A Picnic for Equine Rights
Dude, Where's My Respect?
The large tour bus offered red, synthetic leather seats and dark gray tinted windows. The driver sighed in annoyance as one brash guitarist continued to practice on her eight-string Flying V. He and the other driver barely slept, due to the erratic and ever-present noises on the tour bus. There was the Vinyl Scratch that they knew from the start, always staying awake late through the night. That was fine, they'd gotten use to it.
But by then, it was different. There was this pegasus who would always boast about her speed and musical 'talent', and a cute unicorn filly with a white coat, even brighter than Vinyl's. One was a highly inexperienced lead guitarist with a very expensive instrument; the other was the lead vocalist with a singing voice that was only rivaled by Vinyl Scratch’s attempts at vocals.
“Are we almost at the Hoofington shipyard yet?” Vinyl nearly shouted in the driver’s ear.
He batted his eye from the road, not noticing as the bus swerved gently. “Yes.” His voice trembled, just as his sanity did the same.
“Sweet!” she shouted once more and turned her head to her new bandmates. “I can't wait for this picnic, how about you guys?”
“Gonna be awesome,” Rainbow Dash said.
“I love picnics,” Sweetie Belle's voice cracked. “Rarity takes me to them all the time!”
“Then you guys are gonna love this. We get to play our first gig there, then we get to join the picnickers too!” Vinyl smiled, pushing her glasses in with a hoof. She let out a high-pitched squeal, rubbing her hooves together. “So, everypony remember those tips I gave out earlier?
Sweetie Belle nodded. “Scream into the microphone and ask the crowd to jump while Rainbow Dash is soloing.”
“Right, never move around the stage and always headbang out of sync.” Rainbow Dash said. “How do you hold a pick in your hoof again?”
Vinyl grinned. “And I will drink an excessive volume of cider before the show!”
Once more did the bus driver let out a tired sigh.
The Hoofington shipyard boomed with the cheering of lively picketers. All three of the shipyard's gates were blocked off by different groups of protesters, some carrying instruments, some with signs. Amongst them were a small amount of royal guards, making sure that the protest remained peaceful.
A small, but sturdy portable stage had been set where there was enough space. A few tables and sound system components sat around it. An earth pony trotted onto the stage, adjusting the microphone to her height. She gripped it in her yellow-coated hoof, letting the amplifier carry her voice across to all the protesters.
“Attention, everyone!” she shouted into it, causing her protesters to clutch their ears from the unpleasant screech of feedback her voice released.
She chuckled briefly. “Right, sorry about that. This is Buttered Bread speaking to you. It's nine 'o clock, so the cargo ship should be here any moment.”
What a ridiculous name, 'Buttered Bread', Octavia thought. She stood alone in the crowd, uncomfortably surrounded by ponies she didn’t know. Some pony with a spiky blue mane obscured her view; Octavia attempted to tilt her head around for a better view of the stage, only to sigh in futility.
“So once they come,” the organizer said. “You guys are gonna have to keep your voices loud, and your signs held up high.” She stopped speaking momentarily as hooves struck the ground and shouts filled the air. “Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! Alright, you guys seem to have that part covered. I'm done here, so make some noise for Quirk!”
She handed the mic to the pink coated stallion next to her as the crowd erupted once more. Being loud was something these protesters were good at.
“As my associate explained,” Quirk said, involuntarily twitching his left eye. He was a tall, scrawny figure wearing a blue tie around his neck. “Whitetail's c-cargo ship should be arriving here shortly.” Though he looked a bit odd, Octavia admired his persistence. It was a nice contrast to his oddities and the necessary rowdiness of the picketers.
“Keep in mind however, that we have to keep the picket line open, lest the Royal Guard have a justifiable reason to use force on us. I know that these are t-t-terr-” he stammered. He shied away, clearing his throat. “Terrible ponies, I mean.”
The crowd didn't pay much attention, not nearly as attentive as they were for this 'Buttered Bread'.
“Terrible, non-diarchic, underpaying p-ponies, that is!” The crowd gasped collectively, prompting Octavia to roll her eyes. “That is right! My friends, these are Tailwanese ponies we are saving from terrible workplace conditions.”
“Just in case you didn't already know that,” he added, eyeing the signs that read 'Legalize it!'. “We're all on the same p-page, right?” He twitched again, nervously. Those ponies carrying the signs with the odd thin leaves started heading out of the shipyard.
He nervously glanced to the side where Buttered Bread was standing. “I-I think I got some ponies to leave,” he stammered as sweat dripped from his neck. “I d-don't want to do this anymore... Uh, bye!” He ran out of sight as the crowd cheered him off.
Octavia patiently waited as the picketers continued to chant. The unicorn in front of her turned around, revealing the odd, purple-tinted glasses that rested beneath that distracting mane of hers.
“Can I help you?” Octavia asked, not receiving an answer for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
“Hey, I think I remember you,” the mare finally said, lacking a change in expression.
“Really now?” she asked. “And who would you be?”
“Vinyl Scratch, I played at Princess Cadence's post-wedding party.” She extended a hoof, narrowing her eyebrows when Octavia softly nudged it away. Vinyl scanned over the other mare, quick to recognize the pink bow-tie, and the treble clef she had for a cutie mark. “Weren't you there too? You know, that pudgy chick with the super-violin?”
Octavia instinctively looked down to her belly, not noticing any significant changes. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry, does the super-violin not exist?” she asked, oblivious to the stern look Octavia wore. “Right, it's called a 'cello'! That's pretty weird if you ask me.”
“Uh...” Never before had she met someone so odd. Or rude. She looked back up to the strange mare who stared at her with an equally strange grin. “That was me.”
“Sweet, it's good to see you again!” the unicorn squealed.
“Likewise.”
“So are you playing your super-violin here, Miss...” she trailed off, motioning with a hoof for an answer.
“My name is Octavia.” The cellist replied, looking away to nothing in particular, it was better than eye contact with the mare she was speaking to. “No, I won't be playing here. I’m only joining the picketers.
“Well, you don't look too much like a picnicker.” Vinyl placed a hoof by her chin, eyeing the other mare. “How about we fix that, maybe ruffle your mane a bit?”
“I'd rather not.” Octavia backed away from the deranged mare. All that did was make her close the distance.
“You sure?”
“I'm quite sure.”
Vinyl stared at her for a while. At least, Octavia thought she did. She couldn't exactly tell behind the glasses. “Then how are you gonna look nice when I perform then?”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “You are performing here?”
“Yep, representing a new act in extreme noisegrind, 'Lifesmasher Supreme'!” Vinyl looked gleeful, unaware of how confused Octavia was. “Got my trusty Everfree TR-909 with me, except this time it's gonna be doing blast beats for fifty minutes of noisegrind goodness!”
“Extreme noisegrind?” Octavia promptly came to the realization that she shouldn’t have asked.
“Yeah, nopony in Equestria's heard of it. Found out about this neat sub while touring in the Crystal Empire. It's grindcore mixed with noise music, but extreme!” She raised her forelegs high to emphasize her point. It failed to invoke a response from the other side.
“Uh...”
“Amazing, ain't it?” Vinyl asked with sparkles in her eyes. “Man, I can see just how exci-”
“No! No, no, no!” Octavia reared away in disgust. “Are you telling me that you only came here to pioneer this genre under your name, rather than help out with the protest?”
Vinyl stared forward, mouth slightly open before she spoke. “First, I’m not a pioneer; I’d rather be a viking.” The aspiring viking then shook her head. “And second, what protest?
“Picketers. Signs. Whitetail Instruments. Fundamental freedoms.”
“Picnickers?” she asked. “Yeah, can't have a picnic without picnickers! Nice day for one, isn't it?”
Octavia shook her head. “I'm sorry, are you trying to be humorous? It isn't working.”
“Hey man, no need to be such a buzz-kill.” Vinyl scratched her head. “What's your problem? A papercut? Two papercuts?” Her eyes widened to accommodate her quivering mouth. “Three pa-”
“My problem is ponies like you, commercializing music and ruining the art behind it. Do you even care about these picketers at all?”
“Picnickers, you mean.”
Octavia groaned, slapping a hoof against her face. “Enough of these jokes. You aren’t impressing anyone. You shouldn’t even be here.” She turning her head in repulsion, walking away and blending into the rest of the crowd.
“Right...”
Vinyl Scratch shrugged, pushing her way through the other ponies to get back to the tour bus.
Sweetie Belle liked the big, colourful bus. It had air-conditioning, and she didn't want to be out in the heat until the picnic got started, or until Lifesmasher Supreme made their appearance. Rather, she spent her time in the bus drawing onto a piece of cardboard with a crayon she held in her mouth. Rainbow Dash's sloppy and full-gain, full-treble playing echoed through the bus; she'd been handling her guitar ever since Ms. Scratch left.
Sweetie Belle looked up from her drawing to nudge the leg of the nearest grown-up. “Rainbow Dash? Why is the bus driver hitting his head against the window?”
“Dunno.” She shrugged, turning to the soft banging of fur and glass. “Hey you! Stop that, we still need a ride back home!” She attempted to play another power chord, but failed that. It was even drop-tuned.
“Maybe he's having a bad day,” Sweetie Belle offered. “You shouldn't yell at him.”
“Sorry!” Rainbow Dash screamed at the top of her lungs, grinding her pick against the two heaviest strings to accentuate her point. The filly winced before getting back to her drawing.
Sweetie Belle dropped the crayon from her mouth as her ears perked up to the sound of the bus door opening, nearly inaudible compared to the roaring of Rainbow Dash’s amplifier.
“Some ponies,” Vinyl sighed, shutting the door behind her. “I thought picnickers were supposed to be cheerful and jolly. Like convicts, or demons.”
“What?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Somepony cruisin’ for a bruisin’?”
Vinyl shook her head. “No, we’re not going to be fighting here. Saw a few guards out anyway, so that wouldn’t end well. I just want everypony to be happy since today’s gonna be our debut, you know?” She walked from the door and sprawled herself across an expensive seat. “Some ponies just have to be uptight, at a picnic of all places.
“Someone houndin’ for a poundin’? Crammin’ for a slam-”
“Rarity told me she finds you annoying when you do that,” Sweetie Belle interrupted. “She always says not to be somepony like you when I grow up.”
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “What else does your sister say about me?”
“A lot of things!” Sweetie Belle grinned. “She says you’re rude, ‘boorish’, listens to terrible metal, chews open-mouthed...”
“How about we don’t talk about this?” Vinyl lowered her glasses to Sweetie Belle, looking to change the subject. “What are you drawing?”
“It’s a sign.” She held it up, showing it to Vinyl Scratch. “Since the ponies outside are all holding them, maybe we could introduce the band like this.”
It was made completely out of cardboard, decorated with green and purple construction paper. In the middle read ‘Lifsmashur Supreem’, and below that, ‘Making picnicks hardcor’. Their names were scrawled into the corner with a dark black crayon. Crude drawings of instruments and the band members covered the rest of the previously empty space.
“That’s pretty metal,” Rainbow Dash commented. Vinyl nodded her head.
“Thank you.” She smiled, packing her crayons back into the orange box they came from. “Maybe I’ll get a job drawing signs... Or a cutie mark!” The grown mares chuckled slightly, permitting a soon interrupted silence to fill the bus.
The eyes of the musicians widened as protesters sounded off from outside. There was less chanting, and more screaming. It was even louder than they had expected, which would mean they’d be a nice audience when the time came to perform.
Dash nudged her head to the door. “Wanna check it out?”
“Let’s go.” Vinyl pushed herself from the chair, turning to Sweetie Belle. “Don’t wander too far from us, alright?”
The filly nodded, and the three made their to the door. As they left the bus, they could hear the shouting more clearly. Signs were held high in the air, and more speech was coming from the sound system.
“And here they are. The Tailwanese ship has arrived!” It was the proud voice of Buttered Bread, ringing across to worker and protester alike. “Keep it loud, everypony!”
Vinyl looked back to her bandmates. “Oh, sweet! Ponies from Tailwan are joining us?”
“What’s Tailwan?” Sweetie Belle asked.
Vinyl grinned wildly. “Hey, how about you guys get to know some of the picnickers? I’m gonna steal us a place on that stage.”
Rainbow Dash nodded, walking away as Sweetie Belle followed shortly behind. Vinyl continued to watch until they had blended into the rest of the crowd.
Vinyl Scratch turned around and started moving her hooves towards where the amps were. She carelessly trotted by the runway, oblivious to the roaring engine behind her. Whether it was the crowd, of her terribly damaged ears, the were late to register in her mind. She spun around to view an industrial truck backing up towards her at a slow speed.
“Hey, watch it you jerkface!” She raised a hoof and struck the truck’s exterior, rounding its sharp, carbon steel corner as to not get run over. “Jeez...” The crowd cheered at her display. The royal guards didn’t, only narrowing their eyes in alertness. One of them flew away from the shipyard; the picketers paid no mind.
Vinyl continued walking, not looking back to the large truck or the pony driving it. She bumped against more ponies, before her eyes met the stage laid out in front of her. Immediately recognizable was the yellow organizer pony resting on a lawn chair. She looked up and waved a hoof for Vinyl to come closer.
“Good going,” she said. “Show that truck driver who’s boss. Then maybe show his boss who’s boss.”
Vinyl scratch chuckled to herself. “Yeah. So where’s that twitchy guy at?”
“Quirk?” The earth pony pointed back to the cargo ship. Vinyl could see him moving his lips and motioning to a few other ponies, all looking unlike the common Equestrian. “That’s the Tailwanese arbitrator he’s chatting with. Gonna see if they can work something out.”
Vinyl took her eyes off the ship, and back to the pony she was talking to. “You think he can do it?”
“He’ll be fine, I know it.” She flipped her mane back, sighing to herself. “So, you need something?”
Vinyl nodded. “Yeah, straight to the point. I was thinking that maybe that stage would be open sometime soon?”
“For what?”
“For some music. I’m part of Lifesmasher Supreme.” She could see the buttery-coated pony placing a hoof against her chin. “It’s grindcore... Uh, extreme noisegrind.”
“Extreme...” A grin spread across her muzzle as her thoughts centered around the word. ”I like it!” Vinyl found the grinning contagious. “Sure, if it’ll help keep these protesters moving!” Buttered Bread peeked out to take another look at the swirling mass of ponies. “You got a deal.”
Vinyl’s grin faded slightly, as a look of confusion spread across her face. “Really? Just like that? I didn’t even take you out to dinner yet.”
“Come on, don’t be boring. Get your stuff up here, and start playing already!” She raised herself from the chair, playfully nudging Vinyl with an elbow.
“Of course, I’ll get right on it.” She started moving on her hooves, her white ears perking up at the sharp and abrasive sound.
“Vinyl Scratch!”
She struggled to locate the source of the noise amongst the crowd. Squinting towards the crowd, she could nearly feel the pony right next to her.
“Oh, hey Octavia,” she said. “What’s with the yelling and stuff?”
Disappointment lingered in Octavia’s eyes. “Why are you doing all of this? For what reason is there a filly in your band?”
The DJ shrugged, blowing her off. “‘Cause she’s a good vocalist? Duh. Come on, she was even nice enough to make a sign for the band!”
“Yes, I saw that; it was very sweet of her.” Octavia closed her eyes momentarily. “She and her pegasus friend asked me to help them spell something, because I - and I quote - ‘look like an egghead’.”
“Rainbow Dash is kinda right on that one.”
“Well, why don’t you tell this ‘Rainbow Dash’ to-”
“Hey Scratch, hey egghead, what’s up?” Dash flapped closer to the two mares as Sweetie Belle trotted closer to Vinyl.
“Octavia’s just telling me a bit more about how much she likes the sign you made.” She patted a hoof down on Sweetie Belle’s mane.
The filly tugged at Vinyl’s leg. “Is the stage-pony going to let us play, Ms. Scratch?”
“Yes.” She took notice of Octavia’s narrowed eyes and trembling hooves. “Why don’t you and Dash start moving the equipment?”
Sweetie Belle nodded, smiling as she galloped back to the tour bus.
“Hey, wait up!” Rainbow Dash was quick to hurry towards Sweetie Belle. She would get lost easily, and cry when she couldn’t find her way around. It happened very often when grocery shopping with her sister.
Vinyl peeked her head out towards the two ponies who had left them, then facing back to Octavia. “Alright, why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” Octavia asked, though Vinyl was sure she didn’t need the explanation.
“Wheezin’ on my grind.” Octavia tilted her head. “Hushin’ my gig, you know? Crashin’ my grubfest.”
Octavia made weird motions with her hooves, imitating Vinyl’s voice. “Well, I’s was jus’ tryna-” She stopped upon hearing nearby protesters laugh at her attempts. Her cheeks visibly swelled as she brought her gaze to the ground.
Vinyl was polite enough to reduce her intended laughter to a mere giggle. “So what do you want this time?”
She cleared her throat, straightening her pink bow-tie collar. “I wanted to ask you not to perform here.”
Vinyl’s grin faded. Octavia couldn’t see where the mare’s eyes headed behind the shaded lens of her glasses.
“You think I’d just refuse to play for all these ponies up here just because you’d ask me to? Seriously?”
Octavia found herself subtly shifting back. “I thought you’d at least know of a more appropriate place to play your music, that’s all. Besides, I doubt your manager would even allow you to do this.”
“Sure she would,” Vinyl said, lowering her glasses and narrowing her eyes. “Because I’ve joked with her, and I’ve drank with her.” Octavia tilted her head. “I’ve even slept with her.”
Octavia sighed, looking to anywhere that was away from Vinyl.
“Of course, that’s only ‘cause I’m my manager.” Vinyl paused; Octavia only shook her head. “Not even a smile?”
Octavia stood up, if only to cross her forelegs together.
“Alright, whatever. All I’m saying is that I take my music wherever I go. So if I want to pick up two strangers I met three days ago from Ponyville and play noisegrind at a picnic, then that’s my choice.” Vinyl Scratch shook her head and trotted past the bothersome mare. “I’m out, I’ve got gear to move.”
Octavia coughed sharply into her hoof. “Picket, you mean.”
Vinyl spun around, her legs already having expected it. “This stuff again? You lookin’ to get hurt?” She stopped momentarily to roll-up her sleeves, before noticing she wasn’t wearing anything but her glasses. In the end, she settled on imagining she had sleeves to roll up.
Octavia backed up slightly as Vinyl Scratch closed in on her. She nervously shifted her eyes before pointing behind her assailant. “Look, groupies!”
“Where?” Vinyl nearly shouted, not before grasping Octavia by her bow-tie. The earth pony sighed in futility as Scratch turned around. Her eyes widened when the hoof holding onto her let go, being placed over Vinyl’s eyes.
“You see that?” Vinyl asked.
Octavia caught her breath, legs forgetting to run. “Groupies?”
“I wish...” Vinyl pointed farther down. “That’s the Royal Guard. They could be groupies too, I guess.” Octavia wasn’t sure of her pursuer’s attention span, but she decided to test her luck and stick around. “Hey, what do you think’s gonna happen?”
Octavia sighed. “They’re going to ruin this whole picket.”
“Picnic.”
The cellist blew air sharply out of her gritted teeth. “No, picket. Say it with me, Ms. Scratch. Say ‘pic’.”
“Pic.”
“Now say ‘ket’.”
“Ket.” Vinyl said. “I don’t understa-”
“Now say picket.”
“Picnic.”
Vinyl heard a scream. It wasn’t from Octavia.
It erupted from behind the cellist, prompting both of them to search for the cry. Vinyl took to her hind legs to see the royal guards marching into the picketers. Despite the minor imperfections in their line, they moved almost robotically. They bore transparent shields and golden armour. The protesters backed up, avoiding contact with the law enforcers. It was a good idea.
The noise levels rose, yet no one had made any sort of contact. Equestria hosted few violent confrontations, as the Tailwanese ponies observed.
Octavia looked towards the Tailwanese cargo ship. She’d not noticed the barricade’s steel railings manned by other guards. How long had they been there? The timid, quirky announcer pony she heard from earlier made his way outwards. Soon after, the Tailwanese arbitrator rolled his eyes and nodded to the guards who marched alongside Quirk.
The arbitrator’s display made Octavia sick. It made her blood boil.
“Please excuse me, Ms. Scratch. I have to go now.”
“Already?” Vinyl asked. “Let come with you.” She didn’t receive an answer, only a hurried mare walking towards the coastline where other picketers gathered. In their hooves sat rocks; heavy, tough projectiles for throwing at ponies. “Look at you, such a rebel!” Like before, she acquired no answer.
Octavia stopped momentarily, sternly gazing at her fellow musician. “Are you joining us, or not?”
“Uh, no...” Vinyl scratched her head. “I kinda got other thi-”
“Then leave me alone.” She turned to continue walking.
Vinyl shrugged it off, and briskly trotted to catch up to her. “Man, this stuff has really got you pissed.”
“How could it not? ’This stuff’ is more annoying than you are.” Octavia shoved a picketer in her way. Vinyl could only raise her eyebrow. “Take this,” she said, offering her a rather heavy-looking rock.
Vinyl rolled her eyes. “Thanks.” She held it in her forelegs, reluctant to join the picketers as they threw another volley at the guardsmen. “You know...” Vinyl slugged the rock towards the mass of guardsmen. “Rocks are pretty cool; I prefer metals though.” She drew in a quick breath of air, gripping another rolling another rock along her hooves.
The DJ didn’t know how long she had lingered with the picketers. Her legs grew tired after throwing so many rocks. Thankfully, the line hadn’t chosen to advance too close to the line of makeshift slingers. They could have, as more and more royal guards flew in over the shipyard’s, tall, gray gate. Eventually, she saw a cloud of gray expanding by the group. She wasn’t sure where it came from; she didn’t even know the weather pegasi worked so low.
It was only until it made contact with her eyes, that she realized that this cloud was a total dick. Figuratively, of course.
Curses and screams erupted from the protesters around her as the dark cloud swallowed them whole. Vinyl couldn’t join in; she was too busy coughing as tears slid from her stinging eyes. She willed her legs to push out of the cloud as bodies dropped and crawled along the barren ground.
Eventually, she knelt back out of breath, and out of patience for this goddamn cloud. Her chest heaved up and down for air. She could run a marathon in less than a minute, provided running out of breath counted as a marathon.
Through either fortune or enough drinks and shrewd speech, she felt her body smack against limbs and torso alike. It gave her weary legs relief, and it parted her weight from the ground. The protesters shrank and shifted from below her. Hooves were carrying her from above.
“Thanks Dash,” Vinyl panted. “It’s good to have friends who didn’t hide from Phys. Ed.”
“No problem,” the pegasus behind her grunted. Her forelegs were wrapped under Vinyl’s, with the unicorn’s legs dangling in the air. “Hey, you’re gettin’ pretty heavy.”
Vinyl sighed once more, and not from her exhaustion. If only half the extra weight went to my flank...
Rainbow Dash looked down, noticing the vacant stage. It was meant for them. “Oh right! Sweetie and I brought all the gear up. Can’t believe we’re this close to tearing it up!” Before receiving a response, she plummeted downwards. Vinyl paid no attention to the turbulence.
She waggled her forelegs, prompting Rainbow Dash to let go of her. Her knees bent slightly as she made contact with the ground once more. Soon after, Vinyl scratched the back of her neck as she glanced towards the commotion that Octavia dragged herself into. The DJ shrugged it off, making her decision.
“So,” the pegasus asked as she cracked her neck. “You ready, or what?”
“More than ever.”
“...And you will have to suffer through our music for the next fifty minutes!” Vinyl shouted, her drum machine running some bass-kicks. She slid her hooves across the 6-string bass-guitar, downtuned and drop-tuned to a ridiculous extent. “Lively crowd we got here!”
No eyes drifted towards the stage. The royal guardsmen and the protestors were deeply locked in fury, rage, and furious rage. Rocks, harmful gases, and screams carved their way through the Hoofington shipyard in an eruption of violence.
“So Hoofington, we’re gonna start you guys off with something simple.” The DJ wiped her eyes momentarily, the magic gas those guards put out was lingered with her. Besides that feeling, she noticed gentle tugging at her rear leg.
“Ms. Scratch?” Sweetie Belle murmured. “I don’t think these poni-”
Vinyl whispered back to her, “Get back to your mic, we’re gonna play soon enough. Alright?” She used a hoof to wave her off. The bassist flipped her mane back, placing a hoof on her mic stand. “This one’s called ‘Blunt Force Lobotomy’, let’s do it!”
As the TR-909 drum machine started up with a blast-beat, Rainbow Dash started pick grinding on her 7th and 8th strings. Sweetie Belle scampered to her mic, eyes quivering from nervousness.
Rarity always told me I was a good singer... she reassured herself. She waited for the drum fill to sound off. The drum machine stopped momentarily as Dash attempted actual riffing, almost.
The fill sounded off, prompting Sweetie Belle to inhale and squint her eyes. Upon the last tom, she let her false-chords loose.
GROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
And so a crowd was formed. Protestors and guards alike turned to the source of roaring, seemingly forgetting about their weapons or wounds.
”Scars upon his skull, bloodlust in your eyes, hammer in clenched hoof, smash him, smash him!” she pig squealed.
It was her noises that unified the crowd with one objective: To leave the shipyard as soon as possible. The ponies had to decide between clutching their ears and sprinting away from the terrible noises.
”Feed a hungry child, feed his hungry family;
Splitting pony skulls for Equestrian equality.
Walk somepony’s dog, do community service,
Donate bits to the less fortunate ponies in society!” she growled.
The only two adults of Lifesmasher Supreme began body dropping as Rainbow Dash began a drawn out and boring chug riff. Zeroes and dots flashed through the minds of all the nearby guitar ponies.
”Something something something, cookies something something!” Sweetie Belle shrieked. ”Something something something something somethi-”.
“Enough!” the voice was loud enough to quickly end the music. The three musicians turned to the source of the noise, tracing it back to a loudspeaker held by a Royal Guardsman. He and his men were wore armored, golden, fuzzy earmuffs.
“This is Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard." His horn glowed, as his magic projected his voice all across the shipyard. “You three, I urge you to stop playing at once!”
Vinyl moved her hoof to grab her microphone, but soon found that it was already in the buttery hooves of somepony else.
“That’s right,” the pony mentioned. Vinyl Scratch was relieved to see that Buttered Bread hadn’t gotten lost in the violence of the picnic like all the other picnickers. “Our friends here won’t stop playing until the Whitetail cargo ship goes back to where it came from!”
“We won’t?” Vinyl quietly asked.
The guard captain gritted his teeth as his subordinates shifted their heads towards him. We can’t let this noise hurt any more of these ponies... he thought. His throat was dry, similar to his stressed mind. His eyes trailed towards the remnants of the picketing force, which had shaped itself back together in front of the stage.
“Perhaps you’ll need another example to make your decision?” Her voice mocked them with the intonation of a question. Buttered Bread moved towards Sweetie Belle and stroked her mane. She prompted her quietly, “It’s alright kid, do your ‘singing’.”
Sweetie Belle anxiously looked around, deeply inhaling once more.
“Alright!” the guard captain shouted. “You are well understood.” He shook his head, regaining his composure to speak once more. “Cargo workers, under the authority of Captain Shining Armor, you are ordered to return to Whitetail’s bay at once. It will be arranged for your actions to be justified by an Equestrian arbitrator; you will return home with full pay.”
The protesters burst into a loud, cheering mass of ponies. Buttered Bread graced the stage, looking to share her success with Lifesmasher Supreme, but they weren’t to be found.
“Shit!” Vinyl drove her hoof into the tour bus. It hurt, but that didn’t matter to her. “They hated us!” She repeated her strikes against the vehicle, its red exterior remaining undamaged. Eventually, the tired out mare leaned her back against the bus, closing her eyes and regaining her breath.
A familiar voice got her attention. “Vinyl Scratch?” It was none other than the cellist who kept hounding her earlier.
“What do you want now?” she asked. “Whatever it is, not in the mood for it.”
“I apologize for what I told you earlier,” Octavia mentioned. “If that’s what has you upset.”
“Yeah?”
Octavia cautiously approached her, not wanting to get pummeled. She took a seat next to her, leaning on the bus. “I think you did well. What you did really was selfless. And brave.”
Vinyl Scratch could only raise an eyebrow. Before she could speak, a squeal garnered both their gazes.
“There she is!” Sweetie Belle squealed.
“Why’d you bail?” Rainbow Dash asked. “You just left us there.”
“Come on,” Scratch rolled her eyes. “Why would we stay at that place?”
Rainbow Dash chuckled to herself in surprise. “Why not? They’re asking for more, that announcer pony’s talking all this good stuff about this; we’re movin’ up!”
Vinyl lifted her hooves to her head, attempting to rub the answers out of her brain. It didn’t help.
“Who’s this lady?” Sweetie Belle asked.
Octavia smiled in her direction. “A friend. You did wonderful.” Sweetie Belle soon shared the grin.
“Well, that changes a lot,” the DJ sighed. She remained with her back against the tour bus, letting the information sink in through her skull. “Well then, you think we can give these guys some more grindcore?”
Rainbow Dash primed herself for flight. “What kinda question is that?” After shaking her head and laughing, she took off towards the stage. Sweetie Belle galloped in her direction.
“I suppose you’ll be leaving soon?” the cellist asked.
“Yep. I’ve got ponies to play for, and greedy record labels to get signed onto.” Vinyl lifted herself from the bus. “And about what you said earlier, it’s all good. I for one, think the super-violin is an amazing instrument.”
Octavia caught herself between a sigh, and a laugh. “Indeed it is.”
“Well then,” Vinyl said. “I’ll just be out of your mane now.”
“Vinyl,” she spoke. “Let me just remind you that it’s been an honour having you at this picket. We couldn’t have given these Tailwanese ponies better conditions without you.”
“No problem.” The DJ smiled, before turning back. “And super-violin girl?”
Octavia stopped herself from making a scene; she could make an exception for this pony. “Yes?”
“It’s pronounced ‘picnic’.”