Buggy and the Beast

by Georg

20. Start a Band

The young unicorn mare in the business suit could have stepped straight out of any college recruiting photo with a freshly-graduated expression of eager youth ready to take on the world that typically got beaten out of them within a few months of getting their first real job. She hesitated in the dimly-lit hallway of the old apartment building, taking great care to inspect each apartment number before stopping at one and raising her hoof to knock at the door. The hoof never came down, because of the words she caught coming out of the open doorway of the apartment across the hallway.

“It won’t fit!” A series of short grunting noises preceded a second frustrated outburst. “Dammit, Beets! It’s just too bucking big to fit there.”

“Just hold it steady, Nec. It fit in there the last time we tried this.”

“The last time, everything fell apart. Are you sure you’re doing this right, Beets?” The second stallion’s voice sounded strained as if he were holding up a heavy weight. “I can’t see what you’re doing from down here.”

The young unicorn paused, almost afraid to look, but eventually curiosity overcame her embarrassment. The room across the hallway appeared to be under the last stages of remodeling with only a few small flecks of sawdust littering the carpet just outside the open door. In the living room of the apartment, there seemed to be some sort of open wooden structure under construction made up of a maze of interlocking varnished boards with a fairly large pony-sized pocket in the middle. A group of well-fluffed ‘Genuine WarmFeather’ cushions were nestled in the pocket along with a set of cords stretching out of sight across a scattering of cardboard boxes occupying much of the remaining room.

It could easily have been a nest for a giant bird of some sort, and the appearance of a griffon hen crouched next to it confirmed her guess. The griffon did not seem to notice her visitor at first, being more interested in the rear ends of two stallions which stuck out from under the under-construction nest.

One of whom had a very pink tail.

The young unicorn mare was just getting ready to knock on the open doorframe when the griffon noticed her standing there. In a flurry of feathers, the chubby griffon hen darted towards the doorway with her crest raised and her feathers ruffled up in an aggressive display of dominance, only skidding to a halt after a few steps with a hissing cry.

“Hey! What are you—” The griffon hen snapped her beak, making the young mare take a stumbling step backwards into an older mare who could have easily been her grandmother. Together, the two mares stood watching the bristling griffon defending the doorway to her apartment, piercing yellow raptor eyes to frightened pony eyes before the griffon blinked and settled down some of her ruffled feathers. “Sorry, miss. Missuses. I’m nesting, and my hormones are all screwed up. Are you two looking for somepony?” asked the griffon while her eyes drifted towards the older of the two ponies.

“Go ahead, Booky,” urged the older mare, taking a drag off her cigarette. The mare was dressed in a rather odd outfit with sparkling sequins and bright colors more fitting for the stage, which looked slightly faded and tight in places as if the outfit had just recently been taken out of a closet after several years of storage. It matched the somewhat dated way she was made up, from the bright yellow of a classic manestyle that certainly came out of a dye box to the extravagance of makeup used to hide the ravages of years. There was even a guitar on her back, or at least the tattered and worn case for one, covered and held together by what seemed like hundreds of sticky labels from cities all across Equestria. The old mare took another drag from her cigarette and nudged the younger mare in front of her, who had seemingly frozen up at the griffon’s abrupt approach.

“Kids,” she muttered, moving the cigarette to the corner of her mouth and sticking out a hoof. “I’m Dusty, and this is my concert gopher, Balanced Books. We’re looking for a guitar player named Beats because—”

Their conversation was interrupted by a victorious cry and a loud thump from the nest inside the apartment.

“Okay, it’s in! Hammer it, Nek! Harder! Harder!”

“That’s as far as it goes, Beets!”

“Well, there’s still some sticking out on this end! Shove harder! It’s almost there! Just a little more. A little more.”

The griffon rolled her eyes. “Typical stallions. They won’t even read the instructions. I told my husband to pay the extra for in-home assembly, but he wouldn't listen, as usual.”

“Husband?” asked the young mare, her eyes still glued to the sight of the two stallions’ rumps sticking out from under the under-construction nest.

“Yeah, came as a shock to me too, but when I turned up pregnant last week, we only had one suspect.” The griffon waved her tail across both stallion rumps sticking out and giggled when the nest gave a convulsive twitch. “Think it shocked him more. The whole family showed up with my Uncle Glaive — he runs a weapons store, of course — and we were married less than an hour later. I’ve only got a day or two before I egg, and my husband dragged his best friend over to help put together the nest.”

The griffon giggled and brushed back a tuft of feathers which had fallen over one eye. “Where are my manners? My name is Pióro, and this is my husband, Numbskull.” She flicked her tail at the stallions under the nest again and giggled at the resulting loud yelps. “You said you were looking for Beet Salad?”

“Yep.” The older mare took one last draw off her cigarette and dropped the butt to the ground before stepping on it. “Got a proposition for him.” Dusty eyed the nest, which was shaking back and forth at the moment. “Provided he don’t get buried.”

“Just a minute, ma’am,” sounded a voice from under the nest. “We almost have the last bolt—” There was a sharp thump from under the wooden structure and a sigh of relief. “Got it. Stupid Hikea furniture.”

“Shut up and help me screw,” sounded a second voice while the rasping of metal on wood began to filter out of their construction project.

“It will be just a bit,” said the griffon. “So, what are you needing Beetsie for?”

“Need a backup guitarist who’ll work cheap tonight,” said Dusty while rummaging in her pockets for a pack of cigarettes. “Several of the local talent mentioned Beet Salad. One night stand, no commitment, and probably no paycheck either.”

“The story of my life,” drifted out from under the nest. “I never thought a mare would be offering Beets a one night stand, though.”

“I can’t do it, ma’am,” sounded the second voice. “I’ve got tickets for the Dusty Withers concert over at the municipal auditorium tonight. Nectarine was going to go with me, but his wife is going to egg at any time now, and if he’s not there for the event, his new uncle said he was going to do something unfortunate to him.”

Other than a brief cough, the old mare remained silent for a while until she extracted out a cigarette and nudged her assistant for a light. After the unicorn lit the cigarette with a brief pink flash from her horn, Dusty took a deep drag and blew out a plume of dark smoke. “Bucking ironic, isn’t it, Booky.”

“Ma’am, I told you I didn’t think this was a good idea,” started the young unicorn, only to cut off coughing after Dusty blew smoke in her face.

“Shut up. If I knew what good ideas were, I would never have hired the concert manager I did, and I would have cut the balls off my backup guitar player when he started making goo-goo eyes at her. Wherever they are now, I hope they’re having a good time with all of the advance ticket money out of my concerts, because if I find ‘em, they’re applesauce.”

She eyed the rear ends of the two stallions sticking out from under the nest before shifting the cigarette to one corner of her lips and shaking her head. “Let me tell you young bucks a quick story. It’s about this old, washed-up country singer who got kicked out of her retirement home when her rent check bounced.”

The young unicorn mare in front of Dusty shifted uncomfortably. “Ma’am, I don’t think—”

Cutting her off, Dusty continued, “The singer met this young piece of fluff just out of college who convinced her to go back out on the road for one last concert tour. It was nearly a disaster. The first night, the cowardly has-been needed to get plastered in order to get up on stage. That little fluffhead dried out the old crone, stuffed a guitar in her hooves, and pushed her out in front of the crowd, stone cold sober.”

Dusty took a long drag from her cigarette and coughed once before continuing. “It weren’t all that bad. Felt a little like old times. Signed more autographs than I ever thought I would. The next morning, though, when all the money was gone as well as those two… Well, Dusty was crawling back into the bottle when along came the fluffy-headed nitwit again. Dragged her out on the road to the next stop, talkin’ all the while. Said she knew how important my music was to ponies. Said a lot of things, actually, but it were the things she didn’t say which hit me the hardest. Seems I’ve been singing about broken hearts and dying dreams so long I ain’t never really seen it for real. That little piece of fluff was hiding a broken heart bigger than anything I’d ever sung about before. There’s some stallion out there who took a part of her with him when they broke up, and I got to thinking maybe I’d bump into him today and kick the holy shit out of him for being such an ass. And I think I see the ass that the asshole belongs to right now.”

“I never laid a hoof on her,” said Nectarine from under the nest. “Honest, I’m a married stallion now.” He wriggled free of the nest and got up to his hooves with a winning smile, which only got wider when he took a long look at the young unicorn mare. Totally ignoring the glowering older mare to her side, Nectarine stepped forward and bobbed his head. “Pardon me, beautiful lady. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. My name is Nectarine and—”

He gave a sharp yelp of pain when the griffon behind him got a good grip on his tail and yanked him back beside her with a sharp, “Down boy. Heel. You’re married now, and don’t you forget it.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Nectarine nodded at the young mare while keeping his charming smile. “Sorry about the wife, Miss Balanced Books.” His smile faltered a little when he looked up at the older earth pony mare and her impressive manestyle, much as if he had just drawn a line between two rather uncomfortable points. “Dusty? As in Dusty Withers? Beets! It’s Dusty Withers! Come on out and say something.”

“One last screw. I think we’ve got your pre-cut chunk of Svedish scrap wood about as stable as it’s going to get for now,” muttered Beets from under the nest. After a sufficient amount of time to curse the last connector in place, Beet Salad scooted out from under the nest and stared at the two mares for a long time.

“So, you’re Beet Salad,” said Dusty, shifting her cigarette to the corner of her mouth, only to have the blue glow of magic surround and crush it into a small smoldering ball of tobacco.

“It’s not polite to smoke around pregnant mares… Er… Hens,” said Beets with a sideways glance up at Pióro.

“Kiss my cutie mark,” snapped the old mare before digging into her pocket for a replacement smoke. “Do that again and I’ll break your nose after I’m done kicking your ass.”

“Like Tartarus you’re really Dusty Withers,” grumbled Beet Salad. “I’ve had it up to here with changelings trying to play on my emotions. Let’s see who you really are.” His horn lit up with the pale green light of the changeling detection spell washing over the room, leaving both stallions and the griffon with only splatters of green changeling magic detected. Strangely enough, the Hikea furniture glowed a uniform pale green all over in the light, but Dusty Withers showed only a few dark green patches across her light tan coat.

However, the young unicorn mare in front of her glowed almost a pure neon green in the light of the spell.

“Cool. A changeling,” said Pióro, pointing and nudging her new husband with an elbow. “Is she the one who was screwing your friend, Nek?”

“They denied it a lot, but yeah,” said Nectarine. “Hey, Sultry. How’ve you been?”

“I’m not Sultry, whoever that is,” said the changeling, still glowing a lime-green in the light of Beet Salad’s spell while taking short glances at the open doorway behind her. “My name is Balanced Books.”

“Really?” asked Nectarine while pointing back at the door. “Did you know Pióro has a pet just like mine? It’s on the floor by your rear hoof ther—”

The ‘unicorn’ let out a piercing shriek and scrambled up the Hikea nest like it was a ladder between it and freedom, winding up in the padded chamber in the center and huddling under the fuzzy egg warming pads with only her glaring blue eyes looking out.

Nectarine looked over at Dusty Withers. “I was wrong. Turns out I have met your assistant before. Did you know you were hiring a changeling?”

“Why the buck would I care?” snorted Dusty before getting out a pack of cigarettes and working on extracting one. “I’ve got a griffon, a minotaur, three goats, and what I think are about six ponies under all that hair in the crew.” She tucked the cigarette between her lips and tapped one hoof, seeming irritated at its reluctance to burst into a crimson glow immediately like the rest. After a moment's worth of glaring at Beet Salad which did not result in her cigarette getting lit either, she continued, “Once the checks start bouncing after the concert tonight, they’re all gone. End of the tour, end of my career. The end. Now, are you willing to play backup guitar for an old, washed-up bitch, or am I going to stagger up on stage for my farewell performance without you? Either way, I’m kicking your ass afterwards, even if she is a changeling.”

Beets glared right back, although he did turn off his changeling detection spell. “So. All you really need is bits?”

The elderly mare shrugged and waved her unlit cigarette. “There’s a couple of youngsters in town who could probably play, if I could pay them. We’ll be lucky to break even tonight with as much as the bitch ripped out of the bank.”

“Excuse me.” Beet Salad got up, walked over across the hallway and vanished into his own apartment, leaving a very embarrassing silence in his wake, which, of course, Nectarine had to fill.

“He’s a bit of a hermit,” said Nectarine somewhat apologetically. “I’ve been trying to get him out and back into the dating scene for years. He had a marefriend a few months ago, but she turned out to be a real pest.”

The changeling in the nest simply hissed at him.

“Could I get your autograph while he’s gone, Miss Withers?” asked Pióro “For my… grandmother, of course. I gave Nek’s ticket to her.” The young griffon scurried over to a nearby record player and leafed frantically through the albums before finding the one she wanted. After slapping it onto the phonograph and starting it up, she hustled back over to Dusty with the album cover and a pen. “Could you make it out to Storming Clouds Over Green Valley Leaves Wet Feathers, please?”

“I thought that was your — Oof!” said Nectarine when a griffon elbow rammed into his chest. “Grandma Spivy. Right.”

After writing the dedication, Dusty paused with the pen dangling from her lips. As the melodious voice of a young and vibrant Dusty Withers began to emerge from the record player, the old mare swayed gently in her memories. After a few stanzas, she sang along with her younger counterpart in a fair facsimile of her voice from back then, only with a few more cracks and rasps which the record player could not excuse. Griffon and pony sat silently with their jaws and beak hanging open until the song ended and the old mare took the glass of tomato juice that the disguised changeling floated over to her.

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” Dusty took a deep drink and looked up with one raised eyebrow.

“I raided their icebox while you were singing,” explained ‘Balanced Books,’ who had descended from her perch to stand next to Nectarine.

“Throw some vodka into it and make me a Bloody Marei,” said the old mare. “Might as well go out on stage tonight drunk to the gills, since it’s going to be my last time. Old age sucks.”

“You’re just going to have to drink it virgin, ma’am,” said the disguised changeling before quietly punching Nectarine in one shoulder. “The concert is in just a couple hours, and I don’t want to have to dry you out like we did in Junction City. Where in the heck is Beets? What’s taking him so long?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt a moment, Miss Withers,” said Beet Salad, stepping inside the apartment from where he had been obviously waiting just outside the door. “I’ve got something for you, but I want to ask ‘Booky’ a question first.”

“No, I don’t have your bits,” growled the disguised changeling.

“That’s not it.” Beets heaved a sigh and studied a fleck of sawdust on the floor. “Were you behind Miss Withers’ assistant stealing the advance ticket money and running off with the guitarist just so you could talk me into joining the band with you?”

“Wha—” The disguised changeling took a step backwards and glared with such fury that smoke should have immediately billowed up from Beet Salad’s coat. “Buck you! We are finished. We never were. How dare you even think I would do that! They weren’t even changelings! Ponies can do evil crap too, you know!”

The corners of Beet Salad’s mouth began to droop into a sour frown, or at least more sour than his normal expression, before the changeling lit up in green fire and reappeared in her pale blue pegasus disguise. ‘Sultry’ took a step forward and sat down right in front of Beets, lifting his chin up in her forehooves and kissing him gently on the nose.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “You know just how to push my buttons, you big galoot.” She glanced over her shoulder at Nectarine, who the griffon had just grabbed around his mouth in order to keep the lanky batpony from contributing, then turned her attention back to Beets and kissed him gently on the nose again. “No, I only found out after they were gone. I knew what was going to happen to the tour at that point, and I should have abandoned Dusty too, but all I could think of was you. When I was laying on your floor, all busted up, you could have just given up and let me die.”

“I guess stupidity is contagious,” said Beets. “Do you want…” He trailed off and tried to look down again, only to have the ‘pegasus’ hold his face level with hers and lock eyes for a very long time.

“I don’t know what I want, but I know who I want.” She kissed him, not on the nose this time, and held the position for what Beets thought was an eternity before breaking away. “Much better,” she added with a sigh. “No danger of draining your down to your hooves any more. Now what about you?”

Beets considered for a while before leaning forward and giving the ‘pegasus’ a quick kiss on the nose. He floated out a small slip of paper in his magical field, which he passed to Dusty. “Here.”

“A hundred thousand—” Dusty blinked several times and thumped her chest with one hoof. “I can’t take this kind of—”

“It’s hers,” said Beets, nodding at the disguised changeling who was still just a nose length away from him. “Give it back to her when you’re done with your tour. Or if you find your old business manager and the guitarist, tell me, and I’ll beat it out of them for you.”

“Holy horseapples.” The old mare just stared at the check until the changeling flared with green light and ‘Balanced Books’ tucked the check away in her saddlebag. After coughing once or twice and manually lighting her cigarette, Dusty took a deep drag and looked at Beet Salad. “Thanks. Thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.” Beets transferred his gaze to the watery eyes of the ‘unicorn’ sitting in front of him. “So. What kind of shape is the tour in? Is the old bat going to live to the end?”

“Beets!” After giving him a sharp frown, ‘Balanced Books’ glanced over at the singer, who was looking entirely too amused. “I hope so. She could barely hobble off the stage after the first concert, since her bursitis is acting up and she won’t take her pills. Between playing all night and autographs — ten bits each,” she added with a sharp look at Pióro, who promptly began digging for her bit pouch. “She really lights up on stage, and feeds off the love just as well as any changeling. I think if we could find somepony to play lead guitar for her, I could shove her out in front of an audience every week to sing and she’d outlive Celestia.”

Beets nodded. “Speaking of money, do you think you’ll get your bits back? If she goes bust on tour, I don’t want to find you crawling back under my door again.”

“We’re going to have to reorder a lot of merchandise that my predecessor faked receipts for, and the old albums haven’t been selling as well as I had hoped.” The disguised changeling fidgeted. “We’ve got a ton of money plowed into the ‘Live - In Concert’ album they recorded in Junction City, but a couple of the songs are really unusable. The pre-orders are still coming in, so we probably won’t take a bath when they cut the album, but they’re all looking for new material, and we don’t have much there. Why all the dumb questions, if we’re just going to hire some temp guitarist?”

Beets lit up his horn and his guitar floated into the apartment through the open doorway. After a brief spell to crumple up Dusty Withers’ cigarette and put the smoldering ball of tobacco out in the hallway, he plucked a few strings, then struck a chord. “If I’m going to get fired from my dead-end job and travel the country playing songs about getting drunk, arrested, and divorced while standing in front of hundreds of total strangers, I want to make sure I’ll be in good company.” He stopped with the guitar held loosely in his hooves. “I want you to be happy.”

“Suffering bastard,” muttered the changeling. “What about you?”

“I want me to be happy too. And do you know the happiest I’ve ever been in my life? When you were strumming this guitar and singing right there beside me.” He ran a few notes up and down the scales before adjusting a tuning knob. “What about you?”

“I’m a changeling. We don’t get happily ever after.”

“This is country music, Sweetheart,” said Dusty while taking the guitar case off her back. “It don’t come with happily ever after either. The job does come with strings, however.”

“Oh, buck,” said Balanced Books as Dusty pushed the guitar into her hooves. “No way. I’d be terrified up there.”

“Good.” Beet Salad shifted his tail in order to get a more comfortable seated position while holding the guitar. “It sounds like it will be three of us.”

“I didn’t know you could count to three,” said the disguised changeling, still holding the guitar with a certain lack of enthusiasm.

“Children, children.” Dusty Withers gestured to the disguised changeling. “Come here. Yes, here. Right next to Mister Salad, so I can audition the both of you at once.” She frowned as the ‘unicorn’ sat a certain distance away, and continued to frown until the two of them were sitting side by side.

“Better,” said Dusty Withers, looking back and forth between them. “You’re both idiots. I’d knock your two pointed heads together until you both got some sense in your heads, but we only have a few hours before the concert, and this could take weeks. Do you like her?” asked Dusty while looking directly at Beets.

“Yes,” he said.

“And you, do you like him?” she promptly asked ‘Balanced Books.’

“I… Um… Yes.”

“Then by the powers of Country Music, I hereby declare you Lead and Backup Guitar. Once the concert is over tonight, you can kiss, but not before. Now—” Dusty rubbed her forehooves together. “Let’s hear you play.”

“Play?” they both asked at the same time, and in harmony, to their sudden embarrassment.

“Sure, anything you know together. Come on, get to plucking. We’ve got a concert in just a few hours.” Dusty cupped a hoof around one ear. “Louder, please.”

“Oh,” said Beet Salad with a smile spreading across his face. “I know just the tune, Booky.” He started down the melodic line to a song which made Dusty cock her head to one side and ‘Booky’ break into a bright blush.

“I can’t sing that in public!” she hissed.

“I’ll sing it with you,” said Beets before reaching the end of the stanza and returning to the start with a flick of his hoof to run up the chords. “You said you needed new material for the album, so you can teach it to Dusty when we’re done and she can sing it during the concert. Don’t tell me you forgot the words.”

“Of course I remember the words,” she hissed while checking the tuning on her guitar. “It’s a solo!”

“Just don’t break into an aria,” added Beets.

“Shut up, Beets,” hissed ‘Booky.’

“Only if you sing,” said Beet Salad. “Don’t think about thousands of screaming fans filling the stadium. Think about just the two of us back in my apartment. All alone. Just you, me, and the music.”

The ‘unicorn’ blushed while stroking out a few quick chords and strums, falling in line with Beet Salad’s melodic line. “I’ll get you for this,” she murmured before they approached the coda and got set up for the introduction.

“Looking forward to it,” said Beet Salad with a grin.