//------------------------------// // Chapter 16: Songs // Story: The Pony Who Lived Upstairs // by Ringcaat //------------------------------// [Posted: 7/15/18 by Peach] All right, guess what. You know how some of you guys are always telling me I should find a boyfriend? Well, I’ve got one. His name’s Ron Pfeffer and I call him Pepper and he was the first human I ever met who told me we should be friends and actually meant it. We’ve been seeing each other for months and now we’re in love. You might be wondering why I didn’t mention him before now. Well, it was complicated. We weren’t sure if we were a unit, for one thing. But I think the real reason I didn’t mention Pepper is that I was worried it would spoil my cred. I mean, am I here to learn about Earth, or am I here to get mixed up in something crazy? But now I’ve finally realized they’re one and the same. So there’s really no reason to hold back, unless I make Pepper sound too good and every mare with a computer winds up wanting him, in which case I’ll have to fight you all off. So I’ll try and stay measured. Pepper is amazing. Do you know how it feels when you’re around someone who doesn’t really get the way you express yourself, so you have to be careful about the way you say everything? Pepper is the exact opposite of that. If anything, I have to worry about him understanding me too well and hearing things I didn’t even mean to say. We’re on the exact same wavelength. He tells jokes that aren’t even jokes, but he knows I’ll find them funny. He teases me just enough to keep me excited. Then he gets serious, and we both discover ideas and connections we never even thought of looking for. He’s the one who helped me set up this blog in the first place, plus half the things I’ve posted about were inspired by ideas I got from him. He’s sensitive and funny and self-controlled and laid-back but gets really intense when the situation starts to heat up. My family’s gonna read this and flip out. It’s okay, though. I can take it and so can they. Mom, Dad, everyone else? I’m doing good. I really am. I’m in love with a human being and it feels like drinking something really filling when you’ve had nothing but water for days. I feel healthier than I’ve ever been. I want you all to know this feeling is possible when you visit the world of your creators. Poem of the Day: Skin You can’t feel the tub you’re in Until you feel your lover’s skin. The best you can get from bristly hair Is the challenge of imagining it’s not there. Finer coats are more like a game: All the smoothness without the shame. Shaven skin should glow with pride Instead of just being stuff inside. Humans are good at being bare: When you feel them, you know they’re there. I watched over her shoulder as she pressed Submit. Even without the poem, this post was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about me. If I’d gotten married to Cindy, I doubted her wedding vows would have been so nice. Peach spun around in her fancy swivel chair, but stopped when I caught her eyes. We fixed our sights on each other and seemed to bore in deeper and deeper. A coy smile came gradually onto her face, and I suddenly felt one blossom on my own. I stepped forward and lifted her. She set her head on my shoulder and embraced me, closing her eyes. Finally, I was starting to understand the appeal of beanbag furniture. The fake leather was cool against my skin as I sprawled there half dressed, trying to decide whether I was cooling down or heating up. Peach was doing something in her kitchenette and the room was starting to smell tasty. “Whatever that is, I like it,” I called. “It’s cayenne pepper,” chimed Peach. “You may have had lentils before, but you never had lentils like this.” I’d actually had some pretty crazy lentils in my college days, but I didn’t feel the need to contradict her. “This is the best Sunday night ever,” I said. “It pretty much is, isn’t it?” I’d come straight to Peach’s place from work, and she’d hugged me before I’d made it through the door. And how I’d relished that familiar scramble of excited hooves! Now, the click and clang of her work in the kitchen was like a relaxing tape full of nature sounds. I reached out and managed to find my phone without getting up. So I lay there for a few more breaths, relaxing and inhaling the steam on the air, before pulling up my phone’s news app to see what people were saying about Cadance’s event. The New York Times: “America Needs Magic Less Than Smaller Countries, Says Cadance”. The article focused on her political stance and compared it to past royal declarations on the subject. The Newark Star-Ledger: “Cadance VIP event breaks down into violence”. It covered the show and speech briefly but mostly covered the fight in the Roxie Suite, which I was relieved to learn didn’t actually get very violent, aside from the fact that Cadance had had to take control. Apparently she was pretty good at it. “I’m terribly sorry for allowing things to get out of hand,” the article quoted her. “It saddens me that feuds from my home world carried over into my appearance on Earth and made people feel like their safety was in danger.” The New York Post: “Mi Amore Cadenza wows audience with songs, political address”. The article mentioned the fact that it was her first time singing “Plea to Prismia” on Earth but stayed vague about the politics. It mentioned that the “aftershow party” had “suffered from a scuffle between Equestrian leaders and minotaurs” but didn’t make a big deal out of it. The Wall Street Journal: “Princess Cadance calls for Softer Foreign Policy, Announces Magical Pilot Plans in Smaller Nations”. It went into the details of what she’d said, criticizing America’s role in the Middle East and listing specifics about the crop-growth programs she’d mentioned. The article had already been overshadowed by one about her remarks at the UN that morning. The New York Daily News: “Cadance: Nightlight Doctrine a pipe dream; radical proposal named for royal father-in-law”. It seemed like this article was focused on making us wonder whether there really was a threat of us falling into Equestrian autocracy. It occurred to me that ‘pipe dream’ had been an unfortunate choice of words on the princess’s part. Reuters and CNN’s news feeds concentrated on the political and economic implications of what Cadance had said. There was disagreement about whether the markets would rise or fall when they opened tomorrow. No mention of the incident at the VIP event. The weeklies would probably have something to say about it, I figured. I read the headlines to Peach as she cooked and summarized the articles. She was tickled by how different all the takes were, but concerned about whether Earth-Equestrian relations might be damaged. “I thought Cadance did a really good job and I agreed with pretty much everything she said, but now all these people are being grim about it.” “I think they’re just used to America getting special treatment. But it looks like she used her UN address to list a whole bunch of grievances Equestria has with countries all over the world, especially the dictatorships.” “Haah!” said Peach. “How did that go over?” I thumbed and read. “Doesn’t look like it made a lot of waves. But there is some analysis here… some commentators from MSNBC are saying we shouldn’t be too quick to lump in her criticism with what everybody else always says, because ‘Equestria’s response to perceived injustice on Earth may be outside the norm’, because they can do whatever they do ‘from a position of security, knowing that no known Terran force can invade or attack them, nor send aid directly to their enemies.’” “I’m really glad we’re safe like that,” said Peach. “Not that I don’t trust you people, but… well, you heard what Cadance said. Apparently no one trusts their own government around here.” “Well, we kind of trust it, but… international affairs are messy stuff. No one could get them right all the time.” “It helps if the governments are forgiving,” said Peach. “I think they have to be,” I said. “Otherwise we’d be at war all the time.” She didn’t answer that. I heard her spoon tinking the edges of the pot as she stirred. “Kind of weird they have a name for this song Cadance sang when she was a teen,” I remarked offhandedly. “If she just sang it for one person, why would she name it?” “Well, if you’re a celebrity, your songs get named. But where I’m from, if you have a song, you name it. Why wouldn’t you?” I was confused. “If you have a song?” Peach stopped stirring, disturbed. “I know humans have songs! You have radio stations crammed with music all the time! Plus you’ve got Daniel Ingram who had to create all our songs from the show. He must be a genius.” I sat up. “I was just confused why you said ‘If you have a song’ instead of ‘write’ a song.” “Is that the wrong word? I’m not talking about writing songs. Writing songs is hard. But Cadance didn’t write her ‘Plea to Prismia’ or any of her others, as far as I know. What do you call it when a song just comes to you?” I was taken with a nervous smile. “I think that’s more of a pony thing,” I told her. Peach clambered out of the kitchenette and over to me. “Wait, what are you saying? That humans don’t have songs? But I hear them everywhere! On the radio and on TV ads.” “Well, someone wrote those.” “You’re kidding me. You’re telling me every single song on the radio was written?!” “I’m pretty sure, yeah.” Peach stood with a sauce-covered ladle floating absently in front of her. “That’s crazy. How can—” She paused, mouth open, not sure what to say. “I guess there are kinds of music that don’t get written down. Like maybe sea shanties… and I guess the songs slaves used to sing.” I hoped that Peach wouldn’t ask me about slavery, but I guess she’d already heard about it. “But it’s not about whether it gets written,” she pressed. “It’s whether you piece it together painfully, word by word, or whether it comes to you!” “Well, some people make up little songs for fun now and then, like parents for their children,” I said. “But those don’t get sung over and over. Do ponies who have songs come to them sing them over and over?” “Some do.” She was still shocked, but seemed more excited than upset underneath it. “If you get a song, it stays with you in your heart. You never forget it.” I shook my head. “It sounds like something we don’t have.” “That’s insane. What about when we sang Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood together? Wasn’t that just coming to you?” “Well, I mean, I knew the words already.” But I had to admit, I’d felt a bit inspired. “Maybe sometimes some of a song just comes to us,” I admit. “When you’re in the zone.” “Is that what being in the zone means?” Slowly, Peach returned to the kitchenette and resumed stirring the stew. “It’s one kind of zone. I’m not that musical, myself.” “So there are other kinds of zones besides music?” “It’s just an expression. It’s not a real thing. It means… you’re doing whatever you’re doing really well, so well you don’t really need to think about it.” “Do you ever get into zones?” I smiled. “Sometimes when I’m cooking. Speaking of which, how long ‘til that’s ready? It smells great.” Peach looked down at the pot in surprise. “Oh. It’s probably ready now. Let me cool it down.” “All right. So, how many songs have you had?” Peach didn’t answer right away. Instead, she chuckled to herself, like maybe I’d embarrassed her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “It’s just so funny. We’re a couple now, so that’s the sort of question I should expect. But it still feels weird, no offense. I’ve had six.” I had to process that. “You mean it’s a personal question?” “Yeah. Back in Witherton, you don’t usually ask somepony about their songs unless you’re dating.” Huh. Way back when I’d first met her, Peach had asked whether her visiting my apartment would make people think she was my girlfriend. But now it turned out ponies had their own rules for who was involved with whom… so her question hadn’t been as innocent as it had seemed. “That’s fascinating. Can I ask what your songs were about?” She smiled slyly and glanced at the futon where we’d made love. “What do you think?” I felt really good. “I think yes.” She turned off the stovetop and started spooning lentil stew into bowls. “One was from when I heard about the portals opening and I found out I’d have the chance to come to Earth. That’s the one I’m the most proud of. It’s about whether I should come or not.” “That sounds great. Can I hear it?” “Sure! How about after dinner?” “Sounds good. What about the rest?” “My latest is from was when I’d just been here a few days. It was a really sad one, I was feeling lonely.” “Aww! I wish you’d never had to feel that way.” It was a really obvious thing to say, but she seemed glad when I said it. “It’s fine. Every song happens for a reason. It just made it all the more sweet when I met you.” She set my bowl and spoon in front of me on her ottoman, which she’d covered with a tablecloth. I took a seat on the other end of it. I smelled the stew again. “And the other four?” Peach was embarrassed again. “My first song was about how scared I was about going to school for the first time. I was five. I should have sung it privately, but I did it in front of my parents.” “That sounds really precious!” “It was pretty dumb but yeah, it meant a lot to me. My least important song was one I sang for my friend when she was having friendship problems. I was eleven. Then there’s one I sang about my first coltfriend, trying to sort out my feelings toward him. And finally, there’s a really long, slow, low one about etching.” That stirred my loins. “Ooh, I’ve got to hear that.” “I can’t reproduce it unless I’m actually working and getting into it. Plus, I either need a drum kit or I’ll use random things for drums.” “You’re just making me more excited to hear it.” Peach slurped the lentils off her spoon and sat up straight. “You know what we should do? We should go to a club.” “A club?” “There’s a club in Newark that has pony nights twice a month. George took me there. It’s called the Millennium.” “Millennium? Like the amount of time Luna was stuck on the moon?” “Or the Crystal Empire, yeah. I think it’s just a coincidence, but maybe that’s part of why ponies started coming. Anyway, they bring in pony groups and DJs two Fridays a month. The first and third. What’s today, the 15th?” “Yeah.” “Cool! Let’s go Friday. You can get a taste for how we ponies do music. But they play human songs too, so it’s a really neat blend.” I took a big bite of my lentils and got up to go around and put my hands on Peach’s back. “I think we’re a really neat blend.” She looked back at me. “Yeah!” Time to get something heavy off my mind. “You know, it’s silly for us to have two apartments if we’re just going to spend all our time together.” She looked surprised. “You think?” “Why pay for both? Unless you think you need your own place for alone time.” She gave me a silly smile. “What do I need alone time for? I’m as comfortable with you as I am all by myself. Maybe even more. But didn’t we promise to rent our apartments for a year?” “It’s called a lease, and mine is up at the end of the month,” I told her. “I can just move in here. I could bring up all my stuff!” Peach’s body language was all alight. “Then we’d have so much stuff!” she said excitedly. I grinned, rubbing her shoulders lightly. “You like stuff?” “What’s not to like? You can always get rid of it if you don’t like it. Does this mean you want to be my money manager?” It all felt so perfect. “Absolutely. It’ll be educational, too. I can take the chance to learn about finance. I’ll diversify your assets.” She twisted around sensually and grinned. “That is totally a double entendre.” “No it’s not,” I teased. “Yeah it is. I just haven’t figured it out yet.” She leaned up for a kiss, which I gave her. I passed my hands over her loin, her croup, all those amazing pony parts with funny names. She kept blissfully eating while I caressed her coat. “Should we start bringing up my stuff tonight?” I asked. “Yeah! Do you think we can carry everything ourselves?” “Aside from the bed, probably. But maybe we should get help.” “I bet Seaswell would help,” she suggested. “He’s so helpful!” “I can call my buddy Barrett,” I said. “He used to live here.” “So he has experience moving in and moving out,” Peach summed up. “Yeah,” I said tightly, rubbing her a little harder. “Pepper!” she chided. “Finish your dinner! I made it for you.” It wasn’t hard to let go because I knew I’d still have her whenever I wanted her. And she’d have me. As for the stew, it was delicious. The lentils were a little sticky and there was a little scorched carbon at the bottom, but that was fine. The dish tasted amazing and I knew it was healthy healthy healthy, just like everything around me. I went back to the beanbags and Peach joined me. We cuddled, cool bags contrasting with warm bodies. After dinner, Peach sang all her songs for me. The song about the portals opening up was passionate and full of rich doubt and dizzying dreams, getting faster and headier at the end. We talked about it for awhile. The song from when she was five made both of us laugh. The one about her first coltfriend was serious enough that I lay still for it, but I didn’t feel anything like jealousy. I knew he was long gone, and I even saw a little of myself in the lyrics. “What Have I Done” was what she called her lonely song from May, which made me feel heartbroken about my fellow humans and our civilization. But “We’ll Always Have Clouds” cheered me up, just like it had cheered up Peach’s best friend so many years ago. Finally, she grabbed a chunk of wood and a magnifying glass and started engraving, and I started a beat by clapping a couple pieces of wood together, and she gave me “Etching”. It was fifteen minutes long and it was amazing. I could have sworn there was a bass guitar thrumming under the sound of her voice, her magic and my drumming, but when I listened closely for it, it wasn’t there. The song went through half a dozen phases and exalted the art of burning as a means of creation, and when we were done, Peach had a block of wood with my picture on it. It was technically an engraving, not an etching, since it hadn’t involved any corrosive material, but the likeness was really flattering. I wanted to cry I was so happy. We got a start on carrying my stuff up—we traipsed loudly down the stairs and up again, singing and joking and not caring who heard us. We got through three loads before the magnetism of each others’ bodies won us over and we tumbled onto Peach’s futon, not even remembering to close the door. “How many songs has everyone in your family had?” I asked Peach breathily, still holding her with one arm. “My dad barely sings. He’s just got two. He had a duet with my mom when they got engaged, but she started it so it counts as one of hers.” “Who’s had the most songs of anyone in your family?” I rolled over in bed, clutching her and winning a squeal. “My Aunt Iggles! She’s so full of inspiration. She’s had at least fifty.” I relaxed and released Peach to her own devices, and she just crept up and lay on me. “Does anyone know how many songs the princesses have had?” I asked. She poked me playfully in the shoulder. “No one knows about Celestia or Luna. Luna said once she lost track of how many songs she had on the moon. But Cadance has had, let’s see, nineteen, and I don’t know how many Twilight’s had, but I think the show covered pretty much all the ones she had since she went to Ponyville.” She sprang off me, compressing my belly for a second. “It’s on the web! I know a site that keeps track.” So we sat together and peered at a list on FamousPonySongcounts.com. “Yep, that’s what I thought,” she said. “Rainbow Dash has the fewest of the Mane Six—just ten for her whole life. And most of those were about speed or daredevil tricks or how awesome she is. Kind of ironic, given that she was the bandleader in Rainbow Rocks, but that just goes to show the human writers didn’t nail everything when they weren’t writing in canon.” “But ten is still more than you’ve had,” I pointed out. “Yeah, well she’s famous!” replied Peach as if it were obvious. “Famous ponies sing more songs?” “Of course! They have more important things happen to them. Then again, I think most of Applejack’s songs are mostly nonsense. I think she sings them to pass the workday. Yep, she’s had thirty-one.” I picked a weird title from the list at random. “‘Bitel-betel-bottle-dun?’” “Yep, doesn’t mean anything. Here we’ve got Fluttershy with twenty-two songs, Rarity with fifty-three. But chances are Fluttershy’s had a bunch more on her own that she just didn’t tell anyone about.” “I can believe that. And according to this, Spike the Dragon has had over forty songs, but most of the lyrics are secret.” “Yeah, he sings about dumb kid stuff and doesn’t want anyone to hear it. At least we have most of the titles. ‘Wagging My Tail.’ ‘Basket On My Head’. ‘Ode To Smelly Feet’. Oh, that’s funny.” I chuckled. “And these really are songs that just come to him?” “You heard him massacre the Cloudsdale anthem at the Equestria Games, didn’t you? Did he sound like someone who could write songs on his own? So next we have Twilight, with only thirty-eight songs.” “Wow. She’s had fewer than her assistant.” “Well, she’s not the creative type, you know? And it’s more than Cadance. But yeah, that is an unusually low number for somepony so important.” “What about Pinkie Pie?” I asked, scrolling down. The list of her songs never seemed to end. “She’s crazy. She has songs for no reason and every reason. Yyyep, final tally two hundred thirty-six. And I don’t think she even reports a lot of them.” “It seems weird to think of ‘reporting’ songs.” “Well, for most of us, they’re a central experience in our lives. Not telling people you’ve had a song is like… not telling people you’ve had a kid, or getting your cutie mark and not saying anything about it.” “Or not telling your family you’re in love?” I asked. She pressed her lips together hard for a moment, but then grinned. “Yeah! Exactly.” “It must feel good,” I speculated. “Having a song, or telling people you’re in love? Making that blog post earlier did feel great, for the record. And now that I know humans don’t have songs the way we do, I’ve got a whole new blog post to write!” “But having a song must feel amazing too,” I said. “I wish I could have that happen to me.” Peach jumped off her chair. “Hey, you joined me on the Mister Rogers thing, didn’t you? Maybe if humans hang around ponies long enough, they can have songs too!” “But isn’t it magic?” She hesitated. “Maybe a little. But I’m starting to think humans can do magic.” “Really? As far as I can tell, magic is exactly what we can't do, but wish we could.” “You do things we can only dream of,” said Peach. “That’s magic too, isn’t it? Just a different kind.” “What things? Like building cars and TVs and things? That’s not magic, it’s just better technology.” “When Luna flies to the moon, that’s magic. But you guys have actually flown to the moon, too. Even though you don’t have any special connection with it like Luna does. So how is that not magic? Just because you can explain how you did it?” I hesitated, then smiled. “That sounds about right.” “But it was magic before anyone could think of how to do it, wasn’t it?” “I suppose!” “So something stops being magic when you figure out how to do it?” I shrugged, still smiling. “That's ridiculous.” I nodded. “Also about right.” Peach thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope. That’s not how it works. Humans can do magic, and we’re gonna get you to sing a song from your heart! The club on Friday’ll be a good start.” I stepped around her in a big circle and she turned to face me over and over. Then I knelt down and put my hand on her flank. “Tell you what. This human is going to use magic. I’ll use yours!” “What do you mean?” “I’ll tell you what to do, and you do it. Then I’ll be using magic, won’t I?” Peach’s puzzled look turned to excitement. “Yeah!” I moved her head gently toward the kitchenette. “Get me an ice cream bar from the fridge. Magic only!” Her electric blue glow opened the fridge door and settled the ice cream bar into my hand. “This feels like when I let Meg ride me at the ranch,” she observed contently. “There! I just used magic.” “You totally did. What next?” I winked. “Next, I need to know more about your etching powers.” She stretched up tall, her ears perking. “Do tell!” I tore open the ice cream bar and took a bite. “Well, for starters… does it have to leave a mark, or can you do it lightly enough to tickle?” Peach grinned the biggest, naughtiest grin I’d ever seen on her. “You know what? We’re gonna have to find out.” I nodded firmly. “I should think we are.” That night, her every touch was a song.