//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: Move for Me // Story: Electro Swing // by Rego //------------------------------// “Sir Fancy Pants?” “Yes, Luna?” “We wish to retract our previous statement of being unimpressed.” True to his word, and against his better judgment, Fancy Pants had escorted the Princess of the Night to Dressage Drive. Before them was an easily missed, lone, covered street in the Lower Quarter of Canterlot. Proper Canterlot ponies considered it a noisy eyesore marring the otherwise pristine capital city, so they did everything in their power to keep it out of sight. If not for the profit it generated, they might have torn it down to build something more befitting to their view of the capital city. So, of course, the princess immediately broke into a full gallop to explore. Though the stars were out, none were visible under the cover of the canvas canopies stretching between the buildings from end to end. The lack of the moonlight didn’t make the street any darker. Every building was covered from top to bottom in a clash of lights in every color, shape, and size. Strings of fairy lights criss-crossed above amid a sea of Marquees and glowing signs calling out their businesses, while searchlights of all colors shot columns of light onto the canvased ceiling. It was almost an insult to the classic Canterlot magefire lamps bordering the streets which added their unnecessary spark—but very necessary noise suppression spells—to the kaleidoscope of colors. Fancy might’ve struggled to find Luna in the crowds if not for the confused gathering of ponies staring gobsmacked at the sight of an alicorn princess flittering and fluttering about enough to put a moth to shame. If Luna had beamed like the moon before, she was now shining like the sun in excitement. From her reaction, Fancy wondered why Princess Celestia hadn’t shown the sight to her sister personally before now. “Fancy Pants!” Luna called from above. She nearly bowled him over upon impact as she dove into a full embrace, much to his surprise. He could feel her shaking, but he wasn’t sure from what. He reached his own foreleg up and hugged back. A soft click and another few seconds later, Luna broke their embrace. “They made our night! My night!” Luna exclaimed. Her eyes were misty, threatening to break at any moment. “Who did?” Fancy asked, genuinely confused by her phrasing. “I don’t know, but they did! Here in Equestria! It sparkles like the heavens. It’s all so beautiful!” she laughed with misty eyes, barely containing her joy.  “Oh! Well, of course they do. No pony fears—Oof!” Luna jabbed Fancy in the side before he could finish his thought. “Why did you not bring us here sooner?” Luna roared, trying to infuse a little anger to keep her feelings in check so she didn’t sob like a filly in public.  Fancy only laughed in response, rubbing his side. He didn’t want to answer honestly since the crowd their profiles were drawing was evidence enough. Luckily, a few lunar guards had caught up and were keeping the public at bay around them. “Come, Fancy Pants. We must unveil the meaning of these aforementioned ‘falling bases!’” Before Fancy could collect himself, the princess was already pulling him along for the ride. Luna was on a mission, and she wouldn’t waste a single second of the night to explore what the Drive had to offer. They passed by cocktail bars, hotels, and other colorful establishments. Fancy got lost in the streaking lights as he quickly cantered alongside the princess. “Look! One of the establishments has its own guard. Perhaps he is defending the base!” Luna called excitedly. Fancy barely had time to see what she meant as the princess took him along for a closer look. Shaking his head to regain his bearings, the pair had stopped at a set of large double doors with an imposing, tuxedo-wearing earth pony who met the princess at eye level. His robust lower jaw slacked at the sight of the royalty and celebrity, and he lowered his sunglasses to get a better look. “Good evening, my good stallion,” Fancy said to the star-struck security pony. Fancy turned his gaze to a line of clubbers staring in shock. “We wish to know what it is you are keeping watch over,” Luna stated, oblivious to the crowd they were drawing. “I do not recognize your station.” “A nightclub, I would imagine,” Fancy answered for the guard pony. “And he is a bouncer for it; a private security guard.” “Night club, you say? Then I desire passage to seek what lies beyond the other side of this door.” Finally finding his words, the bouncer reapplied his stern grimace. “Hooves, please.” Without question, Luna raised her hoof to the bouncer. He reached inside the lining of his coat and produced a thin cylinder. Removing the cap, he stamped a dark green mark on the princess’ fetlock just above her silver shoe. “Dunno what I was expecting,” the bouncer groused in disbelief. Fancy offered his leg as well for stamped approval. The bouncer just shook his head as he placed an identical mark on Fancy. Fancy sniffed it curiously.  “Is this dispelling Salve?” Fancy asked. “Be pretty ballsy to impersonate you two. Couldn’t decide if it’s a smart or dumb move. Figured I’d check anyway.” “I commend your diligence, sir bouncer. You are a service to your post.” Luna caught sight of the line of ponies staring at them to the side of the guard. “Shall we join the others to wait in line?” “Not necessary, your highness,” the bouncer stated, punctuating his adherence to protocol with a powerful buck to the wall behind him. The doorframe flashed, dropping whatever spell was on it, and began releasing a muted rhythmic pulse. He then pushed the doors open, allowing more of the soundscape to permeate into the streets. “Enjoy your time at Cantrips.” Those brave enough to fall under the enchanting, subtle spells of Cantrips were welcomed by a medley of sights, smells, sounds, and humid sweat drifting down the entry corridor. After turning the first corner, clubbers would find themselves on the top tier of a sprawling, three-story space. The floors flowed around the exterior walls with plenty of room for ponies to drink and dance while having a perfect view of the entire club though tall safety rails. Each level was aglow with passionate pinks, deep purples, and glossy blacks which painted everything in a magically romantic light. furnished with dance spaces, bars, tables, and chairs for guests to party well into the night. Four corner staircases connected the third and second floor, while three more staircases descended directly into the first on each side with one exception.  The side opposite the entryway stood the main stage of Cantrips, where the magic really happened. Just beyond the sprawling dance floor, a wall of electronics, lights, and arcane mana pools glowing with magic could create any kind of special effect a performer could desire. Rainbow beams, glowing fog, phoenix fire, all were possible to spark new life into the performance. In the middle was the soundstage for the DJ to weave their musical magecraft, and DJ Pon-3 was spinning up a magical storm of sound. She was either on her fourth or fifth wind of the night. Vinyl had lost count. It didn’t matter since sitting behind the turntables always brought her back from the verge of collapse. This was what she needed, not just for shoring up her jeopardized finances, but also for her state of mind. After all, the rush that came with each drop of the bass was what excited her most about trace music in the first place. Tonight, she lacked the familiarity of her own rig, but Honey Doo’s system pumped out her beats just as well as her own. Not only did she play her favorite tracks, but she threw in a personal touch with her vivacious live mixing. She and Honey had been alternating all night, playing extended sets to fill in for the no-show, Doctor Gloamgrass, better known as DJ Spindoctor. The pediatrician had probably gotten caught up at the clinic again, and she was perfectly fine with it. Nothing really mattered when she was lost in the music, and tonight, DJ Pon-3 was determined to stay lost for as long as possible. The current track was winding down, giving her plenty of time to consider what the next song should be. Vinyl looked up from the mixer to check the pulse of the dance floor and gauge what she should throw at them next. The mass of pastel was still bouncing with the beat, fully engrossed in the soundscape. Scanning across the edges, she saw smiles and sweat dripping from everypony anticipating the next drop. Who was she to deny them their pleasure? The DJ considered popping in one of her memory shards to test the waters of one of her experimental songs when her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the night sky. She was no stranger to elaborate glow sticks and outfits, but a frickin nebula parting the dance floor was a new one for her. She stood on her hind legs to get a better look and joined several other onlookers at the sight of Princess Luna dancing like there was no tomorrow. The DJ’s blood ran cold as a wave of panic shook her from her staring. That article from this morning said something about a night court. Was she here about that? Maybe she was making a personal arrest. But then why was she dancing? There were far too many unknowns for her addled mind to process. With her wind taken out of her sails, she waved down the club manager, signaling her need for a break. He nodded in reply and kicked on his own microphone. “Alright everypony, give it up for DJ Pon-3!” The club roared with applause as Vinyl descended backstage. She quickly passed Honey Doo and her sleek, golden honeycomb overcoat. “Let’s keep this party going by welcoming back to the stage Ponyville’s own queen of clubs, DJ Bumblebeat!”  The audience replied with excited screams for more music. Vinyl swore she heard a loud somepony yell “Salutations, beekeeper Deejay!” at the top of their lungs. Vinyl needed a drink. She crept around the perimeter of the club, keeping an eye trained on the princess from behind her sunglasses. If Princess Luna had an ulterior motive for being here, she was hiding it well. The alicorn danced to the beat with powerful steps, flowing with ancient grace that somehow matched the mood. Many of the other patrons weren’t sure what to make of the princess’ presence either, but they kept dancing all the same. Some even did their best to join in with the primal fun. The Drive was supposed to be her sanctuary away from her troubles outside. Normally, a VIP’s sudden appearance would be no big deal, but the looming specter of the Vinyl Screech spiked Vinyl’s nerves into the stratosphere. She needed something to calm her down, so she took a stool at the bar and slammed a hoof down.  “Diamond Dusty Dog on the rocks, and don’t skimp on the salt!” Vinyl demanded. “That’s quite a strong drink to have before a performance, Miss Scratch.” “I’ll be the judge of that, Moxy,” Vinyl growled back as she whipped around in her stool to glare at the bartender. Moxy Mint raised an eyebrow in response. If that wasn’t moxy, then who… “You are right, Miss Scratch. I apologize. It wasn’t my place to say.” Vinyl turned her head to the source of the posh Canterlotian accent seated next to her. “Just make sure you have somepony to help you home. I haven’t seen horn or hoof of Fleur, so I assume she’s not with you tonight?” Vinyl tried and failed to string a coherent question, but sputtered in vain at the sight of her barmate for the evening, Fancy Pants. “Who? Princess Luna. What? Dancing the night away. When? Starting about fifteen minutes ago. Where? Over there. Why? For fun, I suppose, but you’d have to ask her. How? Princess Celestia.” “What the hay are you doing here?” Vinyl asked with disbelief. “Oh! You meant me. I’m chaperoning the princess, though admittedly, I’m sidelining myself as I’m not sure how to dance to this music.” He looked over his shoulder to the dance floor with more ponies joining Luna’s ancient dancing. “I’m sure her highness knows either, but she seems to be making it work.” The DJ wasn’t sure what to do. No noble worth their pedigree was supposed to put one hoof onto the Drive, but here was arguably the most important noble in Canterlot sitting in her shelter. She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d do to get the universe so angry at her. Fancy Pants grimaced seeing that she was less than pleased. “I’m sorry, Miss Scratch. I’m probably the last pony you want to see right now.” “No, but you’re in the top three,” Vinyl corrected bitterly. “Right.” Fancy turned his attention to the pony behind the bar. “Moxy, was it? I’ll get her drink.”  Vinyl glowered over the rim of shades. Fancy’s smile strained under the mare’s pressuring gaze. “As much as I’d like to grant you privacy, this is the only open seat to keep an eye on the princess from. If you’re going to have to suffer an old stallion like me invading your space, the least I can do is buy your drink.” A quick look around confirmed there was not a seat in the house for her to escape to either. There were chairs and tables backstage, but salted drinks weren’t allowed out of the bar areas due to their potential side effects. She considered ordering something else, but Moxy was already almost done preparing it. At least he’d be close by if the rich colt tried anything funny. “Sure I can’t start something for you, Sir Fancy Pants?” Moxy asked as he put a slice of lime on the rim of the tall party drink. “Just lead this pony to water and we’ll be golden, my good stallion.” The teal unicorn shrugged and levitated Vinyl’s drink over and topped off Fancy’s water glass. Vinyl couldn’t help but notice Fancy’s concern as his eyes ran down the length of her drink. She grumbled as she took it in her hoof and drank deeply with a lick of party salts for good measure. She hoped the drink would work its burning magic quickly and dull her just enough to take the edge off of the day. “For what it’s worth, I am on your side,” Fancy assured. It would also help if the stallion next to her wasn’t so set on making small talk. “Could we not talk about this? Or anything?” Vinyl asked flatly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that what happened wasn’t your fault.” “You don’t think I know that already? Of course it wasn’t my fault! Fleur stuck that stupid plate right in the way of the spell and now…” Vinyl’s anger trembled off. She didn’t want to blame her best friend. It was a bunch of stupid ponies freaking out over nothing that had it coming anyway. “And now I am trying to help fix it,” Fancy said reassuringly. “Coulda fooled me.” The DJ took another quick swig and salty lick of the diamond dust. The dry hit was nearly immediate, but it didn’t feel as good as usual. She felt her stomach flip. “I’m afraid this scandal has become a bit…” Fancy paused to consider more diplomatic words so as to not upset his present company further. “More stubborn than usual.” “And here I thought you were supposed to be, like, their ringleader or something. King Posh Pony or whatever.” A small snicker escaped Fancy’s nose. “Not exactly the way I would put it. While I do hold some sway within the elite circles of Canterlot, sometimes the zeitgeist grabs a hold and won’t let go.” “Great, so the stars have aligned to screw me.” “Princess Luna has overlooked the interruption of Night Court. If the princess’ current presence here wasn’t an indication, she is not exactly busy these days.” “Great. So I’m not royally screwed, just totally,” she sighed leaning over the bar, able to relax a bit more knowing that the night princess wasn’t after her. “So, what, you’re trying to clean up the mess to help Fleur?” Fancy mulled over the question for a second. Never a good sign when looking for an honest answer. “Not exactly. But that is part of the problem considering the buck was passed to you.” “She must’ve put you up to this.” "She did not, but she did tell me what happened with Upper Crust during your piano performance." Vinyl smacked her head on the table and groaned loudly. She appreciated Fleur’s honesty, but she was trying desperately to forget that part of the night. The DJ dove once more in her bitter elixir, savoring the familiar burn until it punched her in the gut. The salt had more fire than usual. Vinyl could already feel the effects of her drink. “Are you okay, Miss Scratch? Perhaps you would like some water?"  She hacked a few more dry coughs before finding her breath again. “No, got plenty to drink right here,” she answered, tipping her glass around with a slight giggle at her own joke. Another coughing fit refocused her attention. Vinyl knew she couldn’t let her guard down around somepony like Fancy Pants. "So what’s your angle?” "In relation to what, may I ask?" "C’mon. Ponies that wear a monocle aren't allowed to play dumb. What's your angle for helping the ‘charity case?’" Vinyl spat the last words with enough acid to melt iron. “There is none.” “Horseapples!” Vinyl blurted, almost tipping her beverage over. “Everypony in this town has an angle.” The stallion sighed and looked the DJ in the eyes, or at least her shades. “Any angle that I had would likely involve throwing you under the proverbial chariot, Miss Scratch.” “Aha! So you're looking for an angle.” “Not at all.” The stallion frowned, aghast at the assumption. “Why are you so set on me having an angle of some sort?” “Because I’ve lived in Canterlot all my life. Selfishness is practically a virtue here.” “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Scratch.” He turned to give Vinyl his full attention. There was a flicker of frustration and sadness burned in the back of his eyes. “I know that charity can be a bit rarer than philanthropy, but is it so hard to believe that I simply want to help you?” “From you? Yeah. Nopony gets to the top with their hooves clean.” Fancy recoiled slightly. “I can’t argue that.” Vinyl grumbled. Her undesired guest’s reaction didn’t feel as good to her as she wanted. “So, what is it then? Feeling sorry for me? Trying to be a hero?” “Washing my hooves of you would be wrong,” he answered simply. “And how do you know that?” “Because you did nothing wrong.” He knocked back the remainder of his water as if it was a shot glass. “If I must have a self-serving angle, then it is to alleviate the guilt I feel for a simple mistake at one of my events costing you so dearly. Despite Fleur hiring you, you were working for me that evening. I am not keen on forgoing my duties to you.” “Why bother at all? You don’t even know me!” She roared back. “You’re right. I don’t know you. But Fleur does. That’s all the reason I need.” This felt so wrong. She should’ve just walked away and abandoned the drink. Vinyl wanted a sign, a tell, or something to give her a preconceived notion of the wealthy jerk. Even the most charming of nobles were surrounded by an irritating aura that made you feel inferior for breathing the same air around them. Fleur couldn’t be right about him. Somepony with the audacity to be called the “Kingmaker of Canterlot” wasn't supposed to be so genuine.  Fancy sighed and turned back in his seat as Moxy poured some more water. “I’m sorry. You already said you didn’t want to talk about it, but I forced the issue. My sincerest apologies for making you uncomfortable for my sake.” Vinyl hated this so much. Fancy wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was too rich to be bothered by somepony like her. So, why did it sound like he actually cared? She almost wished that he’d try something so she had a good reason to smash her glass over his stupid face. If he was running back to his drink, then so would she. Vinyl knocked back the remaining liquor and salt in a single blazing gulp. She forced the fireball down, which exploded into salty shrapnel in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to throw up. Diamond dust never hit so hard before in her life. “By the way,” Fancy started. Why couldn’t he just shut up… “I’ve never heard ‘A Stroll Through the Secret Garden’ played quite like that before. You have amazing talent.” “Heh. Course you’d know the name,” she mumbled groggily. “Indeed. It’s one of my personal favorites,” Fancy said enthusiastically. “I’ve always appreciated the arrangement’s deceptively simplistic melody swelling into layers of emotions around its theme.” “At least you have good tastes,” she joked, hoping the barb would calm her down. Her muscles tensed up to let her know she was failing. “Loved it as a kid. One of the first songs I learned to play.” “I honestly had no idea you played the piano. I’ve only seen you behind a record player.” “Turntable. And yeah. I don’t play the piano.” “I’m sorry, but it’s a little late to make a claim like that,” Fancy joked. “You played wonderfully last night.” Vinyl felt her stomach turn. From the alcohol or from thinking about the piano, she wasn’t sure. She felt the warmth of the liquor snake through her legs, but it held no comfort. “Heh, yeah. I could ‘prolly play it with both hooves tied behind my back. No matter how hard I wanna forget it.” Fancy’s eyes widened in shock. “Forget it? But it sounded like you’ve devoted so much time to your craft. Why would you want to forget such a wonderful talent?” “It hurts. It did a number on me. I hope it hurt real bad, too.” Vinyl laughed sharply. She went for another sip of her drink, only to feel nothing in her glass. A pitiful whimper escaped her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Vinyl laid her head down. The coolness of the bar felt really good. She didn’t even care that she was getting her fur wet. The warm feeling was in her hooves now and the feeling slowly wormed its way out of her appendages as her entire body numbed. “Miss Scratch?” She blinked slowly, remembering she was talking to a rich jerk. “Why am I talking to you, again?” Before anypony could answer her question, the numbness rebounded and surged with pain. It was like a cactus had exploded, driving needles all around her stomach. she curled up from the intensity, knocking her shades off as she doubled over, as her stomach rumbled loud enough for Moxy to hear over the music. Maybe Fancy had done something when she wasn’t looking after all. “Was that you, Vinyl?” Moxy asked. Her stomach answered for her with another distressing groan and shock of pain. “Oh, for the love of… When was the last time you ate?” Or maybe it was the fact her day’s diet consisted of caffeine, cake, and parfait. In hindsight, she probably should've eaten something instead of letting her anxiety ruin her appetite for the entire day. The unfiltered pain came in waves on her stomach lining, and the salt was only making it worse. “Hehehe, wouldn’chu like ta know?” she asked dryly as another powerful buck hit her system. She would’ve fallen out of her chair if not for Fancy catching her.   “Yes, actually!” “Does liquid dinner count?” she asked blearily. “Last I checked, salted vodka and crystal rum are not essential food groups,” Moxy shot back. “Ish cake? Had that for breakfass,” she slurred in reply as the world started to lose focus around her. “Kinda a harsh day. Didn’ feel like food. Hoped my regular’d help.” The bartender slammed his hooves on the counter in alarm. “Are you saying you just drank the hardest drink I have with party salts on an empty stomach?” “Relash. Had a parfey too. Ish’ma fav’rit.” Vinyl giggled briefly, but then bit back a scream of pain. It was a strange feeling to be both drunk and in agony. A strange battle took place in her brain between drifting into a drunken stupor and being shaken awake by the throbbing pain. The vertigo would send what little she had in her stomach flying if it kept going like this. “Please, Miss Scratch. Drink this.” Fancy hovered a fresh glass of water in front of her face while he held her up. “Slowly now.” The splash of crisp and cool liquid on her tongue reminded her body just how thirsty she was. If not for Fancy controlling the flow, she’d knock back the whole glass in one large gulp. She tried reaching out with her magic, but she couldn’t focus enough to even light a spark in her mind. She was helpless, right where a rich creep would want a pony that they could take advantage of in such a situation. Vinyl looked to the stallion helping her drink. She hated what she saw. Fancy Pants tender gaze was filled with nothing but care and concern. She’d buck him in his stupid face if she still had any semblance of coordination, but the double whammy of liquor and saltlicks had done its duty. Without anything holding the alcohol back, she could feel the control draining from her hooves. It was so humiliating. “It’ll be okay, Miss Scratch,” he reassured as he motioned for Moxy to refill the water glass. “Just calm down and focus on drinking.” “Wha?” She asked with confusion between raspy, choked sobs. Her eyes locked forward as she heard her own voice. Was she crying? Why was she crying? The DJ continued to drink, though her stuttering breath was making it difficult. Her creeping desire to succumb to liquor-induced sleepiness wasn’t helping her emotional stability either. Tears were already streaming down her face, she didn’t want to pass out on top of it. But today was just so damn tiring. She’d give anything for the day to just be over already. “There. Another glass down. Still with us, Miss Scratch?”  The pressure was too much for her to bear when under the influence of a drink, a saltlick, a sleepless night, and one of the worst days of her life. She felt her mask fracture along her tear streaks. “Why’re you beings sho’nicsh to me?” Vinyl slovenly asked, trying to keep her voice as even as possible between quick breaths. “Should I be anything else?” Fancy asked with a warm smile. “I’m dumb‘ndrunk, an’ a screw up, an’ I’m worthless-hess-hess!” “I won’t argue the first three given your beverage of choice this evening, but as to your worth; after seeing you shine your talents so brilliantly on stage, I don’t think anypony in their right mind could call you worthless.” Fleur was right. She shouldn’t have gone to work tonight.  Mercifully, DJ Bumblebeat’s bass dropped on the ear’s of the crowd so nopony could hear Vinyl shatter. Fancy let her fall forward so she could muffle her sobbing into her folded forelegs. Her breakdown wasn’t a rapid percussive weep, but rather a string of shrill screams that trailed into each other, punctuated by sharp breaths. Her heart spun around in a torrent of anger and despair. She was so sick of it. She was just so sick of it all. She hated today. She hated yesterday. She hated feeling like a failure.  She hated feeling exposed.  She hated alcohol.  She hated party salts.  She hated the piano.  She hated memories. She hated her parents. She hated needing money to live. She hated the newsponies. She hated Canterlot. She hated the nobles. She hated Fancy Pants. But most of all... Vinyl hated herself.