The radio was a device fairly new to ponies, and many had taken to it fairly well. It was nice to finally be able to listen to the music that you liked, and even something that you may not have heard before on your own accord. There was no wait in line for a concert, or even the large crowds that nearly drowned out the sound of the bands themselves. All that they had to do was flick a switch and turn a dial, and they could listen to a variety of radio stations. But if you lived in Ponyville, it was far more difficult to listen to anything besides Vinyl Scratch's dubstep, or wubs, as she called it.
Most of the radio stations that ponies enjoyed were often just out of range, the music muffled by static interference. Some even grew so tired of the constant bass drops and the incessant screeching noises that Vinyl called music that they listened through the constant static to let a small portion of actual instruments flow through their tattered eardrums. Not all ponies despised the music that played though, some thoroughly enjoyed the beats and remixes that she offered. Many of the ponies who did enjoy the music offered by Vinyl often hosted large parties, usually ones that escalated out of control. The unusually fast tempo in some of the songs seemed to affect ponies and induce more energy within their bodies. This tended to cause a large ruckus at parties that were already loud enough from the steep dropping of the bass and its constant thumping that echoed throughout the town. Some homes even caught fire and burnt to the ground, but luckily nopony was ever hurt.
Even though they did like the music that played, they wanted variety. It wasn't always a good to have the same style of song playing repeatedly, because you could never really differentiate between one song and the next. She tried to vary the style of music she played, but it never really worked out. Her talent was for music, more specifically dubstep, but not the style that some ponies were wanting. There were some fans that Vinyl could not please, and some of them even left their radios behind, starting up their own booster station or trying to start a unique one of their own. But no matter how hard they tried, the stations were always similar, and the main two available stations remained: static with the occasional reception of regular radio, and Vinyl's DJ PON-3 station.
The boosters often became successful, but it was usually short lived. They were short funded, run off of cheap homemade parts, and once they did rise to popularity, they couldn't handle the number of listeners that would come in. Their only purpose was to relay the radio stations that ponies loved so that they were within range, and frankly, they did their job well while they could. But that didn't satisfy the music hungry radio listeners in Ponyville. They wanted more, more radio and new songs all the time. And in the scheme of things, the only place that that really happened was in the larger cities where they had all the proper equipment and the larger musicians to air.
A small group of ponies sat around a radio perched on a kitchen stool, static passing though the singular speaker. Standing next to the speaker was a pony that had a fair height, his coat a light gray color. The mane that hung over his head and down the back of his neck was a dark blue, streaked with a grayish blue stripe. His tail followed the same scheme as his mane did, and his eyes shone like the deep waters of the sea. Around his hooves were what looked like waves, just the simple discoloration of his coat. Upon his flank resided a circular audio tape, or what would be found inside of an eight track cassette. Just as his cutie mark would suggest, his name was Eight Track. The knobs on the radio moved slightly back and forth as he manipulated them with his hooves, trying to catch what he could of a faint signal.
“I can't really get the signal, its just too weak to come out as anything but static,” Eight Track said as he turned to the group behind him.
The group consisted of three other ponies. One was a midnight blue, with a cyan mane and a band of baby blue intertwined. A horn poked through his colorful mane, proudly presenting his unicorn heritage. On his flank was a condenser microphone, suggesting that he was either a great singer or a smooth talker. He was known by the group to be able to get others to do things easily, and some said it was because he used some sort of magic to help woo whomever he would talk to. But he always denied it, and well, he was just the smooth talker that everypony else made him out to be. They called him Final Draft, and he was the one who was able to talk almost anypony into anything. He always had a plan, even if he seemed reserved.
Another pony, who had a pure white coat sat there, a small sigh escaping his lungs upon the news. The mane upon his head was a dark black, spiked up in a fashion similar to a fo-hawk with a horn protruding out the front. His cutie mark was somewhat simple, a brown and tan feather overlapping a single gear. When it came down to anything electronic, from a radio to just about anything else, he could work his magic and fix it, often changing what he referred to as a 'program' to make it work better. A lot of ponies had no idea what he was talking about, but he knew what he was doing and enjoyed to try and solve any new puzzles that presented themselves. The group referred to him as Nash, and even though it was a different name for a pony, they were never able to get the story of his cutie mark. Needless to say, he wasn't one for emotion and the sappy things.
The third pony in the group had an ash gray coat, wings outspread in order to stretch them. Her mane flowed with a sapphire color, complemented by a stroke of periwinkle. On her flank, was a bow and arrow, the arrow resting in the firing position. A bushy tail gently flowed behind the cutie mark. Her eyes were a shining cyan, beautiful to look into and even possible to get lost in. But that was no reason to get lost; she could be intimidating if she absolutely needs to be. The muzzle was covered in dark purple, a mark she had since she was a small filly. One Trick was the name that her friends called her by, but she was anything but a one trick pony.
“Ugh, this really sucks not having anything other than Vinyl's station,” Final Draft sighed, “Just turn it back for now. Doesn't seem like there are any new boosters lately, so there isn't much to listen to.”
Eight Track was already working at getting the radio tuned back to DJ PON-3 radio even before Final had said that he wanted it to be changed back. He just had a sense for things, and seemed to know what they wanted even before they did. Making small adjustments to the antenna and the dials, the dubstep flowed back through the speaker. It wasn't what they had wanted to listen to, but at least it gave them something to listen to. A pony walked past them as the radio made a smooth transition from static to dubstep. This mare, with a coat of pure white and a perfectly managed iridescent purple hair, found what they were listening to absolutely revolting. Her ears went flat on her head and her lips scrunched up as if she would vomit. She continued to walk, muttering under her breath about how it took no skill to make this noise and that it could be made at the press of a button. The group heard this, but passed it off even though they wholeheartedly disagreed.
“Some ponies these days,” One Trick huffed, “They don't understand anything about this music. It takes a lot of work to do something like this. One little mess up and they have to re-do the entire thing...”
“One Trick...” Final Draft and Eight track spoke with a sigh.
“I mean, what kind of ignorance is this? They should actually watch them make it, and then still call it so seemingly simple. That I would like to see,” she continued to rant. “It is just so stupid sometimes...”
Final Draft gave One Trick a tap on the shoulder to get your attention. “Your ranting again. We know how much work it takes, you've been over this before.”
“Heh, I guess I have,” One Trick said with a sheepish smile. “It just gets on my nerves, ya know? Plus we don't have many other stations...”
“Yeah, we don't. Plus there haven't been any boosters as of late, so that is out of the question right now,” Eight track relpied.
One Trick looked up a bit in a ponder. “Hey, Final, you had a friend that started a booster station a while back, right?”
“Yeah, I do have a friend that had a booster at one point. How come?” Final replied back to her hesitantly, not really getting where she was going with it.
“Well, if we can get his equipment... we could start our own station possibly,” One Trick suggested.
“Yeah we could, but it doesn't really work anymore,” Final said to her. “That's why he had to disband his booster station.”
“If I may suggest,” Eight Track added, “We do have somepony here who may be able to fix it, if he is up to the challenge.”
The group gave a glance over to Nash, who was fiddling with a watch, trying to get it working again. Somepony could have said his name, but he wouldn't have noticed. He was entranced in the watch and trying to figure out what exactly went wrong with it. It was essentially the only thing that existed in reality at the moment, as his brain had the tendency to shut other non-essential things out. Nash felt a slight urge to look back and see what the others would be up to. He turned to have a full group of ponies with eyes locked on him, a sly grin cutting across their lips.
“Can I help you?”
It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to try and carry hundreds of pounds of radio equipment, even if it was stacked in a cart. There were receivers, antennas, various sound distortion devices, microphones, a turntable, and another antenna for the output. Final toted the cart behind him, the heavy equipment bogging him down. It seemed like quite a bit of equipment for a single radio station to him, but he didn't know much about starting one. He could have more than he needed, or even less, but he just took what he was given to him. His friend had told him that the equipment was worthless and wouldn't work no matter how hard you tried, but he didn't underestimate Nash's abilities. Nash could do a lot with electronics, and Final hoped that he could do something with all of this equipment.
He pulled the cart through Ponyville, weaving in and out of other ponies who had stopped in the middle of the street to talk to somepony else. A bead of sweat was beginning to form on his brow even though the day wasn't too warm. It was nice out, about 70 degrees, warm enough to be comfortable and not too cold. Pulling up to a small stone house with a thatched hay roof. Through the front windows, which were fairly clean, Final could see everypony else inside talking. Their voices were muffled from the door and the windows, but he could make out every other word that they spoke. The weight of the cart was starting to make his back sore, it being about time to get the weight off of his back.
Final Draft pulled the cart over to the side of the house and yanked the harness off of his back. Not completely realizing how heavy the cart was and how the equipment had been loosely packed, he let the straps fall to the ground. A loud crashing came from behind Final in the equipment, and he looked back to see what he had done. He looked back just in time to see one of the large antennas that had been perched upon the pile of equipment falling down towards him. Acting on instinct, he crouched down and placed his hooves over the top of his head to attempt to dampen any damage that would come down onto his skull.
The pain that he expected never came, but there was that familiar light swooshing from the flapping of wings. Final removed his hooves from over his head and looked up. Hovering above him was a turquoise pony with a banana colored mane. On her flank was an eighth note, surrounded by loose lines, as if it was moving for some reason. Her eyes were a deep purple,which meshed nicely with her coat color. She wore bracelets around two of her legs, some on the front and the others on the back. Around each of her legs was a sweatband just darker than the color of her coat.
“Would you care moving so I could set this down?” She asked with a hint of impatience.
“Uh... yeah. Yeah!” Final Draft replied back as he moved out of the way so that she could set the radio antenna on the ground.
She set it on the ground, her wings flapping like a hummingbird, trying not to damage it in any way. Once it was at rest on the ground and not on a straight path for Final Draft's head, she came to a rest on the ground and turned to him.
“Names Cresdendo, and yours?”
“Draft. Final Draft,” he told her.
“Uhm... Ok? That's one way to say it, I guess,” she said with a quirky smile.
“Heh, yeah. Sorry, I just had to say it that way. Always kinda wanted to,” he responded with a disconcerted smile. “And thanks for saving me right here, that could have hurt quite a bit.”
“It's no problem,” she smiled, “You planning on starting a radio station of your own?”
“Actually, yes I am. Well, me and my friends,” he told her, pointing a hoof back to the house behind him. “Hey, if we need someone to read news or something, maybe you could help us out. Your voice would be great for that sort of thing.”
Crescdendo slightly blushed. “Well, thanks. That's a nice offer, and I'll take it up if you guys really do need me.” She looked up at the sun, getting a rough estimate of the time of day. “But I better be going, I do have some things to do. If you still want me once you have everything set up, just look to the skies, you'll find me there.”
“Nice meeting you Crescendo,” Final Draft called to her as she took flight.
“Likewise Final Draft,” she said as she flew towards the center of town, disappearing behind the rooftops.
Final made his way around the back of the house, searching for any length of rope. He searched through sheds, checked the gardeners table, and even carefully checked everything around him. But he couldn't find it, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing moment that he couldn't find it. It wasn't in the sheds, not in the gardeners table, and certainly wasn't hanging on the wall, so where could it be? He thought to himself, stomping his hoof on the ground and closing his eyes. He let out a deep sigh, the impact with the ground not at all feeling like compacted dirt or stone. It was more of a rough cloth, and that could really only be one thing. Final opened his eyes and looked down at the ground, but instead of seeing rope, there was just a burlap sack. He stifled a chuckle, wishful thinking getting the best of him.
He walked back around to where the cart was, and stood baffled as he saw the cart that he had toted all of the equipment. Interestingly enough, everything that was on the cart was re-organized, and made to where it took up the least amount of possible room. The size of the once massive pile of loose equipment was now reduced to about four feet tall, compared to nearly being double that size. And the rope that he had been searching for was there. To be more specific, it was tied around the cart, intertwined with the handles on the equipment and securing everything else in place. Final Draft walked over to it, surprised that someone had been able to tie all of this down, and re-arrange it without making virtually any noise. A small piece of paper was taped to the cart as a not to him. It read:
I figured you were going to try tying this down. The rope was at the front of the house, not at the back, and I also made sure it was all secured. Now you shouldn't have any problems with things falling on you.
Eight Track
“I still have no idea how he does that...” Final muttered to himself.
Final Draft went inside and talked with everyone for a few minutes before bringing them back out to see what treasures he had brought to them. When they walked outside, most of them just stared at the neatly stacked pile of equipment on the cart, thinking that it was nothing special besides the usual loadout for a booster station. Everypony, but Nash. He walked over to the cart, his horn glowing and preemptively thinking of what he could do with the programs that these fascinating pieces of machinery held inside of them. As soon as he had probed his way into the radios programming, his face turned to utter disgust. Nash shook his head and moved onto the next piece, the same reaction occurring from each one that he probed. After five or six attempts, he looked back at the group.
“Heh, well I guess we know why he couldn't get any of this to work. Your friend really did a number on these things.”
Final looked at One Trick and Eight Track as they stood beside him. “Is it really that bad?”
“Well,” Nash pondered aloud, “I could fix it if I try and reverse some of the jumbled code...” His horn began to glow, and he closed his eyes envisioning the code in front of him. “Here, here, and here... And switch these node names... re-code this entire sub-class...”
“Well, we better let him do his thing,” One Trick suggested.
The group nodded in agreement, turning back and heading inside the house as Nash rambled away and did what he did best. He tinkered, he fixed. He redesigned, and even had to recode some of the parts from scratch because of how terribly scrambled it had become.
The group, except for Nash, who was still messing with the radio equipment, sat at a round table inside of One Trick's home. It was a redwood table, the redness in the wood gleaming under the polyurethane protective coating. She had photos on the wall of the family; nick knacks scattered on small tables next to chairs and sofas. The way she held herself up at the table was as if she had just become the CEO of a major corporation. A cunning grin crossed her lips before she began to speak.
“Gentlecolts, I have both good news, and bad news.”
Eight Track and Final Draft looked at each other at the cliché use of the good and bad news line. They tilted their head to her, and raised an eyebrow with a confused look on their face.
“Bad news first, that way we can end on a good note,” Final Draft said to her with a sigh.
“Doesn't really work that way here Final,” She said, pointing at him and leaning over her hooves. “Good news, I found a place where we can give the best reception, and look pretty damned awesome while doing it.”
“And the bad?” Eight track asked.
“That will have to wait. You'll see it for yourself soon enough.”
Final Draft and Eight Track sighed in unison; anonymity was good at times, but right now it was just painful. They put a hoof to their foreheads as they thought of what could possibly be such bad news that she had to show them rather than tell them. It was always this way with her, trying to keep things a surprise up to the very last second. It was the way that she liked to do things, and they couldn't really tell her 'no' because she was offering them somewhere that was apparently pretty good for what they wanted.
Nash burst through the front door, his mane frazzled around his horn, most likely from the an of the static from working on all of the radio components. He had a joyous smile upon his lips, presumably from the fact that he had gotten the machinery fixed up to his standards, which were pretty high. He walked over to the table and took a seat next to everyone else.
“Well,” he started, “Your friend really did do quite a bit of damage to those radio components. But I was able to get them fixed up and working even better than before.”
“That's pretty awesome there Nash,” Final said to him, the group nodding their heads accordingly.
“And...”
“And what?”
“I even took a bit of time to put some security measures in it so that there is a smaller chance for them to be over-taxed,” Nash told them, his smile growing bigger. “So that means we should be able to stay up and running for longer, and have better quality than the other stations out there. So what were you guys up to in here?”
“Just some talking, really. Didn't miss out on much,” One Trick said nonchalantly. “You were only out there for... two hours I think. Did you really get all of that done that quickly?”
“Yeah, it really isn't that hard.”
“Says the pony who got their cutie mark for doing that kind of stuff,” She said to him, “And you're never gonna tell us the story behind that, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Thought so. Anyways, your timing couldn't have been any better,” she said happily, “Now, we should be going. I need to show you that one place that I was talking about for that one thing.”
“Don't you mean the place where you wanted to setup our radio station?” Eight Trick asked.
“Yeah, something like that. Anyways, we should get going before it gets too dark.”
One Trick stood up from her chair and pushed it in, walking to the door that still stood open from Nash's entrance and went outside. She gave a hefty flap of her wings, calling to them to hurry themselves up. They stood from their chairs, one by one making their way outside in tow of each other. One Trick yelled something back at them as they followed her on the path out of town and towards Fluttershy's cottage, but none of them cold really make out what she said from the inaudible slurs that exited her mouth. But Eight Track came back and shut the door of her cottage, assuming that was what she had wanted.
“Care to explain why we are at Fluttershy's cottage?” Final Draft asked with a bit of annoyance. “This is hardly the best place to do any sort of radio station, and not to mention encroaching on her home.”
One Trick hovered just above all of the other ponies, who had worked up a bit of sweat from walking in the midday sun. Glancing over them, she could tell that they were a bit agitated that they had been brought out here to see nothing as it had seemed. There was nothing where they were, but she was somewhat excited about seeing what their reaction would be when they were told where she was actually talking about.
“Well, not exactly here. But in this area, yes.” She pointed her hoof back towards the Everfree Forest. “In there is the place I found. So, care to join me?”
Nash looked into the Everfree, the light from the sun becoming nearly nonexistent a few hundred feet from the beginning of the path, glanced back at One Trick, and then back at the forest. “Hmm... no.” He looked at One Trick, and started to head back towards town.
“Bring the radio cart and have some other ponies bring a lot of wood and building materials on your way back!” One Trick called to him.
“Why the hay not,” he replied.
“So Eight Track are you... Where in the world is he?” she asked looking around. “Wasn't he just here a second ago?”
“Yeah, he was,” Final draft told her with a flat sigh. “He was. Celestia knows where he went off to this time.”
“I just don't know anymore, he's been disappearing a lot lately. Anyways, lets get on with it. Lead the way with some magical light Mr. Unicorn.”
Final Draft stood at the beginning of the path that led into the Everfree. He just stood there, not knowing if this could possibly be the last thing that he ever did. He wasn't usually scared of most things, but he had essentially been trained from being a filly, as most were, that the Everfree was the origin of all evil. Not to mention all of the monsters that resided within. One Trick became one with the ground again, landing next to Final Draft. She gave him a small push, walking past him and venturing into the dark forest.
“C'mon now, you gonna let a mare go first into the dark, scary forest?” She asked teasingly. “What ever happened to chivalry? Oh the horror!”
“Ha, ha. Well, you're the one who knows the way, Lady Rarity.”
One Trick glared at him, having lost the battle. At least I haven't lost the war... She thought to herself. She continued to walk into the forest, Final Draft trotting to catch up with her and his horn aglow to help light the way. It was different going about everything on the ground, compared to the flying through the skies. She hoped she knew the way that it was, at least some of the surroundings seemed to match up with the view she had from the skies. A light tapping echoed through the trees, and happened in patterned intervals. Her ears twitched with each succession of taps as she tried to figure out where exactly it was coming from. It seemed like it was coming from straight ahead of her, maybe even close enough to be the spot that she had picked out for their radio station.
She ran on ahead, leaving Final Draft behind in the shadows with only his horn to lead the way. He was thoroughly confused onto what One Trick was doing, but he played along with it and made haste to catch up with her. Even if the monsters were just old mare's tales, there were still the very real wolves and other animals that wouldn't kind a midnight blue pony for a snack. Upon catching up with her, he broke through the bushes that she had just jumped through, launching him into a fairly large clearing, and in the center was a massive tree, the trunk at least the size of a small house back in Ponyville. A fence was being constructed around the perimeter of the clearing, Eight Track and a few other ponies fast at work.
“You know Eight Track, you never cease to amaze,” One Trick complemented him.
“That's the goal,” he replied with his mouth full of nails as he continued to pound them into the wooden supports for the fence.
“Well, I'm not sure about you, but I think we might have left Nash –” Final Draft tried to talk, but was interrupted mid sentence.
“Ya guys need me?” Nash called from the air, held aloft by a few pegasi carrying the cart of radio equipment, slowly easing it to the ground.
Coming in behind them was another group of pegasi, carrying a large net with at least a ton of lumber and various building supplies. In that group, was a pony that Final Draft had met earlier that day. And at this point, it was pretty obvious who she was a major fan of. Crescendo was holding the net next to Rainbow Dash, and it was safe to say that she was barely able to contain her excitement and safely hold the net. Once they had brought the rest of the lumber down, she was enamored with Rainbow Dash. And being the egomaniac that she was, Rainbow Dash loved the attention that she was being given. Small, battery powered lamps were being placed around the base of the tree and out around the border to help light it in the up and coming night.
“Well, this is it. The tree that should give us what we need,” One Trick said while looking up towards the canopy. “If we put the antennas at the top, we should get great signal, and the large cover that this thing gives us will also be help from the rain.”
“Seems like this is a pretty great place to have picked for the station,” Final said, “Hell, I wouldn't have ever thought of something like this. But what about all the up and coming musicians that we want to get on the air?”
“Well, if they want their songs aired, then they're going to have to come out here, or send us a tape. One of the two. And Final, you might want to get out of that poison joke.”
“What? Aww come on!” he yelled as he jumped out of the small gathering of poison joke.
“Well, we better get started on working with everyone else huh?” One Trick asked Final Draft.
“Yeah, if we ever want Everfree Radio on the air, its gonna take some work,” he told her, “Gotta do what needs done though.”
“Oh so now you're self naming the radio station?”
“It has a nice ring to it, does it not?”
One Trick sighed in defeat once again, not knowing what to say. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
The ponies began their work on building up the fences, and then constructing the actual building that would house all of their radio components. Various pegasi were flying up to the top of the canopy, hauling some of the antennas and anchoring to the top of the tree. It would be a lot of work, and would require their blood and sweat, but in the end, it would all be worth it.
Just outside of the path that lead into the Everfree stood a lone mailbox. That mailbox looked would have been looked over by anypony had it not been painted to look like poison joke. On the side it was had been labeled.
Everfree Radio:
For the ponies, by the ponies.
The Everfree Forest – feared by most, and respected by few. It is always seen as the source of pure evil, and nothing more. Tales have been told by those who have entered the bush that it was the most terrifying thing that anypony could ever experience. Eyes could be felt on your back as you walked, the monsters lurking behind you creating noise as they stepped on dried leaves and twigs, as most would say. Was it that this was always true, or could it have been that it was all a matter of reputation? Without the tales of fear and death, it would be nothing more than a normal forest. That was the way to think about it, especially if you wanted to make a living in there.
Most didn't think of making a living in the Everfree, or even set eyes on it for most of their lives. Laying your eyes on it was said to make a pony go insane, and some even thought that that was the truth. But a small group of ponies didn't fear what others did. They were willing to go above what was considered to be normal. They set out to give ponies a new way to listen in and give those crushed by the larger corporations a chance. Where some had failed, they would go. The only goal in mind was to establish something to be proud of and to call their own. Ponies who had been told to get off stage would now be given a chance to have their sounds flow through the air, bringing everypony something new with each day. What would they be if it followed the same style of every other station out there?
A black sheep in a herd of black.
But they were the white in the herd.
And they are Everfree Radio.
