//------------------------------// // March 25: Song Yet to Be Sung // Story: Seven Days in Sunny June, Book I // by Shinzakura //------------------------------// The woman lowered her glasses and said, “Yeah, I get that all the time. Don’t sweat it, kid.” Eyes of purple gazed at Sunset, the woman’s face framed by long – long – flowing tresses of amethyst and white, almost down to her shins. She wore a black leather jacket similar to the one Sunset originally owned, and underneath that a t-shirt that said I’M INSANE, WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE?, strategically-torn jeans, and skater sneakers. Sunset couldn’t believe her eyes. Standing right in front of her: Screwball herself, live and in the flesh. Screwball, the lead guitarist for Discord’s band. Screwball, who had replaced Discord’s original guitarist Tirek when he went off to start his own band, Evil Centaurs Incorporated. Screwball, who Kerrang! magazine had named 2012 Guitarist of the Year. Screwball, who was named number one in Rolling Stone’s 2013 Women in Rock issue. Screwball, who was probably the best damn guitarist of her generation, period. Sunset immediately tried not to squee like she was Pinkie while on an ultra sugar high of fudge-dipped chocolate frosted sugar bombs. Screwball then looked at the information clerk. “Anyway, I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Dr. Paperchase regarding the Musica Allegra archives, and I’d appreciate if you added Ms.—” Screwball then turned to look back at Sunset. “Oh!” Sunset snapped back to reality, figuring that it would be best to ask for autographs, pictures and all that later. “Uh, Sunset Shimmer.” She pulled out her ID. “Contact phone number, please?” “232-903-5769,” Sunset replied. “Okay, you’re all set, Ms. Shimmer,” the lady replied, handing Sunset her identification. “Thanks,” Sunset said to the guitarist. Screwball waved it off, grinning. “Hey, if I overheard you right, you’re doing this for your…cousin? Honestly, I think that’s pretty damn cool,” she said, nodding her head with approval. “Plus, you’ve got your head level – most kids your age go ga-ga or freak the hell out because, well, I’m me.” “Well, I didn’t want to make a scene, and….” Sunset began. Screwball laughed in response. “Didn’t want to make a scene? You must not be a local. This is LA! Everything is a scene!” “Yeah, I’m not from around here,” she admitted. “I’m visiting from Canterlot.” “I’ve been there before. Kinda nice town.” She pulled out her phone, looked at it, and said, “Well, I gotta head out. Gotta meet a friend. But we’ll talk in the morning.” “Wait, aren’t you here for the reception?” Sunset asked. “I’m assuming you’re a descendant of La Musica.” “Well, I am, but…I don’t do parties. At least not this type,” she replied. “Don’t get me wrong: I know there’s a time to dress up and look good – like the Grammys and shit, but…let’s just say that I don’t do frou-frou very well-well. Anyway, I gotta get going. See ya tomorrow, kid.” With that, Screwball began to descend the steps; the valet noticed her arrival, made a call on a radio and a second later what looked to be the weirdest-looking car Sunset had ever seen in her life came out of the valet parking area. Screwball got into the driver’s seat, gave what looked like a huge tip to the valet, if his wide smile was any indication, and with that, gently eased the alien automobile out of the parking circle and down Center Drive and towards the Los Angeles streets. “Hey, Sunny!” Sunset turned to see Octavia, Fiddlesticks and Midnight approaching her. “Did you see her?” “See who?” “Screwball,” Fiddlesticks answered. “Some’ne said she was jest here a minute ago.” “Uh, yeah,” Sunset answered. “I…I’m meeting here tomorrow for a research project. Uh, don’t ask how I got wrapped up in that.” “You are?” Octavia asked. “Wow, that’s great! And to think you were going to be bored all day because Mom, Dad and I are performing tomorrow.” “You are? I didn’t see you bring your bass.” Octavia nodded. “Since we’re travelling, I brought my electric upright. It’s easier to bring on flights, good for informal performances, and I can borrow an amp from the museum. I guess my parents and I kinda forgot to mention it, since it’s usually Twily who comes along and she either reads a book or twelve or explores the museum. Sorry.” “No biggie,” Sunset replied, waving off the concern. “Besides, I got this. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow, just watch.” “Kid, you can relax, okay?” Screwball told her as the pair walked from the main buildings of the museum towards the research center on the other side of the museum grounds. “At the end of the day, I’m just another chick who can play a guitar. Nothing big.” “Nothing big, you say,” Sunset said, feeling as floaty as an alicorn – she practically swore her feet weren’t touching the ground. “Weren’t you just the one who took the MTV Music Awards prize for Best Guitar Solo?” Screwball shook her head. “Look, Sunrise—” “Sunset.” “Yeah, that. Yeah, okay, I’m famous. But I worked for that fame. When Tirek left to go start ECI, the bossman held a huge contest globally to find the right kind of guitarist to replace his old buddy. And frankly, Discord and Tirek had just gotten the band started while I was still in grade school gnawing on a popsicle. So with someone that famous? You better believe people came out of the woodwork to try to earn the spot in Discord’s band.” The look in the woman’s eyes was nostalgic as she said, “A lot of people performed for those two weeks, including me. And I’ll be honest – as good as the media says I am, as good as the awards I win are? There were a ton of axeslingers better than I’ll ever be. People who can play with technical perfection and people who know a broad variety of techniques – there was a guy there who could play a line just like Geezer.” The look on Screwball’s face was priceless. “I can’t even play like Geezer – the man’s a legend!” “Then how did you get the job?” “Because of something that the D-man really appreciates: he likes his musicians well-rounded. Discord doesn’t just play rhythm guitar; he also plays the piano and drums. While Screw Loose is our drummer, she also plays the banjo and double bass. And though Freebase plays the bass guitar, he also knows how to rock the flute – seriously. As for me, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the job if I hadn’t been shooting the shit with SL and told her that I also play the guitarrón and the violin. Once Discord got word of that, I got the slot. I can even remember what he told me: ‘Guitarists are a dime a dozen, even the good ones. But musicians – musicians are what make the difference between a good song and a damn good song.’” “Well, if it’s any opin—” Screwball stopped and sighed. “Look…Sunset. Do me a favor, okay? Just…just act like I’m not famous. Hell, you can even call me by my real name if you want.” “I thought your name was Screwball,” Sunset said. The rockstar shook her head, curls of amethyst and ivory jittering everywhere. “Who names their kid Screwball? It’s actually a stage name, just like Screw Loose uses – only Discord and Freebase use their real names. I got the nickname from a tattoo I got when I was drunk and doing something stupid in Tijuana the month before I got the gig. But…I’m sure you’ve heard this from watching celebrities pretend to be normal people during TV interviews, but for those of us in the band? It’s just…at the end of the day, we just want to be normal. We’re musicians who just happen to be rock stars, not rock stars who just happen to be musicians. Besides,” she admitted, “my fame’s cost me quite a bit.” “It has?” “Don’t really want to talk about it right now, okay?” Screwball said. “So, let’s start this again.” Screwball removed her shades, sticking them in her jacket pocket. “Hi, my name’s Summer Violet,” she said offering her hand. Sunset looked at “Summer Violet” curiously. “Summer Violet?” “You should hear my kid sister’s name,” Screwball replied with a grin. “I got named after our great-grandmother. She got her name because she was born at an ungodly hour in a small desert town while me and my parents were coming home from a weekend trip in Vegas.” “Fair enough,” Sunset said, taking the guitarist’s hand and shaking. “So, how much research material are they giving us access to?” “Well….” Screwball said with a thoughtful look, “fame does come in handy on occasion. I spoke with Drs. Paperchase and Fuente Documental – the latter’s the representative from the Spanish government – and they were willing to give me access to everything that they brought along. Granted, we’ve got to be careful with the stuff – we are talking about priceless antiques, after all – but they’ve also got some computer databases that haven’t been made public yet.” A thought suddenly came to the musician. “How’s your Spanish, by the way? I’m sure not everything’s translated.” “Taking it in high school,” Sunset explained. “Not the greatest or anything, though.” “Well, at least you’re learning,” Screwball laughed. “I had this guy I used to date when I was in high school who blew it off because he didn’t think it was necessary. Then he joined the Air Force and got stationed in Spain. Ran into him at the base he was stationed at when we played a USO gig last year – he admitted he’s done fucked up but good, especially since his Spanish wife got on his case about him not being able to speak to her parents or family.” As the duo arrived at the research building, Screwball motioned towards the doors. “Well, we’re here, so…let’s go…researchize or something.” “No arguments there,” Sunset agreed as she and Screwball walked through the sliding glass doors into the circular building that was the Brentwood Research Institute. “Sunny, I swear I should hate you or something!” the excited voice of Rainbow Dash said over the phone when Sunset called her friend during her lunch break. “Pics or it didn’t happen, Shimmer!” “Turn on video chat, will ya?” Sunset brought up the screen’s video call mode, then the moment Rainbow’s face appeared on-screen, turned the view-facing camera towards Screwball. The musician, knowing something was up, threw the horns and then waved. Sunset then turned the phone back to herself and said, “See?” When the flame-haired girl was rewarded with utter silence, she said, “What, Rainbow, quiet for a change?” “I…Sunny, if our friendship means anything, you will get me an autograph right this second, okay? Immediately if not sooner!” “I’ll ask,” Sunset replied, “but for now, lunch just arrived. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” “Sunny, I’m beg—” Sunset never heard the remainder of Rainbow’s statement as she disconnected the call and slipped the phone back in her pocket. “Sorry about that,” Sunset apologized. “Rainbow pranks me often enough that I thought this would be too perfect of an opportunity to get her back.” Screwball smiled wildly. “Hey, I can go with that. Bossman’s quite the prankster himself. I remember when we were laying down the vocal tracks for ‘Of Course!’, out of nowhere he stops singing the lyrics we’d written and breaks out into the opera ‘Oberto’ by Verdi, and both the producer and engineer are looking at him like he’s insane, but he’s just singing along. Hell, I don’t even know where the fuck he learned how to sing in the operatic style.” “You’re shitting me.” “Nope. You familiar with the song ‘Sonata’ by Sapphire Shores? The opera singing in the background is Discord’s; Sapphire was in the recording studio down the hall from us and when she heard it, she asked to dub it in for her song.” “Really? I did not know that,” Sunset said as the waiter placed her lunch in front of her. She’d heard the song several times courtesy of Rarity abusing it to death, but little did either girl know that Sunset’s favorite singer was behind the more quirky part of that pop song. “Yeah. And I wanted to tell my sister, but….” “But…?” “No, it’s nothing,” Screwball said, immediately shutting up. “Let’s just enjoy our lunch and chat about what we researched. What were you able to find out?” “Well, I found a PDF scan written by Duke Almirante’s brother, Viscount Coronel, claiming that there was no way that Musica Allegra’s son Luthier was Almirante’s offspring. However, Coronel’s charges are believed to be spurious, as if Luthier was believed not to be Almirante’s son, then Coronel’s own son, Potestad, could have made a claim for Almirante’s lands.” “Yeah, I saw the same thing. Fortunately, Almirante claimed Luthier as his son, and then afterwards, Almirante and La Musica had Sweet Strings, Toccato, Gran Valz, Adagio and Canto Allegre, thus preventing Coronel and his line from inheriting the Duchy of Najera.” A thought suddenly came to mind: “You know, I bet I could make a bitchin’ solo album out of all this – theme album, too.” “Medieval soap opera?” “Hrm…well, if I use that for the title of the album, I’ll make sure you get credit,” Screwball said with a laugh. “Anyway, I did notice something that I really hadn’t before.” “What’s that?” “She had an unhealthy obsession with unicorns and pegasi. Looking through her compositions, nearly all of them had something to do with unicorns, pegasi, horses, or some gleaming castle. And keep in mind this was centuries ago, well before the Disney Princess crap we have nowadays; she lived in the era where indoor plumbing was science fiction. So I don’t get why she had anything like that in mind.” “I’m not sure I follow,” Sunset said, though she knew exactly what Screwball was talking about. “Makes sense, since you’re not a musician, but check this out.” Screwball pulled out her phone, brought up Spotify, and selected a few songs. “This is an album of selected movements of her works that were recorded by the String Cheese Quartet. Just listen to the music and look at the track names. I have to wonder if we should also credit her with the discovery of marijuana, because I swear the woman was high, just from her compositions.” Handing Sunset her phone and headphones, Screwball insisted that she take a spin at the tunes. Sunset listened to the tracks while Screwball munched on her turkey and brie. And as surprise appeared on the face of the flame-haired teen, the guitarist grinned and said, “See? What’d I tell you? Very evocative music – and I don’t even listen to classical on a regular basis. It’s almost as if I can see those pegasi and unicorns she kept trying to image in her music.” Not hearing Screwball’s words, Sunset began to play with the controls as her mind reeled from what she was listening to. That’s….that’s…. She looked at the song currently playing over the earbuds: Symphony No. 17 in D Major, the “Unicorn’s Gavotte”. At least, that’s what the name of the song she was listening to was. But that wasn’t what she was hearing. That’s the Royal Anthem of Equestria – “In Regnum Aeternum Solis”! By a force of habit long unused, she mentally sang along with the song, the lyrics from her memory fitting all-too-easily with the song: “Hail our Eternal Sun, Ne’er Her reign be undone, Peace with each daily morn, For hoof, wing, and spiraled horn Yea, will all souls sing praise For the Princess of our Days!” She forced herself to stop, switching to the next selection, the String Quartet No. 5 in E-flat Major, the “Ballet of Pegasi”. Sure enough it was the ballet of pegasi – the music was that of the Banquet of Clouds, a well-known aerial ballet that pegasi often performed on the Day of the Summer Sun Celebration. Celestia had taken her, when she was ten years old, to see a performance in Cloudsdale, and to her young eyes, it had been the most beautiful thing ever; Sunset had briefly wanted to be an aerial ballet dancer, until the princess dashed her dreams by explaining that only pegasi could do so. Ignoring the memory of that heartbreak, she then went to the next selection, part of the Clarinet Concerto in A Major, “The Palladium on the Mountain”. She recognized that as an almost note-for-note copy of “Ode to the Capital of the World”, a song composed by Golden Tones upon the founding of Canterlot. Sunset remembered it well: it had been the last time she and Celestia had attended a recital together, their relationship already strained. The following week would be Sunset’s critical mistake, leading her on the path that set her here. As she forwarded through the tracks, she listened to each selection briefly. Some of them were similar to songs she’d heard; some were near-outright copies, including the Symphony No. 6 in F Major, the “Pastoral Symphony”, which conformed to the song by Bella Sonata known as “The Romance of the Farmer’s Daughter”; she’d heard Celestia hum the first movement often. A few were ones she wasn’t familiar with, but it only deepened the mystery. Was La Musica a refugee from Equestria? And how? And why? What drove her here? “Sunset!” The teen finally snapped out of her thoughts as Screwball reached over and pulled the earbuds out of Sunset’s ears. “Hey, Earth to Sunset. You okay?” “Huh? Oh – sorry, just got lost in the imagery,” she lied. “But yeah, I could almost see the pegasi and the unicorns in the music.” As well as the earth ponies, but let’s not get into that part, shall we? “Well, tell ya what,” she said, looking at her phone. “I have to be in Seattle tomorrow – making a guest guitar appearance on Trickyfingers’ new album, so let’s call it a day for now, since I have to head home and pack. You have access to all the records still, so feel free and keep working if you want, or just take the day off and we can get back to everything on Thursday, okay?” “I’ll keep looking,” Sunset promised. “Wouldn’t want to let you down.” “You’re not letting me down,” Screwball assured her. “It’s not like….” Screwball sighed again, more audibly than the last time she’d caught herself. “Not like what?” “Just…don’t worry about it, kid. Adult shit, and you’ve got a few more years before you have to deal with this kind of crap, so….” “And yet you’re clearly bothered about it,” Sunset said. “And do me a favor – don’t just dismiss me as a kid just because you’re older than me.” Especially since I’m probably older than you. “I was living on my own from the age of twelve – yes, twelve – as a runaway until I was taken in by my current family. I spent four years living in an abandoned warehouse with scant utilities, so I know hard.” The look on Screwball’s face was priceless. “You’re… you’re shitting me.” “No. Ask the folks I came here with. I call them my cousin, aunt and uncle…but really? They’re just extended foster family, no real ties. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about them at all, just that…a year ago, at this time, I didn’t have anyone in my life.” Sunset opted not to tell the whole details for obvious reasons, but she figured an edited version would suffice. “So I know hardship.” “And you’re not shitting me?” “Hey, it’s like the lyrics in ‘Attitude Adjustment’: ‘You have no idea the shit I’ve been through/And it sounds like a lie, because it’s all true.’” Screwball sat there for a few minutes, as if in thought, then started to speak. “Yeah, so here’s the deal: my parents were this 70s soft rock duo. Not the biggest group out there, but in the early to mid-70s, they did fair enough. Ever heard of Afterschool Special?” “They’re the ones that recorded ‘Skyrockets at Night’ and ‘Sunflowers and Sunshine’, right? My foster father has one of their CDs.” Sunset suppressed a shudder; she remembered the time that Night Light had given her a lift to school and had it on; she didn’t want to tell him that he had absolutely zero ability at singing. Thankfully the torture had been brief, and that he didn’t try to sing anything else. “Hell, didn’t know my ‘rental’s albums were already on CD – must be on a legacy label. Anyway, since then, they seem to think that they know how to manage their kids’ careers. My older brother was a disappointment to them, mainly because he had no interest in music. He’s a firefighter in Santa Monica, by the way. As for me, once I learned how to play the guitar, my parents insisted on trying to get me into every kid’s band possible. I was actually on NBC Saturday Kids’ Zone for a while as part of the band, and I hope nobody ever taped those. “But finally, I got a gig with Flaming Ravioli, and we had a hit, though that band didn’t last long. That’s what led me to my spot with Discord. But during all that time, my parents had an unexpected third kid and they’re pushing her hard to follow the typical teen path to stardom – sweet coquettish ingénue, bitch who flashes her tits the moment she gets out of her contract, then drunken party whore until her career flatlines and continues into the Adult Contemporary comeback album. But she doesn’t want that, no matter how much my parents insist that it’s the best way for her to do her career. “What makes it worse is that I’m trying to get her to come live with me so she doesn’t have to hear Mom and Dad’s drunken-ass recollections of when they were on the cover of Teen Beat and Bananas and all that. But she thinks I’m trying to corral her career and tell her what to do, and she gets enough of that shit from Mom and Dad. And I’ve talked to the bossman for advice, but he’s already got shit with his wife and kids—” “Wait – Discord’s married?” Screwball sighed. “Keep that under your hat, okay?” “He was just in the National Enquirer last month – a scandal about him snorting cocaine off a porn star’s tits…and he’s married?” Sunset practically shouted. “Keep it down!” Screwball growled. “He doesn’t want it to be public info, because he’s trying to keep his family shielded from all this. And…truthfully, his attorney’s suing that rag. The guy in the photo’s a lookalike, and I know it, because when they claimed that drugfest in Brazil happened? Discord was working on lyrics while on vacation with his wife in the English countryside.” The guitarist gave the teen a hard look. “Remember when I said all this stardom is just bullshit and appearances? The Discord the public sees – the party guy, goes on stage with a bottle of tequila and all that – it’s a lie. In his free time, he reads 19th century novels – he’s a real fan of Walden Pond and other authors of the time – and writes songs for other artists that he knows he can never record himself. The song ‘Just an Appalachian Gal’ by Twangy Tunes? He wrote that – yeah, it’s a country song, but he wrote that and gave it to Yellow Rose and her band because it’s never going to end up on our albums. “And that’s the shit that my sister’s being made to wallow in. Discord’s bottle of tequila onstage is actually herbal tea, so it soothes his voice. But that CNN article on my sister misbehaving in Miami during winter break – that was real gin and juice, and she’s only sixteen and she hates alcohol. But Mom and Dad told her and her friends to go get plastered in a hotel room and that they’d bail them out.” She buried her face in a palm as she shook her head. “My parents insisted my sister and her friends – all of which attend an elite school here in LA and thus can be very conscious about their images – go to Miami for Christmas by themselves and go get fucking drunk in a hotel room…because it would look good for my sister’s career. Can you imagine how all twenty ways of fucked up that is?” Sunset put two and two together instantly. “Midge is your sister, isn’t she?” “Now, I didn’t claim to be related to Midnight Moondust….” “And yet you departed on Monday evening just before she and the others came looking for me. Hell, you didn’t even attend the opening ceremonies for the exhibit, even though you were obviously on the guest list. And I have yet to see you go near the exhibit – would that be because Midge is very interested in it?” “Yeah,” Screwball admitted. “Look, I love my little sister very much and I don’t want her to have to be a slave to what my parents think fame and fortune is. If she becomes a rock star like me, fine. If she wants to be a session musician and that’s it, fine. Hell, if she doesn’t want a career in music at all, I’ll back her. But this!” Screwball said, waving her hands to encompass the museum, “is the legacy of my family – everyone’s practically in the Goddamn music industry and some have it far worse than others.” “You’re quiet tonight,” Ballad said, looking at Sunset and her mostly untouched appetizer plate. “Sorry, just had something on my mind,” she said, glumly. “I can imagine – you’re missing all this,” Evening said, his hand motioning at La Mare on the Pier, the seaside dining destination at the Venice Pier. Honestly, we thought you’d enjoy the place.” “I do!” Sunset defended. “It’s just….” “I know,” Ballad said, looking at her own daughter. Sunset looked at both and realized something had happened that she’d not been privy to, and as she looked at the other three at the table, she wondered if her own concerns were about to take second place compared to what she’d missed. Finally, she got her answer: Octavia, uncharacteristically, looked at her parents with anger. “Didn’t it ever occur to you to ask me what I want?” “Dear, this is a great opportunity,” Ballad explained, “and it would be a once in a lifetime chance for you as we—” “No, it’s not!” Octavia shouted, catching the attention of everyone in the restaurant. “I don’t want to! I have a life – a home – and you’re acting just like your sisters, Mom!” “Octavia Melody, that is uncalled for,” Evening said in a firm tone. “Now you will sit down, apologize to your mother and – where do you think you’re going, young lady?” The last was said as Octavia got up from the table and walked away in a huff. “What’s going on?” Sunset said, never having seen Octavia act…so…bratty? she thought, trying to grasp for a word. “I….” The look on the adults’ faces was one of…guilt? Sunset tried to wade through the conflicting emotions she felt, the concern about Screwball’s issues now definitely being shoved into the back seat for now. Getting up from the table, she said, “Have them cancel mine and Tavi’s orders. I’ll talk to her and give you a call when I’ve got it sorted out.” “We…didn’t come here entirely for the exhibition,” Ballad began carefully. Sunset didn’t waste a second more; she was out of the chair and headed towards the door as fast as she could without causing a further scene. She’d failed Octavia once, in her opinion. There wasn’t going to be a second time. Sunset found Octavia, a second later, leaning by the edge of the pier. As she approached, the raven-haired musician never took her eyes off the undulating motion of the Pacific. “I wish I was like you,” she said softly. She then turned to look at Sunset, her eyes showing a girl lost. “I wish I had the strength to run away.” “Tavi, don’t ever say that,” Sunset said, slipping an arm around the girl. “So, want to tell me what happened?” “I…I thought it was a lie, but I guess not,” she said, her voice flat. “Despite everything, Mom’s still in that competition with my aunts, and I thought that she really was better than that, but I guess I was wrong.” “Losing me here.” “My parents were really here to discuss joining the Runaway Symphonic. It’s an elite orchestra, travels worldwide and plays in places you wouldn’t believe – they only accept the best of the best musicians, and they made an offer to both Mom and Dad to join.” “Well, that’s good, right?” Sunset asked, knowing full well that wasn’t the case; if it had been, Octavia wouldn’t have exploded like that. Sure enough, she shook her head. “No. The Runaway is based in Paris, which means we would have to move. And yes, I said we – I overheard Mom talking to the music director of the Runaway about some school there that I could attend, the Lycée International de Saint Germain-en-Laye – I’m not even sure I’m pronouncing that right.” “Well, before you continue, let me stop you right there and go get us fed. Fatburger sound okay with you?” Sunset asked, pointing towards a familiar red-and-yellow, diamond-in-a-circle logo. “On one condition: I want a strawnana shake.” “A what?” “C’mon,” Octavia said, grabbing Sunset by the hand and heading towards the pierside burger shack. “They’re to die for.” “How can you eat that?” Octavia asked as she watched Sunset finish off a XXXL Fatburger with fries and a large dulce de leche shake. “I was hungry,” Sunset said, leaning back in her seat after demolishing the fully-loaded triple quarter-pounder cheeseburger. Other patrons were looking at her with a mixture of awe and confusion. “Now, before food coma sets in, want to tell me what’s bothering my favorite cousin?” “I’m your only cousin, Sunny, and really, not even that.” “See? You get favorite by default. So earn your prize and start talking.” “I don’t want to go, okay? I like living in Canterlot, with my aunt and uncle and Twily and Spike and Shiny and Cady…and you too,” Octavia said, with a grin. “I like going to Zacherle’s and having a normal life. I don’t want to be a part of whatever war my mother and her sisters have – and that my cousin Octavia’s dead-set on being a part of, too! My grandmother’s a bitch who was successful at her arts before she gave it all up for kids, and now she’s determined to make sure we all continue the tradition of La Musica her way!” Sunset sat there, having listened to every word Octavia said, but recalled the words that Screwball had said just hours before. And as Octavia continued, Sunset had to wonder: was this the kind of legacy that La Musica wanted to leave behind? Forget about whether she was a pony or not – was this nothing but a legacy of pain and misery that everyone with Musica Allegra’s bloodline had to endure? Finally, as Octavia finished speaking and dived back into her turkeyburger, Sunset said, “Tavi, I think you should talk to your parents.” “About what? I’m going to have to learn French within the next few months because Mom and Dad care more about their careers and this whole bullshit than about me!” “You know that’s not true,” Sunset countered. “They love you, totally and completely – I can see it in their eyes when they talk to you. You said it yourself: they probably would have had more kids were it not for their schedule, so they dote on you as much as they can. I know they wish they could spend more time with you – what’s wrong with that?” “Because I’m almost an adult now,” Octavia said. “And isn’t it unfair to uproot me from the life I’ve had all these years just to go to some country where I can’t speak the language just to make my parents look good?” “Well, in fairness,” a soft voice said behind her, “you’ve been doing that for years, Tavi.” Octavia turned and looked to see her parents standing there. Wordlessly, Sunset gestured to empty seats, which they both immediately used. “Sweetheart,” Ballad said, “I know what you’re thinking – and you’re wrong.” “Oh, really,” Octavia said acidly, only to get a punch in the shoulder from Sunset. “Hey, whose side are you on?” she snarled at the other teen. “Be polite,” Sunset reproached, to which Octavia groaned. “Thank you, Sunny,” Ballad said, continuing. “Anyway, I know that you think we intended to place you at the Saint Germain school there…but that was never the case. The representative from the Runaway suggested it because…well, they were hoping that if you were close enough to us, once you graduated from college, you’d join the Runaway as well. But I don’t want that for you, Tavi.” “We want you to have a normal life,” Evening said, “and though I hadn’t mentioned it yet because I was waiting for the right time, I asked Night and Velvet if they’d be willing to have you live with them permanently until you went to college. Since they were planning to do some redesigning of the house this summer, we’re going to pay for them to have a room added to the house so you can have your own place there, too. I know you’re happy in Canterlot and we want the best for you, Octavia.” “But I…but you….” “I know: you thought that because of my bickering with my mother and sisters that I wanted in the fight as well. I don’t; in fact, the only time I ever participated in any of their shit was when it came to your name, not that I regret that. But I don’t want you or Fiddlesticks to be a part of this orchestrated rivalry my mother’s come up with, and I’m sickened that Chanson’s allowed Octy—” “Octy?” Ballad laughed. “You really didn’t believe your cousin only went by ‘Octavia’, did you? No, I overheard Chanson call her ‘Octy’, and it sounded as though it was a normal thing.” Seeing the look on her daughter’s face, she added, “Anyway, that should be clear that grandmother’s gotten her hooks into the next generation, but I don’t want you or Fiddlesticks involved. And while Rondeau might want to, thankfully your uncle refuses to let Fiddle get involved in it.” “I see.” A second later, she lowered her head in shame and said, “I’m sorry. I was stupid.” “No,” Evening said. “You were a teenager, doing teenage things. And we want you to keep doing teenage things. And we want you to be happy, whether that’s as a performer or a music teacher, or even a bricklayer. We just want you to be happy, Tavi. That’s all we want.” “Thanks,” Octavia said, blushing. A second later, she heard a soft murmuring, and said, “And now we should probably get Sunny to bed, since she just slipped into food coma.” Sure enough, the flame-haired teen was dozing off, leaning back in her chair, the postprandial somnolence having gotten the better of her. “Heya, gals!” Fiddlesticks said, practically giddy as she met up with the girls the following day at the Brentwood. “Guess what?” “You look happy,” Sunset said, looking up from her tablet. “Ah am. Mah ex called me up an’ says she made a mistake an’ wants t’ get back t’gether ‘gin!” Fiddlesticks chirped, brushing a lock of hair out of her face before tying it back in a ponytail. “Ginger said she was afearin’ that Ah’d leave her fer some California beach bunny an’ she jest realized Ah’m only here fer a spell.” “No offense, Fiddle, but your girlfriend sounds like a complete ditz,” Midnight commented. “Ah never said she was a rocket sci’ntist,” the violinist admitted. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to go see Aunt Rondeau perform,” Octavia said. “I’ve only seen her play at family reunions, so I’m interested to see how she does in front of an audience.” “Ah’ll go with you,” Fiddlesticks replied, though she added, “But Ma’s only a technical player. Granny sez she ain’t got no verve er somethin’ like that.” “Well, I’ll wait here for Midge and then we’ll join you,” Sunset said. “Thanks, Sunny,” Midnight replied, continuing to munch on a crepe as the other two girls departed. Sunset waited until both were gone until she said, “Midge, why do you hate Screwball so much?” “Screwball? Actually, I love that old comedian – have all his films from the 40s an—” “Does the name ‘Summer Violet’ ring a bell?” A second later, Sunset was treated to a slap in the face. “Well, I see that got your attention,” she said, nursing the blow. “How dare you,” Midnight snarled. “Did she put you up to this? Or was all your research a lie just so she could try to use you as an intermediary?” “For starters, hit me again, and pop star or not, you’ll be on camera with a black eye,” Sunset retorted calmly. “Secondly, I’m doing this on my own. I idolized her, never knowing she was your sister – and not knowing that she’s trying to save you from whatever your parents’ plans are for your stardom.” “Yeah, just so she can throw hers at me,” Midnight said sullenly. “Not that it’s any of your business, Sunset, but I see what my Mom and Dad are trying to do. Make me and Screwball famous so they can use that as a vehicle for their own careers. This is LA – people do this shit all the time. Hell, Tavi and her parents don’t even live in LA and they’re doing the same thing!” “Shows what you know: They would never do that to her, and I was there last night when they explained that she’ll be living with my family until she finishes school. They care about her future, not what her future can do for them. Now, I don’t know your parents, and I barely know you or Screwball.” “Not Screwball,” Midnight hissed. “Violet – I don’t bother with her stage name.” “Fine, Violet. But you weren’t there when she and your brother were kids. You don’t see what your parents have done to her – and frankly, neither have I. But I’ve learned a few things over the past year. Family’s important. And even if you don’t agree that she’s trying to protect you, or that your parents aren’t trying to screw you over, understand this: Violet loves you. I’m a stranger – and yet she asked me for advice because she wants to protect you, just like a big sister should do. I respect that. Question is: do you?” Nothing further to say, Sunset got up from the table, leaving Midnight to stew in her own juices. After a few minutes, she took the last bite of her crepe, fished in her pocket for her phone and then dialed a number. The phone rang for a few minutes, and finally a voice answered on the other end. “Heya, Screwball here.” “Violet?” There was silence on the other side for a few, before there was a slight shift in the voice on the other end: warmer, less rehearsed and “wild”. “Heya, Middy. What’s up?” “I…when you get back to LA, can we talk?” “Excuse me, Ms. Shimmer?” She looked up to see a member of the research staff standing there, holding a package. “We just got this priority delivery for you.” “Thanks,” Sunset said, receiving the UPS package and opening it as the man walked away. A second later, she popped open the envelope and read. Sunset pulled out a small flash key that had a sticker on it labeled “SHE MADE AN ALBUM!” DEMO, and slipped it into her pocket. Whatever it was, it was clearly going to be interesting. But more importantly, she felt as though she’d just done something that was more worthwhile than anything else. “And I’ll bet you didn’t get her autograph for Rainbow, did you?” Sunset suddenly froze and turned towards the voice, her eyes pinpricks of embarrassment before she did a slow-mo facepalm. Seeing the maneuver, Octavia laughed. “Don’t worry, got it covered – I didn’t know you knew Violet, so I got ones for you and Rainbow.” “Thanks, bu – wait, you know Screwball?” Octavia rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Remember: Midge is a distant cousin, and Violet and Midge are sisters, so….” Octavia giggled at Sunset’s second facepalm. “But seriously, I didn’t know you were being a busybody here as well.” “Busybody?” “Well, aren’t you the one they’re calling ‘The Advice Girl’ at your school?” Sunset rolled her eyes. “Rarity’s been talking again, hasn’t she?” “Complete with a copy of the school newspaper, with a picture of you talking to another girl – or giving her advice as the Canterlot High Pony-Express captioned it.” The musician grinned. “Twily and I were quite proud of you, you should know. Seriously, though, I’m glad you were able to help Midge and Violet. And talk me out of what I’d said to my parents.” “Tavi, I didn’t do anything with you or Screwball that Cloud Kicker didn’t do with Vinyl Scratch.” Immediately, Octavia’s smile fell, replaced with a scowl. “Don’t do that,” Sunset admonished. “What do you mean ‘don’t do that?’ You’re comparing me to an attempted rapist, Sunny.” “No, I’m comparing the situation that everyone’s been in. Basically, it boils down to parents being overbearing on their children – or in your case, the appearance of such. Kicky wanted to protect Vinyl from destroying herself, whether it was by harming you, or worse. Scre…er, Violet, wanted to protect her sister from making mistakes she can’t recover from; you hear about all those teenage stars who burn out and become drug-and-alcohol-fueled wreckage on the highway of life, and despite her image, Violet’s not like that, so to watch their parents insist that Midge go that route frightened her. And as for me, you were worried that your mom was vested in her tiff with her sisters enough to sacrifice you, when that was never the case. And I wanted you to know, that no matter what, Twily and I were going to go to bat for you.” There was a flicker in Sunset’s cyan eyes, as though she realized something else about the situation, but if she did, she didn’t say anything further. “Really?” Octavia prompted. “Hey, what’s the Eightmazing Eight without you, Tavi?” “God, I hope Pinkie realizes how much I hate that name for our group.” “No one likes it either, but…it’s Pinkie,” Sunset said, as if that explained it all. “Well, what’s on the agenda now?” “Well, Midge is going to be performing ‘modern’ takes on La Musica’s songs, and I can’t wait to see how badly she butchers them. She was telling me that she turned ‘Unicorn’s Gavote’ into some R&B-infused dance song called ‘Unicorns’ and I can’t imagine how much our ancestress will be rolling in her grave.” Octavia gestured in the direction of the Lecture Hall, where the performances were. “Shall we?” “Do I have to?” “We’re cousins and like sisters, right? If one has to suffer we both have to, right?” “Is it too late to change my mind on that?” Sunset groaned. “Yes, it is,” Octavia said, grabbing her hand and dragging an annoyed Sunset towards the lecture hall.