Canterlot city buzzed and thrived to the beat of thousands of hooffalls over head. Hundreds upon hundreds of well dressed ponies darted and trotted above us, never once stopping to think of the world just beneath their hooves.
The real world.
My world.
See most ponies think it's all parties and music- the D.J. business. You play some filthy songs, the crowd dances, you get booked, wash, rinse, repeat. But it isn't all that simple. There's a trick to it, you know? A game you have to know how to play it if you want to stay on top. The ugly truth of the matter is that if you want to rise on the charts, you have to climb over everypony else. Me? I'm a D.J. My name is Mixtape. I'm a bit on the small side for a unicorn, bright red and black mane, bright white coat, and more attitude than the Wonderbolts after a bender. My manager, Red Velvet, gave me a little club to over look while she does business in Ponyland. A dirty little fixer upper called "The Basement." It's wonderful. Its filled to the brim every night with colts and fillies, rebelling against mommy and daddy. Oh yeah, here in Canterlot? Swanky place like this? They hate me here. If they had to describe me in one word, it would be 'obnoxious' and my music sounds like two fax machines doing the nasty. I'm not the sort of riff raff that belongs in their stuffy little perfectly manicured village. I'm a nasty unicorn, that has nasty habits, and I pick fights, I drink too much, and spit the kind of filth that would make a sailor blush.
All in all, my albums sell like crazy.
See, I piss off parents and that makes me a star. The colts eat it up. The fillies want to be like me. Really simple, says Red; The more the parents don't want them to listen to me- the more they're gonna do it. I'm the worst kind of popular- I'm notorious.
Red says it's good for business. Play up the bad girl image, you know; the rebel without a cause? I'm the unicorn that makes the other unicorns look bad. Class is just a word with two extra letters to describe me, and my spiked dog collar, crimson mane and wild attitude make me the perfect fit for this town's precious, pristine youngsters. And night after night after night- they fill The Basement, and as much as I hate this town- I love it down there. This place? This is my world
See, to me, when we're in the Basement? There are no Pegasi, Unicorns, or Earth Ponies. Everypony and anypony; when they step through those doors, all of them blur into one. The geeks, the freaks, the scientists and socialites. The doctors and dentists, and the shakers and the takers! All of them are forced into silence by the music, and the only language left is motion. This world; where the sky is orange, until its pushed to purple and bled to blue and rushed to red, and back again. Our currency are tiny tablets of sensation, and one mixed drink can buy a life time of experiences. This world is our world, this realm of endless thunder; where we pray long and hard to over worked stereo equipment, and seek solace in sound.
This world.
Our world.
My world.
And no barrier of bed, or call of daybreak could ever rob us from this place! I and my army of insatiable insomniacs waged war upon the day; twisting about in a twisted tango, of damnable debauchery. We will not let the night burn away to 'sisters' bright and sunny day! NO! This is our place, our world, where the pain doesn't matter and the tears are drowned in darkness and sin. There is nothing but the moment, and yesterday is a fleeting figment of a fading dream.
Luna, it was beautiful!
There upon my electric throne I sit, gazing over my subjects, and throwing my hooves into the air to score an approving mimicry of those beneath me. I was their queen and they my subjects; my saviors of sound, my connoisseurs of cacophony in this kingdom where there was no sound sweeter than the sound of life, and I was the bringer of the beats!!
Me.
Their ruler.
Their queen.
Their Goddess!
DJ Mixtape.
Until she happened.
Oy yeah. You know her. Everypony knows her. Bright white coat. Spikey blue and navy mane. Those signature sunglasses hiding ruby colored eyes. Waltzing in, all nonchalant, with her pretty little grey earth pony pet. She sickens me. Of all the places, of all the times, of all the clubs in Equestria-
She had to walk into mine. Vinyl Scratch. No. No it's cool. It's fine. Everything will be fine. Pretend you don't see them, don't say a word, just keep playing normally. No big deal, don't raise a fuss. She probably just wants to party, like everypony else here. After all, Everypony, and anypony is nopony at all down here. It's fine. We're all fine.
Of course, Vinyl Scratch doesn't just 'walk' into a club. No. It's not even an event. When she comes in, she's a whole damned PROCEDURE. Ponies surrounded her, dancing around, bouncing, cackling and cheering. What a loser. There was a bottle of water under my deck, and next to that? A bottle of 'cider'. I was gonna celebrate after I finished my set and dropped the house on top of itself, but now... well now just a single shot wouldn't hurt, right? No, just for nerves. Need something to help me relax. Everything was fine until SHE showed up! Everything was just fine!
I swallow it before I even realize the bottle is against my lips. I hate her, being in my club. Being here, talking, chatting, laughing. Are they pointing at me? No. Don't pay any attention. Just play your music. End your set. Drop some brutal beats and let the world know who's the best of the best.
Another shot.
Don't look at them. Don't even acknowledge them. Thats right. Little miss Vinyl isn't even worth your time. She's not worth my time. Not now, not while I'm up here, not while I'm in control, not while it's my club.
Another shot.
Just breathe. It's ok. Finish your set. It's ok. Last song. What are they doing? What's going on? Why are they circling her? Why is the crowd forming a ring around Vinyl Scratch? I can't hear what they're saying, not up on the stage, where the world is a hurricane of sound. But they're pointing at her. They're chanting. I can tell because of the way the hooves stomp against the floor.
Another shot.
Are they looking at me? The crowd is looking at me. Vinyl is coming this way? This is impossible. Whats happening?! She's coming up with her beautiful blue spikey mane. Slender white hips. Glittering ruby eyes. Shes standing next to me. I give her a pissed off, puzzled look. She leans in, her lips brushing against my ears. She practically has to scream to make her voice a whisper. I shudder.
"They want us to have a battle."
Another shot. ...a doubl- triple. Good and buzzed, now. I glare at her.
I have to admit, Vinyl Scratch makes me nervous. Doubly so, now that she's on my stage in my club, during my set. Don't let the attitude and the care free life style fool you. Vinyl is mean. She knows the rules of the game, and like I said- there aren't enough gigs to go around. The only way to get to the top of the charts is by climbing over the bodies of other ponies. Vinyl is on top for a reason, and I'm sick of the view in second place. If I lose a battle in my own club, my reputation will be shot. Ripped to shreds and I become a sadistic statistic to her- another body she's climbed over.
But I made it up here too, and now we're fighting for space. My electronic trance inspired dance rocks the grunge off the house. It's a parade of dark step, and hard step, dub step and drum step. A standing stampede of life, roaring in front of me like waves in the ocean. They want Scratch and I to have a battle? That's just fine with me. See, Scratch and me? We've got a history. Last year in Los Pegasus, she won the championship at the DJ tournament they had going. Me? After Neon Lights, and Treblestep, I scored third place. Year before that, I scored second, and year before that, second again. Always right behind that bouncy black double clef. I hate it. Media makes us out to be rivals, and I'm ok with that. Since I kind of hate her. A lot. The crowds love all her music but I'm the better DJ. I know I'm the better DJ. Vinyl is just a poser. For her it's all about the money, and not the music. She's a sell out, but shes got that stage presence you know? When she gets on stage, she just shines. I mean, I've got that bad girl personality and the media eats it up but that's also my downfall. Vinyl knows I can't back down from a challenge. Not the punk girl with nothing to lose and something to prove. She's got me cornered -forcing my hoof. She knows exactly what she's doing and she's loving every second of it. Crush me in my own club, drive her sales through the roof and mine into the dirt. Clever girl. But she made a fatal flaw in coming to this club. Because this club?
This is my club.
This is my life.
This is my world.
Here, I am a goddess and the party doesn't stop until I say it does.
So let Vinyl try to stop me.
So let Vinyl hope, to stop me.
So let Vinyl bring the beat.
Author's Note
Soooo This is a story about a character of mine, known as "Mixtape" She's like...honestly, an evil version of Vinyl Scratch. Or something like that. She's got her own agenda, and her own way of going about things.
Really, I wanted to try my hoof at telling a story, that takes a well liked and known character, such as 'Vinyl Scratch' and making her the antagonist from the view of the 'protagonist' That is to say, Mixtape does not like Vinyl Scratch, and sees her as an enemy- and I want to show how two drastically different points of view can share the same world.
You may have seen this before. It had other parts attached to it and a long standing story I wasn't terribly proud of. I like this much better, as a single stand alone. I rewrote some sections, and add some stuff that I think fits better- with more hints of poetry too!
