Spilled Ink

by Fiddlove Enfemme

7 - Performing

Today was the day. Saturday.

It was raining. Hard. I think I heard some thunder earlier too. Not a day for wandering the streets, although I'd still be popping by the Senior's Centre for some musical enrichment later.

I found Starlight passed out at the kitchen table on top of her paperwork, two plates with uneaten cucumber sandwiches and a half-empty cup of coffee beside her. It would have been cute, if it didn't indicate a larger problem.

That thing I'd noticed yesterday, how Starlight was trying to prove herself? This was what it was going to look like for a while. This "Twilight" character seemed like a bad role model. Hyper-competent, hyper-productive, setter of unreasonable standards and establisher of inflexible rulebooks. And now, apparently the sole ruler of Equestria. It is entirely acceptable to be as productive and competent as this Twilight was reputed to be, but when someone who isn't nearly as much of a workaholic strives for the same levels, it has an adverse affect. The system Starlight was working with had been designed by her, yes, but it wasn't as flexible as it needed to be.

Now, armchair psychologist I might be, but Starlight had acknowledged it herself. She was under a lot of stress. And she didn't have nearly as much time dedicated to relieving that stress as she should have. Staying up all night doing paperwork wasn't good for you, drinking ungodly amounts of coffee wasn't good for you, working yourself to the bone trying to keep up with unreasonable expectations wasn't good for you.

There were a million things I could have said to Starlight right then, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't have helped much. I merely sighed and carefully peeled her face off of the page she'd fallen asleep on. She'd been drooling in her sleep, which had subsequently dried and stuck the page to her. I made sure not to wake her up. Some sleep was better than no sleep, even if you'd think it's easier to just power through it for an all-nighter.

Come to think of it, it was a little chilly in the kitchen. If I knew how to turn up the heat, I would have. Instead, I found a linen closet and threw a nice woolly blanket over Starlight right where she sat. She stirred slightly, but didn't wake up.

Satisfied, I put on a colourful umbrella hat I found in the coatroom closet, and set out into the rainy morning to see what Gyro had in store for me.

It was miserable out there.

The rain had driven most ponies inside, and the streets were dark and dreary. Thankfully, most of the streets had been done in paving stones, but the ones that hadn't were now veritable mires of mud and water. I avoided those when I could. The umbrella hat did almost nothing, and I was quickly soaked from haunch to withers. My dry head was little consolation.

As I walked, I considered my options. The umbrella hat had seemed like it'd be more effective, but lo and behold, I was wrong. I hadn't been able to find an actual umbrella, at least one how I imagined it to look. Starlight must have made do with some sort of "rain-begone" spell. Perhaps in the future I'd need to look into some kind of rain coat or cloak. Not one of those bright yellow ones, but maybe something green with lots of pockets. Or blue. I liked blue. I could roll with about anything that was simple and practical, yet bold.

I was sorely regretting my rainy day foray by the time I got to Gyro's place. I was about to knock when I noticed a waterlogged note pinned to the door. "For business inquiries, check the back shed" the note said.

Did Gyro actually have a shed? When I was here the other day, I hadn't noticed one. I hadn't noticed something else, either. All of the materials and scraps and bits and bobs that were scattered around her lawn and smithy? All gone. I was more intrigued than concerned, but I made my way around back regardless.

Wouldn't you know, there actually was a shed. It was constructed from rough lumber, with the saw marks still visible. It was unvarnished or painted, and had probably been put up just last night. The roof was done with a similar lumber, but it'd been sealed with pitch to make it waterproof. A stovepipe was sticking out of it at an odd angle, billowing out grey smoke. It smelled very strongly of burnt wood. I could hear the pounding of metal against metal.

I knocked on the door. The pounding stopped, and within moments the door swung open. "Ink Blot! Hi!" exclaimed Gyro.

"Hey Gyro, mind if I come in?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, make yourself at home! Don't stand too close to the anvil or you'll get stung by the sparks, and if you don't like heat, stand away from the forge." Gyro welcomed me inside.

It was rather cozy in here, if a little dark. The wall opposite the door housed a forge, made of stone packed with mortar. The fire inside it sparked and roared as air from a dual-chambered bellows rushed through it. There was a large iron anvil placed dead centre of the shed, stapled with thick metal bands to a large wooden post sunken into the ground. Several pieces of metal were being heated in the forge, and off to the side a long trough was filled with oil for quenching. Along the walls were shelving filled with materials. A lot of that stuff I'd seen the other day, like the bathroom scale, but there had been a host of others added since. There was also a workbench with vises and tool storage space.

Gyro immediately went to work pounding away on a length of metal. As I watched, the glowing yellow metal was being beaten into shape with a series of rhythmic clangs.

"Was this shed here the other day?" I asked.

"When you were here? No. Yesterday? Yes, because I heard on the radio that it was going to rain. I was planning on doing it anyway, and the rain was a good excuse." she shrugged.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

"Did you make this forge too?"

"Yes!" Gyro said happily. She seemed quite pleased with herself.

"...Don't you already have a forge? Attached to the house?" I asked.

"Yes," she sheepishly said. Despite this her hammer didn't miss a beat. "Dang it! I got so caught up in making the shed that I forgot about that. I tend to do that, you know? Get so caught up in one project that I forget about other projects? The Flying Machine is my dream, but I need to do other things too."

"Speaking of, you had some secret thing you were making?"

Gyro's eyes widened when I said that. "One second." she said, moving with a sense of urgency. The piece of metal she was shaping was thrust back into the burning coals of the forge, and her hammer was hung from a loop on her apron. She waved me over to the workbench, where she pointed at something covered by a stained rag. Gyro grasped the rag, then looked at me to wordlessly ask me if I was ready. I nodded.

She whipped the rag off the enigmatic project with a flourish, revealing a strange device. It looked like some kind of... boot, or sandal maybe? There were bands of metal here and there, as well as the skeleton of something I couldn't really make sense of. There were hinges and joints, leather straps and buckles, and odd bits poking out here and there. It confused me. Couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"What do you think?" Gyro asked me excitedly.

I blinked. "What... is it, exactly?"

"Right, I should have you try it on. Give me your left hoof, please!" she instructed. I complied, and within moments the strange device was being fitted to my leg. Only when it was completely on did it begin to make sense.

It was a mechanical claw. The crazy buzzard had actually made me a claw.

"Oh! Before I get distracted, you turn this lever to open and close it. I built it after you left and spent yesterday tweaking it and testing it out while building the shed. Do you like it?"

I sat down on the gravel floor of the shed. Balancing on my haunches, I brought up my other hoof to turn the lever. Open, then closed, open, then closed. I watched the mechanism as it worked, entranced. Looking at the claws as they clenched and released, I felt something in the back of my mind; an itch from beyond the wall of fog left in my mind.

The memory it was trying to reach was buried deep. Regardless, it stirred up my feelings, stirred up my emotions. I didn't know how to feel. Happiness, sadness, mournfulness, anger, regret. It all blended together. But above all that, I felt a deep sense of loss, as well as discomfort. Treading around on these four hooves didn't feel right anymore. My body didn't feel right anymore.

"Ink Blot?" Gyro asked with a twinge of concern.

What would I tell her? Probably not the truth. Especially if I didn't have the whole truth. For now, an honest answer would suffice.

"I'm not entirely sure, Gyro. It's making me ask myself a bunch of questions that I don't have the answers to anymore. I appreciate it a lot, and it'll probably have a lot of utility, but my feelings are a little... mixed." I sighed.

"Oh."

There was a short pause before I replied. "Thank you, regardless. This is still a very interesting device."

I went to take it off, but she stopped me. "Keep it," Gyro smiled halfheartedly. "Maybe it'll help you with your memory?"

"Maybe." I said. I was about to leave, but then I thought of something.

"Want to go to the Senior's Hall?"

The Senior's Hall was a recent construction on the edge of town. Despite this, its architecture seemed to hearken back to decades past. It was made of brick, with large arched windows, standing two stories tall. Inside, there were various rooms and facilities available to the community. There was an exercise room, a small arcade, a sandwich parlour that was partnered with the Bread and Butter Bakery, a pool hall, but the room everyone was going to was an auditorium at the far end of the building. That auditorium had a stage and seating for over a hundred people. That's where the music was going to be.

I had to admit, they had a good setup. The way the auditorium was designed you needed minimal microphone boosting. There were microphones and speakers, yes, but those were more for the use of the two stallions I'd seen last night at the town hall. It seemed the two of them ran the most popular radio station in town, and on days like this they came and broadcast the show. The Senior's Hall, unlike what its name suggested, wasn't just for seniors. Anyone could come in and use the facilities if they so pleased. It's just that anyone below a certain age paid a fee at the front desk.

Thankfully, Gyro and I had gotten here early, and seating was still plentiful. Gyro didn't have any preference, so I picked a spot in the middle right with a good view of the stage, which was obscured by a big red curtain.

"Wow, there's so many ponies here!" Gyro said.

"From what I hear, this is a pretty big event." I replied.

"And such a nice auditorium, too. Griffonstone doesn't have any auditoriums like this. Well, not anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Yeah, everything's so run down," she sighed. "Everygriff is always looking for a leg up on every other griff, so public works don't get much attention. They're all obsessed with being the meanest, because the meanest gets respect."

"I guess they've never heard of altruism." I scoffed.

"Altruism?"

"Basically, caring for others because it's the right thing to do. Being very selfless and giving." I tried to explain.

"Oh, I do that! At least I like the idea of it. It just wasn't practical back in Griffonstone. Those griffs take and take, but they never give. If they think they can get something for free, they'll never pay a cent!"

"Did you ever have trouble with griffons trying to steal from you?" I asked.

Gyro laughed. "They'd try. Once. Never twice. Because I always caught them and made them pay up. Cash, Barter, or Bruises. A good weaponsmith knows how to use the weapons she makes!"

"Serves them right, eh?" I chuckled.

"They weren't even the worst, though! Some of the smarter ones would try to make up sob stories and hoodwink me into giving them free stuff." she continued.

Just then, I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Got a spot for one more?"

I turned around, and was greeted by none other than Pennyfarthing. "Got over a hundred spots, pick the one you like." I greeted her, trying to be funny.

"This one will do," she replied, sitting on the other side of Gyro. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Pennyfarthing, but everypony calls me Penny."

"I'm Gyro! I'm a smith, I like making stuff. I've been trying to invent a flying machine." Gyro introduced herself.

"Oh, so you're the source of all the impact craters around town." Penny chuckled.

"I'm getting better at keeping them in the air!" Gryo replied.

Penny rolled her eyes. "The crater in front of the bakery says otherwise."

"Hey wait a minute, I never crashed in front of any bakery."

"Hey Inks, glad you could make it." said another familiar voice. This time it was Rags, hopping down from the stage and moseying on over to us.

"Well, oddly enough my schedule doesn't have much in it these days, so I managed to squeeze this in." I greeted him.

"Good thing you did. We lucked out this week; a lot of Ponyville's top headliners are in town and were willing to take part in the show. Everypony's here, from the child prodigies to the professional artists who've got record labels. Managed to book the good DJ too. Got a nice hour, hour and a half-ish program, with an intermission for the folks who need it."

"I'm looking forward to it. Good music can make any day better." I replied.

"Good on ya, Inks. Good on ya."

Rags returned to the backstage area, waving at a few fans and friends before entering a doorThe rest of the auditorium filled up rather quickly, forcing the stagehands to bring out extra chairs.Those chairs went like hotcakes, and it then became standing room only. The place was packed with people, all waiting in anticipation of the show.

Without warning I heard something start up from behind the big red curtain. A drum beat, fast paced. Other people noticed it too, as the chatter in the hall quickly died down. The lights dimmed, and a few more instruments joined in. An electric guitar, an accordion, and a fiddle. The four instruments quickly came together in a crescendo as the curtains swung open. The stage was dark until a series of spotlights illuminated it one by one.

On the accordion was a pony I hadn't seen before. He was slim, with a yellow coat and mess of curly brown hair, wearing a poncho with a robber chicken riding on his back. His accordion was held high in his two front hooves.

The guitarist was using one of those steel guitars that lay flat on a table, wired to an array of hoof pedals. somehow, it'd been tuned and filtered to sound like an electric guitar. The guitarist had a set of headphones nested in her spiky blue mane, and vibrant magenta sunglasses. I recognized her, as I'd seen her around town once or twice as she did... something... while listening to music on her headphones.

The third pony was someone I was very surprised to see. It was Pinkie Pie on the drums, kicking a beat that I could only describe as "baller". She waved to the crowd and played a quick riff on the drums, which signaled the transition to the opening song.

In the very centre of the stage was none other than Rags, alternating between playing a fiddle and singing. He had a wonderful voice, and he knew how to use it. Smooth with a lot of range. On the last line of the verse, all four of them sang together. At least I think they did; I didn't actually see the guitarist's mouth move. The song broke for a bit for an accordion solo, but it quickly moved on to the second verse.

Pinkie took the lead on that one. It was a little morbid if I thought about the lyrics, but the way she sang it made it seem a lot nicer than it was. I honestly hadn't expected her to sing, since it was pretty difficult to both sing and drum. Right after they came together on the last line, they broke again for Rags to do a solo on the fiddle.

The third verse was sung by the accordionist. He had a bit of a twang to his singing, but he was solid with it. Right after he was finished, they launched into the final verse.

As they finished singing, they continued to play the music, building up to a resounding finale. At some point, Pinkie had begun playing a tuba at the same time as the drums.

It was... spectacular.

"Hey, hey, folks," Rags said into the microphone. "Hope you liked that one as much as I did. Welcome to the Senior's Hall Saturday Spectacular! Hope you don't mind that we've done something a little different today, putting on a fancy show and all."

Some heckler over on the other side of the auditorium shouted, "Sounds great Rags!"

"Glad you think so, Goldie! Today I'm joined by a few local legends as well as a wanderer I'm sure you'll all recognize. On the strings is my good friend Vinyl Scratch, otherwise known as DJ Pon-3, Queen of the Dub and the Wub. Our boy on the squeeze box is traveling comedian and party pony Cheese Sandwich, along with his manager, Boneless the Chicken. The mare with the sticks is somepony you all love. It's the local party-thrower, cupcake baker, philanthropist, the Mare of Mirth, the Lady of Laughter, none other than Pinkie Pie." As they were introduced, they each played a little lick with their instruments.

"And there's myself, Ragtime Jones. I'm sure you know all about me. I'd go on and list all the stuff I've done, but then we'd be here all day. You're here for some music, so how about trying this little number on for size?" Rags lifted up his fiddle, and began to play the next song.

The entire performance was great. Really, it was. The variety they managed to pack in, not just by playing all four of them together, but doing solos and duets. It wasn't just the four of the either, they brought out a few guest artists to do a set or two. In that strange way that I knew the songs Rags had been playing at the speakeasy, I knew a lot of these ones. I hardly said anything during the performance, but Penny and Gyro made a few comments at particularly moving or impressive moments.

That was, of course, until the penultimate song.

Rags stepped out to the centre stage alone this time, the other musicians leaving the stage. In their place, a single piano was wheeled out and placed behind Rags. One of the ponies from earlier in the show, a pegasus named Piano Forte, sat down at the keyboard. "It looks like we've almost come to the end of this part of our program. There's a few more songs we've got in store for you, but for this next one I'd like to introduce a good friend of mine. This is going to be her first time performing in front of such a large crowd, so I'm going to have to ask you to be accommodating. Come on out, darlin'!"

To my amazement, none other than Ginger Hearts walked slowly out onto the stage. She was wearing a very simply cut dress, made of yellow fabric and adorned with roses. she also wasn't carrying an instrument, so that meant only one thing.

Ginger was going to sing.

"Hi, everyone," Ginger said into the microphone nervously. "I'm Ginger Hearts, and the song I'm going to sing is very special to me. I hope it touches your hearts like it's touched mine." She nodded at Rags, and Piano Forte, who began playing a little melody. A melody I recognised. A melody I knew the words to.

I listened very closely, and couldn't help myself from following along with the lyrics in my head.

I couldn't explain it. I couldn't justify it. I could barely think. All I could feel were tears welling in my eyes.

As the tears began to stream down my face, I started to remember. Remember why I knew this song. Remember why I knew every lyric by heart.

I knew it because my grandpa had used to sing it to me. When I was little, when I was staying with my grandparents because my mom and dad were busy with work. He'd sing it to me every night before bed, he'd sing it when I felt scared, and alone, and afraid.

He'd sung it on the day his daughter - my mother - died.

He never sang it again after that.

It was too much.

Barely holding back sobs, I made my way out of the Senior's Hall, out into the pouring rain. But even though I couldn't hear Ginger singing anymore, the last verse floated through my head.