//------------------------------// // The... Hero of Our Story? // Story: Shellstrings // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// Melodious notes wafted outward from gently-glowing strings. She smiled, her fuzzy green muzzle illuminated by errant rays of golden sunlight. As she hit a particularly moving set of chords, the mare lifted her head back. Her silver-streaked mane glinted as it was tossed—ultimately settling like alabaster silk across her shoulders. An angelic sigh... and at last the instrumental brought itself to a tranquil conclusion. Opening her amber eyes, Lyra Heartstrings smiled. She hugged the golden lyre to the scruff of her belly and leaned forward into the mic. "And that is just a sampling of my lifelong epic symphony: 'Ballad of the Princess.' More specifically, Act One Suite Three of an ongoing work-in-progress." She giggled inwardly, then sighed. "It's not easy making a name for myself as a genius musician in Equestria. Nevertheless, if my melodies find their way into your heart, then there is still hope for me. I may not yet be able to prove that I exist, but at least my love for each and every one of you exists in my music." Lyra brushed her mane back, eyelids fluttering as her lime cheeks turned rosy. "Thank you for listening to my melody—my symphony—for it is me." Screams. Shouting. Tantrums and stomping hooves. A luxury apartment room full of shrieking, scampering, and floundering foals rattled before her in a cacophonous display of preschool chaos. Toys, napkins, and party-favors flew every which way. Bleary-eyed parents stood like delapidated rooks in the corner, trying to keep their frazzled sanity as more and more furniture was knocked over. Meanwhile, a giant pastel-pink banner hung from the ceiling that read: "Happy Fourth Birthday Dainty Dollop!" Canterlot – Uptown District – Living Room of the Dollop Family – Literal Purgatory Lyra Heartstrings blinked. "Uhhhh..." Her voice crackled through the meager speakers beneath a miniature stage but was immediately drowned out by the ear-splitting delinquency wreaking havoc on everypony's ears. "...you... erm... d-don't have to thank me twice, everypony!" She bore a twitching smile... only to have a half-eaten cupcake ricochet off her horn from across the room. Thunk! "Guh!" Lyra winced... and rubbed the icing off her forehead while blinking aside. A tiny colt with missing front teeth pointed at her, laughing. Another foal spun in circles, wearing a lampshade. A filly sobbed over the tattered remnants of a pinata. "Wow, lady," a gruffy voice rasped. Lyra looked towards the other side of the room. A stallion wearing floppy shoes, facepaint, and a rainbow afro glared at her. "I never thought I'd meet another pony who'd make me feel better about myself..." That belched, the clown strapped his red nose back on and lurched into the juvenile crowd with a spontaneous, goofy grin. "Heh HEH heh HEHHHHH! WhO wAnTs A bIrThDaY bAlLoOn?!?!" Foals scampered across the room—shrieking—as the clown spun noise makers and pratfalled at random. "Erm..." Lyra gulped and smiled nervously into the mic. "So... who wants to hear Act Two Suite One?" "Wooooo!" A rich Canterlotlian mare wearing a cocktail dress and a pearl necklace trotted in from the side, approaching the stage. "Wasn't that amazing, little ones?" Mrs. Dollop stood in place, clapping her hooves with a cheesy grin. "Let's give a hoof to Miss Hooterstreams and her amaaaaazing harp music!" "Uhm... it's 'Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings,'" the musician corrected. She leaned forward, whispering beneath the bedlam. "And technically it's a lyre, not a harp—Yipe!" She winced, suddenly being yanked forward by a savage grip of telekinesis. "You." Mrs. Dollop hissed. Her glowing horn reflected off a pair of angry, bloodshot eyes. "What in Tartarus' name do you think you're doing?!" Lyra wheezed, simpering sweatily as she teetered in the mare's grasp. "F-Filling ponies' hearts with soulful mirth the likes of which only m-music can provide?!" Her smiling teeth glinted. "Squee?" "You wrote in your application that you could 'improvise music for any kind of social gathering—including but not limited to graduations, weddings, and birthdays!'" The mare shot daggers through her eyes and muzzle. "Now... explain to me precisely why my precious little Dainty isn't getting the kind of musical expertise that your portfolio advertised!" Lyra gulped, smiling crookedly. "Well... I-I'm here, aren't I?" "Miss Hooterstreams—" "I-I-I just thought... y'know..." Lyra waved her forelimbs, jittering. "...it wouldn't hurt to let the little ones have a taste of a true cultural masterpiece in the works! I mean... this is musical history in the making! Someday, 'Ballad of the Princess' is going to be a priceless piece of Equestrian folklore!" A chair flew over their heads, followed by the sound of shattering glass and foalish giggles. "... ... ...give or take a decade. Eheh..." "I swear..." Mrs. Dollop fumed and fumed. "If you don't get your mint sherbert flank in gear and play my little princess some fitting music, then I'll make absolutely damned sure that your insufferable name gets smeared all across Equestria. You will never be paid to perform anything in upper Canterlot again! Lyra ducked her head as a clown's rainbow wig flew by. "Uhhhhhh... I-I guess I could take requests!" At last, Mrs. Dollop released her magical grip of the mare. "That... would be a start." She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and straightened her pearl necklace. "And no more self-gratuitous samplings of your lousy, so-called epic... or I swear on my husband's bustling estate that you won't trot out of this apartment building alive, you self-entitled green tart!" Then—sharp as a razor—she slapped on a Sunday Morning grin and spun to face the children. "Okay, kids! Who wants to hear more happy... happy music, huh?!" Screams. Shouting. Tantrums and stomping hooves. As the copy-pasted cacophony continued, Lyra cleared her throat and aimed a grin at the center of the room. "How about it, birthday girl? Any bouncy song you want me to play?" A chubby little creature with a crooked tiara and pink boa pinked her nose, staring off into space. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." "Request anything!" Lyra beamed. "Anything at all!" She strummed all of her lyre strings in a row, winking. "Perhaps 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?' Or maybe 'The Laughing Griffon and His Dog?'" "Oooh! Oooh!" A colt sitting on the shoulders of another colt waved his hoof wildly. "Play 'Itsy Bitsy Spider!'" "Yeah!" An entire herd of sugar-bouncy foals echoed. "Play 'Itsy Bitsy Spider!'" Instantly... Lyra's blood ran cold... Her pupils shrank to amber pinpricks... She gulped a dry lump down her throat as the shadows of the room played tricks on her. She blinked away the sensations of writhing grasshopper legs and twitching cockroach antennae. Meanwhile, a curtain of sweat blanketed her coat. "Uhm... eheheh... anything but that." The squeals and high-pitched shrieks inside the room doubled... tripled... "H-how about something by Canter Perry! Kids love her these days, right?" Lyra's voice cracked as she glanced to her left. "'Baby, You're a Firewhinny?'" Mrs. Dollop stood off to the side, glaring. She patted a pinata bat in her fetlocks. "Errrr—" Lyra smiled back into the preschool crowd. "'Itsy Bitsy Spider' it is! Hold onto your thoraxes!" "Spiders don't have thoraxes, you stupid-head!" A colt off to the side stuck his tongue out. "Drop back a grade, kid." Lyra then took a deep breath, shuffling up to the mic. "Okay... you can do this... it's just a song... j-just a song..." Gulping hard, she forced a shivering smile and began plucking away at the strings of her lyre. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh—the Itsy Bitsy Spider went up the water spout! Dowwwwwwn came the rain aaaaaand—" Lyra galloped across the tile floor... slid on her knees... and flung her head neck-deep into the porcelain basin. "BLEAAAAACKHKKKKKKKKKKTTTTT!" Thirty seconds and several pints of bile later... "Mmrfffnngh... urp... goddess... friggin'... taco salad..." Lyra lifted her face—twice as green. She draped her body against the porcelain, rubbing her slimy muzzle dry. The mare panted... sweated... panted... sweated... Only after a minute had limped by did she become aware of an impatiently tapping hoof in her peripheral. Lyra glanced over, her thin eyes fluttering. "Oh... urp... Mrs. Dollop. Hello again." "Hello, yourself." The homemaker's nostrils flared from where she stood in the doorway. "Are you quite finished evacuating your breakfast? Or should I have called the paramedics ten minutes ago?" "What? Oh... I-I'm not sick. Just... something in the air th-that didn't agree with me! Yeah! Heheh..." Lyra swallowed a wave of nausea down her gullet. "Good thing somepony left the toilet seat up, huh? Heheheh..." "Actually, Miss Hooterstreams, that's the kitchen sink," Mrs. Dollop grunted. "My kitchen sink." "...?" Lyra glanced around, observing the luxurious apartment kitchen around her. "...really? Pretty friggin' low to the ground, don't you think? That's gotta hurt your back doing dishes." With a huff, Mrs. Dollop pointed viciously across the apartment. "Miss Hooterstreams, you need to leave." "Whoah whoah whoah... hold the sound stone!" Lyra stood up on wobbly legs. "I-I haven't finished playing songs for your daughter!" "You haven't even begun," Mrs. Dollop snorted. "This unprofessional pedantic display of harp-butchery is not what I wanted for my daughter's fourth birthday!" She sighed, glancing aside. "Though, I suppose I should blame my husband for stooping to take applications from a place like Ponyville. Ugh... such an inane cheapskate... I swear, if it weren't for the size of his fetlocks..." "Please! I-I need this gig!" Lyra's voice cracked. "You... y-you have no idea how hard I've prepared for this day! There's no opportunities in Ponyville and I-I can't normally afford a train trip to Canterlot unless it's on the same day as my friends'... uh..." She rubbed the back of her head, smiling nervously. "...my friends' regularly-scheduled pow-wow! Eheh..." "Not my problem." Mrs. Dollop's brow furrowed. "Miss Hooterstreams, if you want my sage advice—not that you've even remotely earned it—I suggest that you find a new occupation... an actual occupation aside from sub-par musical conartistry. Something more behooving a mare of your... rustic, country talents." Her teeth gnashed. "Like stamp-licking." "Hmmmf... y-yeah, well..." Lyra folded her forelimbs. "...if you were good at licking things, then I bet you'd never have to squirt out that little snot-nosed antelope in a tiara just to keep your husband's precious estate in the first place, huh?" Mrs. Dollop's eyes widened... twitching. Lyra blinked. "... ... ... ... ... ...I'm not being paid, am I?" Canterlot – City Streets – Twenty-Two Seconds Later SLAM! Lyra winced, standing outside the apartment's front stoop with her lyre and saddlebags. A shuddering sigh escaped her lips. Turning around, the mare trotted down the cobblestone path, crossing paths with haughty citizens shuffling between super-rich department stores. "Hrmmmf..." Her ears folded as she frowned forward into the afternoon light. "I hope one of his fetlocks gets stuck..."