Iron Mare
Octavia looked down at her ticket, then through the venue’s windows, and wondered if she had perhaps been a bit rash in promising to attend this show.
The Marvelous Manestro was decked out in black and red. Chains hung from the rafters, and paint stylized to look like blood was all over the walls. The lights were low and seemed to pulse in time with a drumbeat that was coming from somewhere. It was, quite possibly, the strangest setting for a musical performance that Octavia had ever seen.
But a promise was a promise, and Octavia wouldn’t break hers. Reminding herself that there might be something to the music that justified all the silliness, she approached the bouncer and showed him her ticket. “Hello.”
The bouncer grunted as he looked down. “Okay. Go in.”
“I couldn’t find my seat listed on the ticket—“
The bouncer barked a short laugh. “Standing only, filly. Just pick a spot.”
“…oh.”
Octavia made her way inside and passed several groups of ponies. Many of the ponies had apparently dyed their coats and manes red and black, and of those, a substantial percentage had odd geometric shapes painted on their sides. Almost all the ponies had chains, and about half were pierced in places that Octavia hadn’t even thought you could get pierced. One stuck out her tongue to lick a hors d’oeuvre, and Octavia realized with a bolt of shock that she had somehow forked it. That’s probably just a really weird magic spell. I’m sure it’s easily reversible. She gulped. I’m sure they don’t do that to random ponies who walk into these things…
Unnerved, and acutely aware that she didn’t fit in – she hadn’t brought the clothes or chains this time, guessing that she would feel silly enough without them – she wished that Paperweight was there. That mare would know what was going on, and could help Octavia acclimate. But Paperweight was busy all that evening with her page duties, helping with some big event Night Light was hosting, to the point where she’d only been able to chirp a quick ‘hello!’ to Octavia that day as she scampered off to prepare. So Octavia was on her own.
Maybe it was just as well. Octavia needed to figure out how to tell her about Thrash in the best way, before her friend wasted any more money on a spell and a two-note gimmick. The cellist was usually relatively blunt, but she understood that simply proclaiming that Thrash’s music was objectively terrible and Paperweight had simply been brainwashed into liking it would be more likely to induce panic than reflection. She would need enough time to be able to take her through it slowly and help her understand what was going on.
She had time, though. Octavia had checked, and Thrash had canceled his concerts for the next few days, citing sudden illness. She had that long, then, to figure out how to notify both Paperweight and the city at large of his fraud. In the meantime, she had a concert to listen to.
The cellist made her way through the room, which was empty of furniture except for the stage at the front. She wound up near the stage, watching the roadies perform last-minute equipment checks. She looked at the speakers and bass cannon with a critical eye. It was unheard of for a classical concert to require this much amplification; she wondered if this was a good sign or a bad one.
“Hey!”
Octavia turned to see Crescendo threading her way through the crowd. She had been dyed red, yellow, and white – flame colors, Octavia thought. “Hey!” she screamed, over the crowd. “You made it!” She seemed impressed.
Octavia nodded. “I said I would,” she said, though she doubted that Crescendo could possibly hear her over all the chatter in the room.
Crescendo approached her, shaking wings and bumping hooves with fans on the way, and then gave Octavia an enthusiastic slap on the back. “Guess you were serious about broadening your horizons.”
“I am.”
“Well, since it’s your first real metal concert – Metail’s junk doesn’t count -- I thought I’d give you a special treat. I’ll be performing a bunch of metal classics, give you a good introduction to the genre.”
“Thank you.” Octavia looked around at the other ponies. “Are these outfits… normal for this type of performance?”
“Of course! Which actually reminds me – you need yours.” Crescendo grinned and began to sweep Octavia to one side. “Let’s get you changed.”
“What – but—“ began the cellist.
“Hey, if I came to one of your fancy shows without a dress, I’m sure you’d be all upset, right? Turnabout’s fair play.” They had reached a side door, and two costume artists appeared out of it and proceeded to lead Octavia into a changing room.
Octavia protested, but it was no use.
The best spot in the house, according to Crescendo, was right in the center of the room. Octavia went there immediately after the costume ponies let her go. The last thing she wanted to hear was that they’d forgotten something.
The cellist looked at her tail and mane, now dyed the same gray as her coat and treated with something that stiffened them. The costume ponies had assured her that it washed right out, but she couldn’t help worrying that they were wrong. Octavia didn’t consider herself vain, but she liked how her mane and tail were long and flowing, and didn’t want that ruined. At least the other major costume change – a fake cutie mark of a black metal bar – could just be pealed off later.
I resolved to judge this concert fairly. If Crescendo wants to claim that this… outfit… matters, I will take her at her word, she told herself. She forced herself to stop worrying, and to prepare to focus on the music. That was why she was there, after all.
“ATTENTION EVERYPONY!” screamed an announcer over the speakers.
The crowd roared in response.
“GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO CRESCENDO!”
Smoke blasted onto the stage, and Crescendo walked through it with her guitar hefted up in her left wing. “ARE YOU READY?” she screamed.
“YEAH!”
“LET’S DO IT!” Crescendo blasted a few chords from her guitar, making Octavia wince. “Now, before we begin, I’d like to point out that we have a very special guest tonight!”
Uh oh, thought Octavia.
“The Court Musician of Equestria, performer for Princess Luna Herself, is with us!” The guitarist pointed directly at Octavia, who shifted uncomfortably. “Please, welcome Octavia Philharmonica!”
There were claps, and a fair amount of jeers from ponies who presumably disliked Octavia’s style of music. Octavia didn’t show a reaction, though she groaned internally. A Court pony, the Court Musician, dressed as she was? This will be in every tabloid tomorrow…
“NOW!” yelled Crescendo. She trotted over to her drum kit, spinning her guitar around as she did so. “In honor of our guest, who I understand lacks familiarity with our genre, I thought we could begin by covering one of the very first classics -- and I even had her dressed for the occasion!"
Wait, what?
"Fillies! Gentlecolts! Brace yourselves for the one, the original… IRON MARE!” The crowd burst into applause.
Iron mare? Like the athletic competition? wondered Octavia.
But she didn’t have time to think of much else. Crescendo stepped on one of the drum kit’s pedals, and the music began.
The first sounds Octavia heard were the steady drumbeats as Crescendo pulsed the bass drum pedal. They were slow, low, and grew louder as they continued, like something large and heavy was stepping closer. Octavia repressed a slight shudder; it was an ominous sound.
Crescendo drew one wing across her guitar, creating a blast of distortion that made Octavia wince. All the speakers surrounded her, so the distortion hit her from all sides and made her feel trapped, almost frozen. Crescendo grinned and yelled,
Behold IRON MARE!
She continued playing bursts of distortion at regular intervals. Octavia felt uncomfortable. The music sounded weird. She wasn’t even sure it could be called music, as it was just noise set on top of a drum. But the rhythm was so steady and sure, and held so precisely, that it only seemed to accentuate the weirdness. It didn’t feel like pure chaos or noise, but chaos and noise tightly controlled and regulated by some higher mind. That made it feel even more ominous, somehow.
I don't understand, she thought. This isn’t melodic, but she’s still able to get me to feel this strongly…
Finally, Crescendo began to play pitched notes, letting loose a riff that rose for a bar, hovered there, and then descended back to just above where it began. And then she played a second riff… identical to the first. As was the third, and so on. If it were a classical performance, Octavia would have called it lazy (and likely left during the first intermission). But she didn’t think that was it. Crescendo was going for some effect.
The riff doesn’t change, she thought. Her eyes widened slightly. There’s no motion, no movement. It feels… trapped…
Finally, with a quick set of blasts from her drum set, Crescendo began to sing.
Has she lost her mind?
Can she see or is she blind?
Can she walk at all?
Or if she moves, will she fall?
Move? Octavia supposed she could – this wasn’t like Thrash’s performance, which had used magic to mess up her mind – but that wouldn’t be going along with the spirit of the music. The repetitive riff, the omnipresent and perfectly timed drums, even the speakers arranged in a circle around her that hit her with sound from all sides, all made for a claustrophobic and almost paralyzing sound. Even the other ponies in the room, though they were dancing and clapping and cheering, moved strictly in time with the music. Like they couldn’t break free from it either.
”Is she live or dead?
Has she thoughts within her head?
We’ll just pass her there.
Why should we even care?
Crescendo finally switched to a different theme on her guitar, something fast and blatantly energetic, tantalizingly so – but only for a few, short bars. In just a few seconds, she was back to the same paralyzing riff. Octavia felt herself tensing under the strain.
She was turned to steel
In a great magical field!
When, to save us all
From her star she took a fall!
Another energetic part began, this one even stronger.
Nobody wants her! She just stares at the world!
The music rose up in pitch a few times, as if it was finally going to take off and carry them all away – but Crescendo just kept resetting it, now playing this riff again and again.
Planning her vengeance, that she soon will unfurl!
Crescendo had been right. This music was in a different league than Thrash’s. His was mindless, unthinking euphoria. This… this was smart. It was doing a brilliant job of racheting up tension, of using a guitar and drums and even speakers to evoke precisely the right sounds and emotions. Octavia was impressed. And aching to move.
The main theme resumed. Crescendo continued:
NOW! The time is near
For Iron Mare to spread fear!
VENGEANCE! From the grave!
Slays the ponies she once saved!
Nopony wants her! They just turned their heads!
Nobody helps her! Now she has her REVENGE!
She grinned, holding the last syllable, then brought the melodic line down and sped it up with a quick burst of notes, and…
And she let loose.
She burst into a guitar solo, channeling all the tension and power she’d built up over the past few minutes and using it to power one of the most energetic and forceful performances Octavia had heard in quite some time. It ripped away from her, blasting into the crowd and sending most of them into screaming glee.
For a moment, it was like they were free. The crowd danced with wild abandon, urged on by Crescendo’s guitar solo. They weren’t brainlessly led forward, as with Thrash, but were instead shown the way. The music laid out a path that was forceful, driven, and glorious in its own way, and they moved down it with gusto. Even Octavia – who, as a habit long since ingrained, did not make noise at concerts -- was not annoyed by this. It just seemed to fit the music perfectly.
All too soon, it ended. The original riff returned, but it was more strained now – clearly just a temporary resumption of constraint. It would, Octavia could hear, surely be gone soon. This was like a last sop to Iron Mare’s persecutors, those who had mocked her when she couldn’t move and could only flee when she rose again.
Horseshoes full of lead
Fills her victims full of dread!
Running as fast as they can –
Iron Mare LIVES AGAIN!
And then the energetic part began again, even longer, stronger, and greater than before. Octavia was rocked back on her hooves, slightly, from the power of the music. It was incredible.
Crescendo finished with one final blast from her guitar. “IRON MARE!” she yelled.
The crowd cheered, and Octavia thought to herself, That was… wonderful music.
It was a good thing, Octavia thought, as she waited to speak to Crescendo outside the club, That I came to this concert.
She had enjoyed the music, twenty songs in all. Crescendo had not only played the songs, but had given a one or two sentence description of why each one was important before playing it – which ones led to different ‘schools’ of playing, which ones were more famous, which ones were unfortunately neglected. By the end, Octavia felt like she’d gotten a brief lesson in the history of the genre. She still liked classical music more – metal just didn’t call to her in the same way that classical did – but it was good music nonetheless.
And, she thought to herself, I like the story of the Iron Mare song. I’m sure that’s based on some legend or other… if I could compose something about it, I think that would be good. She could already hear motifs and themes beginning to take form in her head. The strong, driving beat of the drums, if she could mimic that in the lower reaches of her cello, or write it as an ensemble piece…
She heard hoofsteps approaching, and turned to see Crescendo exit out of the club. “That was lovely,” she said.
Crescendo laughed. “That’s not usually how ponies describe my performances, but thanks. Glad you enjoyed.” She smirked. “Better than Thrash, right?”
“Much.” Octavia frowned at the memory, but then shook her head slightly to clear it. Good music energized her; she didn’t want to depress or anger herself by thinking of the fraud. “I don’t suppose you could give me a list of other notable musicians in your genre.”
“What, thinking of becoming a convert?”
“It’s not the sort of music I play,” admitted Octavia. “And I don’t see that changing. But to be good at what I do, I need to be familiar with music of all sorts… not just classical. Your concert showed me that there is much more… depth to your genre than what I was familiar with. As such, I would like to learn, and hear, more.”
Crescendo thought for a moment. “Sure, why not? I’ll see who’s playing soon, get you some names. But you gotta promise me something.”
“What?”
“I bet you hate when some upper-class twit who doesn’t know anything about music begins acting like he’s an expert – ‘cause he wants to look cultured, or he’s dumb enough to think he is – and starts talking about good music and bad music and making idiotic comments, right? Don’t be the twit.” She held up a wing to forestall Octavia’s objection. “I appreciate your interest, honest. Ain’t often we get someone with your pedigree here. But you’ve been to all of one real concert. I find out you start acting like some metal guru, telling the Court who’s good at it and who isn’t or how it ‘really’ works, I’m flying into the castle and kicking your flank myself.”
Octavia paused, then nodded her head. “Of course. I won’t make recommendations on this – or any other – genre until I have a deep understanding of it, as I do with classical music. To do otherwise would be unfair to the music and to those who listen to my advice.”
“Glad we’re clear on that.” Crescendo grinned. “Well, see you later. I’ve gotta rest up, another gig tomorrow. Those names'll be in your mailbox in a day or two, kay? Peace.”
She turned and went back into the club, and Octavia began to walk back towards the center of the city. She gave a small sigh of contentment. It had been a good evening, albeit an unusual one for her. And she did feel inspired, especially regarding Iron Mare.
I should make it more of a priority to visit genres outside my own. This is just one of the first I have considered… I should continue expanding the breadth of my musical knowledge. Imagine what other sounds there are, wonderful works of music, just waiting for me to come across them.
She began to trot home, then changed her mind and made her way for a quiet café that she knew was nearby. She felt so good that she simply had to sit down and compose something immediately, if only hurriedly and on the back of a restaurant napkin. Life was beautiful, and she was going to write some beautiful music in its honor.
“Good work tonight,” said Night Light. He nodded briskly at his pages. “There’s nothing else, so I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Paperweight began to file out with the rest of them, looking forward to getting out of her butler uniform and taking a hot, bubbly bath. Granted, thanks to some unfortunate oversight the standard castle toiletries did not include bubble formula, but she had planned ahead and bought her own. She would take her bath last, so there wouldn’t be anypony else in line, and she’d bring her duckie and –
“Oh, Paperweight .One moment.”
Huh? But despite her confusion, she briskly turned and bowed as the other pages filed past her. “Sir?”
“Thank you for being so quick on your hooves regarding the cushion… incident,” said Night Light. “I appreciate that sort of effort.”
“Oh! No problem, sir!”
Night Light had been hosting an elaborate dinner for several foreign diplomats. Paperweight and Night Light’s other pages had spent the whole day getting the finest of everything readied for use; some of the diplomats, it was known, were extremely fussy, and it wouldn’t do to offend them with sub-par furniture or utensils. And one of the more impressive of the many impressive furnishings was the set of cushions in the lounge for the after-dinner coffee/tea/dessert segment of the meal. A product of Fancy Furnishings Inc. in Cavalleria, the cushions had been stitched by hoof by professional elite artists over a three-month period. They all had a life-like portrait of some famous political pony on the front, and each boasted a thread count thought by most to only be theoretically possible. They were, Night Light had said, some of the finest cushions to be had.
And so, of course, one of the first things the delegate from Caballeria had said was, “I’m so sorry I’m late. I was talking to my niece, and she was just about to invest a great deal of money in Fancy Furnishings – you know, that Cavallerian company? I had to talk her out of it.”
“Er… why?” Night Light had asked.
“Oh, haven’t you heard? They’re under investigation for fraud! Counterfeiting goods, falsified thread counts, signing fake artist names to the products… it’s a total mess. The papers should have all the details tomorrow.” She shook her head. “But I talked her out of it, and I haven’t bought any of their products in the last six months. Can you imagine how humiliating it would be to have bought one of their knock-offs?”
Thus had followed the Great Castle Cushion Hunt, in which Night Light had dispatched his pages to go search out ten high-quality matching cushions that were not from Fancy Furnishings. Most of the other pages hadn’t known where to look and had just checked the linen closets and storage rooms in that part of the castle, few of which had fancy cushions, and none of which had ten of them that all matched. Paperweight, though, had come up with the idea of sprinting to the ‘diplomat housing’ part of the castle. They would need to have good furnishings there, she reasoned, for the diplomat’s rooms, and they would probably all match, if only to make things easier on the cleaning staff. So she and a couple other pages ran off and got the cushions, ran back and swapped them for the Fancy Furnishings ones, and thereby saved the meal (and, Paperweight liked to think, Diplomacy).
“You work hard and effectively,” Night Light said to Paperweight. “Keep it up, and you will go very far.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Feeling like she was walking on air, Paperweight almost skipped back to the page barracks. She’d gotten to see a new part of the castle, been able to spend a lot of her work time running around (and even wound up racing a couple of the other pages who also liked having fun), and done so well that Viceroy Night Light had complimented her. The night was still young, yet it was practically perfect already.
Paperweight reached the barracks and entered, heading over to her bunk. One of the castle mailmares was there, handing out letters. “Bellemane?”
“Here.” It was the page that Octavia had sent running for another spoon the other day. She scowled at Paperweight before going to take the letter. “Thanks,” she managed.
“Next, uh, Paperweight? You here?”
“Here!” Paperweight grinned, wondering if it was a letter – or better yet, a package – from home. Her Mom sent her the best chocolate chip cookies. “I’m here!”
“Here you go.” The mailmare passed Paperweight a letter with vaguely familiar hoofwriting. “Alright, next…”
Paperweight sat on her bunk to read it. The envelope was addressed to her, and in the spot for a return address was…
“Thrash?” she whispered, almost unable to believe it. But there it was. If postage was insufficient, the mail was to return to one ‘Thrash Metail,’ staying at the Platinum Pony. And the name was written just like the hoofograph she’d gotten from Thrash at one of his signings. It was him.
Wide-eyed, she dove onto her bunk and used her telekinesis to open the letter:
Dear Paperweight. Hey, it’s Thrash. Glad you made it out to my concert a few nights ago – from what I saw, you were the most enthusiastic one there! It’s great to perform for fans that really appreciate what you do, and it’s fans like you who make that possible. So I wanted to thank you for your support.
Paperweight realized that her mouth was open. “Thrash noticed me!” she whispered. “I must be an even more awesome partier than I thought!”
Now, I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive for writing you this letter. Your friend Octavia and I met up last night, and we got off to kind of a rocky start. I was hoping to make it up to her. I had this great idea – kind of a surprise concert thing, since I know she likes my music. But I wanted to talk to you first, since you probably know what she likes better than I do. Plus, I figured, maybe you’d want to help me set it up. How’s that sound?
“Perfect!” said Paperweight, before realizing that she was speaking aloud.
“Huh?” asked Bellemane. “What’s with you?”
Paperweight floated her the letter. “Look at what I got!”
“A letter from… from Thrash Metail? The metal star?” Bellemane sounded incredulous.
“Yeah!” Paperweight returned to the letter. If you want to help, I’ll be at the Canterlot Cantina by the town square tonight – I like to go there to think, sometimes. We’ll talk it over. Just remember – it’s supposed to be a surprise, so don’t tell Octavia yet. Yours, Thrash.
“How’d you get a letter from him?” complained Bellemane. “You buy a ticket to some really expensive show?”
“I took Octavia Philharmonica to one of his concerts!” Paperweight began hurrying around, unable to keep still. “And now he wants to meet me! I just need to bathe first and get a new outfit, and then I can meet him! In a Cantina! Maybe we’ll have midnight snacks together!”
“What?!” Bellemane stared. “Let me get this straight – Night Light already likes you best, you’re friends with Luna’s personal musician, and now some celebrity wants to eat with you?!”
“I know!” Paperweight let loose a squee of pure joy. “Wish me luck!” She hugged Bellemane fiercely, then ran off.
It seemed like only moments before Paperweight arrived at the Cantina. Thrash was out of costume, but he was holding his black guitar, and his fiery red coat and mane were distinctive anyway. “Thrash!” she squealed as she dashed over to his table. “It’s Paperweight! Hi!”
“Glad you could make it, babe.” Thrash grinned. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?”
“Something awesome. Cantina band agreed to let me play a song or two.” He grinned. “You’ll love it. I promise.”
Paperweight’s eyes widened. “Can’t wait!”
She watched as Thrash walked over to the stage, where the band was indeed just finishing up their set. He hopped on, and grinned at the crowd. “I’ll just jump right into this one, ‘kay?”
“Hey, who are you?” asked one patron.
Thrash only chuckled, then began to play, and Paperweight felt herself get absorbed into the music like she always did.
“I love it…” she whispered, and then she didn’t say anything. She just smiled goofily as she sat in her seat.
It had been ten minutes, and the cantina staff and guests were all under Thrash's spell.
“Alright!” he said, hopping off the stage as he continued to play his guitar. The cantina crowd would be like all his other audiences: they would remember nothing besides that they had heard some wonderful music and had to get more of it. But Paperweight would require some different instructions.
“Paperweight!” he crooned as he blasted her with a chord. “How ya feelin’?”
She grinned at him.
“Alright. Now, here’s the thing. Octavia doesn’t like my music.”
She looked honestly puzzled at that, though she was still in a euphoric daze from the music. “But why?”
“Well, she’s classical, doesn’t get metal… not her fault, but I think we both agree, she’d be a lot happier if she liked it, right?”
“Your music’s great. Of course she should like it.”
“Just what I was thinking! And I bet you want to help with that, right? Because she’s your friend.”
As Paperweight nodded eagerly, Thrash surveyed the crowd. They were all still zombies. Good. He'd been nervous for some reason before this stunt; it had seemed dangerous taking on a venue that wasn't a closed off club full of those who already liked metal... but that idea, that it was risky, had been silly. Of course he could handle a random cantina. Of course he could even do it with just guitar, without drums or voice to back it up -- it hadn’t been that hard. He could even focus on talking while he let his magic play the guitar for him. With his skill and instrument, he could do anything. He could master any challenge.
Octavia would be no different.
“So!” said Thrash. “Here’s what you’re going to do…”
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....oh Thrash, you bastard...
I think that if Thrash tries that with Luna, he's going to need a bucket to carry around his brains. Or a teaspoon.
1792148: Heh. I think it's safe to say that's a very optimistic outcome for him, in that event.
1792192 You're right. An eyedropper would do, with space left over
Very nicely done. Like how you balance Octavia's character so well. I do think this has really little to nothing to do with the Luna-verse other then a few names and character positions and you might get some more well deserved reviews and attention if you say that more obtusely in the summary of the story. Shame it isn't getting more views totally deserves it. Very nice work to date can't wait to read more.
Uh oh.... o.o
Paperweight continues to be adorable! I love the way that she's taking her career so seriously, and achieving the notice of Viceroy Night Light, and yet she's so youthful and chirpy and loves her bubble baths and rubber ducky.
I think you've written Octavia's first foray into proper metal really well. She's taking it very seriously, as a musician of her stature should.
So can we beat Thrash to death with his own guitar now? I know, I know, that's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument, but goddamn it, he's got a hell of a lot to learn about metal. He's crossed the line from "clueless" to "creepy" here. A bit like Trixie between her two episodes. In fact, Thrash is the M!Trixie of the Lunaverse, isn't he?
Iron Mare, nice. Good job with the concert, sounds like that was a fairly reasonable introduction to the genre. I love that Octavia's immediate reaction was to start composing.
*Throws up horns* YEAH! Loved Iron Mare.
And Octavia getting into it, too. Good on her. 
As for Thrash... he will soon be 'thrashed'.
1793092 Basically this.
1793092 Nah. We don't have enough people claiming Octavia is a thug who is denying the truly blameless and pure Thrash his rightful place as mane character!
As for the chapter. Was kinda annoyed that you wrote that whole segment describing how Paperweight solved a problem we had never been introduced to. Felt like you were trying to establish how Paperweight is awesome by telling us she was awesome, as apposed to showing us. Otherwise, a good enough chapter.
Thrash reminds me of Zaphod Beeblebrox.
Random thoughts of the overall story thus far:
Loved the scenes with Luna and Octy. And the "Octavia versus Heavy metal fashion" scenes are priceless.
And agreeing with HopeFox, Paperweight is very likable.
Iron Mare scene was great. Once again a wonderful description of music as an experience.
Oh, and if Thrash is some lame punk-rocker at best, Crescendo is now Jari Mäenpää in my books. Mostly 'cause I listened to Wintersun while reading through the whole fic.
It was exciting, to say the least.
And a good message of broadening one's horizons in taste of music. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some 70's progressive rock I need to educate myself with while waiting for the next chapter...
1793092 Agreed on Paperweight. If Octavia is a candidate for Honesty, then Paperweight's one for Laughter.
And yeah, glad to see Octavia had fun, and nothing can go wron...
... MOTHER-BUCK ME WITH A RUSTY CHAINSAW!
Also, Thrash is rather addict like with his guitar, don'cha think?
Meh, I've always been mor of classic rock fan myself. Iron man is too... heavy? I don't know how to describe it. Leans too heavy on the rythm, and leaves little for the music.
I like about 90% of the songs there, maybe more. Status Quo, Led Zeppelin, Beatles... Those are true pillars of music "today". At least, from my point of view.