Anarchy in the Equestrian Nation

The workers strained to lift the first part of the scaffolding for our stage lights, which was being held upright only by the magic of several unicorns.

"About two feet to the left... Ten inches to the right... Perfect! Good job guys, go take a break." I said, giving each worker a pat on the back. "We still have two days before the show, so take your time."

Turntable trotted up to me from the left, a smile on his face. "We might have two new performers on the set, just need your say-so. There's a local band called The Chiptones that wants to open the show, and Trottingham's Celestian Church has a band they'd like to send out."

"Yes and yes. Contact them both and tell them we'll need all the help we can get. And how's that collaboration group you were assembling?"

"It fell flat, but I can handle the set alone." he answered with a brisk, confident nod. "Though you might want to check the sound threshold on your speakers, I don't think the Mareshals will be enough to handle Bonfire."

"Okay, I'll have Six-String sound-check them to make sure they can handle the bass. How's Red feeling?"

"Well, to say he's happy would be the understatement of the day. He's exhilarated to say the least." Turntable replied.

"Get him out here real quick, we need to perform a sound check on his guitar and amp."

Turntable nodded and trotted back inside, discreetly snatching a banana-nut muffin from the plate on the table by the entrance as he did so and taking a large chomp. Red Tear practically bounced out a few moments later, his Telecaster slung around his neck and chest. "What was it you needed me for? Sound check?" he asked politely.

"Yeah. Hop up there and, I dunno, play a solo or something so that we can see if your guitar and amplifier are still in tip-top shape."

"No prob, Jack!" he answered, playing a high-pitched and powerful solo that sent chills up my spine with every note and chord, but ended with an angry and cacophonous jumble of notes.

"When did you write that?" I inquired once Red had gotten off the stage.

"A few years back, during a REALLY bad time in my life. It was three days after I'd attempted suicide, and I didn't want to cut again. So I stood on my second-floor balcony, plugged in the Strat, and let 'er rip to the night sky." he explained, a mixture of pride and sorrow in his voice. "That was a night I'd rather forget."

"Hey. Don't worry about it." I reaffirmed, and his melancholy expression gave way to a smile, slowly but surely. "That's the Red I like to see!" I said, giving him a short bro-hug. He trotted off to join his coltfriend over at the sound booth, where Turntable was checking measurements and such for the speakers. "Uh, OK. Next. Vagabond, are your drums good to go?"

She gave a series of taps, kicks, and crashes to affirm it. "Yeah, they're ready."

I set the checklist down on the bench I'd been seated at and hopped up to my mic. "Speaker check, left side." Six-String shut off the right speaker so I could test. A little fuzzy, but otherwise good. "Speaker check, right side." Vice versa, and the speaker was still in perfect shape. "OK, how's the threshold on the speakers, Turntable?"

"They'd burst under the second song on my setlist. We'll need to get my mom to send out a set of her club speakers."

"OK, call her and let her know. Did you get a hold of The Chiptones and that church band yet?" I asked.

"Yeah. The Chiptones are going to be showing up shortly to lend us some extra equipment, and the church band hasn't responded yet." he affirmed. "Hopefully they don't get too preachy."

"Amen to that." Six-String quipped sarcastically, eliciting a giggle from most of us.

"And where's Pitch-Perfect?" I inquired, concerned. "She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Did I miss something?" a familiar voice responded from behind me. I turned and lo and behold, there she was. She was dressed in her usual purple track jacket and jeans. "I had a little bit of a mane problem today, so that took longer than intended. Sorry I'm late."

"It's all right, I was just worried." I wrapped my marefriend in my forelegs and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek before returning to my duty. "OK, so the only problem we're having right now is Turntable's speakers, right?"

"That's not even an issue. My mom's coming down to see the concert anyway, so she'll bring the spares when she gets here." Turntable pointed out. "We're set to go, aside from the Chiptones and that church band."

"What about our stage lights?" Red queried. "We still haven't set those up."

"Dude, it'll get done. Trust me." I confirmed.

After a brief bit of practice to make sure everything was correctly calibrated and perfectly placed, we retired to the main room of the Muffin Factory, whiling away the hours with small talk and jokes.

------------------[Warning: This next bit contains some adult humor references.]-----------------

"Wait... If we use 'buck' as a synonym for... you know... then doesn't that make Applejack's job a LOT weirder?" Red Tear asked playfully. Six-String spit out the piece of apple muffin he was chewing and immediately pushed his plate off to the side.

"Thanks, Red." he remarked sourly.

"Sweet Apple Acres. We put ourselves into every bite!" Turntable wisecracked, leaving most of us in stitches and Six-String quite peeved. I still remember the gloomy and irritated expression he had, like someone had starched his bedsheets by mistake. "In all seriousness, though. Don't make jokes like that. There's a fine line between funny and offensive."

Red gestured to his face in a somewhat circular motion. "This is me. Not giving a damn about offensiveness."

I don't think I've ever lauged so much in my life as I had that night. But for all the guffaws, one doubt persistently pecked at my conscience.

What if we don't raise enough money to keep the Ravine from going bankrupt?