“Hey, and Good Morning Canterlot! You’re listening to the one and only HPRN 101.5, The Prance, the only place where you get the most rockin’ hits! It’s me, your morning host, Soundscape and I’m joined here in the studio by a very special guest. Speak and be known to the world of ponydom, guest!”
“Hiya, listeners! Logan Branford here.”
“Logan’s from legendary human radio station 94.7 KMET in Los Angeles, where he’s the host of…well, I don’t wanna steal your thunder here, Logan, so why don’t you explain to our listeners?”
“Thanks, Sounds. I’m the host of ‘The Outernational Incident’, a music program showcasing global grooves from both Earths. That stuff that’s just too awesome not to be on the radio, you know?”
“Oh, do I. Anyways, folks, Logan’s here as part of this year’s annual FiMPro – he’s taking over Wax Spinner’s slot from 2 – 6 weekdays—”
“And on Saturdays, from 6-10pm, I’ll be simulcasting ‘The Outernational Incident’ both in LA and here!”
“Wow, sounds like you’ve got your hands full, Logan! Man, I wish I’d gotten that vacation to human-Earth like Waxie did.”
“Ah, but he’s gotta take care of my regular listeners for the next three months, so I’m sure they’ll keep him nice and busy.”
“Well, great to have you here at The Prance. Got a little something to whet our ears with?”
“Oh, you betcha. Here’s a little something for the listeners out there.”
Soundscape cut the microphone, listening in on the music for a few seconds before pulling them off and declaring, “Wow, that’s the wildest stuff I’ve heard.”
“Just a little Bob Marley, not one of his best songs, but probably his most radio friendly,” Logan shrugged, detaching his phone from the feed when it was done. “A little something to get their feet wet. Remind me later and I’ll bring in the hard drives with the good stuff. Everybody thinks that a 40-year-old Madonna song that has Sansrkit chanting is cool, but wait until you hear a master like Marley, Nitin Sawhney or Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Trust me, my drives have got the good stuff.”
“Well, don’t mind this pony,” Sounds said with a grin. “I’ll let you get with your sound engineer.”
“Sound engineer? Back in LA, we just worked with computer systems.”
“Not here. Boss likes doing things the old way; while he realizes that music has to be stored on modern formats – otherwise we’d be using actual phonographs – he still likes the engineers to be ponies and not machines. Personally, I agree with you; I got to see the computer setup they have down the road at HNZL, but, hey, boss is what boss is, you know?”
“Yeah,” Logan said, glumly. He didn’t care much for working with engineers. Nothing against them personally, of course; they did their jobs and when not working the studio they made sure the equipment was running smoothly. But the kind music he played required pretty much to be tuned song to song, so much so that Logan had written programs for the computer to autoengineer the sound depending on the song played in the playlist that show. An unfamiliar engineer might mistake a Senegalese drum ensemble for a drum and base act and mis-set accordingly; if they were completely unfamiliar, well – he still had his copy of the apology letter he had to write to the Orchestra Nacional de Rock over that little incident.
“But hey, don’t worry – I got you the hook-up. I talked to a friend who works over at our sister station HPGF, the classical station, and they have a sound engineer who might fit your needs. Just an intern, admittedly, but very good with the decks, so I’m told – should be here in a couple of minutes.”
There was a sudden knock on the sound booth’s glass, and Sound’s engineer called over, “Hey, the intern’s here.”
“Cue up the next song and pass on that they can meet in the break room, ‘kay?” When the engineer nodded, the unicorn gave him a smile and said, “Break room’s just around the corner; you can’t miss it.”
Logan sighed. “You sure I can’t talk your boss into letting me have a computer system?”
“Only if you’re willing to pay for the entire rig yourself.” When the human sighed again, this time in defeat, the stallion just shrugged. “It’s only for three months, and I promise this’ll be the three most interesting months of your life. You’re supposed to put your best hoof forward for humanity, right? FiMPro and all that. Don’t start yourself off bad, okay?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Now get going and show that legendary style you’re known for. I gotta do a station ID and then an interview with the lead singer of The Polypony Spree.” Logan snuck out as quickly as he could, not wanting to interrupt his counterpart, then closed the door. To his right, the ON AIR sign – an ancient, flip-card style sign – was set to the ON AIR position.
“Now, which way,” he said, wondering aloud.
Two mares started to walk towards him down the hallway, lost in thought. As typical of pony females, they wore no clothing. He was already warned about that repeatedly and it made him somewhat self-conscious; the lone pony he’d known in his life previously always wore clothing, but that was because of her upbringing. But DJ had been through that hell fifteen years ago and it had scarred his dear friend badly, he knew; the bright and bubbly girl he’d known before that year had become sullen and cynical afterwards, though Mike had told him she was slowly becoming her old self again.
Besides, the two were walking past him and that gave him the opportunity to at least ask. But as they approached him, he heard words he hadn’t quite expected.
“So, like, ya, did you see that freak in the break room?” the first mare commented, rolling her eyes as she spoke.
“Yeah, totes thinks he’s like, a skinner or something,” her friend agreed. The moment they realized they were walking towards a human, the two shut up immediately, at least having the good grace to shut up in his presence. As they thought they were out of earshot, the second one said, “OhmiCelestia – a buckin’ skinner! In the building! What is this world comin’ to?”
“Yeah, totally,” her friend agreed.
Logan, however, kept his mouth shut; he was here to make friends with his fellow sapients, not to start fights. Besides, in their diatribe, they did at least point the direction in which the break room was, so he couldn’t complain too much. Remembering to stay clear of the those three in future situations, he continued down the opposite hallway, heading around the corner and towards the turn.
I suppose it could be worse, he thought to himself. During the FiMPro briefing, he was notified that though tensions were down very much from the bad old days of “the War of the Elements” – whatever that was – there were still plenty in ponydom who less than kind towards humans. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen much of that in those he’d met to date, but then again, he was staying at the Marriott Canterlot North, a five-star hotel catering to humans in Canterlot’s human neighborhood of Northside. Were he to wade into the elite portion of Westridge or the poorer areas of Southton, he wasn’t as sure he’d be welcome there. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one in the FiMPro, just the highest profile one this year.
As he rounded the corner, he heard the shouts coming from the open area break room. And as he got closer, he noted a very fat unicorn reading someone the riot act. He was a very pale orange in coat with a thinning electric-blue mane that looked as if it had been combed over. He wore an ugly tie and he had a huge, stinking stogie in his right foreleg; his cutie mark was that of a radio tower sending out transmission sparks. And whomever he was yelling at right now, he was giving that pony a piece of his mind and more: “…and you come into my station dressed as if you’re the Queen of Humans or something! I’m not paying you to come here and dress like you’re going to the Grand Galloping Gala!”
Logan never liked bullies. He dated one in his early years. He spent most of his high school years protecting his friends from them. And so far in his adult life, he’d been mercifully free of them. But that didn’t mean he was going to put up with them if they made a return in his life. “Um, actually, I…uh, requested it,” he said, ad libbing on the fly. “When Sounds said they were going to send me an intern, I asked that one be dressed so it’d make things easier for me.”
“Yeah, and who the hay a—Oh, the human celebrity!” Funny how the pony’s demeanor changed once he realized who he was speaking to. “Ah, good to meet you. Name’s Fuzzy Warbles. I own several of the stations around the country and was glad to offer them to the service of FiMPro this year. Glad to have you aboard and see what you can do for my station – I mean, furthering human-pony relations!” Turning back to the first individual he was speaking to, he said, “Okay, you’re off the hook. But keep it on the downlow – this place ain’t no fashion show.” Nothing more to say, he offered another greeting to Logan before excusing himself for a meeting and heading off.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, finally turning to see who was getting chewed out. And when he did, he was very surprised.
“I think so, thanks, but I’ve been through worse.” Logan found himself staring at a young pegasus stallion. He had a light gray coat and dark mauve-and-lilac mane and tail, which brought out deep orange-red eyes. He was wearing a green sweater with a white t-shirt underneath and slacks. He also wore a pair of glasses, and his hair was short, crowned by a Lennon cap. His hindhooves were clad in shoes; not the typical Equestriani sandals that went with formal attire, but human-styled shoes, similar to what DJ wore. Logan almost laughed; at least, the pony screamed “Apple corporate employee”; at most, clearly going for the hipster look.
“So, you’re my intern?”
“Uh huh.”
He offered a hand. “Logan Bradford.”
He took the hand, connected with his palm and used his hoofspace to shake. “Dusty Groove. And don’t worry about the boss. He can be a jerk at times, and I’m used to the jokes.”
“What joke? That you’re an intern?”
“Actually, that is my job. No, the part that I’m working with you.”
“Uh, did I do something wrong?”
“Naaaah, not in the least. But as for me,” he said, moving his forelegs to encompass himself, “I’m not the most, er, normal of ponies.” Logan looked at what he was wearing and wondering what was wrong, when suddenly it dawned on him: he was wearing clothing, something ponies never did unless they were visiting a place with clothing requirements, like human-Earth. Then the second thing dawned on him that his forwardmost limbs weren’t being used as forelegs…they were being used as arms.
“I’ll deal,” the pegasus said as he noticed realization crossing Logan’s eyes. “That’s just how things roll in Equestria. You’re either normal, or you’re…well, not.”
“Dude, one of my closest friends has spent a life being not normal,” Logan assured him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, sez you,” Dusty commented. “Humanized ponies are still considered weird here in Equestria – especially those like myself or, to give a more famous example, our ambassador to the US…and she went through years of crap before ponies just accepted she was weird.”
“‘Humanized pony?’”
“That’s the nice term,” Dusty commented. “Some of the nastier ones are ‘faker’ or ‘skingraft,’ whatever that means. Basically, it’s a pony that prefers to live like a human – clothing, standing and moving upright, and so forth and so on, kinda like the Lost Foal. If anything, we get it worse than the old human conspiracy theorists of old, because they had no proof of your existence – and now that we do, ponies like me, well…that should be obvious. And since I don’t know of any humans who prefer to live like ponies, we get all the derision.”
“So you’re trying to be something you’re not?”
“Maybe physically – I’m never going to avoid being a pony there. But as for the insides? Well, let’s just say I prefer to wear clothing, galloping is a chore, and I really need to go to New York one day so I can try this one Italian place that supposedly has the best meatball subs in the world.”
“Well, we can chat more about this later, but for the moment, I suppose we should discuss the engineering for tonight’s show. Now, bear in mind, because of the tuning involved in each genre of music played, there’s going to be some radical changes in the setup for each song.”
The pegasus waved it off. “Don’t worry, I got it.”
“But you haven’t heard anything about what I play.”
Dusty chuckled. “Dude, don’t worry about it. Seriously. It’s all in the cutie mark.” When that was met with a blank stare, he asked, “You don’t know about cutie marks, do you?”
Logan shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“Well, I’m not going to drop trou or anything, but…at a certain point in our lives, we find out what our special talent is, that one skill that makes us shine above and beyond what anypony else can do, and that is signified by a symbol or symbols on our flanks called a cutie mark. I’m told it’s like a tattoo, but the difference is it forms on our coats naturally. Now, some cutie marks are fairly clear as to what they mean: for example, my college buddy, Callery Pear, comes from a pear farmer family and his cutie mark is a pair – pun intended – of pear halves; he’s a cider and perry sommelier by trade. And then you have one like mine: an F-clef over a record. Not as clear, right? So guess what it means.”
“That…you’re really into old-fashioned vinyl albums?”
The stallion grinned. “Close – it means I have perfect pitch. Let me hear your playset tonight before we go on and I guarantee, I’ll get it perfect. Better than perfect, even.”
“You think so, huh?”
Dusty offered a hoof. “If I’m wrong, I’m paying for the beers tonight. If you’re wrong, well…I like Guinness Extra Reserve, just sayin’.”
Logan grinned; the guy was confident, if nothing else. He took the stallion’s hoof, shaking. “You’re on.”
Later that night, Dusty was enjoying a beer in his favorite bar. “Ah, nothing like Guinness to salute a victorious soul.”
“And here’s two more beers for you, gentlemen,” the bartender said as she set the beers down in front of the two patrons. “Stone IPA for the gent and Guinness Extra for you, Dusty.”
He flashed the woman a grin. “Moira, don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Nothing of the sort, y’ radgy git,” she said, playfully. “I’m a married woman, I am. Now, back to the counter I go.”
As she walked off, Logan eyed her shrinking form appreciatively. “She’s a cutie.”
“She’s off-limits, Logan,” Dusty said. “First woman to be married to a stallion. Yeah, not as common as mares marrying men, and probably won’t be for a number of reasons.” He finished off his current mug then went for the other. “So, you seemed surprised that I was able to make the tunes sound so sweet.”
“Dude, I’ve been personally tuning the songs – by computer, not manually like you – and I have never heard them sound so beautiful before. You earned those brews. What you did with the soundboard is nothing less than sheer magic.”
Dusty wiggled his ears, saying, “All in the ears. I mean, it came in handy when I learned to play a few musical instruments, but without my special talent being instruments, I’m really not good enough to be a musician for a living. Fortunately, I loved music enough anyway to keep at it, so much so that I learned how to tune a guitar by ear. And when I corrected somepony else whose tone was off, that’s when I got my mark.”
“Sounds weird. My friend DJ told me once about them, but her description was far different from what you said. Hers made it sound like a sort of slavery. Then again, she’s been through a lot of crap, so I really can’t blame her for that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly expect a human to understand it, since we ponies barely understand it ourselves. Maybe your friend heard it somewhere on TV or something?”
“Not really. They probably told her when she came here for…personal reasons and she misunderstood. DJ’s good at that,” he said. “All in all, though, she’s a great friend. Known her since childhood and her husband almost as long. They’re good people.”
“So, where you from?”
“Originally, Richmond, in Virginia. But when I was about ten or so, we moved upstate to a small town called Winchester, where I met all my friends. Went to college at UCLA in La-la-land, got a job at the Mighty Met, and haven’t looked back since. What about you?”
“Well, nothing much, really. Grew up in Seaddle, attended Western Equestria University on a musical technician scholarship, then when I escaped with my bachelor’s last year, got offered a job as an engineering intern at HPGF as the engineer for Sweet Strings and her morning classical show. But she got wooed away by HCLS in Manehattan because they got a computer system, so the boss has been trying to figure out what to do with me since.”
“So how’d you, ah, humanize, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He grinned. “Oh, not at all! Well, I remember one year this one guy from the 2034 FiMPro was playing a bunch of reggae classics. He and I got to talk a lot and he got me hooked on reggae – Marley, Peter Tosh, Slightly Stoopid, UB40, Long Beach Dub Allstars, Mana’o Company and all that. So, based on that, I took a summer to take a trip to human-Earth. Man, was it an eye-opener! I fell in love with the place and culture, and when I got back, I joined the local Hooves and Hands club – it’s a club that espouses human culture here in Equestria. One thing led to another, and…well, here I am.
“But bear in mind not everyone likes the fact that I’m humanized. I mean, yeah, Lovely puts up with it, but my parents hate it, and personally, I think the boss has it down on me because I self-humanized. I suspect he’s a Purehoofer, but that’s just my guess.”
“Purehoofer?”
“How do I explain this?” Dusty said. “Well, best way to call a hobble is a hobble. They’re speciest jerks who think that it’s the divine will of Holy Celestia and Sacred Luna – and for the record, neither of them actually care for those terms even if they’re our goddesses – to kick out all ‘uncleans’ of non-pony blood and to seal the borders forever. Really weird stuff, but that’s what they believe.”
“Yeah, you’re always going to run into extremists. God knows we’ve got so many of them on my Earth, it’s not even funny. But, hey, that’s why I got into the world music business in the first place. If everyone understood we all groove to the same music everywhere, we’d be better off: humans, ponies, and the others, y’know?”
“No kidding, I hear you there. But anyway, I know the boss has got it in for me, but I’m fine with who I am and strive to be the best I can be. Like Bob Marley said, ‘I don’t have prejudice against myself.’”
“Well, here’s to that,” Logan toasted, and the two clinked their beers.
Over the course of weeks, the two became fast friends and very inseparable. Dusty was completely floored when he realized that Logan had grown up with none other than the Lost Foal herself. It culminated in a call that Logan made to DJ one day while they were at the bar and the three of them talked forever and a day, sharing stories and anecdotes. It was also during that time that Dusty introduced Logan to his significant other.
“Hey, Logan, I’d like you to meet my special mare. Logan, this is Lovestruck. Lovely, this is Logan.”
Logan offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Lovestruck.”
“A pleasure as well,” the mare said, offering her own hoof. She was a mare with a pure white coat and a hot pink mane-and tail, both of those colors bringing out her brilliant green eyes. Her cutie mark was that of cupid’s bow and arrow, or rather as Equestrianis called it, the Love Arrow, a mythical bow and arrow infused with the power of a love potion. She was very cute, bright and bubbly, but unlike her coltfriend she wasn’t into the “humanize” fad, but she loved him enough to humor him. Under any other circumstance, Logan would consider asking her out, but stepping on a friend’s tail wasn’t his style.
“So, what do you do for a living, Lovestruck?”
“Well, my special talent’s alchemy, specifically love potions and aphrodisiacs,” she said, blushing slightly. “Unfortunately,” she sighed, “since those kinds of potions are prohibited under Crown law, I spend most of my time working as the Archmagus’ secretary. Don’t get me wrong: Twilight Sparkle’s a great boss, but I’d rather be doing my job as an alchemist rather than firing off emails, you know?”
“Yeha, I can hear you on that one. When I first was doing the DJ scene, I got stuck over at KKGO. The kind of music I listen to and I’m working a country & western station? Not good at all. Fortunately, they didn’t hire me on when I graduated but KMET did.”
“That’s good to hear. I know Dusty’s wanted his own show for the longest time.” The pegasus’ eyes went wide at his fillyfriend’s revelation, and he nearly spat out his drink.
“Well, tell ya what, Dusty: I was planning on playing nothing but reggae for this week’s show, but…why don’t you do the honors? I’ll let you pick out the sets, you can go on air, the works.”
“You mean that?”
“Oh, absolutely. But if you screw up, you are so paying for the brews that night.”
Dusty grinned madly; it was the opportunity of a lifetime. “Deal!”
“And that’s our show for tonight, folks. Tune in next week when we bring you the greatest grooves from both globes here on The Outernational Incident.” Without having to wait for a signal, Dusty switched over to the cutaway music that would play for the next few minutes until the next DJ came on.
“Hey, Dusty, ‘nother great job!” Logan said. He’d enjoyed the three months of working with Dusty, and with his time in the FiMPro coming to a close at the end of the month and his return to LA, an idea had come to him. He talked it over with his boss in LA and if they could get a work visa for the pegasus, they could slot him in as the weekend DJ over at sister station KRTH as a start. Logan had grown tired of seeing Fuzzy Warbles constantly betrate his friend, and frankly if Dusty wasn’t appreciated here, there was certainly room for a talent like him in the airwaves of Southern California, and Logan would happily see to that.
“Thanks, Logan,” the pegasus said as he slipped off his headphones, starting to clean up his station and putting everything in Booth A to passive so the folks taking over in Booth B could start their show with no problem. But as he starting changing the deck over to passive, he winced, his “hands” going to his head.
Logan noticed immediately. “Hey man, you okay?”
“Yeah, just a slight headache. I’ve got a healing charm in my desk; I can use that to get rid of it after I’m done.”
“Excellent. So, we on for tonight?”
Dusty shrugged. “Sorry, man, but Lovely wants to see a film tonight, and I promised her.”
“Well, them’s the breaks. Guess I’ll just have to drink the pub dry of all your beers,” the human laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, I’ve got a few more things to finish up here. Do me a favor and meet Lovely down in the lobby for me, will you?”
“Sure. Just don’t take too long, loverboy,” Logan said as he stepped out the door of Booth A.
Lovestruck gushed as Logan outlined his plan for Dusty; she’d figured out something was up weeks ago, but she knew Logan wouldn’t steer her coltfriend wrong. “Oh, Logan, that’s just wonderful! Thank you; that will make Dusty so happy!”
“Don’t thank me, Lovestruck. He earned it. I see the way Fuzzy Warbles treats him, and my general manager, Wu—”
“Wu?”
“Chinese name; his full name’s Wu Kee Won, but he just goes by Wu. Anyway, Wu says he’ll get him the weekend slot at K-Earth and then on the weekdays, he can have the senior sound engineer slot there. Oh, and before I forget….” Logan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Lovestruck.
She took it in her telekinesis, wrapping it in a field of soft red as she read it. A look of surprise came over her face and she looked at the human in shock. “You…is this real?”
He nodded. “Dusty loves you, and he’s told me several times he’s thought about popping the question. But he can’t do that if he’s there and you’re here, so…I have a friend, biochem professor at UCLA, and he works part-time at a private school in Santa Monica. He told me there’s an opening for a full-time chemistry teacher there at the school, and since you’re a Guild-trained alchemist, you probably know quite a bit about chemistry as well. And, to be honest, it’s far easier to get a work visa for a teacher than it is for a sound engineer, so….”
She leapt up, hugging him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m sure Twilight will miss having me as her secretary, but she won’t complain once I tell her! This is just great, Logan! I can’t thank you eno—”
Lovestruck’s words were cut off as the doors to the station were slammed open and several paramedic unicorns raced into the building. One of them stopped in front of them long enough to demand, “Where’s the broadcast booths?”
“Third floor, round the corner and down the hall. First door is Booth A, second’s Booth B.”
“Okay, life’s on the line folks!” the paramedic shouted. “Let’s move, move, move!” With the elevator taking too long, the unicorns thundered up the stairs, racing towards their destination.
“Something’s wrong,” Logan said. “You stay here, I’ll head up.” He turned, only to run into Slow Jams, the overnight DJ. The look on her face was one of utter shock.
“We’ve gotta get going. Canterlot General,” she said, still somewhat shaken.
“What’s wrong, Slow?”
“It’s Dusty,” the deep blue earth pony told Logan and Lovestruck in turn. “I’m so sorry, Lovestruck, so sorry.”
Alarms went off in the unicorn’s mind. “What happened?”
“Dusty…he started having convulsions…. They’re teleporting him directly to trauma care, so we have to go!”
The smell of antisceptic chemicals was something very familiar to Logan. He’d smelled it plenty of times when he was as Special Guest DJ at a nightclub session or whatever. He knew the scent because that’s usually what masked the vomit, sweat and other smells in the clubs. He really didn’t care much for that smell; in fact, his home pretty much smelled like violets and vanilla, something that a prior girlfriend had done, and scents he much preferred as opposed to isopropyl and other disinfectants.
But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered right now was that Dusty was lying on the bed in an intensive care ward, dying. The doctor had jarring information for both Logan and Lovestruck: Dusty suffered from a genetic birth defect called a “unicorn’s curse.” What it was, simply was that during the time he spent forming in his mother’s womb, Dusty was either going to be born as a unicorn or a pegasus. His body, for the most part, developed along pegasus lines, but his head had different ideas. Setting in place an area for a horn without actually having one, his body’s magic tended to course to that spot on his head, causing migraine headaches. But even as it was doing that, it was also creating a tumor within his skull. The tumor had grown big enough now that it was putting extreme pressure on his brain, and had grown too big for Dusty to have it removed surgically. In short, things weren’t looking up for him and the chances of survival were thin to say the least.
What made the whole thing worse was that even as bad as the tumor was, by human standards, it could still be removed. But even twelve years after first contact, Equestria didn’t have that kind of medical technology yet and humanity’s own medical techniques were still filtering over. If they’d caught it sooner, a pace like Johns Hopkins or Cedar-Sinai could have taken care of it in a heartbeat with a total chance of recovery. But this stage in the game, it was too late; the doctor regrettably told both Logan and Lovestruck that it had been nothing less than a miracle that he’d survived the seizure. But that had done terminal damage, and every second more he lived was well into borrowed time.
At Logan’s side, the unicorn fought away tears. She loved him too much to have him see her like this; she’d keep a straight face and a calm heart, even as her mind was roiling and her very emotions threatened to betray the stoic look on her face. He saw that and knew it wasn’t doing her any favors. “Lovestruck…don’t bother with the brave face. You’re allowed to break down,” he said, putting an arm around the distraught mare.
She leaned into his shoulder. “How could this happen? It’s so rare, almost unheard of, and they could have taken care of it if they just found it sooner!” she moaned. “I don’t want to lose him, Logan! I’ll be lost without him!” Logan said nothing; what could he say without sounding foolishly optimistic or lying?
“Please come back,” she whispered, completely breaking down.
Eventually, she cried enough that exhaustion took over and mercifully put her into unconsciousness. It was that time that Logan somehow knew his friend was awake. “She’s out like a light, Dusty.”
“Good,” he said in a barely audible rasp. “Hate seeing her like this.” His voice was so devoid of volume Logan had to sidle up to the bed in order to hear his friend.
“Well, you’re going to get out of this, Dusty. Just be here a while and then right as ra—”
“Don’t lie; it doesn’t suit you,” the stallion said weakly. “I heard what the doctors told you. Plus, somehow, I always knew. I’ve had headaches all my life, but I always thought it was just migraines. Now I know better.”
“Dude, you had better get better. She needs you. Plus, well….” With that, Logan spilled everything about his plans for the two of them, the jobs he’d lined up and even asked DJ herself to see if she could swing up to LA from her home in San Diego one weekend to do some apartment hunting for them near the station.
“Thanks, Logan, but you know as well as I that I’m not going to see that day. But I want you to promise me something, and I mean it. I want you to get her out of here. She needs to leave Equestria.”
“Not without y—”
Dusty struggled to sit up. “No. She needs to. She’s suffering and stagnating in her job, and it’s tearing her apart. It’s the kind of job that no matter where she goes, she’s going to be stigmatized by her cutie mark, and if she can’t ever use her special talent? Well, she’s already seeing a counselor for a couple of CMFIS incidents. And no, I’m not going to tell you what that means; you’ll have to ask the doctor.” He coughed slightly, looking weak and sallow as though his life was rushing out of him. “Promise me you’ll get her out of here. Make sure she gets that life she deserves, Logan.”
“What, you asking me to marry your fillyfriend? Are you nuts? She’s not even my typ…well, she is, to be honest but I don’t screw friends over – metaphorically or literally.”
“No, I’m not saying that – I’m not in charge of her heart anymore. But what I’m asking you is to be the friend for her that she’ll need soon. If not, she’ll go mad, and I’d give up my humanization before I ever let her go through that.” The look in his eyes was one of complete and total determination. “Please, Logan. There’s no one else I can ask but you.”
At that point, a nurse poked her head into the room. “Visiting time’s over in ten minutes, folks.”
“I will,” he vowed to his friend. In turn, Dusty nodded his head.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” Logan said as he rose from his seat. “Lovestruck and I will be by tomorrow, cool?”
“That’d be awesome, thanks,” Dusty replied, but the look in his eyes said what his mouth would not: I won’t be here tomorrow and you know it.
Logan nodded ever so slightly, a silent goodbye to his friend. He then turned to Lovestruck, waking her up and telling her it was time to leave. In turn, she rushed over to her coltfriend’s side, stroking his mane and kissing him repeatedly. “Get well soon, my love. I need you – you’re my best friend and the love of my life and I can’t live without you,” she whispered, voice quavering and tears soaking the fur near her eyes, as her words soon gave way to another round of broken sobbing.
“Please, Logan, remember what I said,” Dusty told him. “She’s taking it hard.”
“I got this,” Logan promised, pulling the mare back to all fours reluctantly. Knowing it was the last time he’d ever see his friend, he gave him a grin and said, “See you later, Dusty.”
“Yeah.” The smile on the pegasus’ face was beatific. “See you on the flipside, my friend.”
A rain-soaked, dreary day, Logan noted. Perfect day for a funeral. While he knew the weather in Alter-Earth was magically controlled – a couple of weeks after the pair met, Dusty had fixed Logan up with his meteorologist cousin Cloud Kicker; she was nice though she seemed to have sex on the brain – the rain had been scheduled for some time now and they couldn’t postpone it, not even for a funeral. One of the various differences between a funeral here and one back home.
As Logan watched the traditional Equestriani funeral and wake, he noted that save for who was invoked – Luna, in this case, as goddess of the night – and some other bits here and there, such as the weather, in the end the majority of the funeral ceremony remained the same: the same loss, the same sorrow, the same pain, the same hope that their loved ones would be reunited in the afterlife. Also, the same black clothing – as a formal event, it was one of the few cases where ponies wore clothing.
And the procession of ponies came: those who gave their condolences to Dusty’s parents and siblings, to close friends, and last but not least, to Lovestruck. Being at Lovestruck’s side for moral support, Logan just thought of how cosmically unfair this all was; even the sky itself, though symbolically, was crying over the loss of his friend. How could anyone have missed it for years? How had it not harmed him before? None of it made any sense; death never did, really, but especially this time.
The pair continued to stand there, Logan in a suit and Lovestruck, wearing a simple black dress, as each of the attendants said their condolences as Logan held the umbrella for the two of them. Finally the crowds thinned and in the end, it was just the two of them, watching as the earth ponies started to bury the casket.
“You ready to go?” Logan said gently. If she wasn’t, he’d wait as long as she wanted.
“I’m not sleeping with you, you know that.” The words came out of Lovestruck’s mouth bitterly. “I know you’re attracted to me, Logan, but I just buried the stallion I love, so, to use a human term, go fuck off.”
“Lovestruck, you’re a friend of mine – and that never entered my mind.”
“I know he told you to take care of me, like I’m some kind of fragile object.” She looked at him, and he could see that her words weren’t meant in malice – she was afraid.
“You’re afraid of living without him, aren’t you?” he asked. She nodded. “He asked me to take care of you, yes, but my thoughts were to have you take that job in SanMo and start anew. And I’ll take care of you. We’re friends. I won’t let you down. But in no case did that ever mean I was planning to sleep with you. Hell, I turned down Cloud Kicker, for Christ’s sake!”
“You did?” she said with some surprise. He nodded. “Wow, nobody’s turned her down before. Look…I’m sorry for accusing you, then. It’s just…I just miss him so much,” she sobbed, hopping to her forelegs and embracing Logan, crying into his shoulder, soaking it in an instant. Logan held her tightly, letting her cry her heart out.
Several minutes later, he asked, “So, do you want what he wanted? Or does being a secretary suit you?”
She sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“So was he. Moving to another country isn’t exactly the easiest of things, you know – especially when it’s on another Earth filled with an entirely different species. In the end, though, it’s all up to you.”
She gave him a teary smile, but this time, it was one of trust. “So, what’s my part of the rent going to be?”
With Slow Jams doing the sound engineering for him, Logan spoke the final words of his broadcasting career in Equestria: “And I’d like to thank all of my listeners here in Canterlot for keeping me company during these last three months of the FiMPro. Wax Spinner will be back in his usual slot starting Monday and for those of you who visit LA, you can catch me from 2 – 6 weekday afternoons and on The Outernational Incident, which I’m glad to say will still be simulcast between LA and Canterlot.”
The next part was the hardest for him to say. “And for my last song, this goes out to a stallion I met here while on my tour, someone who tragically passed away last week. Dusty Grooves was one hell of an engineer and one hell of a friend, and I’ll be poorer for his loss – and you’ll all be poorer for missing out on one of the great unknowns in deejaying. So with that in mind, my last song’s a dedication to my friend Dusty. See you on the flipside, amigo – for you, here’s Bob Marley’s ‘Redemption Song.’”
The voice of the venerable reggae singer filled the speakers of listeners throughout Canterlot.
“Old pirates, yes, they rob I,
Sold I to the merchant ships,
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit.
“But my hand was made strong
By the ‘and of the Almighty
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
“Won’t you help to sing
This songs of freedom
‘Cause all I ever have –
Redemption songs,
Redemption songs.”
Logan signaled to Slow to cue off the internal feed. He took off his headphones, and with that, things were done. “Thanks for all your help, Slow.”
She smiled wistfully. “Gonna suck not having you around, Logan. Gonna suck more without having Dusty here. He was the best of us.”
“Yes,” Logan said, just as sad. “Yes, he was.”
“And I’m going to miss the ratings you brought my station!” Fuzzy Warbles brought his rotund self into the broadcast booth. “Too bad it costs too much to have you humans around. You guys are good, but rough around the edges – just like that skingraft of a pegasus.”
Slow Jams gasped. Logan, however, was a little more forward. Punching as hard as he could, he hit Fuzzy Warbles across the face. The unicorn, not prepared for an attack, went down in an instant.
“You are a selfish, greedy speciest motherfucker, and I’m glad Dusty doesn’t have to put up with another one of your harassing tirades,” the human snarled. “By the way, you’ll be interested to know that I filed a complaint with the FiMPro Office and the Crown Telecommunications Agency. They’ll be looking into the charge that you’ve been discriminating against your employees. I’d say have a nice life…but I hope you don’t.” Hand stinging but feeling triumphant, he walked out of the booth, leaving an unconscious unicorn and a cheering colleague behind.
A few weeks later, he was at his home in Montebello, California, a short drive on Interstate 10 from the station. At the moment, Logan was pulling boxes from a moving van, stacking them around the house. “Mike, thanks for coming up to help me with all this. I owe you.”
Mike Hengst grinned. “Yes, because the thing I wanted to do most the first weekend back after being deployed for six months is help one of my friends move his girlfriend into his house,” he laughed.
“Dude, she’s not my girlfriend; she’s my roommate. Lovestruck will be living here for a little bit until she can find an apartment in Santa Monica so she can be closer to her job.”
“Oh, please!” Carrying a heavy dresser entirely by herself as if it were weightless, DJ teased her old friend. “Logan, you forget that we’ve known you for years. She’s got girlfriend material written all over her! Trust me. By this time next year, you’ll be asking for Valerie’s phone number so she can cater the wedding.”
“DJ, that’s not funny,” Logan sniffed. “She just buried her boyfriend a month ago. They were going to be living with me for a spell until they got their bearings here – and she kept going because he would have wanted her to.”
The look on DJ’s eyes was now one of embarrassment. “Fuck. Sorry, dude. I didn’t know. Just thought she was some babe you hooked up with in Canterlot.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Seriously, though, you going to be fine being roomies with a living chocolate factory?” DJ gave her husband a mock-furious stare; he ignored it. “And no, unlike my speaks-before-thinking but loving wife, I mean, will you be able to help her? It’s going to probably be a very hard time for her, and you might have to deal with her heart rebounding – hell, her name is Lovestruck, for crying out loud.”
“I’ll do what I can for her. She needs this time to start anew,” he told his friends. “Besides, I consider her off-limits. That might change in the future, but I don’t plan on it. Dusty was a good friend and I’d be a total dick if I started putting the moves on his very vulnerable gal just after everything that’s occurred.” He leaned against the garage door, adding, “Plus, I can count on you two, since you only live just on the other end of the 5, right?”
Before anyone could say anything further, a cute female voice said, “Hey, I brought some drinks.” Lovestruck came walking out of the house. She was upright now, wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans. She looked comfortable in them and looked very good.
“Yup, I give it six months,” DJ whispered to Mike. “Nine, tops.” Mike gave her an annoyed look, and she looked back at him, confused. “Jeez, what’d I say?”
“Nevermind, hon,” Mike drolled, rolling his eyes.
Lovestruck passed out the cans of soda to everyone, floating them with her magic over to each person. “DJ, Mike, thank you both for helping me move in. I very much appreciate it. I only hope I can prove myself worthy of the life that Dusty wanted for us.”
Logan put a friendly arm around her, saying, “You will. Trust me, you will.” To his surprise – and somewhat worry – she leaned into his embrace, a comforted, and possibly content, look coming on her face.
“Man, too quiet.” DJ went over to the radio Logan had in the garage and turned it on; it was set to his station anyway. To the surprise of both Logan and Lovestruck, the last refrain of a particular stallion’s favorite song played:
“‘Cause all I ever have –
Redemption songs,
Redemption songs.”
The group was deathly quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say; both Mike and DJ could see the uncomfortable and disquiet look on the other two. Finally, Lovestruck smiled, a tear of joy welling in her eye, and she took the can in her hoofspace, raising it in a toast to the stallion she loved. “To the future.” Everyone toasted the same, and as the four talked, Lovestruck looked at Logan. She regretted having said what she did to him. It was clear he cared about her – not love, at least not in the romantic sense. And that, for now, was what she needed for the moment, for her own little redemption song.