The Piano Mule

by Dragonas77

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Original Character
Length: 3171

A musical journey of one mule and the life he lives, the lives he sees, and his sharing of these tales.

Every night a new song is added to his repertoire. Key collects them all, and recounts them for the world. He tells the tales of everyone he meets and learns about. He sings to the crowd, for he lives through them. Without his audience, he would have no voice.

So he plays on for everyone. He gathers the tales of those he sees and meets, and shares them with his fellow mates. All of them have a laugh, and that is the way things are, and have always been, at Fou's Bar.

Published 2013-09-30 17:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-30 17:40:02 UTC

Sing Us A Song

The air was crisp tonight, and it made me want to linger, to bask in the moon's glow and just enjoy the oft forgotten stillness of the night. That sort of night makes a mule remember the past, and turning down that particular alley off of memory lane generally leads to hard drinking. So I ended up by the seashore, where I could listen to the waves roll across the sand and forget about life in that endless expanse. A cool breeze sighed through the nearby trees and caressed my cheek, tempting me to stay, but we'd have to meet up some other time. Tonight I had a job to do.

As I walked through town, I found myself dragging my hooves, trying to stroll as casually as I could, soaking up the night's tranquil atmosphere. That's the funny thing about tranquility. At first, you think it's boring. You hate it until it's gone from your life. Then it becomes something you can't get enough of, and it never seems to stick around long. It sure wouldn't be calm where I was headed. It never was.

Strolling through the nightscape, I saw a few familiar faces. They were regulars of my little show, and I tossed them a wave or a little nod as I passed by. Most waved back at me and smiled. We both knew our reunion was close at hoof.

However, some of the ponies I passed that night couldn't help but stare or insult me under their breath. Mulists. I'd been dealing with their kind all my life. I had learned to mostly ignore it, but I'd be a liar if I said it still didn't hurt every time.

Finally, I was awoken from my dreamy, meandering haze as I came upon the glowing neon sign of my workplace. Fou Bar was lit up in bright green neon lights, but the 'O' was on the fritz, blinking and flashing occasionally. I'd have to tell Fou that the sign wasn't working, yet again. Not that he'd fix it. He was too cheap to ever bother getting a licensed repair pony. He'd thank me for letting him know and then spend the next few days taping wires together at random and scratching his head.

I grimaced as smoke billowed out from behind the rickety doors in swirling, twisting tendrils, permeating everything with its stench. I never could get that smell off my suit. I had come to accept it though, it was just part of the job.

Bracing myself, I swung the double doors open, and a wave of smells hit me like a kick to the head. It always does, but I've never quite adjusted to it. Swearing, I took a moment to get my stomach back under control and keep from retching. Smoke, mixed with alcohol of all varieties, sweat, heat, and a few olfactory delights I wish I didn't recognize. That unique smell marked a line in the psyche of every down-on-their-luck pony that passed through these doors. To cross it was to admit that you had lost. That you were lost. That you knew it, and that you either didn't know how, or didn't care enough, to change it.

As I trotted in, half the bar perked up. They greeted me with a drunken bevy of cheers, knowing that I would soon take to my throne. Out there, in the real world, I'm nopony. Hell, to most of the ponies on the outside, I'm worse than nopony. I'm a mule. But in this bar, I'm a king as long as I keep them happy. I'm the main attraction, the atmosphere is just a bonus to them.

I waited another 15 minutes, letting the last of the crowd drag themselves in. They all know what time the show was supposed to start, but a few laggards always get a little too tipsy drinking at home, or at work, or just in the gutter, to be on time. As I watched the crowd swell, I knew the time had come to ascend onto my throne. To take my rightful spot at that bench, and, for at least a few brief hours, let us all pretend that everything was going to be all right after all.

I always need to make sure Fou's dusty old wreck of an upright is still in at least marginally in tune, so I tipped an ear toward the piano and performed a little fancy hoofwork for the crowd. It was more for show than anything, but the crowd seemed to like it, and began to call for the main number. It's the reason they all came to see me, and they knew I wouldn't disappoint. They knew I needed this as badly as they did.

Based off and adapted from:

Piano Man

By: Billy Joel

Taking my harmonica out of my hidden jacket pocket, I ran it over my lips, exhaling and smiling as the pure notes washed over the crowd. All around me, I could feel the mood lighten as the air filled with inebriated cheers. With the mood set, I placed my harmonica upon its stand, and I rolled my shoulders a few times, wincing as they cracked. As I rested my hooves against the keyboard once more, a hush descended on the crowd. For a moment, all was silent.

I started with a light, descending rhythm, matching the emotional tone my harmonica had set a moment ago. The patrons whistled and cheered as the notes rolled over them. I quickly repeated the sequence, then broke into the song that so many of these customers had come to know. On any given night, half of them can't even manage the words in their drunken stupor, but that melody always sticks with them.

"It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday, regular ponies come on by. There's an old mare sitting next to me, in love with her whisky and rye."

I sang, picking my first focus of the night. As I looked down from the stage, the old mare stared back at me, her muzzle a sea of burst capillaries. I took up my harmonica again, spotlighting this mare that I'd come to know.

"She says, 'Key, please play me some good times. I seem to forget how they go. For my life's been wasted in this dump. Please show me the way if you know.'"

The mare smiled and briefly lifted her glass in a trembling hoof, toasting me, before downing her drink.

I went for a little freeform as a transition piece while continuing the piano's gentle melody, singing.

"La, la la, di de da. La la, di de daaa, da dum."

Another few notes on the harmonica, and I built up into the chorus. The regulars knew this song all too well, and they joined their slurred voices with mine. They were horribly drunk, and most couldn't sing to save their lives, but as long as they were happy, I was happy to play. Happy ponies tip more and fight less. With a steady beat on the keys backing me up, I sang out.

"Play us your tune, you're the Piano Mule. Play us your tune tonight. For we've all come to share in the revelry, and you've got us feelin' alright."

Transitioning back to the harmonica, I blew a few bars, while searching for my song's next target. I found her along the bar's far wall, hustling drinks to patrons in various states of inebriation. She was grinning at one of the lugs as he mumbled his way through something that was halfway between a joke and a pick-up line, but I knew from personal experience that her expression was as far from genuine as this piano was from a symphony grand. The smile in her eyes had left years ago. That happy-go-lucky barmare routine might work on these poor saps, but I knew better. It my job to see the nuance in ponies, and I get an eyeful from this stage every night.

I stared straight at her, thinking back on our times together, and sang.

"Dawn at the bar is a friend of mine. She was tending for my debut."

I nodded at her, and as she stole a brief moment to look over at me, she raised her eyebrows in alarm. Even though she was all the way across the bar, I could still see the rosy flush rising on her cheeks. She knew I was singing about her to all the world, and I knew she hated it. She loathed being the center of unwanted attention, but tonight I wasn't giving her a choice.

"She's quick to hear your pleas, or to go be the emcee. But there's something she won't tell you."

I smiled wickedly at her, watching as her face turned from her blushing rosy red to ghost white. She was wondering what I would reveal about her, and how bad it would be, but I was only teasing her. What I share in my songs is either common knowledge or harmless. On my honor, I never reveal anypony's true secret.

"She says, 'Key I don't believe this was meant to be,' as a frown came upon her face. 'But I know that I could be a superstar, if I could escape from this place.'"

I finished off, looking for Dawn's reaction. She'd instantly brightened, relieved to know that her real secrets were safe with me. Anypony who stuck around long enough on a slow day would hear about Dawn's dreams to hit it big in showbiz. Everypony knew she had talent, but dreams don't come true in a dive like this. We all entertained her fantasy that she would hit the big time, and she endured putting up with the more rowdy patrons. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

Moving back to the freeform transition, I could see that I had the crowd right where I wanted them. In any good barroom ballad, there exists a point where the audience doesn't know if they should sing along or burst into tears. Scanning the crowd, I knew that moment had arrived. The repetition of the melody was my way to let the crowd know that they'd have a minute to dry their eyes and order another round. We'd been down this road together before. Tug at those heart strings too hard and they get up and leave. The breaks give us both a little breathing room. During this transition, I scanned the floor, looking for my muse. I am but a bard, a humble teller of tales, and I found my next story over on the edge of the bar.

"Now Colgate's a dental novelist, who never had time in her life. And she's talkin' with Dashie, who's still bragging brashly, and probably will be for life."

I nodded my head toward the two mares, and gave a wink to the crowd, but Dash was so engrossed in her usual boasting that neither mare had noticed. Typical. Leave it to Dash to ruin a fine piece of poetry like that, I thought. Shrugging to the crowd, I hammed up a woeful expression at Rainbow's obliviousness. I sighed comically, and the crowd laughed, as I knew they would. They'd been waiting for the two mares reactions as eagerly as I had been; they felt cheated, too.

It's a tough thing. You put your heart and soul into this stuff, just to have somepony not even give you the time of day. That stings, but the show must go on.

I returned to my harmonica, transforming my sadness and disappointment into sound and watching as the crowd followed suit. I've been around this particular block a few times, and I learned long ago that when things don't work on stage, you gotta move on quickly or the audience loses that special feeling; things can get tense, and you end up dodging pint glasses. Some nights, the crowd can get downright ugly, and I've had my share of bad reactions before. And speaking of bad reactions, I think I see one right now...

"And Ballad is practicing politics, while the workercolts keep talking shop."

Ballad had just arrived at the workercolt's table with a heavy tray full of fresh beers. Already five pints deep, the largest and ugliest of them took a chance and slapped her across the flank. Without changing her expression in the slightest, Ballad dumped his pint on his head as the crowd erupted into laughter around them.

"Yes, they're sharing lives filled with loneliness, and life keeps on rolling nonstop."

It's rare that something noteworthy happens and I'm able to sing about it right on the spot, but that's what made this moment so special. Like most of the blue collars in here, that meathead looked like he could use a shower, so I didn't feel too bad for him. Ballad knows getting hit on comes with the job, but stuff like that is crossing the line.

As I waited for the bar to settle down again, I improvised a little. Just some piano, no vocals, no harmonica, just the keys and me. I closed my eyes as I leaned over the keys, making those ebonies and ivories dance for me like marionettes. I was their master, and I was in my element. Those rare little moments of unrestrained self-expression are when I really feel alive. You see, I ran into some trouble years ago and had to hock the only thing I ever cared about: my baby grand. Now, inside this bar, this broken down upright is the only chance I get for redemption. So, selfishly, I took a few moments and just played for myself while the crowd ordered another round of slow death. The burdens on my soul seem a little lighter during those ephemeral moments, and dragging myself out of them to reconnect with the audience gets harder every time.

Sighing, I forced a roguish smile and launched back into what they all came to hear. I lead straight into the chorus once more, and most of the patrons boisterously joined in. Their slurred cacophony mostly drowned out my piano, but it didn't matter at that point. They knew where the song was going. Swaying in their chairs, they sloshed alcohol onto each other as they thrust their glasses upward, toasting the music that mirrored their sad souls.

"Play us your tune, you're the Piano Mule. Play us your tune tonight. For we've all come to share in the revelry, and you've got us feelin' alright."

Returning to the harmonica, I searched for my final subject of the night, and for once, Lady Luck was on my side. Right on cue, my fool of the moment pushed through the grimy door of the back room and made his way behind the bar . Oh, I would be getting a tongue lashing for this later, but it would be worth it.

"The bar is packed on this Saturday, and Fou, he shoots me a grin. He knows I'm the reason they've gathered, you see. Not for his tonics and gins."

I winked at the crowd and shot Fou a cocky grin, as he grimaced and shook his head. He'd never really called me out before, but I was always careful when I put him in the spotlight. Fou hasn't smiled a day since his wife and foal died, and he usually can't take a joke. Over time, we've developed this relationship; I make jokes at his expense that aren't too bad, and he tries to develop a sense of humor. It... hasn't really worked out so far.

We were rapidly approaching the end, so I leaned into the piano and began building toward the crescendo. I slammed my hooves into the keys, steadily increasing the volume and urgency of the music as I went into the final verses. I always put my all into the song's finale, and tonight would be no different.

"And the piano sounds like a manticore! And I suppose that I've fallen from grace! They drink in the bar and put bits in my jar. And say, 'Key, you're too good for this place!'"

Letting the emotion hang in the air, I returned to my improvised words, singing them softly.

"Oh la, la la, di de da. La la, di de daaa, da dum."

For the final time, I arched over the piano's stained, worn keys and pounded with all my might, driving away, at least temporarily, all the hurt and the trouble that we'd all brought with us that night. Anyone coherent enough to speak joined me in singing.

"Play us your tune, you're the Piano Mule. Play us your tune tonight. For we've all come to share in the revelry, and you've got us feelin' alright."

I returned to my harmonica for the song's coda. Winding the tune down, I looked out to see tears in the eyes of more than a few of those ponies. The song was their lover. They depended on her each night, but they could never be completely sure if she would be back tomorrow to ease the pain again. I continued slowing the tempo until it finally dropped off into nothingness; a peaceful end to the melody that held their hearts. It's the song of our lives, and of our community. It is the face of every sad-eyed customer in front of me, and it is the bar itself. For the bar has taken on a life of its own, and makes its own stories and songs. I'm merely its voice.

The crowd erupted in cheers, clapping and banging their glasses on the tables so hard that Fou had to yell at them to settle down. This song had become their ever-changing anthem. It was a part of the place, and no night was complete without the song they had come to know and love. The song teased them. It made them laugh, and it made them cry. The song loved them. The song WAS them.

The anthem complete, I moved on to the more mundane standards that everypony plays in dives like this, taking a few drunkards' requests here and there. Looking into their sad, bleary eyes, we both knew what they really wanted to hear me sing again, and we both knew it wasn't going to happen. It's a medication and an addiction, all in one tidy package, and we all knew it would be bringing us back together tomorrow.

Author's Note

And so ends (what I think is) a somewhat unique idea that I tried to pull off.

Huge thanks to xjuggernaughtx, my amazing prereader and editor. I don't think this story would have been possible to make in a presentable form without his help.

For more information about this story, the thought process behind it, some changes that were made, and so on, click HERE to go to a blog post explaining all about it.