Coltband

by Madame Fluttershy

Coltband Act 2: A Huge Production

COLTBAND
By John Derk

Act Two
A Huge Production

“See ya Braeburn... ol’ buddy!” Soarin called in a slurred yell from the train as all but the morning star left the sky, “that was a blast!”

“You’re leaving me with this mess?” he replied.

“All the rowdies... have been put to bed.... haven’t they?” asked Saorin through sleepy eyelids.

“All but this one,” came the voice of Applejack who bore an unconscious Rainbow Dash on her back, “pegasi... such lightweights!”

“Hey!” Soarin yawned, “you earth ponies know nothing ... about having hollow bones!”
“You should lie down,” Braeburn told him.
Soarin yawned and said, “yeah” at the same time.

The “thunk” they heard from inside the train told Applejack and Braeburn that Soarin missed the benches when he passed out.

“Next stop: Canterlot!” cried Pinkie Pie, bouncing toward the train door, stopping at the attendant, “pay the nice stallion AJ.”

“No need,” Applejack moved past the attendant and shrugged Rainbow Dash onto a bench not too roughly. “Four return trips to Ponyville where we catch up on life fer a whah’l.”

“But Applejack,” Pinkie protested, “we’ll lose our momentum! We need to round them all up now, while the inspiration is fresh!” And at seeing Braeburn’s incredulous expression from the corner of her eyes, she turned to him.
“Seriously Braeburn,” she seriously said, “we’re getting the five of you back together.”

“Nah, I’m chalking this crazy idea up to the cider,” he said with a cool smile.

“Cider?” Pinkie cocked her head, “Ideas don’t come from cider, they come from brains, silly!”

Braeburn just laughed his great, hearty laugh.

“What?”

“You’re... cute. Bye Pinkie Pie. I had an awesome night. Take care of Rainbow Dash.”

The train let out a toot.

“Excuse you!” a raspy female voice shouted at it.

“All aboard!” shouted the attendant back.

Pinkie Pie looked to the source of the raspy voice to see another pink earth pony with a deeper pink mane. Her cutie mark was a bunch of berries.

“Oh...” groaned Pinkie Pie, “that one’s from ponyville.”

“Where are my keys?” the other pink pony asked the world around her in sudden frustration.

“Keys for what?” Braeburn asked her.

“Um...” the deeper pink pony seemed stumped, “my diary?”

Pinkie Pie jumped onto the train and addressed the attendant, “she can catch the next train. After she finds her keys.” She looked to Braeburn who laughed again.

The nondescript attendant closed the nondescript door.

“Bye!” Pinkie called from the window as the train began to roll away from the one platform station.

“Bye Pinkie Pie!”

***

“Two down, three to go!” Pinkie Pie said with a “squee” to a weary Applejack who was picking Soarin up off the floor.

“Ya think we can really round ‘em all up?” she replied, heaving Soarin onto a bench.

Pinkie Pie gave her a big white smile and gestured a vacant booth. After Applejack took her seat, Pinkie sat across.

“Five stallions—oh! And the manager! I almost forgot about him,” she drew six Xs on the back of a cheque book.

“Is that our slush fund account cheque book?” Applejack inquired.

“Stay focused!”

The sleeping pegasus ponies stirred, but remained asleep.

“Soarin is definitely in. He’s like me and Rainbow Dash: anything that spells ‘fun,’ is what he’ll do.” She drew an X on the first X to mark it off.

“Like makin’ out with yer flirty self despite he’s already seeing Spitfire.”

“It stopped at kissing.... Braeburn though—”

“Braeburn what now!?”

“He’s had an image in his hometown that’s kinda been... fraggled.”

“About things getting ‘fraggled—’”

“Stop interrupting!”

Soarin’s eyes blinked open to look at the source of the high pitched yelling that was Pinkie Pie, and fell back asleep.

“Braeburn is a mare’s pony deep down. He’ll do what the mares and fillies want if it’s clear to him.” She grew a warm smile that Applejack’s intuition was still too keen to ignore.

“Did you—?”

“Hoity Toity is tricky, cuz him and Rarity’s relationship is a purely professional.”

“As far as we know.”

“Where is your mind right now Applejack? It’s like the cider makes your brain slow and yet easily distracted.”

“I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout! You’re the one gettin’ affected by it, not me! You acquire the longest attention span for anything stallion.” Applejack only realized her voice had raised when Rainbow Dash stirred.

“Look,” Applejack sighed, “if’un there’s anything between you and Braeburn, just know when he’s had certain amount of cider he’s quite a player—”

“I love games!”

“Oh Pinkie—anyway, once yall’ve drained yerself of the cider, yu’ll forget—”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes went wide as she got up and danced around, squealing suddenly, “I didn’t realize...”

“Sorry to break it to ya Pinkie Pie, but ol’ Brae—“

“I gotta pee! And the train’s at full speed!”

“That’s what’s got ya anxious? Go off the back of the car.”

“I’m a girl!”

“Duh I know that! Stand with yer hind legs on the next car behind ours.”

“But I’m afraid...”

“That’ll help yuh go.”

A sudden retching sound came from behind Pinkie.

“BAH!” she shrieked.

“Ugh! Rainbow Dash!” Applejack hollered, “Ya scared the pee out of Pinkie Pie!”

***

The sandy gold deputy stallion hauled one last semi-conscious, deep pink pony to the watering trough where several groggy ponies and buffalo sat and stood at various stages of thirst and tiredness. He moved past the greedy water drinkers who’d arrived more recently and shoved aside one who’d had his fill and was on the verge of passing out. Gently sliding the pink pony off his back, he guided her to the water and she lapped up the water right next to a buffalo that stood on the other side.

Standing right next to the buffalo, right across from Braeburn, was the Sheriff Silver Star, smiling under his thick mustache.

“Buckstreet Colts?” he asked with a chiding chuckle, “what is that like Romp Alley Boys? Rainbow Road Roy? Pwn Direction?”

Every pony and buffalo at the trough stopped drinking and laughed.

Braeburn fixed the Sheriff his angriest squint.

“Don’t compare me to those sissy prancing twits,” he spat, “you know the fights I’ve been in, and the mares I’ve partied with. My life ain’t been sequins and glitter.”

The nearby buffalo snorted, and grumbled “you eat poo-poo.”

“Look,” Braeburn sighed, “we were a legitimate coltband. The fillies went wild for us. The mares went wild. Non-equine girls all over went wild. And guys from every species loved our music and gave rave reviews on our sound and lyrics. Our token album, “Lunar Millenium” was a huge, award winning hit! You’re the Only Pon’ For Me was #1 for the summer of 999 of the Solar Epoc.”

“Just another flash-in-the-pan kid,” the buffalo rumbled, “and look how quickly forgotten. No one around here even knew. Even two of your friends were surprised.”

“Some-buffalo’s butt hurt for losing a little dance off!” snarked the dark pink pony.

“Who the hay are you?”

She hiccoughed, and stated with a sense of pride that was full of cider-induced swagger, “Berry Punch.”

“You should shut your mouth Berry—”

The Buffalo was interrupted by a hoof to the face. He fixed his eyes again on the pink mare, fuming with anger and growling in his deep bass rumble. The Sherrif put a hoof on the buffalo’s rump, more as a gesture of holding him back than an action he could accomplish against the great buffalo’s strength.

“Easy there Head Smash,” said Sheriff Silver Star, “she’s a scrapper, but you’re the bigger mammal.”

Head Smash let out a slow and measured breath, grumbling, “and I don’t have to hide behind the stronger gender.”

Berry Punch turned red, like a strawberry of pure rage.

“You’re right,” said Braeburn, and Berry Punch redirected a more complicated anger his way before he continued, “in regards to the Buckstreet Colts. Our light has completely faded.”

By some coincidence “completely faded” also described Berry Punch’s rage.

“Why’d you guys stop?” she asked.

“Shining Armour had enough of the life and joined the army to do something noble for his nation, our manager got married, Hoity Toity and Ah didn’t git along all that well, and Soarin lost interest as soon as he felt the fun was lost, which... it sort of was when Shining Armour left.”

The buffalo yawned and began lumbering away, calling back in his rumbling voice, “Cool story Brae.”

Sheriff Silver Star tipped his hat and trotted another way. Their departure created a huge window between their trough neighbours, through which he saw across the street the community building’s house-like structure. Shoe Shine was just taking out another couple bags of garbage (tied together and hanging over her back) and flinging them with her teeth into a garbage cart.

Berry Punch put a hoof around Braeburn.

“Forget about that beef. He’s jealous cuz all the mares like ya.” She stumbled and leaned on him with all her weight.

“Oh! The buffalo... yeah. You shouldn’t use the four letter ‘B’ word. Folk here don’t take kindly to folk who don’t take kindly to those of another race.”

“Sorry.” She righted herself. “Anyway, I really think you should sing some of those Buckstreet Colts’ songs at the Salt Lick Saloon. It’s darn sexy.”

When Braeburn gave no response, Berry Punch took a step back awkwardly.

Braeburn watched Shoe Shine almost disappear back into the community hall.

“Hey Shoe Shine!” he called.

She turned to him, calling back, “yeah?”

“If I did all that over again, would you come see?”

“You mean...” and in place of words, Shoe Shine mimicked his dance moves, ending with a pelvic thrust.

“Yeah... that.”

“I would buy tickets!”

Berry Punch nudged him. “So, uh, would I...”

But Braeburn paid her no heed, for his mind was already a million miles away, in a huge country club where hundreds of cowgirls (pony and bovine) cheered for him and his band: all five of the guys back together again.

An aggressive side check brought Braeburn back, and he looked at Berry Punch to see what she wanted.

“Help me find my keys?”

***

The train car stunk.

The platform at Ponyville where Applejack had hauled a hose and was generously dousing the train car stunk.

The four ponies that Twilight and Rarity were genuinely happy to see again, if not smell again, who came from that train car stunk.

“Was your night...” the pretty white unicorn pony with a well groomed purple mane named Rarity said with a feigned hesitation, “worth it?”

“My fun was doubled,” Pinkie Pie said, side checking Soarin while trying to make it look like she just lost her balance. “The other pony I’m referencing is Braeburn.”

“Subtle,” was Rarity’s soft spoken comeback.

“The others are looking a little ‘fun-‘d out,” Twilight, the purple unicorn, whispered to Rarity.

“Soarin looks happily exhausted,” Rarity whispered in reply, watching Pinkie Pie use Soarin’s frame to push herself back into balance on all four of her own hooves. Soarin just looked at the little pink pony with a stupid smile and did nothing useful for her. “And dear Applejack is too much of a ‘trooper’ as it were. One pony here isn’t used to this though...”
Rainbow Dash had fallen asleep standing, just like a horse.

“Dashie,” Rarity addressed Rainbow Dash, who snapped awake suddenly and groaned with the regret of doing so, “you look like the ‘fun’ drained you, doubly. Are you okay?”

“Am now... I guess I can’t hold my cider down,” Rainbow Dash sighed with a awkward chuckle, looking at the puddle forming beneath the train where yellow pee mixed with electric blue cider to form a light green, with bits of nachos scattered throughout, all diluted by mass amounts of water.

“What’s hard about holding it down?” asked Pinkie Pie perplexed, “did you have some bad cheese from Soarin’s nacho platter?”

“Pegasus ponies are light-weights—” said Soarin.

“Dang hollow bones,” Rainbow Dash grumbled.

“A few apple ciders and one Zap-Apple cider throws us off balance,” said Soarin.

“That’s why they have to toss it all back up?” asked Pinkie Pie.

“Yes.”

“It scared the pee out of Pinkie Pie,” Soarin laughed, “we should call you Pinkie Pee and Up-chuck Dash.”

“What a pleasant conversation,” Rarity said sarcastically.

The bright green puddle beneath the train was massive by this point, and still plenty of the sickly liquid combo inside the train flowed out. Rarity tried to breathe as little as possible.

Twilight cleared her throat loudly. “So AJ, what did we miss... besides the p—um, urine?”

Applejack grunted through the hose on her mouth.

“Let me get that for you,” Twilight said, and the hose immediately became wrapped in a magenta aura matching the glow around her horn. As Applejack let the hose go from her mouth, the magic encased hose began snaking through the train car to get every angle of the mess.

“Thank you,” Applejack said, “We won a dance off against five buffalo, with—” the unicorn girls gasped, “wait ‘til you hear the best bit—a song from the coltband Braeburn and Soarin used to be a part of. Which, very int’restingly, a business acquaintance of yers—” (she looked at Rarity) “and a brother of yers—” (she looked at Twilight) “happened to once be a part of.”

Twilight laughed awkwardly as the hose in the train car went wild with a sudden loss of control, as she said, “yeah, Shining Armour did that for a while, but now that he’s a guard of the Canterlot Palace he kinda wants to keep that element of his past sorta hush hush.”

“I knew none of this,” said Rarity speaking bluntly and struggling to contain an ungraceful giddiness, “and would have never let Hoity Toity out of my sight if I’d known...” and then her voice went up two octaves, “HE WAS IN A COLTBAND!!!”

Like a magnet to the joyful, excited energy of Rarity’s, Pinkie Pie dashed over to her and bounced in place in front of her.

“Oh! Oh! And we’re figuring out how to get the five of them back together!” Pinkie piped.

“Oh my gosh! I’ll write him a letter immediately!” Rarity said while bouncing like Pinkie Pie for a few beats before becoming self conscious.

“Twi,’” called Applejack, “write yer brother, an’ get him to perform with his old pals again!”

Twilight clenched her teeth in a superficial smile.

The hose cracked one of the windows on the train car.

“Oh my gosh!” Twilight exclaimed, “I forgot about the hose!”

“They call them backup dancers,” Pinkie Pie said.

“No! I mean the WATER HOSE!” the purple unicorn shouted, yanking the hose out of the train car with a violent swoosh of unicorn magic, “and why am even using this when I know a cleaning spell!” She cast the spell with a bright flash of light and the train car was suddenly sparkling clean. Even the puddle beneath was clean upon the ground.

“Oh,” Rarity piped up, “And an air freshening spell too, please!”

“Conveniently I know that one too,” Twilight replied with another flash of pink light bursting from her horn.

The air everywhere smelled of lilacs and rain.

“Thank you!” came a distant voice from somewhere on the train.

Twilight inhaled the lovely aroma and sighed.

“Alright,” she said, “I’ll write Shining Armour and see if he wants to jam with his old coltband again.”

“Hurray!” cheered the girls.

“Hotdog!” cheered Soarin.

“We’re not going to make a huge production out of this are we?” Twilight quickly added, sending the bulk of her concerned vibes toward Pinkie Pie, and catching her attention by hitting her with a cleaning spell scaled down to be friendly on pony coats.

Pinkie Pie bounced and bounced, “I’m gonna invite lots, and lots, and lots, and lots—”

Applejack used her hoof as a mute on Pinkie Pie’s mouth, also arrested her vertical momentum, “we won’t let this thing get too big. My cousin Braeburn also has a reputation to uphold.”

***

The Salt Block Saloon: home of Appaloosa’s salt addicted old mules; a rowdy hang-out zone and messy lick fest by night... and a tidy, quiet place in the morning with its most consistent and sadly solitary customer.

The old pony drying his whitened tongue on the salty block of sodium had been doing so since the town of Appaloosa had been founded, and so everypony called him Salt Lick.

Morton Saltworthy was the dapper and hardboiled proprietor of the establishment, and worked the salt bar everyday but Monday.

On the busy nights, a pretty blue mare by name of Shoe Shine aided the service of the tasty, mouth drying blocks of heart-attack inducing goodness.

The saloon doors swung open to dolly loaded with crates of glassware being pushed by the aforementioned pretty blue mare. She had to work various part-time catering and service functions to support her love of tap-dancing on the stage... the thing which earned her a cutie mark, but alas no income.

“Hi Mr. Saltworthy.”

Saltworthy paused in the middle of the water glass he’d been polishing and looked up with his cold, sea blue eyes which instantly softened upon beholding the young mare.

Salt Lick likewise stopped with his salt block, leaving his mouth open and quickly replenishing the saliva to his dry mouth with the drool of passive covetousness.

“You can take them all the way to the kitchen,” he spoke through his dapper mustache, “it’s quite clean back there now.”

“Do you need a hoof polishing?” she asked, “I can come over as soon as I’m done mopping the hall.”

Morton smiled, saying, “if you’re sure you have enough energy and really want to pick up a few extra bucks, I’d be happy to oblige Miss Shine. I’ll pay time and a half since it is Sunday.”

“Oh you don’t have to—”

She was interrupted by an outcry from upstairs, “you found my keys!”

Morton continued polishing, using a cloth tied to his tail to get the inside of the glass.

“Don’t let me keep you from your duties at the community hall,” he said.

“Right,” she said, but a vague suspicion held her in place.

Heavy hoof-steps clopped above them from what must have been the hallway in front of the five rooms Morton Saltworthy rented up there.

“Have you seen the deputy?” asked Shoe Shine, braced for disappointment.

“Indeed,” said Morton with the punctuating sound of his glass being set on the counter.

The heavy clops made their way down the stairs until Braeburn became visible with Berry Punch on his back, miming a lasso. Berry Punch cheered, “Giddyup cowpony!” and Braeburn bucked like a rodeo stallion on the saloon floor; much to Shoe Shine’s wide-eyed dismay.

“Miss Shine,” Morton called her attention, “the glasses are quite fine here.”

Shoe Shine set the stack of crates in front of the bar and ran off without a word.

Braeburn stopped acting like an animal and looked at the still swinging saloon doors.

“What’s wrong with her?” Braeburn asked as though Berry punch would provide an answer like, it’s a girl thing.

“Heh, heh, heh,” came the phlegm filled laughing cough from Salt Lick.

“What’s wrong with yourself Mr. Braeburn?” asked the saloon owner rhetorically, leaning over the bar so his sea blue eyes caught more of the morning sunlight, “a deputy should have more self respect.”

Berry Punch stood at full height on Braeburns back, bracing herself with her front hooves on top of Braeburn’s head, making a statement she felt would redeem the embarrassing situation: “he found my keys!”

Salt Lick offered the still obvious question, “keys to what?”

“Maybe they’re for a jewelry case,” Berry Punch said after scratching her dark pink, fluffy mane.

The old salt licker grabbed a tall glass of water from his table and slurped very loudly for some time. And as Morton seemed more interested in polishing his glassware than conversing, Berry Punch and Braeburn left awkwardly and gave each other equally awkward goodbyes.

From the dusty main road of Appaloosa, Braeburn looked at the Salt Block Saloon. Now would probably be a bad time to ask Saltworthy if we could perform Buckstreet Colts’ songs in there, he thought.

***

Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and a baby dragon with purple scales and green spines by the name of Spike, stood near a rain barrel at the back of Sugar Cube Corner (a store trying to look like a gingerbread house, with every window tinted pink, stacked twice over with units that perfectly resembled the kind of cupcakes that have windows, finished on top with giant candle sticks that used kerosene lanterns to represent flame).

“There’s a perfectly good water pump at the front of this place,” the dragon said to the ponies, who were all gulping back mugs of rainwater.

“Meh,” the girls replied and shrugged.

“Did Soarin go home?” Spike asked, hoping for conversation this time.

“Yup.”

The ponies finished and refilled their mugs of rainwater.

“Oh! Here comes Rarity!” Spike exclaimed, sounding more excited that it was Rarity than that she was finally here.

“Cough up Applejack,” said Pinkie Pie, holding out a hoof.

“Your pony is only in the lead,” Applejack argued, “she ain’t here yet.”

“Are you gonna tell Rarity who the fifth member of the band is?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Not yet,” said Pinkie Pie, “we’ll let things progress a while first.”

“Ah think that’s uh bad idea,” Applejack said.

Rarity arrived at the rain barrel.

“My little pony came in first!” Pinkie Pie blurted, “you owe me two bits Applejack.”

Applejack tossed two coins at Pinkie Pie.

“Was I the object of a bet?” asked Rarity, indignant.

“A winning object of a bet!” Pinkie Pie squeaked, picking up the bits.

“Darn,” Applejack spat, “Ah thought fer sure Twahlight would finish her letter furst!”

“Without me writing it for her? No way!” Spike exclaimed, “Twilight’s a perfectionist.”

The lovely white unicorn shot Spike an offended expression that sunk his heart right through his feet and into the ground.

“I mean,” Spike panicked for words, “she’s not naturally perfect. Like some.”

Rarity giggled gracefully—a talent she alone had—and presented the scroll to Spike.

“Short, sweet, and in the most elegant cursive,” she said, letting the scroll fall from the aura of deep blue magic matching the glow of her horn.

Rarity presently looked at each of her pony friends. Rainbow Dash was chugging water back really fast and once finished, she replenished it right out of the rain barrel, confirming Rarity’s suspicion and causing her to recoil.

“Rainbow Dash! That’s disgusting! Are you all drinking out of that?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a perfectly good water pump in front of the store.”

“Meh.”

“I don’t know why,” said Rainbow Dash, “but we’re all really, really thirsty!”

Spike opened Rarity’s letter.

“If that had been a personal note I’d have been angry with you,” Rarity chided.

Spike froze, his baby dragon heart starting to sink again.

“You’re okay,” Rarity giggled, shorter and sweeter than before.

Spike read aloud, “Dear Mr. Toity, I would be elated if you came to the Carousel Boutique to see some of my latest designs. My current project may be something you would be especially interested in. Hope to hear from you soon! Sincerely, Rarity.... That’s it?”

“Of course,” Rarity said with a flick of her mane, “won’t he be ever surprised when I dress him up in a pop star outfit of my own making?”

Applejack piped up quickly, “Ah thought we weren’t making a huge production.”

“Maybe not, but they must have outfits with a unifying design! Celestia forbid they put on this local concert with their own choice in clothing. I mean, if all goes as planned, we will have one of my most valuable Canterlot connections in the fashion industry singing and dancing on stage. And, nothing against the others, but one of them is an athlete, one of them is cowboy deputy, one is a security guard, and... who did you say the fifth one was?”

“What fifth one?” Pinkie Pie asked with feigned ignorance.

“The fifth member of the Buckstreet Colts,” Rarity said as if talking to an imbecile, “every coltband has five members.”

“Oh yeah! Um, I don’t know his name off the top of my head.”

“You don’t? I thought you were a major fan-filly.”

“Yeah but all I could think about was Braeburn and his handsome rugged—”

“Whoa now Pinkie Pie,” Applejack said with some warning in her voice.

“And Shining Armour! Oh my gosh! He was SOOO CUTE!!!”

The purple head of a purple unicorn peered around the corner.

“There you girls are!” Twilight chimed.

Pinkie Pie shrieked, “WAH! How long have you been standing there?”

“Just now. Here’s my letter. Who was so cute?”

“Sh—Br—Soar—Blue...” Pinkie Pie stammered with her heart and mind each racing in their own way, her eyes darting from Rarity to Applejack to Rainbow Dash, to the inside of her head, “Solar Blue.”

Somewhere a cricket chirped.

Pinkie Pie stuck to her guns with her best poker face. “He’s the fifth member.”

Twilight scrunched her face, “I don’t remember Shining Armour talking about any ‘Solar Blue.’”

Pinkie Pie splashed a little water from her mug in front of Applejack and Rainbow Dash just before saying with a touch of extra volume, “I could be wrong, but that’s the name I remember Braeburn and Soarin mentioning last night.”

Applejack nudged Rainbow Dash and winked. Rainbow Dash nodded.

“‘Solar Blue?’” Twilight tried, not liking it any better coming from her own lips, “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Must be his legal name,” said Rarity, “No way would an artist use a name hardly worthy of a contact lens.” Her ensuing giggle had a greatly decreased sense of grace from her first two.

Spike made to unravel the letter.

“No!”

Rainbow Dash coughed rainwater. Spike stopped without protest.

“Aww, can’t we read it?” Pinkie Pie whined.

“No, it’s just sibling stuff. Send it Spike!”

“Wait!” cried Pinkie Pie, “I’m not ready!”

Pinkie Pie bolted away for a second and everyone exchanged confused glances, until she came back rolled up in a large scroll.

“I don’t think that’s going to work Pinkie Pie,” Twilight told her; with a familiar tone of having explained to this same pony many of the laws of nature and magic.

“Just try!”

Twilight sighed and took a step back. Spike stepped forward and placed the letters by Pinkie Pie and inhaled deeply for the huge gout of flame that would follow.

The green fire engulfed Pinkie Pie and two letters and transformed the set into three separate, green fireballs which flew towards the tallest mountain in the landscape near Ponyville, where the most ridiculously placed city and its enormous castle jutted out from the steepest side.

“I guess it worked,” said a stunned Twilight, “Pinkie Pie just mailed herself to Canterlot by dragon flame.”

“Twilight,” piped Spike, “we tried that with you several times and it never worked.”

Twilight shook her head, still looking in the direction of the cliff side city.

“I guess: cuz Pinkie Pie,” she said, and turned to Rainbow Dash and Applejack. “Are you girls drinking rain water?”

“Yeah.”

“When there’s a perfectly good water pump in front of the store by the nice pink flowers?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”
***

Flush!

The satisfying sound of Canterlot indoor plumbing whirled through the marble basin in the floor of the pristine, glimmering, Canterlot bathroom.

A white unicorn stallion with a long blonde mane made his way sleepily back toward the bedroom. Sunlight shined from the eastern window of the hall into the baby blue eyes he squinted through, as he sleepily stumbled along with the clop-clop of his hooves echoing from stone tiled floor.

Gently he opened a bedroom door letting in the only light save a faint outline of the closed curtains inside. By the soft sunlight caressing his shadow, he saw the bed’s occupant stir beneath the blankets and become still again with only the slow breathing of slumber for movement; loud for a breathing sound but graciously not a snore.

The stallion closed the door without entering the room. Instead, he went downstairs to the living room: a giant fashion statement that boldly set itself against the Canterlot norm.

There was rug with its black and white stripes (not from any animal hide for no Canterlot pony ever found that tasteful), upon which the white stallion had to tread to reach his destination as it took up almost the entire floor. He hated the look of it but loved its soft texture beneath his hooves. And as he stepped over an empty bottle of vegetable oil he looked down to see that some of the remaining oil had dripped from the uncapped nozzle, missing the black stripes and staining a white one.
With a frown he magically levitated the bottle out of the living room with his unicorn magic and sent it into the kitchen; without giving that room a single glance.

“That’s where it belongs,” he said quietly to himself.

There was the sofa and its sharp angles that defied this Canterlot house’s architecture. The dark pink striped with even darker cerise splashed its aggressive color through the darkness cast by likewise colored and striped curtains. The tastefully non-striped cushions’ rumpled state provided another job for the gentle-stallion who fluffed them back up in a twinkling of baby-blue light cast by his magic horn. During this action he saw another empty bottle, but of an entirely different kind: “Potato Water.” Another swirl of baby blue luminescence sent that into the kitchen still without a glance.

“That’s where empties belong.”
And the walls: the light blue marble Canterlottian walls were covered everywhere with photos. Nothing but professional photos alternating from the dark and moody to the ones flooded with light, and framed in black or white in a checkerboard pattern. These he paid little heed to, but for the one picture in the collection featuring himself, right above the object he reached for with his hooves instead of his magic: a guitar.

The photo was one of the lighter pieces in the checkerboard pattern, which had five stallion ponies in white suits. Two earth ponies, two unicorns, and one pegasus, all starring directly at—or perhaps into the viewer with their soul searching eyes and mysterious expressions.

“That’s where I belong.”

And he found himself quietly singing, “show me the meaning of being lonely. Is this the feeling I need to trot with...” He sighed, turning away from the picture with his guitar in hoof.

He sat on the arm of the couch, his hind hooves on the seat, and his fore-hooves cradling the six string, but before he could demonstrate how a guitar is played by hooves, a green flame burst mere feet away from his face; sending the startled unicorn backwards from the arm of the couch onto the striped rug and hard marble floor.

“Hi!”

He looked up at bubble-gum pink mare with hair like cotton candy. The pink on pink was not unlike the sofa she stood atop.

“What?” he groaned.

“You’re Prince Blueblood right?” she squeaked.

“Yeah.”

“I mailed myself to you!”

The young pink pony bounced up and down on what was probably a young pink sofa.

“Can you get off the couch please?” he awkwardly pleaded, “It’s had enough... stress for one night.”

“Okay.”

She leapt to the centre of the rug and was still bouncing on the floor where the lack of springs didn’t slow her down at all.

“How did you find me?” he continued with questions, bringing himself to standing with some difficulty as he refused to let his guitar touch the ground. “I don’t live here. Did you follow me from a party?”

“I used dragon mail,” she said with her movement finally arrested. The stallion thought he saw her slow down in the air before touching the ground, but that must have been an illusion in the dim lighting. “All it needs is a name and the mail-carrying fireball will find the recipient! I’m Pinkie Pie and I am a HUGE fan of yours. Can I give you a hug?”

She hugged him before he could say anything so he held his guitar at foreleg’s length away. He felt paper crinkling between the two of them and realized she had a scroll wrapped around her torso.

“You’re a fan of Cadenza Perfetta?” he asked her.

“Who?”

Pinkie Pie looked up at him confused.

“That’s my band. Is that actually why you’re here?”

“No, Blueblood!” she laughed and flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes, “I mean your old band. The Buckstreet Colts!”

“You—that fandom is dead!”

“Fandoms never die!”

“Okay, who are you?”

“I told you, Pinkie Pie! You’re number one f—”

“No, I mean—”

He shook his head and went back to the wall to return his guitar to lean in its same place, then drew the curtains to let in the sunlight.

Pinkie Pie shielded her bright, sky blue eyes.

“Whoa! I did not need that,” she said with loud groan, “I’m still headachy from a night of cider drinking and dancing. We danced to your song, by the way.”

“You’re the mare who did the pony pokey at the Grand Galloping Gala weren’t you?”

Pinkie Pie giggled.

“Not my strongest performance.”

“Thanks to your stage dive, Rarity doesn’t want to speak to me again.”

Pinkie Pie raised an eyebrow at this, and in the blink of an eye, she was lying back, lounging on the sofa looking at her right front hoof.

“No, no, no. It was thanks to your impulse to use my friend Rarity as a shield against the oncoming cake that she doesn’t want to speak to you again. Not to mention snatching roses for yourself and never giving her one, taking the comfortable seat and giving her the cold ground, and making Rarity—who is more of a lady than anypony you’ll meet in Canterlot apart from our great Princesses, may they live forever—OPEN DOORS FOR YOU.”

“Could you keep it down? My hostess is still sleeping upstairs.”

She polished her right front hoof with a little spit and a scrub of her tail, before concluding the story: “I told her to leave a clue to give you a second chance, but she shattered that clue into a thousand pieces on Princess Celestia’s royal steps. You lost a good one bucko.”

“You’re right, I was a bit of a donkey-hole that night, but it’s not like we’re likely to cross paths again, so what does it matter? And why are you here? Are you here on her behalf or something?”

“No!”

Pinkie Pie sat up, flush with anger and indignation.

“I’m a fan of the Buckstreet Colts trying to get you guys back together for one more performance, not a messenger for—she doesn’t even think about you anymore!”

“Yeah well—you’re still wrapped in a scroll!”

He turned away from her to look out the window then quickly turned back.

“Wait, you want to get the five of us back together? And perform?”

Pinkie Pie looked above him and at the wall of pictures as she responded, “yeah, when I said we were dancing to one of your songs last night, I meant Braeburn, Saorin and I. They thought it was a good idea.”

“Zat is a great idea!”

The owner of “zat” voice came forward from the shadows.

Pinkie Pie shrieked and leapt high into the air, hovering at the apex of her jump.

“Most Canterlot houses have a chandelier right about here,” Pinkie Pie called down, still reaching for what she hoped could have supported her in the air.

“Zey are old, kitschy and frivolous zings, I have use for zem not!”

With that Pinkie Pie fell to the rug and the hard marble floor, landing hard on her rump, face to face with a light blue mare with no mane, an intense left eye with an iris so dark it looked black, and an all white eye on the right that was probably blind. The pain of her landing took a backseat to Pinkie Pie’s awe and fear of this pony.

“I’m sorry to intrude in your house Ms. Photo Finish! I didn’t know where Blueblood was; I just used dragon mail, and magicked myself all the way here. I’m not trying to move in on your—”

“Shh! It’s quite alright,” the mare named Photo Finish said with a hoof gently pressed to Pinkie Pie’s lips, “Ze two of us, vee just met. So he spent ze night. How do you wecognize me vissout my vig and shades?”

“I, um, figure things out really fast,” Pinkie Pie said sheepishly, “this living room, those pictures... I recognized a bunch of the photos on your wall from when one of my friends had a brief carrier in modelling. Also you’re the only pony I’ve heard with that accent.”

Photo Finish cocked her head, saying, “Is it zat noticeable?”

“Oh no, not that noticeable, I just have an ear for that stuff.”

“You’re delightful Pinkie Pie,” she said smiling, then turned a sharp look at Blueblood, “hey Baby Blue! Put ze coffee on vile vee I discuss vis ze nice lady a vay to set up wehearsals viss you and ze uzzer boys. Zis is going to big!”

“Yes m’dame!” he said like a loyal servant and cantered into the kitchen, without a thought. Then the girls heard, “Oh gods, what a mess!”

“So, uh,” Pinkie stammered awkwardly, “ya see, my friends were just hoping for a small concert in Ponyville.”

“Ponyville?” said Photo Finish aghast, “Nein! Vee must book a large concert hall of a major ceetee! Zis is going to be a huge production!”

Comments

[Seether00]

Yes... Commence zee magics!

[Brony of Truth]

Update!

[HeatherIsBestPlayer]

Okay, great chapter! You've got me hooked!
I'm not to enthusiastic to see that Blueblood has feelings for Rarity though. I mean, come on, how? They met only once on one "date" that ended horribly, and he obviously only saw her as just a one time date for the Galla and wasn't interested in a relationship with her at all. RariBlood is my least favorite Blueblood ship, so I hope that's not where this story is leading. Other than that, great job.
I'm eagerly waiting for the next chapter.

[Themaskedferret]

Bwahahaha, oh god buck yes! This is turning into a fantastic idea and thank you a million times over for making blueblood a sympathetic character!

[Vailen]

I'm hoping this didn't die