A pair of pegasi hovered in front of a backdrop of forests and fields of flowers across rolling hills, stretching off in the the distance. It was quite a nice backdrop, and had taken the background ponies most of a week to get it right.
The blue pegasus was energetically telling a story to the yellow-and-pink one. "So we banked around the last bend in the canyon, and she was, like zroom, and I was like, zroom, less than a second behind her, but the finish was only half a mile away. So then I did my Rolling Scissors!"
"Cut!" yelled a little purple dragon. The cameras stopped rolling. "Rainbow. Honey. What did I say about improvising?"
The sky-blue pegasus drooped her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Spike" she said so softly she could barely be heard. "I'm not trying to. I just get all these flying terms mixed up."
The other pegasus flapped over and hung in the air in front of Rainbow like an oversized, angry hummingbird. "Urgh! Scissors have two parts! So a rolling scissors takes two ponies! It's right in the name, Rainbow, how hard can it be to remember? And it's to slow down, not to speed up! It's, like, the first thing you learn in flight school."
"I missed the first week of flight school," Rainbow said apologetically. "Mr. Flopsy was sick."
"Please, darling, say what they want you to say so we can finish this and I can get out of this dreadful get-up," said an orange earth pony in a cowboy hat. "I just know my hair's going to set this way permanently if we have to stay in-character for another minute."
"Don't throw an axle, sugarcube," said a white unicorn with a deep-purple and heavily-curled mane. "A nice respectable ponytail ain't gonna hurt your hair. At least it don't itch like this here makeup that I hafta wear because some ponies like the stuff," she said, glaring at Applejack. She wrinkled her nose, then shook herself and bucked the air in discomfort.
"Girls, girls!" Pinky-Pie said. "We're all reasonable, grown-up ponies. I know that we can do a wonderful job here if we all pull together. Don't you agree, Twilight?"
"Eeyup," said Twilight.
"By Blueblood's blistering balls, I don't wanna hear it," Spike said. "You six bicker worse every week. You may be the Elements of Harmony out there, but on my set you are my actors! Do your acting here, leave the drama at home. Go to your damn spa and mud-wrestle each other if you have to. When you come here, get professional or get out. Don't think you can't be replaced. Remember what happened to Derpy. Places, everypony." He clapped his hands.
A large, bright-red earth pony with orange freckles and mane chose that moment to step forward. "If I may, Mr. Spike, point out that Rainbow's motivation in this scene is problematic because you omitted the earlier scene with Pinkie Pie that was meant to establish that Rainbow's bravado regarding the cupcake-eating contest was overcompensation for her inner doubts."
Spike looked away and glared around the set, everywhere and at everypony but Big Mac. "Why is there a writer on my set?" he demanded. "Will somepony please get this writer off my set? You," he said, pointing to the grip and his best pony. "Add 'pest removal' to your list of duties."
The grip and best pony looked at each other doubtfully. "Don't think the union would like that," the grip said. But Big Macintosh had already retreated hastily behind the lamps.
Rainbow flubbed her lines again on the next take, and somepony on the crew tripped over an extension cord on the third. It was half an hour before they had a decent take and could move on to the next scene.
"Now where the hell is Celestia?" Spike said.
"Uh... Diablo 3," said Spike's assistant, an older light-brown mare with a gray mane and horn-rimmed glasses.
"You have gotta be kidding me. She just finished Skyrim last week. Doesn't her contract say we can make her go to video-game rehab between episodes?"
"Um, yes... with the approval of the local representative of the crown, which would be... her."
"Oh, Luna rape me with her horn. Remind me to fire my lawyer. Go pull the plug on her game and get her over here."
"But... but she's, you know, the Goddess."
"Tell the Goddess to get her plot over here if she still wants to be my actress," Spike said.
"You got bigger problems, boss," the gaffer said, stepping forward. "Moneybags is here."
"Luna's love-juice!" Spike said. "Get Celestia while I deal with this."
He walked over to the trailer that said "DIRECTOR'S DEN" on the door and went inside, getting a blast of cold air. The producer liked the temperature set at 60, Spike preferred it at 90; so they always compromised on 60. The producer was waiting in Spike's recliner, hunched over like a vulture because he was about twice as tall as the dwarf dragon, wearing the same dark glasses he always wore even though the trailer had no overhead lights.
"Mr. Cord," Spike said. "Great to see you. So glad you could spare the time."
"Anything for you, Spike," the producer said suavely. "So how are things on set?"
"Wonderful, marvelous, the girls are great," Spike said. "This episode is gonna be the best yet, I tell ya."
"Really? I thought I heard a little arguing. We wouldn't want any discord between the Elements of Harmony, now, would we? Quite a national security risk, that would be."
"They're just spirited," Spike said. "That's a good thing, in a pony or an actor. Although.... since you mention it, there may be a tiny problem with the casting."
Mr. Cord's outrageously-long, mismatched eyebrows rose in alarm. "Oh, dear. That is a problem. What fool chose to get them to play themselves? Wait, I remember - I did!"
"Yeah, well, it's just that the changes you insisted on, kind of swapped their characters around a little, if you get my drift. If they could act more like themselves instead of like each other, I think things would go a lot more smoothly."
Mr. Cord shook his vertiginously-long neck. "Now, now, Spike. We've been all over that. Fluttershy is too pretty to be a tomfilly, Applejack is too plain for her vanity, and nopony will ever take a bright-pink pony seriously as an intellectual. That's why I'm a producer - I understand these things. Audience surveys, focus groups, A/B testing! Anyway, we're already filming the third season. We can't change the characters now. The audience would go positively berserk!" He clapped his - hands? Claws? - together and cackled. "However. We could replace them with different actors. Oh, yes, that's a good idea, Spike. I'll make some calls." He reached for Spike's phone.
"No - no, wait! The girls are great!" Spike said. "You'd be messing with the - whattya call it - the gestalt. The holistic... The qi. Whatever. What I mean is, Mr. Cord, you got a great set of mares here, the best."
"Well," Mr. Cord said doubtfully, "if you say so. You are the director. I just don't want to put you under any stress, dealing with sub-par actors. Oh, and by the by, we need this episode in the can on Wednesday instead of Saturday."
"WEDNESDAY?" Spike burst out. "We can't... we'd have to film all night! Have you heard of a thing called post-production?"
"Yes, I believe it's a thing where you fix the mistakes caused by inferior actors and directors. But that shouldn't be a problem, should it, Spike? I hope not. Because I absolutely, positively, need. It. By. Wednesday." He stood up, cutting off Spike's retort. "I'm so glad we could have this little conversation."
Spike grunted under his breath, trying to hold back the flames as he watched the producer walk away with his odd, lopsided gait. He stomped back to the set, which was still short one Celestia.
"Bastard wants the final cut on Wednesday," he told his assistant. "I swear, you'd think he was trying to drive us all stark raving mad." He stepped into the center of the set, raised his arms over his head to make the unpleasant announcement, belched flames, and waited for the talking to stop.
