//------------------------------// // No Stairway // Story: An Establishment Of Exclusivity // by Snakeskin Ducttape //------------------------------// Spencer was vaguely aware that the brain is in some ways like a computer made out of fat, and that a lot of it comes down to binary values. He didn’t know all the terms, but that you could be, like, energized and euphoric, which makes you happy in a party sense of the word, the way a lot of people were a scant few hours ago in this locale. Or euphoric and relaxed, feeling content, or you could be energized and scared, like you are when you’re feeling cornered. He shook his head, hoping to shake loose some of the chemicals that made him not tired. It probably didn’t work that way, but the placebo effect can be pretty effective. Then he continued sweeping the floor, walking on his hind legs and keeping his balance with the broom. Francis, as always, managed to look great despite being slumped over the bar and looking over receipts and papers, while Lloyd stood beside him and took inventory of the liquid refreshments as he cleaned the bar. Sandra was sitting on a barstool, resting her head on the bar, either asleep or looking like it. On a bean bag in the corner, a changeling snored in his usual spot. That, the faint rustling of paper, and the clinking and clacks of Lloyd and Francis as they swept up the remains of the night’s business was the only sound at the moment. Spencer calmly contemplated another slight difference between Equestria and his old home as he worked. Here, they favored the bottles wrapped in straw, and wooden mugs. He didn’t complain, since Equestrian hoof-wear wasn’t an as advanced and established art as cobblery was back home, and so walked around with bare extremities, not being too worried about stepping on shards of glass. He swept a pile of refuse into a bag, stepped down to three legs, and used one foreleg to swing the bag over his back, still not very familiar or comfortable with the way most ponies, especially earth ponies like him, favored using their mouths for most manipulations, and walked on three legs towards the exit. As he placed the bag by the ajar doors leading outside, he noticed the familiar white and light green shape standing outside in the slight chill, took a moment to register it, and sighed. He poked his head out through the doors and looked at the unicorn slowly pacing outside. “Lyra? What are you doing here?” he asked, dropping his polite authority that he was so accustomed to speak with outside the doors, and replaced it with genuine concern. Lyra jumped a little, and looked at Spencer, startled. “Uh, nothing! I was just, uhm…” Spencer looked at her slowly, before opening the doors all the way. “Well, come on inside. It’s cold out here.” “Really!? I, uh, I mean, thank you,” Lyra said, and slunk in under Spencer’s almost hulking stature with slightly worrying submissiveness, trying to both seem grateful and almost feeling like she was sneaking in uninvited. “‘s alright,” Spencer said, and led her into the club proper. The cavern-like interior was populated by bars, tables, and a few booths, with a scene taking up the far wall, reachable by descending a few comfortably wide flights of stairs, which like most of the rest of the floor was covered in slightly worn but not quite run-down carpets. Lloyd and Francis looked up at the sight of Lyra, and Sandra stirred as her ears angled themselves towards the intruding sounds of her hooffalls. “Let’s get you something to eat,” Spencer said, and led Lyra to the bar, sitting himself down next to Sandra and gesturing at an empty barstool. Lyra took in her surroundings as a scholar would an old ruin, and gratefully sat down on the offered stool. “Hey, Lyra,” Lloyd and Francis said. “Hi,” she said, as Sandra lifted her head from her hooves. “Hey, you okay?” Spencer gently asked Sandra, who nodded a bit gingerly. “Someone mentioned food,” Lloyd said. “We need to restock the kitchen, but I should be able to whip something up.” “Thank you,” Lyra carefully said, while Sandra smiled and gently nodded again. Lloyd walked slowly to keep himself from stumbling when he went into the kitchen, while Francis put down the papers and groaned, marking where he was and sliding them into a folder. Lyra kept looking around, and noticed the fast asleep changeling in the corner, recoiling slightly. “Oh don’t worry about him,” Francis assured her. “That’s just Barney. He’s harmless.” “... Okay,” Lyra said, trying to sound convinced. “Is that actually his name?” a smiling Sandra asked, her voice raspy from sleep. “It really is,” Francis said, sniggering lightly along with Spencer and Sandra. Lyra looked at them, confused, but the laughter was good natured, and she felt herself slowly being put at ease, as Lloyd came back out of the kitchen, stumbling on his hind legs and holding a plate in his forehooves, and deposited it on the bar, before pulling up a chair himself and slumping into it, Francis following his example. “Heated burger buns and… condiments,” he said, not sure how best to present the feast. “Should have some pickles around, and we’ve got milk, and cream, apple and orange juice, chocolate powder too I think… salted nuts perhaps.” “Thank you,” Lyra said, a simple fare enough for her at the moment. They gently dug in, Sandra leaning against Spencer as she slowly had some orange juice, as Lyra kept looking around, taken in by the mostly, by pony standards, mundane surroundings. “So, uh,” she eventually asked. “You have stairs.” The others glanced at each other, not sure where this came from. “Uh, yeah,” Spencer confirmed. “How so?” “I was just… wondering about that sign outside that said ‘no stairway’.” They sniggered among themselves, while waving away her concerns. “Don’t worry about it,” Lloyd said. “Just an in-joke. It would take ages to explain.” “An in-joke for the ponies… creatures, who come here?” “Yep.” “So… is it true? The rumors that you’re all from… somewhere else?” “Everypony, everyone, is from somewhere they are not now,” a new, gentle and soothing voice said. “Whether space, or time, or just as ponies.” Everyone whipped their heads to the newcomer standing in front of the bar, Lyra especially so. “Princess Celestia!” she said, and started stumbling out of her seat to bow. Celestia gently held up a hoof and stopped her, smiling gently at her. “Heya, majesty,” the other four ponies echoed. Lyra looked at them in shock, feeling as though she should be outraged by the casual manner that they addressed the Princess of the Sun with, but at the same time intrigued, and in some ways impressed. Besides, the princess didn’t seem to mind. “Good morning, my dears,” Celestia said. “Did you have a pleasant evening?” “We did. Did you?” Lloyd asked. Celestia sat down by the bar and smiled at Lloyd. “Why, you wish it was so, despite not inviting me?” “Oh sure,” Spencer said. “We don’t keep ponies out because we don’t like you, we just… wanna keep to ourselves a little.” “Why though?” Lyra asked. Spencer’s eyebrows did a little dance as he tried to use his spent faculties to come up with an answer. “Oof. Bunch of reasons. Why does anyone want to spend time with their group and not in another group?” “Don’t have to explain ourselves whenever we talk about things we’re all about, for one thing,” Lloyd said, and turned to his fellow club owners, and Sandra to continue an old conversation. “Oh, and speaking of which, I pick… The Master Sword.” “Chainsaw from Doom,” Francis said. “Ooh, hmm. The Master Sword can shoot beams though.” “The chainsaw turns the bad guys into fountains of ammo in the remake.” “Hmm. good point.” “Yoshi the dinosaur,” Sandra added, eyes still closed. The stallions were quiet for a few seconds, before nodding. “Yep, I think that’s the winner,” Lloyd said. Lyra was completely lost by this back and forth, and looked between the ponies around her. “So… you guys really are… from somewhere else?” “If the concept of where applies to this whole thing,” Francis noted. “I certainly didn’t stroll over to Equestria.” “What do you mean?” “That they come from another plane of existence,” Celestia said. ”Transported here by unknown means, and their forms changed to those of the native sapient creatures of our world.” “But why?” Lyra asked, looking up at her princess. “Beats me,” Spencer said. “One day I went to bed the same as any other day, and I woke up like this.” He held up a hoof and wiggled it in front of his face. “We don’t know why,” Celestia said, somberly. “We’ve been trying to find out, but our knowledge of other worlds is limited, we barely even know how to look for them, much less send ponies to them. And so they are here, stranded in a strange land, arriving without means, and only a few with anyone near or dear to them.” “... That’s awful.” The ponies around Lyra smiled as they calmly ate. “We can’t know for sure,” Sandra said. “But I suspect that there are worse worlds to end up in than this.” Lyra looked around at the four ponies, and the still snoring changeling in the corner, with sadness coloring her intrigue. She now found something… somber, and yet admirable, about their smiles, the way they carried themselves, and the comfort they found in each others’ company. “Wow. I’m sorry,” she said, her ears sagging. “Hey, don’t be,” Lloyd said, waving her words away. “If it weren’t for you ponies, this would have been a lot worse.” “And there are other benefits,” Francis said, waggling his eyebrows at his mirror image in a platter hanging in front of him and making kissing noises. “Francis here wasn’t much of a looker before turning into a pony,” Lloyd helpfully supplied, in response to Celestia and Lyra’s expressions. “And I didn’t have a very impressive stature,” Spencer said, making Sandra giggle as he playfully flexed the large muscles she was resting her head against. “Don’t even need to go to the gym.” “You’d like it there.” Sandra said. “Less techno-pop than back home.” “And you could keep working on your project,” Lloyd said. “What project?” Sandra asked. “He’s trying to come up with enough lyrics to make the chorus for In The Navy last for five minutes.” “Pfft! Any progress?” “Nothing much,” Spencer admitted. “So far the only thing that sounds good is, it’ll be a pleasant stay- pack your bags and sail away, and, learn to fish and to tie knots- tell us and we’ll warm your cots.” “Heh, nice… did you know they weren’t actually into guys?” “Only some of them weren’t,” Francis noted, holding up a hoof. “How can they not have been? With those lyrics I mean,” Francis asked. “You know, this reminds me of home back before the smartphone days, before you could just look it up whenever,” Sandra noted. “Kinda yeah,” Lloyd agreed. “And appropriately enough, we’re mostly playing older songs.” The four ponies smiled amusedly to themselves, and started humming the tone of the song in question. “Whoa, okay, enough,” Spencer eventually said. “We have visitors.” They turned to look at Lyra and Celestia, who looked utterly lost by the exchange. They were interrupted from trying to get some clarification from the sound of the doors opening, and three ponies and a gryphon casually walking in, talking and yawning amongst themselves. “Hey, guys,” a mare in the front said, before they noticed Celestia and Lyra. “Oh! Uuh, good morning, your majesty.” “Good morning… Charlotte, I believe?” Celestia ventured, diplomatically, having shortly met all of the newcomers at least once. “Good memory,” Charlotte said, and carefully turned her attention to the club’s owners. “We, uh, just came to pick up our stuff.” “Sure. It should be where you left it. You guys all keep track of which equipment belongs to who,” Lloyd said. “Back door can be opened from the inside, as usual.” There hadn’t been a traditional line-up of bands the night before, and there usually weren’t either. The humans put their magically provided special talents for music to good use, as it meant that they could switch out members between songs, or even on the fly. A vocalist with an appropriate voice, or someone playing an instrument currently not on the stage, could jump in from another band, or even from the audience, as the show required. This made the number of bands available the same as the combination of people in the locale. “Great job yesterday by the way,” Sandra said. “I thought I was gonna melt during a few of those solos.” Gryphons tended to carry themselves with a great amount of pride, and there were some among them who never quite managed to pull it off, especially in pony lands where their sharp features and larger bulks made them stand out, and most gryphons doubled down on their appearance. The gryphon in the band however, brought to mind that peculiar phenomenon that could sometimes be observed, where a teenager is happy to be an unassuming presence, but has a great growth spurt that gives them a stature greater than all of their peers and most adults, and they try and weave as gracefully as they can through their lives before they get comfortable in their new forms, often with a sort of constant, unspoken apology for any unintentional looming. He stiffened a little, before relaxing when he saw Sandra’s genuine expression, in sharp contrast to when he and his fellow guitarist had stood, wide-legged, manes and shaggy feathers tossing wildly, and wings wide as their hooves and talons danced across the strings of their instruments, in an entrancing extravaganza of showmanship and sounds. “Thanks,” he said, smiling behind his blush. “Oh, hey, Clive, Clive, do the thing!” Spencer said, grinning widely. The gryphon just groaned. “Oh come on, man. Sandra here hasn’t seen it.” Clive looked at Sandra’s confused face, as she looked at Spencer for any hint of what he was talking about. “Fine,” he said, trying to keep from smiling to himself as his fellow band members took up positions next to the other ponies and looked at him expectantly, with Lyra and Celestia looking on in confusion. Clive took a few steps away from the group, stared off into the distance, perpendicular to the watching ponies, with a serious expression, then suddenly turned to them, and shifted his expression to one of comically over-dramatic surprise and alarm. The ponies bent over from laughter, clutching their stomachs as they guffawed loudly. Except Lyra and Celestia, who looked at the others with a mix of worry and amusement. It wasn’t that he didn’t look funny, but they couldn’t see how it warranted a reaction this intense among the otherwise comparatively stone faced newcomers. As the laughter died down to giggles, the band moved on down towards where they had played the night before, and moved backstage to collect their belongings. “You guys all have such cool names,” Lyra said, a bit wistfully. Their hosts looked a little taken aback, before nodding at her. “Thank you,” Spencer said. “I think pony names are pretty cool as well.” “Some of our names sound like pony names,” Francis pointed out. “Like Red Brown,” Lloyd said. “His name is still Reb, with a b,” Spencer said. “What other ones?” “Fifi Trixibelle,” Sandra added. “And her.” “The one with the coolest name, here or in Equestria, who is that?” Francis said. “Fraser Kilmister,” Sandra submitted. “I like Princess Celestia,” Spencer said, unabashedly, in front of the pony in question. “It has a really nice ring to it.” Celestia looked taken aback for just a fraction of a second, before nodding in recognition to Spencer. “Thank you,” she said. “Why can’t even Princess Celestia get invited?” Lyra asked. “Uhm, well it’s not that we don’t respect her. Quite the opposite really,” Francis shrugged. “Oh?” an amused Celestia said. “Oh sure,” Spencer agreed. “We just don’t make distinction between social classes.” Celestia cocked her head every so slightly, before speaking. “Truly? Is that a common philosophy where you are from?” “Not really,” Francis freely admitted. “If I had a club back home, I wouldn’t let in silver spooned brats who see themselves as better than others. And yes, I am very much aware of the hypocrisy, thank you very much.” “And one way to tick the ones here off is to not make any distinction between them and commoners,” Lloyd smirked. “Rebel rebel.” Celestia opened her mouth, an amused look on her face, and slowly closed it again, nodding ever so slightly with a small smile and a sigh. “Still, our hats off to you,” Spencer said. “Thank you,” Celestia said, evenly. “May I ask what warrants that?” “We have a saying back home. Shit flows downward,” Lloyd said. “We’ve checked the bottom, and we can barely find any.” Celestia tried to keep from smiling behind the hoof she held up to her mouth, as Lyra’s eyes widened at the language. “I see,” Celestia said, and nodded. “That is encouraging, if a little stressful, to hear from visitors from so far away.” “No pressure,” Francis said, nodding. “I don’t understand.” Lyra cocked her eyebrows. “In any hierarchy, like, say, a nation like Equestria, if one layer is inept, the ones underneath suffers. That Equestria is such a harmonious place speaks very highly of Celestia’s skill as a leader, and in picking in subordinates, and so on,” Spencer explained. Celestia bowed her head slightly in recognition. “Oh, I get it,” Lyra said. “And tell your pretty sister we said that too,” Lloyd said. “I will,” Celestia said, smirking to herself. “All of that.” Lloyd hid his blush behind an overdone smirk. “Your majesty?” Lyra began, carefully. “Can I ask you, how do you feel about ponies not being allowed in here?” Celestia smiled at Lyra, then looked around for a moment before speaking. “One might find it unfair that one group keeps their entertainment and art to themselves, while being free to peruse ours, but there is much more to it than that. You cannot force anypony to share their art. Think of a world where critics are free to snatch away foals’ sketchbooks and hold up the scribbles inside for all to see. It would be ridiculous. “See it like this: I imagine you know a pony or two both here and in Ponyville who thinks of social gatherings as great gifts, and who finds joy in arranging celebrations for others.” Lyra nodded knowingly. “Yes, I really do.” “For those who do not appreciate large gatherings, that is not such a great gift. To them, a more courteous gift would be to not intrude with their presence. Different ponies appreciate different approaches to social situations. All they need to think is that we ponies are better off without their influence, and that is how it is. “You might think that the fair approach is to seal off our culture from these newcomers, and strictly speaking that would be true, but I would not encourage that way of thinking. I want to experience their art, and like the company of a timid cat, I will not get it by forcing my presence upon them. Let them come to us.” “In other words, we’re like timid cats,” Francis said. “I also like how open you are with this,” Spencer noted. “I suspect it will work,” Celestia said, managing to sound matter-of-factly despite her gentle tone. “Do you?” “I do,” Spencer admitted. Lyra’s ears drooped at the sight of the ponies nodding in defeat. Celestia extended her wings and gently raised her guest’s chins with her primaries. “I am sorry,” she said. “It will be a loss, but please take heart in that it will not be oblivion. Your ways, your art, it is all memories, and so long as you remember, it shall live on.” “We’ve seen it before,” Sandra said. “Back home. It fades. It becomes harder to hold on, and the more obvious it becomes that people struggle to hold on, the more bitter it feels. It… it sucks.” “It does indeed,” Celestia agreed. “As I’m sure you can imagine, I have been happy many times in my life, and to this day, I wish that those moments could go on forever.” As her gaze slowly travelled across the ponies, they felt as if she let them glimpse some of the seemingly bottomless amount of joy and sorrow in her life. “There is one advice often said warningly,” she continued. “But I say it with all my heart. Enjoy it while it lasts.” With that, she rose up, and walked out of the club. “Until next time, my dears.” The ponies looked at each other, smiles slowly forming on their lips. Spencer raised his glass, albeit only with a bit of orange juice in the bottom. “Still going strong,” he said. The other raised theirs in response, and almost barked their agreements. “Yeah.” “Hear hear.” Lyra’s ears rose up from the heartened display. “I… if I ever hear any of your songs… I promise I won't play them to other ponies,” she said. "I'll keep them to myself." “For now,” Lloyd said. “One day, you might be the first pony to play alien music.” Lyra smiled beneath her timid blush, as the others coaxed her to raise her glass as well. They’d have to toast with proper beverages later, but this would suffice for now.