Piercing's townhouse was a mile away from the Hippodrome. He did not bother hailing a cab. He wanted to lose some of the flab anyway, and the way from house to theatre was dry and well-surfaced, so he did not fear damage to his attire.
At almost four o'clock, the Sun still rode high, and the streets of Baltimare were drenched in golden light under a clear blue sky. One of the nice things about living in a big city was that the local Weather Patrol was thoroughly professional: they'd never mess up any days as important as the ones during the Summer Sun Celebration. He remembered from his days on the road that this was something not to be counted on in those little hick towns. The day was warm, but that was only normal for even late June in a Baltimare summer.
His walk was an easy downhill grade, from the low hills of the Northwest where his townhouse sat, down to the Hippodrome. He went halfway down the pleasant, tree-lined street of neat brownstones and turned right onto Guitar Street. He ambled past rows of nice apartment buildings, some of them with small stores downstairs, the streets singing with the laughter of colts and fillies at play and growing numbers of people granted early release from work for the holiday. For them work had ended for the day; for him, it was about to begin for the night.
Here and there, onagers and ponies called out or waved to him. He was a famous figure in Northwest Baltimare. The population here was mostly Germane and Lippans Yehvist, like himself, and despite his unicornish looks they knew him for one of their own, who had made it very good. He smiled and waved back, sometimes addressing them by name. He knew many of them, and liked almost everyone he knew here. They were good folk, one and all.
He turned south onto Eutaw. Two blocks east of him was the Susquehattan Railroad. He could hear and smell a locomotive on the tracks; as he passed Mad Sun Street he looked left and saw boxcar after boxcar rolling by as the big freight train headed for the harbor. Fortunately the breeze was from the north, blowing the soot downtown and preventing it from soiling his clothing. Around him were small factories and industrial supply stores, many of them closing down early, disgorging neat onager clerks and burly earth pony workers to mingle in the warm afternoon.
He passed the rail depot, and soon Mare College was on his right. The streets were full of students, excited and happy about the coming celebration. He saw three mares in earnest discussion, whether about abtruse philosophy or the latest phonograph record was impossible to tell from his position. One of them was a knockout, a tall pink number with long blonde mane. He smiled appreciatively and tipped his hat to her as he trotted by.
A bit further down, a stallion with two footballs as a cutie mark was posing as he described some game play to a gaggle of appreciative mares, who blushed and giggled as he made some witticism. Everyone was trying to look sophisticated, adult. They all seemed like colts and fillies from his vantage point.
Was I that silly back then? he asked himself. Probably not. They're still playing at life -- they were born to wealth and they're going to college to take their places in a world made for their benefit. I was already apprenticed to Dondo when I was their age.
He remembered Dondo with some annoyance, because he'd been a blowhard and a cheapskate, but also some fondness, because it was from Dondo that he had first learned to be a professional stage magician. Dondo had very little true magic -- less even than Piercing, who was but a very weak mage himself -- but he had been really good at the patter and he knew how to emphasize the little he could do to make it a lot. Mostly card tricks, a few mind-trick predictions -- the same sort of thing that Piercing did to this day when he performed. Though Piercing knew that he was better now than old Dondo had been at his best.
Piercing himself had been pretty green back then, and he hadn't fully realized just how little Dondo was paying him for his assistance. It wasn't until Piercing had met Red Ink --- then going by his Lippsch name Russer Tinte -- that Piercing had learned just how much better he could do working directly with another troupe. In return, he had given Red some pointers on self-presentation that had made him a much more effective negotiator. It had been the start of a lifelong friendship.
He walked past Lexical. The street was a bustling marketplace, lined with shops and stalls, and the merchants were all making money hoof over hoof. The ponies of Baltimare were buying food, drinks, streamers, balloons, party favors, presents of all sorts for their own Summer Sun Celebrations. The air was already one of festival, though the official holiday wouldn't actually start until sundown.
I love this city, he thought to himself. I'm so glad I'm not on the road any more.
Years on the road together, him and Red, with Top Date's traveling show, building their skills and self-confidence, and with Red's help putting away a steady surplus of bits in the bank and other investments, until they finally had enough gold to start their own traveling show. More years on the road, running their show, before they returned to Baltimore to work at the old Billbuyer, then finally moving to their own theatre. The Gosling, which was old and creaky and small, but which saw their first successes.
And now -- their new theatre. Almost brand new -- just constructed two years ago.
The Hippodrome.
It reared up proudly before him as he reached the corner of Eutaw and Baltimare, its white and tan marble facade rising six stories high, supported by its steel-frame construction and decorated with scrollwork and statues. The Hippodrome took up half a block and could seat 3000 patrons on lovely plush red velvet, making each of them feel like the nobility at Canterlot (as his promo brochures so proudly said). With multiple exits and extinguishers everywhere, it was as safe as any indoor theatre could be from fire's ancient bane..
The Hippodrome belonged one hundred percent to himself and to Red: they'd made sure to finance it with loans rather than stock for just that reason. And this Summer Sun Celebration he would finally be able to pay off all but a fraction of the principal.
It was the wife he'd never have, the foal he'd never have, and he loved the Hippodrome with a passion that was true and sincere. And the Hippodrome, he very much believed, loved him back.
He could have walked in through the side door, but he wanted to make a grand entrance. This lovely lady deserved to be treated properly..
So he strode through the front door, into the vast lobby. He was welcomed warmly by the lobby staff, and bidding them happy hellos in return. The lobby was of course mostly empty right now, but streamers were being put up, a big sign saying "Happy Summer Sun Celebration 1000!" already hung in place, and the tables for the feast already being pushed into place. He breathed in the scent of the freshly-cleaned red carpets, drank in the sight of the gold scrollwork on the faux-ivory panelled walls and the sweep of the grand staircases leading up to the balconies and private boxes.
He walked up to his office with a bounce in his step and a song in his heart, all his sad musings forgotten. Now he was in the Hippodrome.
Now he was home.