//------------------------------// // The Artist's Dilemma, With More Violence (monster-of-the-week, yeah-okay-it-gets-a-little-political-sue-me) // Story: A Band of Misfit Losers Hunt the Undead // by Rune Soldier Dan //------------------------------// There was a song posted to Adagio’s Whotube channel called ‘The Memory of Sand.’ A melancholic, peaceful work rhythmed to beating waves, combining violin and voice across many languages into perfect hymn. Adagio spent hundreds of hours just writing and singing it, then more in creating a simple music video of her walking along the shore. It gave everyone in the dorm chills to hear it, and when Sunset played it for her friend Rarity, the girl burst out in tears. Adagio watched it play on her screen, her expression flat. sixty-eight views, up two from last week. One-point-seven cents in ad revenue. One comment by “PhoenixGir1” assuring her of how awesome it was. Her channel played in the background as Adagio clicked over to her Paytreon. Still steady at four donors: “PhoenixGir1,” “WallpowerCrush,” “Applejack.Apple.” Plus “SwallowMeMommy69,” which honestly wasn’t worth five bucks a month. The song ended, then moved on to the next. Something… different. A twang of steel strings, the scream of a bald eagle, and Adagio’s voice belting across the room. “WAEL this ol’ truck and me have gone a life or two as one. And if yew think that’s bad, yew better think again, mah son.” “Adagio, are you okay?” Wallflower immodestly leaned over her shoulder to peer at the screen. Adagio brought the Whotube up for her roommate, showcasing a video of herself in Applejack’s ill-fitting clothes and hat belting the tune in a horrible rural accent. Wallflower slurped her Cola noisily. “I mean it, are you okay? Blink twice if you’re brainwashed.” “Oh, shut up.” Adagio chuckled, pushing Wallflower back. “This is called ‘Last Ride Home, Sweet Honey.’ It’s a touching melody about a patriotic American gun-owner who has to mercy-kill the dying old truck he loves.” “Blink twice.” “It’s a joke, Wallflower. Country music is trash and I distilled everything trashy about it into a single song. I made it all up on the spot while Applejack filmed me.” “She was cool with it?” Wallflower asked. Adagio pointed, smiling with the memory. “Observe how the camera keeps shaking. She spent the whole song trying not to laugh and had to run out before the end, it’s why things are about to go sideways.” Sure enough, the camera dropped, taking Adagio out of sight for the rest of the video. At the very end, it cut off halfway through her last note. “Because I started cracking up. We did it in Applejack’s barn at like midnight and woke up all their animals laughing.” “Cool,” Wallflower said. She wandered off, leaving Adagio basking in the memory. She went to click over to her budget tab, then paused. Sixty-thousand views on ‘Last Ride Home.’ She blinked. Sixty-thousand and thirty. Forty comments. “I can’t stop crying! This was beautiful!!!!” “I FELT THIS ONE! also, nice tits :)” “Why r ur other songs in Spanish? MORE OF THIS” “my uncle bob had a truck he loved for 19 years. I played this for him and all the memories came pouring back. GOD BLESS AMERICA!” “Swallow me, mommy.” Adagio went to bed. She woke up the next morning. Checked. One-hundred thousand views. Sixty-five comments. Eleven new paytrons. And counting. She took a long sip of her morning coffee then set down the mug. “Oh, no.” Two weeks later, she checked her phone in the silver elevator. Two million views. And counting. She dressed for the meeting. White leather with tassels and sequins, with red boots and 10-gallon hat. Gaudy, stupid. It’s what they sent her to wear. The elevator chimed open on the 66th floor. She walked out to a marble hallway with many closed doors and a dour secretary behind a pristine desk. The red carpet was so thick Adagio’s heels left imprints as she walked forwards. “Hi, I have the three o’clock with Satan?” The secretary stood, beckoned her to follow, and walked Adagio down a long, large hallway with golden chandeliers. It ended at a massive door that she rapped on once, then held open for Adagio to enter. At a desk sized like a banquet table, a man lounged with snakeskin books propped up and unlit cigar in his mouth. He had red skin, goat horns, and black plastic glasses beneath his 40-gallon hat. “Wow,” Adagio said. “Literally Satan. Okay.” “Hello to you too, kid.” She looked at the secretary. “Aren’t you freaked out?” “I’ve been in this business for a while,” the woman replied dully. “He’s about average as far as music executives go.” “I set the bar!” Satan replied cheerfully as the secretary made her retreat. “But enough about me. How’s my next country music idol doing today?” Adagio folded her arms. “I haven’t agreed to anything.” “You’ll live the stardom dream and get giant piles of cash,” Satan said, lighting his cigar with a $100 bill. “No one ever says no.” Adagio huffed and threw back her curls, though gave half a nod. “Fair. But level with me, Satan. People tell me you’re smart. The song was untuned, had no regular rhythm, and was about shooting a truck. It was a joke, and a really dumb one. As music, it sucked. You actually called me over for my good stuff, right?” Satan took his sweet time, blowing a long puff of smoke into the air before responding. “Yeah, no. No one cares how good you sing, Fish-tits. You’re popular, and getting a hot piece of ass as our new star will help us make inroads with the horny single male demographic. Plus you live in Canterlot, and this is where my label is hosting a big music concert next month.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, the Canterlot Country Convention. I wanted to spell it all with K’s to be cool and trendy but for some reason marketing threw a fit. Anyway, getting a local internet celebrity to be our surprise star and from there launch her career gives us a feel-good story and a publicity bonanza for when we sell your first album in three months.” “Three months.” Adagio hissed in, looking to the side. “I… you know what, I can take a challenge. One month for writing, one for practicing, one for finalizing. I think I can give you something good to work with. A general theme of longing for a nostalgic past that was never as perfect as you recall, then learning to accept the joys of the present.” Satan laughed abruptly, choked on his smoke, sneezed, and laughed some more. “Man you’re cute. Corporate will do the songwriting to make sure everything’s marketable. You just come in, do a take, and we fix it up with sound editing. Bam-boom-bang, a hundred million in the bank with a cool million for yourself. Minus fees, taxes, expenses, surcharges, and corporate cuts, but it beats starving.” Adagio frowned to the floor. “Will you publish my good stuff, too?” “Sorry, high art doesn’t sell,” Satan said, chomping merrily on his cigar. “And if it doesn’t sell, what’s the point?” Adagio tried her own little smirk. “What if I made that a condition of my acceptance?” “Then we’d have something to talk about if I believed you in the slightest.” Satan tossed a wrapped brick of money to Adagio, striking her boot. “You can be a millionaire star, or beg for change on Paytreon. I’d call it your choice but let’s be real, you’ve already decided.” He stretched back in his chair, crossing his boots, puffing happily to the air. “That brick is the first part of your appearance fee. Come in two weeks for the dress rehearsal. Satan watched, chuckling as Adagio bent down to collect the money. The cheers of the Canterlot Country Convention were muffled in Adagio’s dressing room. That is to say, the team’s van. She sat in her glittering leathers, the stupid white hat on her head, staring into the wall. “So this is what my life has become. Either I sell out the one firm set of morals I’ve held my entire life, that of the sacred artistry of music, or I let this chance go and disappear into obscurity. The music industry is as cutthroat as any siren gang, Wallflower. I’ll never get a break like this again.” She rested on a tiny bench in the van’s body. Wallflower sat on the one facing her, munching a moist, brown treat. Her other hand held one more, and she offered it. “Caramel-fried butter on a stick?” Adagio leaned away. “Wallflower, that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen you eat and that’s saying something.” “Your loss.” Wallflower held the treat low, and their third bit it out of her hand. The puppy-sized kirin trotted over to a convenient plate and dropped the butter. “Thanks! This tastes really gross but I love new experiences!” “Hey, no interrupting.” Adagio waved down Autumn Blaze and pointed at herself. “We’re talking about me. I’m at a pivotal moment in my life, all options suck, and I’m hoping for a little support.” Wallflower shrugged. “Adagio, I’m a gormless loser with no skills or ambitions. I’ll do my best but I’m still hung up on why making millions is a bad thing.” “Did you read the song lineup?” “Yep.” Wallflower flipped open the pamphlet. “You go onstage between ‘Jesus owned an AR-15’ and ‘It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.’ Followed by a steel-string cover of the Statue of Liberty’s poem, edited to remove all reference to welcoming immigrants.” She snapped it closed. “You’re a sellout, so what? Sunset part-times at a gas station, it’s not like working for an industry killing the planet makes her less cool.” Adagio shook her head. “Big difference. This isn’t just a payday for me, this is a corruption of who I am. This is me trying to turn my skill and passion into a career and deciding whether to sacrifice my soul or my shot.” “I’ll support you no matter what you do!” Autumn cheered, her snoot covered in oozing butter. “Yeah, same,” Wallflower mumbled. “I still feel like I’m the last person you should ask for advice. Why’d you have us come?” “Not ‘us,’” Adagio corrected. “You’re the one who brought the fleabag.” “I wanted to be involved,” Autumn said. “Yeah, she wanted to be involved.” “Anyway,” Adagio pressed. “Who said I was asking your advice? I made my decision. But I need your help.” “Not Sunset or Applejack?” Wallflower asked. “The people good at helping?” “No. Sunset would try to talk me out of it. And Applejack would try to talk me out of it and succeed. I swear that woman has some siren in her blood, she has me low-key hypnotized to obey her every command.” “That’s called love,” Wallflower said, then burped. “I never said I love her.” “Whatever.” “The point is, they’d try to talk me out of taking blatantly self-destructive actions. I’m not just ending my career, Wallflower. I’m blowing it up with fireworks and C-4 in a way that places me tremendously at risk. I’m about to burn my hopes and dreams to the ground, and you’re the only one I can count on to back me up.” “Me too, right?” Autumn Blaze asked. “No.” Wallflower hopped out of her seat, and solemnly laid a hand on Adagio’s shoulder. Muddy brown eyes met magenta, holding them for a few seconds before she gave a single nod. “I gotchu, fam.” She pulled back the hand, leaving a stain of melted caramel on Adagio’s white leathers. “What a great performance, folks! While we get our next singer ready, our sponsor Queen Chrysalis Tobacco wants to remind you that smoking is the surest way to own the liberals, so light up!” “On in five, Fish-tits.” Satan panted, fanning himself with a brick of money. “Man, what is wrong with your city? It’s freaking October and I’m sweating my balls off.” “Autumn in Canterlot lasts five minutes. Next month there’s usually snow.” Adagio tugged at her collar. “But isn’t your hometown, like, literally on fire?” Satan shook his head. “Propaganda. Don’t get me wrong, Hell sucks, just in different ways. It’s why we love country music, gives us a chance to hit up Earth for a while.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Satan pushed his hand through the curtain, letting them see the stage. “Ever since the punk scene got infested with Nazis we’ve been migrating to country. All those security guards? Disguised demons. So stay on script, Sugar-lips.” “Oh!” Adagio blinked, then grinned. “This will be more fun than I thought.” “What do you mean by–” “HELLO, CANTERLOT!” Adagio belted, slipping to the stage with flourish and thunderous applause. “My name is Adagio Dazzle, and I’m rootin’ tootin’ happy to be here!” Satan hissed from behind her. “Stage name, stage name! You’re Sweet Suzy Peach, remember? And you’re supposed to thank God for bringing you here!” Adagio ignored him, continuing cheerfully into the microphone. “When I recorded ‘Last Ride Home, Sweet Honey’ I never...” She hissed under her breath. “Ever...” “...Thought little ol’ me would get to perform it to a live audience.” Her smile shrunk, become less stage-like. More genuine. It curled at its tips. Her down-slant eyebrows turned it to an evil leer. “But that’s an old ditty by now. What say I play something new?” The response, of course, was ecstatic. Humans were so easy to string along. “Alrighty.” Adagio slipped her arm from the guitar’s shoulder strap, leaving it loose in her hands. She then reared back and slammed it to the ground, sending feedback through the speakers as the guitar shattered around its built-in mic. She pulled off the outfit with one motion, leaving her with stiletto boots, a black miniskirt, and a chest-wrap made of black tape. She put her mouth close to the mic, letting her words pop into the air. “We’re gonna have a death metal variant of Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl.’” Death metal was hardly Adagio’s preference. But she had the lungs and scream to make it work. “I FUCKED A GIRL AND I LIKED IT LEAVE TRANS PEOPLE ALONE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES I FUCKED A GIRL CAUSE I’M A LESBIAN HOPE HER DAUGHTER DOESN’T MIND IT IT DON’T FEEL WRONG IT FEELS RIGHT I’M A CRIMINAL IN 72 COUNTRIES I TAKE MY GIRL AND FUCK HER ALL NIGHT” The crowd was… noisy? But nothing more. Some were yelling angrily, others seemed really into it. Humans are weird. Security, though. At some signal from Satan, they turned and began clambering up the stage. Horns and red skin dominated, swaggering with clubs as they drew near. “You could have just said ‘no,’” Satan sneered from behind her. “But now you ruined my concert and we’re gonna have to teach you a–” A turd-colored van ripped through the curtain, squealing to a stop next to Adagio. Wallflower leaned out. “Get in!” “One second!” Adagio dashed over to Satan and slugged him in the stomach. He doubled-over, mumbling something about tolerance. She snatched up the stack of bills he was fanning himself with and sped back to the van. The guards charged to intercept. Adagio’s grin glowed white and twin daggers appeared in her hands. She danced, laughing mockingly, speeding the silver weapons across throats and through ribs. Empty clothes fell to the ground, bereft of banished demons, marking her path. Adagio laid hand on the passenger door as Satan shouted from the ground. “Enjoy flipping burgers, you dumb bitch! No music label will ever have you ever again. We don’t need idiots we can’t control!” Adagio took her hand from the door. “One more second.” “They’re breaking my windows!” Wallflower shrieked. “Yeah, yeah.” Adagio sped back to Satan and kicked him hard in the gut. “That’s what you get for calling me dumb!” “What about bitch?” “I know what I am.” Adagio returned quickly to the van and leaped into the passenger seat. Wallflower hunched over the wheel as it sped off. “You are gonna get me kEEEP!” A clawed, muscled red arm reached in from the outside, seizing the small girl’s wrist and yanking. She went half-out, only kept in by Adagio grabbing her from the other side. Her feet still pressed the gas, but with no one on the wheel the van drove in circles. In one of the dizzying spins, Adagio saw a small army of uniformed demons rushing towards them. “Autumn Blaze! Turn into your fire monster form and let ‘em have it!” The kirin bounced excitedly between the seats. “Sorry, that only works when we’re angry. I’d love to, but I’m just so happy to be on one of your adventures! Applejack tells me all about them and…” “Then take the wheel!” Adagio screamed. Another tug by the clinging demon lifted Wallflower’s butt off the seat, and foot from the gas. Adagio fumbled, bringing her own boot down on Wallflower’s side, feeling the girl pull slowly from her grip. “Do it!” “Yay, I’m helping!” Autumn sprang up, putting her hooves on the steering wheel just as Adagio found the gas. Autumn (who, as it happens, did not know how to drive) veered the car suddenly, shaking Wallflower’s aggressor but steering them right towards the demons. The good news was that they were in a speeding van – the demons dove out of the way and the car launched from the stage, landed hard, and took off into the fields around Canterlot. They paused a moment to right themselves, and moved on towards the setting sun. Wallflower driving, Adagio in the passenger seat… and Autumn standing on Adagio’s lap, letting her front legs dangle out the window to watch the scenery go by. Adagio could put up with it, this time. Adagio picked up the brick of money she swiped from Satan. She split it, and passed half over to Wallflower. The girl shoved it in her pocket without looking. Wallflower clicked on the radio. “What did I say? I gotchu, fam.” Unsurprisingly, the sudden surge on Adagio’s Paytreon vanished before paying. Whotube locked, then took down her truck song due to a flame war in the comments. ‘The Memory of Sand’… steady at seventy-eight views. Back to normal. Almost. A few of the new Paytrons shockingly stuck around, and a few more wandered in. Adagio supposed there was no such thing as bad publicity. Hardly a livable income, but more than before. Plus, a second comment had gone up on Memory of Sand. “Miss, I lost my wife last year. I couldn’t even cry at her funeral, but… it’s like this song turned a key in me. I cried all last night. But I feel happy today. For the first time, I feel like I didn’t die with her. Thank you, Miss. Thank you so much.” ...And a third, a fourth. “This got me through my bar exam. Thank you.” “I have this song on repeat, it really fixed my writer’s block. :p” She settled back in her chair, smiling, reading them over, and over, and over. Then Adagio Dazzle clicked off her laptop, and pulled out her ink pot and vellum. Humming gently, she began writing her next song.