//------------------------------// // Singing Foal 1 // Story: What's With the Hook? // by CP Benedict //------------------------------// BOOK I SINGING FOAL CHAPTER1 It was in the middle of July, and just as warm and sunny as you’d think it would be at that time of year. Our sun goddess, Celestia, always has her specials ways of controlling that one star she felt been fit to warm our world. Summers always seem to be her best semesters, as well as her sister’s. The moon goddess, Luna, takes control of the moon, hoof-crafted from the mountains of Canterlot. The moon reflected the sun’s light in a white, firmament glow, so the night would be as pleasing to the eye as the day. Sweetie Belle especially adored days like this, especially seeing it was on that day that one of her musical idols, the late radio personality, Chestnut Drone, was coming to the Annual Ponyville Fare to perform his live sketch show that’s been advertised for a few months. His usual shtick was taking whatever props he can find at home, whatever shape or size it may be, and make whatever music he could make with them, It sounded like a witty idea to me, but a lot of people saw it as just him playing with trash. This was one of those times of the day where I am personally drawn to the sky; the reddish sun slowly drifted from our sight, the sky was being poured a the purple shade, making a beautiful contrast with the sun, a perfect scenery for an outdoor stage performance. I wasn’t surprised to see Sweetie Belle up in the first row of conveniently placed stools. It wasn’t the biggest crowd you’d ever seen, but it wasn’t disappointing either, bigger than most crowds at a fare, that is. The minute finally came when the upbeat, old Earth Pony trotted up onto the stage, which had a burgundy curtain set behind it. His coat was brown like the mahogany of an old-school radio, he wore a dark blue jacket, and had a Cutie Mark of a boom mic. They started to watch in confusion as Chestnut Drone slowly set two large pots on the stage, with a very deadpan look on his face, as if he had no clue of what to do with them. I assumed he must have been growing tired, I mean he was well into his 60s. But then, before we could interpret it as feasible movement, the old horse jumped onto the pots. He quickly opened his mouth, and yelled in a raspy, yet charming voice, “Hey there, everypony!” The response was more clamorous than I expected. “This is Chestnut Drone from WHR…” (Wild Horse Radio) ”…seeing all your lovely faces at last!” The buoyant stallion then pressed his hooves onto the pots, and quickly slammed them together under his belly, and then pushing them both back to where they were so that the sound wave wouldn’t be muffled. He repeated this five times, and it was obvious that he realized ponies wouldn’t react fondly to that, so immediately after the fifth bang, he made a fake weepy face. “Wasn't that just wonderful?!" he exaggeratingly blubbered with joy. "Back in my day, this was music," He continued in a sarcastic tone, "Just five bangs of steel pans and we were all in heaven," He then chuckled a bit, I guess to confirm that it was a joke, I heard some light chuckles in the crowd in response. "But really, don’t you worry," the stallion said in a kind, promising voice "old Chestnut’s just gettin' warmed up!” We couldn’t help but snicker when we caught two ponies wrapped in clothing with colors that blend in with the curtain wheeling a huge set up of what appeared to be a rack with different sizes of pans, pipes, and springs hanging on rows protruding from a ten-foot-tall wall, there were also small balls set above every item on the wall. Chestnut grabbed a yellow ball from his suit pocket and threw it towards the top left-hoof corner of the wall; the ball hit a conveniently placed plate on that part of the wall, rolled down the row, and landed on the first pan, making a noise with an audible musical note to it. The next ball was somehow triggered to drop, and go through the first ball’s same process. That ball, as you’d guess, landed onto the pan next to the first one, but since it was smaller than the first one, the sound from the impact of that pan was higher in pitch as well. As the pattern continued, the notes of the rest of the pans contrasted each other to sound like an upbeat tune. Chestnut slammed his pots once again in the rhythm of the beat, as well as stomping on the tops of them for a wider variety of sound. I started to think to myself, “This is the ‘trash’ everypony’s talking about?” Of course, being the first time seeing such a large production value, I was very impressed with what I saw. The song then came to an end as the note from the last spring faded out. There was quite an applause from the audience, me included. “I think I’d like to give youns a little something from back in my day!” Chestnut Drone said in a calming voice after the applause ceased. A large harp wheeled across the stage, only to have Chestnut stop it in his tracks, budging him slightly. We could tell by the way he talked and how his expression came through that he’s been waiting to give us this segment and it meant a whole lot to him. Chestnut then positioned himself comfortably for playing his harp. “Hopefully, some of you will be remotely familiar with this one,” he said, teasingly, knowing that not a lot of younger ponies would know the song he was preparing. As the song began, I noticed Sweetie Belle gasp with joy, as I could tell she recognized the melody almost instantly. It was “Galloping in the Open”, a song written around fifty years before. Sweetie Belle opened her mouth, wanting to sing along, but then her shyness got the best of her, and she closed it right away, I could notice her ears starting to droop, probably because she wanted to make the wise, old stallion performing for us proud, but couldn’t just because of her doubts in herself. As the second verse came around, we could almost hear a mysterious, high voice from the back row in the audience. It was singing in the tune of the song being played for us; and it gradually got louder, practically echoing in our heads. It was a strange combination of soothing and unworldly. It was like what you would hear from a futuristic machine with a personality. As the voice became clear, Sweetie Belle’s perked back up and her eyes popped in a fraction of a second. We all followed the voice to see who (or what) could produce it. Our attention was gravitated towards a small, lambent yellow coated Pegasus colt, wearing a coonskin cap. He was gently moving his muzzle, letting out his strange hums; it was kind of bazar to hear a voice coming out of a colt who, by the looks of him, couldn’t have been any more than seven years old. The smooth croons from the colt flowing over the strums of Chestnut's harp made the sound very warm and relaxing. Chestnut, smiling the most solacing grin I’ve seen in my days, humbly finished his song, letting the mane-raising pipes from the pint-sized colt work along with him. The song came to a breathtaking finish, and all hooves in the audience uttered intense thunderclaps that could be heard outside of the fare grounds. As the applause started to diminish, so that he could be heard, Chestnut stepped forward, and pointed towards the spot in the audience the singing foal was, and called out. “Hey there!” “Who me?” asked the same colt in a loud voice. Chestnut chuckled, “Yeah, you. Who else?” “Well, I’m sorry if I interrupted you, sir, but I couldn’t help but…” “’Interrupt?!’ Son, you got me the biggest applause I’ve had in 20 years!” Chestnut said, in a delightfully baffled voice. “What’s your name?” The colt paused half a second, but quickly regained his manners. “Icarus,” he answered. “How old are you?” asked Chestnut. “I’m twelve,” Icarus answered. Chestnut and everypony in the audience gasped in surprise, for a colt with rosy cheeks and legs too short for his hooves to reach the ground from his stool entering is teenage years seemed ridiculous yet revolutionary. Also, his speaking voice sounded nothing like his singing voice. It seemed like with every syllable he annunciated, he opened his mouth wide. “Would you like to come up here, and sing my next tune?” Chestnut asked encouragingly. “I’m sorry Mr. Drone, but I got to go to the shop and work late hours, now.” Icarus said sadly, but still determined to get his job done. “But thanks for the offer!” Icarus then trotted off towards the entrance. Some of us tried to spot what his Cutie Mark was out of curiosity, but we couldn't see a mark of any sort, some were confused of how somepony could have a singing voice such as his, and not have a Cutie Mark. After we watched him go about half way out of our sight, we all turned back to Chestnut. He looked a little disappointed that he couldn’t have that young colt perform with him, but he tried his best to conclude his show. Meanwhile, I noticed Sweetie Belle still watching the Pegasus colt leave the fare to his job, and I could even see her pondering. I think she may have wondered if she could see him again anytime soon.