Chapter 1
“You girls ready to rock?” Babs Seed stoked, pulling on the last piece of her ensemble.
Scootaloo, of course, responded with a spirited, “WOO-HOO!”
The question sent a thrill of excitement through Apple Bloom’s stomach. This would be her first ever rock concert. Now that she and her friends were considered of legal age, they were able to buy their own tickets. They couldn’t go into the beer and cider garden, of course, but ever since Babs had introduced the CMCs to rock music, she had been dying to see a live performance.
Then, a month ago, Babs sent Apple Bloom a letter saying that she’d won four All-Access passes to a concert in Ponyville from a Manehattan radio station, and guess who she was bringing along? What’s more, they were for the band that Babs and one of their old friends had played to first introduce Apple Bloom and the others to rock music: Rhymedical Essence. It was a dream come true. Apple Bloom was so excited, she had trouble sleeping for the entire week before.
Of course, there was also the slim chance that they might run into her foster brother. They hadn’t seen or even heard from the only human in Equestria in almost a year. Maybe someone there might know him, though she scolded herself not to hold out too much hope. She would only be disappointed in the end, and that would ruin the whole night. Still, some small part of her clung voraciously to that tiny shred.
“Babs, I can’t thank you enough for giving us your extra passes,” Apple Bloom enthused, shoving the melancholy back into the recesses of her mind. Sweetie Belle sat on her back, adjusting the hairbow she had made especially for Apple Bloom to wear to this concert.
“Of course, cuz. ‘Sides, who else was I gonna take?”
“Didn’t any of your Manehattan friends want to go?” Scootaloo pondered.
“Nah, not really. The ones that did weren’t able to make it, and the stallions I know are too into dance and pop music to really rock out.”
“Anyhow,” Apple Bloom butted in, practically vibrating with excitement, “you definitely won the ‘Best Cousin Forever’ award!”
“Apple Bloom, hold still. I can’t tie the bow properly with you jumping around.”
“I wasn’t jumping! Just... Fidgeting.”
“Regardless, if you can’t hold still, this will come off during the concert, and then what will you do? You want to look good for the stallions, right?”
“Oh whatever, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo snarked. “You’re such a stallion when it comes to fashion. Are you sure you’re not secretly a fillyfooler?”
“Hey! You’re just jealous that my knowledge of outfit coordination has gotten me more dates than you.”
“Oh yeah? And how long did those dates last, hm?”
“‘Ey! Simmer down, both of youse,” Babs commanded. “Save the bickering for the mosh.”
“Ooo, yeah! That sounds awesome!”
“No thanks,” Sweetie declined politely, although Apple Bloom could still detect a hint of disgust in her voice. “I’d rather not injure myself unnecessarily.”
“Pfft, pansy,” Scootaloo shot under her breath.
Before Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo could get into another shouting match, Apple Bloom quickly interjected.
“Alright, then! Are we ready to go?”
“Almost… there. Done.”
Sweetie Belle hopped off of Apple Bloom’s back, so she could shrug the studded, black jacket back into place and straighten the matching choker. She checked herself in Sweetie Belle’s bedroom mirror. The black bow with studded trim pulled the whole look together in her signature style, accentuated by the stripe of black dye in her mane and the anti-glare paint smeared across her cheekbones. Then she took stock of her friends.
Sweetie Belle was the only other one that put much effort into what she was wearing. A red, plaid skirt and black, buckled, faux leather thigh-high boots. Of course none of them would wear actual leather; that was just plain wrong. Around her neck hung one of her father’s plain black ties, with her ears through the holes of a two-tone, dark grey baseball cap. A pair of fashionable, rectangular shades sat on her muzzle, and she had swapped out her usual stud for a gold nose ring.
Scootaloo, at first, was just going to wear a simple white T-shirt with the band’s logo. Sweetie had been able to convince her to spice up her style with a set of open-hoofed fishnet stockings, and some appropriately dark wingbands and feather pins. She also styled Scootaloo’s mane into a mohawk and applied heavy purple eyeshadow, like she’d worn for their talent show performance all those years ago. Finally, Scootaloo had gotten her hooves on a temporary coat glyph, and applied it under her cheek. Now, no matter how her coat moved, there was lineart of a skull-headed bishop chess piece. Apple Bloom couldn’t help but feel a little envious.
Then, there was Babs. She had the frayed black tank top, which bore the offset, stylized lettering of the cover of RE’s first album, Spineless Health Insurgence. Of course, she’d bound up her oversized teats—which Apple Bloom was absolutely not envious of, by the way—in bandage wraps, otherwise they’d just get in the way. Beyond that, she wore the same clear, silicone wristbands that the band’s singer wore, and dark makeup like the others.
“Alright, fillies,” Babs trumpeted, “let’s roll out!”
As one, they raced out of Sweetie Belle’s room, charging for the front door. If Rarity caught them, they’d catch an earful about their attire, no doubt about it. But just as Apple Bloom cleared the stairs and was making for the front door, she heard Rarity cry out from the back room.
“Sweetie Belle! What in Equestria-?!”
“Hey sis have a good day love you buh-bye!”
The words tumbled out of Sweetie’s mouth as she tailed Apple Bloom outside, slamming the door behind her.
“Go go go!” She squealed, chasing her friends away from the Boutique. After a minute or two of running, they slowed to a stop, and began to laugh breathlessly.
“Oh my gosh, did you hear Rarity?” Scootaloo giggled. “I thought she was gonna flip!”
“Sh- she’s probably on the floor, frothing at the mouth,” Sweetie agreed with a wheeze.
“Alright, gals, let’s get movin’,” Babs commanded, trotting off towards the amphitheater. “I wanna get as close to the stage as we can!”
“Why? I mean, we got All-Access passes, don’t we? Can’t we watch from side-stage?” Apple Bloom wondered.
“Yeah, but only mooks and groupies do that. Besides, I wanna be up front and center for this show.”
“Why’s that?”
Babs glanced around conspiratorially, then brought the girls into a huddle.
“Well, you see, about a year ago, RE dropped P.T. Mills as lead guitarist, in favor of this other dude. But they’ve been all hush-hush about him. No pictures, no interviews, nothin’. All they’ve said is his name’s Stone. But from the singles they’ve released since then, he’s twice as good a guitarist as Mills. And at least a hundred times better on back-up vocals.
“Then, a week ago, they released this poster.”
She pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt. It unfolded to show a very carnal piece of graphic design. The unusually all-male band’s three persisting members were arranged in front, looking just as provocative and brooding as usual: the bad-colt drummer Smoky Haze on the left; the gothic-styled bassist, Umbra Black, on the right; and of course Red Morning, the band’s dreamy frontstallion, front and center. But behind them loomed a large, bipedal figure in an open black cloak, his hairless, fair-skinned, muscular torso on brazen display, while his face was shrouded in shadow. In one hand, he clutched a pick, and the other, a cherry-red electric guitar. It was an advertisement for their latest album and tour: Last Rites.
“My guess is, he’s some kind of minotaur. Maybe born without horns? But, I mean, damn…”
“Would you look at those abs?” Scootaloo practically drooled.
“You could iron clothes on them,” Sweetie swooned.
“I know. Unf, right? I wanna get a look under that hood.”
But Apple Bloom was too transfixed to respond, and not for the reason she expected.
Something about that figure nagged at the back of her mind. His skin color, the fact that he had four fingers, not three, and that she couldn’t see even a hint of a snout. He was a dead ringer for someone she knew. Someone close. Someone they hadn’t heard from in a few years. Someone that she had secretly hoped to see at this show.
“Girls, don’t he kinda remind you of Will?”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo did a double take.
“What? Really?” Scootaloo yelped.
“Now that you mention it,” Sweetie pondered, scrutinizing the poster, “he does remind me of Will!”
“But… Well, I know he went to Coltifornia to try and strike it big, and we haven’t heard from him in a while, but… I mean, he would have told us if he was picked up by Rhymedical Essence, right?” Scootaloo almost pleaded, not wanting to think that their old friend had forgotten about them.
Apple Bloom wanted to believe so, but things were starting to add up. Will’s full name was William Mason, this human-looking figure was called Stone. Will was the other one to introduce them to rock. He had left Ponyville three years prior to look for a music gig and, after a gradual decline in the frequency of the letters he sent, he’d stopped sending them altogether. Even when they had traveled to Coltifornia with their sisters to look for him, they found out he no longer lived at the address the letters had been coming from, and no one seemed to know where he went. Part of the reason she’d gotten so into rock music when Babs introduced her was because he’d played some from his world for them on Applejack’s old guitar. And now, Rhymedical Essence had a new guitarist who looked remarkably like him, even with that concealing hood.
“Wait, Will… Was he that… What’d he call ‘em? Hyu-man? The one you was cozying up to at that family reunion a few years back?” Babs asked, interrupting her train of thought, excitement gleaming in her eyes. Apple Bloom sputtered, ready to deny the allegation out of principle, but Babs steam-rolled her protest. “Well, if it really is him, this’ll make for one heck of a reunion, won’t it?”
There was something besides excitement in Babs’ eyes, though. A mischievous glint that made Apple Bloom’s gut clench with worry.
“Yeah, come on!” Scootaloo motivated. “There’s only one way to find out!”
The girls exclaimed their agreement—even Apple Bloom, despite her trepidation—and galloped off, more eager than ever to go to this show.
By the time they reached the Ponyville Amphitheater, a small crowd could be seen already gathered before the stage, and the line for admission stretched around the block. Scootaloo danced impatiently on her hooves.
“Oh horsefeathers, this is gonna take forever! We’re never gonna be able to get close to the stage.”
“Scoots, take a chill pill, will ya? You forget, we got All-Access passes. That means the VIP line.”
With a confident stride, Babs led them straight to the front of the line. The ponies waiting in line shot them all dirty looks. Scootaloo, predictably, blew raspberries at all of them. Apple Bloom tried her best to give them apologetic smiles, but it didn’t seem to help much. When they got to the front, Babs held out her pass to the bouncers in the front, cutting the mare off as she was telling them to get back in line with the others. The bouncer’s eyes narrowed and she pulled on the pass, stretching Babs’ lanyard to the limit. She took a penlight out of the pocket of her security uniform and shined a bright blue light on the pass. After a few moments of examination, she grumbled and gestured for Babs to continue on. Babs smirked triumphantly back at her friends, and pushed through the gate into the noisy amphitheater. Swallowing hard, Apple Bloom stepped forward, presenting the bouncer with her pass.
A few heart-pounding minutes later, the girls’ passes had all been checked and confirmed, and they were galloping up to the stage. They followed Babs as she muscled her way to the front; not too difficult, seeing as the crowd was still only a few ponies deep. Before they knew it, the CMCs were standing at the fence that separated the crowd from the stage.
“Get ready, girls, for the best night of your lives so far!” Babs shouted, grinning like a madmare.
Apple Bloom shivered. The early evening air was drifting into the open amphitheater, spreading a light chill over the concert-goers. As time dragged on, the voices of excited ponies steadily grew into a dull roar, echoed off of the amphitheater roof. Her friends chatted excitedly, Scootaloo while hopping in place and Sweetie Belle while taking not-so-secretive glances up at the stage, but Apple Bloom couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. She was too deeply entrenched in her own head.
Had Will really turned his back on them? Why? Hadn’t they been good friends? Hadn’t she been a good friend? Had she paid too little attention to him? Or, conversely, had she paid too much? Is that why he’d stopped writing? Did he feel smothered by her concern? He had seemed a bit defensive when he talked about hoofing it alone in Coltifornia. Or maybe he was worried that they’d try and take advantage of him, now that he was with a famous band. Or maybe-
“‘Ey, Bloom! You got cotton in your ears or somethin’?” Babs suddenly shouted into her ear.
“Huh?! What?”
“I said, look alive! I think the show’s about to start!”
Sure enough, when she looked around, Apple Bloom noticed that the arena was going dark, and ponies were packed muzzle to tail in the standing section, while beach blankets and lawn chairs coated the upper lawn. The sun had set while her attention was elsewhere, leaving only the moon and stars to light up the arena and the surrounding trees. But everything under the big metal canopy had gone black.
Then, a single spotlight shone down on the stage and a quiet gasp rolled through the crowd.
Will stood alone in the center of the spotlight—or, at least, she thought it was Will. It had to be Will. No other being in Equestria looked quite like him, not even the minotaurs. However, the figure standing center stage had a black veil over his head, like an old executioner’s hood. Over the hood, he wore what she hoped was only a helmet, shaped like the upper skull and antlers of a ten-point buck. He had gone shirtless, like he had been in the poster, but without the robe, and his tight-and-holey black jeans left very little to the imagination. The bulge of his crotch put indecent and slightly shameful thoughts in her head, especially since she felt like she should be more worried about him. But the clinchers were his shoes. The cloth and rubber coverings on his long feet—Converse, he had called them—belonged to only one creature in the entire world. There was no mistaking it; the figure on stage had to be Will. After a year without a single word of contact, Will had returned to Ponyville.
Apple Bloom was instantly transfixed, watching his fingers dance on the frets. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was distantly aware of the accompanying instruments. But in that moment, the only two people in existence were her and Will. It was all she could do not to tear up. It had been so long. Why hadn’t he let them know what had happened? So many questions, and all she could do was watch him play, separated by an insurmountable gulf of open air.
The rest of the stage lights came on, illuminating the remaining members of the band in flashing colors and shadow as their instrumentals kicked in. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Will. How much had he changed since last she saw him? And why was he wearing that hood? Could it be that he was hoping they wouldn’t recognize him? But why? Did he hate them? Did he hate her? And how could she make things right if he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong?
She was snapped out of her trance when Red Morning began singing. She suddenly became acutely aware of how much she had been staring. She glanced quickly to the side, to see that Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were in similar shell-shocked states. By some small mercy, Babs seemed to be unaware of their plight, focusing instead on the stage. Nopony else in the audience seemed to have come to the same realization that they had; they were all too busy rocking out.
Apple Bloom couldn’t discuss things with her friends there, but neither did she want to take her eyes off of Will, lest he somehow disappear from their lives once more. So, she did the only thing she could do, and kept watching.
As the band continued playing well into the night, one moment began running into the next. Will was all she could focus on, even when Red Morning first did his whole welcome spiel. The more she watched, the more the knot in her stomach became tangled. Something was off. She remembered all the times Will would play his favorite songs for them, and how animated he could be. How he would jump all around, and rock back and forth like he was on the deck of a ship in the middle of a hurricane, all with a fierce, silly grin plastered across his face.
This was not like those times. Sure, he looked like he was jamming out, but it was stiffer, almost clinical. His movements had an anger to them that she had never seen before. His face may have been covered by the hood, but she knew he wasn’t smiling.
In the back of her mind, a small suspicion began eating away at her. She hadn’t any concrete proof, only a feeling; a feeling that these songs seemed familiar. She couldn’t quite place it, and she knew for a fact that she had never heard these songs before, but something about them tripped flags in her brain. Some of them sounded so similar to the songs he had played for them. But, then again, why wouldn’t they? Will was playing in the band now, so surely at least some of his style would bleed into Rhymedical Essence’s, maybe even a lot of it. Will was quite talented, after all. So why did she feel so uneasy?
Eventually, the concert began wrapping up. She barely paid any attention, even as they played what was supposed to be the last song. But then, after the song had finished, Red Morning looked around at the other veteran members, nodded in confirmation, and turned back to the mic with a smirk.
“Alright, everypony,” he shouted, swooning the fans with his Trottingham accent, “we’ve got a surprise for you! There’s just enough time for one last song. It’s a real emotional piece, one all four of us are proud of, and a favorite of our newest member. So, here to sing for you for the very first time, we give you… STONE!”
For a split second, while Red was talking, Will seemed to tense up. His grip on the guitar tightened, like he was preparing to rip it off of its strap and beat someone with it. But then, his shoulders slumped. He simply took it off and passed it to a roadie, who brought him an acoustic guitar in its stead. Will raised his head to gaze listlessly at the stage lights through the cloth of his hood. He stayed like this just long enough for the silence to become a bit awkward.
Then, his fingers began to pluck the strings, and a chill ran down Apple Bloom’s spine. Again, the cloying grip of familiarity tugged at her insides. A memory resurfaced of Will, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and herself sitting around a campfire in Whitetail Woods. It had been the first time they had been allowed to camp without supervision. It had also been the first time Will had ever sung for them. He had called it ‘Silent Lucidity’, a song by the band Queensryche. He never sang that particular song aloud again. Apple Bloom had caught him singing it under his breath a few times, and each time it had been an incredibly personal moment.
The words she had engraved into her memories floated by, his beautiful, clear tenor carried to them on a thousand held breaths. The song had always been sad; a memory of his time in a world left behind, barely remembered after years of separation. It was also a reminder that he could never go back, that he would have to make his own future here, and that he tried to be so incredibly strong, so self-reliant. When she first heard him sing, his voice so full of regret and longing, she had vowed to herself that she would always be there for him.
Yet here he was, singing it for thousands of ponies, after Red Morning had claimed Rhymedical Essence had written it together. Apple Bloom’s hackles rose, anger slowly burning brighter. She didn’t know who she was angry at, but she knew she had to find out. Somepony was being dishonest and she was going to get answers, though she hoped like crazy that it wasn’t Will.
Applejack had taught them better than that.