Darkside of the Moon

The Scrap yard was boring. Mind numbingly, beat your head into the wall boring.

Stormwall just lazed about the place, sprawling out on pillows, tables, the counter, just about any flat surface she could find, seemingly more and more cat-like as the moments passed; she even seemed to melt into a pegasus-shaped puddle of goo in the heat, much like most cats I had seen tended to.

Thorn on the other hand, decided to read. This would have possibly been interesting if it wasn't for the fact that I could not, for the life of me, read it and our minds weren't mingling enough for me to just listen to him reading to himself.

Further compounded by the fact I was still on a fucking guided tour.

The worst part had been the washroom break. I never wanted to have someone else use the facilities for me ever, ever again.

In any case, I was staring at the words on the page uncomprehendingly as Thorns eyes ran over them. We had made an attempt at teaching me some of the language, but between the two of us, no progress was made. Memories of being terrible at languages as a whole filled my mind, and quite possibly helped cement that outcome.

After the initial tour, it had more or less come down to "It is boiling outside, lets laze about the place" and the time spent had turned into a mindless blur, painfully dull.

Also, did I mention the temperature was stupid? All of the heat much, much more uncomfortable than anything back on earth (counting the canyon), and Thorn was wearing a fur coat. The least roasting parts of him were the numerous scars tracing over his rear half, the jagged interruptions in the fuzzy heat container helping manage the deserts blistering day.

Apparently my grumbling was getting to him.

'I'm beginning to think that I should let her punch me again.'

I scowled at his mental self, my half of the dreamscape clashing with his for a second, jagged colours gnashing teeth as I grumbled a less then understandable retort, then sighed, black hooves to my face. They smelt like licorice, ozone and metal. 'I'm beginning to wonder if that'd be easier...'

He chuckled outwardly, though I wasn't sure if it was from me or the book he was reading.

I pressed on. 'I'm stuck here, I can't do anything, this is just stupid...'

'I know dude. This is the millionth time you've whined about it though,' He frowned, glancing over at Stormwall. 'As much as she'd hate it, I'd let you run the show a- ' The rest of his words faded into the background as my mind snapped front and center.

Stormwall was facing a window, sprawled across a trio of pillows, blue fur glimmering in the sun. The air was dusty, but otherwise clear, my eyes picking out the specs as they floated in-front of my face. My ear twitched as something rattled off in the distance. I blinked.

Once again, I was in control.

Trying to act calm, be stealthy and avoid a repeat of the last time, I got to our hooves slowly. Thorn was strangely muted as I trotted across the floor, opened the door with a hoof and merrily clip-clopped down the stairs.

I could move! I felt like singing, dancing, jumping up and down. I probably could do all of those things; as I had figured earlier, my motor control was near perfect, though I stumbled once or twice from misjudging how long his legs where. That didn't matter as I finally could damn well take a look at things!

I took to the kitchen, head swinging about like it was on a swivel.

The massive wood-burner stove dominated the one side, the oven large enough to prepare meals for a large family, white ceramic finish chipped and worn. It was topped with a griddle affixed between the two banks of cast plates, and the slightly banged up back-splash. From the looks of things it was something they had salvaged, and glancing about, it seemed that was the case throughout.

The cupboards looked like they'd been taken from a ships galley, hinging at the top and spring-loaded with good latches. The counter was actually a few ceramic shelves from other stoves (Some even had logos on the front face) and the sink looked vaguely like a boiler that had been cut in half: there where signs of other connections having been patched over on the sidewalls.

The fridge was a pedestrian affair, old, bulky and steel faced, rust popping up along the bottom seam, blistering the white paint. Overhead a duo of light-bulbs spread light into the far corners.

What really caught the eye was the wooden table - while it looked plain on a first glance, a closer look found myself looking at a sign for a pub; from the size of it, a very prosperous one.

I was impressed. It was a form of recycling I'd have loved to have seen more of on Earth. I recalled the amount of waste created, and how much of that waste could have actually been usable.

'I take it you like it?'

Thorns voice in my head almost made me jump right out of his skin. His existence had slipped my mind, and I fumbled my thoughts for a moment before recovering and replying. 'Yeah. The way all of this is reused is just... Amazing.'

He internally grinned, silently letting me wander about their home, letting myself into the garage portion. I wandered along the rows of wagons, inspecting small trinkets here and there - A buckle, a bag, a set of square framed sun-glasses (far to small to actually cover anyponies eyes I noticed - Must be for show or something.) I found myself standing over some instruments. Most of them where brass - Dull trumpets, a patina'd tuba, the age showing on the worn metal. There was a ragged looking tom drum, a snare missing  a large bit of itself, and what looked like a cracked crash cymbal.

Never the less, a broken case in the corner caught my eye.

It was simple. Normal even, just a black case, much like the other two in my Bus. A large crack ran through the black finish of the wood (uncovered wood, I noticed with some interest,) and ran to the steel grey hardware. Frowning, I reached out to open the case.

'Don't bother - It's jammed shut.' I tried anyways - It was.

I lowered our hoof, disappointed, slowly looking over the other objects of interest - grey vinyl on a case for an upright bass, fake snakeskin over what seemed to be a coffin case. This led into amplifiers.

I spied the normal heavy set toggles and jeweled indicators, the input looked similar, and it had a good set of controls. Inside the few cabinets; Ten inch drivers, a monster bass driver, the speaker cone wide and black as night backed by a thick magnet, some word spun across a red hourglass, the black monolith of a cabinet hosing it lacking any branding of its own. Frowning in thought, I pulled an amp forwards. Tubes gleamed back, glass bulbs reflecting the light.

It felt not so much different from Earth right now - looking through an old storage lot, scavenging anything and everything, making something wonderful of it, examining each and every lost treasure - The amps made me feel like a little bit of sanity had crept here with me as familiar designs and parallels sprung up, and the records and other small trinkets of everyday life helped it along.

There where still differences of course, but that wasn't as important as staying calm, something that was difficult given the current situation, and a fight I felt I was slowly losing - like a man drowning, I could only keep my head up for so long.

I wandered my way through the area, seeing what else was in store - There where in-fact, six cannons hiding behind the one wagon, the steel barrels oiled and looking like they where maintained. Behind them where a few other weapons, mostly spears, a few swords, all sticking out of a barrel. Grinning to myself, I keep looking.

That's when I found another mirror.

I stood there, looking over my-our-self. The first thing that stuck me was the loss of colour - Just the barest tint of green caught the light. The second was that it looked like our hooves had been dipped in ink, the furthest extremities perfectly black, moving up to the greenish grey of our core and head. His mane took on a much more wild look with me at the helm - apparently quite a few of my features carried over, and his hair seemed more curly then jagged.

Then I looked at our eyes. All feeling of loss of colour scattered like dust in the wind. They may have been slightly cold looking, the draconic slits peering back at me, but a brilliant mix of green and coppery orange  dominated our face.

So, I did what any reasonable person would do - I posed in front of the mirror and acted like a total knob to distract myself.

'What are you doing?' Thorn was blinking as I reared up, trying my hardest (and utterly failing) to look dramatically awesome. I almost fell over in shock as I, once again, had forgotten I had a passenger.

"Gah!" I wish I could say that it was a manly exclamation. Pretending that it had never happened, I continued. "I've, ah, never really seen myself like this," The specter of an earth pony raised an eyebrow. "... I'm not allowed to have fun?"

'You're friggin' crazy.'

I smirked, hiding behind a mask of humor. "Crazy like a coconut."

For some reason, he neglected to respond.

Not five minutes later had me back in my bus. Without even thinking I manipulated the front door open, grabbed the keys in hoof and unlocked and rolled open the sliding door.

Wait a minute.

I blinked, looking down at my-our-Thorns hooves. Flat (If a bit ragged,) unshod, fetlocks a bit untamed, standard, everyday hooves. I picked up the keys. A soft blue glow grasped them, and my immediate response was the manliest yelp, promptly dropping them with a clatter, despite having dealt with this phenomenon at least, what twice already?

Thorn chuckled, earning him yet another grimace from my alien face. Life was sending me nothing but more questions and curve balls it seemed.

Deciding against attempting to reason with the world, I turned to the interior. The blue amp stood on the back wall, ready to go, the inverter hard wired into the bus as it stood. The plain black case beckoned to me. I gently propped the case up against the back seat, and, like one would carefully unwrap a gift from the gods, pulled the brass latches open. With anxious hooves I pulled the guitar free of it's prison.

The old archtop caught the sun, tobacco burst top kept in good repair, the ebony fretboard a glistening dark bar, broken only by the polished nickel frets and plain circle markers. Chrome hardware, the antique vibrato tailpiece, and a red pick-guard caught the eye on the well aged body, and a simple word stood upon it's blackened headstock - EKO.

I gently checked the tunings, that magical blur manipulating as well as fingers would, holding the strings down as I checked. New world or not, the guitar was holding fine, and each note rang out out of the carved f-holes pure and mellow as it ever did. That was fine, because unlike the guitar, my tuning was slipping.

I could feel Thorns mind, feel the ragged edge where our selves met, where mine had pushed his out. I was in a new world. I was fighting to remain calm, grasping onto anything and everything that seemed even somewhat familiar as an anchor, and so found myself back in my familiar Bus, holding the family relic that was that old Archtop in unfamiliar hooves, staring out at the world with eyes that seemed even colder then before.

Like an over tightened string, I was sharp and about to snap.

With hasty, almost clumsy motions, I plugged the guitar in, turned the amp on, Tubes humming to life as I found myself pushing the volume to the upper limits of it's settings - and then I played.

Blue magic wrapped over steel and bronze strings, the zebra of a winding screaming to the magnetic pickups even as the carved scroll of the f-holes poured forth noise, the old coils translating each and every gentle, almost hesitant, motion into sound, a veritable wall of emotion filled playing blocking out all else as It sang out to my soul and I replied with the next motion, the next verse and bar.

Gentle arpeggiations, the flowing rhythm of chords being torn apart and rearranged, gave way to the almost painfully sorrowful lead, the natural emptiness of the space around us seeming to swallow the sound even as it fought to fill it. I dug into the strings, enticing a light growl as the music built up; notes ringing and dying for the sake of music, leaving their mark on the world before being replaced by another.

There was motion.

Ignoring it, I washed into the lead, the old archtop crying out as we sang to the world, letting all the stress escape, letting everything just go.

For a moment, nothing hurt.

For a moment, the notes held, sang true.

For a beautiful moment, everything was right.

Then it returned to the beginning, the slow, soft arpeggiations of dieing chords. I softly led the music down to rest, and twisted the volume and power off with a blue-shrouded hoof before gently returning the guitar to rest itself, the case closing with barely a protest heard to my ringing ears.

I inhaled a breath I didn't know I had yet to take and just as quickly let it out before staggering back onto all four hooves (I had taken a seat to play, it seemed) and stumbling to the Buses open side door.

I stood there, on the threshold of my world and the vast, mostly unknown Equestria and stared towards the sun.

'What was that song?'

Thorns mind was a wash of colours, his inflection implying that he was impressed.

My reply was simple as I let myself pretend to be relaxed. "Something Legendary."

I stepped out of the Bus and back into Equestria.