//------------------------------//
// Idle Singer of an Empty Day 
// Story: We Who with Songs Beguile 
// by Loganberry 
//------------------------------//

Afternoon, Brunneous. It’s nice of you to pop in for this – you really didn’t have to, you know. Truth be told, I’m actually quite flattered that you want to hear this little tale of woe; I’ve never exactly thought of myself as the most cheerful of storytellers. Last chance to back out... no? All right, then.

I can’t say I was exactly thrilled when I discovered we were being taken back to Cliffside for this next recital. It’s a long way, after all, and I never have been the greatest fan of train travel. Typically stupid pony solution: most of them can’t fly, so they all end up travelling ground-bound in a great, belching steambox.

Not to mention the fact that I don’t exactly have the happiest memories of the place from last time round. Sometimes I almost feel as though I should dive out the side and make for the Spreading Woods.

Hey, don’t look at me like that; I did say “almost”. In any case, I guess the days are long gone when I actually had a say in that sort of thing. I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that real freedom is a thing of the past; I’ve accepted that the price of safety is doing the ponies’ will. I have to admire you for taking the harder path.

You know Yellow-Pink, I imagine. Most everybird does, if only by reputation. What you may not know is what she’s like with the choir. She’s been her usual strange self on this journey, but that’s something I’m used to nowadays. Harsh taskmistress she may be – she certainly wasn’t shy of showing those great teeth a lot during the little practice session we had earlier today – but at least she still seems to have a bit of consideration for our welfare and some vague idea about intelligent communication. I’ll take what I can get when it comes to ponies, and in my position, Yellow-Pink is about as good as it’s going to get.

Her associates, now, they’re quite a different matter. I don’t know whether you’ve come across Lavender-Purple, for example. If you don’t, count yourself lucky, since she turns up absolutely everywhere. I still haven’t forgiven that damn unicorn for what she did to Verdant a Greening or two ago. Spell-forcing a song, indeed. Being a free bird, I’m still amazed he didn’t give her one right in the eye for that.

Well, he was a free bird. He had to go see Yellow-Pink after that, since he was having some trouble breathing, and you can guess what happened next. He’s around here somewhere if you want to catch up with him later, but please don’t tire him out. Verdant’s syrinx has never really been the same since that disaster, and the last thing we want is for him to lose his song entirely.

And Lavender-Purple, I might remind you, is the pony who has made an absolute art form of interrupting us when we’re trying to concentrate on our singing. Do you know, the very first time she blundered in on us, she’d apparently decided that yelling at Yellow-Pink was a really great way to introduce herself. While we were having a serious practice in full chorus. Yeah, brilliant work, Lavvy. Absolutely fantastic.

Idiot.

And White-Ruler actually seems to like the pony. Yolk help us all.

On the plus side, at least I haven’t seen White-Indigo around recently; she’s kept herself well out of the way so far. A blessed relief, that is, and I’m sure you’ll understand that sentiment well enough yourself. Ponies don’t seem to feel the cold too badly, but I sure as cuckoo do. It’s no fun to be perching on some twig that’s been cleared of snow, hoping against hope that that ludicrously finicky mare will actually do her job halfway properly this time round. To think that this is the pony responsible for making all the Territory’s nests.

Well, she was, at any rate. After the truly spectacular mess she made of it all last time round, she’d better not be doing it again next year, otherwise we’ll probably end up sharing one nest for the whole flock.

If we’re lucky.

Okay, maybe that’s overdoing it, but not much. I’m sure she’d be able to work out some equally stupid fiasco to inflict on us all. No, don’t even think about it. The most ridiculous things you could dream up wouldn’t come close to rivalling what a pony could do.

Mind you, it’s weird, but I might even be better off than you if it did happen. I guess I’d probably be found a little nook in Yellow-Pink’s place sooner or later – so long as I tucked my primaries in and didn’t get too chirpy –  but you freers wouldn’t all be able to do that.

I confess that I sometimes fantasise about getting a little revenge on White-Indigo; she couldn’t say she didn’t deserve it. Come to think of it, she does visit Yellow-Pink’s quite a bit, so maybe we could get... yeah, okay, stop rambling, Mazarine.

But that pony’s still a fool. I know it’s wrong to judge a bird, or even a pony, by her plumage, but when hers is virtually the same colour as Lavvy’s, well... it doesn’t look too good for the damn unicorn, does it?

I wonder occasionally whether she really is a unicorn, though. Possibly she’s some kind of mutant: Ocherous claims to have seen her flying up in that weird pegasus settlement a couple of summers ago, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what Ocherous is like. A drop too much of the nectar on his part would be my bet, quite honestly.

All that said, most pegasi are pretty dumb, too. For one thing, they still don’t seem to have twigged those little games of hide and seek you guys play at migration time. I mean, I saw that happen once, back when I was a free bird myself, and it was obvious right away what was going on. To me, that is. Not to the pegasi. You’d think ponies who could actually grasp the rudiments of flight would be a bit less ignorant.

Though I don’t know... I suppose pegasi don’t have much space for brains, given the amount of muscle they need. They must flap those wings in some pretty weird ways to lift that much fat. Possibly they can actually manage basic manipulation of air currents, like when they’re shoving clouds about. Or something; I’m not much of a scientist. Ask Fulvous if you really want to hear a whole load of technical guff about it. Just don’t expect to get away before tomorrow night. Whatever the case, relying on the pegasi is not exactly my favourite part of the Greening. 

Talking of pegasi... you’ll probably laugh when I say this, but even now, I can still remember the first one I ever saw.

All right, it was Grey-Amber, so not exactly the easiest pony to forget.

I’d barely fledged, and I was perching on the edge of the nest one morning when this vast shape hove into view. It’s not as if I could have missed him; that pony practically blocked out the light. I just stood there and stared as he lumbered past, huge and red-eyed.

The funny thing was that I thought he was a female at the time; I hadn’t actually noticed the lack of eye-feathers. Either way, with wings that tiny, it’s a wonder Grey-Amber made it off the ground at all. Maybe he has some unicorn in him.

Ergh. I really, really did not want that particular mental image.

So, yeah, ponies are such ridiculously lumbering beasts, aren’t they? The pegasi a little less, but nowhere near as much as half of them seem to think. On top of which, they’re so bloody slow at getting rid of winter. Yolk above knows why they don’t just get their unicorns to do the job with plain old magic. There are enough of them in the Territory, though probably the Cliffside ponies wouldn’t think so. Perhaps the thought of doing it all with unicorns would make the pegasi and earth ponies jealous?

Roseate seems to be convinced that it’s all to do with some sort of feud, but then he says that about everything. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, really: “Wow, that note was three mills too high! You having a feud with somebird, Ammy?”

Admittedly, if it’s Amaranthine we’re on about, then he probably is having a feud with somebird. Maybe if he spent a bit less time on that and a bit more concentrating on his song, he wouldn’t sing off key quite so often. The trick with him is to find out who he’s not having a feud with at any given moment; I haven’t managed that one too often. Usually because he’s also found something to feud with me about and is therefore refusing to be helpful.

It was meal-grubs last time. Quite how you have a feud about meal-grubs, I don’t know. Amaranthine found a way.

And now I’m rambling again; I know I need to get back to the point. Can I just complain a bit more about White-Indigo first, though? Let’s face it, it’s not as if I’m going to run out of things to whine about any time soon. That pony spends half her time around Yellow-Pink, and she’s apparently some sort of designer for the Territory’s ponies, so it’s a veritable wonder that she still can’t even tell the difference between meadowlark and bluejay nest designs. It’s like... like... I can’t even think of something similarly pathetic. I guess an inadequate nest is better than no nest at all, but really. It’s seriously getting on my—

Oh, fantastic. Sorry, Brunneous; I may have to ask you if we can carry on another time. Blue-Rainbow has woken up. That’s never good. Wait for it... one... two... thr— and yes, sure as you like, she’s practically bouncing off the walls down there already. How the pony can fly so damn fast while she’s carrying that thousand-egg bulk around is beyond me. It has to be be some kind of magic.

Well, you tell me what else it could be. Even White-Indigo can do a few little tricks, so pony magic can’t possibly be that hard. My own theory on it all is that the unicorns infuse the pegasi with the relevant... er... stuff in some arcane manner. It is a guess, I’ll freely admit: I’ve never seen their flight ritual, and nor has anybird else I know. I’d imagine it’s something that ponies really don’t want to be seen. Probably the pegasi order the unicorns to do it. Where the earth ponies come into this, I don’t know; perhaps they’re used as heavies, to make sure of privacy.

I can’t imagine how Blue-Rainbow manages to make the Swelling Circles, either. Not that she does it very often, thankfully; I just wish she wouldn’t do it at all. That noise can do some truly horrible things to a bird’s auriculars, as I discovered quite some while back. Quite frankly, it was pretty awful; neither roost nor rest within the Circle’s compass, as the old saying goes.

Yes, I know, I know: I really am that old-fashioned.

But it’s fair to say that we were all pretty shaken up; it was very, very tempting just to fly for it and try to find shelter in a nice, peaceful copse somewhere. Somewhere with as few ponies as possible.

But then Yellow-Pink was there, and I could hardly let her down. Call me an old softie if you want, but I don’t care: that pegasus was, and still is, different. Something in those great big eyes, perhaps, though I couldn't really put a claw on it. Or perhaps it’s simply that she actually understands song.

Real song, I mean, not that horrible gargling noise I hear from Blue-Rainbow sometimes. I doubt that pony even knows what a song is. She doesn’t have anything approaching Yellow-Pink’s linguistic ability, either: I can sometimes hazard a guess at what she’s getting at, but it’s damn hard work. She spends half the time sleeping on clouds, anyway.

Hmm, hear that? Blue-Rainbow’s flown off somewhere. Probably to find somepony else to annoy. Still, if she’s annoying her fellow equines then – with a bit of luck – she won’t be annoying us for a while. So let’s get on with it...

Yes, the Cliffside thing. I think you’ve been there already, sometime last year? Right, so I don’t need to describe the place to you. Good job too; as you'll no doubt find out before too long, it’s absolutely infested with unicorns of the worst sort – which is saying something – and they change the seasons. Somebird, I can’t remember who, once told me that Lavender-Purple came from there originally, which would make a whole heap of sense. I assume their mayor kicked her out before she got any bright ideas about helping.

Thank Yolk she can’t fly, otherwise I might actually be serious about trying to make a break for the Spreading Woods sometime.

Anyway, we were taken out of the train and then it was straight down to work for the first day or so we were there. Yellow-Pink was obviously nervous, but she still wasn’t going to relax her grip on discipline. Her friends were around some of the time too, sadly, but they generally kept out of the way. Hallelujah.

I didn’t originally think that I was being taken along for anything more than a reserve position, given that I was still recovering from a close encounter with White-Indigo’s repulsive cat. Even more repulsive than most cats, I mean. My voice was still just a tick away from perfection, so Yellow-Pink seemed to be hinting that I’d be on the waiting list in case anybird got sick.

It’s not much fun being an understudy, as you can imagine, but then Roseate had one of his brainfades and started making an utter hash of his key changes. After that, things changed completely: I was the obvious choice to replace him, and so I was pretty much sure I was going to be brought into the main chorus for the big event.

And I was! It was quite a feeling.

Except that something went wrong. I think I probably fainted, since I can’t remember many details, but what I do know is that I was there, singing away merrily, as Yellow-Pink did her thing with her big stick. Yeah, the big stick; the one she uses for the major recitals. I knew what that meant – especially as she really started baring her teeth once Pink-Ruler came into view. So it was a case of, you know: Sing Smooth, Sing Sweet, Mazarine.

Heh; you look a bit surprised. I’m not entirely out of touch with the modern world, you know. Just because I’m getting on a bit doesn’t mean I don’t get to hear things.

But I have this confused memory of ponies running around everywhere and making a tremendous noise, but for all I knew, that was what was supposed to happen. It’s what ponies usually do, after all. When I finally got my senses back, everything had quietened down and I was inside a different room with five of the others – including Roseate, surprisingly – practising the big number. I didn’t really have time to worry about what had happened; I just had to get on with it.

Especially since Pink-Ruler was right there, and for some bizarre reason we were made to perch all over her.

No, me neither. But if you’d seen Yellow-Pink at that point, you wouldn’t have questioned her. She really wasn’t messing about: the big stick. Teeth bared. Eyes closed. Wings flared. One peck out of place and it would have been the Stare for us, I’m certain. Which would—

Oh, you don’t know what that is? Never you mind. Just be thankful and hope you never get to find out.

On the plus side, having only the six of us there meant we could practise really intensively, and once we’d relaxed as much as we were going to under the circumstances, it was almost enjoyable. 

I was actually allowed to perch on the alicorn’s tail, for Yolk’s sake. Even Yellow-Pink herself didn’t usually let anybird do that to her.

So, it was a pretty nice practice, all things considered. I even hit those high notes first time, which I confess I’m starting to be a little iffy about. (Don’t you dare tell anybird I told you that!)

But let’s fast forward to the moment of truth. I’m just about to take Pink-Ruler’s dress in my beak and fly into this massive room with the others – and Yellow-Pink holds out a hoof to stop me. She makes a few sounds at me and, though she’s not as lucid as usual, it’s pretty obvious what she means.

Yellow-Pink doesn’t want me doing that job after all. She wants somebird else. At the very last moment, I’ve been replaced. After all that sodding effort, I’m out. Oh, what utter, utter joy. And you know the worst of it all? You know who replaced me in that prestigious position, right up by Pink-Ruler?

Yeah. Got it in one. Amaranthine.

I was at least allowed to go back to the rehearsal place with a couple of the others. I’d just about got my composure back when the world exploded. Oh, what utter joy: Swelling Circle time again. I have a horrible feeling that Blue-Rainbow is only here this time so she can ruin everyone’s peace and quiet again. That pony ought to come with a health warning.

We were all desperate to go home by this point, and Yellow-Pink’s soothing didn’t really help much. We had to endure some horrendous pony attempt at music (Lavvy again, as if you hadn’t guessed already) and then there was the train ride back. With Blue-Rainbow making even more noise than usual, something I really hadn’t thought possible. She kept it up the whole damn way, too.

I must sound like such a complainer. But really, Brunneous, if you weren’t a freer and had to deal with ponies all the time like we do down in the Territory, you’d understand how unbearable it is. Take away Yellow-Pink and I’d be perfectly happy never to have to deal with one again.

And we’re stopping... the oh-so-glorious joys of Cliffside await. I’ll have to ask you to excuse me now: it's time for me to get ready. Another big date for the slaves of song.