Thirty minutes before showtime, a black-coated pony with a clipboard ducked backstage and shouted: “She’s changing the act, boys! We’re not going to need any of you after all!”
The comment sparked a flurry of noise and motion among most of the Countess’ backup performers; but at the back of the room, a unicorn stallion named Purple Rain had a more muted reaction. He rose from his seat on an upturned crate, set his newspaper down upon it, and adjusted his uncomfortably tight pleather jacket and studded choker.
A blue-maned dancer closed in on the stagehoof. “What gives? Did she cancel?”
“Forget that; are we still gettin’ paid?” shouted another.
“Yeah, you are,” the black pony said, to widespread expressions of relief. “And no, she didn’t,” he muttered into his clipboard. “She’s just changing the whole show at the last minute…”
The stagehoof stalked off. Purple Rain watched silently, shaking his poofy mane. It didn’t make sense; the dress rehearsal of her biggest song had gone well earlier, including the moment when he’d cast the spell to activate her voice-changing amulet. It would’ve been nice to have a chance to rehearse his opening solo set too, but he understood there wasn’t always enough prep time for every show.
He paused, replaying the clipboard-pony’s words in his head: She’s changing the whole show. Did that mean his set was being cut, too?
Purple Rain set off after the clipboard-pony. Despite his concern about the present, the chaotic mess sparked by sudden changes to the show reminded him of a moment from a past tour. Two decades fell away, bringing the dim recollection of a night outside Fillydelphia following days of heavy partying. His voice had been wrecked, putting his trademark high-notes completely out-of-reach… so his then-manager, Svengallop, had responded by axing anything on the setlist that relied on them, including most of his hits.
Purple Rain chuckled. The rest of the staff had nearly mutinied when Svengallop told them they had a hoof-full of minutes to come up with a stage production for songs he’d never played live.
He rounded a corner that led to the private dressing-rooms, and froze. There in the midst of a throng of staffers stood the Countess, resplendent in a sheer black dress that looked designed for the moment. Gone were her trademark veil and heavy ponytail, along with her layers of makeup; she looked more natural than he’d ever seen her before.
The clipboard-pony suddenly pressed his way into Purple Rain’s field of vision. “Yeah, you’re the opening guy, right?” He jerked his head back toward the Countess. “She wanted me to tell you something about ‘needing to be herself’ tonight, and ‘sorry to steal your moment,’ but…” He paused, riffling through papers on the clipboard. “I dunno, I thought I wrote it down here.”
Purple Rain looked past him toward the Countess, and was awed by the sight of her smile. It lit-up her face, conveying a sense of confidence that transcended anything Purple Rain had known, even at the peak of his career.
He sighed, and turned away, not needing to see anything more. This was the moment he’d feared since agreeing to join her on the tour; Tartarus, it was the moment he’d feared since first hearing the first track off her debut album. She had every bit of his skill at straddling the line between popular appeal and the provocative, but she was so much younger, and her albums were selling so well…
The early-evening sky was dark and threatening rain as he plodded back to the cluster of small metal trailers lurking behind the venue. He stepped up and entered the one he’d called home for the last several months, feeling every bit as rusty and road-weary as it was.
A brief flick of his magic relieved him of the uncomfortable choker, and another loosened his outfit to something more agreeable. He poured himself a glass of something potent, sat in an overstuffed chair near the door, and began hoofing through a binder of old photos.
He turned the pages quietly, indulging in the memory of being young and fearless. His gaze lingered on a picture of himself and Svengallop smiling and holding copies of his debut album. He touched the picture gently, thinking of those heady days when, for a little while, he’d been the biggest singing sensation in Equestria.
But those days came and went. The avant-garde presentation and daring lyrical content of his albums eventually fell out of vogue, and as his popularity waned, so did offers to make new records or go on tour. Things got so bad at one point that Svengallop had tried to parlay Purple Rain’s reputation into a series of collaborations with up-and-comers. “You’re bigger than a star,” Svengallop’s words echoed in his memory; “you’re a tastemaker! Ponies all across Equestria can’t wait to have you make a guest appearance on their albums.”
Those collaborations never paid much, though, and he’d been close to giving up on music entirely when Coloratura herself had approached him—through Svengallop. It stung to see that his old friend had moved on to a brighter star, but at least the arrangement had him back out on the road for the first time in years.
A knock at the door disturbed his reverie. Purple Rain rose, set the album on his chair, crossed to the door, and opened it. Standing in a puddle on his doorstep was the last pony he’d expected to see, looking wet and disheveled from the downpour.
“Well, come on in,” Purple Rain said to Svengallop.
“Thanks, Rainy,” he said, shaking water off his fine blue suit as he entered. “Can you believe the nerve? She sacked me!"
Purple Rain furrowed his brow. Maybe the Countess was changing even more than he’d realized.
“I hear she’s changed the rest of tonight's show, too! It’s like she doesn’t care about the lights, effects, or spectacle that I developed. She says she wants to be ‘herself.’” Svengallop punctuated this by rising up and doing air-quotes with his forehooves.
Purple Rain shook his head. He wanted to ask if it hurt when somepony gave up on him. A part of him even wanted to laugh.
Svengallop’s gaze flicked toward Purple Rain. His breathing slowed as he studied his onetime friend’s face. “Look, the tour treasurer is being weird about my contract’s severance clause. It turns out I don't have a lot of options since I got fired by her personally.” He frowned. “I might have to stick around for a couple days to get my last paycheck… but they’ve already reassigned my trailer to the backup dancers.”
Purple Rain sighed, then turned and crossed toward a small shelf of colorful bottles. He filled a glass, turned back, and offered it to Svengallop.
“Oh, thank you,” the earth pony said, accepting the glass with an uncertain expression. “You seem to be taking this well.”
Purple Rain gestured toward his photo album, still open to the picture of the two of them. “Just thinking about the past.”
Svengallop sighed. “Look, I know things didn’t work out how we wanted. For either of us.”
Purple Rain breathed a laugh.
The earth pony cradled his glass for a moment, then raised it to his lips and took a swig. “I was supposed to take you where she is now. I mean, permanently. Just…” Svengallop paused, looking away. “After Fillydelphia, I guess I lost perspective. Got a little too hooves-on with managing you.” He looked up. “I’m sorry.”
The purple one set a hoof on his shoulder. “The Countess found her real voice, didn’t she? One you couldn’t manufacture; one her necklace couldn't change.”
Svengallop didn’t meet his eyes. They stood in silence for a moment.
Purple Rain frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if you manufactured me, or if I never really had what it takes to make it in the long run.”
Svengallop shook his head. “Rainy, please… I know I did a lot of things wrong by you, but maybe… maybe I could fight her on this? I could try to get you back on stage tonight.”
Purple Rain shook his head. “I’ve had a lifetime full of ‘help’, Svengallop. Let her have her night; I’ll figure things out in the morning.”
He glanced back at the photo album, and finished his drink. “But sure, for what it’s worth, I guess that you can crash here for a couple days. For old times’ sake.”