//------------------------------// // The Questionnaire // Story: Pictures in my Head // by Smashology //------------------------------// The next day was cloudy with a chance of rain, Rara ran as fast as she could to the theater. Wearing a trench coat, she arrived to the place. At the ticket office was Discord tapping his hoof, clearly a sign of waiting for her. “Sorry I’m late.” “What took you so long?” Discord asked and he couldn’t help but notice the eye bags on her face. He changed his mood from annoyed to surprised. “What happened to you? You look... different.” “I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep well,” she yawned. “I’m not used to getting up early.” “Getting up early?” Discord was astonished. “Rara, it’s midday. You were supposed to be here at eight o’ clock.” The real time shocked the green pony, her jaw dropped. He continued speaking. “At least Miss Pommel has an excuse to look like you.” “By the way where is she?” “In your messy dressing room, she wants to give something for you. You should go and see her because you still have a compromise with your psychologist later. Now if you excuse me I have work to do.” On the ticket office counter were two stacks of papers. Rara noticed they were the posters, after taking a look at one of them she replied to Discord. “This isn’t the project I’ve been working on for the last months,” she said, bothered by the little to no changes of the poster. “Come on, what’s wrong with it? It looks nice.” “What’s wrong?” Rara took one of them and then pointed out the main faults. “First of all, it’s not a concert. Second, it doesn’t last for three hours and finally I’m not using my real name anymore. This advertising is fake.” “Fake advertising is still advertising,” Discord snatched away the poster from her hooves, then proceeded to take the rest with him. “Listen to me. There’s not enough time to change them and Miss Pommel was supposed to hand them out but she’s too weary right now to do it so I have to. And I need to hurry because if the weather forecast is right...” He sighed. “Just go and see her. See you later, Rara.” Discord opened the main doors and flew away. Rara obeyed and headed to her dressing room, not without a commentary from the voice. “You know what I want to see?” “No.” “A soap opera, about a girl who discovers an ancient artifact, leading to a war between two races of extraterrestrials to battle for the future of Equestria while she finds the perfect stallion whom she wants to share the rest of the life with him, in the blandest way possible. I even have the title: I like watching you sleep.” “What does the title has to do with the premise?” “Who cares? Everypony would pay to see it.” She arrived to her dressing room, when she opened the door she discovered Coco sitting on the chair and resting her head on the counter. Rara knocked the door. “Hi Coco. I’m here.” Coco woke up abruptly. Her appearance was not what you would expected from a designer: her face looked haggard and her mane was tangled, not even wearing her traditional hibiscus flower. “Hi Rara,” said Coco. “Why do you look so tired?” “I didn’t sleep, I spend the entire night sewing your outfit for the play.” “That’s perfect! I want to try it now.” Coco stood up, took the outfit from the wardrobe, where the rest of the clothes were hanging, and dressed the green pony. A robe, a hat which looked like it belonged to a priest and a pair of shoes, all of them in black, transformed the pop star into a reciter. Although she was still wearing her ripped dress, she noted how beautiful she was when she looked at herself to the mirror. “So, what do you think?” “...I don’t know what to say... I like it!” “What the fuck is this bullshit?! This looks like a gown a barber would use for hair cutting. And this? This is a large shower cap, you look more like a priest than a real star. Where are the sequins? Where are the sheens? Why did you hired this bitch?!” “But who am I supposed to be?” “A troubadour,” Coco explained. “A medieval lyric poet who composes and sings in Provençal, especially in themes like love or the dairy life.” “Uh huh...” While she continued to look at the mirror the yellow pony proceeded to sit on the leather couch. “Speaking of dairy life, I couldn’t help but noticed everypony calls you ‘Miss Pommel’. What’s with that?” Coco was a bit nervous and unsure. “...It’s a little bit complicated for me to talk about this but if you want to know I’ll tell you,” the designer took a deep breath and started. “Approximately three or four months ago I received a rent check saying that payment wasn’t approved due to a name change I wasn’t aware of. I went to the City Hall and the bank to clear out the situation and asked for a petition for legal name change but nothing happened. My postal registration, landlord-tenant contract, employer notification, petition to notify family of amendment to vital statistics file, heck even my... my...” Coco seemed to be stuck in a word she didn’t wanted to say. Rara cheered her up to liberate her mouth. “Just say it. It can’t be that hard.” “My fucking birth certificate and resume were pointless!” Rara was surprised by that. A pony with a kind personality like Coco didn’t seemed to speak rudely. But she looked more calmed after swearing. “I went from being known as Coco to be ‘Miss Pommel’, from being prerogative to a bum in a matter of seconds. That bad joke ruined my life and I had to start from scratch. That’s why I accepted your offer job, I want ponies to exclaim my name once more. In fact, I need to thank you Rara,” Coco stood up from the leather couch and approached her. “Why?” “Because you’re the first one who have called me Coco in a long time, and therefore, you’ve accepted me as my old self,” she gave a big hug to Rara. She didn’t know how to react so she cuddled her head in return. “Now be prepared, because we’re going to spend the rest of the day in your theatrical trials before your meeting with Minuette.” The hours passed, the clouds covered the sky and the trails were as precise as they could. Coco said to Rara that her meeting will be in a café nearby the theater so she headed there. The smell of coffee surrounded the air and on one of the seats near the counter was Minuette, wearing the same jacket from yesterday. Rara took the seat next to her. “Hi Rara,” said the blue unicorn enthusiastic. “How is my favorite singer?” “Tired. I didn’t sleep at all.” “...Ok. I ordered a couple of cappuccinos for both of us, to lift your mood. So, did you think of the method we listed yesterday?” “Not at all. All I can figure out is that those words are sort of analysis about me but... I don’t know.” “You crave from your past Rara and we need to go deeper in it. You have to let go some things and to know yourself better,” Minuette pulled out the notebook and pencil. Rara briefly noticed how the same words from yesterday were written but when Minuette turned the page she discovered other process the unicorn designed for her. “And here’s where our second part of the process start. I’ve written a questionnaire designed for this purpose. Tell me, with all sincerity, the answer that pops into your head when each question is said. You cannot lie or skip them. Understand?” Rara sighed. “Yes,” the cappuccinos were delivered and as the green pony began to sip the unicorn started. “Your favorite virtue.” “My acceptance and my open mind.” “Your favorite qualities in a stallion.” “His sureness and loyalty, to have trust he will be always there for us.” “Your favorite qualities in a mare.” “Her honesty.” “What you appreciate the most in your friends.” “They’re not afraid of telling me what’s wrong.” “What you like the most of your appearance?” “My constant gaze, my beautiful voice and my perfect smile.” “Your main fault.” “Not listening to my friends, not being conscious of my environment and my feeling of being lost.” “Your favorite occupation.” “Singer, but also I’m open to new roads.” “Your idea of happiness.” “A sunset, the smile of a foal, the fresh snoot of a chimney and a circle of friends whom I can share my thoughts with.” “Your idea of misery.” “Loneliness and oblivion.” “If not yourself, who would you be?” “My friend Applejack.” “Where would you like to live?” “A cabin in the woods.” “Your favorite color.” “Orange.” “Your favorite flower.” “Apple blossom.” “Your favorite bird.” “Crane. More specific, blue crane.” “What you hate the most.” “The quitclaim, just because you can’t handle with your own offspring doesn’t mean you have to abandon them.” “The natural talent you’d like to be gifted with.” “To shape reality to my will.” “What color is your soul?” “Orange.” “How you wish to die.” Rara kept quiet, she didn’t want to continue and as the questionnaire went on she felt her privacy was harassed. Covering her face with her hooves she began to sniff, Minuette immediately stopped asking and left her notebook on the counter. “Nopony said this would be easy, but I wasn’t expecting this reaction. Are... are you alright?” “No, I am not,” Rara wiped her tears. “I guess it’s true what they say: you have to know who to complain with when somepony says your truths. This cannot get worse.” Rara took another sip from her coffee. One of the employees turned on the radio, to light up the environment, Rara lifted her sight when she figured out the main theme. Her attention was totally focused in it. “Welcome to the second part of our program ‘Writings on the Wall’. I can notice something is plaguing in your head, Sapphire Shores. Can you tell us what it is?” “Yes. Have you ever feel that art is dying?” “No, but what do you mean with that?” “I mean that day by day we’re getting mindless entertaining by large quantities and ponies wanted to be famous and more famous with the tiniest endeavor. I can remember when back in my days you had to go to an audition to be accepted, to go all the way walking to the big studios to leave your voice demo and wait for an answer. At the present day everypony just has to do something silly in public to be popular for five minutes. Let me give you an example: I remember watching a play when I was a little filly, it was about a family dealing with dairy problems. Despite its cliché characters and limited resources, they knew how to speak to the audience and tackled themes that nowadays would be hard to talk because of today’s policy like racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, domestic violence and slavery. When they had to be funny, they were. When they had to be serious, they were. When they had to be emotive, they were. And that was produced forty years ago! That was quality, that was effort, those were great ideas, good structure, wanting to do things right! What do we see today?” “So you’re basically saying that the past was better and today’s artist are not good enough to reach the audience’s expectations?” “Listen, I’m not one of those ponies who think the past is better than the present. I could give you many examples of why the present is better but that’s not what matters right now. What I’m trying to say is that they have more improvement opportunities than my generation and they don’t take advantages of it. Although there are some decent artists out there and some of them are kind of entertaining most of them are forgettable. They’re more interested in making money than leaving their mark, and I bet once their little worlds change abruptly there won’t be chances of sustaining themselves. Imagine if the big studios suddenly said that they will be only giving job to artists who truly can act, sing and so on. Sure, some of them would be willing to take classes, to change but most of them would fall into oblivion by their inability to adapt. Only when they recognize and value the things they have and took advantage of their tools that will be the time when they can be as big as the stars from the past.” “Oh, you nostalfag who pretends to always have the reason, that’s exactly what I’m telling to her but this bitch doesn’t listen to me. Difficulties come and go constantly but in this case is foolishness what prevents us from being awesome. Let this anger run through your veins, let this fear take possession of your heart. Let me out Coloratura, let me out.” While Rara was paying attention to the program Minuette was checking the answers given to her. “I just noticed how many of your answer have to do with apples. Can you tell me why?” Rara was distracted from the program and turned her head to Minuette. “Excuse me?” “Many of your answers have to do with apples. Why?” “...Because of a friend I value so much.” “...That’s pretty nice from you and I get that you treasure your friend but... how can I say this carefully?” Minuette rubbed her chin, sipped her coffee and thought for a moment. “You can’t be trapped in a vicious circle. This could follow to a cult or worse: an obsession with your friend, where you only say things and do things because she commands you to. No matter how painful it would be, you have to let her go. Not forever, only the necessary to give her a rest so that in that way you can come back to her gladder and more appreciative. Your life can’t revolve around a pony in particular.” With each word said, Rara felt more and more uncomfortable to the point that she didn’t want to know more about Minuette or the process. She broke out, enter into a trance and, for a brief moment, her voice within spoke. “Sometimes there are things that you don’t want to know. Sorry if I don’t share your joy, but I feel stressed of this repetitiveness. Don’t tell me obvious, who wants to be better? We need more followers and more cash. Forgive me if I’m not as happy as you and can’t ignore the problems of life as you, but do you ever have a rest of yourself?! I mean, for the therapist you claim to be you’re so random. What are you supposed to be?!” Minuette kept quiet for a while, both of them. Rara came back from her trance and noticed the eyes of her friend, she tried to apologize but it was late. “I’m a dentist,” said the blue unicorn, glaring at her and bereaved by those words she explained everything in a serious mood. “...You know? It’s not like I enjoy being joyful all the time,” Minuette was being frank to her and Rara focused on her look. “You think I’m happy seeing the children are afraid of me because they see me as a terrible monster who insert torture devices in their mouths? Or knowing that my co-workers take advantage of me behind my back and I’ve to make them believe I’m not conscious about it? I just can’t help but notice the happiness of every little thing, because life’s a ditch in reality. I tried to do something different, like you,” a single tear dropped from her eye and began to sob. The singer attempted to comfort her by putting her arm around her body but she neglected her charm. Minuette only pulled out some bits from her jacket, took her things and stood up. “Be happy with the life you have chosen.” Minuette left the place, Rara meditated what had happened for a minute and then followed her but as soon as she got out of the café she realized Minuette had disappeared. The entire city was moisten due to the raining and feeling guilty Rara had no choice but to come back to the theater. But when she arrived she discovered the place was close. Apparently she spent much, much more time in the café than expected. Rara tried to pull the main doors to get in, since she left her things inside the establishment, but a pull too strong on the door handles made her trip and fall into a puddle of mud. She stood up covered in sludge, with the rain above her head and the cold surrounding her body she had to find somewhere else to sleep, a park was her only option. When she approached the main entrance she heard a voice whispering to her. “Rara...” she felt nervous and scared, thinking somepony was harassing her, she went around in circles looking for the responsible of this murmur. “Rara...” she thought it was the voice but... it wasn’t the voice, it sounded more different and, more important, trustful. She found it in front of the entrance and stopped, revealing a familiar face sitting on a taxi. “Ah’m here.” “Applejack?” Rara asked speechless. “But... I thought you were–” “No,” Applejack paused. “Ah’m alive in ya Rara.” The singer smiled despite the circumstances. “I’m glad you’re here.” “Get in this taxi, it’s just for the two of us. Leave this place and come with me, to mah farm, where there will be all the amenities ya need: food for yer tummy, a warm bath, a comfortable bed and all the company ya need.” Rara, trustful of her old friend, was about to arrive when Applejack revealed her true intentions. “All these things Ah will give ya, if ya fall down and worship me,” and then she stepped backwards, everything was clear for her. “Minuette was right, I have to let you go.” “But... Ah’m yer friend, the only pony who comprehends ya. Be reasonable, listen to me–” “No! You’re not Applejack, not my Applejack!” Rara got apart from the taxi, “For me there are only two ponies I shall be faithful to, their names are Celestia and Luna, and I will serve them only.” Rara turned around and entered the park, leaving the taxi behind which vanished into the air. She found a bench and leaned on it, used her trench coat as a blanket, and, in the cold of the night, attempted to get some sleep.