Wreck of the Bridleway Limited

by Locomotion

Chapter 1: How It All Began

Sir,

I have the honour to report, for the information of the Ministry of Transport, in compliance with the Order of the 25th of March, 2012, the result of my inquiry into the circumstances attending the very serious collision which occurred on the previous day, at around 11.55pm, near Horse Junction on the Winsome Peak Route of Equestrian National Railways.

In this case, the eastbound Bridleway Limited express from Canterlot to Manehattan, whilst travelling at high speed between Horse Junction and Winsome Peak, overtook two light engines coupled together, which were running at a considerably lower speed in the same direction. Details of the events surrounding the collision are as follows:

Perspective: Octavia

[Adapted from “Opera con Amore: The Odyssey of a Canterlot Musician”, written by Octavia Melody Philharmonica]

January 7th 2009 brought my group a fresh promise of renown when I received a special letter from the Bridleway Theatre Company in Manehattan. This wasn't unusual, since we were frequently selected to take part in after-show parties; but this particular request was truly a big break for us. One of their playwrights had recently written a new musical performance in honour of our recently restored Princess Luna, which was to premier on March 28th under the title of “The Legend of the Night”, and my group had been chosen us to provide the music. I was only too happy to comply, and from that day forth, at least half of our week was dedicated to learning every chord and key of the music we were to play at the performance, carefully rehearsing every scale and arpeggio until we had mastered the entire score.

For those not in the know, the group consists of myself and five old friends from my high-school days. Our pianist is Frederick Horseshoepin, a talented and urbane but nevertheless down-to-earth gentlecolt whom I'd known since the age of eight. He was the very first to put his name forward as part of my group, and always looks out for the rest of us; though he does tend to put his own wellbeing last sometimes, and this can lead to minor anxiety issues on his part.

We also have two violinists, one brother and one sister. Concerto is a somewhat laid-back stallion of few words, the sort of pony who goes with the flow rather than worrying himself over unnecessary details; and while he enjoys socialising with us just as much as the next pony, he usually leaves his younger sister Symphony to do most of the talking. They're like peas in a pod, in as much as they always look out for one another – even at concerts, wherever you see one, the other is often seen playing right alongside them.

Beauty Brass is the group's sousaphone player, and comes from a particularly wealthy background. She's a well-meaning sort, but her sociological values tend to be a bit old-fashioned, for want of a more polite way of putting it, so there are times when she can come across as insensitive. That's not to say she doesn't outright condemn ideas that might seem alien to her; if anything, she just takes time getting used to them.

And last but not least, there's our harpist Parish Nandermane, who usually goes by the nickname of Harpo for obvious reasons. He too comes from wealthy stock, but is a lot higher strung and more aloof than Beauty Brass, and very much a perfectionist by nature, judging by the lack of satisfaction with his own performances. There have in fact been times when he suffers from cold hooves because of it; but we still manage to bring him round one way or another.

On the Friday before we were due to leave, our ensemble was gathered for one last rehearsal at the Hoofstead Theatre in West Canterlot. The music was a lot different to what we were used to playing, for whereas social events usually call for gentle, calm, refined compositions like “Fur Elise”, the play called for a multitude of different moods. Sometimes the score called for the sort of soft and sophisticated atmosphere that we usually generate, the tune of grandeur in the comfortable surroundings of a stately country house; while at others, the score became a raging inferno of fear and tension, where you were staring right into the eye of danger as it bore down on you. All told, it was a great opportunity for us to explore new musical avenues, especially since it was also the first time that we were all required to perform for the same event.

When you rehearse a musical number, it can be very easy to get lost in the atmosphere and emotions that they stir up – you could be in the midst of a beautiful woodland, surrounded by bluebells, daffodils, butterflies and primroses; or you could be relaxing on the massage table in some beauty parlour, enjoying the soothing feeling of a mare's hooves working the tension out of your body. You find yourself in your own personal heaven, and the real world just ceases to exist until at last you've come to the end of your music. While it's not exactly addictive, it does have the unfortunate side-effect in that you all but lose track of time – very much a weakness on my part, and I should think it's the same with all the rest of them, for by the time we had finished, we had only a minute left before we had to clear the auditorium.

As we packed away our instruments (all except for Frederick, of course, since pianos are virtually impossible to transport on a daily basis), I congratulated the group for all the effort they had put into mastering the score over the past two months and told them that, so long as we kept it up, we would make for a successful play on opening night. “Now remember, everypony,” I reiterated, “our train leaves at 6:45pm on Monday evening, so I want all musicians gathered at Canterbury West Station with their instruments at 6 o'clock sharp.”

The rest of the group promised that they would; but Harpo, fussy as always, seemed very little satisfied. “I wouldn't have minded a little extra time to perfect my music beforehoof,” I heard him grumble.

Beauty Brass looked a little put out. “What is it with you and rehearsals?” she objected. “We've been practising this music for months; I should think we all know it backwards by now.”

“Practice makes perfect,” insisted Harpo, “and we need this to be perfect if we're to make a good impression on the playwrights of Manehattan. Besides,” he added loftily, “two months hardly seems a sensible amount of time in which for us to get the best out of any score, let alone that of a play.”

“Well...maybe not, but it's not as if we're performing for the Princesses,” put in Symphony reasonably.

“It makes no difference,” said Harpo. “Unless we're at our best, the whole thing could end in disaster.”

I could only smile and roll my eyes at his unease. Harpo has always been the more pessimistic member of the group, and if I had a bit for the number of times I've had to set him straight again, I would probably have bought myself an entire orchestra by now. “We'll have plenty of time for rehearsals when we get there, Harpo,” I soothed. “I can appreciate that two days might be cutting it a bit fine, but the actors know their parts, we know the music, so as long as we keep calm and carry on, everything should be fine.”

Harpo still didn't seem convinced, but grudgingly accepted. My cello was safely in its case by then, so I bid the others goodnight before making my way home. At the time, I lived in an apartment on Piccafilly Crescent, half an hour away from the theatre; and walking back home from there gave me ample opportunity to enjoy the peace and quiet of Canterlot after nightfall, disturbed only by the distant sounds of music from afar, no doubt coming from a nightclub somewhere in the city centre. Moments like these, though not perfectly tranquil, allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, to reflect on everything that had ever happened in my life up to this point, for better or worse, and how they had contributed to my quality of life as it currently stood.

Even today, I find it incredible that I managed to build up such a reputation among the Equestrian elite. That Pony Pokey performance should have been my ultimate downfall by all accounts, and for a while, it seemed that it probably would be; but Princess Celestia was quick to set the record straight on the behalf of myself, Frederick, Harpo and Beauty Brass, and ultimately we found ourselves back on the high-society guest list as if nothing had happened. It really does pay to have such a fair-minded and diplomatic pony on your side, especially if said pony happens to be royalty of the highest order; but that said, I would never wish to take advantage of Celestia's inexhaustible kindness. While I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, as are a lot of ponies in Canterlot, my group and I hadn't simply become high-society entertainers overnight, and from my point of view, we're all the better for it. There was only one thing missing from my life, something of which I was repeatedly reminded every time I heard so much as a single note of contemporary music. I came awfully close to it as a teenager, but fate very quickly separated us forever, and ever since that day, I had lived in regret for not expressing my feelings. But should it really matter, I kept telling myself? That was all in the past, and I had to carry on with my life, no matter what the circumstances; and in any event, there was no guarantee that it would have worked out anyway.

But as I entered the condominium, the question mark hovering over my head was quickly blown away by the more pressing issue of carting my personal belongings to Canterbury West; for as a travelling musician, I very rarely find myself travelling light. Therefore, I decided to speak with my landlady about it before I retired to my apartment. As one would expect at this hour, she was relaxing in the front room with a good book when I entered her own apartment on the ground floor.

“Good evening, Miss Hill,” I said as she set her book down and gave me her full attention.

“Good evening, Octavia. What can I do for you?” That was what I liked about Carolina Hill; busy though she was with ensuring rent payments remained up to date among other tasks, she still managed to approach her job with a polite, helpful demeanour.

“My group and I have an engagement with a Bridleway performance starting from next Saturday,” I explained succinctly, “and I wanted to inquire about transporting my luggage to the station.”

“I see,” answered Carolina. “So when do you plan on leaving?”

“My train leaves at 6:45pm on Monday, so I shall require to be present at least half an hour before then.”

Carolina smiled and nodded her acknowledgement. “Very well, Octavia,” she said. “Let me know when you're all packed and ready, and I'll see that it gets taken down at once.”

“Much appreciated,” I replied graciously.

“That's alright, dear. With all that weight on your back, it's a wonder you haven't contracted lumbago yet.”

I could only emit a small chuckle at her little quip. “Well, yes, it is a lot of weight to be carrying on a daily basis,” I mused, “but I wouldn't have it any other way. That case does contain my most prized possession, after all.”

This elicited an amused grin from the middle-aged mare. “More prized even than that high-school friend of yours?” she teased playfully.

Though I tried not to show it, I was a little wounded by her comment. “Well...unless she comes back into my life somehow,” I answered simply before wishing her a good night and taking my leave.

I knew Carolina wasn't purposely trying to hurt my feelings, but I also knew all too well which “high-school friend” she was talking about, and this rather stung my heart, more because of her single-minded parents than anything or anypony else. She had a fantastic career ahead of her, one that she had already realised by this time, and neither her father nor her mother had shown any kind of support; all they wanted was for their business to continue for generations to come, even if that meant ruining their daughter's dreams. That was the primary reason why she had departed from my life – not because of anything I'd done or because our primary tastes in music were like Yin and Yang, but simply because she was under threat from her own family.

She didn't simply stop at running away from her home either, for when I finally saw her again, albeit only on a music festival poster in Fillydelphia, she was a lot different to how I remembered her; though admittedly the unkempt mane and the large purple shades fitted her personality a lot better than the well-groomed young mare she used to be. I still have a photograph of her when we were still in high school, and it compares very poorly with her present image as far as I'm concerned. But not a lot of other ponies are aware that her name was also different before she became famous. Again, it didn't really suit her, and even though I do still use it sometimes, I too have gradually gained an even greater preference for her new legal title. Her stage name is quite inspired as well, but not quite as endearing, I feel.

Having made it through my front door at long last, I set my cello down next to the coat rack and plodded wearily into the kitchen to prepare my supper. My apartment was located on the tenth floor of the condominium, and with the added weight of my prized cello, the ascent was a veritable hike up the face of Foal Mountain, so I was normally too tired to do any serious cooking. Tonight was no exception, and I consider myself fortunate that a simple watercress salad with a side of olives and a cup of tea required very little effort to put together – an unusually basic meal for somepony from Canterlot, some might say, but at least there was enough of it to keep me nourished until the morning.

But life in a Canterlot apartment can be rather lonely and monotonous without somepony to share it with, and even when I have my stereo system running, the music doesn't always succeed in lifting my spirits. I do have a bit of a guilty pleasure in that when I'm feeling low, I sometimes play a bit of light jazz or soft rock; the sort of music that makes one feel rejuvenated and free of care without being loud and bombastic like a lot of modern music tends to be. But tonight was just one of those nights where I had strayed a long way from my happy place, and not even the sound of cheerful music could lift me out of the depths.

Or perhaps it was because of the music I was playing at the time. Fond though I am of contemporary music, Sapphire Shores and Countess Coloratura were always a little raucous for my tastes; which makes it all the more peculiar to some that my music collection should include all the albums ever released by an equally famous artist – and more to the point, the last mare with whom anypony would expect me to associate myself. But again, the music star formerly known as Linsey Woolsey was a dear friend of mine when we were in high school together, and I would never wish to forget her, however little chance there was of seeing her again. And her debut single, “Scratching the Surface”, was such a beautiful soft-rock ballad, one that left a lasting impression on me ever since I first heard it.

Ah, Vinyl Scratch – how I missed you.

Perspective: Vinyl Scratch

[Adapted from Vinyl Scratch's personal diary]

Entry 3707

March 21st

Man alive, it sure has been a busy week. I've been like working my tail off trying to perfect my latest song before it goes off to the producer, been DJing for three birthday parties and a reception gig, and I only had the whole of yesterday to wind down after all that. Sure is a hard life being a DJ, I'm not gonna lie, but hey – why make such a big deal out of something I really enjoy doing? This is exactly what I set out to do, and there ain't no way I'm gonna give it up, no matter what troubles I face or what my parents might think! They've probably got the message already, because they ain't been in contact with me since I gave them the slip ten years ago. Still, what do I care about that stuffy pair of mules? They tried to ruin my life, so they can darn well buzz off and keep out of my life.

Anyways, back on topic before I lose my cool. Today, I'm gonna be heading over to Sugarcube Corner to hang out with Loco, get to know him better and pick out a few songs to play at his birthday party on the 3rd. I've only ever read about him in letters from his Mom, and he seems a pretty nice guy to be with, not to mention really lucky to be working on trains so young. Kinda weird that they should be letting an eight-year-old work at a train depot, but then again, he's a pretty big train fan, so probably just as well.

Now, I'm probably gonna look a right twit when I say this, but I've never really made any songs of my own about trains, so I don't really have anything original to show off in front of Loco. But hey, just because I write my own tunes don't mean I can't play existing ones as well – one of the perks of being a DJ. In fact, I went to Manehattan to grab a few extra albums to add to my own collection a couple of weeks back, and I've now got some real neat songs that I hope Loco will like. Stuff like “Choo-Choo-Ch'boogie”, “Wreck of the City of Manehattan” and all the sing-along songs from Rodney the Railway Engine which again he's like really into, apparently. I've already spoken with his parents as to when he wants to meet up and go through what music he wants at his party and whatnot, and they said to be at Sugarcube Corner for two in the afternoon, so this should be pretty interesting.

Perspective: Locomotion

[Adapted from the original “Wreck of the Bridleway Limited” by Locomotion]

About four days prior to that eventful night, I was playing my favourite train simulator programme with High Score (or Button Mash, whichever you prefer). I'm not much of a gamer compared to him, and generally I only use the computer for surfing the Internet and writing Rodney the Railway Engine fanfictions and so on; but I do still enjoy the odd computer game from time to time. All the same, I did find High Score's attitude to driving a train on a computer game to be pretty reckless. Instead of observing the signals and sticking to the speed limit, he seemed a bit too preoccupied with going as fast as he could get the engine to go, and naturally, I was worried.

“Take it easy, Score,” I tried to warn him. “You don't want to run yourself off the rails, you know.”

“As if!” he scoffed. “These aren't real trains, you know!”

“No,” I replied pointedly, “but they do operate to real world parameters. Now sober up and cut your speed!”

High Score just laughed and tried to go faster. At that moment, however, we both noticed that he was approaching a distant signal (the ones with the yellow arms) at “caution”, and with a yelp, he slammed on the brakes. But no matter how hard he was trying, I knew he wouldn't be able to stop in time; he hadn't shut off steam for a start, and even if he had, he was still going way too fast.

Just half a minute later, with a panic-stricken High Score still trying desperately to pull up, the train overshot a home signal (the red ones that say whether or not you have to stop) at “danger”, at which point a message appeared on the screen saying “ACTIVITY ENDED – SIGNAL PASSED AT DANGER”. Frustrated and disheartened by his mistake, High Score instantly broke down into tears and started bawling his head off – typical crybaby!

“Button Mash, get a hold of yourself, you vidiot!” I snapped, trying to pull him together. It's not often I use his real name, but sometimes it's the only way I can actually get through to him.

“But I lost the game!” wailed High Score. “Now I'm gonna have to go all the way back and start again!”

“No you won't,” I retorted, clicking on the OK button and moving the cursor over to “Saved Activities” as soon as we returned to the main menu. “Haven't you forgotten that I kept pressing the F2 key every so often?”

Before High Score could reply, I hovered the cursor over a tab that said “BRIDLEWAY LIMITED; SUMMER; 10:09:27”, and double-clicked on it to return us to the very section of route along which we had been travelling prior to his Signal Passed at Danger, or SPAD as we call it in the railway industry. But that did little to calm him down.

“WHAT?!” he burst out. “YOU SAVED THE GAME AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!?”

“Well, duh!” I chortled. “You never asked me. Now if you want my advice, you'd better stick to the speed limit from now on.”

High Score scowled and muttered something in a language that I couldn't understand – Humgonian, I think he calls it. But I wasn't too bothered, for I had a little trump card that would easily freak him into taking back what he had just said; “Oh, folly terribode, High Scone,” I tutted. “You fallolop at a railwold gamey, and you assubrey you can escapeyho with an offendit upon my own headload?”

That pretty much did the trick; High Score just stared in confusion and went, “Folly terrible...what?! Loco, I don't...”

“Ah-ah...let me explainy!” I interrupted. “Two can plague upon this gamey, High Scone – what comes abode tiltit and round, if you follow my meal. You talkey languey that I never understab, I use wordage incomprehensibole and deep joy of the Unwinese...”

“STOP! STOP!!” hollered High Score. “I CAN'T TAKE MUCH MORE OF THIS NONSENSE TALK!!”

“Then you'd better mind what you say in future, High Score,” I warned him with a cheeky grin, “because there's way more where that came from.”

High Score recoiled slightly. “Okay, okay,” he stammered, “I promise I'll behave.”

“Thank you,” I said firmly. “Now you check your speed before you end up overrunning that signal again.”

With a meek mumble and a roll of his eyes, High Score returned to the keyboard and carefully slowed the train down as he passed the distant signal. “Where did you learn all that gibberish anyway?” he ventured once he had shut off steam.

“Games aren't the only source of weird languages,” I smiled knowingly. “If you've been watching films starring Stanley Unwinny as long as I have, that sort of 'gobblyhoolihoodlee' comes natural.”

“Well, you're welcome to him,” muttered High Score. “That guy's way too weird for my tastes.”

“That,” I said, “would be because you're pretty much stuck in your own little video game world where all that matters in life is being the conquering hero. I, on the other hoof, have a much more open mind – and that's why I see Stanley Unwinny as one of the most unique comedians on this planet.”

“What, because you're as crazy as him?”

“Deep folly for your offendit, High Scone,” I smirked, causing High Score to flinch again. Then, assuming the normal Equestrian language, I added, “Granted, I can come across as being a right nutter, but at least it's about an important part of this nation's transport system and not something as weird as...say, paper clips. Speaking of which, you're nearly at the red board, mate.”

But this time, High Score didn't need to be reminded, for he was already bringing the train safely to a halt just before the home signal. As he did so, I reached over and pressed the space-bar twice, causing the engine to emit two short blasts on its whistle, whereupon he picked up the instruction manual and scanned it carefully with a look of confusion on his face. He then turns to me and says, “Hang on – where does it say about blowing your whistle at a signal?”

“It doesn't,” I replied. “It's just a force of habit as far as the game's concerned; but in the real world, it's a mandatory requirement for drivers to blow a couple of blasts on their whistle if they have to stop at a red signal. If it still doesn't change, then you have to carry out something we railway ponies call Rule 55 – which, before you ask, does not refer to making your own rules on the Internet. It simply means that if the weather's bad, or you've been waiting at a red board for more than three minutes in the case of a clear day, either the guard or the firepony must go to the signalbox so as to ensure that the signalpony knows of your presence and has taken the right precautions to safeguard your train against the risk of an accident.”

“And what are the right precautions, might I ask?”

“Firstly, you have to slip a special metal collar over the handle of the signal lever protecting your train,” I continued, “and then if another train comes along, you have to do what's known as 'blocking back'. All that boils down to is alerting the signalbox in the rear so that they know not to offer you another train.”

“I...yeah, I think I see what you mean,” commented High Score thoughtfully. By then, the signal had been reset to the “all-clear” position, so he promptly released the brakes and set off again, probably still marvelling at my expertise. “Twilight taught you well, I take it?”

I couldn't help but laugh when he said that. Twilight Sparkle's a great source of info, there's no denying that, but trains?! That's like an aircraft historian asking a falcon to teach him or her a thing or two about civil aviation! “Wrong again, Score – I teach her!” I chortled. “The only ponies who have ever had to teach me about railways are Uncle Steamer and my Dad.”

“Uh...okay, whatever. Oh – speaking of trains, any chance you could help me with this new PS3 game that I bought the other day?” added High Score hopefully. “See, there's this stage where I need to drive a train in order to get back to the Neutral Zone, and...well, since you're such an expert on trains...”

That sounded rather appealing to me, and at first, I was tempted to accept. But as much as I wanted to help High Score with this new game, I couldn't, because of a certain other engagement that I had; “Sorry, Score,” I apologised profusely, “can't be done, I'm afraid. My birthday's in a couple of weeks from now, and my parents and I have a lot of planning to do – and that includes a few meetings with Vinyl Scratch.”

High Score goggled in disbelief. “What, DJ PON-3?!” he exclaimed. “But I thought you weren't into dubstep!”

Again, I stifled a chuckle. “Don't be ridiculous, Score!” I retorted heartily. “Vinyl may be a right hip-hop, but that doesn't mean dubstep's the only thing she ever plays! Why the hay do you think I chose her to DJ for my birthday party?”

High Score didn't reply. He just shook his head resignedly and returned his attention to the simulator.

I have to admit, I'd been kinda nervous about inviting Vinyl to DJ for my party myself. When I think of DJs, I tend to think of loud, thumping music that could potentially shatter a wine glass – you know, the sort you hear in night clubs and such. But having said that, I was willing to give her a go, so after a few weeks of hanging out with me and my parents so we could get to know each other better, I agreed to go ahead and invite her.

Few others actually realise this, but Vinyl is surprisingly flexible when it comes to music, something that I didn't realise myself until I mentioned that I was aiming for various styles of music to suit different moods, including the sort that I'd always thought most DJs would have hated with an unbridled passion – classical music. I was almost expecting that mare to scowl in protest, so you can imagine my surprise when she saw the supposedly awkward look on my face and told me, and I quote, “Hey, don't sweat it – it's yo' party, you pick the music, man.”

So anyway, after High Score had gone home and we'd all had lunch, I headed out to Sugarcube Corner, where my party was to take place, so that Vinyl and I could pick out a few musical numbers. When I turned up at the bakery, I could see that it was pretty much business as usual for Pinkie Pie and the Cakes – well, apart from Cup Cake having to take it easy what with how much her size and weight had increased in the last ten months. She and Carrot Cake were expecting their first foal at the time, and she was coming very near the end of her term.

So anyway, as I walk into the bakery, Pinkie Pie trots cheerfully out with a batch of freshly baked muffins, and says to me, “Hi, Loco.”

“Hullo, Pinkie,” I says to her, “how's business?”

But then Pinkie cocks her head in such a way that you'd have thought she couldn't care less, and is like, “I dunno – it's none of my business.”

That rather confused me. “Uh...what?” I asked.

“Nah, we're good,” smiled Pinkie, her bubbly demeanour shining through once again. “But then surely we're always good if we're making tasty treats – I mean, come on, how can that NOT be good?”

At this point, I cheerfully decided, “Ah, forget it,” and turned my attention to Mrs Cake, who had just finished placing a batch of fondant fancies on the display shelf. “Hello, Loco,” she smiled to me. “You been keeping well?”

“Very much so, thanks, Mrs Cake,” I replied. “How about you? Has your foal been alright so far?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Cake, beaming in that same caring, motherly demeanour that she always exhibits with me and my friends. “I actually went in for a scan yesterday, and they're doing splendidly.”

“Ah, that's good to...” but I suddenly broke off as what Mrs Cake had just said sank in. “Hang on,” I exclaimed, “did you just say 'they'?”

Mrs Cake simply nodded in reply and redirected her gaze towards her bulging midsection, the smile never once fading from her face.

“You mean you're having twins?”

Another nod confirmed my suspicion.

“Wow!” I remarked, amazed by this revelation. “I've never known a mare to carry more than one foal at a time before.”

Mrs Cake smiled again. “Well, it's not exactly unheard of, deary,” she pointed out, “but yes, it is an unusual occurrence. I must say, though, it's been quite the challenge carrying two foals at the same time,” she added, a hint of weariness registering in her voice.

“Yeah, I can imagine it would be,” I sympathised. My own Mum had often spoken of how easily she had worn herself out when carrying one or other of me or my two sisters, so I could easily see how much tougher it could be for a mare to be pregnant with two foals for the price of one, so to speak. “How soon will they be born, anyway?”

“The doctor says I should deliver in around three weeks.”

“Ah, well that's good to know,” I commented. “I look forward to seeing them. Oh, and speaking of birthdays,” I added, “has Vinyl Scratch turned up yet?”

“You called?”

I turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw Vinyl sitting by the window with a milkshake in her right hoof. “That'd be a yes, then,” I chuckled, and trotted over to Vinyl's table leaving Pinkie and Mrs Cake to go about their business. “Hey there, Vinyl.”

“Yo, Loco, how ya doin'?” asked Vinyl in that cheerful, brash tone that always seems to define her.

“I'm okay, thanks,” I said. “Polishing here, ash removal there, that sort of thing. Yourself?”

“Cosmic, dude,” she responded with a broad grin. “No shortage o' DJ grooves fo' this mare – and I got some real cool music I thought you'd like.”

“Ah, good,” I smiled. “So what you got then?”

Vinyl then gives me this broad smirk as if to say, “Need you ask?” and places a whole load of records onto the table in front of us. There's so many of them relating to trains and railways, of course, that I'm just sitting there and staring at the entire collection, completely flabbergasted by what I'm seeing. “You want trains? We got trains!” she tells me triumphantly.

“Crikey!” I blurted out. “Seems my parents really were talking sense when they suggested that you should DJ for my party!”

“You betcha, buddy!” agreed Vinyl. “So, ya wanna go ahead an' pick out your top ten?”

I chuckled in reply. “More than my 'top ten', I fancy. Go on then; let's give 'em a spin.”

“Alright then,” said Vinyl. “Hey, Pinks, yo' room free?”

“Yes indeed-y!” chirped Pinkie, and led us upstairs to her bedroom, where we could safely go through the music tracks without disturbing the customers.

For a good half-hour or so, we went through the musical numbers like there was no tomorrow. Pinkie had already set up a few turntables, though where she got them from, I have no idea – and before anypony asks, we're talking about DJs' turntables, not the sort on which you turn engines – so all that Vinyl and I needed to do was to play the records and pick out the ones I liked best. She certainly seemed like she was in her element with the livelier ones, including a song by Atomic Colt with my name as its title.

But then we came to a number called “Train in the Distance”, and she seemed to go all quiet and solemn. I didn't really notice at first, since I was more preoccupied with singing the lyrics to myself as the record played – but towards the end of the final chorus, I couldn't help noting a rather downtrodden expression on Vinyl's face, which caused me to tail off in my concern. She was staring sadly down at the turntable, and even with those big purple shades, I could just about make out a small tear glistening in her left eye.

“Vinyl?” I asked anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

As if she's only just realised that she's looking anything other than lively, she brushes said tear away and tries to act as if there isn't. “Nah, I'm fine, kid,” she says, feigning ignorance. “I just got somethin' in my eye, I guess.”

Now I'm not exactly convinced by that statement, but there's no way I want to make her feel like she's under obligation to spill the beans, so instead I says to myself “Ah, what the heck” and carry on looking through the music tracks with her. But even when I returned home a little later in the day, I couldn't help feeling a little worried for that mare. Why was she acting so...off? Was it something to do with the music? Had it touched a nerve with her?

Little did I realise just how close I was to finding out the answer to the whole mystery...

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3707 and a bit

Just thought I'd sum up how today went before I hit the hay. Loco was a real nice kid to be with, and it sure was a blast picking out what tunes he wanted to play at his party – not all of them as groovy and funky as what I usually play, although “Come For The Ride” was pretty catchy now I come to think of it, and I'm like real glad he chose “Choo-Choo-Ch'boogie” and “The Locomotion”. Even when we were taking a break, it was strangely cool to learn all that stuff about trains from him; like I didn't know turntables were also used to turn engines until now, and I always thought that driving trains was just a case of shovelling coal and away you go. Turns out the coal needs to be spread out in order to make enough steam, and you're constantly fiddling with the controls as you go along, such things as adjusting your throttle, changing gear and pumping more water into the boiler. I may not be a train nerd in any way, shape or form, but it was still nice to hear how they work and all that.

So yeah, on the whole, pretty good afternoon well spent – except for that one song that I played towards the end of our session that kinda ruined my good mood. I seriously don't know what in the hay I was thinking when I brought along “Train in the Distance”, but listening to it again after something like three years or whatever, it was probably the most stupid thing I could have done. Why, you ask? Because it kinda reminds me of how I got separated from Tavi ten years back. I mean, okay, the only real fallout either of us had was with those stuffy parents of mine, but I can still feel that hole in my heart from having to leave her behind – and trust Mom and Dad to run me through like that!

Damn you both! Me and Tavi had something real sweet going on between us, and you ruin it all by making me choose between giving up my dreams and skipping Canterlot altogether! Now she probably can't even be bothered to remember me because she's so busy playing for all these high-society events, and even if I do see her again, she won't have any time for me! I sure hope you're pleased with yourselves, making my life a living hell! I'm gonna be stuck as a single mare forever, and it's all your fault! I hate you so much! In fact, no – I totally despise you both, and I hope that your fortunes and your cloth factory and your everything else go right the way down the toilet, because that's all you deserve for what you've put me through!

I need a drink...