01. | The Staff
Show business. Half a year ago, I would have scoffed at the suggestion that I'd find myself considering such a drastic lifestyle change. I was, after all, far too important to worry about entertaining others, yet that was precisely where I ended up. Like so many others before me, apparently, I left the only home I'd ever known to move to the bright lights of Las Pegasus.
"Miss Aria, you're on in five," a bored-sounding voice filtered through the door separating us.
"Yes, thank you," I called back, knowing that my breath was most likely wasted as the bartender was simply going through the motions. He was kind enough, albeit more than a little cynical; unlike so many others I approached, he did offer me time on his stage. However, the amount of grime endeavoring to hide the spiderweb of cracks shot through the vanity mirror I was using told me everything I needed to know about the quality of entertainment he expected to find.
After all, this wasn't quite a dressing room. It was more like a small office converted into a makeshift changing area. The establishment owner added the stage himself and made room for the entertainers by shoving the contents of his office into a pile along the back wall. I couldn't tell you what those contents were as he thankfully hid them by nailing a dirty blanket to the ceiling, dividing the room in half like a greasy curtain. My curiosity wasn't significant enough to touch it. Besides, I had other things on my mind.
This would be my first time on stage, even one as slapdash as this. I was confident it was constructed with little more than two or three bar tables whose legs had been removed, resting on top of milk crates.
In a smaller town like Appaloosa or Ponyville, it would have been considered a rather seedy little dive bar that would attract a particular type of reputation for both itself and those who worked there. However, here in the urban sprawl which grew beneath the cloud-top city of sins, it was just one of many.
All things considered, I wasn't very nervous. I had spent my entire life pretending to be somepony I'm not, so this was merely another mask to wear. I have been many things in my life, from lowly animal caregiver to long-distance courier and a brief stint as a city guard recruit. I even tried my hoof at child guardianship for a short time. I wasn't overly good at any of those jobs. Some of them conflicted with my interests at the time, while others were simply too mundane to hold my attention for very long. Of course, there were a few other part-time gigs here and there between those extremes, but nothing of any real significance. Grocer. Sales Clerk. Dutiful daughter… that was the most demanding role I've played—and the one I was least cut out for.
"Well, a girl's gotta eat," I whispered as I stepped out into the taproom. I made my way toward the corner of the room where countless ponies with music-related cutie marks had poured their souls into the microphone. They'd hoped to impress a half dozen local cider addicts who rarely even noticed somepony was back there, and now it was my turn.
I knew what kind of place this was and what to expect from my audience. I had spent a few evenings sitting at the bar earlier in the week, watching the mares try desperately to be noticed. Of course, I stomped my hooves for each of them and watched their dejected faces light up as a result. I could feel the swelling gratitude they directed toward me, and I ate it up.
Many of those mares were impressive vocalists, but that's not surprising, given most ponies were prone to breaking out into song on a whim. It would take something extraordinary to stand out, especially in a city like Las Pegasus.
Luckily, 'extraordinary' is something I am rather good at.
"Good evening," I began, fully understanding that nopony was listening to me yet. "My name is DaCapo Aria. This is my first night here, so I don't have very much prepared for you all. I suppose we'll just get things started and see what happens."
I had no band or background singers, and the bar certainly didn't provide any. I wasn't exceptionally knowledgeable about popular music nor experienced with writing my own material. Still, I studied everything I could find on music theory and spent so much time struggling with the lyrics that I felt confident that, at the very least, I wouldn't embarrass myself.
I clutched the aging microphone in my hoof, removing it from its wobbly stand, and took a deep breath. For better or worse, this would be my debut.
♫ Did you notice: that I fell in love with you?
♫ Before Equestria, how long has that been?
♫ All I know - Is this love within my heart
♫ Is longing to soar
♫ Can't you see - what you mean to me?
♫ I wish you could read my mind
♫ And these feelings - I never did find
♫ The right words to say
The room was dim enough that I had difficulty seeing if anypony had noticed that I'd begun to sing. It didn't seem like it, which was more than a little disappointing, but I continued nonetheless.
♫ Just like snow, all my love
♫ Falls to earth from above
♫ Over time - it stacks up high
♫ And reaches for the sky
♫ Hold me tight
♫ I wish I'd never seen the light
♫ You gave me a fright
♫ This can't be how it's meant to end
♫ But I can't turn back time now
♫ Darling, I love you
♫ I only wish that wasn't true
♫ If only I could forget
♫ What if we'd never met?
♫ Inside my heart, I know
♫ Wendigo Snow
Halfway through my one-pony a capella, I came to a realization. Before this moment, I had never actually sung in front of anypony else. Of course, I was aware of music and practiced while writing the song, but my appreciation of it as a medium of expression is relatively recent.
♫ Did you notice: I gave you everything?
♫ You won't acknowledge my great sacrifice.
♫ So I stay awake at the window pane
♫ With breath fogging the glass
♫ Will the snow in my heart
♫ Melt away with the pain?
♫ Some day, I pray that it might
♫ Just take one friendship's flame
This must be how Fluttershy feels whenever she sings to her animal friends, I thought to myself.
Her voice certainly soothed me when I was at my lowest, but it wasn't until I stood upon that tiny stage that I recognized just how valuable music could be. Now that I was the one who was singing, I found it even more cathartic than I had expected. It was familiar, like a feeling that I'd nearly forgotten.
♫ Hold me tight
♫ I wish I'd never seen the light
♫ You gave me a fright
♫ This can't be how it's meant to end
♫ But I can't turn back time now
♫ I miss you
♫ Every thought I have is one of you
♫ So I'll just stand here alone
♫ Since tonight's more of the same
♫ Simply fall forever
♫ Ohh!
♫ Wendigo Snow
I gave everything I had to the penultimate line, then drew out the final few notes for as long as my remaining air allowed. Each note gradually disappeared into a breathy whisper. Once I was done, I could almost hear the non-existent instrumentals fade away.
I had based the lyrics on a previous—let's call it a relationship—and was quite proud of how it turned out, even if I had exaggerated the extent of my genuine feelings on the topic more than a little bit. While writing the piece, I analyzed other songs known to be popular in Las Pegasus at the time and realized the story I was telling had to be embellished to fit the prevalent mold. I took my commitments seriously.
Which was effort wasted, as it turned out.
While I didn't expect much of a response, it still stung a bit when I was rewarded with exactly what I expected—dead silence. Not a soul acknowledged my performance, and I couldn't feel a single ounce of joy in the room. The only sound I heard was the clinking of a bottle knocked over as one of the locals stumbled toward the door.
I briefly bowed and cantered off toward the changing area to remove the sequined red dress I'd worn for the occasion. I could have taken it off right there in the taproom for all the attention I'd received that evening, but I wanted to… perhaps 'maintain' is the wrong word, but 'build' a particular reputation for myself as a lady.
There is a reason that so few earth ponies indulge in couture beyond hats or scarves. A unicorn has the advantage of fine manipulation through magical means. Pegasi have incredibly dextrous wings, while Earth ponies have… brute strength. While that does aid in removing clothing, it gets expensive replacing your entire wardrobe every few weeks. Those who prefer to reuse our apparel have to take our time, which is usually a good enough reason not to bother with it in the first place.
Once I had successfully shrugged my way out of the delicate piece of cloth, I gently folded it up the way I had been shown and returned it to the small cardboard box it had come in from the store I'd rented it from.
I knew that few ponies would pay attention to me in a place like this, but I still wanted to take my debut seriously. I had very few bits when I'd boarded the train that brought me to this town, most of which were already gone if I was being honest. I didn't even own a single piece of clothing, much less one as grandiose as the scandalous red dress I'd just packed away. Renting it meant eating into my food budget; thankfully, I didn't need to eat much or very often.
I placed the light box on my back and briefly stopped at the bar to collect the few paltry coins I was promised. They were barely enough to afford a single meal, but I gratefully accepted them and stepped out into the evening.
I was sure I'd be back, even if the pay wasn't very significant. The bar was special—and I use that term loosely—for two reasons: first, they allowed me to perform, which was substantial on its own. And second, because it was located just a few blocks from where I was staying.
The town below the clouds was anything but glamorous. Countless ponies have come to make their fortunes—or to lose them—and found themselves unable to leave for one reason or another.
Las Pegasus, like those who flock there, wears many faces. It is a town purpose-built to separate the foolish from their money. It is a city of bright lights, bombastic parties, and clandestine rendezvous. The ponies in charge of the city entertain their guests while robbing them blind, growing richer by the minute and ruining a life or two along the way.
Strangely, ponies know this, yet they don't seem to mind. The temptation is too great, and more than a few convince themselves that they will be the exception to the rule.
Those who make it big either head home prosperous and happy or move into the city above the clouds to look down on those who did not have their level of skill or luck.
The majority of visitors have a good time. They break about even, laughing among friends as they share stories of their weekend conquests on the train ride home.
The unfortunate few who lose everything or borrow a few too many bits in the hope of turning their luck around don't always make it home. These ponies often can't afford the exorbitant prices of the return train ticket and usually have no choice but to live here, in the unnamed underbelly. It is one of the darker jokes among residents here: what happens in Pegasus stays in Pegasus.
Don't get me wrong—we still claimed to be part of Las Pegasus, but everypony knew the truth. The actual city loomed overhead, casting its opulent shadow over our lives on the ground. The only thriving terrestrial district was centered around the train station, where all the tourists arrived and booked their hot air balloons up to the hotels.
Some who took up permanent residence were too ashamed to go home bitless; others sold everything they owned just to get here and had nothing to go home to. A few simply refused to admit they made a mistake, settling in until they succeeded, which seldom worked out for them.
The result is a town full of hardship, broken dreams, and the slum lords who profit from them.
After a short walk down one of the many cramped backstreets, I found myself in front of a flimsy door. The alley my tiny rented room resided in was no different than any other in town. It was flanked by windowless businesses and poorly crafted apartments—many of which had been converted by desperate young mares with only one asset left to sell into something far less wholesome but infinitely more profitable.
One such entrepreneur lived next door to me. She was a sweet little earth pony named Misty Gaze, though I am sure that wasn't always the case.
Her burnt orange mane contrasted sharply with her eggshell fur. Considering her forget-me-not cutiemark, I strongly suspected her real name was closer to Rosylva or Blue Belle. She was captivating and sociable, with a beautiful smile that unfortunately never quite reached her eyes.
Like everypony else, she most likely came to Las Pegasus looking to start modeling or find a career in fashion design; maybe she simply wanted to work behind the scenes as a production florist. Regretfully, I never asked her, but one thing was obvious, she didn't move to a city like this to degrade herself—that sort of thing only happens after you give up.
Her apartment's single window was covered in a red bedsheet, backlit by her bedroom's lamp, faded by the sun, and stained by her profession. Some nights, as I lay in bed trying to ignore the sounds filtering through the thin walls, I gave consideration to her line of work; it almost had to have paid better than what I had just earned, and, more often than not, it certainly sounded like she enjoyed the job.
Too many of the windows in my neighborhood were shrouded in much the same way. Red is the definitive color found in most alleyways and often the only one considering the price of paint.
"So, how'd it go, darlin?" Misty's voice drawled softly from her open doorway as though we were sharing a secret. She often spoke in a sort of whispery voice, especially when outdoors. I sometimes wondered if Misty was hiding from somepony—although in this case, I had little doubt that it was simply because she expected the worst-case scenario.
I turned toward her and smiled. "Oh, you already know how Scrat's patrons are," I replied. "Those ponies are more interested in getting to the bottom of their mugs than in being serenaded by some nobody whose stars haven't yet left her eyes."
She nodded knowingly as she stepped closer, wrapping one hoof around my shoulders and sitting down. "So yer not too broke up about it? I've seen too many precious young things lose their ambitions after the sort of reception Scrat and his regulars dole out."
"Well," I began, sitting myself down next to her, "it's not like I was expecting to be spotted by a talent agent on the first night and whisked away into the clouds. I knew nopony was going to care. Tonight was more for me to get used to being on stage than anything else."
At this, she shared my smile and rubbed my shoulder. "That's won'erful to hear, sugar. It's not many ponies startin' out who understand it takes time." She squeezed me once, then dropped her hoof to the floor. "I take it, then, that yer gonna keep at it?"
"Well, of course, I plan to keep going. Nopony who's serious about their goals gives up after their first attempt," I said, perhaps a little thoughtlessly. "Oh, I'm sorry Misty. I didn't—"
"No, no. It's a'right. I know ya didn't mean nothin' by it, and I gave it a fair bit of time before makin' my bed. Sure, I'm disappointed in how things turned out, but not in myself. I did my best; it wasn't good enough for this town." She let out a quick sigh before standing up. "Enough lookin' at the past, darlin'. Tonight was your debut, so let's look to the future! Why don't you come with me to Smooth Moves? We'll grab a drink, do a bit of dancin' and celebrate Las Pegasus' newest rising star. Whadda ya say?"
I also got to my hooves but hesitated to share her enthusiasm. "I don't know, Misty. Tonight isn't much to celebrate, and I can't really afford to spend the evening in a nightclub."
She blew a raspberry at me. "Pish posh. Everypony starts somewhere, and besides, it's mares night. The usual entrance fee is waived, and with how cute you are, you won't be paying for a single cup of cider all night, I guarantee it."
She made a good point, and I wouldn't mind turning a few heads. Where others would often shrink away from random engagement, I had always enjoyed being the center of attention when it was appropriate. Even when I didn't fully understand why ponies directed their appreciation my way—I ate it up. It was one of the reasons I chose to try my hoof at show business.
I suppose I could have just as readily become an actor as I did a lounge singer. The only reason I chose the latter was a matter of simple mathematics; there were significantly more job opportunities on stage than on-screen.
"Sure," I said. "Why not? I've only been to a nightclub a few times since coming to town. It could be fun."
With that settled, she recommended I put my rented dress back on and meet her in front of our apartment block in an hour. Given the suggested delay, I assumed she intended to put something on herself and probably apply some makeup.
In hindsight—and it may be rude of me to admit this—but I suspect that her plan to share my evening may have been an opportunity for her to vicariously live out an abandoned dream, even if she didn't realize that that was what she was doing. Luckily, it worked out well for both of us.
The trot down the street to Smooth Moves was more or less uneventful. The occasional wolf whistle wasn't unexpected, but even those served to boost my ego and recharge the old batteries.
"Good evenin', darlin," Misty quipped quite cheerily to the bouncer standing guard at the entrance. "How's it been, Muscles?"
The bouncer looked our way, taking only a moment before recognizing Misty. The stallion had a dark blue coat reminiscent of Princess Luna's and a close-cropped silvery mane. I was immediately impressed by his physique; he was built like a soldier, which you rarely see in unicorns, and seemed to have a few scars on his chest and left foreleg to reinforce that belief. As we approached, his magenta eyes transitioned from a piercing stare to a more laid-back expression.
"Ah, Miss Gaze, living the dream. Coming in tonight or looking for work?"
"We're dancing tonight, big guy. My friend here is celebrating her first steps into stardom, you know," she said, smiling and exuberantly as she turned her face toward me. "DC, this is Muscles. Not his real name, of course, but that's what I call him. He told me once what it really is, but I was distracted at the time."
The fact that she could effortlessly drop double entendres like that without blushing was almost praiseworthy. The fact that I wasn't even sure if it was a double entendre or if she legitimately was distracted by something else was equal parts impressive and heartbreaking to me.
"Muscles, this is DaCapo Aria, and you'd do well to remember that name. She has the voice of a princess, she does."
I stepped forward as Muscles looked me over, quickly evaluating if I was a threat while surreptitiously checking me out. His decision to work at Smooth Moves was aptly-made; it was flattering.
"Welcome to the club, Miss Aria. The two of you can step right inside," he said, to the annoyance of several stallions waiting in line against the wall, who made their displeasure known in various ways. "Free admission to all lovely mares tonight; we've got the usual DJ in the booth, so feel free to request whatever your hearts desire. Enjoy your evening."
With a quick glow of his horn, the doors swung open, subjugating us to loud music and neon lights filtering through thick smoke machine mist.
Misty and I entered the club and headed straight to the bar. True to her word, it took only minutes for a pair of stallions to join us and order a round of cider. After emptying our cups, the four of us pushed through the crowd and down onto the dance floor. Once there, we enjoyed ourselves to music that was nearly felt more than heard. My ears rang, and we had to shout to hold even the most basic conversation, but it was fun.
After a few songs, Misty and I excused ourselves from the hopeful stallions. We returned to the bar, where we repeated the process twice more with other wingponies who thought too highly of themselves or perhaps too lowly of our decision-making skills.
"So are ya enjoyin' yourself, darlin'," Misty half-yelled over the music that even from the bar was overwhelming.
"I am," I replied, smiling at the closest thing I had to a friend. "This place is absolutely alive with emotion. Joy, eagerness, hope, wild abandon, and a fair bit of rejection. A cross section of the modern pony all under one roof!"
At that moment, a chuckle from behind the bar drew my attention. The pony standing there was a tea green pegasus with a swept-back indigo mane and shocking orange eyes. He used his wings to dry a cider mug while eavesdropping on our conversation.
"Sorry, sorry. It's not often such a glamorous young mare as yourself so perfectly describes my establishment's usual patronage right in front of me. Forgive me, my name is Smooth Talker; I am the sometimes proud owner of this nightclub. May I have your name, miss?"
"DaCapo. DaCapo Aria, though my friends simply call me DC," I replied, setting my recently emptied mug on the bar between us. "I apologize. I didn't mean to speak poorly of your customers."
He chuckled again and waved his hoof back and forth. "No, no, no. You are absolutely right about them. Most of the time, there really is a sense of desperation here as the dregs of society try every underhoofed trick they can think of to ensure they don't go home alone. Most of them do, anyway."
Smooth looked over at my companion as he said this, with recognition crossing his face. "Our dear Misty Gaze here will surely back me up on this. She's seen almost all of them sitting at this very bar, haven't you Misty?"
Until that point, Misty had been scanning the dance floor, but she spun on her stool to face the bar once addressed.
"Oh sure," she slurred, obviously one mug beyond her limit. "All sorts of creeps in here, but you can always tell who they are. They pay way too much to get your attention and way too little afterward.
"Oh," she exclaimed as if she had just noticed who we were speaking with, "hey DC, this is Smooth Talker. He owns this whole place!" She then closed one eye to better focus on his face and leaned over the bar as if sharing a momentous secret. "This here mare, DaCapo, is gonna be a big star. Big star! She just held her debut tonight, that's why we're celebrating!"
Smooth smiled as though he were humoring a rambunctious filly recounting her imaginary adventures with Daring Do or the Wonderbolts. "Oh yeah," he asked as he turned his attention back toward me. "What kind of star are we talking about? Looking at that stunning dress, I would normally guess 'runway model,' although her use of the word 'debut' leads me to believe 'idol' instead. Unless you want to lose the sequins and allow me to continue guessing based on your cutiemark—and you won't catch any arguments from me if you do—I simply have to know your special talent."
The way he said that was dripping with sleaze, yet somehow I didn't doubt for a moment that his words were practiced and effective, especially after more than a few cups of cider. He seemed to live up to his name, but I was no easy prey nor stranger to verbal manipulation and rose to his challenge.
"Oh, it's nothing very significant. Misty's exaggerating; she's never even heard me sing before," I said. "It was my first gig in town, sure, but it was just a single song at Scrat's Bar. Hardly anything to write home about, really. It's not like I was expecting to draw a crowd in a dingy little place like that, you know? But, everypony has to start somewhere."
I could see the wheels turning in his head as he—unsolicited, I might add—refilled my mug with something that smelled slightly stronger than what I had ordered and set it down before me, which I immediately held as though I intended to take a sip.
"New to town, eh? Well, that explains why I didn't recognize you. A mare like you stands out from the masses and demands all eyes. Tell you what..." he began, obviously switching into business mode.
Here it comes, I thought. Here is where he offers me the world while slowly trying to work his way into my bed, just like every other pony with a dash of power. Sorry pal, not gonna happen, but I will happily take advantage of whatever you are about to offer.
"Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night. After we eat, maybe you could sing for me a bit, and we'll see where it goes. I happen to own a pretty popular venue here, I am sure we could find some stage time for you to expand your audience a bit. What do ya say?"
Misty lit up immediately, shaking me by the shoulders as she squealed excitedly. "Do it, DC! Smooth's good! Erm, I mean, he's good to his word... it's such an opportunity to sing here! You'll be up in the clouds in no time!"
The smirk on Smooth Talker's face when she said that wasn't lost on me. Obviously, there was some history between him and Misty Gaze, but to be fair, it didn't seem like she regretted anything that may have happened between them, so at least he wasn't likely to be overly aggressive.
"Maybe not tomorrow, Smooth, but I will certainly keep your offer in mind," I said, showing him that I was more than capable of setting my own terms and was in no way as impaired as my companion. "For now, Misty and I should be going. She's in no shape to remain in public, and I want to consider your generous offer in the morning, after sleeping on it."
"Of course," came his gracious reply. "My offer stands. Any time you want a leg up, just stop by and let me know. I will be more than happy to consider your talents on my stage."
I couldn't be sure if he was as big a sleazeball as first impressions indicated, but I didn't feel any malice or deception in his voice. His choice of words rubbed me the wrong way but it could have been a product of his environment, having been around the dregs of society, as he put it, for so long. Or, he might have been really good at hiding his true intention. The jury was still out.
Either way, I led Misty out the front door, said a brief goodbye to Muscles, and returned to the alley where our apartments resided. Once I ensured she was safely in her bed, I turned out her light and did what I could to secure her door, which I had just discovered had no functioning lock.
I entered my flat, shrugged my way out of the red dress for the second time that night, and flopped down on my bed. Boxing it up could wait until morning—which wasn't nearly as far away as I would have liked—and I had a lot to think about.
I had an opportunity that would be foolish to ignore, but I wasn't gullible enough to believe Smooth Talker had my best interest at heart. Nopony gives a complete stranger such promises of immediate exposure unless there was something in it for him. He hadn't heard me sing, so recognizing talent would be a flimsy excuse. I will acknowledge that my physical appearance turns more than a few heads, but would that be enough to make such promises?
Yawning, I grudgingly put the topic to bed and followed suit.
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That certainly is a take on Las Pegasus you don't see very often. Usually whenever it appears the focus is on the hotels and casinos you'd expect, and there isn't much attention to what else might end up in a city like that. I'm eager to see more of this depiction.
11365511
Glad to see you again, Martydi. As one of the more involved readers of Crystals & Chitin, I look forward to your reaction to what is coming in this one.
Interesting take on the sequel. In the previous story the protagonist was pretty much out of her depths the entire time owing to a lack of information, while here she seemed well-prepared this time, and could put her infiltration experience to good use. As 11365511 said (fancy meeting you here), Fimfic has loads of dark stories, but most of them depict violence and bloodshed, and are often centered around the main characters of the show. It's going to be interesting, focusing on the not-so-pretty parts of a non-AU Equestrian society.
11366950
I am very happy that you've enjoyed Crystals & Chitin as well as the beginning of this story. It sounds like you think the protagonists are one-and-the-same; I wonder if you're right.
My goal isn't to focus on the dark side of things, but without having to make sure the story is safe for eight-year-olds to watch, I don't have to shy away from what would be realistic. In this case, a fresh face without a parental trust fund to fall back on would definitely need to work their way up from the bottom, and you don't get much closer to the bottom than a red-light district slum studio apartment with one window and faulty doors.
It will be a challenge to remain solidly outside of AU territory, but that is indeed my goal. Some global events from the show may have an impact on this story, but probably in fairly minor ways. Almost everything in the show takes place around Ponyville, and a great majority of fics do as well. I wanted to avoid that, which gives me a little more freedom to remain in the canon timeline without having to dodge specific episodes.
11367100
The lack of a Changeling tag as well as the lack of solid confirmation haven't escaped me, though given the fact that we don't have a lot of information in general, "the protagonists are one and the same" seems like the most reasonable assumption at this point.
I think you've been more prudent than most authors on the site when it comes to rating and the Dark tag. Quoting the tag guideline:
Looking at this, stories which depict characters struggling to survive in a more realistic and more hostile environment may even be too mild to fit into this category. But, topics like this is undeniably heavy, if not "dark", and it's something that most of us relate to more than we relate to, say, war and torture. Again, I don't think many stories on this site would focus on this side of "dark" (especially since the main characters of the show won't really encounter these issues unless the writer goes full AU), and I felt like it's worth mentioning, even if it won't be the main focus of the story.
On the topic of AU, I don't think anyone can write a long pony fanfiction without any conflicts with the show, especially since the show can sometimes conflict with itself. If a story doesn't have an AU tag and the author puts some effort into making sure they've got the basic settings right, then the story shouldn't be considered AU, that's my take. In this case, an OC-focused story that happens in a place the main cast of the show rarely visits? I think you gave yourself some considerable creative liberty here.
Lastly, in a blog you mentioned your conversations with Phoenix_Dragon. I absolute adore how they depict changelings, both in the Fragments trilogy and in The Chrysalis, and I can see how some elements in Crystals & Chitin resemble elements from their stories. That's not a bad thing though, I love their stories for a reason. It's a shame that they won't be producing any more pony words. It may sound weird of me, but I really hope you could somehow fill in that void.
11367218
To even be compared to Phoenix is higher praise than I deserve, and is one of the best compliments I have received in recent memory. If I can improve my writing to the point that something I jot down may come close to filling that void, I will be extremely pleased. Phoenix is writing a real book right now (not putting down fanfiction by any means, but there is a barrier for entry between hobby and profession that I don't expect to catch up to). That said, I don't want his version of changeling lore and society to be forgotten either, so you can rest assured that I will do my best to do it justice. I just hope you don't set too high a standard for me to achieve. I would hate to disappoint you. I got permission to pay homage, but I also want to add my own flair to it all.
One main difference between our headcanons though: I have the advantage of knowing the entire G4 canon timeline, whereas Phoenix wrote most of his stories before the changeling went pastel. I plan to stick to that reformation, so if the timeline of Marking Time one day catches up to season six, things just might get interesting for Carina, wherever she is.