Memories of Sigil
An awkward silence hung between Skitch and Flash like a shroud. The pegasus was at the stove, managing a collection of fluffy looking pancakes, while Skitch had parked herself at the small kitchen table with a cup of coffee clutched resolutely between her hooves.
The kitchen was a small, cozy affair, not much more than a stove, a fridge and a collection of cabinets against one wall, while a small round table sat under the window on the opposite. It was the kind of kitchen that wouldn’t be out of place in a college dorm. Not that it was easy for her to focus on that with what was going on in her head right now.
No more alcohol. She winced at the chorus of ponies that were still tap dancing away on her brain. I obviously can’t be trusted with the stuff anymore.
“So...want to say what last night was?” Flash spoke up, casually flipping another pancake.
“...You’re really going to have to narrow that down.”
A plate of pancakes was dropped before her with an all too loud thunk. “The drinking.” He commented, taking his own seat across from her. “You were out of control.”
“No, I was overcompensating.” Skitch muttered. She helped herself to a long drink of coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help dull the pain of her headache.
Flash paused, forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m used to being a good hundred pounds heavier.” Skitch deadpanned, before attacking her own hotcakes. “I’m like...half my usual size as a pony. Keep forgetting that when it comes to alcohol.”
“You mean-”
“Yeah. I drink like I’m still human.”
Flash cocked his head at that comment. “You threw back something like seven shots. Do humans usually drink like that?”
“Look, Flash? I…” She stole a few bites of pancake, more to give herself time to think than anything else. “Its been a very, very rough patch of my life. I wanted to drink to unwind and I went a little too far.”
“And your whole show on the dance floor?”
“....Yeah...well,” she shrugged. “Some dance to remember, I dance to forget.”
“Hmmph. Well, I still didn’t appreciate your accusation. Especially since you were the one who asked me not to leave.”
Skitch winced. Despite desperately wracking her brain, she couldn’t remember saying that, though...she could picture it. Thinking harder, bits and flashes of nightmares that she experienced last night bubbled back to the surface. Friends and family, both equine and human, locked in great daggers of ice seemed to be the theme.
Maybe I should look into seeing a psychologist. She considered. This can’t be healthy. Still….
“Flash...I am sorry.” She admitted with bowed head, ears pulling flat to match her mood. “I jumped to conclusions that I shouldn’t have. It’s just...waking up in a guy’s bed really freaked me out.” Hooves tapping out a nervous rhythm upon the table, she found herself staring into the dark liquid of her coffee. “I’ve only been female for a little while and I’ve heard enough stories where that was the start of bad things….”
The angry glare on Flash’s face softened slightly. With a snort he leaned back in his seat. “Okay. Just...be careful about what you throw around. That’s a pretty serious accusation.”
With a sigh of her own, Skitch let herself slump in her seat. Her pancake’s health and the dull clink of fork on plastic reflected her drifting mind. Best to consider what the next step in trying to avoid Riche’s trap was. Make the production a success still seemed the most direct path, but she might as well try to climb the Canterhorn in the dead of winter- shaved- with the play she was stuck with.
Which, come to think of it, lead to another important question.
“So, Flash. What do you know about this Obsidian Noctem Quill? You’re active in the city’s theatre scene. If he’s a local, you probably heard of him before, right?”
The pegasus tapped his fork against his plate. “Yeah...I’ve heard of him before….” He answered after a moment’s pause. “He has a...reputation.”
“...I don’t like how you say ‘reputation’.”
“Come on. I’m sure you know what I mean.” Flash snorted, stabbing at his pancakes again. “You don’t have controversial writers where you come from?”
“We’ve had plenty.” Skitch countered. “But they’re usually controversial for a reason. How did this guy earn his bones?” A confused blink from Flash made her roll her eyes, and qualify her statement. “His reputation. How did he earn that reputation?”
“By being a stone cursed bastard!”
Glittering Quartz had appeared at the kitchen door, eyes half closed and fur disheveled, yet with a deep sneer twisting her muzzle. Skitch couldn’t help but recoil from the display and the very sharp looking canine teeth it revealed. Flash- by contrast- was unconcerned simply waving a hoof towards the stove.
“Coffee, Quartz. You’ll feel better.”
The bubbling pot called the diamond dog forward, muttering half formed curses under her breath all the while. Watching the situation unfold, Skitch raised an eyebrow. “So...personal stake?”
“The first production,” Quartz grumbled, “he ever ruined was a retelling of the fall of The Glimmering Pillars.” Angrily snatching the pot off the stove, she poured herself a healthy portion of coffee before stomping over to the table and flopping into the third chair.
“The Glimmering Pillars?”
The slight sneer returned. “It’s what the diamond dog kingdom under Equestria was called. Naturally, he got most of the details wrong, all to push some...honorless, twisted, insulting theory that the collapse was an inside job!”
The comparison between diamond dogs and the dwarves of so much fantasy lore stood out all the more in Skitch’s mind now. The image of a thousand diamond dogs marching in heavy armor, was filed away in her mind for the time being. Still, task at hoof.
“Let me guess…” She frowned. “This kind of defines the majority of his work?”
“He’s one of those conspiracy types,” Flash grumbled. “Celestia is actually a tyrant. She banished Luna to seize power. And just on and on like that.”
“Heh. Well, if it’s any consolation, we have conspiracy theorists back on earth too.”
“Yeah? Do yours claim to be descended from famous tyrants?”
There was a pause as Skitch considered that question. “I’m...not sure, really. I can’t say I’ve ever heard one say something like that...but I make a point to avoid those types of people.”
Quartz snorted into her cup. “Lucky. He speaks at great length about how he is the second son of the second son of the second son of King Sombra himself.”
The confirmation of what Quill’s play had claimed, hung in Skitch’s mind. As bizarre as her life had become, the thought of some mare willingly having sex with the stairs and crystal king seemed all the more beyond the pale. Maybe if the hypothetical mare in question had an attraction to power more than the pony but the idea still seemed ludicrous.
“Hehe.” She giggled. “Can you imagine that relationship? Like...his wife stays home and maintains the crystal castle while he’s off being evil. Then he comes back and talks sweet nothings in her ear and it’s all,” leaning forward she threw her voice deeper, effecting a mocking like tone, “slaaaaves! Evil! Evil! Crysssstaaaallll!”
“I more pictured him asking her to pick up a collection of shackles for the prisoners on the way back from the corner store.” Glittering chuckled.
“Is that before or after they pick what wallpaper goes best in the dungeons?” Flash finished with a sarcastic twirl of a hoof.
“...Still,” Skitch blinked. “The family didn’t stick with their daddy when he went all evil?”
Glittering shook her head, “Most were driven from the Crystal Empire before it vanished...though nopony knows what happened to the youngest daughter.”
“And now, we’re dealing with Quill’s tribute to his ancestor,” Flash finished with a shrug. “I mean…he’s more annoying than anything else. Probably why he was chosen. He’s just a fool.”
Smirking, Skitch shrugged. “Yeah, well, as my Uncle Tad told me once, ‘Beware a goat’s front, a mule's back and a fool’s every side.’”
Flash gave her an odd look before shrugging himself, “Hmm. Maybe. But mind if I throw you a question now?”
“It’s a free country, last time I checked.”
Nodding, Flash pressed on. “Why did you come back?”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the papers, you helped save the world, and you obviously had a way to leave. Sounds like you had a happy ending.”
Skitch tasted the coffee again- the liquid threatening to burst forth with the remains of last night’s drinking- but forced it back down with another gulp, considering how to respond. “I suppose that my response to that would be,” she eventually supplied, ears and tail drooping, “‘If you want a happy ending, that depends on where you stop the story.’”
The confused stares from Flash and Glittering elicited a sigh, “Look. After things went down with The Collector, I visited a lot of places. Returning things he stole at first, but eventually I tried to go home. I needed to let my family know what happened. It...didn’t work,” she admitted after a long pause. “For a variety of reasons. But one of the places I stopped at to try and get back was the city of Sigil.”
“Can’t say that I’ve ever heard of that city,” Flash commented. “It’s not in Equestria is it?”
“Flash, it isn’t in this universe. It’s….”
Drifting off, Skitch began to reach into her wellspring of magic. It would be easier to show, rather than engage in some long winded explanation. . But a fresh round of pain surged right through the core of her horn in response, the hangover striking back with a vengeance. Hissing through her teeth, she rubbed at the base of the bony protrusion. The mundane explanation would have to do.
“Okay, so, Sigil. Picture a giant ring hanging in the sky,” she explained, forming a vague ring shape with her forelegs. “Set above and parallel to a jet black spire that rises from the surrounding plain. The city lines the inside edge of the ring.”
Glittering stared at her like she had just sprouted a second head, “That sounds like...massively impractical construction.”
“It’s the outer planes. A place where the basic...principles of sapient morality are made manifest.” Skitch shrugged. “A floating ring city is nothing. Anyway, Sigil is known as the City of Doors. The place is criss-crossed with doors and archways and other portals that can supposedly get you to anywhere in the multiverse. You just gotta find the right one.”
“Huh. Sounds like you had a good-,” Flash began, only to be cut off by a raised hoof.
“No. I didn’t. It was one of the dumbest ideas I ever came up with. You’re talking about a city where beings that embody the very nature of good and evil are forced to live side by side by a creature of supreme power called ‘The Lady of Pain’. That’s her actual name!”
“Plus,” she continued, the rant picking up steam. “If I hadn’t picked the right door, there’s no telling where I would have landed. I mean...Elemental Plane of Fire? It’s a place that’s on fire! All the time!”
“Well, that obviously didn’t happen….”
“No...just...everything else went wrong,” She shrugged. “You’re both Manehatteners. Bet you can peg a tourist a mile away, right?”
“They do have a certain wide eyed and scared look to them,” Flash smirked.
“Take that effect and magnify it. Everyone who lives in Sigil is pretty damn jaded about seeing weird things, so my own wide eyed shock at everything I was seeing marked me as a ‘Primer’...or as many would declare me ‘an easy mark’. So,” she twirled a hoof. “That, combined with the fact I was a rather...unique...even compared to the other residents of Sigil, lead to me being harassed. By everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“*Everyone*. Even the city guard just seemed to be there to screw with me,” she finished with a shrug.
Flash motioned with a hoof for her to continue, “Oh no. You pried the bit about my name out last night. I want to hear this.”
“Fine,” Skitch gave in with a huff. “I suppose it is fair.”
Closing her eyes for a moment to focus, she called the memories of the event forth, beginning her tale. “The whole situation began while I was in the Market Ward, the first morning I was there. Most of the city was still in shadows- the sky hadn’t entirely lightened yet- as I was working my way towards the Grand Bazaar to exchange my Equestrian currency for raw gold and gems.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause oddly marked coinage in other realities might be given an odd glance, and I had no clue if I’d actually be able to find my way back in Sigil. I had other universes that I was going to try if things there didn’t play out,” she supplied. “With the raw metal and gems though, I could sell them where ever I wound up for the local currency.”
“Now that is smart,” Quartz nodded, urging her to continue. “So, what happened?”
“Well,” she moved on, an almost wistful smile playing across her muzzle. “I probably had outed myself as a Primer the moment my hooves crossed the boundary. I was still kind of taking in the sights. If I looked straight up, I could see the city coling back over my head. A glance to the left? I’m looking down, and I can barely see the tip of the giant black spire over the roofs. And all around me, creatures that I thought existed only in the pages of fiction went about their daily routine. It was...surreal, amazing, and somewhat terrifying all at the same time.”
“Then what happened?”
“I found a table, and started to negotiate….”
- - - -
The pile of Equestrian coinage clattered noisily against the table. Skitch shook the bag a few more times, making sure that every last one of the five hundred bit purse was laid out on the stall. Pushing them forward with a hoof, she cast a furtive glance up at the towering figure that loomed behind the opulently decorated stall.
A blue hand the size of her head reached forward, plucking one of the coins up with a surprising grace. A rumbling hum of consideration rose from his barrel like chest, small, round, dark eyes considering the item before him. The skin of his oblong forehead wrinkled around a pair of circular blue gems that had been set into the flesh. Running a finger over the smiling profile of Celestia that marked the gold piece, his free hand slowly caressed the ornate golden head of a finely constructed cane that matched the opulent red and green robes. Skitch turned her gaze away from the mercane as it considered, well aware of the other eyes upon her in the marketplace.
The heavily armored halfling by the the entrance street, made her the most nervous. The highly polished armor and grim expression probably meant he was a member of the Harmonium-
- - - -
“Question.” Flash’s voice interrupted the story, complete with a raised hoof like they were in a school room. “What’s a halfling? And the Harmonium?”
Frowning slightly, Skitch mentally chided herself for falling into the obvious trap of just assuming that they’d know what she’d be talking about. Different cultural reference points, after all.
“Halflings...well, they’re a bipedal race, kind of like minotaurs, but sans the fur, cept on top of the head. They look a lot like my old race, humans, actually. Though while our average height is between five and a half to six feet,” she motioned to her own back, “a halfling’s average height isn’t much taller than our withers.”
“Related then?” Quartz questioned, folding her paws on the table. “There are many subspecies and bloodlines of diamond dogs, yet we are all dogs.”
“Truthfully? I couldn’t say.” Skitch shrugged. “When you start getting into the realms of fantasy universes with gods and pantheons, why two different species look so similar...well, that question gets tricky really quickly.”
“What are they like?” Flash interjected, tilting his head slightly. “Halflings, I mean.”
“The nature of their culture varies a lot, depending on what nation or reality they’re in. But if there’s one general rule that seems to hold true is that they tend to be very family and community focused. Don’t think they’d be out of place in a small town like Ponyville, really.”
The next question came from Glittering. “And the Harmonium? They sound friendly enough.”
“What, because they have ‘harmony’ in the name?” Skitch snorted. “That word doesn’t always have the same context outside this planet than on it. The Harmonium…,” she sighed. “I guess that the general idea of them is similar to what Celestia espouses. Everyone working together, allowing peace to reign and prosperity to flourish. The difference is that the Harmonium’s way is the only way. The golden age will only begin when everyone, everywhere, agrees with them. And if you don't agree? Then you'll be beaten into compliance. Which is why they forced their way into being the guard of Sigil. Anyway, may I continue?”
And with a wave from Flash’s hoof, she did.
- - - -
“Half.”
The mercane’s voice didn’t cut through the air, but her mind. She jumped at the telepathic address, turning to face the interdimensional trader. It was something she was expecting but it remained unnerving, all the same.
“Pardon?”
- - - -
Again, a raised hoof interrupted the story.
“What’s a mercane?”
The answer came easier this time, Skitch falling back to old GM skills. “They’re big, blue interdimensional traders. Like humans and halflings, they’re bipedal but they tower over my old race, topping in at about twelve feet tall.” Chuckling, she leaned back in her chair some, “The legends about what the mercane can do are pretty in depth. Supposedly, they can get you anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. You just got to be able to pay, and their rates aren’t cheap. They’re also really shrewd when it comes to negotiation. They can talk the hind legs off a donkey. But, they’re also very above board, which is why I went to one.”
“Alright, keep going.”
Nodding, Skitch once again effected a clipped accent and deeper tone of voice that she used to relay the words of the mercane.
- - - -
“I will give you half in unmarked gold and gems for your travels. Enough to barter with, and avoid the questions of your mintage.” He finished by waving the coin at her, dropping it back in the pile.
Banging her hoof on the table, Skitch fired back. “It’s coinage from a realm that’s never had contact with the mercane before. Even trade.”
The things fish like lips parted in wide smile, wrinkling its fold like nose, “This is not an unknown thing for us. Seventy five.”
Opening her mouth to object, Skitch instead let loose a startled yelp at the sensation of something heavy, but padded being placed on the back of her neck.
“What the hell?”
Twisting about, a sinking sensation set into her stomach. The hardhead was there, bit in hand, intent evident. He was backed up by a man who fit the almost textbook definition of “shady”. Dressed in dark leather armor- complete with feature obscuring hood- his mustache and goatee were trimmed within an inch of their life. He really needed to be off tying someone to some railroad tracks.
“Please stop resisting,” the hardhead drawled, more bored than anything else. “I’m returning you to your owner.”
“Very naughty pony, running away,” the shady guy smiled through needle like teeth. “You need to pull the cart.”
Said cart was full of glass jars that were in turn full of….something. It was green and it sloshed which, considering her location, could be any collection of horrible things.
So, she fixed the guard with her best steely glare, “I’m not going anywhere. This man doesn’t own me.”
The guard blinked back, a distinct lack of comprehension etched on the halfling’s face. He glanced back at the cloaked man, rubbing at the back of his neck, “He says you are.”
The bit was shoved forward. Skitch scrambled back, banging into the mercane’s table. A shower of coins spilled over her head and clattered to the ground which only served to get her dander up.
She stepped forward again, grabbing the bit with her magic, “I do not belong to this man! Or does the fact I can talk mean nothing to you?”
“Lots of things can talk in Sigil.”
The logic there was hard to ignore. The infinite and bizarre nature of the Outer Planes made something like a talking pony only so strange. Still, there was more than one way to crack a hardhead.
“So, you saw his bill of sale, right?”
The halfling- who had been in the process of presenting the bit again- paused, glancing towards the cloaked man. “Show it again. If he really is my owner, surely he can prove it with all of the proper paperwork. Especially to such a fine, upstanding member of the Harmonium such as yourself.”
With a flourish and a victorious smile the cloaked man presented a single sheet of battered looking paper. Ignoring the Harmonium officer for a moment, Skitch snatched it out of his grip with her own flourish of magic.
“You can’t be serious!” She glowered. “This is obviously fake!”
“No it isn’t! Swear on me mum’s life!”
“You misspelled unicorn,” Skitch pointed out. “It’s not u-n-i-c-r-o-n. That’s something else entirely. How can you even begin to believe this?” she asked, turning to face the hardhead.
“You don’t look like any normal unicorn,” he responded with a shrug. “I can buy it.”
“Ugh! Look, I demand to see your supervisor! I am not going to let him walk away with me with a shoddy, half formed ‘bill of sale’!”
The momentum shifted, the cloaked man suddenly looking quite nervous. His stance shifted just as quickly, taking a half step backwards with raised hands. “Now,” he quickly began. “I don’t see why we have to-”
Skitch had him now. Pushing away from the table, she approached the cloaked gentleman with a few angry hoof stomps. “You,” she declared, putting a good deal of emphasis into the word. “Are the one who made the accusations about me! So, back up your papers or get lost!”
The shadowy gentleman’s lips thinned, a mighty pout of frustration washing over him. Without another word, he spun on his heels, grabbed the handles of his cart and stormed off through the shifting throngs of Sigil’s citizenry. Watching him go, Skitch didn’t take his eyes off his retreating back until he was completely out of sight. Situation resolved, the hardhead wandered back to his post, leaving her to her negotiations.
With a smirk, she turned back to the Mercane, “So...even value then?”
- - - -
“That really worked?” Flash blinked.
Skitch took another gulp of coffee, “Yup. Scamming a street level guard is one thing. But trying to slip stuff past the Harmonium higher ups? Na. You do not mess with the Harmonium. Like I said before, they are a group of hammers that view every last problem in their universe as a nail.” Frowning slightly, she shrugged, “A few other things happened while I was in Sigil that...I don’t really want to go into right now. The upshot of it all though was that I came to the decision, that if I couldn’t find a way back to my world, that I’d come back to Equestria. It’s...safe here. And I have friends. Wouldn’t have to start over again.”
Glittering’s soft paw closed around one of her fetlocks, giving it a soft squeeze. “Starting over is never easy,” she admitted. “We dogs know that better than most, I think. But as hard as things are, you can’t stop fighting for a new life.”
Skitch bolted up, slamming a hoof on the table. “I have no intention to! I already had one home ripped away from me,” she growled. “I won’t allow Riche and his producer friends to drive me out of my new one!”
Flash shook his head, but was unable to keep the bemused smile off his face. “Have a plan to do that then?”
Sighing, Skitch glanced out the window. The sun had fully risen above the Manehatten skyline, casting the whole thing in silhouette. Individual golden rays peeked between the buildings, occasionally illuminating a pegasus or two that was on his or her way to work. How many of them had any clue about what kind of knives were being drawn in the world of theatre? How many would actually care. Just like in Chicago and the non-ponified Manhattan, everyone had their own problems to worry about.
“I’m not sure yet. But...if we’re going to save anypony’s career, we can’t hide behind pancakes. Let’s get to the theatre and see what we can think of.”
- - - -
Skitch clatted up the short flight of steps to the backstage, head down. Flash and Glittering rattled the stairs after, having followed from the alley. Her mind continued to chew on the problem. Following Quill’s script wasn’t going to let them get out of this. That much was painfully obvious in the light of day, and the hangover. Now, to work around that-
“Skitchy!”
A Pinkie Pie shaped blur engulfed her at the door, “There you are!”
Patting the fluffy, curly mane of her friend, Skitch did feel a little bit better. Rarity sauntered their way, her expression thoughtful. An almost mischievous light danced in her brilliant blue eyes. A fact that Skitch was quite sure she would pay for later.
“Well,” The fashionista began with a nod towards Flash Sentry. “All arriving together I see. Somehow, I suspected that when she didn’t come back to the hotel last night.”
“She slept at my place,” Flash began, only to quickly amend the statement when Rarity’s eyebrow arched skyward. “Only slept. That’s it. Sleeping.”
“Alcohol remains my bane,” Skitch admitted.
Pinkie was patting her on the head now, “Aww. It’s okay Skitchy. It can’t hurt you here.”
“....Thanks Pinkie.”
The near constant smile that Pinkie wore on her muzzle grew wider, a gleam settling into her eyes. It was a manic energy that Skitch had come to associate with an imminent party or Pinkie- “Oh! Skitchy! We had an idea!”
-having an idea.
Skitch, through a supreme exertion of will, resisted the urge to giggle at being correct. “Lay it on me then, Pinks.”
“We do a different play!” She beamed, as if this was the most obvious thought in the world.
“But, they won’t-” Skitch began, only to be cut off by Rarity.
“What she means, darling, is that we do another play behind their back. Pretend to do that dreadful,” she emphasized that word with an angry shake of her head and flip of her mane, “production of theirs. But then we work on a different one behind their back.”
“Go off book?” Flash blinked. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Rarity turned her attention towards the pegasus. “Everyone’s reputation is already at risk. If Princess Cadance comes and finds a production that she actually enjoys, however, it will go a long way towards avoiding that fate.”
Skitch evaluated the strategy. Rarity had a point. If they made something that the princess liked and that the ponies of Manehatten liked, then Riche could rant and rave all he wanted. Of course the counter argument to that was easy to see. If they got caught on the way, Riche and the Flim-Flam brothers could just shut things down. Producers controlled the money, after all.
Pinkie beamed. “What do you think Skitchy?”
Thinking for a few moments more, Skitch shrugged. “It’s a better option than going down in flames with what we got. Let’s get everyone together and let them know.”
In short enough order, cast and crew were gathered amongst the seats of the auditorium all eyes fixed on Skitch. She sat before the orchestra pit, a sense of nervousness settling over the unicorn again with so many eyes on her. Running a hoof through her mane, she took a deep calming breath.
“So, I know that everyone,” she began, “is worried about their careers right now.”
There was a general murmur of agreement as Spring Fields stood up. Giving her mane a casual flick she shot a glare right back at Skitch. “And what are you going to do about it? Besides try to control our minds?”
Skitch groaned, “For the love of-. Look, we’re going to do a different production behind their back. I figure that it’s the best chance for all of us to get out of this. At the very least, if this explodes in our faces, you’ll all have what we call plausible deniability. Just blame it on evil human mind control.”
She ended that sentence with an angry glare back Spring Fields’ way. The response seemed to throw her indignation off track. Sputtering a few times, she sank back into her seat, Marigold raising a hoof to throw out his own question.
“Assuming that we’d be for this, what kind of production did you have in mind? Most of the sets and costumes are half done already. A badly done play could cause just as much of a furor.”
“Hmm,” Skitch frowned, rubbing her chin. “I suppose I can use my illusions to fill the gap on our opening night. Though we need something that could use most of what we’ve got, when we’re working to fix a story from underneath the producers and a crazy writer.”
There would be a great deal of furor if the production slighted Cadance, so moving away from a historical based piece seemed like the most obvious answer. Doing something science fiction would probably be a little to labor intensive and fantasy seemed a bit...mundane for Equestria. But….
“Maybe something about putting on a play? That’s something we could change quickly so we could convince Quill and the producers that we’re still working on that god awful story trying to lionize a crazy monster. Which means we’ll have to use the fascist Sombra stuff, but defuse it maybe? Maybe a comedy, but how to handle...the...Producers!
“Ha ha!” She crowed, clapping her hooves together. “I know exactly what we’re going to do! We’re going to do The Producers!”
That declaration was met with a sea of blank faces. Coughing slightly, Rarity raised her own hoof. “Darling. None of us know what that is.”
“Oh, right. She blinked. “It’s a movie that was done back on my planet. It’s basically about a producer of plays who's struggling to make any money off of them. He’s told by an accountant that it would be possible to make more money on a flop than a hit. Shenanigans ensue from there. It’s a total classic! And since the original its set on the earth version of Manehatten we can use contemporary fashion and save some work on costumes.”
“Umm, excuse me!”
Suri had leapt to her hooves somehow looking both incensed and pouty at the same time. “How am I supposed to show off my design talent doing a bunch of normal wear! These Crystal Empire dresses were totally going to be my crowning achievement.”
Twisting about in her seat, Rarity regarded the other fashionista with a critical eye. “There is plenty to show off with regular fashion my dear. Be confident and let your work speak for itself!”
“Besides,” Skitch added, “we’ll still need your stuff for the big ‘Springtime for Sombra’ number...though they might need more glitter and sparkles.”
Suri huffed, flopping back to her seat, though her pouting didn’t give Skitch much faith that she was going to let it at that. The rest of the cast and crew weren’t looking all that confident either. Muted mutters and whispers passed between the ponies, that she was only able to catch bits and pieces of.
“Could we-”
“- behind their back?”
“- play from earth might be good on my resume.”
“I just dunno.”
Even Flash and Glittering didn’t look entirely convinced as both were frowning slightly in their seats. Only Rarity and Pinkie seemed to be ready and willing to go, which- considering it was their idea- didn’t surprise her much.
“I’ll be the first to admit,” she began with a stomp of her hoof, “that this is risky. And I can’t ignore the simple fact that you’re all stuck in the firing line because of me. If I wasn’t here Nouveau Riche would be off...kicking puppies or something, I suppose.
But we can’t just roll over. My home, your careers and reputations? We all went through our own struggles to get them. If we aren’t willing to take a chance and fight for what we want, then we’re going to be walked over.” Pausing for a moment, she bit her lip before continuing, “I can’t promise you success if we do this my way...only a fighting chance. Are you all in?”
A round of glances passed between the theatre crew again, before Marigold sighed. “Sure kid,” he shrugged. “I guess we do it your way.”
“Count me in.” Flash added. “At least this way, if we fail, we’ll fail doing something that doesn’t make me feel dirty.”
“Hmmph,” Spring Fields pouted. “I suppose I’ll go along with this.”
With the two leads agreeing to the proposal, the rest of the cast and crew began to fall into line as well as another round of murmurs, this one more positive, raced through the room.
Feeling a bit more positive now, Skitch nodded to the assembled ponies. “Right then! Pinkie? Can you keep an eye out? Let us know if anypony is coming?”
“Oki-doki-loki!” She grinned, bouncing towards the back door.
“Rarity,” she began, turning her attention towards the fashionista, “can you go over the costumes and our supplies with Suri and Coco? See what we can reuse, if anything?”
“Of course, darling.”
“All our actors? Pair off and keep working through your lines on Quill’s production. For now, we need keep up appearances. Though,” tapping her chin she considered the task before her, “anypony know where I can get a quill? And paper? Lots and lots of paper.”
- - - -
Meanwhile, halfway across the city, Fleur de Lis was taking a jaunty stroll through Manehatten’s Central Park. To anypony that might have been observing her this bright and sunny day it would have seemed a completely mundane trip.
Having left one of the many upscale fashion shops that lined the east side of the sprawling slice of nature with a brand new scarf to her name, she had taken a winding path through the twisting park paths. She paused only once more, this time at a street vendor where a shiny gold bit was exchanged for a bag of honey glazed, roasted chestnuts. Her treasure bobbing through the air beside her, Fleur took another one of the branching paths, winding her way towards one of the many statues that were scattered through the grounds.
The statue of Starswirl the Bearded sat in the middle of a large cobblestone circle. It in turn was surrounded by many park benches set back to back for ponies to take a load off their hooves. Picking one at random, she lowered herself into a seat and began to munch on her treats.
Mmm. A little sweet, a little salty and just the right amount of crunch, the model mused. Canterlot may have the society, but I suppose Manehatten still has it beat when it comes to street food.
She had gotten almost to the bottom of the bag when she became aware of another pony sitting down behind her. The familiar crinkle-rustle of a newspaper being unfolded reached her ears, the mysterious pony sniffing a few times. Fleur casually tossed another roasted chestnut into her mouth, twisting slightly to regard the visitor.
The pale blue stallion, whose white mane was going noticeably bald on top had the morning edition of The Equestrian Weekly open to the international section. With a slight cough and matching shake of the paper, he made a comment.
“I saw a mockingbird in the park.”
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
“Then you say ‘What color’s the mockingbird?’.” The stallion declared.
“I am not doing the stupid bird thing.”
With a huff, the mystery pony dropped the newspaper, twisting to glare over the top of his thick black glasses. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re really bad at this.”
“Turn back around and play it cool,” Fleur sighed. “You’re just the kind of pony to overthink things.”
Up went the international section again. “Fine. It’s your dime, crown. What can I do for you?”
Rolling her eyes at the monicker Fleur quickly moved to the heart of the matter. “I want you to spread the word. It’s open season on Nouveau Riche’s banks. I need stock sold, money stolen...everything to shake the company up.”
“I see...is there a bit of pay for this bout of monkeywrenching?”
“Whatever you can take, plus a fee, depending on how much damage is done. Open season is open season.”
“Hmm. Your proposal both intrigues and fascinates me.”
A smile played across Fleur’s muzzle. “Really now?”
“A chance to engage in the acquisition of the lucre that drives us all onwards and to stick it to the institutions that bind noble ponies in chains?” He emphasized that last point with a flourish of his hoof. “This particular operation will be a delight!”
“Very good.”
Carefully plucking a folded up piece of paper from her mane, she floated it over to her contact. “These,” she explained, “are the ponies that I will need at least some of the stock to wind up in the hooves of. I am sure that you and your friends will be able to provide?”
“We would be delighted to.”
“Fleur?”
Had she been a little more high strung, Fleur may have cursed out loud at the sound of the chief bastard’s voice coming from just down the path. Instead, she calmly turned her head to take in the industrialist. A charming smile, honed from years of the great social game, instantly sprung into place as he drew close.
“Riche! Good morning. And how are you this fine day?”
Riche stared back with a quizzical gaze. “I’m surprised to see you in Manehatten. What are you doing here? And who’s this?”
While her face remained a pleasant mask, Fleur’s mind was racing to come up with an explanation. The distant relative ploy was far too easy to check-
“I’m her financial advisor. Haberdasher. Dashing Haberdasher.” Her contact beamed, getting to his hooves, “And you are the legendary Nouveau Riche! I must say, you handle your banks with the skill of a masterful conductor! My clients have enjoyed quite fat returns.”
Riche wrinkled his snout, taking in the self proclaimed Haberdasher, and his cutie-mark of two interlocked puzzle pieces. “You’re a financial planner? With that name and mark?”
Dashing’s demeanour changed in an instant. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he snorted with clear derision. Not all of us are so blessed with the serendipity of having name, mark and job lineup like they were created at the tip of a writer’s pen! I'll have you know that I know everything about your business good sir!”
It took every bit of her resolve for Fleur to not slam her hoof against her forehead at that. For his part, Riche stared at the pony in shock before looking towards Fleur with a raised eyebrow and cocked head that questioned said pony’s sanity.
“So, you took a train all the way to Manehatten to meet a financial advisor?” he eventually managed to choke out. “Why are you in the park then?”
“Oh. I like to have my meetings in aesthetically pleasing locations. It helps stimulate the mind.”
“He is quite eccentric,” Fleur hurriedly added, “but quite brilliant. And a girl needs something to retire on when she can’t model anymore.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, a thought suddenly popping into her own head, “Though, that being said, what are you doing in the park?”
Glowering, Riche gave a resigned shrug. “Morning walk. Supposed to be watching my blood pressure.”
“Oh well,” Fleur smiled sweetly, “you should probably get to that. You need to watch your health.”
“Hmmph. Well,” his eyes narrowed, “enjoy your meeting, I suppose.”
“Yes, I think I will.”
“Okay then.”
With that Riche trotted off through the park, leaving Fleur and Haberdasher alone. A few more moments ticked by before Dashing asked the obvious question.
“Think that he followed you here?”
“Maybe...I did some shopping on the way over, just to keep up appearances. Still….do you really know everything about his business?”
"Oh, I do. Just for....other reasons than investing."
"Dashing...."
“I’ll get to work.”
- - - -
“What kind of play is this?”
Watching the ex-human scribble away amongst a few towers of paper, it seemed like the most pertinent question to ask.
“Movie,” Skitch-Sketch corrected with a flourish of her quill. “There is a difference, after all.”
The backstage area had been turned into Skitch’s private work area, the curtains drawn so that she could keep an eye on those running lines.
“Fine. Movie. Tell me what it’s all about. That was a pretty vague description.”
“Well, the whole thing begins with Max Bialystock, a washed-up aging Broadway producer. He basically ekes out a living by romancing very wealthy old women in exchange for money for his next play.” She tapped her chin with the quill, “Marigold will get that role. He’s got the right look for it.
“Anyway, into this enters Leopold “Leo” Bloom an accountant who’s come to do Max’s books. He discovers that on his last play, Max oversold the number of shares in the play and wound up with a 2,000$ more on the books than he should have. Not sure who’s going to be doing that yet….”
“So far, this is sounding kind of boring.”
“Things get more interesting from here on out. Max realizes that if one were to really push it, one could make more from a flop, from a hit. So he seeks out the worst play he could find.”
“Ah! I get it now,” Flash perked up, tapping his hoof off the stage. “This is one of those ‘gone horribly right’ kinds of stories isn’t it? In trying to make a failure, they end up making a success...that is ironically a failure.”
Skitch glanced up from her work, smirking. “You got it Flashy. The coda to it all is that once they go to jail they basically go back to doing the same thing...cept in prison.”
“Implying that they learned nothing?”
“Pretty much, yes,” she finished a page with a chuckle, quickly moving onto a new sheet. “I’ve watched that movie six...maybe seven times over the years. One of my all time faves.”
Raising an eyebrow, Flash picked up one of the completed pages. “Wait. These are human names.”
“Well...yeah. It was a human made movie.”
Flash’s eyebrow threatened to disappear into his mane at that. “Sooo, you’re just transcribing the original work? Flatout copying the thing?”
“....Yes?”
Flash blinked a few more times, his mouth thinning into a frown. “...Aren’t you supposed to be an artist? You’re plagiarizing!”
His comments made Skitch visibly squirm. “Hey! This isn’t exactly an ideal situation. Besides, if I could actually contact the Brooks estate and pay royalties, I wouldn’t be stuck in Equestria in the first place!”
Sighing, Flash rubbed his forehead. “Okay. That, I’d be willing to forgive you.” The unicorn did have a point there, after all. “But you’re taking the lazy way out here! Ponies are already a little weary about humans in general. You can’t just drop a work in un-edited and expect things to go smoothly.”
A very deep pout settled on Skitch’s features. Sitting up, she crossed her forelegs and shot her own venomous glance back Flash’s way. “So, what, you want me to rewrite the whole of The Producers? We open at the end of the week as is.”
“And,” he evenly answered back, “we are already going to have to work nights if we’re going to be pretending to run lines on the original play during the day.” Taking a seat across from Skitch, he casually slid one of the stacks of paper over to himself. “Besides, I’ll help. Not like Quill gave me much music to write in his sweeping historical epic.”
The pout gave way to soft smile. “Thanks, Flash.”
“Only one request. Can we make it a musical?”
Skitch looked half ready to groan as she rolled her eyes, but the sound of hooves approaching from stage right interrupted that. Rarity and Coco approached, the former with a clipboard she had acquired from someplace backstage.
“We’ve finished taking an inventory. The current outfits just won’t work for something contemporary I’m afraid. Far too...outlandish. But I did find a collection of outfits from an old gangster themed production in the back. A little bit of well placed alterations and they’ll be exactly what you’re looking for!”
“Okay then.” Skitch nodded. “I suppose we can make that work.”
“Skitchy!”
There was an explosion of sheets of paper as the pink blur that was Pinkie Pie rushed to Skitch’s side. Throwing a leg around her neck, she cast the other back towards stage right, where the back entrance sat.
“I think Quilly is here!”
Skitch, then everypony else’s eyes turned to follow Pinkie’s outstretched leg. The unicorn that was trotting their way was the color of dark grey stone that, along with the slight curve in his horn, marked him as the descendant of King Sombra. Well, either that or his horrifically smug expression that he wore almost like a glove. A brown gatsby cap was perched atop his short cropped white mane, while a matching ascot was tied around his neck. A wide grin split his face as he approached.
“So,” he addressed Skitch, the smile never leaving his muzzle, “you’re the pony who’s helping bring my vision to life.”
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I'm just going to leave this here.
Interesting. Looking forward to more.
5650042
Oh, there is *no* way I'm finishing this fic without actually showing a Sombrafied version of that music number. It's going to be awesome!
5650336
Now, if only "Weird Al" Yankovich was a brony. . . .
You clever bastard! You slipped us a nyxie!
Poor Skitch Sketch is so used to fiat-currency that she forgot that the bits where already gold. Rather than exchange the gold for some percentage of its mass of gold, she could have hammered the bits into nuggets. and not loose anything on the exchange. She still might want to exchange some gold for jewels.
5651552 ehh that depends, see depending on what actually goes into a equestrian bit the alloy could be less gold than you would think. I mean todays pennies and the like are a zinc core around the corresponding base metal which if melted down would only be meh for wiring.
A bit coin would likely be 14 caret and brass to make it sturdy, and slagging them would likely be horrible assuming you could also get all the deformations of the stamping process to not show considering the gold has a fairly highish melting point, which would be worse than useless for value to real gold. A foreign coin that no one has seen yet still has a greater than face value to somebody if they are collecting rare and unusual finds. Considering that equestrians aren't normally dimension travelers and the likelihood of Skitch ever adding to the pool later on being pretty dang small...
Please tell me this was supposed to be an affectation of an accent of some kind.
5660916
Nope. That was just me screwing up.
When to use too vs to?
The confusion between to, too, and two occurs because the three words are pronounced identically. If you’re able to replace the word with "also" or "excessively/too much," use too. If the word is a number, use two.