//------------------------------// // Advertisement // Story: Harmonics, Inc.-- No Volunteers Rejected // by Cyanblackstone //------------------------------// ‘Harmonics, Inc.—The first and only privately-funded Harmonics group. Our mission includes the surveying of additional worlds and the exploration of said worlds with highly-trained professionals. Seeking applicants for all support and exploration positions. Wages high, public exposure guaranteed. No Volunteers Rejected. Apply at 300 Castle Avenue, Canterlot.’ The piece of paper bearing the hastily-made advertisement was torn off its place on the alleyway wall. The ragged blue hoof which had grabbed it had seen better days. Hints of a manicure could be discerned, but it was buried underneath months of grime and wear. “No Volunteers Rejected,” mused the owner of the hoof. She turned to look down the street at the end of the alleyway—Castle Avenue, as luck would have it. 300 Castle Avenue wasn’t more than a few blocks from the ragged leanto set up against the alleyway wall. Someone must have posted it while she was out, for nopony had entered the alleyway while she had been here. Absentmindedly, her other hoof adjusted the dirty hat atop her head. “This job could be the ticket back to fame and fortune,” muttered the mare. “And if no volunteers are rejected, I’ll surely get a prime exploration spot.” She smirked. “After all, the Great and Powerful Trixie has some tricks up her sleeve.” Of course, she wasn’t wearing any sleeves, but that was moot. She was Trixie, and she didn’t need sleeves for tricks. She proudly sniffed, head high, as she began her march towards 300 Castle Avenue, but stopped dead, her muzzle wrinkling in disgust. “...But first, a bath.” ----- “I told you I wanted my eggs lightly scrambled, not this...this... abomination!” A hoof swept the plate off of the mahogany table in anger, carefully avoiding the watermelon, which the incompetent bunglers had somehow managed to prepare acceptably. “These are obviously heavily scrambled! Do it again!” “Yes, suh,” the butler said, hastily motioning to the cooks for another round of eggs, this time lightly scrambled. He also motioned to a maid, who began cautiously cleaning the mess off to one side. “Why are all my servants idiots?” Prince Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot, moaned. “This is the second time this week they’ve botched my breakfast!” The butler opened his mouth, but Blueblood raised a tired hoof. “It was rhetorical, Coattails. Now, what’s the mail?” “The mail, suh,” the butler bowed, placing a silver tray bearing several letters and an ornate letter opener next to the watermelon plate. Blueblood glanced uninterestedly at the various social invitations and announcements. “I’ll go to as many of these as my schedule allows,” he said. “Arrange my schedule as needed.” “Yes, suh.” Of more interest were two other letters—One from the Canterlot Research and Development Department, which he headed (it was probably another request for some imbecilic invention somepony wanted funding for. There were ever so many of those). The other was a scroll from Princess Celestia, which was vastly more interesting. “Business first,” he sighed mournfully, tearing the top of the department-standard envelope with his silver letter opener. ‘Dear Prince Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot: We thank you for your generous support and work on behalf of the Canterlot R&D Department. We especially appreciate your streamlining of the paperwork of the department, but recent events—‘ Blueblood snorted. He certainly knew what events they were speaking of. ‘—have necessitated a shuffle in our personnel. We regret to inform you that our focus of development has shifted to Harmonics- and Ascent-related devices. A new head of the department, qualified in these fields, has been chosen, effective immediately. We thank you for your efforts. Here are the wages for your last two weeks of work. We wish you luck in your future employment. Sincerely, Canterlot Research and Development Department 250 Alchemy Road’ Blueblood stared at the innocuous piece of paper in his aura. He’d just been fired. By letter, no less! “How dare they!” he screeched, tearing the letter into a thousand tiny pieces and letting them drift to the ground. The bits enclosed were flung all over the room, and servants dove out of the way of the speedy pieces of metal. “Firing me... me!—by letter! The nerve of those commoners! Not even the nerve to face me in person! Cowards!” For a few minutes, he stomped around the dining room, ranting about the injustice he had been dealt and running over past injustices as well, of which there were many. Calming down, he sat once more, and sighed. “Well, that’s torn it. How many jobs is that in the past year?” “Eight, suh.” “That’s less than two months a job! Obviously there’s some sort of conspiracy or cosmic joke, constantly firing me and preventing me from my rightful place as head of a prestigious department.” Blueblood, glumly mourning his fate, didn’t notice the small eyeroll his butler gave. “I suppose I should open the letter from Aunt Celestia,” he decided, removing the seal and unrolling the official scroll. ‘Dear Great-Nephew Blueblood: I’ve been made aware of yet another department releasing you as department head. Although it’s certainly understandable given the shakeup Equestria has recently endured for your release this time, I’m afraid this has gone long enough. You’ve been released from eight department head positions in less than a year, Great-Nephew. Obviously, something needs to change—department head just is not your proper place, as the past has amply demonstrated. Unfortunately, due to your refusal to work the vast majority of jobs, nearly every employment option left to you has been disqualified. I’ve run out of department head jobs, unless you would like to be head of the Underground department?’ Blueblood shuddered. That was no more than a tidy name for the poor ponies that ran the sewer systems. ‘No, thank you,’ he thought. ‘Also unfortunate is the change in the position on Earth for the Diplomatic Corps you were supposed to take in a few weeks. Your firing has already hit the news services on Earth, and some bureaucrats on the Earth-bound side of Harmonics did some digging into your background after hearing the news. Suffice it to say, your position on the Diplomatic Corps has taken a severe hit. You were demoted to the position of aide to the new Chief Diplomat Fancy Pants, and given your propensity to dislike non-leadership jobs, I have taken the liberty of retracting your position.’ He groaned. “Well, that’s even worse. Aide to Fancy Pants... fah! I was looking forwards to something new.” ‘However, there is one new position I strongly suggest you take. Enclosed is their advertisement. You cannot be the full head of this venture—it is a privately-owned company. I can promise, however, a job which is as prestigious as you desire; you would be head of the Equestrian personnel there, an excellent place from which to move up in the company. If you refuse or get fired from this business, I’m unsure as to whether there is another appropriate place for you. At that point, you’ll have to work a “common” job—but I hope you can keep your position in this company. It seems suited to you. Tell the secretary at the desk that I sent you. With love, Celestia Princess of the Day P.S. - You’ll get what I mean by ‘suited’ when you read the job description.’ Dropping the letter limply onto the table, he put his head in his hooves. Great-Aunt Celestia had already heard of his plight—that mare knew everything far faster than she should. Disapproval radiated tactfully from the letter, but every word was enough gave the impression that she was extremely disappointed and that the tact was merely her inborn courtesy. He had failed her—again. Given that, her ‘suggestion’ was nothing of the sort; it was a requirement now. If this was the only option left to his noble self, he would take it. It was not an option to fail this time. Never before had a letter been so blunt. This was his last chance for a noble job. Another release, and Great-Aunt would surely have him sweeping streets or some disgraceful other job to “make something” of himself. He glanced quickly over the advertisement, ignoring most of the details. One sentence at the bottom caught his eye, though: ‘No Volunteers Rejected,’ it read. That was either a very good or a very bad sign in a business—but Celestia had recommended it, so it must be good. “Get my carriage!” he called, handing the paper to his butler. “I’m going to this address immediately! Make sure everything is ready by the top of the hour.” He strode out of the still-messy dining room to dress in appropriate finery for the occasion. ----- Whoever had designed 300 Castle Avenue had an interesting sense of taste. For some incomprehensible reason, instead of designing the usual central pair of doors, the architect placed two double doors on far ends of the building. It wasn’t a style that had caught on, and most of the other buildings with its peculiar arrangement had been demolished long ago and its architect had been forgotten. There were still architects and historians who argued over his identity in dusty museums and halls over bottles of scotch, as many of the demolished buildings had played a disproportionally important part in Equestrian history. But the name of the architect or the history of his buildings wasn’t the issue; the real conflict came because there were two front entrances instead of one—and yet, there was only one room inside. Prince Blueblood threw open the castleward doors dramatically. He surveyed the scene, adjusted his recently-pressed cuffs, and strode purposefully towards the reception desk. Simultaneously, Trixie the Great and Powerful threw open the cityward doors, scrutinized the room, adjusted her newly-cleaned hat and cape, and set off towards the reception desk. Such was their fixation that neither noticed the other until they bumped shoulders.