Like most mornings, Sandy was lying awake in bed in the basement bedroom of the thin terrace house. To most ponies who’d never lived in a house on the coast, it would seem most peculiar having the master bedroom in the lowest room of the building, but Sandy could testify to the horrible squawking the seagulls made on the rooftops in the early hours of the mornings during high summer. At least being slightly below ground meant there was absolutely no chance of them roosting down there and giving her a rude awakening.
Even without the seagulls to wake her, Sandy had never been much of a sleeping in kind of pony. It was both a blessing and a curse that her ideas for her writing tended to manifest in the early hours of the mornings. Most mornings, like this one, the idea seemed to vanish the moment she opened her eyes, leaving her lying awake for hours on end trying to grasp at whatever strands of a dream she had left and scribble them down into a small notepad that she kept in the drawer of her bedside table. She hadn’t picked up her glasses from bedside her lamp yet, so all she could make out was a series of fuzzy and blurry shapes that made up the furnishings of the room, and the big blurry lump beside her in bed that was Tonnage.
Tonnage was laid to her right hand side with his back towards her, hogging most of the bedsheets and snoring away like the foghorn down at the harbour. He rolled over in his sleep to face her, with one of his giant forehooves swinging out as he shifted his body, flying down through the air towards her and swatting Sandy in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her slightly. His heavy foghorn like snoring continued, blowing her scruffy mane out of place more and more with each continuous breath, the smell of wine and cheese from supper the previous evening still lingering on his breath.
Taking a few moments to regain her breath, Sandy used all of her strength to heave Tonnage’s foreleg off of herself with all four of her hooves, throwing it over the other side of his body. Throwing the bedsheets alongside as well, she slipped down off the mattress and into her slippers, levitating her dressing gown over from the hook on the back of the door and stepping her forehooves through the sleeves like she did every morning, tying the cord round her waist snugly. Levitating her glasses from the bedside table and perching them on the end of her nose, she opened the door and slowly walked up the staircase to the ground floor of the house.
Sandy stepped out in the back garden, inhaling deeply through her nose, breathing in the fresh, cold, morning coastal air, accented with a hint of smoke from the railway viaduct visible beyond the bottom of the garden.
Being this early in the morning, she had no fear for any pony else seeing her in her scruffy state. Even if they did, she didn’t care, very few of the neighbours in the street were quick to judge. She used her magic to pick up a slightly battered metal watering can sitting on the ground by the back door, filling it from the rusty tap on the back wall. She set to work watering the flowerbeds that lined the edges of the garden. Despite the onset of winter gradually creeping in, her plants seemed to be putting up a good fight against the cold. Peering down her nose through the lenses of her glasses, she set down the watering can, instead using her magic to prise a lone slug from amongst the flower stems. Taking another quick look over the fences either side of the garden to make sure no pony was around, she flung it over the fence into next door’s garden. The stuck up mare next door had been boasting about her tulips too much for her liking during the summer anyway.
The piercing screech of a whistle from a steam train interrupted her moment of amateur botany, the rhythmic clanging and banging of the empty trucks from one of the returning overnight fish trains it was pulling back to the station crossing the joints in the rails on the viaduct providing a continuous soundtrack as Sandy turned back to the house. She looked up at the chimney, smirking at the two gulls that were roosting on the rim of the chimney pot. In a matter of minutes they’d be flying off with singed tail feathers once she’d lit the fire with her magic in the small living room.
Then she stopped.
Looking up at the back roof of the house again she could that the skylight for Ostin’s attic room was open wide. She tilted her head slightly as she thought about this some more. It’d been raining heavily in the middle of the previous night, so there was no chance of him having accidentally fallen asleep with it open.
She stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind her, Slowly, she made her way up to Ostin’s room, stopping briefly to take a detour by the tin kettle on the cooker hob.
Having climbed to the top of the stairs, Sandy stood outside the door to Ostin’s room. She couldn’t hear anything coming from the other side. She pressed one of her ears up against the door, just to make sure. No, Ostin didn’t sound like he was awake, perhaps he had fallen asleep with the window open after all. Extending a hoof, she pushed the doorknob as gently as she could, trying to create as little noise as possible. There was a load creak. Sandy bit her lip.
“I know you’re there, Sandy” Ostin yawned from behind the door.
Sandy pushed the door open, walking in to find Ostin sitting up in bed, with only his head, chest and forelegs sticking out from underneath the thick, plush quilt.
Have you been awake all night again?” Sandy asked.
Ostin nodded silently. He yawned as his eyelids closed and his head lolled downwards, startling himself awake as his chin made contact with his chest. The dark patches under his eyes certainly confirmed this.
As much as Ostin thought he’d done a good job of hiding it, both Sandy and Tonnage couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t been his normal, happy self for the past two days. He’d been far slower, almost plodding round the house, half dragging his hooves on the carpet. He’d spent many hours sat at he kitchen table, his head resting on top as his forehooves dangled in the air between it and his chair.
“You’re still thinking about her?” Sandy jumped up on the end of the bed and laid back, resting her back against the wall the side of the bed was put up against. She gently rubbed one of Ostin’s hind legs, which was tucked snuggly under the covers.
“It’s just..” Ostin struggled to find the words “…I don’t understand why wouldn’t she tell me about her family background. She seemed pretty interested in mine!”
“…Ostin…” Sandy sighed as she brushed a few stray strands of hair out of eyes “Besides that photograph in the newspaper” Sandy pointed at the article in question, pinned up on the wall she was resting against near Ostin’s headboard “how much do you know about Mixed Media’s background?”
“Well…nothing…” Ostin mumbled sleepily, staring at her picture again.
Sandy took a moment to take a big drink from her mug, draining half the mug in the process.
“Let me bring you up to speed a bit” Sandy suggested.
Ostin’s ears pricked up slightly at this.
Sandy started to continue “As you no doubt gathered from the photo, she’s the daughter of the two most ‘well off’ ponies in the town. She-”
“Mixy”
“What?”
“She prefers to be called ‘Mixy’” Osin corrected her, raising a hoof in a ‘matter of fact’ kind of way, his eyes still half closed.
“Yes, well…” Sandy started again “…Mixy’s…parents both hail from very…” She struggled to find the words after being interrupted from her train of thought “…upper class families. We’re talking the upper crust of Canterlot here. Because of this it’s well known that her parents detest regular ponies like you, me and Tonnage. In fact, they hate what they’d call ‘commoner ponies’” she made air quotes with her hooves “so much that allegedly they don’t allow Mixy out of the grounds of their manor unless they’re attending the opera or she’s going to the university, or so the papers claim anyway. Tonnage certainly scoffed at the articles stating that they were meticulously looking through the records of her potential classmates before even considering letting her attend her art course”
Ostin rested his head back, rolling his eyes. Tonnage still hadn’t spoken since he’d first met him. He was still wondering whether he could speak.
“Have you ever thought that the reason she may not have told you, is because she thought you may start to judge her?” Sandy took another big sip from her mug “And perhaps the reason why she’s been so interested in your life is because she’s never known anything like it herself?”
Ostin nodded silently, his tiredness causing him to repeatedly bob his head up and down like a nodding dog.
“But that’s just my opinion” Sandy shrugged as she stared back into her quickly emptying mug “Perhaps you should just talk to her about it?”
A loud snore interrupted her. She looked up to find Ostin was now fast asleep, albeit in a rather uncomfortable looking slumped position. Putting her mug down and slipping off of the bed, she gently pulled Ostin down his bed, retaking him under the covers and plumping his pillows. There was certainly no chance of him waking up now. Using her magic again, she pulled the open window closed. The last thing she wanted was a stray gull flying in and disturbing him.
Taking a brief moment to shut Ostin’s agape mouth, she turned her attention to the desk on the opposite side of the room from the bed, pulling open the bottom draw of the the stack on its right hand side to revealing a large amount of paper and an assortment of odd pens within. She began frantically scribbling away at the paper, taking a moment every now and again to look back over at Ostin snoring away. Her work finished, she sealed the letter into a matching envelope and scribbling an address on the front:
‘THE CONDUCTOR, THE OPERA HOUSE, COLTON-ON-SEA’
Her horn glowed as she used an old spell of hers, in fact, one of the first ones she ever learned. In a flash, the letter disappeared, now en-route to its destination. Casting a final glance at Ostin sleeping, she silently headed back downstairs.
Mixy walked slowly down the sweeping stone steps outside the large oak front doors of the armoury to the family house. The carriage was parked square at the bottom of the final stair, with Parker sat beside it holding the door open.The two of them exchanged a silent nod as Mixy climbed aboard, ready to face the stoic silence as she she would stare blankly at her parents the whole length of the journey into the town.
The carriage door closing, the three of them jerked slightly as Parker heaved the carriage down the driveway of the estate. The constant clip clop of his hooves providing an almost hypnotic soundtrack.
“I’ll not have you embarrassing us with this…reckless…attitude that you seem to have taken on as of late, Mixed Media”
Mixy clenched her teeth behind her closed lips. She also tensed her hoof muscles, still remaining quite stoic and emotionless, unintentionally causing her joints to click loudly.
“Just do as your father says dear” Lady Jewel wasn’t paying any attention, instead focusing it all on making sure the giant emerald that hug from round her neck was as shiny as possible, even if it did physically weigh her down and cause her to stoop somewhat.
Mixy angrily breathed deeply, zoning out and focusing on the sound of Parker’s hooves on the cobbled roadway, staring straight past her parents and through the tiny window in the back of the carriage.
Ostin was laying down on the polished wood floor of the stage, one forehoof drooping over the edge of the opened trapdoor hole that accessed the innards of the big pipe organ, the other propping his head as he stared out into the cavernous auditorium. Despite rolling his sleeves up his forelegs as much as he could, he’d still managed to get himself covered in a good few splashes of black oil and grease, along with his mane, coat and tail. He could only image how berserk Sandy would go when he stepped through the door of her house later that evening.
Quaver was busy tinkering away in the gloom below stage, almost constantly banging metal against metal as he tried to disassemble part of the pipes that led to the flues. He was certain due to the recent noise distortion when playing the instrument that one of the percussionists had tried shoving party blowers down one of the pipes again. The main problem was finding out which pipe it was from the great mass.
One of his forehooves reached into the air in front of Ostin from the dark abyss “Spanner”
There came no response.
“Spanner!” he shouted a little louder this time.
Still there was no response. Scrambling around in the darkness briefly he poked his head out from the hole to find Ostin still laying there, but asleep, his head still resting on his forehoof.
Quaver gently and silently removed the spanner from his toolbox, raising it up before bringing it down quickly against the stage floor, making a bang loud enough to wake the dead, and giving Ostin a rather sudden, startled awakening.
“Do you need a mare to send me another note telling me you’ll be in later because you’re too tired?” Queer chuckled, a smug smile on his face.
“No!” Ostin shouted back as Quaver ducked down into his hole once again.
Ostin sulked as he went back to keeping an eye on Quaver’s toolbox once more. He silently cursed Sandy for sending that note, he’d been the butt of most of Quaver’s jokes all morning because of it.
“Ostin!”
Ostin’s ears pricked up as he looked round to see Tailor trotting out from the stage wings, a small wicker tray of laundry levitating at her side in her magic aura.
She set her basket down on the boards “Is Quaver about?”
Ostin simply pointed down the hole.
“Oh, Quaver!” she sang, leaning down into the pit, the final note going slightly flat.
A muffled clang was the response, followed by some rather quiet cursing through gritted teeth, the kind of sound made by a pony who’d just hit their head on a large metal pipe. A couple of seconds later Quaver’s head rose up from the depths, sporting a new red lump on his forehead.
“What?” whilst his lips moved, his teeth still stayed firmly shut.
“I thought you’d just like to know I’ve finished laundering your vast collection of bowties” she dropped the small tray to stage floor, allowing Ostin to see that there was indeed a whole array of differently style bow ties, every colour of the rainbow, there even was a rainbow coloured on amongst them all.
“Just put them in my office” Quaver grumbled and returned to the gloom of fixing the pipes for the organ.
“Quaver’s very fussy about his bowties” Tailor winked at Ostin.
Ostin looked again at the large collection of bows in the basket, questioning how a single stallion could own so many bowties. He silently told himself not to end up like this himself.
It was only then, looking back at Ostin that Tailor noticed just how much grease and oil splashes he was covered in. Tutting, she removed a handkerchief from the front pocket of her apron, spitting on it before vigorously scrubbing away at a couple of small marks on Ostin’s face, much to his disapproval.
“Honestly Quaver!” Tailor shouted down the trap door hole “How did you allow Ostin to become this filthy?”
Quaver stuck his head and hooves out from the trapdoor hole, revealing in the short space of time he had now managed to become covered in just as much oil, grease and muck as Ostin.
Tailor shook her head disapprovingly as Quaver ducked down once again “Well, there’s a surprise, tinkering away at that organ of yours” She turned back to look at Ostin and extended a forehoof, waiting for him to place his sweater vest and shirt into the palm of her hoof. “Now if you want those washed I’ll have them now, I’ve got the dolly tub of hot water set up in the costume storeroom”
“What?!” Ostin voice unintentionally rose up an octave.
Tailor leaned in, clearly not taking no for an answer “Give me your clothes”
The two owners of the opera house couldn’t have been more different from each other.
The older of the two, Soprano, was a squat, small, rather round deep blue pony with a shocked white tail. Totally bald on his head, he seemed to have compensated for this with a pair of large bushy eyebrows, which along with a number of wrinkles on his forehead hung down low over his black, Beatle like eyes, almost covering them completely. A white moustache stuck out from his nose, styled almost in a manor similar to Equestrian military captains of old, which bustled about every time he spoke.
The other, more younger pony, Agitato, was the polar opposite. Although the same height as an average pony, being taller and considerably thinner than his business partner made him almost look like a giraffe when stood alongside him. His eyes were big and wide, almost like giant saucers, which along with his nervous shaking did nothing to hide the fact that he worried almost constantly. Frantically, he pulled out a comb from his suit jacket pocket and combed the front of his mane into place again for the umpteenth time, frantically trying to see his reflection in one of the highly polished marble columns in the foyer.
“How do you reckon his lordship will react? Badly?”
Soprano remained quite still and calm “You worry too much”
“Well, wouldn’t you?” Agitato’s voice rose in pitch as his unintentionally speech sped up in panic “Spyglass is coming to inspect the redecoration of his private box, you remember what happened last time he wasn’t happy with the results, he went berserk!”
“He only tore down one roll of the wallpaper and told us to start again”
“One role?! That cost us 100 bits to import from Saddle-Arabia!!!”
“AHEM!”
The two of them turned their heads to find Spyglass standing rather imposingly in front of one of the now closing entrance doors, Lady Jewel and Mixy flanking him on either side, the latter staring blankly at her reflection on the floor.
“Lord Spyglass! we didn’t hear you come in!” Agitato nervously smiled, clapping his hooves together.
“Clearly” Spyglass inhaled deeply through his nose ”Shall we, Gentlecolts?” With that he brushed past them, ascending the red carpet stairs at the back of the foyer up to the row of private boxes on the Upper Circle floor, Jewel and Mixy following behind without saying a word.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey, M’Lord?” Soprano stalled for time outside the private box as Agitato fumbled with a large ring full of keys in his hooves.
“As well as can be expected, given the terrible state of the roads” Spyglass blankly replied.
The truth was that the roads around Colton-on-Sea were actually in fairly good condition. Spyglass had simply refused to have his carriage serviced in a good number of years, it’s ill maintained chassis being the cause of many a rough journey.
Agitato’s panic vanished in an instant as with a highly audible click, he found the correct key to the box.
He gently turned the knob of the door and pushed it open “If you please, M’Lord”
Spyglass walked silently past, his nose still high in the air. He didn’t say a word as he looked round the small room. The walls were papered a dark green with small intricate details picked out in a dark gold leaf. A pair of deep red velvet curtains hung at either side of the balcony edge, Spyglass took a few moments to see how quickly they could be drawn across on their runners. He detested other ponies being able to see him when the house lights were on before and after a performance.
Just behind the balcony edge, facing the stage, were the only furnishings in the box. In the centre was a rather ornate, carved wooden throne, complete with highly sprung cushions adorning the seat and backrest, borderd with rows of solid brass button heads. To the left of this was another throne, in the space that would normally be occupied by Lady Jewel, this throne was far less detailed in design, and lacking armrests like the former chair. On the right hand side, were Mixy would normally sit, was a sole, plush, velvet cushion.
“Well, M’Lord?” Soprano asked, the wrinkles on his forehead bending into a quizzical manner.
A loud scream from a young stallion below echoed through the auditorium.
All five of them turned to look out over the edge of the box, gazing upon the scene of Tailor pinning Ostin down to the stage floor with her forehooves and attempting to pull his grease and oil stained shirt and sweater vest off of him with her magic. Mixy’s cheeks turned bright red at the sight of Ostin on stage, and even more so at his present situation.
Spyglass snorted, turning back to look at the theatre owners “It will do” There was a hint of disgust in his voice that seemed impossible to hide.
Exchanging a glance with him, Lady Jewel nodded silently at his side.
“YES!!!”
Again, all five looked down towards the stage, just in time to see Tailor slam dunk Ostin’s clothes into her wash basket, whilst using her magic to pull a spare thick brown sweater from a clothes rail offstage and pull it over his head, his hooves almost popping out through the sleeves in a cartoon fashion.
Spyglass rolled his eyes and shook his head as he and Lady Jewel their exit from the box “That will be all Gentlecolts” he turned to look back at the two owners “I’ll send my thoughts to you on paper in due course”
Sticking his nose high into the air almost in perfect synchronisation with his wife, the both left the room. Mixy, politely curtsying to the two stallions, nervously followed after them.
Soprano moped his brow, feeling the sweat running down his back. A few seconds passed before Agitato fainted into Lord Spyglass's chair in an overly dramatic fashion.
Lord Spyglass and Lady Jewel walked elegantly down the red carpeted stairs, both seemingly walking forwards with their eyes closed, but perfectly in sync.
“Come along, Mixed Media” Jewel’s voice sounded slightly more snooty when she was in public “Don’t dawdle”
Mixy paused at the top of the stairs, coughing politely to get their attention. The two of them stopped, halfway down the stairs. They craned their necks round slowly in annoyance to look at her.
“…I was thinking…” Mixy began “…perhaps I could stay here for a couple of hours to do some sketching. I have everything I need” She pointed at her Saddlebag with her hoof “I won’t leave the building either. You can ask the owners to keep tabs on me”
Spyglass and Jewel shared an unamused look with each other. Not saying a word, they both continued walking down the stairs in total silence. Mixy wasn’t sure what their answer was.
“Parker will be back in two hours. Be ready” were Spyglass’s last words before he exited the foyer, the heavy oak and glass door closing quickly behind him and lady Jewel.
Mixy took a few seconds to experience the awesome silence.
She trotted away into the depths of the opera house.
Ostin startled himself awake for the umpteenth time as his head slipped off of the fore-hoof it was resting on, his nose making contact with the stage floor boards. Groggily looking around to try and get his bearings, he quickly became aware that the sound of Quaver working down the hole trap door had ceased and the trap door was now closed, a quickly scribed note now lying on top of it. Ostin brought it up to his eyes, still fuzzing into focus:
Gone to lunch. Unless you want to end up wearing a frilly tutu I suggest you make yourself scarce. Ballet practice starts soon and I hear Tailor is readjusting any costumes that need alterations.
Oh, and seriously, get some sleep!
Quaver
Ostin lazily hauled himself up onto his hooves, yawning loudly in the still empty auditorium. His ears pricked up as the emptiness only helped to amplify the sound of one of the doors opening to the upper circle seating nearest the left hand side of the stage. Ostin waited to see who it was was to see Mixy poking her head round to door and looking at the rows of empty seats. He almost shouted out to her, but quickly stopped himself by shoving a hoof in his mouth. He wanted to speak to her about what he’d seen in the paper, but he was worried that she’d flee. There’d be no way of catching up to her if he had to run through the labyrinth of the backstage area first. He pondered as he tried to think of a way to get to the upper circle fast enough to stop her from running off.
Then he saw his answer.
Mixy anxiously looked at the row upon row of empty seats. Aside from the times she’d visited the opera house with the university and sat in the stalls seats, she’d never ventured from the private box that her parents owned. Seeing the stage from the perspective that other ponies normally did was fascinating to her. She had butterflies in her stomach, as if at any moment her father would creep up behind her and demand to know why she was in this part of the auditorium.
She walked through the door, stopping on the other side and jumping in fright slightly as the self closing door gave her a slight bump to her rear. She made her way down to the front row, knowing that she’d have a perfect view from here. She set down her saddlebag the the side of one of the seats and unfastened the buckle, taking out a large drawing pad and pencil and holding them in her teeth.
Looking at the seat, she was rather surprised to find the actual seat cushion folded up, she pulled it down with a hoof and let go, about to sit down when she was surprised to see it fold back up by itself. She pulled it down again and let go, again, the seat folded back up. She thought about this for a moment, hitting upon the idea of standing on her hind legs with her back to the seat, then attempting to pull the cushion down with her forehooves between her legs, attempting to jump onto the cushion. Unfortunately, no sooner had she jumped sharply backwards and let go, the cushion spring back up, causing her to fall in a heap on the well trodden carpet floor. She wasn’t giving up that easily though. She glared at the seat, trying to work out its weakness.
Annoyed, and muttering several unladylike words through gritted teeth, she walked round the back of the chair, climbing over the back of the seat and placing all four of her hooves onto the armrests of the chair. Taking a moment to take a deep breath, she lifted up her two forehooves and stomped them down onto the seat cushion, unfolding it. She then quickly dropped her highly raised rear down onto the seat, keeping it permanently unfolded. Satisfied at having conquered the folding chair, she took the pencil and paper from her mouth and made herself comfortable to start sketching Ostin on the stage, knowing that she’d be able to get a good view from here.
Looking up from her paper towards the stage, she was even more annoyed to find Ostin had vanished from the stage completely. She checked a small pocket watch she kept in her bag. She hadn’t been struggling with the chair for that long, had she? She leaned forward, looking over the edge of the balcony and trying to see if he wasn’t on a part of the stage that would obscure him from her view.
“Mixy!!!” Ostin flew up in the air on the other side of the balcony, inches from Mixy’s nose, dropping down again just as quickly.
Screaming, Mixy slid off of the chair in surprise, the seat folding back up into place. Her heart raced as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Once again, Ostin briefly jumped into view beyond the box’s edge “Mixy!”
“Ostin?”
Ostin flew into the air again, flailing his hooves as he unintentionally did a forward roll mid air, dropping back down towards the stalls.
“How are you doing that?”
“Trampoline!” Ostin managed to quickly shout on the next bounce, followed by “It’s part of the set for this show!” on the next one.
Mixy pulled herself up from the floor, looking down over the edge of the balcony. At the edge of the stage there was indeed a small circus trampoline, giving Ostin a generous amount of lift each time he landed in its highly sprung net.
“I need to talk to you” Ostin cartwheeled as he bounced up to Mixy’s eye level once more, “I know about your parents!” He blurted out the next time.
Mixy panicked, she hurriedly stuffed her drawing materials back in her saddlebag, hoping to make a quick exit.
“Wait!” Ostin shouted desperately.
Mixy stopped, looking back to the balcony for Ostin to fly up in front of her once again.
He promptly reappeared “I think we should talk”
Mixy’s panicked breathing slowed as Ostin bounced up again. And again. And again, though rear first this time. Mixy gave a disapproving look. This was getting ridiculous.
She leaned over the edge of the balcony “Ostin, stop fooling around and get off that trampoline if we’re going to talk properly!”
“I would” Ostin summersaulted again “But there’s one problem”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t stop!” Ostin flailed his hooves in desperation, almost trying to grab on to the ornate carvings that decorated the outside of the upper circle in vain as he flew up again “HELP!!!”
Having become acquainted with almost every area of the opera house in his short time there already, Ostin knew where the quietest place in the building would be on a lazy Monday afternoon. He and Mixy were now both sat together up in the crossover gallery amongst the set flies, made up from planks of wood suspended by thick ropes, hanging high above the stage below, where the dancers were rehearsing their part for a new show that was due to start in two weeks time, Madame Tailor looking on beside the dance instructor and seeing how the costumes fitted against them.
Mixy leant up against Ostin, causing his cheeks to turn bright red again from embarrassment, not that she could see them as she stared down at the timy figures below.
“So...how did you find out?”
“The local newspaper” Ostin started, still unsure as to whether it would be acceptable to put a hoof round Mixy’s waist.
“There was an article about a fancy party held at your parents manor a while ago”
There was a brief moment of silence.
“Was there,” Mixy started “Anything about me written in it?”
“No” Ostin quickly replied.
Mixy let out a sigh.
“You looked quite pretty in that silk red dress though!” Ostin quickly added in a panic, assuming Mixy had been fishing for compliments.
“Ostin, please” Mixy gave him a playful shove “I’m happy there was nothing about me written in it”
“Why? Most ponies I know would be starstruck at having themselves written about in the paper”
“Yes, but ponies are also quick to judge” Mixy explained “Everypony who knows who my parents are, but have never met me properly, assume that I’m just like them. Rude, stubborn, flaunting their wealth and with a hatred for anyone who doesn’t sit in the same level of society as they do”
Ostin nodded silently, staring off into the mass of ropes, planks and scenery flies that hug above them.
“That was why I didn’t want to tell you about them” Mixy continued “I was afraid you’d start to judge me”
“Judge you? If anything I was surprised you didn’t judge me! Having worked in a tiny corner shop for all of my life so far is hardly glamorous”
Mixy let out a giggle.
“In that case I take it we’ll cross the metaphorical bridge about your parents finding out about you and me knowing each other when we get to it”
Mixy smiled, leaning against Ostin again and closing her eyes, just as he did to her, she quite liked the idea of not having to tell her parents yet. Though she knew they’d probably become suspicious.
A moment of silence passed between the two, save for the sound of the piano used during dance practice playing out a tune below.
“No more secrets?” Ostin asked, his eyes still closed.
Mixy shook her head “None”
Another small moment of silence passed as they both leaned against each other, listening to the sounds of the piano and the faint pitter patter of hooves clad in ballet shoes coming from down below as they both swung ever so slightly back and forth gently on the gantry.
“So” Mixy started “Since you now know about my relatives, what are yours like”
“Oh, my uncle’s the last pony you want to meet!”