Lyra
Canterlot provided an abundance of venues for performance and most of them were so exclusive that even the most talented of ponies could wait a lifetime for a chance to perform within them. And though the formalities of her position troubled Lyra more often than not, being a court musician did open doors for her that she would never have dreamed of before.
And likely never would again. She'd taken the distraction of the Ponyville disaster to extract herself from the stuffiness of the castle and snatched up the first gig she could find. A similar crowd pervaded the club known as the Ivory Hoof, though. She preferred boisterous laughter, dancing, and a certain enthusiasm in the crowd that was utterly lacking here. She wanted to perform The Fiddlin' Filly but knew she couldn't get away with it.
Instead what she got was a hall of white and gold that was sterile of any sense of fun. Two stories of private tables and balconies and booths overlooked red carpet and a stage far too big for just one mare. Even the food for all of its delightful smells was too refined and miniscule to be indulgent. On top of it all, the polite claps and furtive glances were driving her mad. Still, a performance was a performance.
The Princesses of Canterlot
Once left her in the night
But their love will not be forgot
'neath the beast's endless might.
Though our magic will not yet rise
Great unicorns shall roam
And though our wings have left the skies
They'll someday bring us home.
She'd nearly walked out the door when she was informed her dress was not up to the high society standards, and Rarity for the life of her could not convince her to wear anything tight about the barrel. After hours of discussion they'd agreed upon a simple but elegant dress, dyed in umber and made of cotton silks. A traditional performers garb whose comfort only became accepted for its exotic origins. When all was said and done it fit her just as well as her lyre.
With her pupil in her shadow
now following the fool
six colors spread across the land
to bring back rightful rule.
The rivers run from blue to red
and flowers play out of tune.
Fair fillies hold their loves so near
for wrath may come too soon.
She searched the room to catch a glance, just a little look from some colt or filly in the crowd, and finding some impressionable brown youth, held it. Those whose spirits had not been entirely extinguished by the rigors of cosmopolitan life became lost in her when she turned in slow circles, swaying like a field beneath the wind. All together they would go to the place where there was only music and movement and all the walls of Canterlot came tumbling down to reveal endless green fields and cerulean skies.
To edges of Equestria
our dear friends now will go
so light a light for settings suns
and days we wish to know.
Though our magic will not yet rise
great unicorns shall roam
And though our wings have left the skies
they'll someday bring us home.
Two moments of silence held as she finished. Only when she swept a bow did the crowd politely tap their feet upon the ground; those she entranced stared, still lost. Her last round finish, she retired to her table where Bon Bon waited.
“You could have riled them up a lot more than that,” the filly chided, pushing a cup of water across to Lyra.
Lyra grabbed her drink and took a long swig. “Sure. And then they'd never let me out of the castle again. Would ruffle too many pegasus feathers, if you catch my drift.”
“I guess. I'm having a good time anyway. We never go to places like this.”
“We've been thrown out of plenty of places like this,” laughed Lyra.
Bon Bon's face tinted red but she held her tongue as a well-groomed mare approached them.
“You have a few fans,” she said. “I'm to bring you drinks on their behalf. Would you like to see a selection?”
Lyra drummed her hoof on the table. “Do you have any Sweet Apple Acres Reserve?”
The maitre de pursed her lips. She dared not comment aloud but the lift of her snout was enough. “I will check.”
“And a bottle of Red Rose for my filly here.”
The server smiled at Bon Bon and nodded. “Excellent choice. I will return expediently.”
“Why don't you grab a glass for yourself? Join us for a spell.” Lyra winked. “Help loosen you up a bit.”
The waitress pretended not to hear her and Bon Bon shot Lyra a brief glare before soaking back into the pleasant atmosphere of the room.
“I'm just enjoying myself too much to be mad at you,” said Bon Bon. “A whole bottle though? Don't you remember the last time?”
Lyra laughed and finished her water. “Of course. But you're probably too careful for a repeat performance.”
“Probably,” echoed Bon Bon, blushing.
The waitress returned again and set a pint of cider before Lyra with such delicacy the mug may well have never touched the tablecloth. She then set a bottle between them and uncorked it with a single sparkle of magic. The sent of lush roses and strawberry tinted the air as she lifted it and poured it into a tall glass before Bon Bon.
“Thank you,” said Bon Bon. The mare smiled, shot a glance at Lyra, and then trotted off towards another table.
“Well, here's to our fancy pants new life,” said Lyra. She lifted her mug and clanked it against the rim of Bon Bon's lifted glass.
They settled in. Lyra half-sunk her muzzle into her cider and tilted her ears out to the room. The elite didn't speak the same way the ponies she was familiar with did. Rather than making their opinions loud and clear (or whispering conspiratorily) they continued on in a conversational manner, loud enough to make themselves present, quiet enough so as to not draw attention to their manner of speech. It was difficult to feel the voices apart, but the sound naturally drew towards her and she picked it apart.
“I never expected him to stand up to the pressure of the crown,” said one monocled stallion to two of his companions. “But this is too much. The sooner the prince leads a revolution, the better, I say.”
“I say!” agreed another. “And what of the Princess' old pet? Cavorting about with his type...”
“Only asking to vanish,” the third interjected. “Alas, we cannot return to Celestia, it seems. She's far gone and this kingdom's summer days are over. Perhaps it is time to return to our more traditional ways.”
Lyra's ears twitched. Just because you're a unicorn doesn't give you a right to control everypony's lives. The conversation had become far too familiar. The Canterlot ponies wanted to regain complete control of their kingdom. With Celestia absent, their hubris was beginning to take shape.
And of all the ponies for them to hold up as their paragon, it had to be Blueblood. The same Blueblood who'd tried to throw her out of the castle, who tried to make Bon Bon a servant, who was already rallying ponies around him for the futile and suicidal task of trying to eliminate Discord. He had to have been dreaming of the throne for longer than any of them had known.
“Lyra?” asked Bon Bon, swirling her drink a bit. “What are you doing?”
Lyra swallowed her cider and looked up. She'd brought out her lyre without thinking much of it and plucked a couple of strings. “I think I feel a song coming on,” she said.
“Lyra,” she said again, flustered when the unicorn winked at her. She sighed and smiled and drew herself and her drink back.
There was nothing that could stop Lyra, anyway. She scrambled up onto the table and held her cider aloft with one spell and her lyre with the other. The act alone was enough to make everypony stare. So she stomped out a rhythm on the table, even if only Bon Bon would meekly join in.
Gather near and hear about
One colt this land could do without
With fuzzy hooves and balls of blue
The prince of mules and asses too.
Now he's got no taste for country folk
This one's too primp and proper
But when the Mistress Shadow spoke
He'd rather kiss the moons than stop her!
Cider splashed from Lyra's mug and she took a quick drink. She was dancing for herself now and even some of primped ponies were laughing and keeping up with her. Ponies that filed in the gilded doors were treated to a building ruckus of jeering and hollering and were she not in her performer's trance, Lyra may have noticed a white stallion making an entrance. But even if she had, she was beyond stopping now.
The Prince can play with toy soldiers now
as much as he might please
but his auntie dear would ne'er allow
the throne to foals like these!
So if on the street you pass him
sniffing up the market fair
give three cheers to the Prince of Asses
the hero of nowhere!
Lyra leapt down from the table and landed with a flourish near her seat. She looked over the stirred patrons with pride, their normal decorum broken with laughter and melody. And on the far side of the carpet, Prince Blueblood ground his hooves against the carpet, ears flat and cheeks red.
“What is the meaning of this?” He bellowed, which only encouraged the crowd. Those that could stop laughing did, but they were not many. “How dare you slander my name? Guards! To me, guards!”
“That would be our cue to go,” said Lyra, hastily magicking her instrument and the fresh bottle of wine into their bags. She grabbed the filly by the hoof and retreated towards the back of the establishment.
The same collection of ponies that made Blueblood and his company push through hoof and horn moved just slight to let them pass. Suddenly hooves were moving everywhere and Lyra found an earth-pony sized unicorn between her and the door. She recognized him as the owner with whom she'd briefly bargained for her performance.
“Ah, sir,” she uttered, glancing back over her shoulder, trying to find the prince amongst the crowd.
He lowered his head and gestured over his shoulder, to the door behind him. “Through the pantry. Blue door.”
Lyra glanced at Bon Bon and then slipped past, shoving the door open. “Aye, sir.”
The stallion chuckled and backed up, leaving the door only open a crack. “Keep the bar songs to a minimum, and you can come in anytime you like,” he said.
Lyra nodded and bounded away. There was no sense in risking a graceful exit, especially now that a dozen guards were combing the Ivory Hoof. The ponies began to settle but still she could hear the faint hum of her tune, and the incoherent screaming of one very upset stallion. The sound followed them all the way into the back alley. Before anyone knew what had happened, they would already be safe back in the castle.