Las Canciones de Voltaire

by Gabriel LaVedier

Capítulo Dos- #1 Fan

“Vinyl!” Octavia’s voice was just above a whine, echoing down the corridor she was trotting through, led along by Vinyl. “Come on, enough of this. Take this thing off me.” She was wearing a blindfold, for all the good it did, given the darkness of the slightly-trashed passage, broken only by low light emerging from slanted windows near the ceiling. The floor clopped underhoof, solid but slightly giving, likely linoleum.

“No! Come on, Octy, trust me.” Vinyl used her electric blue tail to lead her marefriend along, caressing her cheek gingerly to keep her on track. She was focused on the slight glow down the corridor. “Almost there, babe.”

The two mares eventually emerged from the passage into a backstage area, somewhat junky and darker than the back passage. “Vinyl… This isn’t funny anymore. I keep tripping.”

“Ok, ok, here…” Vinyl’s horn glowed. Removing the blindfold from Octavia. “Here it is, babe. What do ya think?” The white unicorn was beaming with tremendous pride, despite the fact that it was a dusk-dark and junky environment.

“What do I think? It’s a junkpile.”

I hear your voice
And the world goes away

Octavia could hardly believe it. Her lover was wonderful but crazy! She had dragged her, at night, blindfolded, to a ruined old… something somewhere unknown. It was so… Vinyl. She shook her head disbelievingly as Vinyl said, “Come on, Octy. You’re not being fair.”

“’Not being fair’? Let me see… debris on the floor, broken equipment, hanging ropes, dust everywhere, no lights except what comes in from outside… yes, you’re right. I’m being completely unfair to this disaster area. At least it has a roof, right?”

“Come ooooon! I promise you, you’ll love it.” Vinyl lit her horn and lifted her glasses, to reveal her bright red eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?” She shot a wink to the earth pony standing in judgment of her and her choice of locations.

Octavia caught her breath in her throat, her expression softening as she looked at Vinyl’s expression. So confident, without smarm. That alone was something of a surprise. She heaved a sigh and smiled brightly. “Fine. I trust you. And the flooring of this place.”

I see your face
And this place is Okay

“Come on, just through here.” Vinyl indicated some curtains, behind which could be seen some soft light. “I promise you, this is worth the trouble.” She giggled in anticipation. So close to the big reveal.

Octavia rolled her eyes a bit and smiled at her dear one. “Alright, Vinyl. I’ll play your little game. Come on. What’s through that little curtain that’s going to-” Octavia’s quasi-snarky comment died on her lips as the curtains parted, spreading out the scene before her.

Oh, for just a moment of your time
Oh, now, that’d be sublime!

- - -

“Come on, Snips, hurry up!” Snails, the long-legged unicorn colt, cantered freely over a hill outside of Ponyville. It was early on a summer night, the stars sparkling, the breezes slightly cool, in contrast to the warm air when all was still. Snails looked back, to see his short-legged friend lagging behind, trotting desperately on his stubby limbs.
“Snails! Slow down! You know I can’t run as fast as you.” Snips huffed and panted loudly, pounding the grassy expanse desperately, wanting to reach Snails, though he seemed hundreds of miles away.

“We’re gonna be late, Snips, we have to hurry!” Despite his desperation, Snails held his ground, and waited until Snips reached his side. “Do you need me to carry you?” He said, mock-sternly.

“No!” There was a long pause, as Snips attempted to look steadfast and stern. He failed after a bit. “Yes.”

Do you hear me?
I’m here for you

The chubby pony clambered atop his willowy companion and clung on for dear life as he took off. “Don’t worry, Snips, I’ll get you there.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going!” Snips had to yell at the top of his lungs, to cancel out the wind rushing around him, his hooves settling securely to the shoulders and flanks of his transport platform.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.” Snails beamed vacantly and galloped on.

“You never tell me anything...” Snips groused. And it was true. As great a friends as they were, the other colt more often than not simply did things, and counted on his friend to follow along. Not that Snips MINDED that too much. He was glad to do it for Snails. But he wanted to be consulted. At least a little.

You don’t see me
I’m way in the back of the ballroom

Even if he didn’t always consult his friend, Snails was always concerned about him. It was hard not to. It had been them against the world for so long they were bonded together as solidly as possible. The very thought of it made a smile break across his face while he bounded across the rolling, grassy hills. “We’re almost there!”

“Hurry up! I wanna know what’s happening!”

“Just a minute.” As soon as they crested the next hill he’d see. It made Snails smile all the wider and brighter. Just a few more gallops to what he had been waiting for.

I’ve been here since last night at nine
I was the first in the line

- - -

Out in Schwarzwald, just through the outskirts, was the double-occupancy better-than-a-shack belonging to Gilda sen Electra O’Bald and Trixie Lulamoon. In most respects a perfectly ordinary Equestrian couple, being females engaged in a romantic relationship. Gilda was a griffin, which was uncommon but in no way distressing. Trixie, however, hid her ethnicity, knowing she was one idiotic stereotype away from being pushed to do something desperate. Not that Kleinpferd folk were naturally very unkind to Roani. But most Equestrians, particularly those outside of large cities tended to have some longstanding traditional feelings about such folk.

Trixie arrived home from her usual trip into town. She was very uncomfortable being tied to a home, after a life of caravan-riding and drifting town-to-town, never wearing out her welcome if she could help it, and never getting too attached to much more than her necessary things. Now she was tied to this home, this town and, more fundamentally, to Gilda.

She emptied her bit pouch into a bowl by the door, another little trinket she had created for decorating the rather bare home. The clinking of coins in the wooden bowl gladdened her heart. They would eat well. She could even afford to buy Gilda the good soy steaks that actually tasted like meat. She could probably get actual meat, but she wanted to wean Gilda off non-fish flesh. She wanted to make her more Equestrian, one step at a time. A chuckle poured from her lips. She realized how silly it seemed, changing a griffin. It was also a cliché, the new girlfriend changing her lover bit by bit. But not too much. There was a lot to admire about Gilda.

Trixie settled herself down in the big central nest, snuggling into the pillows scattered all around and having a look at the clock on and wall, yet another touch of personality; it was a refurbished piece of clockwork from town, which had been rejected by a cuckoo clock maker and fixed up into an effective motor, with some scraps applied to it to show the time. Gilda would be home from her aerobatic activities soon. Gilda…

“Gilda sen Electra O’Bald-Lulamoon…” She tasted the name on her lips, feeling it out, checking how it hit her. She’d HAVE to graft on the name. Her Roani pride would demand that her wife take her name, become a member of the clan; Gilda’s griffin pride would dictate she keep her name whole, to show her bloodline and clan line. Maybe if she was lucky their children could get away with an O’Lulamoon.

Children… She was actually thinking about children. Filly Fooler or Populator, one of the most important things for the Roa was family. And making children was the deepest sign of a bond. Gadje or born-in-blood Roa, that was the sign you had been accepted. She was bringing this outsider into her clan, in her mind and her heart. She could feel the slightest sting of tears dance at the corners of her eyes. How strange.

She had lived a life of sorrow, by and large. She had put on a painted smile and brash attitude to paste over the sadness of a life lived under the fear and hatred of others. The screaming insults, the silent judgment, the filthy looks, the anonymous notes, the vulgar graffiti, even assault and arson. Her being a child for much of it did not stop the horrible things. She had wept, she had sobbed, she had bawled, shedding useless tears over those she hated. Wasting her emotions on hate. Never before in her life had she had a good, clean, pure CRY. As tears of happiness dripped from her eyes, she let them gather on her cheeks, mouth pulled up into the biggest smile she could ever remember.

You made me cry more than
Anyone I’ve ever met in my whole life

Gilda sighed softly and rolled her shoulders as she glided down in a circling motion, landing in her clean yard. Clean yard. It was always a surprise. It hardly looked like her place. The debris was gone, the grass was munched down to size, things looked healthy. All thanks to her hen. Mare. Her mare. HER mare. That was something new.

She’d had… partners, before. Even Dash had been more of a partner than a real lover. Her emotion had been more possessive than romantic. She had fed her ego with Dash’s daring and style, testing herself to make herself look good, and to have an ornament worthy of her grandeur. But she had never been her mare. That’s why she could, in the end, give her up. But not her. Trixie was her mare. Not as a trinket. But as a pony, her own being.

Those thoughts filled her mind as she opened the door. “Hey, I’m home. Those crowds at the little shows are brutal. At least I got paid.” She dumped out her bits into the bowl, looking into the nest. At first she saw only the tears shining on Trixie’s face. “Hey, babe, you alright? Did one of those ponies yell at you? Do I need to pound some squawker’s head into his…”

You made me smile despite myself
I live for you, I wouldn’t lie

“No! … No. I'm fine.” Trixie let her face be seen, revealing the tremendous smile on her face. “I was just sitting here, thinking... about us. How much I love being with you. And how happy I am to have you in my life. Someday... hippogriffs...”

“Hippogriffs...” Gilda repeated, beak pulling up slightly as she imagined it. Some segments of culture died hard. Chicks were a big deal to a griffin. In a harsh land there was always a chance that things could go wrong. Chicks that made it were very special. And numbers meant more survived. She had been raised with the idea of making lots of little griffins, to glorify and honor the family and clan. Before, she had been antagonistic to such a thing. With her mare, however, that was far from the case. “How many eggs do you want?”

Trixie laughed, rubbing her belly lightly. “None, I hope. I don't know how hybrids work. But I wanted to be the one. So they could be born Roa. That's alright... right?”

Cultures clashed. Being born Roa might mean they weren't born Bald. The Equestrian government and tradition and all the citizens would openly, freely and repeatedly say the boys were mac Gilda and the hens were sen Trixie, but she'd know the truth. Unless some very different magic got involved, of course. Her parents would say... something stupid and pointless. The powerful griffin flopped down in the nest, cuddled up tight and close with her beautiful showmare. “Just as long as I can be one too...”

You made me love you more than I love myself

- - -

Such a… low class place. Flashing lights, obnoxiously loud music, surprising darkness despite all the flash and sparkle, and alcohol… that either glowed like a magical spell or smelled like something rubbed on a leg before a shot. Octavia sighed. How had she let Beauty Brass talk her into such a thing? It had been less than a dare, more than a polite suggestion. Just a recommendation that she slum it down below terrace three in a club of her choosing.

She did not OBJECT to slumming it and had absolutely nothing at all against non-wealthy ponies. But she was out of her element. A pond fish thrown into an Everfree lake. She wished that she had kept her cello with her. The substantial heft of the great instrument and case made her feel safe and secure; among all the spike-maned stallions and ripped-clothing-clad mares she could have used the comfort of a blunt object to be used a weapon of self defense.

"What'll you have, fancy-mane?" Behind the bar was a mare in a mesh shirt and plastic-like black skirt; she was either naturally pale or covered in some kind of powder looking gray and wan, her mane dark and matte black.

"O-oh… do you have any Chateau Pastaud pinot noir? Any year should be fine." Octavia jumped a bit when she was spoken to, looking the mare over. It was almost impossible to feel comfortable in the strange, low-terrace environment.

The mare just stared, with a blank, thousand-yard stare. "We've got beer, malt liquor, and all the glowing drinks you could name. Don't get fancy with me, silver-spooner. Just name something."

Octavia looked properly scandalized, though she lost that quickly, realizing she was not in a very friendly environment. "L-let me have something… fruity. Just… nothing too… strong…"

"Fine. Just a second." The mare walked away to a collection of slightly-glowing tubes, mixing the mana-infused flavorants with alcohol and more mundane ingredients, crafting an electric blue concoction that swirled slightly with an inner whitish ribbon, garnished with maraschino cherries. "One Hyperactive Imagination. Enjoy it. That'll be twenty bits."

"Twenty..!" Again, Octavia began to complain but knew she was in no position to do so. She took the drink with a sullen nod, and laid out the bits from her pouch. She took a sip of the luminous liquor and found it passable. Sickly sweet, exploding with fake fruit flavor, but up to the task of hiding the swill-quality alcohol most likely used in its creation.

She took another long sip of it and started to move around the room, on the periphery but towards the stage. There was some sort of audio assault coming from there, a burst of sound and color that seemed almost intertwined. It was as she had heard before, coming from radios and television, some species of the popular tripe. But this had more artistry to it, some hint of subtlety and classical motifs. To be sure, it was a mess of thumping beats and electronically-tortured pre-recorded tunes, but the one manipulating the whole had some touch of genius in them. And amid the wasteland she was in, that was special.

Something about the undercurrent seemed increasingly familiar as she approached the stage. The volume of one of the subthreads in the electronic collision slowly started to rise, distinguishing itself more and more clearly from the rest of the composition. Strings… she heard strings from that. A segment from a familiar classical piece. Then it dawned on her as she reached the stage and looked upon the bone-white pony behind a table full of electronic devices, ruling over them like a goddess. The manner of playing, the particular tone. The hoof print of the performer of that segment. It was her. A piece of her performance, elevated to a brushstroke in a new composition.

Corner café, random meeting

So far, the set had been brilliant. Another little club, another middle-sized paycheck, another big bout of appreciation. Her latest song, rolling on into the part of which she was particularly proud, was sure to be another hit on the airwaves, once it was recut into a size for the radio. But, that’s what albums were for, and she knew it. It put food in her mouth and electronics in her machines.

She was an artist, and didn’t quite like how cavalier her manager was with her works. They were her creations, part of her being. She put her heart and soul into the making of the music, and chose each sample, electronic sound and modulation with care. Nopony heard what she didn’t want them to hear, and everypony felt what she wanted them to feel. Lately, that had involved one thing in particular.

Not too long ago she had heard a performance on the radio from a high-brow quartet on the rise in Canterlot. She wasn’t normally for the classical type, but she never turned down music. It had begun as a mix of sounds, the usual classical mush. Then came a solo. A long, sweet, smooth cello solo played by what she could only surmise was some kind of spirit. The skill in playing, the perfection in tone and tempo, it was all ripe for sampling. She tracked down a master copy and got her segments for a surprisingly reasonable fee. In doing so she also found out about the group, and learned about the lovely mare responsible for such wonderful music. A looker, to be sure. But way above her, as far as terraces and everything else went.

She now spread those samples through her productions, making certain they were never altered in ways that would mutilate them. She was an artist but had a heart. That music was too sweet and pure to twist or distort. The most she would do was bury it deep in audio obfuscation then slowly reveal it, pristine and perfect, like a gem lifted out of the ground. From her sales figures and fan mail, it was working well.

Her sunglass-covered eyes scanned over the crowd of cheering, dancing ponies. With the shades on she could see beyond the stage lights and the colored lamps swinging wildly to give the atmosphere a more manic feel. The usual crowd of gyrating young mares and stallions, hair spiked, clothes ripped, attention focused anywhere but the stage, when they had any focus to give at all. It was all terribly typical.

She looked down and saw a new figure standing out from the crowd, not by what peacock-like things she was sporting, but what she lacked. Her hair was dark and smooth, perfectly styled. She wore nothing but a simple collar and bow tie. She moved with slow, deliberate steps. And she was looking up. When their eyes met, Vinyl could hardly believe her luck. It was her. Somehow, she was down from the clouds, into her dingy little atmosphere, and standing there, looking at somepony who never thought they’d be nearer than worlds apart.

Is that really you there
Scrape me off the ceiling

“It’s… that club.” Octavia was wide-eyed as she looked out over the silent, empty scene. There was the long bar, no longer staffed with the surly mare; the lights, dormant and dark; the speakers, some of them broken or hanging, not pumping out Vinyl’s music. And the floor, devoid of gyrating ponies. “Where we…”

“I’m not usually good at this mushy junk.” Vinyl slowly sauntered up behind her marefriend, stroking gently over her flank. “But, well, we’ve been making some GOOD bits lately, and this place had closed down… probably for good reasons. But I figured, there’s plenty of food in the pantries and plenty of doodads in my machines, and you’re up you your bowtie in rosin, strings and wood wax. I wouldn’t just leave it looking like this. I thought we might do something with it. Make it into a classier club, make it what it used to be, hay, make it a restaurant or something. Just… something.”

Octavia looked out over the scene again, now seeing that night from Vinyl’s perspective. An energized crowd and a powerfully successful song playing. Ruling over the electronics and music, slowly releasing a hidden musical gem. Then all of a sudden, there is the creator, down there, unannounced and unbidden. Out of her element, lost, confused, stricken by hearing her own performance. “I don’t… I just…”

The white mare came around and embraced her partner, placing a hoof gently on her lips, just holding her securely.

I’ve waited my whole life for this day
Now, I don’t know what to say

- - -

“Snails…” Snips gasped loudly as he looked down into the little hollow that lay at the end of their trip. The nondescript divot filled with plants was lit up like a Hearths Warming tree, twinkling with hundreds of fireflies. Thousands, perhaps. The colt remained atop his lanky friend, staring in awe. “That’s…”

“Wait…” The other unicorn reared up suddenly and stomped down hard. He wasn’t much in the way of strength, being both willowy and a unicorn, but he added a brief flash of light from his horn. The combination set off the fireflies, sending the thousands of points of light into the sky, a glowing cloud that suffused the scene with a numinous atmosphere. “There.”

Snips looked on in awe, watching the cloud of brilliant insects. Some of them settled back down onto the plants and ground, while some swarmed even higher, almost reaching for the stars. They did not merely glow with a steady brightness but flickered, each in their own pattern, to make the scene all the more magical. "How did you know they'd be here?" He pressed his neck against Snail's neck, as he lays across his back still, too transfixed to think of hopping away.

"I saw 'em during the day when I was out looking for bugs. So I knew they'd be lighting up when it was night." Snails lifted his head proudly, relaying the information in a matter-of-fact way and with a touch of delight. His efforts were appreciated.

"Wow..." That was all Snips could say as he watched the shining cloud. His legs subtly tightened, pressing his roly-poly body more securely against his dear friend. Friend... "Snails, you know I love how you can find all these neat bugs. This was just great."

"Awww, thanks Snips..." The lanky unicorn reached back with a hoof and ruffled the pudgier unicorn's mane. They were inseperable. None of the other foals gave them much thought, and they were all too often on their own, when some little silly misunderstanding got ponies laughing. It wasn't so bad. They had been in the paper! That was something. "I knew you'd like it."

Snips laughed softly, still mesmerized by the sight. "Like it? I love you... it!"

You are the sea and the sky
And I’m content to not know why

- - -

Gilda gingerly caressed her lover's mane, considering many things. A simple thing in pony lands grew more and more complicated the more elements were interoduced. Getting married was supposed to be simple. Find an office, pay a very modest fee, or even get it done for nothing if there was a genuine hardship, have a small ceremony, sign some papers and it was done. Richer types rented a big hall, made a big to-do of it and had a lavish celebration. But for her... Griffin weddings involved ritualized aerobatics, that could include previously-married hens if they had the capacity to fly at the time, not an easy thing for a landbound unicorn. She also had to think that Roani had their own ceremonies, that were not strictly "legal" but could be made so with a few forms whenever they rolled into a town. Three potential options, and picking the wrong one meant making some creature upset.

She could leave off the Griffin ceremony. It was all but impossible in theory and practice, plus the only ones who might be upset would be her snobbish parents and the only idiot sibling she bothered to recognize, her full-blood brother. They could probably scrape up the bits for a nice, small ceremony. But Trixie would probably want something lavish and extravagant, to give her normally-cheerless life flash and color, as she often said. And that led into her family traditions. Gilda was hitched to the idea of becoming one with the Roani. But they were nomadic, and she had no idea where Trixie's family might possibly be. Would the mare want a traditional Roani wedding, with her clanmates there to bring her new spouse into the herd? She rubbed her head slowly. Life was so much easier bouncing bed-to-bed and having long, violent screaming matches with the mirror or a bottle of scrub liqueur.

Trixie had fallen asleep not long before, but all the fidgets and motions made her face scrunch and caused her to stir uncomfortably. One eye opened, giving the most annoyed expression possible. "You are disturbing the sleep of the grrrrreat and powerful Trrrrrrrrrixie. Why have you interrupted her blissful slumber." She put on her most annoyed showmare voice, third pony tense, extra trill on the 'r' and all. That was a true sign of her agitation and Gilda knew it.

"Sorry, dude. Just... got a lot on my mind." The hen leaned down and nuzzled the mare's graceful throat, getting the tiniest of giggles for her trouble.

"Not nearly as much as the great and powerful Trixie. Her mind is awash in a thousand thousand contemplations of brilliant luminosity, each more complex and serious than the last, and all unified into a wondrous whole made of diamantine threads betwixt each little consideration. Now please, allow her to sleep."

Gilda smiled. She said please. It was all an act, and a good one. "Ok, ok. Codladh samh, a chuisle mo chroi(1)." She bent down to kiss the mare on her cheek then curled protectively around her like any male griffin might, safeguarding her as she slumbered.

"Lachhi tjiri rat(2), gadji(3)." She said, with a hint of a smirk. She needed all the smiles she could get. Her body wanted to be relaxed but her mind was plagued by all those scintillating thoughts, which burned like a fire in her mind. They had even kept her from proper sleep leaving her awake enough to be bothered by Gilda's fidgeting. It was not what she wanted but it was something she had to face.

She wanted Gilda to be married amid her clan. They would welcome her in. Their children might even be born Roa in their eyes, even if they remained O’Bald and did not get away with a Lulamoon of any kind. Besides, there was lots of fun to be had in a Roani wedding. So much singing and drinking and dancing and revelry.

But Gilda had a family. A very rich and powerful family. Diplomats, connected nobility; the hoi polloi they were not. Any Roa would give her caravan, her trinkets and all four legs to be connected to that. To move up in the world from nomad to cultured elite.

“Egg Grabber…” That was the last thing out of Trixie’s lips. Her eyes drifted slowly downward. They were disgusted with her kind. Not Roani. Filly Foolers. It was stupid; what harm could they do? But she would never be a Griffin Lady, in literally rarified atmosphere, being charming and witty in the High King’s aerie. They were already pariahs. They could very well fill out some forms in the local office down in Schwarzwald and be done with it. What mattered most was to do it. To be one with her. The one worth all the trouble.

You are so great, I am so plain

- - -

The comment hung in the air. Neither colt spoke. Snips was sure he felt Snails trembling in fury; Snails thought he could feel Snips hesitating, ready to take it all back. It was the taller colt that spoke first, in a small, hesitating voice. “What?”

“I didn’t… I said… I love it…” Snips smiled with all his might, flop sweat standing out heavily on his forehead. He had to buy it. He had to believe it! If he didn’t…

“Oh, that’s what I thought.” The scrawny pony smiled and turned back to the insect light show, humming a little tune as the bugs buzzed through the air.

Snips flops down, as though every bone in his body had turned to jelly. He hung there, a tubby load on his friend’s back, for the moment still safe and secure. The object of his affection was none the wiser. He didn’t have to lose his best friend… only friend to the shame of being a Colt Cuddler. He could not resist. But he had to resist. Had to stop himself from being attracted to the frankly perfect pony, so he wouldn’t be alone.

“Snips?” Snails spoke suddenly, still looking at the twinkling fireflies.

“Yea Snails?” The plump pony looked up, finally able to appreciate the sparkling show. His fears past, he could enjoy his friend’s gift again.

He was so close. He knew he was. He needed to do it. He needed to… “Thanks for coming out here.” Stupid. They were right. Stupid.

“Hey, you’re my best friend. I’d do anything ya asked me.”

“Thanks…” How hard would it be? Very hard. To be a Colt Cuddler, to lose his best and only friend, all over four little words. I love you, Snips.

I am the moth to your flame

- - -

‘Vinyl… you idiot. You stupid, sweet idiot. I would never have thought of this. I’d have put in a breakfast nook and repainted the exterior, maybe installed new appliances. Ours still work but… I wish I could think like you.’

‘Octy, I’m an idiot. Of course I should have consulted you. You would have… I don’t know, seen a bank about a loan, or consulted a building inspector to see if it’s worth even leaving standing. I did it again. I dragged you into another harebrained scheme. If you were any smarter I’d be where I belong: in that studio apartment facing down drunk fans and angry managers.’

‘You’re a good friend. You always help me when I need it, and make me feel good when everypony is laughing. You didn’t make fun of me for having a talent for cutting things up. You told me I could find something to do. You never let me down. I wish I did something for you.’

‘Bugs don’t make you run away, and you think it’s so cool how I find them and know about them. I’m slow, but you think I’m so fast. You don’t care I can use a little magic and you’re still trying to learn. You like me just because of who I am. You’re everything I ever wanted to be. I wish I could tell you how much you mean.’

‘I tied you down to a little aerie. Imagine, a griffin, ruler of the skies, pinning a land bound unicorn to anything. But you were even freer than my kind. You were used to moving as you pleased, free as the wind we ride. Was I right to lock you here? Maybe if I was a better hen, I’d be in a caravan, following you where you go.’

‘My match, my equal, the hen that is worthy of me. I never thought I’d meet you, because I always thought I’d scare away every female that ever got too close. Even if any pony or anything else thought they could match me, who would dare associate with a Roani? You didn’t care what I was. For the first time, my bloodline meant nothing at all. I should be angry, but I’ve never been happier. I don’t know how I can possibly thank you for letting me be me.’

… Wish I was good enough for you

1: Irish Gaelic, literally "Sleep well, pulse of my heart," a chuisle mo chroi indicating a closeness akin to being a person's very heartbeat
2: Romani, "Good evening/night."
3: Romani, "Non-Roma woman" here used by Trixie as a term of endearment.

Comments

[darthrex]

"That music was to sweet and pure to twist" That should be "too", and the some of the phrasing could have flowed better. Gabe, my lad you're slipping...nah, good story, more Gildixe!

[Noble Cause]

The Snips and Snails was a surprise, the Scratchtavi adorable and beautiful. The Gildixie? Heartbreakingly sad and sweet at the same time. Simply fantastic all around, dearest <3

[Gabriel LaVedier]

575891

I call it "Puppydog Tails" ^.^

Gilda and Trixie are still Gilda and Trixie. They may be together but they are still themselves. Plus, one is an ethnic minority and one is a cultural minority from a social majority. "Happily ever after" isn't in the cards just because they do the equivalent of waving a wand and wishing really hard.

[Kagitaar]

Damn fine work yet again. The Vinyl themed drink was a nice touch and I did not see Puppy-dog Tails coming. I keep wishing for Gilda and Trixie's happiness more and more each time you write about them.

You are missing an S on stallion near the start of the club flashback.

[Nanimonai]

Some of them settled back down onto the plants and ground, while some swarmed even high, almost reaching for the stars.

I am wondering if this maybe should be "even higher" or if my linguistic knowledge is failing me.

[j-grizz]

The hen leaned down and nuzzles the mare's graceful throat

nuzzled

really liking your Trixie/Gilda stuff.

[j-grizz]

duplicate post