The Fishbowl

Chapters

1. Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest
2. One Button
3. Unwelcome Answers
4. The Pinkie Pie Society
5. Guitar Centred
6. On The Horizon
7. Dreams of Vinyl
8. Underworld
9. Watching the Sunrise
10. Frustrations
11. The Taming of the Queen
12. Pink Haze
13. The Edge of the Knife
14. A Door Full of Sky
15. Not Enough Pinkie Pies
16. The Grand Gathering Gala
17. Interview With a Goddess
18. Tartarus Rock
19. Descent
20. Inferno
21. Reflections
22. To Be Or Not To Be
Epilogue: Tartarus Girls

1. Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest

Vinyl Scratch rested her hand on the horizon. It felt rough to the touch, like terracotta. Looking through and beyond it, the landscape appeared to continue on in three dimensions, though much simpler than the real landscape on this side. Plants, dunes and even wildlife were repeated in regular patterns, as if the rolling hills around Canterlot were mass-produced.

She felt the warmth of the sun and a pleasant breeze. Glancing up at the sky, she wondered just how much of it was real. Where did reality end and illusion begin?

As a young girl, Vinyl had a doll. It was a ragged thing, with round stumps for hands and feet, and buttons for eyes, but Vinyl loved him anyway. She carried him everywhere, talked to him, played with him. She called him Smarty Pants.

Later, of course, she forgot about him and moved on with life.

Until a few years later, when visiting her friend’s house, she found a doll in the cupboard, tucked behind piles of music books and boxes of toys. It had round stumps for hands and feet, and buttons for eyes.

“Hey, Tavi. Why do you have my doll?”

Octavia poked her head round the door. “Hmm? Oh, you found Smarty Pants. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Vinyl frowned. “Sure, but what’s he doing here? Last I saw he was in my attic.”

“What would my old doll be doing in your attic?”

She looked closer at it. The two eye buttons were different colours, the thread was pulling out of the left armpit, and there was a smudge of peanut butter grease on the right foot. It was exactly as she remembered it. “Tavi, this is totally my doll.”

“What are you talking about, Vinyl? I’ve had that doll since I was six.”

“And I’ve had Smarty Pants since I was four.”

“Are you...? Ugh. Why do you have to get so competitive over there weirdest things? Now come on, we have eight tubs of ice cream to get rid of before my mum gets home.”

“Yo, Trix. Can I ask you a question?”

The canteen was just starting to get busy with students collecting lunch, chatting, playing the daily game of who sits with who. Vinyl slid her tray down and hopped onto the seat opposite Trixie’s.

“Certainly you may ask the Great and Pow—”

“Yeah yeah. So, you had toys when you were little, right?”

“Of course I did.”

“Ever have any dolls?” asked Vinyl.

“Er, yes,” replied Trixie, unsure where this was going.

“Do you remember any of their names?”

“Um.” Trixie took a moment to think. “If I remember correctly, there was one called Smarty Pants, one called Philomena, one called Lemon...”

Rainbow Dash, walking past their table with a tray, cut in with “No way, you too?”

“The great and powerful Trixie begs your pardon?”

“Eh, you can have it!” she called out, walking off. Ugh, Rainbow was intolerable sometimes.

Behind her big coloured glasses, Vinyl’s eyes were sharp. “Tell me about Smarty Pants.”

“Um. She was a ragged old doll, made of cloth. Full of dry beans, I think. She had buttons for eyes.”

“She? Not he?”

“Definitely a girl, yes,” Trixie replied, still confused.

“Do you still have her?”

“Er, sorry, I think she may have been lost somewhere during the divorce.”

Three weeks after that, Vinyl was working till in her uncle’s music shop when he walked in.

She didn’t recognise him until he came to the till to buy a depressingly mainstream smooth jazz compilation and a disk of Gregorian chant. Vinyl spied a fancy bottle of wine and a pack of condoms in his bag, making it clear what his priorities for the night were. He had a big embarrassed grin. Luckily, Vinyl’s shades disguised her eyes so he didn’t notice her attention.

But it was him. Her ragged old doll, Smarty Pants. Vinyl couldn’t explain why she was so sure. It wasn’t like he was made of cloth and beans, though he did manage to give that impression with the baggy coat, nor were his mismatched eyes made of buttons under those big round glasses he wore. But it was totally him, in every way.

“Mr S. Pants,” it said on the front of his credit card. Vinyl’s hands were shaking by the time she handed the card back with a receipt.

As he was leaving the shop, she cast an eye at the bottom of his trousers. He had a familiar stain on the right trouser leg, just above his shoe.

Vinyl kept a safe distance. She avoided any of the stupid things you might do to draw attention to yourself when following somebody, such as hiding behind things, disguising your face, or stopping when the person you’re following stopped. She took her brightly coloured glasses off though, since those tend to stand out.

Smarty Pants stopped at a small fountain in one of Canterlot’s many picturesque little squares, all tiles and old bricks. This one also had boxes of flowers and an arched trellis with vines, making it a romantic place to meet. The sun was setting, bathing the square in lovely warm colours. Vinyl watched through an archway, then slipped into a cozy little wedding shop and browsed the knick knacks by the window, keeping an eye on the window in case he left.

He looked nervous, checking his watch with increasing regularity until his date turned up. It was a girl Vinyl didn’t recognise, with pink skin and green hair, wearing a Crystal Prep uniform. Vinyl was slightly surprised that the girl looked to be about her own age, clearly a few years younger than this version of Smarty Pants, and definitely too young for wine and condoms (to say nothing of Gregorian chant). She was ready to chalk it up as a mistake, but the sultry kiss the couple shared left little doubt.

“Are you having fun playing the spy?” asked a whisper in her ear.

Vinyl jumped back, almost falling into the woman who now stood behind her. She caught Vinyl and set her upright.

“I– I’m sorry, er, what?”

“Looks to me like you’ve taken quite an interest in Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest over there,” said the woman with a grin. She was tall and lean, with black skin, turquoise hair and strikingly big green eyes. She had a strangely deep voice, soothing like melted chocolate.

“Not at all. I was just...”

“Just thinking of buying a bow tie and cufflinks?” the shopkeeper asked sarcastically. “Well, the style might suit you, but I’d recommend something more flamboyant.”

Vinyl looked for the first time at what she’d been browsing, realising she was caught. “Please don’t tell them,” she pleaded.

“Tell who?”

Vinyl indicated the couple who were now walking arm-in-arm down a twisty alleyway filled with charming little shops. “I mean, you clearly know them...”

“I know everypony in this town,” said the black woman dismissively. Every... pony? What did that mean? “I know you, Vinyl Scratch. I know your friend Octavia. I know the Rainbooms and Celestia and Luna. But why would I bother telling any of them anything? They’re not even real,” she said with a yawn.

They're not even... what?

2. One Button

2. One button

Shaken by her encounter, Vinyl staggered quickly out into the empty square. Smarty Pants and the girl, Lemon Zest, had gone already, and she’d lost her chance to follow them. She quietly hoped they weren’t doing anything too reprehensible.

As she hurried away, she checked the sign over the door: ‘Chryssi’s Wedding Supplies,’ it said. She made a note of where it was.

She stubbed her toe, banged her head on a beam, coughed on the dusty cobwebs. Her foot slipped one rung down the ladder, jarring her hip against the side of the hatch. In trying to steady herself, she almost grabbed hold of the hot light bulb. She had to admit, finding stuff in this attic was not going well.

“What are you doing up there, sweetie?” called her mother from the landing.

“Trying to find my old doll,” she replied. She lifted another hefty cardboard box to one side and opened the one underneath it. “Aha!” It had a bunch of her old clothes, drawings, toys, and two dolls. She pulled out familiar old Smarty Pants, complete with his mismatched eyes and the peanut butter stain. She smiled quietly at some of the memories. She put him down next to the hatch, and turned to close the box. Then she caught sight of the other doll, nestled among the railway segments, colourful ponies, lost chess pieces and other remnants of her childhood.

She had brighter colours than Smarty, pink with green hair and golden eyes sewn out of felt. She was filled with something softer, a cushion-like material. She was wearing a dark purple and red tartan skirt, a matching shirt, and a pair of headphones.

Vinyl paused as some of the memories trickled back to her. Her uncle had given her this doll, and Vinyl had borrowed some of her uncle’s big headphones so she could put them on to try and look just like her. She remembered the doll’s name as well, or at least the name her uncle had called her: Lemon Zest.

“Yes, you’re right. Lemon Zest, that was her name,” said Trixie, frowning. “Um... how did you know? The great and powerful Trixie certainly never told anyone at this school about her dolls.”

Vinyl leaned in across the desk conspiratorially. “Something weird is going on. Like, with our memory.”

“What do you mean?” Trixie looked unnerved.

Vinyl pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her pocket and slid it across the desk, keeping one hand over it. “Look, tell me how Smarty Pants ended up with odd eyes.”

“Oh, that’s easy. It was when on holiday when I was little,” said Trixie.

“Where did you go?” asked Vinyl. To Horseshoe Bay, she thought.

“We went to Horseshoe Bay that year.” I brought Smarty Pants. I couldn’t bear to be parted from him. “Of course I took Smarty Pants along. We were inseparable back then.”

“Where did he lose a button?” On the beach.

“I suppose it was foolish of me, but I took him to the beach with me. That’s where one of his eyes must have got lost. My mother found a replacement button that was just like it, only a different colour.”

“Where’d she get it from?” Mom took a button from one of her own blouses.

“I think it came from a dress of hers. Or was it a shirt?”

Vinyl unfolded the piece of paper in front of her, revealing almost the same story that Trixie had just told her.

Trixie picked it up in both hands as she read. “I... I don’t understand. I never told you any of this before... did I?”

“Nope. This is all mine.” She jabbed a finger at the paper. “My own memories of having a doll named Smarty Pants.” Trixie just stared at her, growing confusion and worry on her face. “Come find me and Tavi at lunch. I’ll show you.”

Vinyl could barely listen in class all morning. The teacher’s voice faded into a blur. She could hear a cello being played at the other end of the school – unless she imagined it.

At lunch she grabbed her bag, hurried to the cafeteria, claimed a table and waited there nervously. She forced herself to breath calmly as she. She was the cool one. She was DJ Pon-3. She was unflappable.

By the time Octavia appeared she was back to her standard self and ready for this. “Hey, Tavi. You brought it, like you said?”

“I did bring her with me, Vinyl, but I’m really not sure why you’d want to see her again. What’s gotten into you lately?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. I promise. You mind if Trixie joins us?” She waved at the blue girl who was scanning the room.

“Oh, if she must,” muttered Octavia.

Trixie put her lunch tray down next to Octavia, still looking unhappy. “Vinyl, if this is all a joke or something I’m going to be really annoyed,” she warned.

“No joke, I promise. I’m just going to ask Tavi the same question I asked you this morning.”

“What question?” asked Octavia.

“Tell me how your doll ended up with mismatched eyes.”

Octavia sighed. “Very well. Um, let’s see.” She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “We were on holiday. This was when I was... six? Seven? And I took Smarty Pants with me.”

“Where’d you go?” asked Vinyl.

“Horseshoe Bay. They have beautiful white beaches there, and some fascinating ruins from classical times. Anyway, I think one of her eyes fell out on the beach somewhere. I was terribly upset about it. So later on, my mother replaced it with a button that was nearly a match.”

“Where’d she get the button from?”

“From her summer dress, I think. It was very sweet of her, and I loved the doll even more after that.”

Vinyl was nodding along seriously. Trixie just sat there through the story, jaw falling open.

“What is it?” asked Octavia. “Did I say something wrong?”

Vinyl slid the written version over to her. “This is how I remember my Smarty Pants getting odd eyes.”

Octavia read the written version. “I must have told you about this before. We’ve been friends for years.”

“So how come Trixie told me the same story this morning?”

“What are you saying, Vinyl?” asked Octavia. “Are you saying that I’m lying? I’ll have you know those memories of my mother are very important to me. I always remembered how she took a button from her own clothes...”

“She kept looking at me and smiling as she sewed it on,” continued Vinyl.

Trixie quietly added, “And whenever I looked at that button, I remembered how much my mother loved me. For years. Even when she left dad and me.”

“No, Tavi,” Vinyl said, “I don’t think you’re lying. Neither of you are. Those memories are real, to each of us. But somehow we each ended up with exactly the same memory of the same thing happening to the same doll.” She turned to Trixie.“Did you bring him?” she asked. Trixie turned to look through her bag. Vinyl nodded to Octavia as well.

“Yes,” Trixie said, digging into her bag, “I finally found him in mom’s cellar. Though I don’t really see why...” She trailed off as she put her Smarty Pants onto the table, and saw that Octavia and Vinyl had presented theirs as well. “Um...”

“The exact same doll. The same mismatched eyes, patches, polka dots and that peanut butter stain on the left foot.” They gingerly examined each other’s dolls, comparing peanut butter stains. “The only difference is that Tavi’s Smarty Pants is a girl.”

“Vinyl,” said Octavia quietly. “I... I’m scared. What does this mean? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But I think I have a lead. Are you both free this afternoon?”

3. Unwelcome Answers

3. Unwelcome answers

Chryssi opened the door to her shop with a little jingle of bells and poked her head out. “Well, come on in if you’re coming,” she called out to the empty square. “You’re not nearly as good at hiding out there as you think you are.”

The three girls emerged sheepishly from behind the fountain, through the arch and around the corner, and were waved into the shop.

“You’ll have to hang back, I have paying customers to see to,” she said as they filed in.

There were indeed a pair of customers comparing corsages, and being incredibly lovey-dovey as engaged couples often are. The bride-to-be was a yellowish tan with grey hair; her fiancé a much taller, bald man with skin a dark and light blue. “And don’t worry, I’ll talk to the bakers too and make sure they get the order just right,” the shopkeeper was saying in her silken voice.

They were being waited on by two shop attendants, siblings by the look of it, a boy and girl, both black with similar striking blue eyes, spiky dark hair and serious expressions. Chryssi’s children, maybe? They were running obediently back and forth across the shop, fetching fabric samples and templates, jewellery and candles, napkins and neckties.

Vinyl pulled Octavia behind a rack of tuxedos. “Hey, do those two look like Daring Do and Ahuizotl to you?”

Octavia poked her head round the corner to squint at the customers again, then turned back. “Not particularly. Really, Vinyl, your imagination is running away with you again. Daring Do is just a movie character. And if they were real people, then surely they’d be mortal enemies, not lovers.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, it sort of looks like them.”

“Plus he’s not tall enough,” said Trixie, standing on tip-toe to look over a display. “Wasn’t he, like, eight foot tall in the films? With glowing eyes?”

“Sure, but that’s just special effects,” said Vinyl. “I’m sure he’s not like that in real life.”

“He’s not like anything in real life,” explained Octavia slowly, “because he is not real.”

Vinyl frowned. The way she said that – ‘not real’ – reminded her of what the shopkeeper had said about people she knew, including her own friends.

Octavia was looking away from her at some tastefully frilly formal shirts. Vinyl reached up a finger and gently prodded her in the shoulder. “Ow.” Her fingertip felt the rough fabric of her jacket, soft flesh and solid shoulder blade beneath. “Stop that.” Clearly her friend was completely real. “Cut it out, Vinyl!”

The loving couple were leaving now, indulgent grins plastered on their faces, having apparently decided on just how big a fortune they were willing to spend on their wedding. Vinyl looked round the stack to see where the shopkeeper had gone.

“Looking for somepony?” she asked from right behind them. Vinyl and Octavia both jumped.

“I... I wanted to ask about what you said the other day,” said Vinyl quickly.

“About the bow tie? Trust me, a cravat is much more your style, paired with a period frilly shirt and long coattails. You'd need the right hairstyle for it as well, possibly a wig.”

“About some people being... not real.”

The black woman watched her for a few seconds, her expression neutral. “I’m impressed you remembered,” she said finally.

Vinyl frowned. “So what did you mean? What do you know about Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest?”

“Are you certain you want the answer to that, little girl?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Despite being outnumbered and surrounded, Chrysalis owned the space. She stepped forward, and the three girls flinched as she leant in to whisper, “Because little mice can scurry in and out of the cage, and never even know it’s there. But as soon as they see the bars, they’ll be trapped inside it forever.” She made a scurrying motion with her fingers to illustrate her point, followed by a blocking palm.

The girls exchanged glances. Cryptic warnings weren’t what they were there for. “Okay... Yes. Yes, we’re sure we want to know.”

“Alright then.” Chrysalis straightened up. “As I said, I know everyone in this turgid little backwater. I know when someone leaves, rare as that is, and I know when someone new turns up. Your little lovebirds both appeared three weeks ago.”

“Where did they move from?” asked Vinyl. Octavia and Trixie looked confused. She’d never told them about following the lookalike.

“Nowhere. They’re not guests, they’re locals. They appeared.”

“I... don’t understand. Where did they come from?”

“My money would be on you, Miss Vinyl Scratch. If I’m right, you’ve been fixated on your childhood doll lately, haven’t you? Since, let me guess, three weeks ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Ever since I noticed Tavi had the same doll as me. But it’s more than that. We’ve got the same memories of him. How can that be?” She thought of something else. “How did you know he was my doll?”

“He’s everybody’s doll. At least half the town got the same thing.”

“You’re saying lots of people have the same doll – and the same memories?” asked Octavia. “All over town?”

“People needed childhood memories, and there weren’t many to go around, so a bunch of you locals got the same ones.”

“Somebody gave us all fake memories? Who would do that?” asked Trixie.

“There is no ‘who’. It’s just how this town works.”

“So…” Trixie interjected, “My memories of my mother… you're saying they’re not real?”

“Discord’s armpits, you lot are slow. Yes, about half the town got that memory. The other half got something insipid about swimming with dolphins. Both of them were real for somepony at some point, before they got spread out.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Surely people would notice! And if those memories are fake, what happened to our real memories?” protested Octavia.

“Nothing happened to them,” purred Chryssi. “You never had any to begin with.”

Vinyl was shaken, but kept her cool. She asked, “Why are you so sure of that? What do you think we are?”

Chryssi stepped forward, and all three girls flinched. “You’re puppets.” She mimed a puppet-master’s action with her fingers. “You’re just make-believe little dolls, playthings of the gods, dreaming that you’re real people. You got plucked from somepony’s memory, filled in with left-over bits and pieces, and expected to act like you’re real people.”

“And that’s what everyone else is to you?” asked Octavia, offended. “Just your puppets to play with?”

Chryssi looked disappointed. “You weren’t listening at all, were you? No, of course not, because you’re no different. Not a single original thought in that simulacrum of a head.” She flicked a finger idly at Octavia’s forehead.

Vinyl pressed, “How do you expect us to believe any of this? I’m clearly real. So are they.” She nudged Octavia’s shoulder.

Octavia shuffled back with an annoyed frown. “Seriously, everybody stop touching me today,” she muttered.

Chryssi walked to the main desk and scribbled something down. “Tell me, how many Pinkie Pies do you know?”

“Er, one. Barely. Pinkie Pie's one of the girls in the Rainbooms. Is there somebody else called Pinkie Pie?”

Handing a note to Vinyl, Chrysalis said, “Go here and see for yourself.”

“And you’re fine giving us this?” asked Vinyl suspiciously as she took the card. “And telling us about Smarty Pants.”

“It doesn’t matter what I tell you,” said Chryssi with a resigned shrug. “I’d wager my left wing that none of you are going to remember this in a week.”

After the demon Sunset incident, Vinyl couldn't help checking. There were definitely no wings on the shopkeeper’s back.

“Why wouldn’t we?” asked Trixie.

“Because you creatures never do,” she said casually. “Not for long.”

The girls exchanged nervous glances. “The great and powerful Trixie does not appreciate being called a creature!”

“You can’t talk like that to customers,” said Octavia.

“Customers? Really, I don’t see any of you planning a wedding any time soon. There's barely a whiff of love in the three of you,” said Chryssi, examining her fingernails. Octavia bristled. “And yes, I can say whatever I like to you. Any facts that don't fit your dumb little story will just slide away, like blood off a duck’s spleen.”

“Ewww!” exclaimed Trixie, stepping quickly back.

“Run along now, children,” said Chryssi with a shoo-shoo motion. “A queen needs her beauty sleep.”

After flipping the ‘closed’ sign on the door, she nodded to one of the siblings. “Follow them. Discretely. Make sure no harm comes to any of them. We're going to need them.”

“Yes, Lady Chrysalis,” said the brother. He was momentarily engulfed in green fire, emerging as a typical school student with no distinct characteristics. He slipped out of the door, which Chrysalis locked behind him.

She sauntered to the back room, whistling a tune.

The sun was setting as they slouched back to the car. Vinyl looked at the note.

It read, “Sunday 11am. Sugarcube Corner. The Pinkie Pie Society.”

4. The Pinkie Pie Society

“Can you believe her gall?” Octavia was pacing around her bedroom while Vinyl reclined on the bed.

“Settle down, Tavi. It’s not like she was telling the truth, is it?”

Trixie was sitting glumly on the swivel chair, slowly nudging it round and round in a circle with her foot. “It makes sense though, doesn’t it?”

“What? Of course it doesn’t make sense,” objected Octavia. “Make-believe people wandering around, conjured out of somebody’s imagination? That’s... so ridiculous it’s not even wrong. She’s just a mean old lady who doesn’t like anyone.”

“So why do we all have the same memories of that holiday?” asked Trixie. “Why does it feel like our lives are patched together from cliches and re-used bits?”

Vinyl frowned. She’d been concerned with following this mystery, but Trixie seemed to be bothered by something more specific. “What’s eating you, Trix?” she asked.

Trixie looked at the floor. “Nothing. It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“That memory, that... with Smarty Pants on the beach. That was... just before it all went wrong. Before my parents started fighting all the time. Before the money problems. Before the gambling. Before the shouting. That was the last time we were all happy together. And if that’s not... if we never...”

Shit. Vinyl cursed quietly at how deeply she’d put her foot in it. I’m the one that started following this, I pushed her into it. I knew her parents were divorced, I just didn’t think. I should say something, but... Vinyl knew she’d never been good at that sort of thing. And... what could she say? For all they knew it was true. The silence dragged on. Come on, Vinyl, she’s supposed to be a friend. You need to say something to her. Anything! Why aren’t you saying anything?

Octavia stopped pacing and stood awkwardly, unable to think of anything useful to say. Why was I so nasty to her? Why didn’t I want her in our group? Because she’s’ brash? Because she doesn’t fit my image? Am I really that shallow? And she knows it. How pathetic would it be for me to comfort her now, to act like a friend suddenly? That wouldn’t help, would it?

So neither said anything. After a few seconds Trixie took a deep breath, turned to Vinyl Scratch and asked, “So, are you going?”

It took Vinyl a second to refocus. “Oh, the Pinkie thing?” She held up the card. “Er, I guess so? I’ve got a gig Saturday night, but 11 isn’t so early. What about you, Tavi?”

Octavia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Vinyl, but I can’t. Mr Clef is coming round on Sunday morning for a private cello lesson.”

“Oh. That’s okay. Just the two of us, eh, Trix?”

“No can do,” said Trixie. “My mother has custody this weekend. I’d never hear the end of it if I bailed. I’m sorry, really.”

“No, it’s okay, that’s cool. It’s probably just a big waste of time anyway, so I’ll let you both know when I find nothing at all.”

Vinyl got to Sugarcube Corner early. Pinkie Pie was working behind the counter, wearing a cheerful green and yellow striped top, maroon trousers and a frilly apron.

“Good morning, Scratchy!” she called out.

Vinyl grinned at the man ahead of her in the queue, who’d scowled back at her. When her turn came, she said, “Morning, Pinkie. You’re cheerful today. Er... coffee, black, and...” She scanned the rack of pastries. “One of them,” she said, pointing at something with honey and almonds in it.

“Sure am!” she said, getting the coffee quickly. Vinyl took her breakfast and sat at a corner booth where she could see most of the shop. She idly buried her nose in a music magazine and waited to see what, if anything, was going to happen.

A few minutes before 11, Pinkie Pie came in. She was wearing a dark pink top with a unicorn emblazoned on it in silver sequins, and a lighter pink skirt. She was carrying a bag of what looked like paints and brushes.

Vinyl blinked and turned back to the till, where Pinkie Pie was still juggling coffee jugs and serving customers.

The new Pinkie waved a greeting to several of the customers at tables, slipped under the counter like a limbo dancer, high fived the other Pinkie as she popped back up, and pushed through the swing door to the back.

Well, that was new. Did Pinkie have a sister she never mentioned? Vinyl scoured her memory, but she hadn’t really spoken to Pinkie Pie that much.

Not long after, Pinkie Pie came in the main door. Again. Except this time she looked different: her hair fell straight down instead of its usual frizz, and was a darker colour than usual; she had a judgemental demeanour, full of teenage resentment; and she wore a Crystal Prep uniform, with the jacket slung rebelliously off her shoulders, the shirt unbuttoned low and the skirt decidedly too short. She moved slowly and with attitude, greeted nobody and exuded no cheer whatsoever.

She was followed a few seconds later by a Pinkie Pie wearing a pink boiler suit over a white long-sleeved top, and carrying a box so big that she couldn’t see over the top of it. She weaved blindly between the tables, narrowly missed several customers, hopped on one leg as she struggled for balance, and nearly bumped into the other Pinkie. “Whoopsie! Sorry! Didn’t see ya there,” she chirped.

“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” grumbled the dreary Pinkie.

Another Pinkie Pie came jogging into the café wearing a tastefully cut pink pinstripe trouser suit, with her hair tied back into a frizzy ponytail. She danced around the glum Pinkie and quickly took hold of the other side of the box the boiler suit Pinkie was carrying. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks!” Together they navigated the box through the tables.

“Oh, Pinkie!” an older woman called out.

All the Pinkies present looked up, but only the one working behind the counter replied “Yes?”

“That’s enough for your shift, I can take over now.” An older woman waddled up to the counter. “You’ve been working all morning. Go have fun with your friends.”

“Thanks, Mrs Cake!”

Vinyl couldn’t help staring as the various Pinkie Pies all filed through the door to the back. She looked around, but the other customers either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Was this normal around here, or were they somehow blind to the proliferation of Pinkie Pies?

She needed to find out what they were doing back there. She couldn’t just walk in though. Could she listen from outside? It was a warm day, so the windows were likely to be open.

She drained her coffee, folded up her magazine and slipped out of her chair. As she reached the door, a Pinkie Pie burst through it carrying a few big rolls of brightly coloured wrapping paper. “Scuse me!” she said as she narrowly avoided a collision. She was wearing a blue top covered in pink and yellow dots.

“No probs,” said Vinyl, dodging out of her way.

Sugarcube Corner had a function room in the back, behind the kitchens, with windows all along two walls opening onto a neglected garden.

Vinyl was right, on a day like this the windows of the back room were all open. She skulked along the wall, keeping low and careful not to show herself. Once she was in position she cautiously raised her head over the bottom of the window to see what was going on.

“Ooh! Ooh! Me!” shouted the Pinkie in the glittery unicorn top.

“Go ahead, planet-hopping Pinkie Pie,” said the girl in the suit.

She cleared her throat. “I have a message from the premier party pony Pinkie Pie. She’s throwing cuteceñeras for a colt and a filly at the same time next Tuesday and would appreciate some help making them both the best party ever.”

“What are the requirements?” asked pinstripe Pinkie.

“The colt is Featherweight. ....(who? When? Details, details).... The filly is Lily Longsocks. She’s really strong but doesn’t like being reminded of it.”

Pinstripe Pinkie contemplated. “Patisserie Pinkie, are you free on Tuesday?”

“Yessiree!”

“One more. Perfect present planner Pinkie?”

“Sorry, no can do,” said the girl in the boiler suit. “I’ve got Fiddlesticks’ birthday on Tuesday, and Shining Armour’s on Friday to prepare for.”

“That’s okay. Pinkamena?”

The glum Pinkie responded with a grunt. “Ugh, what?”

“Can you go help her after school on Tuesday?”

“You know I hate going there. Hooves are so useless, and all the ponies look at me funny. Why can’t Polkadot Pinkie do it?”

“It’s my turn to play with the Rainbooms on Tuesday,” said the girl in the dotted top.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” said the gloomy Pinkie.

“Next I have a question from Politico Pinkie. She says that Mayor Ivory Scroll went to talk to Cerberus recently, and though she wasn’t able to catch any of the conversation she gathered it was quite serious. The mayor asked for five donuts later. Five!”

The door pushed open and another Pinkie entered. This one was wearing a strangely old-fashioned dress, long down to feet but gathered close under her bust rather than at the waist. Vinyl wasn’t good with history, but it looked like something off TV. “Sorry I’m late, girls!” she said.

“Just in time,” said Patisserie Pinkie. “How do you fancy a trip to Ponyville with me?”

“Oh, yes!” Her voice, while definitely Pinkie, was oddly more refined than the others. “I can check out the latest fashion at the Carousel, and compare it to Rarity’s here.”

“Thank God for that,” muttered Pinkamena. “Saved by the belle.”

“Oh, you’re still going,” said Pinstripe Pinkie.

“What? You’ve got Period Pinkie now, why do you need me as well?”

“I can take care of banners and decoration for the filly’s cuteceñera,” said the Pinkie in the dress, “but we’ll need you to help with the catering. And don't call me that,” she added, “my name is Diane.”

“You mean I have to cook with hooves? Great, this trip just keeps getting better and better,” she deadpanned.

Vinyl could barely believe what she was seeing. Was she dreaming? There were half a dozen Pinkie Pies sitting around, applying decorations to banners and wrapping presents. Each one of them was unmistakably Pinkie Pie, with the possible exception of the glum-looking one.

“Whatcha doin’?” said a cheerful Pinkie-like voice from behind her ear. Vinyl jumped, turning quickly to see a Pinkie Pie standing behind her. This one was wearing a bright yellow shirt, and had blonde streaks in her pink hair, though it’s natural frizziness meant they were mixed up with the rest of it. The effect was like two-colour candy.

“Er... y’know, just... checking out the...” She scanned around quickly, looking for something. “The wildlife back here. Loads of rare birds and insects in this garden.”

There was a moment of silence as the obvious lie settled in.

“Oh, thanks. I put nuts and seeds out for them. Mrs Cake says I shouldn’t encourage them, but I think it makes the garden more cheerful.”

“It does that. Very, er, impressive collection here.”

“I do always wonder how they get by without any proper seasons here. I mean there’s no winter wrap up, no running of the leaves. How do the poor things know when they’re supposed to do stuff?” pondered the surprise Pinkie with a finger to her chin. Then she shrugged. “But they seem to manage.” She wandered around the corner and pushed open the back door into the function room, joining her fellow Pinkies.

Vinyl wasn’t sure whether to sigh in relief or run in panic. She settled for inching her way carefully away.

“So... you’re telling us that there were lots of Pinkie Pies, and they were all dressed differently but they’re really all Pinkie Pie and not imposters or family members. And they meet up and work together to be... more Pinkie Pie. And then they take turns being the actual Pinkie Pie that we know at school. And... something about horses that I really didn’t get?”

“Er, more or less.” Vinyl wasn’t sure she’d quite told it right.

“And how many of them did you say there were?” asked Octavia.

“I saw eight, and they mentioned a couple more I think.”

“Right.” Octavia and Trixie exchanged glances.

Trixie commented, “Honestly, it’s the organisation that’s hardest to believe. Pinkie’s always so random, it just seems wrong for her to be holding meeting like that.”

“That and the pinstripe suit,” added Octavia. “I mean, really, pink stripes on a suit?”

“She totally made it work,” defended Vinyl. “She had this whole power woman thing going on.”

5. Guitar Centred

5. Guitar centred

Octavia picked the short straw. Vinyl had been seen by one of the Pinkie Pies on Sunday, so her following them again would be sure to draw attention; while Trixie had no reason to enter the music wing at all. The cello practice room was close to the room the Rainbooms used, so Octavia had every excuse to be standing right outside their door listening.

“Come on girls, I spent ages writing this,” said Rainbow Dash from the other side of the very opaque door. “You’ve got to get it right.”

“Except that Rarity did most of the lyrics,” pointed out Applejack.

“Yeah, then I set them to music.”

Octavia carefully slid the door open just an inch so she could see inside.

“Music that Fluttershy wrote,” added Applejack again.

“Oh, but you did that guitar solo all by yourself,” Fluttershy reassured her.

“And you helped me get the rhythm right, Applejack,” added Pinkie Pie. Is that Polkadot Pinkie, Pinstripe Pinkie or Patisserie Pinkie? wondered Octavia. Vinyl’s descriptions hadn’t made the differences clear.

“So it’s all of ours! But mostly mine.” Octavia groaned. Rainbow Dash was such a jerk sometimes.

“Ah’m just saying...” muttered Applejack.

“When you should be just playing! Come on, Pinkie?”

Pinkie Pie – whichever Pinkie Pie it was – tapped her drumsticks together with a “One, two three!” and the girls started again on one of their annoyingly upbeat songs.

”There was at time we were apart, but that’s behind us now.

See how we’ve made a brand new start, and the future’s lookin’ up.

Ooh-oh, ooh-oh!

And when you walk these halls you feel it everywhere...”

“Stop, stop, stop!” shouted Rainbow Dash.

“Whatever is it this time?” Rarity asked.

“You were late coming in on that bit, Rares. And Pinkie, your timing is off.”

“But I’m trying extra-hard, Dashie.”

“Yeah, I can tell, but hitting the drums extra-hard doesn’t help.”

“This was easier when Twilight was here,” said Fluttershy despondently.

“I know what you mean,” said Applejack. “Everything just sort of came together. Like the magic knew how to make it work, y’know?”

Magic? Are they talking about time Sunset Shimmer blew up half the school? Twilight was the name of the girl who helped stop her, right?

“Well she’s not here now,” said Rainbow. “She’s off being a pony princess in another world. So we’ll just have to make this work the hard way.”

Twilight is a... ‘pony princess’? In another world? Are they talking about a computer game or something?

The girls started playing again.

”We are all together!

Ah, oh, ah-ooh-oh!

Now it’s better than ever!

Ah, oh, ah-ooh-oh!”

Octavia was shaken out of her distaste for the music by the incredible sight of Rainbow Dash glittering and levitating off the floor. She watched on in amazement as one by one the girls started to transform, growing fabulous longer hair, sticky-up ears, and in the case of Rainbow and Fluttershy, wings. Wings! How does that work? Do they have holes cut in the back of their shirts? Are the wings somehow incorporeal at the base? Are they even real objects at all, or just an illusion?

She scrambled for her phone, desperate to record this for the girls to see.

Trixie squinted. “I... don’t really see it.”

“Yes, I’m aware the recording isn’t brilliant, but I did see it. Look, right there, those are wings on her back.”

“That blue smudge? It kind of looks like the light from the window behind her.”

“And would the light make her hair grow longer like that?” challenged Octavia, pointing at the long rainbow-shaded ponytail that was just barely visible.

“Maybe she got extensions?”

“I’m not sure I see it either, but if Tavi says she saw it then I believe her,” said Vinyl, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Vinyl.”

Trixie shrugged. “So... what exactly does this mean? The Rainbooms can suddenly grow wings and cat ears?”

“Cat? That’s not what cat ears look like. More like fox ears, surely.”

Octavia was losing patience. “I’m fairly certain they’re pony ears,” she pointed out.

The other two squinted at the screen. “No, horse ears aren’t that shape. Could they be cow ears?”

Vinyl turned to stare at nothing for a minute, thinking. Octavia quietly asked her, “A penny for your thoughts?”

“This magic thing happens when they play, right? But they only do that in the practice room. Or on stage if they did a show, but there’s nothing until the festival in a few months. We need to lure them out somewhere we can see them. Somewhere they’d feel comfortable playing.”

“Could you invite them to one of your gigs?”

Vinyl scrunched up her face. “Not really the right style. And they’d know it was me. I’m sure Pinkie has my number. Or one of them does,” she added.

“How about the shop?” wondered Octavia. “It’s perfectly normal for musicians to visit a music shop. And with the way she treats her instrument, Rainbow Dash is going to need a new one soon.”

Vinyl considered it. “Yeah, we can drop a hint or something, maybe a leaflet or a sale voucher, and lure them in. But you wouldn’t normally play more than the odd riff in the shop. How do we get them to play enough to... y’know, start the magic?”

Trixie broke the silence with a mischievous laugh. “I have an idea,” she said.

“Rainbow Dash, I simply don’t understand why you can’t just play the guitar you have,” said Rarity as the girls entered the shop.

Vinyl was working the till that day, as arranged. She wouldn’t have been, but she asked her uncle for extra hours, saying there were some USB turntables she was keen to buy and needed the extra money. She sat behind the counter, carefully looking bored.

Rainbow put her guitar case down on the counter and opened. The poor wreckage of an instrument emerged with a helpless ‘sproing’. Octavia was right, she’s utterly ruined it, thought Vinyl.

Rarity gasped. “Now I understand.”

Pinkie bounced around the store, picking out random instruments. “How about this one?” “Lookie here!” “Super groovy!”

“No, Pinkie,” said Rainbow in increasing frustration, scanning around the stock.

“Well, whatcha looking for?” asked Applejack.

“That’s the problem!” complained Rainbow. “I need something that looks as awesome as I’m gonna make it sound.” Casting around, she finally saw something that took her fancy. With a grin she reached for a huge double-necked guitar, only to find she had competition. “Hands off my guitar, Trixie!”

“I touched it first, Rainbow Dash!” retorted Trixie, right on cue, with just the right note of challenge.

“Sounds to me like this is a makin’ for a nice, friendly competition,” chuckled Applejack.

“All right! Let’s see who plays best!” proclaimed Rainbow, always eager for a fight.

Trixie feigned surprise. “A shred-off?”

“Shred on,” replied Rainbow Dash.

Nicely done, Trix. That went perfectly. Now let’s see what happens when she plays.

Trixie was exhausted. She lay slumped on Octavia’s bed, all four limbs spread out like a starfish.

Octavia had the video up on her computer. “See? I told you she had wings.”

Vinyl was leant over her shoulder, a little too close. Octavia could smell her. Did she have to be so maddeningly close. “And I believed you, Tavi. Still, it’s another thing to see it close up.”

“It sure is,” said Trixie without moving.

“I'm impressed by the footage you got here. And by the way you got Applejack to play along.”

“Tha’ much were easy, sugatcube,” drawled Trixie in an embarrassing imitation of Applejack. “I got myself paired with her in chemistry. Stroked her ego by letting her tell me all about alkalis, then mentioned how my guitar playing is so much more powerful and great than Rainbow Dash, and how I'd love chance to proved it.”

“Well, it worked,” remarked Vinyl. “They were eating out of your hand.”

“Sometimes my public image is useful.”

Octavia sat back in her chair, swiveling round to face them both. “So... what does it all mean? We’ve got a human version of Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest walking around, which is creepy. There’s the memories we have in common, which is extra creepy. There’s a rude shopkeeper who says none of us are real, like some sort of delusional nihilist. There’s a collection of Pinkie Pies, one of them apparently in a position of power, which would be terrifying in itself. And now we have a school band who create some sort of magic when they play, despite lacking any sort of talent.”

“Damn right,” agreed Trixie. “Amateurs, all of them.”

“You can add in the time Sunset Shimmer became an actual demon, turned half the school into zombies, and got beaten by the Rainbooms and that girl nobody recognises,” said Vinyl.

“Which principals Celestia and Luna have still failed to adequately explain.”

“And the fact that Sunset Shimmer seems to be friends with the Rainbooms now.”

“You know, I think she slept at the school,” said Trixie.

Octavia blinked. “Er... who did?”

“That girl. The one who wasn’t actually a student at all, but still won the crown.”

“Oh, that girl. Twilight, was it?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” confirmed Vinyl.

“Yeah, her,” said Trixie. “Only I saw her there really late at night, and she wore the same clothes the whole time she was here. I think she might have slept in the library. With her dog.”

“I'm sure that's against some rules. The thing is, it’s clear something strange is going on in this town, I just... don’t see what it all adds up to. Do either of you?”

Vinyl shrugged. Trixie made a half-hearted motion that might have been a shrug had she lifted more than half a muscle.

They fell quiet for a while.

Eventually Vinyl broke the silence, saying simply, “Ponies.”

“Gesundheit.”

She shook her head. “There’s something that woman in the shop said to me the first time I met her that’s been bugging me.”

“About people not being real?”

“No, something else. She said she knew every pony in this town.”

“A bit presumptuous, but that sounds like her.”

“Not everybody. Every pony. And she just said it straight, like it was normal: everypony.”

Octavia frowned. Trixie lifted her head to look at her askance.

“Um. That's probably not so unlikely, actually,” said Octavia. “How many ponies do you imagine there are in this town?”

“Applejack’s family have half a dozen,” volunteered Trixie.

Vinyl carried on, “And one of the Pinkie Pies, who wasn't at the meeting, got called the ‘premier party pony’. Again, like it was normal. They talked about colts and fillies as well. Then another one complained about having hooves.”

“Did she have hooves?” asked Octavia.

“Not that I could see. But she seemed to be implying that she would have hooves if she went to help the party pony Pinkie Pie.”

Trixie said, “There is that big horse statue in front of school.”

“Yeah, the school’s always had a horse theme, with the ‘wonder colts’ and all that. But now it seems like I keep hearing ‘ponies, ponies’ everywhere I go. Like it’s all connected,” she said. “Like there are ponies all over the place... but they don’t look like ponies.”

Octavia’s frown had turned into serious concern. “Vinyl, are you... suggesting that the town is being invaded by shape-shifting alien ponies?”

6. On The Horizon

6. Horizon

Vinyl eased her foot onto the brake, sliding to a stop at the junction. She flicked the indicator left.

She found driving helped her think. While her hands were busy with the mundane task of hurtling down the road and not killing anyone, her mind could focus on other things.

The roads were quiet this morning, so she was able to make decent time. She’d already circled the town twice, and this was the third time she’d come to this junction.

But I’m still turning left again. Why is that?

Vinyl reached to change the indicator, and found herself hesitant. Left was the road back into town, taking her past the waterfront. Straight ahead was the bridge. Right was just the road out of town, going north to... wherever it was.

I could take whichever of them I want, but turning left feels more... natural?

Her hand hovered over there indicator, not quite flicking it.

I’ve already cut school today. I don’t have a gig or practice. I don’t have to work in the shop. I’ve got time on my hands. I should be as happy going either way. So why do I... just not feel like turning right?

The tip of her finger was resting lightly on the indicator, and still she didn’t move it.

When was the last time I actually left town? Where was the last place I went?

Vinyl realised she simply couldn’t remember leaving town recently. Her memories from childhood couldn’t be trusted, apparently – and if she was honest, it did sometimes feel like those happened to a different girl.

So I’m just turning left out of lazy habit? All the more reason to change that, right? Rules are there to be broken.

The car that had pulled up behind her honked its horn in annoyance, and Vinyl quickly flicked the indicator and turned right.

Trixie was sitting near the music wing when she spotted Applejack moving with purpose. After a moment’s indecision she decided to follow her.

When exactly did this subterfuge become normal? she wondered. We’re suddenly listening at doors and following people around. Are they really going to lead us to any sort of answer? Or even a clue? They don’t seem to know what’s going on in this town either.

Wait, where did she go?

She scurried around the corner and located Applejack taking the path down to the school’s motor shop. Trixie kept a safe distance as she followed.

“There ya are, Sunset,” said Applejack as she strode through the big doors of the motor shop. “Snails said ya’d be down here. Watcha up to?”

“Just patching up my bike.”

Applejack whistled. “This yours? I didn’t know you had such a sweet ride.”

“You thought the jacket was just for show?” She paused. “Okay, it’s at least partly for show. I really was quite shallow before,” she muttered. “Plus being down here gets me away from everybody’s eyes for a while.”

Trixie clambered carefully onto a quad bike parked by the wall so she could see through the high window. She winced as she touched the metal wall of the motor shop; it really got warm in the afternoon heat.

She was just in time to see another girl enter from the other room. She was pink with big fluffy hair, and was wearing an adorable pink boiler suit, now sadly messed up with streaks of engine grease. Her face and hands were stained with grease too, and she had various tools shoved into pockets and sleeves.

On seeing Applejack, she gasped, ran over and wrapped her in a big hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Oh. Hey there, Fluffs,” said Applejack in a flat tone. “Do ya really need to do that every time you see me?”

The pink girl nodded her head enthusiastically, rubbing it against Applejack’s shirt.

“Okay. Only you’re getting a little grease on me there.”

The girl leapt back with another gasp, and gave a series of short apologetic bows.

“Tha’s fine, really, it’ll get mussed up anyhow when I do the planting later.”

The girl grinned, broadly.

“Are ya working on the motocross bikes?”

The girl shook her head. She gestured to the other room, where the back half of an old truck could be seen, then brought her hands together to mime separating them with fingers spread.

“Yer disassembling it? The whole thing?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

She mimed the same action in reverse, bringing her hands and fingers back together.

Sunset said, “She’s been at it for weeks, taking the whole thing apart and putting it back together. She won’t let me help, either – seems she wants to know where every bolt goes.”

“That’s kind of impressive, actually,” said Applejack. “Anyhow, Rainbow and the crew sent me looking for ya, Sunset. We were hopin’ you wouldn’t mind hangin’ around the practice room a bit, give us feedback, tell us what needs fixin’ up, that sort of thing. That and Rainbow really loves an audience.”

“Really? Are... would that be alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be, Sugarcube?”

“Well, I assumed, after Princess Twilight went back home, that...”

Again they’re calling her ‘princess’...

“That what? We’d drop you in it?”

“Well. Being seen with me right now probably won’t do any of you any good. You know, what with me turning into a demon and trying to enslave the school and...”

Sunset petered out, and Applejack said nothing for a few seconds. The pink girl looked from one to the other in concern.

“Sunset, darlin’. Y’all can be a right moron at times.”

“What?”

“We all o’ us promised Twi, before she went back to Equestria, that we were gonna take proper care of ya. Now, I realise there’s plenty of folks out there who might go and break a promise like that. But Applejack ain’t ever gonna be one a’them. Nor’s Rainbow, or Rarity, or Fluttershy, or Pinkie. You’re one of us now. You’re a friend. We ain’t going to be ashamed of that, no matter what anyone says.”

Sunset said quietly, “thank you.”

“’Course, we ain’t gonna lie to you either. Expect plenty of hard truth.”

“I’m sure I deserve that,” said Sunset with a chuckle.

“Now, enough snifflin’. You all done with that bike there?”

Sunset nodded.

“Good. Now get yer scrawny—WHOAH Nelly!” she squawked as the two of them were pulled into a sudden group hug by the pink girl.

“I think she's glad we made up,” chuckled Sunset.

“Boundaries, Fluffle Puff, boundaries!”

Vinyl slowed down as she approached the city limits. The houses had petered out a few miles ago, replaced by farms, scattered trailers and landscape, but this was still technically town land. Ahead, she saw the town exit sign approach. She indicated, slowed and turned off the road.

She parked close to the battered signpost. On the other side of the road, facing the other way, was the corresponding welcome sign.

Getting out of the car, she walked past the signs, and as she did the perspective of the world ahead of her seemed to change. It formed a wall or barrier. The closer she got to it, the less real it looked. The landscape just stopped here, like she’d travelled all the way to the horizon.

Gingerly she reached out, then stopped. No sense doing something stupid. She picked up a stick from the ground and pressed it into the barrier; it stopped like there was a wall there. Then she threw the stick; it passed straight through. She reached out her fingers, felt them touch the boundary.

She felt the warmth of the sun and a pleasant breeze. Glancing up at the sky, she wondered just how much of it was real. Where did reality end and illusion begin?

Birds flew overhead, distant dark specks that seemed not to care which side of the horizon they were on. She jumped as a small rodent of some sort scuttled past her feet and through the horizon. As it did the creature changed, real fur and skin swapped for a simplified, cartoonish imitation.

“Little mice can scurry in and out of the cage, and never even know it’s there. But as soon as they see the bars, they’ll be stuck inside forever.”

The creature doubled back through the horizon to the real side with a beetle in its mouth. The mock fur was replaced by the real thing, every hair in place, every toe on its little feet, every little tooth, every detail you’d expect to see on a real animal.

Did that animal just stop existing, then start again? she wondered. Was it paused, or was it stopped? Is there a difference? Is it even the same creature as the one that went through? Does it remember its previous life, and does it remember catching that beetle?

A noise announced the approach of another car. As it got closer, Vinyl could see three people inside, laughing and singing along with the car radio. It was moving quickly, and Vinyl realised with horror that it was going to hit the horizon, that they simply couldn’t see the solid wall ahead.

“Stop!” She had barely a moment to raise her hands and start shouting a warning before the car hit the wall... and passed straight through. It carried on down the road, now a boxy caricature of itself filled with placeholder people.

Casting a glance behind her to make sure the road was clear, Vinyl stepped into the road and up to the exact spot through which the car had passed. She passed both hands against the surface of the horizon and pressed, feeling absolutely no give at all. It was solid like rock.

She pulled a foot back and kicked the horizon, earning nothing but sore toes for her trouble. Hopping back, she rested leaning against the sign.

The people in that car had... stopped being people. And they were fine with it. At some point they’d probably drive back, complete with memories of events that never really happened.

This really is it, she thought. This is the answer we’ve been looking for. The walls of our cage, entirely of our own making. We could have stayed oblivious, been free to go wherever we wanted, for the low, low price of our souls.

Vinyl had expected to feel anger, desperation, or some form of offence at finding herself imprisoned like this. Instead she found an odd form of peace.

I know what I am. I know where I came from. I know my place in the world. All the questions that were keeping me awake have been answered.

There’s just one question left: am I going to take it lying down?

She stared into the horizon a little longer, but it had given her all the answers it was going to. Ahead of her was nothing. Nothing real, anyway. Behind was her whole world.

She pushed off the road sign with a grunt, her feet stirring up a little cloud of dust where they landed. As she turned back to her car, she spared a glance at the far side of the road where the other sign sat, welcoming people into town.

Welcome to

TARTARUS

Drive carefully!

7. Dreams of Vinyl

“Wake up, Vinyl.”

Vinyl Scratch mumbled something indecipherable about more minutes as she was gently rocked.

“Come on, wake up.”

“Is it morning already?”

“Actually it’s afternoon. I just got back from school.”

The voice gradually filtered its way through to her brain. “Tavi?” she murmured. “What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m not. You’re in my house, Vinyl. You’re in my room. You’re in my bed.”

Vinyl peered at the blanket she was clutching. Sure enough, it looked like one of Octavia’s. “Huh.”

Octavia picked up Vinyl’s jacket from the floor and hung it on the back of the chair. “Have you been asleep here all day? Is that why you weren’t in school? And how did you even get in here?”

Vinyl bobbed her head. “Your window’s open.”

Octavia looked at her window. “It’s also upstairs. Did you really climb all the way up here?”

“Seemed easier. ’S closer than my house.”

“Only by four streets.” Octavia sat lightly on the side of the bed and slid a lock of Vinyl’s bright blue hair aside. “Oh, Vinyl. What am I going to do with you?”

“You could feed me?”

Octavia sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mum will be home in an hour or so. You can join us for dinner. Is that good enough?”

Vinyl poked one hand out in a big thumbs up, while using the other to pull the blankets closer.

“So what, were you out at a concert all night? You know the school don’t approve of you working nights if it's going to interfere with your studies .”

“Nah, I was at the library.”

“That doesn’t sound much like you. And doesn’t the library close in the evenings?”

“Yeah, but the records bit isn’t really open in the day anyway. It's all behind this heavy blue door upstairs, and the staff watch you like vultures if you get close to it. So I had to wait for them all to go home.”

Octavia was concerned. “Are you telling me that you broke in there at night to get at the private records?”

“I didn’t break in. I just… stayed in. While everyone else locked up and went home.”

“And you stayed there all night?”

“Their photocopier’s really slow. Got some good stuff, though.” She waved a hand in the direction of Octavia’s desk, where a fat bundle of papers sat on the keyboard.

“We’ll look at all that later,” sighed Octavia, getting up. “Or possibly tomorrow. I have homework to do. And so do you, by the way.”

Trixie laid a few photos on the bed, showing Sunset Shimmer hanging out with the Rainbooms. “As your can see, the demon queen of Canterlot High is now best buddies with the girls that defeated her so publicly.”

“You can't keep calling her ‘demon queen’ because of what happened at the Fall Formal,” said Vinyl. “We're all supposed to give her a second chance, remember? There was a whole speech and everything.”

“I called her that long before the Fall Formal,” defended Trixie. “She was a bitch for years. Anyway, don't you think that's odd behaviour for girls who were such recent enemies?”

Octavia picked up a picture showing Sunset and Fluttershy laughing as they left the pet store. “It is interesting. Are you suggesting that magical battle was all a show, and they were working with her all along?”

“I wouldn't know. I was all zombie, remember?”

“And they did blow up the front of the school,” pointed out Vinyl.

“Anyway, they still talk about Twilight Sparkle as a ‘pony princess’, whatever that means, from some place called Equestria. Sunset Shimmer is in on that, whatever it is, they're happy to talk about that and the music magic thing with her around. And also around Fluffle Puff, but that's presumably because they don't think she’ll tell anyone.”

“They didn't have a problem doing that thing in the music shop either. They clearly don't think of it as much of a secret. Good stuff, anyway. What about you, Tavi?”

Octavia cleared her throat. “The Pinkie Pie that attends Crystal Prep goes by the name Pinkamena. She's seen as a loner by the other students, but still contributes to school events. She can apparently play the acoustic guitar, accordion, harmonica and cymbals all at once, though her choice of song isn't always popular. At their recent Shadowbolts Got Talent event, she did a one woman rendition of ‘Creep’ followed by ‘Where Did You Sleep Last Night’.”

“Eek, cheerful. That confirms what Vinyl saw at the bakery though,” said Trixie.

Vinyl nodded her head in deference.

Octavia continued, “The one known as Diana is a regular performer at local amateur dramatics, appearing as Ellen in their recent production of Wuthering Hooves. She generally wears period clothing of some sort, even when she's not performing.”

“How about the Politico one?”

Octavia shook her head. “I haven't heard anything about her from my arts or music connections. I suspect we'll need to get a lot closer to city government to see anything of her.”

“Shame. Still, good work.”

“How about you, Vinyl?” asked Trixie.

“Yes, come on, Miss Scratch. Do tell us where you've been all week.”

Taking her time, Vinyl unrolled a poster-sized black-and-white map of the town that looked more like a schematic than a consumer map, with the city limits clearly marked. Red marks dotted the edges at various points.

“I've been to see the end of the world,” she said calmly.

The other two exchanged a frown. Octavia asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“The end of the world. Right here.” She indicated one of the red marks, followed by others. “And here, here, and here.”

Octavia asked in concern, “Vinyl, are you feeling alright? I'm starting to think this whole affair may be getting the better of you.”

“I'm feeling great, Tavi. Never better.”

“What do you mean, ‘the end of the world’?” asked Trixie. “Is this like the Mayan thing a few years ago?”

“No. It's simple, if you walk up to the line here you'll find there's no more world. That's the edge. The limit. The boundary. Everything past that point is an illusion, and a shaky one at that. I've checked all these other points round the edge,” she said pointing to the red marks, “and they're the same. No more world past that point. Just a fake painted landscape and a fake sky.”

She looked into their concerned faces.

“What, you don't believe me?”

“I admit we've encountered some strange things in the last few weeks, but… this does test our credulity somewhat.”

“Ow!”

“I told you it was there.”

Trixie rubbed her nose and glared at the smug Vinyl.

Octavia stepped up to the horizon and touched it, captivated by the concept. “And this barrier goes all the way around the city?” she asked in awe.

The sun was setting, throwing shades of pink and orange across them.

“Yup. It lines up perfectly with the city limits, from what I've seen. It's a really big area actually, like 50 miles across, and a lot of what's inside isn't buildings or anything. The whole Everfree forest is inside the city limits. The only bit I've not tested is the river.”

“Incredible.”

Trixie was less enamoured with it. “So we really are trapped inside here?”

“But we've all been outside before,” said Octavia. “We've visited other towns.”

“Have we?” asked Vinyl. “When was the last time you went somewhere?”

… INSERT COMMENTS ABOUT THE EVERFREE, AFTER SEEING THE FOURTH FILM ...

“So if we are prisoners here… who's the jailor?” asked Trixie.

“I've got a feeling the Mayor's office will know something about it,” said Vinyl. “Let's have a think about how we can get close to Politico Pinkie.”

Octavia couldn’t sleep.

It was too hot, so she kicked her covers off. Then it was too cold, so she pulled them back. It was too dark, so she opened her blinds. Then the street light was shining in her eyes, so she closed them. She was thirsty, so she got up for a drink. Then she needed the toilet, so she got up again. Then she was too cold again. With no sign of approaching sleep, she lay on her back and stared at the familiar details of her ceiling, going over the day’s encounters.

The other two were fixated on the worry that their memories were fake, especially Trixie for whom that particular memory was so important. That wasn’t what bothered Octavia. She was strong. She wasn’t just a product of her memories, of what her parents and society had taught her, of a roll of the world’s dice. She’d taken charge of her own development from a young age, sought out her own path, built her personality the way she wanted it. She wasn’t anyone’s achievement but her own. Taking away one childhood memory now wasn’t going to change who she was.

Instead she kept returning to something else the woman had said.

“There’s barely a whiff of love in the three of you.”

That mocking dismissal grated in Octavia’s ears, ringing through her mind again and again as she lay there. That’s wrong, thought Octavia. That just isn’t true. She doesn’t know anything.

She turned over, bunched her blankets up like a person and wrapped herself around them. She clung tight, her leg hooked around the make-believe partner, her face pressed into the fabric.

She breathed out through her mouth and took a deep breath in through her nose. Though aware that it could be her imagination, she felt sure that the sheets still held hints of Vinyl.

Octavia spent Saturday morning strangling a growing collection of neighbourhood cats.

“Honeybun, what’s happened to your cello playing?” asked her mother incredulously. “Just last week you were doing so well.”

She dabbed a lump of bread in her soup halfheartedly. “I guess I’m just not in the mood for it today, Mum,” she sighed.

“Is it the audition? I told you, it doesn’t matter if you don’t get in straight away. Nobody’s ever successful at things like that the very first time, you need to keep trying.”

“It’s not...” Octavia trailed off and left it at that. Honestly, it was easier if her mother thought it was just nerves. That was easier than explaining how she really felt. And it wasn't like the audition didn't make her worried.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go for a walk after lunch? That’s sure to clear your head. You’ll need some nice new clothes for the audition, right? You can go shopping.”

“I guess. Sure.”

So she spent the afternoon idly browsing racks of similarly boring clothes, waiting for some sort of inspiration to strike. As she was on the verge of admitting defeat, buying the same thing as usual and turning for home, she caught sight of one of Chryssi’s assistants, all black skin, hair and clothes, with those big blue eyes, moving through a nearby aisle of boots. She couldn’t tell if it was the boy or the girl, they looked so alike. She hurried round the corner to get a better look, but only found an older woman checking out the sign by the elevators.

Emerging from the shop, she caught sight of the assistant again in the crowd on the other side of the street, heading down a side street. She crossed over the road intending to follow him or her, but lost sight of them again, only to catch a glimpse at the far end of an alleyway.

Finding the motivation she’d been lacking all day, she set forth down the alleyway to track them down.

Octavia slipped into the shop. She was surprised to find it unlocked this late, when all the other shops were shuttered and sealed. It was dark inside, apart from odd little lights here and there illuminating displays of merchandise, some flickering or throbbing, and the dim glow of the emergency sign over the door.

It was quiet as well. Her footsteps sounded louder, echoed further. Her breath punctuated the silence like an intruder. She brushed against a display, dislodged some of the merchandise, and the whole shop reverberated for seconds. Mannequins and displays that had looked quite ordinary earlier now loomed eerily out of the gloom, deceptive angles making them seem to turn as she passed, the occasional soft rustling adding to the effect. Was that the air conditioning making the fabric move, or a rat hiding behind the stand?

Reaching the far side of the store, she slipped past the till. Behind it, the door to the office was ajar. She gingerly nudged it further open.

“I had a feeling I’d see you again soon, Miss Melody.”

How does she keep doing that? Octavia wondered in frustration. She sagged and pushed the door open fully.

It was even darker in the office, away from the street lamps and the shop windows. It took Octavia a few seconds to squint through the darkness and find Chrysalis reclining in a big floppy couch covered in cushions. The effect was like that of a wild beast in its lair.

Lounging in the same chair, practically on top of her, was a smaller, plumper girl with big eyes. She reminded Octavia of Pinkie Pie, though she couldn’t imagine Pinkie being so languidly erotic. The girl had her arms wrapped around Chryssi, gripping her protectively; the older woman was idly running her fingers through the girl’s hair, teezing strands of it with her long green nails.

“Is that… Fluffle Puff?” asked Octavia incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“She's with me,” said Chryssi. “.”

...

BIG GAP HERE.

...

“How do you know I’m not in love?” Octavia was getting upset, nearly shouting now. “What do you even know about me?”

In a flash, Chrysalis was standing. She gripped Octavia’s chin and pulled her face close, eyes locked together.

“You don’t smell of love, dearie. Not one bit. You smell of frustration, resignation and fear. You’re not in love. You’ve surrendered.”

Octavia’s eyes were wide with fear and decked with tears, but she couldn’t pull them away. She couldn’t move at all, she was locked onto those haunting green eyes. “I... I don’t...” she whimpered.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve met your soulmate and you’ve given up. The barriers, the circumstances, the risks,” she wheedled. Her nails felt like claws digging into Octavia’s throat.

Pulling her head closer, Chrysalis whispered into her ear, “You had your chance and you blew it. You traded it all away for cheap fear. What you’ve got left now isn’t love at all. It’s closer to hate,” she snarled. “You resent the effect she has on you. You’re jealous of how much you adore her. You hate how she doesn’t love you back.”

Octavia couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away. “No! She...”

“Tell me, do you really see the two of you happy together? As brilliant and pure as she is, and as tainted as you are? Do you see yourself serving her breakfast in bed, a warm smile on your face and subterfuge in your heart, clawing to get out? Do you really think she won’t ever notice?”

Chrysalis blinked, and Octavia finally closed her eyes. Chrysalis released her, letting the girl slide to her knees sobbing.

The pink girl slid up behind Chrysalis and wrapped her arms round her. Standing on tiptoes to reach the taller woman’s level, she purred into her ear then gave it a little nibble.

“You’re right,” said Chrysalis. “I don’t need to be so mean.”

Chrysalis turned, wrapping her arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her close. Absent-mindedly, she lifted a foot behind her and shoved Octavia’s shoulder, pushing her over onto the floor. Finally snapping out of her trance with a taste of carpet and realising where she was, she scrambled to her feet, pushed through the door, and stumbled through the darkened shop and out into the cool night.

Octavia took a bus home. She didn’t notice Sugarcoat walking a comfortable distance behind her along the dark street. She didn’t see Apple Bloom sitting behind her on the same night bus. She didn’t notice Fleur de Lis walking past her house as she let herself in.

8. Underworld

Vinyl hefted her main bag onto one shoulder, and the smaller bag onto the other. She picked up the satchel and headed out. There were times when she wondered if she could have chosen a lighter career.

It could be worse, she forced herself to think. I could be hauling around a cello.

It was a short bus ride, but then she had to head down a motley cluster of streets and alleys to get to the club. The sun was setting, spilling lines of gold down the alley, punctuated by the shadows of angular street lights and billboards. The door to the club was set back from the street, at the bottom of a short flight of steps. The blue neon sign above the door reading Underworld was switched off, and the door was fastened shut, but she’d been told to expect this. She knocked on the door.

“We open at nine!” shouted a woman from inside, muffled by the thick wood. She sounded posh, and more than a little annoyed.

“I’ve got an appointment!” she called back.

“Nobody told me about any appointments!” hollered the woman grumpily.

“I’m running your set tonight. It’s Vinyl Scratch!”

After a pause, the woman slowly unbolted the various locks holding the door in place. Eventually she pulled the door open and poked her head out. She was an older woman with blonde hair, warm brown skin and a sensible suit. She looked Vinyl up and down critically.

“Really? You? I can’t say that you look the part.”

“Maybe, but I sure sound it,” said Vinyl with significantly more confidence than she felt. A little swagger was part of the game, after all.

“Very well then, come with me. We’ll check with his lordship.” She ushered Vinyl in, past the ticket booth and down the smooth brick stairs, securing the door firmly behind them.

The club was in a converted industrial building of some sort, with a lot of exposed pipes and brickwork worn down over the years. Torn posters adorned the walls unevenly, advertising acts of the past, some of them faded beyond recognition. At the bottom of the stairs and was led round a corner and through a door marked ‘Staff only’ into a messy lounge with a mismatched collection of seats mixed up with instruments, cables, speakers and other equipment.

“You can leave your stuff here for now,” said the woman, walking over to knock at another door. Vinyl gratefully slid the bags off her shoulders, setting them carefully down.

“What is it?” came a man’s voice from inside. It sounded rich, full of itself, and it made Vinyl cringe. She took a deep breath and reminded herself of why she was here.

“Someone called, er, Viner...”

“Vinyl,” she corrected, “Vinyl Scratch.”

The door burst open. “Vinyl, darling!” The man was blond, with fair skin and a bright white suit.

This is my big break, don’t screw it up, don’t screw it up. “Hi, Mister Blueblood. I’m all ready for my set tonight. Got the kit, the tunes, the duds, the works.” She indicated the various bags.

“And I’m expecting great things from you, sweetums,” he said in an infuriatingly familiar tone. “There’ll be acres of time to set things up, so first, why don’t we take a stroll into my parlour and we’ll go over a few things. Harsh, honey, take five, I got this.”

The woman harrumphed as she headed out the door. “Just don’t do anything I’ll regret,” she muttered.

Blueblood guided Vinyl into the office with a hand pressed into the small of her back. He needs that hand, she reminded herself. I need him to have that hand so he can pay me, and write a letter of recommendation to the next club manager.

Blueblood’s office was even messier than the staff room. Papers were strewn across the two facing sofas, along with a stapler, a laptop, plates of half-eaten food and a folder full of completely unsorted accounts, receipts, invoices and scribblings.

“Find a space, sit down,” he said with a wave as he shut the door. Vinyl reluctantly pushed a slew of paperwork aside, causing a minor landslide onto the floor. She felt dirty just touching it all, and wondered how he always managed to keep his shiny white suits immaculate when the room was in such a state.

He shoved his laptop aside to sit opposite her, his expression turning serious.

“Okay, Scratch, last chance for you to back out of this. It’s...” – he glanced at his watch – “quarter to seven now. I can still get Berryshine to do the whole night if you don’t think you’re up for it.”

“I’m up for it. I promise.”

“Good to hear. But the competition set you did was only half an hour, and the preview last week was just over an hour. You did well, but this is the real thing. It’s different. There’s more to keeping a crowd alive and kicking for that long. You can’t just keep playing the same thing, you have to...” – he waved his hands ambiguously as if that would help at all – “change it up, keep their attention, and stay on top of the mood of the room. It only takes one bad song to drive everyone off the floor.”

“I know that, and I can totally do it. Don’t you worry.” And don’t you dare touch me again, you nasty little–

“Awesome. The doors open at half eight. We’ll get Berryshine to do the opening set to about 10, then you take over for the rest of the night. That means you’ll be catching the closing bar traffic, but most of the office party sorts will have either cleared off or got properly stuck in. Also it’s a saturday so you’ll see some of the school crowd, but that tails off about 11.”

“Got it.”

“Alright. Go set up your kit, and try not to mess with Berryshine’s stuff while you’re at it. She’s awfully possessive about it, and we don’t need any more bottles through the speakers.”

Vinyl was pretty good at this. She had the whole club rocking, and some well-placed changes in tempo had helped to break up the clusters and get the punters. She knew she would, of course – this was her calling, her raison d’etre, her home – but there’d still been a degree of bravado in her promise.

She spotted a few kids from school among the crowd: Rarity with her hair down and wearing plenty of diamonds. Flash Sentry and his band mates doing air guitar. Tree Hugger wearing flowing robes and doing her own thing with no discernable rhythm. Octavia in a tight little dress…

Tavi?!

She was standing near the door, looking awkward. She was wearing a slinky, shiny dark grey dress that emphasised much more than it concealed. She had a grim face, and hugged her arms, kept her body closed. She kept moving behind objects and people, shielding herself, whether from the dance floor or from Vinyl’s vision. Her eyes darted about, as if she expected monsters to jump out from every corner.

Seriously, Tavi, you’d stand out less if you turned up wearing nothing but a neon sign.

Vinyl nearly missed her next cue to keep the beat going, but managed to get past it by quickly setting up a massive bass drop that had dancers whooping and doing silly things with their hair.

She waved the other DJ over. “Hey, Berry, do you might covering for just a minute?”

“Yeah, it’s rocking, right!” shouted Berryshine.

“No, I mean can you watch my set? Just for a couple of minutes!”

“Sure thing!” She made to head for the bar. “What are you drinking?”

Deciding that mime was the universal language of the deafened, Vinyl made an exaggerated motion of stepping away from the mixing deck and gesturing for Berryshine to take her place. She got the idea and took over.

Vinyl threaded her way through the crowd, hopping nimbly through, betwixt and occasionally over the dancers. Octavia was staring intently at a patch on the wall; she looked up, right at Vinyl, and staggered backwards, only saved from falling over backwards by hitting the wall.

“Tavi, what are you doing here?” Vinyl wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be pleased or worried.

Octavia hesitated before answering, “I wanted to see you. That is, I wanted to properly see you, when you’re in your element, your true self. Not just the side of you I see outside.”

“Woah, that’s nice of you, but you kind of look–”

Without warning, Octavia stepped forward and pressed her lips to Vinyl’s.

What the–?

Is she... she’s kissing me. She’s kissing me!

Is she drunk? She doesn’t smell drunk. And I should know. Damn it!

Should I step away? Should I push her away? Would that be rude? Should I hold her? Is being rude more important than... than letting her know how I feel?

How do I feel? This is Octavia, this is the girl whose sand castles I kicked down, who shared her lunch with me, who always lent me pencils. She’s my oldest friend.

My friend who has really, really soft lips. I mean, does she moisturise them, or what? How do you even get lips that soft?

Shit, stop, no, don’t think that!

But oh, wow, that feels nice. It’s all tingly and warm, and is that her tongue? How does she know how to do that?

Wait, is that her breasts pressing against me? That dress she’s wearing is really tight. Like, I never really noticed before, but…

Gyaah! Don’t be distracted. This is important! You need to make a decision. You can’t just stand here…

Octavia broke the kiss. She paused a moment, her lips hovering over Vinyl’s, then closed her mouth and took a step back. Her eyes were pained.

“I... uh... Tav... um...”

“I know, Vinyl. I could tell.” Octavia turned and walked away, up the stairs and out of the club.

Vinyl felt she was supposed to run after her, stop her, hold her, say something, anything. But what? What could she possibly say that wouldn’t make things somehow worse?

The most important thing had already been said.

9. Watching the Sunrise