Cymbals crashed. Toms thumped. Snares rat-a-tat-tatted as the dark-maned pony poured out a beat that melded into the jazzy tune that the band produced. Strobes flashed down onto the stage as he pounded out a rhythmic masterpiece with his shiny, red-tinted drum-set.
Amidst the musical tempest that emerged from the band, Ebony Curtains, though he preferred to be called Ebon, was calm even as he clashed and banged, his inner metronome keeping steady with the bassist beside him. He felt the pulse of the music, hidden deep within the seemingly chaotic notes; his whole body thrumming with energy and power.
Finally, the song ended, the trumpets giving one last blare, the bassist and electric guitarist blasting out loud power chords, and the drums going animal-solo, until the ending CRASH!!!
Ebon froze in place, letting the adreline flow out of his body, panting a little from the exertion as the clubbers filed out, signifying the end of the night. After receiving his usual payment of bits from the manager, he headed out of the club with the rest of the band, out into the cold winter night, lit up by the "Starlit Moon" sign in top of the club. As usual the band was gathered together in a group talking and laughing, discussions that Ebon excluded himself from. It wasn't that he didn't like them, it was just that they were loud and talkative, the opposite of Ebon's preferences.
"Hey Ebon! We're going to the bar tomorrow! Dou'ya want to come with us?"
Ebon looked up to see Soulful Sounds, a recent addition to the band looking at him inquiringly.
"No.", Ebon replied bluntly, pointedly looking away. Bars weren't his thing, as it had two qualities he was not fond of: loud conversations and large quantities of alcohol.
As Ebon receded into the murky light of the streets as he started to head home, Soulful turned to the old, wizened bassist next to him.
"What's up with him?"
"Y'mean Ebon?"
"Yeah. Why is he such a....yunno.....a dick when you ask him if he wants to hang?"
The bassist chuckled in response. "Ha! Ebon and social don't mix well. Heck, I bet you that all he does when he's not out here is staying all cooped up at home. That boy sure likes his privacy, that much's for sure!"
After Ebony arrived at his apartment building, went up the stairs (more exercise?) until he reached the 4th floor, unlocked and stepped inside of his apartment. Closing the door behind him, he began to relax, until his placid expression was replaced with a smiling, content one. Sighing happily, he went into his room and flicked on the lights, revealing what looked to be a miniature library with a bed and desk and desk in the corner.
Grabbing the book that he left on his desk, Ebony hummed thoughtfully as he perused through the contents of one of his desk's numerous drawers, which was filled to the brim with tapes. After carefully choosing one from his wide selection, he put the tape into a small, beat-up stereo on his desk, and pushed the on button. Almost immediately, the room filled with the soft music of jazz. Ebony stood there for a moment, wrapped up in the gentle, warm, "bluesy" tune, his back hoof unconsciously tapping to the beat. Shaking out of his stupor, he settled down onto his bed to read, occasionally taking sips from a bottle of non-alcoholic cider that he had brought with him to his room. To him, life could get no better than this.
When Ebon blearily woke up in the morning, he noticed that the sun was already high up in the sky, and that his valiantly beeping alarm clock had failed to wake him up. Though most ponies would be frantically scrambling out of bed and racing to work, Ebon instead yawned and slowly got out of his bed. Luckily for him, his job was at night, when the club was open, and his on-the-side job as an author didn't require him to even leave his house.
Though his lifestyle was not particularly a well-off one, he wasn't in poverty either, as his job at the nightclub and the royalties that his moderately successful books gathered had given him more than enough, as he seldom spent large amounts of money, save for his sporadic "book hunts".
After brushing his teeth, combing his mane back into place, and making himself breakfast (he was a capable enough cook to know how to make more than just hay sandwiches and cup noodles), Ebon went back into his room, where his most beloved possession, the typewriter his mother had given him for Hearth's Warming when he was a colt, awaited him with the continuation of his new book, or whatever his muse indulged him with.
Even though it looked like Ebon was a mindless drifter, he did, in fact keep himself to a schedule. After two hours of writing, he would practice drums for another two hours, then eat lunch. After that, he went to town to pick up more groceries or wrote more, depending on his stock of consumables. If he got stuck on a particular part of his unfinished book, he would visit the library, or read, until it was time for him to go to the nightclub.
Today was no different. He got some of his book done and went to the library to relax for a while. As he headed in the direction of "Starlit Moon", the streetlights illuminating his beige coat in the gray-black of twilight, he couldn't help but sigh contentedly. Another satisfying day, where his passions and work were both enjoyable and relatively stress-free. A life that was so different, so liberating in comparison with his past experiences. Yup, he was done with that life.
When he found an opportunity to play at a club, one smaller and less popular than the "Starlit Moon", but had good pay all the same, he took it, quit university, took up his long-forgotten hobby of writing, and went up from there. He left his life and entered anew. But for all his efforts to escape, he still sometimes thought of the days when he had actual friends, long before his life was bucked into Tartarus, before he met Her. Ebon shuddered.
"Let's not get depressed over something that was in the past."
After a brief exchange of greetings with the owner, Ebon went over to the stage, sat on the throne of the drums, and waited.
After a few minutes, he heard the raucous sound of voices outside, much like a group of students just entering school, which was followed by the rest of the band filing in. As they all got up on the stage, Ebon checked the music sheets on the stand to see what he was playing tonight.
The ever-darkening sky blackened the streets outside, the streetlights getting brighter....finally, the sign of the nightclub was suddenly lit, marking the opening of the club.
First came the regulars, the music enthusiasts who came for a night of much-appreciated music, and for some, a good drink. Ebon recognized some of them, and even chatted lightly with one. These were ponies who understood and related to his passion, his way of escapism. There were also some new faces; whether they were there because of their love for music or their love of getting wasted, Ebon couldn't tell with them. Finally, the lights dimmed, save for the softly illuminated stage, and Ebon immersed himself into the music.....
Stretching his neck and yawning slightly, the beige stallion, ink-shaded mane highlighted with brown, stepped outside the club and into the cold night. Not bothering to say his goodbyes to the band, he tiredly clopped down the street and into a dark alley he knew was a shortcut to his apartment, his mind replaying the echoes of a particularly awesome piano solo that he had heard in his musical stupor. At this moment, he could think of nothing that sounded better than a hot shower and a book to round off his night, nothing else, no worrying, no ackward crying his heartbroken self to sleep, no.......Wait, was that the sound of hoofsteps?
His head, formerly bent down with content fatigue, snapped back up, a reflex built from his former martial artist days. "Who's there?", he called out warily. For several seconds, the only sound he heard was the pulse of his own wildly beating heart.
Just as he was going to dismiss it as him just hearing things, he heard it again, the distinct sound of hooves scraping against concrete. It was faint, but his ears, which were sensitive from long hours of listening to and mentally dissecting music, picked it up. His eyes squinted in order to see better in the shadows, he looked around wildly for a sign of the mystery pony. Then, as silent as an owl on the hunt, he felt a large weight drop down and land on top of him, landing a hard blow against his back.
Surprise and pain flared in his mind as he stumbled, desperately trying not to fall as the pony, dressed in a dark hooded cloak pushed off his back, did a backflip for good measure, and landed perfectly on his or her hooves. Finally righting himself, Ebon crouched into a fighting stance, his heart loudly thumping in his chest. For a moment, the two ponies did nothing but stand still, staring at each other, waiting to see who would make the first move.
The mystery pony suddenly jumped, vaulting gracefully off the wall, and flew straight at him, a hoof flicking out of the dark confines of the cloak aiming for his face. Just as quickly, Ebon raised his right hoof to counter her punch, then launched a hard strike with his other hoof. His strike hit nothing but air, as the pony swiftly flipped in midair, dodging his hoof and simultaneously kicking his or her back hooves out, striking true against his chest. Ebon gritted his teeth as the resulting force pushed him back a few feet while the cloaked pony landed perfectly on her hooves again. This time it was Ebon who made the first move, who crouched a bit to bolster his strength, then pushed explosively toward the pony, his shoulder sticking out like a living battering ram. At the last second, he jumped, taking the pony, who was preparing to dodge his shoulder bash, by surprise, and he drove his elbow into the side of the pony below him.
Jumping off the pony, Ebon stared cautiously as the pony, with wheezing breaths, tried to get up.
"Probably broke some ribs from that. Judging by his or her skill, it probably won't be enough to take 'em out. Guess I'll have to stall somehow..."
Before he could even move, however, the pony suddenly lashed out a foreleg, throwing something at Ebon's hooves, which promptly started to spew out great quantities of smoke. Immediately, Ebon's head started to droop, his woozy mind barely able to form cohesive thoughts properly.
Stumbling once....twice......Ebon finally collapsed as his mind darkened with the fog of unconsciousness, his blackening gaze barely making out the visage of the cloaked pony standing over him.....
