//------------------------------// // The Summoning // Story: The Piano Man // by The Sentient Cloud //------------------------------// The piano is a beautiful instrument; majestic, pure, giving its user the ability to play soft melodies and slam out heavy chords at a moment’s notice. It just isn’t like other instruments. For example, the guitar is guttural, with all but its top strings giving off music that sounds more like a growl than a tone. The violin is always nice, but nowhere near as majestic as those wonderful ivories. I suppose there’s also something magical about watching your fingers dance across the keys, or watching the hammers hitting the strings. Back when I was in high school, the other students always loved to open up the piano lid and watch the hammers while I played. I never really minded. The hammers always made it look more complex than it actually was. This has always been my stance on the piano. It’s why I chose to learn it. Humans have opposable thumbs and fingers, with the ability to manipulate tools, so why not use them to their full extent? It seems like a big "up yours" to all of existence if we don’t. I love the piano. I love my piano. I try to play it at least once a day, making sure to stay in practice. Being a good pianist is better than any party trick—not that I would really know, by the way. I’ve only ever been to one party with a piano, and by the time I arrived, the keys had been painted a sickly green, and the “painter” had somehow managed to pass out on the lid. Unpleasant, to say the least. And yet, despite how much I babble on about the majesty of the piano, I myself own nothing more than an elderly spinet. It’s shorter than the basic upright, and has what I would call a richer sound. That being said, the one I own looks unbelievably ugly, and the lower-middle keys sound ever so slightly guttural—reminiscent of a Guitar. I would love to own a grand piano. A full fledged one, and yet… I would also be sad to part with the one I own now. I’ve had it for so long that parting with it would be similar to ripping off one of my toes, in a way. Then I’d probably forget all about it, because I’d have a grand piano. This is how I felt about the piano before it all started. All of these extremely biased opinions that surfaced whenever anyone spoke of another instrument have been with me for years, but now they've changed. I used to love the piano so very much. Now an old upright sits in the corner of my cage, piles of basic sheet music I've never even glanced at splayed across the top, taunting me with yellow, chipped keys and the ugly stain on its side. I’ve been forced to play this damn thing—or one extremely like it—for hours at a time, every day for the past week... or has it been longer? I don’t know how many shows I perform a day, and time seems to pass so differently when there’s no light to judge it by. Actually, how long have I been here? Honestly, it could even be close to a month. I seriously have no clue. I’m the Piano Man. That’s what she named me. The Piano Man. I don’t know how she came up with it, but that name is all I have—well, that... and my skill. Playing the piano is something that none of them could ever hope to do. I go up there, and I play. The same thing every time: I just go out there and pour my pent up sorrow and rage into the keys while they stand and watch. They’re all bastards. How can they do this to me? I was normal! I went to school, I graduated, I work six days a week. What did I do to deserve this? Okay, okay. Let's move it back a little. Jumping into a tale like this from the middle isn't going to make much sense, so—as any good story should—I will do what's best, and start at the beginning. The beginning of a story is always fun, because it’s at that point where you know the least about the story itself. As far as the reader is concerned, anything can and will happen. So that’s where I’ll start. The beginning. *** The previous week... Trixie looked out at her audience, disheartened by all the uninterested faces. Some of the ponies at the back of the crowd had already turned away. A disaster of an opening monologue, if she had ever seen one. “And now, The Great and Powerful Trixie will astound you all with her unrivalled mastery of the magical arts!” There was no response—well, there was, but it was in the form of an unusually loud yawn. The yawn itself got more of a reaction than her statement, as several audience members nodded in agreement. “Uh… well then…” Trixie cleared her throat, before throwing herself headfirst into her routine. “Watch in awe, humble ponies, as The Great and Powerful Trixie dazzles you ALL!” She reared up on her hind legs as the standard fireworks display went off, before dropping back to her hooves, horn glowing. “Now, for my first amazing feat, The Great and Powerf—oh, come on!” The crowd had dissipated, with only seven ponies still watching—all of which awkwardly turned away, once they realised that they were the only remaining spectators. Trixie watched as her audience dissolved, her mouth open in disbelief. She couldn’t stand it. Ever since that scandal in Ponyville, her audiences had started spurning her. It had gotten even worse when the Foal Free Press—during it’s impossible spike in popularity—had published many of her secrets. After that, members in her audiences had actually shouted out the secrets behind her tricks, but never had they simply walked away before her first trick. And now, here she was; living day-by-day, roaming in her little carriage, and trying to find an audience. Trixie could remember being forced to dig through garbage for food at least twice. With a little sigh, Trixie stepped down onto the earth, looking sadly at her carriage as the stage was encased in her magical aura and folded back up. “I need something new,” she muttered. “Something these fools want to see… something they would regret not seeing for the rest of their lives.” She looked around, wondering what on earth she could use. ‘What would these idiots be entertained by?’ Unsurprisingly, there was nothing interesting in sight. The idea that she could find something amazingly stupendous just by looking around was absurd, of course. Dejectedly, Trixie plodded over to an open-front café that took up one of the sides of the small plaza, sitting down at an outside table and removing her hat. “Oh, Celestia,” she mumbled. “Who would have thought my career would end up like this?” A waiter trotted over, his face a stoic and aloof mask that did not belong on one employed at a simple café. “Would you like a drink?” “Iced coffee,” Trixie mumbled, digging into her precious supply of coins to produce the three bits for her drink. The waiter nodded, taking the coins and walking away, while Trixie put her head in her hooves. What was she doing? Now she barely had more than twenty bits to her name. This was no time to be wasting money on luxuries like iced coffee. She continued mentally berating herself, and was just starting to wonder if she still had time to get her money back, when the waiter returned with the beverage. Slouching in her seat, Trixie numbly thanked the waiter. She sat still, staring at the drink which had just chipped away a sizeable portion of her remaining funds. “Oh Celestia, why?” she grumbled to herself, finally deeming to take a sip from the cup—almost feeling angry that the drink had the nerve to be delicious. Trixie continued to grudgingly sip at the drink, glaring across the square at her wagon, almost as if her home was directly responsible for everything that happened. Her entire career—and a reputation she’d spent years cultivating—was ruined. She’d have to return home as a failure. How would she face her father? How would she be able to look him in the eye and tell him that she was broke? There came a noise from inside the café, the sound of a hoof thumping two keys on a piano. Trixie took no notice, still wallowing in her depression. The second time caught her attention. It was hard not to notice the sound of a hoof being pulled down the length of the keyboard. Pouncing on the chance to be irritated at something that wasn’t related to her, Trixie stood up, absently grabbing the iced coffee and walking into the interior of the café. Standing in the corner of the main room was a dusty brown piano, along with a cello and a lyre. On its stool sat a young foal, who was chortling his little head off as he mindlessly thumped the keys. Despite her irritation and frustration, Trixie couldn’t help but smile at the foal. Even in her slump she could appreciate the cheerful innocence and ignorance of youth. Any older pony would understand why ponies couldn’t really play the piano. The expensive instrument was rare enough, as they could only be played by griffons—and badly, at that—or exceptionally skilled unicorns. Trixie knew that she would never be able to play a piano, as she was unable to multitask with her magic, but maybe she could train a monkey to play—no… monkeys weren’t intelligent enough to learn all of the intricacies… but what if there was an animal that could learn such complex patterns? ‘Wait… could it really be that simple?’ Trixie turned away from the foal fiddling with the piano, draining her iced coffee in two large gulps. She gave a hopeful sigh as she left the café, heading up the street towards the Trottingham Library. Trixie had some reading to do. It was a long shot, and involved something Trixie barely knew anything about, but if she could pull it off… she could be rich. Trixie left her wagon where it was. It wasn’t like there was anything of value within it anyway. The wagon itself was in desperate need of painting. She hummed a grim tune as she trotted the short distance from the street to the library. There wasn’t much for her to be cheery about any more. The Trottingham Library was a very large, distinctive building, and quite a bit older than the more modern brick buildings surrounding it. The library’s shell was built from large blocks of light grey stone, with the doorway flanked by large pillars of the same material. It was imposing, to say the least. The archives in the basement were even more interesting. Filled to the roof with old books that nopony checked out anymore, they were the perfect place for Trixie to research her scheme. It was actually very simple. After finding the necessary spell, she would summon the perfect creature for playing the piano. It wasn't that difficult in theory, but actually locating this “perfect creature” would be a difficult task. She could think of a few candidates—all of them obscure myths—but one in particular stood out above the rest. All she needed to do was find out if such a thing even existed. Her entire plan—which she’d had for a grand total of ten minutes—was in the balance. If the creature wasn’t real, then she would go bankrupt. But if it was… she would be rich. Walking over to an index, Trixie started flipping through the pages. It was going to be a long, gruelling day of research. *** Trixie gazed coldly at the collection of books in front of her. An illustrated picture of a human was set before her. It was shown to be roughly six feet tall. Judging by its two extended, fleshy hooves, the human appeared to walk on only two legs, while at the end of its upper-limbs were claw-like appendages. Both the hooves and the claws were tipped with five rounded digits, but those on the upper limbs were much longer and appeared to be ideal for the manipulation of objects—and playing a piano. It had no muzzle, although there was a distinct, rigid point protruding from its face just above the mouth. Its neck was far shorter than that of a pony, and at the base was a pair of broad shoulders that continued directly into the upper limbs. The only other defining features of the human was its angular, apparently oval-shaped eyes and the lack of hair in any place except for the top of its head. The anatomy of the creature’s body was a mystery, however, as it was garbed in what looked to be a large woolen sheet or blanket that wrapped around the torso and folded over the left shoulder. The only things visible past the strange-looking clothing were its even stranger-looking hooves, which the expansive folds of wool failed to cover. Humans seemed much the way Trixie remembered from her childhood. Back when she’d had a real penchant for books, she could spend an entire day browsing the Manehattan libraries. During that time, Trixie had found many interesting stories and pieces of mythology. Some works had been that of fiction, and others had claimed to be based on actual history. Humans had been reasonably interesting—if a little far fetched—and as a filly, Trixie had eventually dismissed them as too unbelievable. However, as an adult, Trixie was able to see their proportions in a more logical light. They were rather tall, walked on two legs, and wore their coats much thinner than ponies. But what was important was their hands. Humans had five digits on each hand, giving them the ability to play instruments and manipulate objects in a way that ponies could never hope for, which was exactly why Trixie needed one. If she could create a show out of a human playing an instrument (specifically the piano), then all of the fools that made up Equestria would be scrambling to see it. A strange, unknown creature on display that also plays music? What's not to love? Of course, the real issue was summoning one. Humans had faded into myth long ago, all of their achievements forgotten over the course of time. Trixie herself wasn’t even entirely sure that this would work, or that humans had ever existed in the first place. It only takes a few well-placed words to blur the line between history and myth. Now, all she needed was a little more money so that she could set everything up. A loan seemed like the best idea. If this succeeded, she’d be able to pay it off easily. If it failed… well, Trixie would be broke anyway. “The library's closing.” Trixie gave a little start as she realized the librarian was standing across the table from her, a bored look on his face. “Oh, th-thank you,” she stuttered in surprise, before composing herself and repeating the phrase in a more confident tone. "I mean... thank you." “Do you want to check those out or not?” the librarian deadpanned, completely apathetic to Trixie's attitude. “Yes!” Trixie snapped irritably, bunching the books together. “Of course I do.” *** I wrap my towel around my waist as I step out of the shower—not that it's necessary. There’s no need for modesty when everyone’s already out of the house, but it always pays to be prepared. The local Jehovah's Witnesses have a bad habit of popping up at the worst possible moment. This is what I love about Saturday mornings. Mom is downtown for a few hours, getting the groceries for the week, and my sister’s working at the corner dairy. Neither of them will be home until at least one in the afternoon, leaving me with a good three and a half hours. What's even better is that I don't have a shift rostered for today. It’s the first day off I’ve had in two weeks. Bliss. Passing the piano in the hall, I reach under the dust cover that lies on the keys and play a quick series of ascending octaves, before continuing into the living room. It's like what the untrained enjoy doing: making random noise… except it sounds a lot nicer. My computer sits on the couch, its screen still paused in a freeze-frame of the credits for the Friendship is Magic episode, ‘Hearts and Hooves Day’. With a small sigh, I close the laptop's lid, walking over to the smoldering log in the fireplace. Its passive heating is a wonderful contrast to the cold winds and frigid rain that always dominate the outside this time of year. “My Little Pony… My Little Pony…” I start to sing under my breath as I towel off. I continue to sing, smiling slightly as I warm myself by the embers. It’s fair to say that—aside from snatching a few minutes to tinkle the ivories—watching the show is the highlight of my days. Things are a little tight lately. It’s bleak... not horrible, but there's not much going for us right now. “My Little Pony… I used to wonder what friendship could be…” My singing dissolves into simply humming the theme as I turn away from the fireplace and walk towards my bedroom to get changed. I re-emerge two minutes later, my hair frizzy from the drying, and my body fully clothed. “…Do you know you’re all my very best friends…” I finished off with the lyrics, absently rubbing at the scruffy little mustache sprouting on my lip. ‘Note to self: Shave tonight.’ With nothing better to do, I sit at the piano, removing the green-brown dust cover on the keys and playing a ‘G’, just for the hell of it. “Sing us a song, you’re the Piano Man…” I mutter under my breath in a whimsical voice. “Sing us a song, tonight. Well we’re all in the mood for a melody… and you’ve got us feelin’ alright.” I cut myself off, raising both hands and preparing to play a different song… something that will fit the rainy mood.. My left hand comes down to play an A minor chord, but then stops in mid-air, suddenly unable to continue. "What..." I stare at it, attempting to discover what's stopping it from moving. Actually... something looks different. My fingertips are pale. “When did that hap—wait…” I watch in wonder as the rest of my fingers turn a deathly white, followed by my top knuckles and then the backs of my hands. “I… what?” My wrists slowly lose their color, followed by my forearms, and then my upper arms. It looks so strange—and it feels even stranger. The bleached skin tingles as if I’ve lost circulation… but that can’t possibly have happened. Finally realizing that something is wrong, I jump to my feet and pull up the bottom of my shirt, knocking over the piano stool in the process. It seems that I can move my hand again, but I'm too panicked for it to register. My stomach and chest have turned pale, and I’m starting to feel very weird. I’m about to shout, when my arms seize up and lose whatever remaining color they had retained, followed almost immediately by my knees locking up beneath me, dropping me to all fours. My back is trembling—heaving, even—as my joints and chest are wracked with a sharp, electrical pain and my mouth is forced open in a soundless scream. My head drops to the carpet and I stare at the pedals of my piano, trying desperately to move. ‘What’s happening? Am I dying?’ Before my brain can form a single thought more, my vision is filled with a rich shade of magenta, and everything else is lost. *** My eyes flutter open, and I jerk upright. ‘Ugh… What…’ I look down at my hands. They look normal—not white, not even pale. “So, it awakens...” a female voice rings out, making me start in surprise as I climb to my feet. ‘What…’ I look around, and realize that I’m in a cage. ‘A cage? Why... am I… I’m a prisoner?’ The cage in question has hay strewn along the ground, with a flat mattress in one corner and what looks like a beaten up piano in another. I can’t see much else, as the area outside the cage is shrouded in darkness. Groggily, I try to take a step towards the bars of the cage, teetering on the balls of my feet and nearly crashing headfirst into the piano. “Poor balance, but the hands are what count,” the female voice says again, and I see a darker patch of shadow shift slightly around my poorly lit prison. Placing my attention on the dark patch, I rub my eyes, letting out a small groan. “Where… where am I? What did you… you do to me?” My voice is raspy, and I realise that I am completely parched. “Who are you?” “My name isn’t important.” The female voice sounds scornful. “It would only intimidate you." “Oh, trust me, it’s very important,” I snap, my temper suddenly flaring. “If I’m going to be abducted, then I want to know who did it, you piece of horseshit!” Even as the last few words leave my mouth, the reality of the situation comes crashing down on me. I’ve been abducted—kidnapped. I’m in a dirty cage in the dark, and I’m brashly insulting my captor. The shadow shifts again, adjusting its position. “Well, then…” The shape steps into the light, and I let out a loud curse in surprise. Is that really who I think it is? Could it possibly be… her? There’s a cape and stereotypical wizard hat… both worn by a blue pony. A pony. It is. It’s her. “If you really must know, my name is—” “Trixie!” The word comes flying out of my mouth, layered with shock and disbelief. The blue mare is silent, staring at me with a wide-eyed expression that conveys so many emotions that I can’t even begin to acknowledge them all. She stares at me wildly for a full five seconds, before finally moving her face closer to the bars of my cage. “How do you know that?” she hisses venomously, her horn starting to glow. I stare at the mare in shock. This can’t be happening. She can’t actually be real! She’s from a TV show. She’s from My Little Pony! Maybe I've been drugged, or had a seizure, or something... I mean, this can't be real! Trixie leans a little closer, her horn flashing. I let out a loud gasp of surprise as my midsection is encased in a magenta aura, restraining me. “What—” I start, before suddenly being cut off by my captor. “I’ll ask you again: how do you know my name?” Trixie’s face is taking on a red hue as she becomes more enraged. Panicking, I struggle against the magical aura, only to be stopped as the grip tightens, causing me to yelp. “Tell me!” Trixie shouts, prompting me to start speaking. “Argh! Trixie!" I splutter in shock. "Y-you’re not real!” “What do you mean not real?” Trixie’s face darkens. “You’re a f-fictional character, from M-My Little—urk!—My Little Pony!” I gasp as the grip tightens again. I can barely breathe. “Traveling—ack!—Magician, stopped in P-Ponyville!” I wheeze and flail around as Trixie’s expression turns into one of surprise, and the pressure on my chest slowly increases. “You—ugh!—were humiliated!” My words just barely slip through my throat, nothing more than a strangled croak. “Sh-shown up as a fraud!” Bad choice of words. Trixie lifts me off the floor with her magic, before dropping me a good meter onto my face. “Don’t you dare call me a fraud!” she shouts, the words left to linger in my thoughts as I black out.