Celestia's School for Gifted Equines

by The Usurper

1. The Musical, Part I

It was bigger than he'd imagined.

Dream Catcher had had a rough week. His acceptance to grade 11 of Celestia's School for Gifted Equines, and under full scholarship no less, had come as an immense surprise to his entire family. He was no slouch in his studies, of course; indeed, he was easily the best in his class. But that was back in Vanhoover. Canterlot was of an entirely different standard. It was the home of the unicorns - the richest, the elite, and by virtue of that the most well-educated. Intelligence came easily to them, much like snobbery and elitism did. Rumour had it that the reason why Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns had persisted for so long was because of a few well-placed, hardcore unicorn supremacists. True, most of it had died out decades ago, but the fact was that there simply weren't prestigious schools for other races. There was only one for Gifted Unicorns.

But recently, with the blessing of all three of the Equestrian Princesses, and the commendation of the Crystal Empire, Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns was turned into Celestia's School for Gifted Equines. And suddenly, the earth pony Dream Catcher had a chance.

He was not a silly pony. He knew that chances were only chances, and nothing more. He had sent in his application and his student record. He hadn't invested too much time in it, either, since the chances were small. Besides academics, his record was fairly unimpressive. But apparently academics had been enough, and the acceptance letter came in the mail only days later. His family scrambled to put him on the direct train to Canterlot, where he would settle into the promised student hostel, receive the most advanced education money could buy, and become successful and rich beyond his wildest dreams.

At least, that was what his family was convinced would happen. But Catcher didn't want to count his eggs before they hatched. He was, after all, not a silly pony.

The ride had been rough. He was not used to the bed moving under his body. When he disembarked, he was in pretty bad shape. Only his carefully prepared checklists and inventory accounts had saved his luggage from being carried off to Baltimare. Still, he was awake and equipped with a map, and that was enough to guide him to the little six-pointed star that the map had chosen to indicate the School.

As he stared up at the gargantuan, palace-esque building, sporting the fresh sign proclaiming Celestia's School for Gifted Equines in large gilded lettering, he surmised that the star did not do this place justice.

He looked down at the map, then back up again at the sign. Vanhoover was a smaller town, with buildings he knew - objectively - were smaller than the Equestrian average. It was only reasonable that the size of the major buildings would shock him. But, just in case, Dream Catcher checked the map again. It would not do for him to stumble accidentally into Canterlot Castle.

He looked around. Ponies of all colours were milling around the entrance. Some were wearing the purple-beige vest that he recognised from the brochures as the School's official uniform, though policy indicated that there was no compulsory dress code. Most of the ponies around him weren't wearing anything at all. That was good, he decided, since he wasn't wearing anything either. He hadn't been able to buy a uniform. At least he wouldn't stand out.

A loud, low series of chimes struck somewhere in the heart of the School. The milling crowd hesitated, then gradually gravitated towards the oak double doors yawning open beneath the Celestia's School sign. That, Dream Catcher presumed, was the start-of-school bell. That meant it was eight in the morning. According to the first-day itinerary he had been mailed, the first order of the day was a school-wide briefing. Some of the other scholars might have had a chance to move their luggage into their dorms already, but he was too late for that. He'd simply take care of it later. Unpacking was something he didn't want to rush, at any rate.

He followed the crowd unassumingly through the doors. Despite his best attempts at subtlety, however, his mere presence garnered some thoroughly unsubtle whispers and pointed hooves from the unicorn cliques. It wasn't racism, he guessed; the majority of unicorns were probably longtime students of the school, having studied here since foalhood. They were just gawking at the new ponies. As much as he hated to stand out, he couldn't do anything about not having a horn on his head.

He opened his map of the school and buried his face in it. They were in the massive purple-beige atrium now, stairs running up and down and corridors stretching out in every direction. The assembly hall was in the Solaris Block, which was up the stairs and to the right, down thirteen doors, and... everypony was heading there already, so he needn't have bothered. And more ponies were staring at him now that he had the map out.

This was going to be a long day.

It took him a few minutes, in the unhurried flow of the crowd, to reach the assembly hall. It was large, as everything seemed here in Canterlot. There were two levels. Catcher found a thoroughly average seat at a thoroughly average position, in the middle of the first level seats. He settled comfortably into the cushion as ponies came crowding in around him. He kept his luggage close by. Damage to his prized possessions was something he both figuratively and very literally could not afford.

He took advantage of the dim light to close his eyes and fold his ears down. He'd had assemblies before in his old school in Vanhoover, but none had been quite so... loud. Or hectic. The ponies here chatted away like nopony's business. It was the same in Vanhoover, naturally, but there were ten times more students in this one hall than there had ever been on the running track that passed for his school's assembly space. He could barely hear himself think.

Then a noise, the microphone-amplified clearing of a throat, cut even above the deafening chatter. The noise died down. Standing on the well-lit stage was a silver-coated, golden-maned unicorn mare, wearing a sleek lavender-beige dress, a sharp set of glasses, and a stern look.

"Good morning, students." Her voice was severe, not at all welcoming. "Most of you already know me. But for the benefit of our new students, I shall introduce myself." A small murmur began at a far corner of the second level. She rapped her hoof fiercely on the hollow wood stage and the murmur stopped immediately. "I am Ms Sharphoof, principal and disciplinary master of this school. There are many reasons why you could become acquainted with me. I trust you will choose the right ones." Her gaze roamed the crowd. "Celestia's School for Gifted Equines is nationally acclaimed for more than its standard of education. Since our founding in the seventh century of the Summer Sun, we have prided ourselves on our excellent moral education. As our longtime students know, we have a variety of classes and activities specifically to aid in our moral education policy, such as extra-curricular service opportunities and, once you receive your timetables, the Personal and Social Education class. But there is one programme you absolutely have to know."

Her horn began to glow a gentle argent. A sheet of paper slipped out of her dress and floated up to her. She readjusted her glasses. "The CIIP: Community Involvement Initiative Programme."

To Dream Catcher, Community and Involvement translated usually to chores. He knew they were necessary, but ponies his age tended to complain about such things. He expected some noise of protest, at least among the new students (wherever they were). But instead, there was a general murmur of approval and - could it be? - genuine excitement.

Clearly, Canterlot was very different from Vanhoover.

"This particulars form is your CIIP record." Principal Sharphoof pointed her horn at the paper. An enlarged image of it appeared on the large, flat white wall behind her in strikingly enhanced detail. The entire sheet was filled with lines and boxes, in a way that was almost artistic to Catcher - that is to say, abstract art. He couldn't make head or tail of it. "By the end of the year, this form will need to record one hundred hours of community involvement, which includes participation in official school clubs and activities, approved student initiatives, and supervised external service projects. If you do not complete all one hundred hours, you will not be allowed to promote to the next grade or graduate."

Oh. That... will be a problem.

Already somepony on the second level, an earth pony like him, was beginning to ask, "But what if we—"

"No. Exceptions." Sharphoof rapped her hoof on the stage floor again. The earth pony shut up immediately. "That will be all for now, students. Scholars, you will have the next hour to move into your rooms. After that will be the briefing on subject combinations for both scholars and new students. The rest of you, lessons begin at nine. Do not be late." Tucking the paper back into her dress, she announced, "Dismissed!"

Catcher waited for the ponies around him to stand up, and then stood up in turn. CIIP had been in the brochure but he'd paid it little attention. It seemed irrelevant, an accessory to the important academics, just like PE and student clubs. But one thing he was sure he didn't see in the brochure was it being a requirement for promotion. Maybe they were afraid it would make the school unattractive. It certainly was a lot less attractive to him now. He could see how much trouble it would be. He was not a silly pony.

As he followed the gentle flow of the crowd towards the exit, he set his mental resources on arranging a solution to this inconvenience. He would have to find something, of course. He needed those hundred hours. But preferably it would be something he could do with minimal trouble, cutting down on inefficiencies like travel time. That meant external service was unfeasible.

"Hello everypony! Would you like to join my musical?"

Student clubs or campus-based initiatives would be best. But he imagined a lot of those might involve travel time of their own, probably out to old folks' homes or orphanages or something of the sort. They were for service, after all. What kind of activity would be completely based in the campus?

"I'm looking for scriptwriters! So long as you meet the deadlines, you can work on your own free time and anywhere you want!"

There was also the concern of hidden conditions, like CIIP. If an official organisation like Celestia's School could avoid declaring critical facets of their programme, what would keep small student-run initiatives and clubs from doing so? He needed something concrete, something like an information slip and somepony he could interrogate for further details and hidden caveats.

"Please take this brochure if you're interested! If you have any further questions, feel free to ask me whenever you'd like!"

But what were the odds that something like that existed?

Somepony tapped his shoulder and pulled him out of the crowd. "Hi, would you—oh."

He snapped out of his reverie. He was just at the exit, standing in a small alcove in the wall. Beside him, looking at him with a disappointed expression, was a white unicorn mare with a well-styled red mane. A picture of two silhouetted theatre masks - one happy, one sad - was marked on her flank. She was holding out a brochure of some sort towards him, but she was already in the midst of drawing it away. Catcher quickly scanned the most apparent details.

The Musical!
Do you need a CIIP activity? Do you like creative writing? Then the Musical is for you!

Hm.

"I'm sorry," Catcher said, "but what were you saying?"

"Oh, um." The white unicorn bit her lip. "It's just, uh, I was just looking for scriptwriters for my musical, but I can see you're really busy and I don't want to disturb you, so, yes, sorry about that."

"No, it's quite alright." The gears in his head clicked and clacked into furious motion. "It's a CIIP activity?"

"... Yeeeeeeeees." She winced. "But I'm not sure it's your type of thing."

"I'm interested, actually." He had some experience with writing. He imagined he might be able to do it. "Could I have a brochure?"

"Um, sure." She hesitantly hoofed the proffered brochure over to him. "But keep in mind that you'll... have to pass a hard writing test first." Her pained expression morphed into something she probably hoped looked confident. "Yeah. It won't be easy."

"Thank you for the information." At least she wasn't in the habit of hiding important details, he thought. "I'll consider it. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

"Yeah, no problem. Now you'd better be on your way, you don't want to be late." She ushered him back into the moving crowd and gave him an awkwardly big smile. He smiled back politely. Canterlot ponies had a strange mode of behaviour. When he rounded the corner and she disappeared from view, her exclamations began again: "Looking for scriptwriters! Scriptwriters for the Musical!" But she sounded decidedly more subdued.

---

Dream Catcher was in his small hostel room, preparing to unpack his fragile luggage, when the white unicorn came by again. She'd knocked softly, almost inaudibly, on the door. He'd barely heard it. There wasn't another knock, but when he cantered over and opened the door she'd still been waiting there. Her head had been hung abashedly, and she fiddled shamefully with the tips of her hooves. It was as if she had something to be sorry about. Dream Catcher didn't know what. But he'd invited her in anyway.

Now she was seated on the edge of his modest, lumpy bed. He'd taken up a comfortable position on his swivel-cushion at the tiny work table at the end of the room. She hadn't talked for about one and a half minutes, judging by the wall clock above the toilet door. He understood. Sometimes you just had to arrange your thoughts before you said something, to avoid saying something you didn't mean or indulging in tautologies. He'd waited patiently for her to speak.

"I'm sorry," she finally blurted out.

Catcher tilted his head curiously to the side. "Sorry? For what?"

"For how I acted around you just now. I was wrong. It wasn't fair to act like that just because you were... you know."

He was drawing a blank. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Well, like..." she twiddled her forelegs nervously. "An earth pony."

"Ah." He paused to reorganise the facts in his head. "So your behaviour wasn't typical of Canterlot ponies?"

"It... wasn't typical of anypony, I guess." She looked a lot better now. The guilty posture and expression had melted into relief. "It's just that, I know earth ponies are really traditional, and I didn't really want a... traditional feel for the script."

"Traditional?" he asked. "In what sense?"

"You know. 'The good old ways'. No technology, no changing ideas, and no youngsters exercising independence and discovering themselves and..." She coughed. "You get it."

"I do," he said. He thought back to his family and Vanhoover. "I suppose that you're right, to a certain extent. Most are less extreme than that, though."

"Yeah. It was hyperbole." She smiled weakly. "The musical involves some family trouble, and I didn't want traditional family values to interfere with the power of the scene."

"Don't worry," he said. He knew what he believed in. "I'm not traditional. I'm just practical."

She laughed. "That's a relief. I'm sorry again about the whole thing. I'm just not used to earth ponies, I guess."

"Not to worry." He dismissed her concerns with a wave. "I understand."

"Thanks," she replied. "And welcome to the musical, by the way. The thing I said earlier about the test - I was kidding. We're too short on writers. Everypony wants the glamorous roles. I've had fifteen ponies ask me when auditions for the leads are coming up. Nopony wants to be the one behind the scenes."

"Behind the scenes?" Catcher asked. "That sounds great to me."

She smiled back. "I'm glad. We're having a crew meeting after school in the cafeteria. Do you feel up to it? I know it's your first day here and all that."

"I'll manage," he said. "Thank you, uh..."

Her eyes widened. "Oh! I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself." She extended a hoof. "I'm Scarlet. Scarlet Heart."

"Pleased to meet you, Scarlet." He took her hoof and shook it. "My name is Dream Catcher."

She blinked. Then, suddenly, she chuckled. "Oh, I get it. Because dreamcatchers are like, those things with the nets and..." She trailed off as his blank stare began to sink in. "Um, never mind. See you after school!"

"Yes, of course, see you then." He got up to open the door for her, but she magicked it open on her own and slipped out. She forgot to close it. Catcher sighed, walked up to the open door, and shut it himself.

Perhaps Canterlot ponies were strange after all.

---

The subject combination lecture was useless to him. Dream Catcher was well aware of the importance of proper subject choice for future university course applications, and he had studied the syllabus outline for every subject Celestia's School offered. He was hoping the lecture would impart some new information, but with each subject head that trotted up the stage it became clearer and clearer that they were just advertising their subjects and nothing more. It was not a holistic evaluation. He would have to rely on his own research.

The lecture alone took up the whole day. By the time the last teacher had finished her recommendation of Philosophy, the clock read well past two in the afternoon. It was a Friday. Everypony was given the weekend to decide on their subject combinations and then dismissed. Most of them headed back to the hostel or, for the rare new students who weren't scholars, to whatever homes they'd managed to acquire in Canterlot. Dream Catcher headed to the cafeteria.

Celestia's School's cafeteria was, in keeping with the rest of the building, absolutely huge. There was a veritable sea of tables and chairs between the entrance - where he was - and the stalls. And what a selection of stalls there was. There was a vendor for local food from each of the major Equestrian regions. Dream Catcher took note of where the Vanhoover stall was, slotted it into his mental map of the school, and marked it with a little mental star.

"Dream Catcher!" somepony called. "Over here!"

He turned to the source of the sound. Scarlet Heart was waving at him from one of the tables pressed up against the wall. Seated at the same bench were a quartet of mares, two unicorns and two earth ponies, who waved at him too as he approached.

"Hello, Scarlet." He sat down opposite her, on the same side as one of the pair of unicorns and earth ponies. The unicorn had a white coat, like Scarlet, but a shock of electric-blue hair instead of Scarlet's red. She wore a pair of purple shades, though they were indoors, and cyan headphones around her neck. Her earth pony companion was a smooth slate grey, with a dark well-groomed mane and tail. They were an odd match. But the way they sat seemed too intimate for strangers. They must have been friends. Curious.

"So." Scarlet clapped her hooves. "Welcome to the meeting! Everypony, this is our new head scriptwriter, Dream Catcher."

"Hello, Dream Catcher," the four of them chorused.

Scarlet grinned. She gestured to the earth pony on the other side of the table, a mare with a dull yellow coat, a curled blue-pink mane, and a kindly smile. "Catcher, this is Bon Bon, our director and publicity manager."

Bon Bon nodded politely. "It's nice to meet you. Would you rather I call you Dream or Catcher?"

"Catcher will do." For some reason, her voice sounded off to him. Like it was too deep for her. Then again, what did he know?

Scarlet turned to the lime-green unicorn beside Bon Bon. "This is Lyra Heartstrings. She's a musician and a writer."

"And head choreographer!" Lyra added.

"I'm still not so sure about the dance segment," Scarlet said uneasily.

"Head choreographer!" she insisted playfully.

Scarlet sighed and rolled her eyes. "And head choreographer. Anyway, the mare sitting beside you is Octavia Melody, musical director and musician."

Octavia offered Catcher a hoof. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He shook it. "Likewise."

"Hey, Tavi, he sounds just like you!" The not-Scarlet white unicorn beside Octavia slapped her lightly on the back, to which Octavia responded with an annoyed glare. "Like, stuffy and all that."

"This," Scarlet said, gesturing in the unicorn's general direction, "is Vinyl Scratch, tech manager and musician."

"Yo," Vinyl said, cracking a lopsided smile. She put out her hoof towards Dream Catcher, like Octavia had done, but the positioning was slightly different. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to shake it. It looked almost like she was pointing at him.

"Uh..." he said.

Vinyl snickered. "It's a hoofbump, dude. Like this, see?" She reached out with her other leg and lifted his. She bumped his hoof and her outstretched one together. "Bam. Hoofbump."

"... Ah." Catcher didn't know what to think. He tried smiling gratefully, but that just made Vinyl chortle more.

"Oh," she said, lowering her shades to wipe tears away from her cerise eyes, "you guys are all the same."

"And," Scarlet added pointedly, prompting Vinyl to shut her mouth, "I'm the producer and lead. Between us we cover all the positions we need to, except stage manager, so if nopony else comes along then that position's yours too, Catcher."

"I see." Catcher paused to think. "I have a few questions."

"Go ahead."

"How is this qualify as a CIIP activity?" he asked.

Her eyes lit up. "I'm glad you asked! We will be charging entry fees and asking for donations, and all proceeds will be going to the Canterlot Institution for Criminal Rehabilitation."

"Oh, I see." He smiled, for once without forcing himself to. Smiling on command had become a habit. It had been a while since anypony had been able to make him smile genuinely. "That's a clever loophole exploitation. I'm impressed."

Scarlet frowned. "Loophole?"

"Yes," he said. "CIIP has to involve service, but evidently any activity can qualify so long as it assists the community. If you satisfy that condition you can engage in any activity you please. It's very clever."

Vinyl cringed. Beside Scarlet, whose face was rapidly darkening, Lyra inhaled sharply and clamped her hooves over her ears.

"I'm not trying to cheat," Scarlet growled. Her teeth were bared. "I want to help society. I actually want to do something for the ponies of Equestria, to the best of my abilities. I'm not like some ponies I know."

Apparently he'd hit a sore spot. That was the danger of spontaneity; you ran the risk of saying not only something unnecessary, but worse: something wrong. He did not like being wrong. It was thoroughly unpleasant. He needed to correct his mistake. "I'm very sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to imply that you were cheating. I just meant that it was smart of you to find a way for you to serve society with your skills and passions. Not everypony can do that."

She blinked. Slowly, gradually, her lips closed back over her snarling teeth and her eyes softened. "Oh. I see," she murmured. She shook her head exasperatedly. "I'm sorry... Again."

"It's fine," he said. He monitored Lyra and Vinyl's expressions out of the corner of his eyes. In contrast to Bon Bon's neutral expression and Octavia's confused one, they looked very, very relieved. He chose to take that as a good sign.

She shook her head, massaging her forehead with a hoof. "I just hate it when somepony accuses me of faking my decency. I try my best to do the right thing. But she..."

"She?" Catcher inquired.

Scarlet smiled humourlessly. "Just somepony I don't like. You reminded me of her for a moment. It pressed the wrong buttons and, well..." She wiped the smile away and lowered her head apologetically. "Yeah."

"I understand," he said. Of course, it was a lie. There was a lot about equine psychology that he didn't understand. Nonetheless, there were a few things he did. Society was like a waltz; most ponies danced to a vast net of social expectations and unspoken rules so complex as to be nigh unlearnable. If Scarlet felt uncomfortable around him, she would dance. And if she danced, it would become that much more difficult to accomplish anything productive with her.

"If it makes you feel any better," Dream Catcher added, "I wholeheartedly accept your apology."

"Thank you." Scarlet bowed gratefully and gracefully. She did have the elegance of an actor, he mused, as her cutie mark suggested. Then she stood up. "Well, there's not much else to say for now. We meet during lunch every weekday, at this table. You and Lyra can work on the first draft of the script over the weekend and we'll gather on Monday to see how it's doing. Um..." She awkwardly scratched at her temple. "I'll just get out of your mane before I have to apologise to you again."

So his attempt to halt their dance had not been a complete success. Catcher allowed his line of sight to wander as he sifted through the limited social knowledge he had, searching for the perfect words to cut down the inefficiency. And then he noticed something, something at the edge of his vision, which caught his attention. A yellow something stared at him through the porthole window of the cafeteria double doors. Yellow eyes. But in an instant they met his, and they disappeared as quickly as he had noticed them. It could almost have been his imagination.

Hm.

He stood up. "I suppose this is the end of today's meeting, then. Good day."

The others loitered around to say their goodbyes. But Catcher strode briskly to the double doors, threw them open, and scanned the surrounding hallways.

Nothing. Nothing at all. He looked down, where the pony must have been standing, and he found the only hint that somepony had ever been there: a curved, roughly hoof-sized piece of translucent yellow plastic. He looked at it. It stared back up at him.

Well, there was nothing he liked so much as a mystery to be solved.