//------------------------------// // Memories and Mornings // Story: A Song of Ponyville // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// The spotlights were hot and glaring, like a dozen suns aimed down at her. The stallion dancers twisted and gyrated around her, their bodies brushing against hers, their tails drawing against her chin: they reeked of cologne and sweat. She sang through the plastic grin on her makeup-covered face, staring out through her elaborately-done coquettish manestyle at the audience. The ponies’ faces were all shrouded in shadows, but she could feel their lascivious gazes on her, traveling up and down the curves that her silk costume outlined. “Why don’t you do right?” she crooned to her admirers, reaching out to stroke one of her accompanying dancers beneath the chin as the chords from the piano and bass shivered in ecstasy. “Like some other stallions...do?” She held out the note for several seconds while the musicians ended the song with a flourish, the dancers around her striking dramatic poses as the spotlights dimmed. She tilted her shoulder to the side, lowering her chin in a sultry manner, her silhouette backlit by lights behind her. The velvet curtain dropped as the audience erupted into cheers and whistles. As soon as the show lights turned off and the stage runner lights flashed on, Coloratura broke free from the surrounding dancers and started to walk quickly towards the backstage; her face ached from the false smile and her mane was starting to drip with sweat. Spots danced in front of her gaze every time she blinked, and she could feel her stomach starting to turn inside her. Must get home. Must get back to the apartment. Feel better there. “Countess! Where are you going?” a familiar voice called behind her. Coloratura stopped, closing her eyes and groaning. Not him. Anypony but him. She turned around to see a white earth pony with a salmon pink mane and thick glasses walking towards her, adjusting his silk tie. “I need to get back home, Svengallop,” Coloratura said, trying not to let her voice drop into a pleading tone. “I’m so tired, and we have another show tomorrow. I need to rest.” “There’s just one more thing you need to do before you can go, Countess,” Svengallop said in his falsely reassuring tone, draping a foreleg around her and gently trapping her to his side as he started to walk her towards the back door of the stage. “There’s a great crowd of reporters outside, and they’re all waiting for a chance to photograph you. This is a wonderful chance for some press coverage!” Coloratura looked over her shoulder at the fire exit door, which was rapidly retreating out of her reach. “But--” “Tut, tut, Countess!” Svengallop cut her off. “What have I always told you? Too much attention is never enough! Both of our careers depend on your making appearances for the media!” Coloratura’s protest died in her throat; it was too late, the backdoor to the stage was fast approaching. In the span of the last few steps, she took in a breath and forced herself to stand upright, tilting her head back at a contemptuous angle and raising her weary legs with every step. Once again, the mask was on. Once again, she was the Countess. The doors opened and she was immediately blitzed by the reporters, bombarded by the constant, blinding supernovas of flashbulbs and a constant barrage of questions and calls for her to turn this way and that for a photo. “Let us through, let us through!” Svengallop declared, pushing his way through. The Countess tilted her head back, strutting across the crowd, seemingly unaffected by the attention. The constant shouts made her head pound; the blinding lights made her stomach spin. A few more steps and she finally reached the waiting limousine. She climbed into the backseat and the door closed behind her. With a relieved sigh, Coloratura collapsed into the cushioned leather as the limo drove off, taking her back to her apartment. Just a little longer, she promised herself. Finally, they reached the apartment building, a grandiose white marble edifice that stretched up to touch the skies. Coloratura tossed her driver a tip as she climbed out. The evening wind felt cold and harsh on her clammy skin and she had to force herself not to run to the door. She pushed through the revolving door and entered the carpeted lobby. “Good evening, Countess!” the young, slightly pimply doorpony said cheerfully, waving from behind the counter. Coloratura managed to nod as she walked across to the waiting elevator. She stepped into the metal box and the doors slid shut behind her. With a shudder, the elevator started to climb up towards the top floor. Deep breaths, Coloratura. We’re almost there. A minute later, the doors dinged and opened wide. Coloratura stumbled out and walked down the hallway. Her keys jingled in her hoof until she found the correct one and inserted it into the keyhole. The door opened and she climbed inside, slamming the door shut behind her. She walked into the living room and flopped down onto the bright ivory white sofa, panting. In front of her was a maple coffee table with a set of locked drawers on the bottom. She unlocked the left one and pulled it open. Inside lay a small mirror, a short metal straw, and a plastic bag. She plucked out all three items and set the mirror on the table. Opening the bag, she poured out a small amount of the contents onto the mirror: a line of pale red powder. Taking the straw, she inserted it into one nostril and bent over the table, inhaling the powder. Instantly, the red poppydust worked its magic. Her stomach settled and her head stopped spinning; a feeling of calm spread across her body, making her crawling skin settle. Her heartbeat slowed and she let out a contented sigh. “Much better,” she said, allowing her eyes to roll towards the ceiling. The lights of the chandelier over her head danced and sparkled in a dazzling array of colors, every shade in the rainbow and a few beyond. Her throat suddenly felt very dry and itchy. Smacking her lips. Coloratura stood up and stumbled over to the kitchen. The fridge loomed up in front of her and she opened it up. Her prize was set right in front of her, in the middle shelf: four glass brown bottles. She snatched one up and stuck it into the bottle opener attached to the fridge door, snapping the cap off. Tilting her head back, she guzzled down a large gulp of the cider inside. Immediately, she felt like she was floating off the ground. A relaxed, contented smile spread across her face; the world around her started to dissolve into a blur of colors. “Pretty…” Coloratura giggled, stumbling back into the living room. She took another sip of the cider and the remnants of her back and hoof pain vanished into the past. She flopped down onto the couch, the cider splashing everywhere. Giggling, Coloratura rolled over and placed the bottle on the table with a clunk. She reached out for the plastic bag, picking it up on the third try, and shakily poured out another line onto the mirror. She took the straw and after accidentally poking herself in the eye, stuck it up her nostril and inhaled the line. The powder made her nose burn and itch and she let out a sneeze that rapidly turned into a fit of giggling. Her body relaxed completely and the floating sensation spread all the way down to the tip of her tail. Laying back down on the couch and rolling over onto her back, she turned and watched the chandelier dancing over her head. She reached out with a hoof, trying to touch the pretty lights over her head. “Whoa…” she suddenly moaned as a swooping feeling seized her, making her feel like she was in a crashing airplane. “I don’t feel so good anymore…” The lights were becoming too blinding, spinning too fast; they made her eyes hurt. She closed her eyes and in moments, the world faded away from her. Rara opened her eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the window made her blink and raise a hoof to shield her face. The quilt covering her body, which was decorated with apples and hearts, fell off her shoulders as she sat up and looked around. She was laying on an old but solidly built bed in the middle of a simple bedroom. A single round carpet sat in the middle of the floor; opposite her was a desk and chair and a dresser, with a wardrobe next to it. Birds sang outside her window, and she smelled cooking pancakes through the door. The dream...no, the memory faded away like sand slipping in between her hooves, but for a moment before she sat up completely, she almost felt her head spinning. The taste of alcohol lingered on her tongue, and the scent of red poppydust itched at her nostrils. She shook her head and banished those thoughts from her head. No more of that. She’d left that life far behind her, and she was never going back. Standing up fully, she walked to the door and pushed it open, shaking her untidy mane out of her eyes. No more waking up in the mornings with a headache the size of Manehattan and blurry, spinning vision. This was much more preferable. She opened up the door and proceeded down the hallway to the stairs. As she proceeded down, each step creaking beneath her hooves, she could hear a familiar voice humming. Rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs, she walked into a small kitchen-dining room combo with a small table surrounded by hoof-carved chairs. An orange mare with long blonde hair was standing at the oven, humming around the handle of the pan in her mouth. Grinning, Rara snuck up behind the mare on tiphoof and grasped her around the middle. Applejack squeaked in surprise and turned around to immediately receive a kiss on the nose. “Good morning,” Rara smiled. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Applejack smiled, nuzzling her. “It’s long past sunrise.” “Some of us like to sleep,” Coloratura replied. Applejack smelt of sweat and dirt and leaves; she’d been working hard before breakfast. “Can’t keep the farm running if we don’t work for it, darlin’,” Applejack commented, scooping the flapjacks out of the pan and onto one of five waiting plates. The other four were already loaded with stacks of warm, fresh pancakes. Applejack and Coloratura carried the plates over to the table and placed them on the top in a circle. No sooner had they finished when there came the sound of rapid, light hoofsteps from the stairs. “Pancakes!” Apple Bloom cried with joy as she bounded into the kitchen, her hair bow bouncing with every step. “My favorite!” “Well, you’re not eating all of them, greedy-guts,” Applejack laughed, tousling her little sister’s mane. “Now, go call your brother in for breakfast.” Apple Bloom dashed out of the room and Rara heard the front door open and close. “Mac! Breakfast is ready!” Apple Bloom’s voice called. Apple Bloom raced back inside the kitchen almost before the front door had closed and hopped up onto her seat on the table. With a yawn and a grumble, Granny Smith wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “You whippersnappers, making so much noise,” she croaked. “Can’t an old mare get her sleep around here?” “Sorry, Granny, but we just didn’t want you to miss breakfast,” Applejack said, pulling out a chair for Granny Smith. Granny clambered up into the seat with a grunt. The front door opened with a creak of hinges and heavy hoofsteps sounded from the front door. Big Mac clambered through the doorway into the kitchen, almost having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the door. “Big Mac, I swear, you’re getting more like your pa every day,” Granny Smith said with a smile as Big Mac walked up to the table. “Eeyup,” Big Mac nodded, opening the icebox and pulling out a large jug of milk. He carried it over to the table as Rara passed out glasses and poured everypony milk. Apple Bloom immediately dug into her pancakes like a starving pony. “Whoa, slow down there, sugarcube!” Applejack laughed. “I gotta get ready for school, AJ,” Apple Bloom said through a mouthful of pancakes and maple syrup. “Were you raised in a barn, young filly?” Granny asked, raising an eyebrow at Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom swallowed. “Sorry, Granny,” she apologized. Rara giggled behind her hoof. “These are good, AJ,” she said, cutting up another slice of her stack. “Thanks,” Applejack nodded. “Can Rara walk me to school today?” Apple Bloom asked eagerly. “I’d love to,” Rara said, looking to Applejack. Applejack pondered it for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” “Yay!” Apple Bloom cheered. “You’d best hustle up,” Applejack said, glancing up at the bright red clock on the wall. “It’s almost time for you to be going.” “Okay!” Apple Bloom said. She quickly scarfed down the rest of her breakfast, gulped down her milk, and pulled away from the table, headed up the stairs. Rara laughed quietly. “She reminds me a lot of you when we were fillies,” she said to Applejack. “Funny, I was gonna say that she reminds me a lot of you,” Applejack smirked. “Especially during chow call.” “I wasn’t that messy of an eater!” Rara protested. “Remember that time you got jam all over your beanie and I had to help you wash it?” Applejack laughed. Rara felt her cheeks color. “Okay, maybe I was kind of messy…” Big Mac and Applejack both laughed. “Don’t make me flick my pancakes at you,” Rara said, finishing up her breakfast. Wiping off her face with a napkin, Rara took the plates and her glass over to the sink and dropped them off to be washed later. Passing by Applejack, she leaned in and closed her eyes. Applejack responded in kind, closing in to kiss her on the mouth. The embrace tasted of maple syrup and milk; Applejack’s lips were soft and warm on hers. “Apple Bloom!” Granny called up the stairs, breaking up the moment. “You’re gonna be late for school! Move your caboose, missy!” “I’m coming!” Apple Bloom called, clambering down the stairs. She reappeared in the kitchen, adjusting the saddlebags that she’d tossed over her shoulders. “Come on, Rara!” “Be safe out there,” Applejack said as Rara exited. “Have fun at school, Apple Bloom!” “I’ll be back soon,” Rara said, waving goodbye as she followed Apple Bloom out the door. “Apple Bloom, wait for me!” she shouted, chasing after the filly. “Race you to school!” Apple Bloom laughed, bouncing ahead. Laughing along with her, Rara chased after her, the cool, sun-kissed gentle northern wind dancing through her mane and tail as she ran. Their race left a trail of dust on the road behind them as they wound down the dirt road towards the main street. No crowds of reporters, no lustful crowds always baying for more, no itch of poppydust or burning thirsts. This was much more preferable to her old life.