//------------------------------//
// Real Talk 
// Story: Swarm 
// by LotusCake 
//------------------------------//

"I'm sitting here with the lead singer of the new hit band, 'Swarm'. Sulfer, pleasure to meet you! How are you?" Asked the interviewer from the channel six news.

"I'm fine. And yourself?" I returned to the bubblegum pink mare.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. I want to ask: rumor has it your father died recently, and you're still on tour. Is there any truth to that?"

"Every word of it. I dare not leave the fans."

She looked genuinely horrified. An emotion, I might add, that makes me recoil to smell.

"But, miss Sulfer, if that's true, why aren't you leaving the tour to attend his funeral? Why aren't you in mourning?"

"If you get traumatized by death, you hold onto an ideal that gets the world nowhere. To allow a natural and unstoppable force to damage your emotions... That's a sign of the weak. You can allow love and the loss there of to hurt, sure. It was a  betrayal of trust. But to be so shocked by and horrified of death? If you let death bother you, you're going to have a bad time. There is no stopping it. There is only embracing it's inevitability. To celebrate it. To know the 'Dearly Departed' are no longer suffering... It's hard for me to feel pain. To miss them. I think it's selfish. They aren't suffering from anything any more. I'm happy for them."

That dammed emotion again. Much more and I'd have to leave. I love my fans, but a mare can only take so much, y'know?

"Miss Sulfer, the things you say!"

"The things I say aren't meant for you. They are meant for those worthy of them. The outcasts, the downtrodden, the lonely, those society would rather step on than help. Not you."

"That seems rather rude..."

"You may call it rude. But it's no more rude then you judging me for my opinions or your utter horror at it. The smell of that dreaded emotion rolls off of you in waves and it offends my sense of smell. It absolutely reeks. I can't stand it. But I didn't say anything because I was being polite. But a mare can only take so much. I thank you for this interview, but it's over. I've got fans to meet, gigs to plan, and a bass to tune. In that order."

And the clip of my interview ended. I got up and walked away from my seat. I walked towards that filled stadium. Towards the throng of heartbeats. The sounds of hooves coming together. They saw it. They saw the interview. Uncut and unedited. The love hit me in waves. Such a sweet scent, and a meal worth waiting for.

I decided a little showing off was earned. I nodded to Jasper and Frea. In unison, we took large drinks from our whisky. Holding it in our mouths, me and Frea flew at each other and made an X pattern. We flew back and picked up Jasper. We flew into the air and threw Jasper high. We spit out the liquor as he fell. He began to make a stream with his as we caught him. I brought out a match and struck it. A mere touch of flame was all it took. It became a flame thrower. The heat ignited the falling drops, and we rained fire on the stage.

We quickly took our place amongst the rain of fire (we rigged the sprinklers above the stage to continue to spew alcohol. Don't worry, it burned out to quickly to actually hit, much less burn us. The fans were safe, because if anything did happen, they still had water.).

And we began to dance and play. We played amongst the fire and danced within the flames. And the crowd loved it. Ah... Love...