“I really don’t get it. I mean, fancy suit? Sure, it’s colorful and all, but blue doesn’t match me in the slightest. Heck, nothing about this outfit matches me.”

The stagehand was completely apathetic towards the choice of costume for the performance. Spike knew better than to fret, given that it was Sweetie Belle’s decision what made it into the final performance, but after five dress rehearsals with a completely differently clad ensemble each time, a simple blue suit was her best option? Spike scoffed at such an idea.

He tried to get a good look at himself in the mirror, emphasis on ‘good’. No matter what angle he looked at himself, whether it was folding his arms or doing the bad boy back-on-you pose, nothing worked. “One thing’s for sure, Sweetie doesn’t have her sister’s fashion sense. You'd think her label would hire an actual fashionista for this stuff. Like me!”

The stagehand just grunted. Again, apathetic as all get-out. He packed up his makeup kit and slipped out the door of the costumery, leaving Spike to talk to himself.

“Try to get an outsider’s opinion around here...” The tall and slick dragon tried different means of wearing the coat. Buttoned up or not at all? Half of the buttons? Didn’t do away with that awful shade of blue. It wasn’t a dark blue, that would have emphasized his purple and green scales. A full blown navy blue, straight out of a blue crayon. “Sweetie Belle, I have half a mind you were on something when you came up with this.” He paused, then slapped his clawed hand to his forehead. “Show business. Of course.”

He returned to his failing battle against the evil blue suit, eventually coming to a ceasefire. War over. “I guess I’ll just wear a black button-up underneath. That’ll make it less pride get-up and more, ‘I’m mysterious and I play the piano, want to see my emo poetry?’ Far better than,” he waved his arms about flamboyantly, “‘Who’s the hottest dude in the Ponyville concert hall, ‘cause I want to buy him a drink!’”

“Wow, the one friendly dragon in existence and he plays for the other team. Just our luck, eh?”

Spike silently cussed out that witch that must have cursed him to always be caught at the most inopportune moments, especially by renowned beauties like Vinyl Scratch. She was more known as DJ PON3, or just ‘The DJ’, but Spike was proud to say he knew her on a more personal level, so he could get away with using her actual moniker.

“Vinyl, we’ve been over this,” Spike said with an annoyed shrug. “You know-”

“-dragons cross both sides of the street, yadda yadda.” Vinyl pulled her purple glasses over her head and sauntered over to share Spike’s view in the mirror, crossing her legs as she leaned against him. “I think you made that very clear at my last concert.” Spike put on a sarcastic face of ignorance, and Vinyl played along. “Aw, you don’t remember? Trottingham Stadium halftime show? You and Pipsqueak had passes to my skybox.” She ran her finger along a sliver of exposed chest. “We had a little apple cider-”

“It was more like an entire carton...”

“That’s a little for me, honey. Then I made a certain dare that you and a certain limey cocktail boy pucker up. Then you two really got into it...”

Spike’s cheeks went red at just the thought of Pipsqueak’s classy Trottingham accent and his cute dimples and his incredibly feminine body... “Celestia, I love show business,” he boasted.

Vinyl pulled away from Spike and flicked her glasses back on, followed by removing her jacket. “So, Mister Piano Colt, or is it Piano Drake? Doesn’t really matter. You made the big time, huh? Performing for Sweetie Belle herself. Can’t help but say I’m jealous.”

Spike cocked his brow as he removed his suit coat, reaching into the closet to pull out a black shirt. He unbuttoned his much less stylish white one as he said, “I don’t get your jealousy towards Sweetie. You’re bigger than her...” He couldn’t help but notice Vinyl’s very prominent rump through her leather pants. She must have had to grease up her legs to fit in those things. There was nothing left to the imagination. “...Much bigger.”

Vinyl shrugged, then moved to help Spike into his shirt. “Yeah, well, I wish I had her youthful charm.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“Let me put it this way. You’re staring at my breasts right now.” She said that breathlessly, not accusing Spike in the slightest, and the dragon decided to play along. That being said, he couldn’t have ignored the ample mounds of wonder pressing against his bare chest even if he tried.

“Yes, I am staring. That tank top and all, it’s really quite astounding. I mean, they’re right there!”

Vinyl threw the suit’s accompanying tie around Spike’s neck and dragged him in close. Now she was glaring at him, and the red eyes behind the glasses made it even more intense. “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have noticed the twins if I hadn’t deliberately worn my skankiest attire. That’s where my appeal lies, Spikey-Wikey. If I don’t play up the sex factor I don’t sell out.”

“Oh, so...” Spike suddenly felt really awkward. He scratched at his green spines. “You’re not happy being a sex symbol.”

That got a saucy oh-no-you-didn’t pose from Vinyl. “Hell no! You know I love being sex on legs! I love it when the entire audience stares at the goods. I’m the closet key for hundreds of mares every gig! A lucky few get to come back to the VIP room with their boyfriends and that’s where we really drop the bass.”

One of these days, I really gotta thank Pinkie Pie for getting me that VIP pass, Spike thought, blushing once again.

Vinyl grabbed ahold of Spike by the shoulder and lit up her horn. Her levitation pointed Spike’s body in the direction of the door. Vinyl started to lead him out. “My point is, Sweetie Belle doesn’t need any of the tight pants or the skanky tank tops or risque dance moves-”

“Or going completely topless for a midnight gig?” Spike asked with a smirk.

Vinyl stopped her push just as they rounded the corner. “Oh, you know about that?”

Spike laughed like an evil villain. “I do now!”

“Well, I’m flattered, and I’ve got another one of those coming up next week. I’ll send you the tickets in the mail. In the meantime,” the DJ gave Spike a firm shove and relinquished her magic grip.

He was just a few steps away from the stage, and the curtains were raring to come open at any moment. He could hear the restless audience on the other side. There was no doubt in his mind the other Cutie Mark Crusaders would be joining the party to support their friend.

Spike was just about to take his steps out into the open and sit at his piano bench, possibly tune the keys for a tic, but he was held back when Vinyl came around. “You forgot this, dude.” She handed him the garish suit coat.

“Thanks,” Spike said begrudgingly. He found Vinyl’s kiss on the snout to be a much better present. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the inevitable pre-show jitters and made a half sprint to his bench. He slid to a seat, stretched out his arms and tested the worn but effective keys of his piano. Years of claws scratching the ivory tends to create some wear-and-tear, but its sounds were just as effectively serene and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to hear them when the curtain was open and the sounds of the piano would face no obstacle but the night sky and the roaring crowd. Outdoor gigs. Gotta love ‘em.

Spike tended to have a lot of different musicians travel around with him, people dropping off here and there for whatever reason, so he never really took the time to learn any of their names offstage. The only one worth mentioning was a single grey mare playing the lead guitar. Spike recognized Octavia from a few of Vinyl’s, ahem, backstage performances. He gave her a friendly wave, which she returned before going back her tuning.

And then came the true prize of the night, the one everypony had been waiting for. The young and jubileus Sweetie Belle came floating down from seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a smile that could make a Diamond Dog give up a trove and a half without question. Hell, a whole mine.

What Sweetie Belle lacked in Vinyl’s skank department, she undoubtedly made up for with the curves only an early bloomer could boast. Ironic that she bloomed before the Apple did, Spike thought with a smirk. All of his other thoughts were how Sweetie Belle’s natural beauty made her more of sight to see than stars like Sapphire Shores, the ones who would cake on the makeup until they were walking chemical hazards. Sweetie never needed makeup. That, Spike could appreciate. If dragons never use cosmetics, then neither should a pony. Her rather casual attire, a humble black dress with a white jacket, hardly showed off anything, and yet somehow Spike found her to be at least a third power sexier than Vinyl. Maybe a fourth.

Spike almost felt jealous that the entire audience got to see her entire performance while he had to keep his gaze on the ivory slabs. Curse you, piano. You enslave my claws and spare me views of barely legal beauty. You’re in for a scratching tonight. Don’t let me blow this...

As the curtain opened, Sweetie Belle rose her hands up high, then adjusted her headset just so. Her voice rang out, blurring the line between mature, adorable and just plain sensual. This was her talent, after all. She could make music with her vocal chords alone.

“Ah, it’s good to be home in Ponyville!” she shouted, garnering praise from the town’s loyal natives. She then put on a smirk, and with a swish of her hand, shut the audience up immediately. “Alright, enough sentiment. Let’s cut the crap and turn it up already!”

Oh dear. Spike knew he had to lead off the first number. If he blew it, he’d forever be known as the keyboard klutz clad in the clunky suit. But he knew better than to think he’d ever ruin Sweetie Belle’s big night. He cared about her too much for that. He began on the long intro, gradually increasing in tempo. Octavia and what’s-their-names joined in shortly after.

Finally, the sound he’d been craving made itself known.

"Your love is like a tidal wave spinning over my head!
Drownin' me in your promises, better left unsaid!
You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy,
the invincible winner that you know that you were born to be!"

The song was surprisingly hardcore compared to Sweetie Belle’s usual upbeat and cheery works, but Spike preferred the teen idol’s edgier side. That, and, well, he helped her write this one.

"You're a! Heartbreaker! Dream maker! Love taker! Don'tcha mess around with me, you're a!
Heartbreaker! Dream maker! Love taker! Don'tcha mess around, no no no!

The epic guitar solo from Octavia sent Spike into a frenzy. From then on until the end of the performance he was in a trance, playing the keys by mind. Under normal circumstances he would’ve played it by heart, but that thing was occupied at the moment.

Author's Note

Heartbreaker - Pat Benatar