On Getting to the Bottom of this "Equestrian" Business

by McPoodle

Chapter 16: Bounce House of Tartarus

June 25, 1985.
Zero minus 3 days.

Celestia woke up uncharacteristically late. After getting dressed, she tried Luna’s door—it was still locked.

She knocked on the door. “Luna, can we talk?”

She was answered by the sound of music blaring out of a stereo. “I was born inside a cage” began an abrasive song with the title of “I’m So Bad”.

“That’s Bounce House, by the way!” Luna’s voice shouted through the door.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Celestia muttered, before turning to head downstairs.

Gloria Guiseman was on her way to the Delver house to see if Luna was available. She was soon joined by Yellow Rose.

“Hi, Gloria is it?” Yellow asked. “I think I saw you at…Celestia’s sister’s party yesterday.”

“Yes, that’s me,” said Gloria. “Are you going to visit Luna as well?”

“Yes, Luna! No, I mean, I’m mostly going to visit Celestia but sure, I guess I can check up on Luna as well.”

They turned a corner to see several people gathered in front of the house they were heading towards. An open window was projecting music that the crowd was clearly there to critique; a happy little song about how much the singer loves underage girls.

“Oh wow!” the two girls exclaimed as one, although with different intonations.

“I…think I hear my mother!” Yellow Rose exclaimed, in a panic. A second later she was running back home.

“Is that Bounce House?!” Gloria exclaimed, in delight. A second later she was knocking on the front door. She noticed that an angry elderly man was already standing in front of the door, silently fuming.

A beleaguered Butterfly answered the door, a pair of earmuffs on to block out the loud music.

“I’m sorry, Blue Note,” she said, addressing the man, “but Celestia says that her sister can play whatever she wants, and as we both know, what Celestia says, goes.”

“There ought to be a law!” Blue Note bellowed, before turning and stomping away.

Butterfly removed her muffs. “Can I help you?” she asked Gloria.

“Is there any way I can see Luna today?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, but Luna is not seeing anybody today.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. Well, can you at least tell her that I really dig her choice in music? I used to go to Bounce House concerts in L.A. all the time with my mom, and they are totally radical!”

“‘Totally radical’? Alright, I’ll tell her that.”

After the door was gently closed in her face, Gloria walked over to a porch swing to sit down—she had a feeling that Luna was about to change her ‘no visitors’ policy.

Celestia spent the rest of her day stewing in her room. She reluctantly admitted that it was a good thing that Luna had finally made a friend of her own, and that they liked blaring loud—and offensive—music at maximum volume and laughing at whispered jokes that were probably only 33% or so at her expense. But maybe just friendship wasn’t enough. All those other Lunas probably had friends before they snapped.

Celestia really wished she had that diary of an earlier Luna that she had ordered through the library. At least that way she could prepare herself.

As it was, what could she do that was different from any other concerned friend or family member of a Luna over the past seven centuries of failure? What could she say that hadn’t been said hundreds of times before, every time in vain?

Well…there was one thing that no Luna had ever been told before.

“Are you sure you can’t stay a minute longer?” she heard the voice of Luna beg from her just-opened door.

“‘Fraid not,” Gloria’s voice responded, followed by a yawn. “I still haven’t gotten used to my hotel bed yet.”

“Well maybe you can spend the night here, and use my bed!”

An awkward silence followed.

“Um…”

“Yeah, forget I said anything. Wanna meet up tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Celestia opened her door to wave at Gloria as she walked by.

Her sister turned her head to look coldly at her.

“Luna…?”

SLAM!

Undeterred, Celestia walked over to the door.

The music did not immediately start up—Luna was probably looking for another album she hadn’t played yet.

Celestia delivered her words clearly and loudly, right through the door. “The Princess is an immortal horse-like creature, about as tall as Father Delver, with a long horn and enormous wings. She has my colors, because she’s my duplicate, and also my name. Twelve hundred years ago, she and her sister, Luna, were asked to rule over the divided tribes of unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies.”

The door suddenly opened. “You just made that up,” Luna challenged her.

“It’s absolutely true,” Celestia countered, her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “I know it because I have access to her memories when we’re both sleeping.”

Luna scratched her head. “But…horses?”

“They call themselves ‘ponies’, actually.”

“That’s even more ridiculous!”

“But it feels right, doesn’t it?” Celestia asked. She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

Luna gently pushed her back with one hand. “Really?” She turned and walked back into her room, but left the door open.

Celestia stood outside the door but continued speaking, undeterred. “Both Celestia and Luna were named princesses, so that they might be equal with each other. Princess Celestia naturally possessed the talent of bringing about the sunrise, while Princess Luna controlled the moon and stars. Together, they fought off many threats to the land of Equestria—”

“—Where the ‘ponies’ lived?”

“Yes. But with peace came disaster, because young Princess Celestia believed all the ponies who told her how awesome she was, while Princess Luna was left in the shadows, neglected by a whole herd of ponies who slept away the nighttime hours.”

Luna turned around. “OK.”

“OK?”

“OK, I’ll accept you telling me all of the Markist secrets as partial apology for giving those tickets away. Now come in here before somebody overhears you.”

With a triumphant grin, Celestia entered Luna’s room, closing the door behind her.

“Now how come I never hear about the Princess’ sister in Harmony class?”

“I was just getting to that,” answered Celestia. “Princess Luna was mad at being neglected, so mad that she turned to dark magic to become powerful enough to get revenge on her clueless sister Princess Celestia…”

A favorite tactic of crowds protesting the transport of nuclear missiles across the south of Britain was the playing of anti-war songs at maximum volume over portable boom boxes. “Two Tribes” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood was a particular favorite.

Another effect of the protests was that most traffic on the streets of London had ground to a standstill. Luckily Gwen’s brother Ashley knew all the back ways to get Delver, Meridiem, Gnosi, Gus and Gwen to their hotel.

“I don’t remember it ever being this bad on previous visits,” Gus remarked as he got out of the car. “Although from what I’ve heard from my artist friends, I wouldn’t be half surprised to see tanks rolling down the roads to ‘maintain law and order’, as the Soviets liked to say.”

Ashley opened up the trunk and took out a couple of bags. “Yes well, the ‘Iron Lady’ likes to keep a tight ship, especially in the eyes of American visitors. That’s Prime Minster Thatcher to you Yanks.”

Gnosi brought their attention to a nearby newspaper dispenser for The Sun, which had the headline “Soviets Ship Bomb-Toting Revolutionaries to U.K. Disguised as ‘Protestors’.” Under this in smaller print were the words “Our Advice: Kick ‘Em in the Arse!” “And I thought the American press was bad!” he exclaimed.

“Nobody pays any attention to The Sun anymore,” Ashley countered. “Well, except for the topless girl on page 3 of every issue.”

“Really, Ashley?”

“A man has needs, Sis!”

Delver walked by with his own luggage, shaking his head. “Well the protests don’t really impact me,” he told them, “because the conference is in this very hotel. What are you going to do with your time?”

Gwen looked eagerly at Ashley, who nodded back to her. “I’ve got just the thing planned out.”

“Do I even want to know?” Gus asked.

A mimeographed poster was thrust into his hands, declaring the “1985 World Sell-Out Tour” for Bounce House, performing outside Stonehenge tomorrow. The letters of the band’s name were written in bones and snakes, with the O’s in particular replaced by skulls. Not as well reproduced in the background were the wild hairstyles and glowing eyes of the founders of the band, “The Brothers”.

“I preferred not knowing,” Gus said, deadpan.

Father Delver caught one look at the poster and raised one gloved hand to push it away—and the other to keep his assistants at arm’s reach. “You’re adults and not being part of the Faith, I can have no say in which forms of entertainment you wish to attend,” he said. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell any of us what it was like, alright?”

“And what will you be doing?” Gus asked Meridiem and Gnosi.

“After helping Father Delver with his speech, Gnosi and I are going to do some sightseeing,” said Meridiem.

A truck of rowdy youths drove by, blaring out some more of “Two Tribes”:

June 26, 1985.
Zero minus 2 days.

Gnosi and Meridiem worked their way down Celestia’s “must-see” list, starting with Kensington Gardens. They never got to Peter Pan’s statue, however, because the whole place was overrun with baby carriages. Apparently, the very first “pram” (as they were called in British vernacular) was invented 250 years ago to the day in this very park, and prams and pram merchandise were everywhere. It was an odd break from the otherwise inescapable protests.

A few hours later, the pair was waiting in line for a double-decker bus tour. Before they knew it, they found themselves surrounded by a group of young protesters. Hearing the group begin singing “Land of Confusion” by Genesis, a song with lyrics that seemed to have some Markist sympathies, Gnosi and Meridiem joined in with full voice, their eyes closed.

When the song ended and they opened their eyes again, the pair found that they were surrounded.

“That was great!” one of the shaggy-haired protesters proclaimed.

“Are you really both Markists?”

“And is it true that all Markists have perfect pitch?”

“Yeah, we’re Markists,” Meridiem admitted in a quiet voice.

“What was that?”

“We’re Markists!” Gnosi repeated louder, earning a cheer from the crowd.

A young man put his hand on Meridiem’s shoulder. “Look, don’t let anyone tell you different, but this country was much better run when you guys were in charge.”

“Oh, well…thanks!”

“Do you want to go marching with us?”

“Gee, I dunno…” Gnosi equivocated.

“Let’s do it!” Meridiem cried, grabbing Gnosi by the hand and pulling him in the direction of the docks.

This earned another cheer from the crowd.

The next song played was “It’s a Mistake” by Men at Work.

By the time the protesters reached the docks, the Pershing II missiles had already crossed the English Channel and were being rushed into position. Able Archer ’85 had already begun, sending unarmed armies scrambling across the face of Europe, to show their readiness to fight the final war against Soviet aggression.

140 kilometers away, the Bounce House World Sell-Out Concert started at sunset with a bang, with actors dressed up as Christian devils and a woman in a black body stocking wearing a placard labelling her as “The Demoness” cavorting on the large improvised stage, shouting labor slogans. Gus suspected that most of the jokes he failed to get were anti-Thatcher, at least the ones that weren’t obviously aimed at President Far Shooter as Thatcher’s toady. Gus didn’t really enjoy himself—it wasn’t that the politics expressed weren’t roughly the way that Gus himself voted, but rather the crudity of the exercise that turned him off, right down to the malformed plastic genitalia that everybody wore. Gwen and Ashley, on the other hand, had a ball.

The opening song described a vision of a world on fire. No pedophilia, no delighting in how much you offend everyone around you, just a mainstream song about the end of the world. As a result, the reactions of Gus, his wife and his brother-in-law were precisely the opposite of their reactions to the pre-show: “This music is awful!” Gwen exclaimed. “It expresses the kind of opinions that anyone can agree with. Where’s the irony? The breaking of taboos?”

“They really have sold out,” Ashley remarked. “Must be all that soundtrack money.”

“Well personally I think this is the first song of theirs I’ve ever heard that I actually like,” said Gus.

The siblings pummeled him with their Día de Muertos pillows for that.

The concert ended with a bang, although not the one intended by the band. The British Army showed up along with the police, and started trying to arrest everyone for an illegal assembly that included indecent (plastic) exposure. They even brought tanks. Several members of the public lay down in front of the tanks to allow the members of Bounce House to escape, sans their instruments and special effects equipment. The tanks in turn knocked over a couple of the standing stones to avoid running anybody over.

The Brothers found themselves sitting in the back of an unmarked white van bouncing its way across the English countryside, separated from their bandmates. The two of them were both noticeable for their pale skin and bright red hair.

“How’s that for a final farewell?” asked the younger brother and chief singer for Bounce House, who went under the stage name of Scorpan—a name that he had no business using, much less knowing, as it was one of the secrets of the Markist religion that not even Delver or Celestia knew about.

“Well you have nothing to complain about,” sulked the elder brother, who called himself Tirek—he was the one responsible for the satirical pre-show. “You’ve got enough soundtrack deals to last you into the next century. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Keep making independent films?” suggested Scorpan.

“Nobody ever watches them.”

Scorpan looked around him at the floor of the van, which was littered with the various objects that rabid fans had thrown onto the stage during the concert. He fished out a cardboard box depicting a Christ-like figure, his back to the viewer, holding a staff to part the raging waters. It was a video game, named “Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar”. He handed the box over to his brother. “You know, this ‘Lord British’ guy has become plenty famous making video games that let him preach his beliefs to the masses. Have you ever thought about branching out?”

Tirek looked over the box, hefting it in his oversized hand. “You know…I just might.”