his honor’ as opposed to ‘has been dedicated by’? Are you saying that he has kept you all waiting here for him to arrive for six hours? What kind of pompous, self-inflated blowhard does he think he is?”

Every pony let out their collective breaths in awe. Finally, someone had dared to say what they had all been thinking. And then, a few moments later, they all realized that he had actually said out loud what they had all been thinking, about the most-influential pony any of them would ever hope to meet in their entire lives. Suddenly, they all seemed to find the exhibits on Vinyl’s side of the room very, very interesting.

Vinyl raised a hoof to her mouth in a vain attempt to cover up a grin at the pony’s audacity. It is one thing to be eccentric, Vinyl thought to herself, and quite another to insult royalty! It’s like he’s some sort of tourist in his own country! She also realized that he had managed to completely diffuse the tension that had been building in the room all this time.

“Timepony, you’re crazy!” exclaimed the first pony the newcomer had talked to before retreating, expressing the general opinion of the room.

“Wait!” exclaimed the earth pony, “how did you know I’m a time...oh, right, the hourglass on my rear.” He raised his voice for the rest of the crowd to hear. “Yes, that’s right, just an ordinary time pony, here to inspect the...um, clocks, like that one over there!” He quickly made his way straight for the unicorn disk jockey’s table, causing her to back up from her table a couple of paces. Yet the closer he got, the more she felt a strange and thrilling sort of electricity building between them. Vinyl suddenly had the conviction that this was a pony you could trust with your life, with the lives of everypony you ever cared about. Moreover, this was a pony around whom things happened, and to stay around him would make you a pony whose life mattered.

Vinyl suddenly caught herself leaning towards him, and leaned back with a lurch, breaking the spell. She was a pony with a career, and a small amount of notoriety. She wanted nothing more. She didn’t need her life to matter in the greater scheme of things. All of this happened in a matter of moments. The pony arrived, and noticed nothing.

“Did you see the way they all reacted just now?” he asked her. “It’s like everypony came to this party for no other reason but to kiss the Prince’s cutie mark!”

“Everypony came to this party for no other reason but to kiss the Prince’s cutie mark,” Vinyl Scratch deadpanned. It was a potentially career-ending joke, if repeated in the ears of the wrong pony, but this pony could be trusted.

“Does everypony include the DJ?” he asked with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re living in an aristocracy,” she replied in a low but defensive voice. “To get a prince to remember your name will set you up for life, but get one of them to think you snubbed them for any reason, and you might as well move out to the country, because your life in high society will officially be over. And high society is the majority of my clientele.” She then raised her voice to normal levels to add “I do wish you’d fix the clock—it’s missing one second every three hours and completely throwing off my sense of rhythm.”

The ground pony chuckled. “OK, first: can a DJ have a sense of rhythm when she’s not playing anything? And then: one second in three hours—really? Are you the ‘time pony’ in this room instead of me? (Sort of a two-part question there.) And third (or maybe fourth), getting back to the root problem: why aren’t you playing anything for this extremely captive and bored audience of cutie mark kissers with no place to plant their lips? Aren’t they part of your clientele as well?”

Number three (or four) was the question Vinyl Scratch was in no mood to answer, having had to deal with it since the party started, so she raised a hoof and pointed. “The bar’s ten paces that way.”

The visitor thought this over for a moment, undoubtedly using the moment to take in the record players, the stack of neatly-arranged records, and finally Vinyl Scratch herself: a unicorn mare, her coat with a color she had been confidently informed was called “white rose”, her cutie mark a double quaver, her mane blue striped with cyan, and finally the oversized reflective glasses that defined her DJ Pon-3 stage persona. “O…K,” he finally said. “I could use a drink.”

It was easy enough to over-hear the conversation that followed at the bar, a variation of the same conversation she had been having with irritated guests all night: “Yeah, I’d like a glass of…”

“Look, mister. Prince Steadfast is getting the first drink of the night. No ands, ifs or buts.”

“It’s a courtesy. To the prince. Now go find something else to do until he arrives.”

The bartender said nothing, so the pony returned to Vinyl’s table. “I respectfully withdraw my earlier questions,” he said, “and substitute a new one: How is that business of yours?”

For any other pony, Vinyl would have said something nice. Instead she once again told the truth: “Business is awful, and has been for quite some time now. I was lucky to be Miss Minster’s second choice for entertainment at this party after her first choice turned her down.”

“It was Octavia’s Ensemble. You know, it was strange,” she confided, “every single member of the group came down with the same ailment at the same time, which prevented them from making the date: debilitating neck pains. What do you think could have happened to cause...” Vinyl suddenly facehoofed. “Wait, I just got that joke. They must have been as aware of Prince Steadfast’s reputation as I am. Well, no matter. I really needed this job, no matter how much ‘neck pain’ might result.”

“That’s too bad,” the pony said sadly. “An artist of your caliber should be able to play where and what she chooses.”

Vinyl shrugged. “It’s a hazard of the entertainment industry. Fame and fortune comes and goes. It’s cyclical.”

“So is everything in Equestria,” he replied, dead serious. It was like his mask had suddenly dropped.

Vinyl failed to catch the significance of this, and simply nodded. “Indeed.”

The stallion leaned in close. “Listen, do you mind if I give you a little business advice? The next time an unusual business offer comes your way, say yes.”

He said this with all the portentousness he could muster, as if the fate of worlds depended on one entertainer’s annual income. Vinyl shook her head to clear it of the odd vibe she was picking up from the time pony. “Seems like rather obvious advice under the circumstances, don’t you think?” she replied.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, if I may have your attention, please!” The voice was that of Miss Adelaide Minster, the director of the Equestrian Museum, and the source of the no-play and no-drink orders that had made everypony so miserable. Rather intelligently, she had been absent from the basement gallery for most of the past six hours. “I have here a message from the Sports Wing’s inspiration and this party’s guest of honor, the Prince. He regrets to inform you that urgent affairs of state prevented his appearing at the opening tonight. However, I also have good news: he will be available for the rescheduled opening of the Sports Wing on Thursday night at 7 pm. That’s the day after tomorrow, at 7 pm. I hope to see you all there, but I regret to inform you that it is an hour past closing time and you all really must leave as soon as possible.”

“‘Urgent affairs of state’?” the pony with the hourglass mark asked incredulously.

The DJ grinned mischievously. “Well, what do you think happened?” she whispered to him.

He dropped his voice to answer. “I think he read the urgent telegram from Madame Director and said, ‘Oh, you mean this Tuesday?’” Vinyl started to laugh, but then she heard the approach of a familiar set of hoofsteps and tried to warn the time pony to stop his impersonation. “‘What kind of foal schedules a grand opening for a Tuesday afternoon, anyway?’” he continued. “And…she’s right behind me, isn’t she?” He turned around to address the museum director. “Closing time, you said? Guess I’d better be going.”

“Wait!” Vinyl cried out, trying to get around a bank of equipment to catch up with the departing stallion. “You never told me your name! Who are you?”

She was stopped by the outstretched hoof of Miss Minster. “What are you doing fraternizing with guests?” she asked accusingly. “You had a job to do tonight.”

Which you refused to let me do, Vinyl thought. Instead of answering, she got busy packing up her equipment.

After waiting in vain for an excuse of some kind, just so she could shout it down, the director continued. “I’ll expect you back here Thursday at 5:30 sharp.”

“What pay? You didn’t do anything! Your contract was to play for the Prince, and you won’t see a bit of compensation until you fulfill that obligation!”

Vinyl seriously considered telling Miss Minster how she truly felt at that moment, but two things stopped her. First, the unstated threat of a prince’s snub. And second, the looming payment to repair damages caused by the recent parasprite attack on her office/home in Fillydelphia. As a result, Vinyl restricted herself to a curt “Yes, ma’am”.

The Equestrian Museum was located at the base of a mountain range that was west of Canterlot and north of Ponyville. Since it was equidistant from both centers, it was served by two public transportation stations. The trip to Canterlot was in the form of an express flight from the Trans-Equestria Dirigible Service, while the trip to Ponyville was on the County Coach line.

Vinyl entered the TEDS station and sought out the telegraph operator, sending a terse message back to Philo, her uncle/manager in Fillydelphia, after carefully counting the bits in her saddlebag:

She sat down to wait for a reply. She just knew that her uncle was at the local telegraph office, waiting. Philo was only technically Vinyl’s manager; he knew nothing about the entertainment business and completely failed to understand her music. His true purpose at her gigs was to provide emotional support and to make it harder for employers and fans to get close enough to figure out her secret. The only reason Uncle Philo couldn’t accompany his niece to the museum opening was because he had to care for Vinyl’s ailing grandmother. Vinyl winced as she realized that she forgot to include anything in the telegram addressed to Grams.

As for Professor Potter, he was one of the few teachers from Vinyl’s music school with a passion for music composed in his own lifetime. Pulling out of his diamond wedding anniversary would prove a severe blow to their friendship, but Vinyl hoped that he would understand that she had no choice but to put royalty, in the form of Prince Steadfast, first.

Even if this particular prince is the latest in a long line of Steadfasts that count “character assassination” among their list of hereditary hobbies, the DJ thought bitterly.

Vinyl nodded in satisfaction. She was afraid that he’d dash all the way up to the museum as soon as he got her telegram, but he had paid attention to the most important part of the message: I can do this myself.

That message used half of the money she brought with her to the museum; idle spending money, but now all she had to live on for two days. With her finances in their current state, there was no question of the unicorn taking any form of public or private transportation that night. And returning to Fillydelphia was out of the question. As was usual for most roads in the general vicinity of the capital, both the east and the south roads leading away from the Equestrian Museum were so well maintained that a pony could navigate either one even on a moonless night—assuming there was such a thing as a moonless night, of course. As she harnessed herself to her audio cart, Vinyl pondered where to stay for the next two days: east to Canterlot, or south to Ponyville? Canterlot had the more-comfortable accommodations, and the greater chance of arranging some more business from her contacts. But Ponyville was decidedly cheaper, and in the end that alone settled the matter. The fact that she was born there had no influence whatsoever, or so she told herself.

The young DJ was able to compose six new dance mixes in her head during the long trot to Ponyville. Once she arrived, she took the long way to the town’s only inn, a path designed to pass by Rarity’s shop.

Rarity and Vinyl had been blank-flanked classmates a seeming eternity ago, and the two had tried to keep in touch ever since Vinyl found her calling and moved to the music capital of Fillydelphia.

“Vinyl Scratch?” a familiar voice swam out of the darkness. “Is that you?”

“Rarity!” Vinyl exclaimed, turning to face the sound. “I sure am glad to run into you. I heard you were out of town.” Actually, she had heard that the designer pony had set out on a mad expedition with her friends to the Barrier Peaks with no chance of surviving, but this was Rarity, so Vinyl hadn’t worried one bit.

“Oh if you’re staying in town, then I insist that you stay with me.” The enthusiasm in the designer’s voice sounded forced. Beneath the artifice, Rarity sounded tired, and worried.

Vinyl made a mental note to ask her friend what was troubling her whenever they had a moment of privacy. For the moment, though, she matched Rarity in seeming cheerfulness. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said with a grin.

And that was the end of that pretense. “It’s a cyclical business, you know.”

“That’s an excuse and you know it! You need to build up more contacts, and tomorrow I’ll get you introduced to a couple of ponies I know.”

Vinyl sighed. “Very well. Tonight, though, we should catch up.” She gestured towards the shop. “After you?”

“I’m afraid not. I only came to the shop to clean up. My friends and I were going to have a bit of a party at the library.” Rarity hesitated for a bit. “Would…would you like to come?”

“Well I was thinking maybe I could hire you for the party, if you’re not too tired. I’ll pay you the standard rate.”

Vinyl recognized this gesture for the charity it was, but she wasn’t tired, and the frustration from the museum meant she was going to be playing loud music tonight in any case. Besides, this was an opportunity to finally meet the rest of the group Vinyl had secretly dubbed the “Gang of Five.”

Woops, that would be “Gang of Six”, now that the Princess’ pupil had joined the group. The pupil with the pet talking dragon. Now that was somepony she just had to meet.

Javelin

by McPoodle

Chapter 1