A gilded, four-pony carriage rolled down Ponyville's main street and came to a halt in front of the town's grand theater. A crowd of spectators pushed against the velvet red ropes to either side of the walkway, cheering and shouting. The carriage door opened wide and a handsome white unicorn emerged: he was wearing a distinguished black tuxedo and his blue mane was long and windswept. A barrage of camera flashes lit off as he set a monocle against his eye and waggled his tiny mustache. He walked down the carriage's tiny folding stepladder, and the crowd's cries grew even louder as a beautiful white mare followed after him: a slender, graceful unicorn with a flowing light-pink mane.
Fancypants knelt by the carriage door and offered his lady a hoof. "My dearest?" he said with a smile.
Fleur de Lis smiled as she accepted his hoof and delicately descended the stepladder. She leaned close and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "It's the valet's duty to help us disembark," she whispered in his ear.
"Why should I not reserve such a privilege for myself?" he said.
"Because it's not the sort of thing a member of the gentry would do. We hired a valet for a reason." They walked down the dirt path and towards the the rickety, aging theater house ahead. The building was surrounded by weedy gardens and hoof-painted banners. "Not that I suppose it matters, here."
"Not that it matters?" Fancypants turned to her, his smile fading. "It was your idea to host the competition in Ponyville. Surely there must be something of value here, waiting to be discovered."
"Was that supposed to be sweet or sarcastic? I can never tell."
"Why can't it be both?" His warm smile was tinted with a mischievous streak that only a wife could recognize.
Fleur de Lis pouted at him. "Just promise not to embarrass us too much."
"I shall do my very best." He took out his monocle and dabbed at it with the corner of a handkerchief. "May I still embarrass myself as much as I please?"
"You will do no such thing. You've come along to show your support for this event—"
"And for the apple tarts," he said.
"—And it deserves to be treated with dignity and respect. It's an opportunity to bring culture to the masses."
"Oh really?" said Fancypants as he waved at the crowd. "I thought we were here to import culture from Ponyville. You do keep referring to this as a talent show rather than a competition."
"The competitive aspect is nothing more than a motivator," she said. "We want to see the best that Ponyville has to offer, and ponies perform better under pressure."
They continued walking for a moment, nodding to the crowd on either side of the dirt road.
Fleur de Lis turned to her husband. "What?"
"What what?" asked Fancypants.
"You were going to say something," she said, "I'm sure of it."
Fancypants rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. "Nothing at all my sweet. Nothing worth fussing over, certainly."
Fleur de Lis pursed her lips. "Oh, fine then. Be that way."
"Oh, thank goodness!" he said and adjusted his bow tie. "I know of no other way to be, after all. I'm so glad you approve."
They walked to the end of the red carpet and came to the theater doors, currently sealed off by a flimsy length of ribbon. The mayor gave a brief but inspiring speech before passing a large pair of novelty scissors to Fleur de Lis, and there was a moment of silence as she snipped the ribbon. The crowd redoubled it's cheering, and the married couple bowed to them before following the mayor inside. The spectators and reporters rushed in after them, filling the foyer with excited and energetic conversation.
Fancypants gazed up at the interior decorations with a smile. "Aah! Is it everything you hoped it would be?"
"It's... not exactly Canterlot," Fleur de Lis sighed.
"You know, very few places are. I can only think of one off the top of my head." He nodded towards the ruffled tapestries hanging from the balconies. "I did a spot of research before we came here and discovered that this building was hoof-built entirely with traditional methods. No magic, no machinery... it gives it so much character! I, personally, I find it char—"
" 'Charmingly rustic,' yes I know." She looked at the crumbling plaster walls and unvarnished wooded benches. "I just wish they'd shown a little more diligence. Don't they realize how important this is?"
Fancypants gave a little gasp and the monocle popped away from his face. "Effort, my dear? "It's obvious—"
"I've had quite enough of that," Fleur de Lis said. She picked up the monocle and pointed it at his nose. "You promised not to embarrass us."
"Terribly sorry. It shan't happen again." Fancypants polished his monocle and set it back in place. "But it's obvious to me that a great deal of thought went into the interior decorating. It's deliberately understated so as to accentuate the building's natural charm and character."
"I'm sure it seems grand to the locals," she said, "and it certainly is charming. But the upper class of Canterlot won't think so. How are they supposed to recognize Ponyville's talent when there's so little effort backing it up?"
Fancypants quirked an eyebrow. "Is this a talent show or an effort show?"
"We're not having this conversation again, dear. Talent is a priceless treasure, yes, but every pony in Equestria has a cutie mark... and many give up before they can truly shine. If this event convinces just one pony to press on, in spite of all the challenges and difficulties, it will have been worthwhile."
Fancypants' response was cut off as Ponyville's elderly, grey-maned mayor approached them. "Ah, Madame! It is an honor to have you visit our humble little village. And you too, Sir Fancypants."
"The pleasure is entirely ours, Your Honor," said Fleur de Lis. "I do apologize for giving you such short notice about the event."
"Oh, not at all," said the Mayor. "We've been trying to cultivate an artistic community for years. We've never had much interest before now, but the first prize for your talent show has everypony in a tizzy: the chance to perform for the Princess herself!"
"You hear that, dear?" said Fleur de Lis sweetly. "The citizens of Ponyville have plenty of talent. They just needed a bit of motivation."
"Hm? Oh yes, certainly. Effort. Very important." He glanced back at the theater's main entrance. "Say, do you think I could have a quick tour of the village's main street? I've heard there's a few historical buildings hereabouts. There's even a place where they still weave cloth by hoof, with spinning wheels and everything!"
Fleur de Lis shook her head. "You can tour the village later, dear. Right now the mayor and I need to finalize the event, which means you'll need to socialize on my behalf."
"Ah! Yes, of course!"
"Not the locals," Fleur de Lis said sternly. "I need you to speak with the patrons who invested in the show and the contestants who wish to perform. Don't let me catch you chatting with whoever wanders by."
"Ah... yes. Of course."
“Thank you, dear. I'll meet with you as soon as we've sorted out the final changes to the roster. We won't be long."
The two mares walked off towards the backstage rooms, talking quickly about art and culture and brochures and other weighty topics. Fancypants watched them go, then glanced at the crowd mingling all around him.
Well, I suppose I'd better make the best of the situation. He flexed his shoulders and lifted his nose.Stiff upper lip, old boy! This isn't royal court, after all. Surely the local patronscan't be nearly as snooty as you're accustomed to.
"Why hello there, Sir!"
Fancypants' mane bristled at the newcomer's tone of voice. He suppressed a wince and covered it with with a smile as he turned around. "Why, hello indeed! I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"Filthy Rich," he said and held up his hoof. "My family is the chief benefactor for this humble little show. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
"Ah yes, Filthy!" Fancypants gave it a firm shake. "I hear your name in court all the time, I dare say. Filthy, Filthy Filthy! That's all they talk about."
The stallion cleared his throat softly. "Mister Rich, if you please."
"Yes of course," said Fancypants. He placed a hoof on his own chest. "In which case, you may refer to me as Mister Pants."
There was an abrupt snort, and Fancypants glanced down at the bejewelled young filly standing next to the wealthy stallion. Her father shot her a stern glance as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"And who is this lovely filly?" said Fancypants.
"This is my daughter, Diamond Tiara. She's going to perform a piano piece."
Fancypants gave her a gentle bow. "Tis an honor, miss."
"Oh believe me, I know it is!" Diamond Tiara bent her front knee and lowered her head, performing a flawless curtsy.
"She's been practicing all week for this event," said Mister Rich. "Of course she practices every week, but she's been especially excited since she heard about the competition. Why just imagine: my own daughter performing for the Princess herself! She'll be simply charmed, I'm sure. Don't you agree?"
Fancypants nodded. "Oh yes, I imagine so. Meeting the princess is a very powerful experience even for a little child. Life-changing really, what with her being the Princess and all."
"The—?" Filthy Rich tilted his head. "I meant for the Princess. The Princess will be charmed."
Fancypants gently bit the tip of his tongue. "Well, I suppose she does love children."
Diamond Tiara raised her head and puffed up her chest. "Just wait till she gets a load of me, then!"
"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for the, ah... thank you for... thank you." Fancypants took a step forward and lowered his voice. "Mister Rich. Am I to understand that you've agreed to help finance this little event?"
"Indeed I have," he said.
"And that you have entered your daughter into this very same event?"
"Yes, yes. Why?"
Fancypants gestured grandly at the crowded theater hall around them. "Well, I just thought you might be worried about a perceived conflict of interest. Not that I would go so far as to think you capable of such a thing, but if your daughter were to win I'm sure some unscrupulous ponies—not me, of course, wouldn't dream of it for an instant—might suggest that... well..."
Mister Rich frowned at him. "Suggest what?"
"That perhaps the judges were biased in their decision. They won't be, of course, but ponies might think that. I would hate for your daughter's well-earned victory to be sullied by such unwarranted mud-slinging."
"I'm not going to win because I'm rich and famous," Diamond Tiara said. "I'm going to win because I'm the best. Everypony knows that already."
Fancypants managed to nod and smile. Oh my stars, but this is much worse than I expected. I may be in actual, physical pain right now. He glanced at the surrounding patrons and caught sight of a shimmering, purple mane making its way through the crowd like the prow of an ice-breaker.
"Ah, I'd know that mane anywhere." He took two steps and caught the pony's attention as she passed by. "Miss Rarity! I haven't seen you in ages."
Rarity offered a brilliant smile as she caught sight of him. "Why, Fancypants! I'm so glad you could accompany your wife to this event. I was worried you'd be busy elsewhere."
"Nonsense," Fancypants said, "I do so enjoy these little cultural exchanges. But enough about me! What about this interior decorating, eh? It's brilliantly understated, don't you think?"
"That's exactly what I was aiming for, actually. I was just telling Hoity Toity here about how difficult it is to decorate a building without obscuring it's natural charm."
"Hoity...?" Fancypants blinked when he realized who was standing next to Rarity. "Oh, hello there. I didn't realize you were on the judging panel."
"I'm actually not," he said, "but I simply couldn't pass up the chance to attend. Rarity's shows are simply smashing, as you're no doubt already aware!"
"Indeed they are," said Fancypants. "Literally and figuratively, in my experience. In fact, I was thinking she and I might have a moment to discuss that very thing! We haven't spoken in ages, and I'm sure you and Mister Rich would—"
"I appreciate the offer," Rarity said, "but I'm afraid I really must get back to the preparations. I am here as a professional, after all. I'm sure Hoity Toity would love to talk about it, though."
Fancypants took a half-step back and quickly scanned the available exits. "That's not exactly—"
"Oh, but we simply must!" Hoity Toity said, taking a step closer. "I find it marvelous what she's accomplished here with such a minimum of material. Simple and elegant at the same time!"
Fancypants watched Rarity as she went off through the crowd, leaving him alone with Hoity Toity and Filthy Rich. So that's what it feels like to be on the receiving end of... whatever just happened.
Fancypants stared off into space as a middle-aged mare bedecked in jewelry chatted in his general direction. It had been three hours since he and his wife had disembarked the carriage, and he'd spent every moment of it surrounded by energetic patrons and enthusiastic competitors. He took a moment to scan the rest of the room: the crowd was thicker now and the patrons much more upstanding and respectable. Several long tables had been arranged by the far wall, but there weren't any refreshments on display.
The jewel-bedecked mare nodded to him. "...But really now. Don't you think so?"
"Hm? Oh, quite so. Absolutely!" Fancypants saw the slightest hint of a frown on the mare's face and immediately shook his head. "Not! Absolutely not, of course. I mean really now."
The mare let out a cultivated laugh. "Oh I know! I said the same exact thing, but did she listen?"
She's been talking for twenty minutes straight now. Whenever does she find the time to breathe? Maybe she's discovered a way to breathe in through her nose while talking out of her mouth? Fancypants managed to get halfway through an affirmative nod when the sound of a squeaky trolley caught his ear. He glanced at the tables and saw a freckled, orange mare setting out platters.
"Excuse me, mi'lady," he said with a nod towards the table. "Perhaps we might continue our conversation after we've refreshed ourselves with some comestibles?"
"Oh, certainly. Marvelous idea."
The lady chattered on as they walked through the crowd. They came to the tables—each laden with a feast of apple-related deserts and pastries—and Fancypants eyed each of the individual platters in turn.
"Ooh... apple-cinnamon tarts!" he reached for one, but somepony to his left lightly slapped his hoof.
"That's fer later, big guy."
"Applejack?" Fancypants looked up at her with a smile. "Well I dare say, this is quite a coincidence. It's a pleasure, truly."
"Well thank'ee, sir." Applejack squinted at him as she pushed the dessert trolley along. "Pardon, but do I know you?"
He gave her a quick bow. "Fancypants, at your humble service. We met briefly in Canterlot when your friend's birthday celebration spilled over into my garden party. Much to my delight, I assure you."
Applejack's face broke into a broad smile. "Well howdy there! We don't see a lot of important folks out this way, but I knew you seemed familiar. Why're you here, anyhow?"
"My lovely wife is hosting the event, and I just thought I'd show my support for the local arts. That, and prevent all those noise-some, blathering patrons from distracting my wife while she takes care of all the important things." Fancypants let out a good-natured laugh, which the bejeweled mare immediately joined in on. "So then, Applejack. What might you be doing here, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
Applejack nodded to the cart. "Sweet Apple Acres threw a couple of bits into the hat to pay for this thing, but we also volunteered to do the catering for free."
Fancypants uttered a sigh of relief. "You're a patron? Oh thank goodness, that means I can talk to you."
"Appreciated," she said, "but it also means I'm workin' here. We can talk after I get the tables set up, maybe."
Fancypants nodded to her. "You're right of course. I wouldn't want to impose."
"And please don't dig in until the party officially starts," she said as she pushed the trolley away. "We don't want everypony getting the same idea."
"True, true." Fancypants gazed at the display of confectionery. "I suppose standing in their immediate vicinity is a refreshing experience in it's own right."
The jeweled mare ignored Applejack entirely as she left. "Say! Did you know how challenging it is to groom cats for show pageants? I'm quite a cat fancier myself."
"I never knew," Fancypants said with a smile. "And did you know that whales can dissolve enormous amounts of oxygen in their bloodstream? They find it frightfully useful, I'm sure, given their habit of staying underwater for long periods at a time."
The mare opened her mouth but hesitated halfway through a word. "What?"
"I thought we were talking about favorite animals," he said. "You see, I'm something of a whale fancier. Do you know how challenging it is to groom whales for—”
He cut off as a young filly ran out of the crowd and crashed into him headfirst. He stumbled back from the impact and jostled the nearby table. His horn flashed, and a magical aura steadied the punch bowl and caught a half-dozen slender glasses before they could fall to the floor. He looked down at the dazed filly just as she looked up at him. She was dressed in a frilly, homemade princess costume.
She scrambled back to her hooves and gave him a quick bow. "I didn't mean to bump into you, sir! I'm really, really sorry!"
"I'm not," he said with a smile. "Are you Sweetie Belle, by any chance?"
She let out a tiny gasp. "How'd you know?"
"I can see it runs in the family, then. My name is Fancypants. This is a formal event, though, so you may refer to me as 'Mister Pants.' " He looked back over his shoulder and tapped a hind hoof against the floor. "I even went so far as to wear pants today."
Sweetie Belle snickered, but managed to keep it quiet.
"As for how I know you, I consider your sister—the incomparable Miss Rarity—a good friend of mine. She spoke highly of you, I must say."
"She did?" Sweetie Belle tilted her head. "Are you sure it was my sister?"
"Quite," he said, and adjusted his monocle. "If I may be so bold as to ask, is there any particular reason you've dressed yourself in the attire not unbecoming of a princess?"
Sweetie Belle looked down. "It's silly."
"Oh really?" he said. "By all means then, please do go on!"
"My friends and I were just practicing for the show. We were thinking of putting on a play."
"Oh? Which play did you have in mind?"
Sweetie Belle scratched at the floor. "We mostly just make it up as we go along. We tried memorizing stuff for real, but it was—"
"Aha! There you are, you nasty monster!" A young pegasus burst out of the crowd, dressed in a cardboard facsimile of a knight's plated armor. She flipped up the cumbersome visor and pointed a cardboard lance at them. "Let the princess go, or I'll oh-my-gosh you're not Applebloom! I'm so sorry sir!"
The crowd fell silent and turned to look at them, instinctively drawn to the mention of 'the princess.' The two fillies cowered under the attention.
Fancypants picked up Sweetie Belle, snatched a ladle from the side of the punch bowl and held it menacingly against her neck. "Or you'll what!?" he sneered.
The young pegassus stared at him in shock. "What are you doing? You're not—"
"That's right!" Fancypants said in a sinister voice. "I'm not the princess' magistrate at all! Did you really think the Beige Knight was working alone when he kidnapped her? It was I who gave him the key to her bedroom window!"
"The magistrate? What are you talking about?"
Sweetie Belle waved at her frantically. "Remember, Scootaloo? The magistrate! He was... hypnotized! By a giant snake! With three heads!"
"You gullible fools!" Fancypants said. "You have it all backwards: it was I who hypnotized the giant snake into becoming my servant! Each of it's heads knows a different sort of magical spell: Secret and forbidden magics long forgotten by pony-kind!"
"But how?" said Sweetie Belle. "You couldn't do that unless you had the... the Mystical orb of secret... secrets!"
"Ah, but I do! I had my cleverest wizards carve the Mystical Orb of Secret Secrets into the form of a lens! I've had it with me from the very beginning and nopony suspected it for a moment!" Fancypants pointed at his monocle and let out a long, cackling laugh.
"Oh yeah?" shouted Scootaloo. "Well, I've got the mystical lance of... truth and stuff! And that's the opposite of secrets!"
"Truth and stuff?" Fancypants cowered behind his hostage. "Thrice be cursed, you meddling knight! You've melted down the Key of ultimate freedom and mixed it into the legendary silver meteor to forge a noble weapon of power! Ah, but it will do you no good unless you can wield it with the courage of the royal lineage!"
"That's true, but there's something you don't know!" Scootaloo removed her cardboard helmet and tossed her mane. "I'm also a princess! And I'm not left-hooved!"
Fancypants gasped in shock, and his monocle popped away from his face. "Two Princesses? Impossible! How can this be!?"
"I'll show you what's impossible! Chaaarge!"
The crowd watched as Scootaloo stampeded ahead and savagely poked Fancypants with her cardboard lance. He fell to the floor with a cry of agony and Sweetie Belle took the opportunity to break free of his grasp and kick at his hindquarters.
"Kidnap me, will you? Well this princess doesn't need rescuing! I'm actually a princess knight myself! We both are!"
"Yeah! And we're sisters too, with special magic that only works when we're together!"
"Sisters?" Fancypants propped himself up on his knee and spoke in his usual tone. "But how can you be sisters when your coats are completely different colors?"
"Hey yeah," Sweetie Belle said. "What's up with that?"
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. "Well obviously a wizard used a spell to make us look different, so one of us could go into hiding."
"Ah yes," Fancypants said. "There must have been an omen or something: Something about me being defeated by two princess knight sisters. Omens happen all the time, you know. Why, just last week—"
"That's enough out of you!" Scootaloo said. "Have at thee!"
Fancypants struggled to stand up as the two fillies climbed over him, putting him in various headlocks and wrestling holds. "Oh, cruel fate!" he wailed. "All my plotting and planning, for naught! I shall have my revenge!"
"What's going on here!?"
All three of them froze in place and the crowd parted to make way for Fleur de Lis.
"Honey bunches!" said Fancypants as he stood up, easily carrying the weight of the two fillies on his back. "Do forgive us. We were just—"
Fleur de Lis cut him off with a stern glare. The two fillies hid behind his mane.
"Well you see, dear, these delightful youngsters were going to put on a play for the talent show. Do recall that you instructed me to converse with both patrons and contestants."
Sweetie Belle peeked from behind his mane. "I said we were thinking of joining."
"Well, why not?" he said. "I think it's a simply marvelous idea."
"We tried to do a real play," said Scootaloo, "but we couldn't remember any lines."
"Not even one," said Sweetie Belle. "We always have to make it up as we go along. That's not a real play."
Fancypants looked back at them with a glowing smile. "Not so, my dears! Improvisational theater is one of the most challenging and rewarding activities one can engage in. Some of the most famous stage actors in history started their careers by—"
Fleur de Lis stamped a hoof on the floor. "Dear!"
"You know perfectly well that it's a perfectly legitimate kind of theater, and these young fillies seem to have quite a talent for it. Surely they—"
"Stop!" she said. "Just... stop."
Fancypants looked down at the floor, and the two fillies on his back did the same.
Fleur de Lis tromped over and pointed a hoof at him. "You knew this was important to me—to all of us—and yet here you are, parading about like fool. Are you going to do this every time we travel abroad?"
"They wanted to participate. We shouldn't keep them out of the competition simply because they're children."
"Of course we aren't," she said. "We're keeping them out of the competition because the registration sign-ups were two weeks ago, and rules are rules no matter who you are. They are perfectly welcome to sign up for next year's competition, or for the children's festival next season, or to join the youth's branch of the actor's association."
Fancypants nodded to her. "You're quite right, dear. I'm very sorry."
"As usual," she said. "You may as well go and tour the village now. You've certainly helped enough here."
Fleur de Lis turned and walked away, leaving the crowd to murmur amongst itself. Fancypants carefully set the fillies on the floor.
Scootaloo set her crumpled lance on her back. "Sorry, Mister Pants."
"Don't you dare be sorry,” he said. “This was entirely my fault."
"Did you really mean all that stuff you said?" asked Sweetie Belle. "You weren't just trying to be nice to us, were you?"
"I meant every word of it," he said. "Improvisational theater really is quite challenging, and it's one of my favorite pastimes. Used to be, that is, before I was knighted."
Sweetie Belle's eyebrows shot up. "You were an actor?"
"Not professionally, no. Only for fun. It's how I met my wife, in fact." He picked up Scootaloo's discarded helmet and set it on her back. "I do hope you continue your passion for the performing arts. I was looking forward to seeing your play."
"But you don't even know what it's about," said Scootaloo. "Actually, I don't think we even know what it's about until it gets started."
"Potential, my dear. Why put on a play about something, when it could be about anything? Talent is more than just hard work and effort. It's a special sort of... inspiration." He turned to the empty stage with a faint smile. "I sometimes wonder if she's forgotten."
Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle glanced at each other. "Who?"
"I'd best be on my way," he said. "Sorry to have troubled you."
The fillies watched quietly as he walked through the crowd and out the exit.
Fancypants strolled down Ponyville's main street, pausing to look at the occasional garden or fountain. There were only a few ponies out at such a late hour and none of them gave any sign of having recognized him.
Maybe she has forgotten.
He looked up at Ponyville's modest skyline and caught sight of an enormous tree that had somehow been refurbished with balconies and windows. He trotted further down the road and gazed up at the structure in awe.
Come to think of it, Rarity did mention that one of her friends lived in a library... I wonder if this is the place? He went to the door, scrubbed his hooves on the welcome mat, and stepped inside. "Hello? Pardon, but is anypony home?"
"It's a public library," a gruff voice called out. "You can just walk on in."
"Ah, but this is no ordinary library!" Fancypants stepped in and marveled at the interior. "The royal libraries are—and shall forever be—a home to the many and varied scholars of the world. No matter what their creed or culture, race or gender, the Princess welcomes all bright-minded thinkers to her archives with the same warm and loving respect as she would a dignitary to her tea-room."
After a quiet moment, a small purple dragon stepped out from between a set of shelves.
"Wha?"
"The royal libraries of Equestria are indeed a home to many. By royal law, any passing scholar may seek refuge for the night."
The baby dragon stared at him for a moment. He then walked to shelves and returned with an enormous dust covered tome, which he set on the table and flipped through several minutes.
"Well whaddya know," he said and shut the book with a cloud of dust. "Whoever you are, you certainly know your obscure royal laws."
"It was my major, actually." He offered a respectful bow. "My name is Fancypants. Pleased to meet you."
"Never heard of ya."
"Oh thank goodness," he said. "And may I assume that you, young sir, are Spike?"
Spike arched an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"
"I know Twilight Sparkle. Well, perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that I know of her." He looked at the doors to the library's various back rooms. "Might there be a bunkroom available? I have my own toothbrush, of course."
"Beanbags are in the corner," Spike said, "and try to keep it down. I've got work to do."
"As you say, lad. I could do with a bit of quiet contemplation."
"Whatever."
Fancypants watched as the dragon went back to sorting books. "Pardon, but might there be anything to eat? I have yet to enjoy my evening repast."
Spike pointed a thumb over his shoulder without looking up. "Kitchen's over there. Help yourself."
"My, but it has been some time since I've cooked for myself." He stood up and rolled up the cuffs on his pants. "I suppose we'll see how much I can remember."
"What's up with you, anyways?" Spike said. "Having problems with your mare?"
"Beg... pardon?"
"You wandered in at nine-thirty with no place to sleep, you're all poetic and moody, and you haven't had any dinner. I'm guessing you're havin' problems with your mare."
"Oh no, not at all," he said with a sigh. "I'm having issues with my mare."
Spike rolled his eyes. "So what's the difference?"
"Problems have solutions." Fancypants made his way to the kitchen. "I won't bother you with the details. You're too young to be worrying about such things just yet."
"You don't know the half of it," Spike muttered.
Fancypants immediately poked his head out of the kitchen and peered at him.
"What is it now?" Spike said with a sigh.
Fancypants gave him a sympathetic half-smile. "You're wise beyond your years, Spike."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've known love. If you've known love, you've already experienced half of what life has to offer."
Spike hesitated as he reached for the next book in the stack. "Really? What's the other half?"
"Never you mind," Fancypants said. "I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."
He went back into the kitchen, opened the fridge and browsed the racks of fresh fruits and vegetables. He made a few quick selections and set them on the counter, then rummaged around for pots and pans.
"What's it like?"
Fancypants turned to see Spike standing in the archway, half hidden by the door.
"What's what like?"
"Well, you know..." Spike scratched a talon against the door frame, producing a few curly wood shavings. "Having a certain special somepony."
"I honestly couldn't describe it," he said, "because there's nothing else to compare it to. That's why poets and singers always compare other things to it."
Spike walked in and climbed up onto the counter, watching as Fancypants sliced up a row of vegetables. "Isn't there anything you can say about it?"
"If you insist," he said and picked up an onion. "A mare is like... an onion. They look simple on the outside, but they've got layers and layers that you just can't see at first. And even though they taste terrible all by themselves they make everything else especially delicious! And if you cut them, no matter how justified you think you are, you'll most certainly cry about it later."
"Whoa," said Spike. "That's pretty deep."
"They've also got these little bits on the ends you need to cut off first, and you have to add a bit of butter when you saute them. And they have to go in before the mushrooms or they'll be too crispy."
Spike's brow furrowed. "Huh?"
"Hm. Actually no, that's not right at all." Fancypants pondered the remaining vegetables and picked up a cabbage. "Actually, a mare is more like... a cabbage."
Spike rolled his eyes. "You don't really know anything about mares, do you?"
"It does seem doubtful." He juggled the knife, then quickly chopped the cabbage. "But I do know one mare in particular. Believe me, one is all you'll ever need."
Spike swung his legs over the edge of the counter. "Did she really kick you out?"
"Not explicitly, but I figured I ought to proactively kick myself out for the night. I did act the fool in front of an awful lot of awfully important ponies, during an awfully important event."
Spike crossed his arms. "Aw, who cares what she thinks? A guy ought to do whatever he wants, am I right?"
"Ah, me," Fancypants said with a smile. "I remember when I could afford to act the fool all the time. So many fond memories... but you give up a lot of things when you marry."
"Why don't you stand up for yourself? She can't be worth all that trouble."
Fancypants took out his wallet and passed Spike a photograph. Spike stared at it for a moment, slack jawed.
"Whoa."
"Mmm-hmm."
"She's a real looker and all, but why don't you just drop the mare and keep the picture? It'd probably nag you a lot less."
"I don't need the picture anymore," he said softly. "I just close my eyes... and there she is."
"That must be... yeah." Spike set the photograph down and looked away.
Fancypants set a series of pans on the oven range and divided the chopped vegetables into each. "That's enough about me, though. What has you down in the doldrums?"
Spike frowned and looked away. "Nuthin'."
"If you say so," he said as he juggled a pair of frying pans. "If you ever feel the need to talk, though—"
"Argh! It's this stupid talent show thing!" Spike stood up and paced back and forth on the counter top. "All of Twilight's friends are in a rush to do something special and it's turned into this great big thing, and then I went and signed up for no good reason."
"Oh? Then why'd you sign up?"
Spike clenched his tiny fists. "It's all their fault. I said I felt left out, and then they kept pressuring me to join up. I couldn't say no, could I? And they're all like, 'oh it'd be so adorable watching a little baby ride a unicycle or play the harmonica or whatever.' Rarity kept trying to put me in a little suit, like she was dressing up a pet or something. It's humiliating.”
Fancypants watched him for a moment.
"Why did you really sign up?"
Spike's shoulders slumped. "Cause Rarity said I ought to," he muttered.
"Ooh. May I assume—"
"Yes you may," Spike growled. "And yes, I know she's way out of my league. Way, way... way out of my league."
Fancypants shook his head. "There are no leagues, Spike. Love is neither a sport nor a battle."
"Can we please talk about something else?"
Fancypants busied himself with the sizzling vegetables, leaving Spike to brood in silence.
"I fear I've made more than I can eat in one sitting," said Fancypants. "Would you like something yourself?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Buddy, I'm a dragon. We don't eat lawn clippings."
"Have any gold then? Some jewels, perhaps? I know I saw a crucible in at least one of these cupboards."
Spike stared as Fancypants took some metallurgical equipment out of a drawer and set them on the counter. "Are you for real?"
Spike sat at the table in the main hall of the library, tapping his claws against the table. He glanced at the kitchen every now and then as a variety of odd smells and noises drifted back. Fancypants finally emerged, dressed in a bulky blacksmith's apron and a heavy welder's mask, and used a pair of long iron tongs to bring over a large clay brick.
"What," Spike said and pointed at the clay brick, "is that?"
Fancypants held the brick over Spike's plate and gave it a shake. A heavy gold bar slid out of the mold and shattered the plate as it landed. The bar was a deep orange-yellow and there were gemstones stuck inside it like bits of fruit in a cake.
"It's an omelet!" Fancypants lifted up the welder's mask and smiled at him. "Of sorts. Go on, then. Drive that into yourself."
Spike stared at the brick for a moment before picking it up. He took a tiny bite out of the corner and his eyes widened. He took a larger bite and chewed eagerly, pausing only to give Fancypants a thumbs up.
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch," he said as he sat across from him.
"Are you kidding?" Spike said, mouth full. "This is the best anything ever! I didn't even know you could cook gold."
"Oh, there's all sorts of tasty alloys just waiting to be served up. It's a skill and an art just like any other form of cuisine." Fancypants grinned. "It just smelts in your mouth, doesn't it?"
"Heh. Good one." Spike quickly crunched halfway through his meal. "How do you know all this, anyways?"
"Long ago, the princess sent me on a quest to evict a pesky dragon. This was years ago, mind you." Fancypants leaned back in his chair. "I was all set to be knighted by the princess, but I insisted on proving my valor like the knights of old. It was just one pesky dragon, after all. How bad could it be?"
"Valor, huh?" Spike swallowed and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. "How'd it turn out for ya?"
"That dragon was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen," he said. "Or seen since, for that matter. Absolutely petrifying."
"Really?" Spike glanced about. "Did you... wet your pants?"
"Oh, yes. As soon as I heard that dragon roar, I wet'ums pretty bad. I suppose the dragon took pity on me, because she chose to keep me as a prisoner. Fortunately I'd worked as both a chef and a blacksmith in my past and the sight of the dragon's hoard started giving me ideas. I eventually cooked something tasty enough to impress her and she gave me my freedom in exchange for the recipe. She even agreed to move her lair elsewhere, so I still got to be a full knight. That was nice of her."
"Great," said Spike. "That's just great. Even ponies know more about girl dragons than I do."
Fancypants uttered an exasperated sigh. "For goodness sake, my boy! You'll never get anywhere moping and moaning like this."
"Oh yeah?" Spike scowled and thumped his fist against the table. "Well if somepony would just tell me what I need to do, maybe I could get it done. But no!"
"You want help, then?" Fancypants leaned against the table and fixed him with a serious look. "You really think you're ready for the advice you need? Because once you hear it you probably won't like it."
"Lay it on me, man! I can take it!"
"You need to forget about her."
"What!?" Spike's eyes snapped open. "Is this a joke? That'll only make things worse!"
Fancypants leaned back with a sigh. "I knew you weren't ready."
"No no no, wait! I'm ready! You just caught me off guard, that's all." Spike sat back down and clasped his hands. "Really, I mean it. Just tell me what I gotta do."
"You need to forget about her. You've already done everything you can to be her friend. You need to worry about yourself now."
"Myself?" Spike set his hands on his tummy. "Isn't that kind of selfish?"
"Not if you worry about improving yourself," he said. "You need to chase your dreams and be successful. Go out and see the world and make your fortune, whether you're searching for gold and jewels, or wondrous sights and stories. Make a real stallion out of yourself! Well... a real dragon."
"Whoa... I never thought about that."
"You deserve to make a life for yourself, don't you?" Fancypants leaned over and nudged his shoulder. "You need to know yourself before she'll even consider sharing her life with you. And even if you do, it might take a very long time for her to come around."
"But what do I do right now? There must be something!"
"But of course there is," he said. "The talent show!"
"That's going to be a disaster!" Spike hissed through clenched teeth. "The performances are tomorrow afternoon and I haven't even practiced any songs. I'll be a laughing stock!"
"You're still a bachelor, aren't you? You're permitted to look like a fool, so appreciate it while you can!"
Spike crossed his arms. "I do enough of that every single day, thank you very much. Nobody ever takes me seriously."
"Don't you see?" Fancypants leaned over and held his shoulders. "Whether you succeed or fail at this, it's yours. Nopony can take that away from you. Now tell me: what kind of performance were you going to give?"
"A piano recital. I'm pretty good at playing the piano."
Fancypants shook his head. "Now is not the time for 'pretty good,' Spike. You're not doing this to impress Rarity, or the crowd, or even the princess. You're not even doing this to impress yourself. Tell me, Spike... do you love to play the piano?"
"Well yeah,” Spike said, scratching the back of his neck. “All my friends like it, and I like to make them happy."
He reached over and poked Spike's chest. "But does it make Spike happy?"
Spike stared back at him, unable to look away. "Well... maybe... not really."
"Then what does? Name something you really, truly love. Something that brings you joy."
"I kinda like... singing." Spike wrung his hands together and his eyes darted to each side. "Is that dumb? It's dumb, isn't it?"
"And so what if it is?" Fancypants said with a smirk.
"But everypony's gonna laugh at me! They always laugh when I sing."
Fancypants' smirk did not falter. "And so what if they do? If you love to sing—really, truly love it—nothing else matters."
“But I don't really know any songs. And I haven't practiced singing in forever.” Spike bit his lip and stared at the table. “Actually, I've never practiced it at all."
"There, young sir, I can help you." Fancypants stood up from the table and nodded to the shelves. "I spent a year as a voice coach for young colts and fillies. If we can find a book of songs, I can get you started."
"A voice coach?" said Spike. "And you've been a chef, a blacksmith, and a knight? Is there anything you haven't been?"
"A few things, yes, but I'm working on it. Every year, I quit my job and try something completely new.”
“You what!?”
“It's not that big a deal, really. I'm wealthy enough that I don't have to work at all... but it does get so frightfully tedious.” Fancypants' horn glowed and several books flew off the shelves and danced in a ring around his head. "Ah, perfect. We'll need to know what kind of tonal range you have. After that, we can pick a song that matches your particular qualities."
"I was just gonna sing 'Old MacDonald Had a farm.' That usually goes over pretty well."
"You may if you wish, but when tomorrow comes you will not sing to entertain. You will sing for the love of song itself and, as such, the song itself is irrelevant." He set a book on the table before him and opened it to a particular page. "So we may as well choose your song just as a jouster chooses their lance... by how well it balances against his shoulder, rather than how pretty or impressive it looks over your fireplace."
Spike squinted at the page. "Opera? Are you sure about this?"
"No, Spike," Fancypants said with a solemn nod. "It is you who must be sure."
The next day, the opening day of the show, the streets of Ponyville were abuzz with excitement. Twilight and Rarity walked down main street together and talked cheerfully. Rainbow Dash flew overhead, and they waved up at her as she came in for a landing beside them.
"Hey, girls!" Dash said. "You ready for the big night?"
Twilight and Rarity glanced at each other quietly.
"What's wrong? You know the talent show is tonight, right?"
Rarity delicately bit her lip. "However much it pains me to say it, I have no choice but to bow out. I was so busy decorating the theatre that I didn't have enough time to prepare a suitable routine. I could have put more effort into it, I suppose, but I couldn't let the decoration suffer because of it. I didn't want to risk ruining the entire show."
"That does sound pretty important," Rainbow Dash said, then turned to Twilight. "But what about your magic act? Is that still a go?"
Twilight lowered her head with a sigh. "I think I got a little carried away."
"A little?" Dash said, tilting her head.
"Whenever I was halfway done making a new magic trick, I'd get an idea for an even bigger, better trick and have to start over. By the end of the week, none of my new spells were polished and ready to go."
"Isn't that always the way?" Rarity said with a smile. "The last ten percent of the project always takes ninety percent of the time."
"Yeah," Twilight said. "And I didn't even think of practicing in front of a crowd... I know how to give presentations, but I don't know anything about performances."
"So after all that big talk, you're just going to give up?" Rainbow Dash gave an exasperated sigh. "I gotta tell ya girls, this doesn't surprise me one bit. Just because you're good at magic tricks or fashion shows doesn't mean your good at performance. It's a whole different bag."
"We probably should have listened to you in the first place," Twilight said. "I feel so bad about all that wasted effort."
Rarity nodded to the theatre hall. "At least now we can sit back and watch all the other competitors. It'll be a nice change of pace from all the stress and worry!"
"Oh, yes!" Twilight said and looked at Rainbow Dash. "I can't wait to see your act. I'm sure you'll take first place without any trouble!"
"Yeah, sure." Rainbow Dash looked away.
"You're still in the show, aren't you?"
"Me? Me!? Am I still in the... pfshh! What sort of question is... am I still in the... Heh. Am I!" Rainbow Dash lowered her head and both of her ears drooped. "None of my best tricks work indoors, and I couldn't bring myself to think of new ones that were less-than-my-best. My routine isn't even close to being finished."
Twilight and Rarity shared a wide-eyed look.
"Hey there, girls!" Applejack called out as she ran up beside them. Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie were right behind her.
"Good morning!" Twilight said. "How are you doing today? No stage-fright, I hope."
Applejack scraped her hoof against the dirt road. "Well, y'see..."
"About the show..." Fluttershy looked away, hiding her face behind a lock of her hair.
"I'm totally pumped!" Pinkie Pie shouted, hopping in place. "I just know this is gonna be my most intense performance ever. I'm going to knock all their socks off! They'll have to give out free socks at the front door just so the audience can put them on and get them knocked off again!"
Twilight stared at Pinkie Pie in bewilderment. "Are you telling me you're the only one who's actually going to perform tonight?"
"Whaddya mean, only?" Pinkie Pie stopped bouncing in place. "What about all of your acts?"
All five of them looked away and shuffled their hooves. A moment later the awkward gloom gave way to nervous, sympathetic smiles.
"Looks like we go a little carried away," Applejack said. "I guess we shoulda spent more time preparing—"
"—And less time trying to out-do each other," said Rainbow Dash.
Rarity smiled at each of her friends as she spoke. "And perhaps we should have worried less about winning—"
Fluttershy brushed her hair away from her face. "—And more about doing our very best."
Pinkie Pie set a hoof on her hip. "Well gee, guys. Didn't I say that from the very beginning? You should only do something like this—"
"—Because you love it!" her friends all joined in. They broke into laughter and giggles as the stress from the last two weeks melted away.
"I think we learned a lot from this. Why don't we all write a—" Twilight Sparkle stopped to looked around. "Actually, where is Spike? Has anypony seen him since yesterday?"
"What do you mean?" said Rarity. "Is he missing?"
"He left me a note last night saying he needed some time to think. He didn't say where he was going or what he was thinking about, but he said he'd be back tomorrow."
Rarity gasped and put a hoof to her mouth. "The show! You don't think he's still going to enter that silly thing, do you?"
"He seemed awful excited about it," said Applejack. "He was practically beggin' us to let him join in the fun."
"Well we've simply got to talk him out of it, then. He hasn't a chance of winning!"
Pinkie Pie gave her a critical look. "It's not about winning, you know."
"He only joined in because he felt left out!" Rarity said, rapidly stepping in place. "We can't let him go through with this. You know how competitive he is!"
Twilight nodded to her. "I'll have a talk with him before the show. I hate to think about all the peer pressure we've put him through by now."
Fluttershy looked past her and pointed at something. "You, um, might not have to wait for the show."
They turned to look down the road and saw Spike coming down the road with a file folder tucked under his arm.
“Hey.” He waved at them as he walked past. " 'Sup."
Twilight walked alongside him. "Spike? How are you feeling today?"
"Can't complain."
"There's something you need to know," said Rarity. "We've all decided—well, except for Pinkie Pie—not to enter the show."
"S'cool." Spike continued walking and the others fell in beside him.
"We were bein' awfully competitive last week," Applejack said, "and we just wanted to apologize to you."
"Apologize?" Spike arched a casual, mildly interested eyebrow. "What for?"
"For making you feel left out," Fluttershy said, "and for making you feel like you had to join in, even though you might not have really wanted to."
"Oh, that?" Spike waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. It's no biggie."
Fluttershy shot Rarity a worried glance.
Rarity caught up with him. "We're saying you don't have to compete if you don't want to."
"Well duh" he said with a shrug. "What are you gonna do? March me on stage and make me dance?"
"He's going to do it," Pinkie Pie whispered. "He's really going to do it!"
"What!?" Twilight Sparkle walked in front of him, trying to make eye contact. "Spike, no! You don't have to do this!"
He shrugged. "What if I want to?"
"Then this isn't the time or the place to do it!" she said. "These are some of the most critical, demanding judges in all of Equestria. They'll scrutinize every little mistake you make, no matter how insignificant. There's no way you'll ever be able to please them!"
"Well then it's a good thing I'm not trying to," he said and pointed a thumb at his chest. "I'm doin' this one for Spike."
Twilight walked in front of him and stood in his path with a stern glare. "This is ridiculous, Spike. You go back to the library and get some sleep, and we'll talk about this when I—"
Spike gave her a firm, unamused look. "I'll walk right through you if I have to."
Twilight stared down at him. After a moment, she stepped sideways. Spike resumed his walk and the six friends watched him go.
"I got a chill," said Pinkie Pie. "Just for a second there."
Rarity ran to catch up with him. "What about that outfit I made you? Aren't you going to wear it?"
"Nope."
"Oh, but it looks so adorable! As soon as they see it, the crowd will just—"
"I'm not doing this for the crowd," Spike grumbled. "And I'm not doing this for the judges, either."
"Won't you wear it... for me?" she said with a flutter of her eyelashes.
Spike clenched his jaw. "I'm doin' this for Spike." They watched as he walked down the road and went into the theater's side entrance.
Rarity grabbed Twilight by the shoulders and gave her a vigorous shake. "Do something! Anything! There must be some kind of magical spell you can use to improve his odds!"
Applejack pushed her back, leaving Twilight to wobble back and forth with both eyes spinning. "We ain't gonna fix anything by cheatin'! If you really want this done, we'll just have to talk to the lady whose running this shindig and ask her to pull Spike's act from the list."
Rarity gasped. “How could you even suggest such a cruel trick!?”
“Cause it's not a cruel trick,” she said. “Spike is underage, so Twilight had to sign a permission form before they'd let him in. As his 'parent or guardian,' She's fully within her rights to take it back.”
"But how would he feel about that? It would crush his gentle spirit!"
"That's kind of his fault, isn't it?" said Rainbow Dash. "We tried to talk him out of it, but he just doesn't know when to quit. Maybe this'll teach him to—"
Rarity stamped a hoof. "Oh, how could you be so callous? This is poor little Spikey-wikey we're talking about, and you want to leave him out to dry?"
"I'm saying he might learn a lot today," Dash said with a shrug. "He can't learn from his mistakes if we don't let him make any. Did you ever stop to think this might be a good thing?"
"Didn't you hear him?" They turned to look at Pinkie Pie. She looked faintly awestruck, and a strange, glowing smile was creeping over her face. "I think he's really gonna do it!"
Twilight frowned at her. "Do what?"
Pinkie Pie pranced past them with a little more bounce than usual. "Oh boy are you girls in for a treat tonight!"
Fancypants stepped into one of the theater's private box seats, barely spacious enough for a pair of comfortable chairs. This particular balcony was quite close to the front, providing a skewed side-view of the stage. The two near-most seats were traditionally reserved for composers and playwrights, perhaps because they afforded a view of the crew-area on the far end of the stage itself. Even now he could see crew-ponies rushing back and forth with props, costumes and gaffer's tape.
Fleur de Lis didn't look up as he sat down beside her, but smiled when he kissed her on the cheek. "I was wondering if you'd even show up at all."
"So was I, for a minute there." He settled into his chair and took out a box of apple juice. "I had to give a few last words of encouragement before the show started."
"Words?" Fleur de Lis sat upright. "Encouragement? What have you been up to?"
"Up to? My dear, you cut me to the quick!"
"If you've done anything to sabotage this show—"
"Absolutely not." His eyes hardened, but only for a moment. "I suspect this has been a long time coming."
She pursed her lips. "What has?"
"No idea. But we'll find out soon enough." He paused to sip at his juice box. "Delicious! We need to buy an apple farm someday."
Fleur de Lis waved at him as the house lights dimmed. "Would you stop that slurping? You'll drive everypony crazy."
"Terribly sorry." He took out a leaflet and idly scanned the schedule. "Say, did you know how many vocal chords the average dragon has? Six times more than a pony does. Six times! That's quite a lot, isn't it?"
Fleur de Lis turned, very slowly, to peer at him. "Dragons?"
"Dragons tend to have very long, serpentine necks so their vocal cords need to cover a much larger surface area." He held his hooves out as if to describe great length. "It also means they can produce a much greater range and volume of—"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Remember the story of how I became a knight? Well you see, I'm something of a dragon fancier. Do you know how challenging it is to groom dragons for—"
"That's enough silly stories out of you. I won't hear another word of it until the show is over. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, dear. Utterly transparent. I'll be quiet as a mouse."
Spike sat in the waiting room and scanned the pages in his folder. There were only a few sheets and there was no point in memorizing them since they'd be sitting on a stand in front of him the whole time. He flipped through them, over and over, staring at the perfectly measured rows of notes and words. Fancypants had chosen the song specifically to take advantage of his 'unique auditory capabilities.'
Whatever that means. He looked at the rest of the chairs in the waiting room, all empty. Why'd I have to go last, anyway? Do they think I'm just gonna lose no matter what I do?
One of the stage workers opened the door, dressed in a black bodysuit. "Five minute notice, Spike. You good to go?"
"As I'll ever be," he said and hopped off the chair. "Let's just hope the audience is ready."
"That's the spirit!" the stageworker said. "Right this way. Pinkemina should be finishing up soon enough."
I gotta follow Pinkie Pie's act? Spike clenched his fists and set his jaw. Keep it together, Spike. It doesn't matter who you follow. Remember what Fancypants said: keep your nose clean and do your best. And something about keeping my upper lip as stiff as possible.
Spike followed the stageworker down the narrow hall, weaving and ducking through a steady stream of ponies. He managed to reach the stage-left wing without getting stepped on, but only just barely. He tensed as he heard the roaring crowd beyond.
"Are they booing?" Spike asked the stage worker. "What's going on out there? I thought it was Pinkie's turn!"
"It is. You can take a peek if you like, as long as you don't step over the yellow line."
Spike went over to the edge of the giant curtain and looked onto the stage. Pinkie Pie was dressed as a clown—complete with giant shoes and a rainbow wig—and was marching back and forth on the stage in a fully automated one-mare-band apparatus comprised of cymbals, tubas, and trumpets. Every single instrument was poorly tuned and every step she took produced up a low-pitched 'blaaat' or a squealing whistle. The crowd was roaring it's vehement disapproval, and a constant stream of vegetables cascaded onto the stage.
Spike's eye twitched. "What."
"She does the same thing every year, in some form or another... no idea why."
“Every year? Isn't this the first time Ponyville's ever hosted this show?"
“I didn't say during the show. Last year, she just marched down mainstreet without even—Oop! Looks like she's finishing up." He hoisted up a giant candy-cane hook. "I have to go help with her 'big finish.' You'd better go talk with the sound crew to sort out any final details."
"Yeah... sure." Spike walked a little further backstage, thumbing through his folder. I dunno if this makes things easier or harder for me.
"Hey, Spike!"
He looked up as Sweetie Belle walked over with a microphone stand. "Oh, hey. What are you doing back here?"
She nodded to her black bodysuit. "They wouldn't let us join the talent show, but they did let us work backstage! They said volunteer work is a great way to get into theater."
"Oh... my." Spike wrung his claws together. "So you've got everything under control? Totally?"
"You can count on us for sure!" she said. "But I'd stay away from stage far right just to be on the safe side. Scootaloo's doing the lights, and she doesn't always use enough gaffer's tape. But really, though, I'm sure everything will be fine. Nothing's gone wrong yet, right?"
"Yeah. Sure," he said. Or it means we're due.
"Spike! One minute call!"
Spike pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "That's me. I better—"
"I'll go with you to set up the microphone!" she said.
Spike went back to the curtain just as Pinkie Pie was coming off stage. She was covered in bits and pieces of shredded cabbage and there was an apple stuck in one of her tubas. "Whoo! I think that was my most intense show ever!"
"But they were booing you."
"Sure they were, but they were laughing at the same time. Sometimes people just love to boo!" She waited as the stage worker unhooked the giant candy cane from around her neck. "I actually got more boos than the beardless goat lady!"
"That you did, ma'am," the stage worker said. "Congratulations."
"So I'm confused now," Spike said. "Did she somehow win by losing?"
"Oh, Spike! Winning isn't everything. Now if you'll excuse me, I have just one teensy little prank to pull..." Pinkie Pie took out a funny-looking mask and put it on. She gave him a firm pat on the back as she walked away. "Break a leg!"
Spike swallowed hard and stepped out onto the stage. "Just put one foot in front of the other," he whispered to himself.
Sweetie Belle hefted the microphone stand and followed after. "Are you scared? It's okay to be scared, you know."
"I'm not scared," he said. "I'm petrified."
Sweetie Belle set the stand in front of him, tangling her leg on the cable. She lowered the microphone as far as it would go but it was still several inches above his head. A low ripple of laughter echoed from the faceless, nameless crowd. It was nothing at all like being laughed at by a single pony.
"Sorry, Spike. You've got fingers, right? Let me just unscrew the mic so you can hold it."
Spike waved her away. "Just go. I'll be fine without it."
Sweetie Belle flinched back, but dutifully carried the microphone off stage. Spike ignored the murmurs from the crowd.
Remember what he said. No matter what you do, don't look at the whole crowd. Just look at his face. He looked up at the box seat nearest to his right and caught sight of Fancypants' familiar blue mane. As long as I focus on just one pony at a time, I'll be...
A lump caught in his throat as he caught sight of Applejack in the front row, looking particularly displeased. She was right in the front row, seated between Big Mac and Fluttershy. All the rest of his friends—save for Pinkie Pie—were in the box seats to his left. There, seated all by herself, was Rarity. She was glancing between him and the crowd, constantly fidgeting.
Just one face... Spike locked eyes with her for just a moment, but clenched his jaw and looked at the entire crowd at once. No. I know exactly who I'm doing this for.
Applejack crossed her arms and grunted. "Well I wouldn't have agreed to sell apples in the first place if I'd know they were just going to throw them."
"Aw come on, sis!" Big Macintosh said as he nudged her shoulder. "It was all in good fun, that's all. I'm sure they didn't mean nuthin' by it."
"And what about you, huh? I brought a whole bag for us to much on and there's nuthin' left because you wanted to test yer aim."
"I'm certain I got one into that tuba," he said with a low chuckle. "If you're really that hungry, we could buy something. I'm pretty sure I saw some carrots for sale back there."
Applejack grabbed the bow-tie on his and yanked him close. "I came here to sell food, not buy it!"
Fluttershy leaned over and waved at them both. "Hush, you two! It's starting!"
"Already?" Applejack looked to the stage and saw Spike walking to the center with Sweetie Belle following after with a microphone stand. Applejack winced as she tripped over the cable, and again when she adjusted the stand.
Big Mac quietly guffawed. "Heh. He's short!"
"That wasn't part of the show, ya galoot!" She slumped in her seat and sighed. "Just look at the poor thing. This is going to end in tears, I just know it."
The crowd fell silent as Spike looked about the hall. His eyes settled on something briefly but she couldn't tell exactly what. He took a deep breath, and managed a steely frown.
Spike sang.
The tone was potent and powerful, with a raspy grain that no pony could hope to reproduce. Even without the microphone his voice carried to every corner of the hall and resonated over the crowd. There were no instruments to accompany the melody. He needed none: the notes flowed like water and stung the audience's hearts like fire.
Applejack leaned back in her seat, eyes wide, as Spike's volume raised further still. He reached one hand forward and grasped at the air, gazing at something above and beyond the audience itself. Applejack knew nothing of opera, and yet the melody called to her. It brought to mind valor and struggle and, at the heart of it all, victory and celebration. It was an anthem from a bygone era of swords and sorcery, of lances and spears. He sang of terrible claws and searing fire, and of the valorous hearts that dared to face such monstrous horror... but despite the power and volume, every note was tainted by a slight, precise warble: A vein of sorrow and regret that shot through the message of joy and celebration. A mournful dirge for what this great victory had cost the world.
And on it went. Spike sang without pause, seeming not even to breath. After thirty seconds of eternity the theater hall fell deathly silent. There was no applause. Neither exultation nor discontent. Applejack could scarcely bring herself to breathe above a whisper. Spike finally broke the silence by stomping off stage with his eyes scrunched shut.
Applejack's neck trembled as she turned to Big Mac. "What just happened?"
Fancypants sat in one of the backstage side rooms, patting Spike on the back as he sobbed uncontrollably. "There there, lad. Stiff upper lip and all that."
Spike lifted his head and rubbed his fists against his eyes. "That was the worst anything ever! They didn't clap at all... they didn't even boo! They didn't do anything at all! The whole room was totally silent!"
"Really? Well, I still thought it was a rousing good show. 'A' for effort."
"Effort!?" Spike snarled up at him. "I put everything I had into that song and this is what I get!? I've never felt so awful!"
"That's proof enough that you love it."
They looked up as Fleur de Lis stepped through the door way.
"Wha?"
She walked over to them, slow and graceful. "You poured everything you had into that song and you bared your soul to the world. You never would have felt so hurt if you didn't care about it so deeply."
Spike sniffled, wetly. "Really? You mean it?"
"I don't know if Dragons ever get cutie marks," she said with a warm smile, "but if they did I think you'd have earned one just now."
"Wow. That's really... just... wow." Spike rubbed his nose and managed a frail little smile. "Thanks, lady. I guess it's just a shame everypony else hated it."
"Hated it?" she said. "The crowd wasn't silent because they hated it. They were—"
Fancypants glanced down the hallway behind her, and his ears perked up as he caught sight of Rarity approaching their room. He shot up from his seat and cut off his wife. "Well then! I suppose that's the end of that. So what do you think, eh sweetums? 'A' for effort?"
Fleure de Lis clenched her jaw. "Effort!? You went through all this trouble and manipulated this poor, innocent child just to prove that talent is more important than effort? You did all this to win an argument with me!?"
"Perhaps just a little, my dove. I thought an object lesson would—"
Fleur de Lis stamped a hoof. "Of all the atrocious things I've ever heard! This was the vilest, most awful thing I've ever had to endure in my entire life, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
Fancypants watched, patiently, as Rarity ran through the hall and rushed into the room with them. Her face twisted with righteous anger when she heard Fleur de Lis' scathing words.
"Why hello there," Fancypants said pleasantly.
"Who—" Fleur de Lis turned to look, just in time for Rarity to slap her smartly across the cheek. She recoiled with a gasp.
"Atrocious!?" Rarity snarled. "It's obvious you don't know the slightest thing about music and I dare say you don't even deserve to have heard such a moving performance!"
Fleur de Lis hurried to back up as Rarity advanced on her. "No, I wasn't—"
"His tone: Perfect! His pitch: Perfect! His rhythm: Absolutely flawless! And that's to say nothing of his volume! This was the greatest performance of your miserable life and if you even think of giving him anything less that a five star review when you slink back to your salon in Canterlot, I shall personally see to it that nopony in court ever speaks to you again about anything more urgent than the weather!"
There was a quiet moment as Fleur de Lis remained pressed up against the wall. "I believe we have reached an understanding, Miss Rarity."
"Hrmph!" Rarity rushed to Spike and gently stroked his quills back. "Oh you poor thing! What did she say about you?"
"Actually, she thought I was—"
"Well don't you dare believe a single word of it. You were magnificent back there!"
"But the crowd didn't cheer! They didn't even boo!"
"They were speechless," Rarity held his face and locked eyes with him. "They were in awe, Spike. I swear to you, it's an even greater accolade than a stamping ovation."
"Really? Wow... I thought for sure I messed up the words." He scratched the back of his head and looked away. "I forgot to set up the sheet music, so I kind of just winged it."
Rarity held up a bouquet of red roses and set it in his lap. "Truly, Spike. It was the performance of a lifetime."
"Thanks!" Spike took the roses and inhaled deeply. He then held them out to Rarity. "You hungry? They look pretty tasty."
"You just hold onto those a while longer. You still have an adoring crowd to meet with, after all!" She nudged his cheek. "And don't even think of letting anyone else stay by your side."
Spike rubbed the back of his neck. "That sound real great and all, but do we have to deal with the crowd right now? I think I need to relax."
"You've got a whole crowd of adoring fans out there!" she said. "This is your moment, Spike! Where else in all of Equestria would you rather be right now?"
"It's less of a 'where' and more of a 'who,' really." He hopped down from the chair and nodded out the door. "Ya wanna go for a picnic or something? I know a great spot by the river."
Rarity stared down at the little dragon and wiped a tear from her face. "I'd like that very much, actually."
Rarity and Spike turned and left through the door together. Spike looked back only briefly, to give Fancypants a thumbs up.
"But the contest!" Fleur de Lis said. "You still have to sign for the—"
Fancypants set a hoof on her shoulder and shook his head, silently mouthing the word 'no.' They watched as Spike and Rarity walked to the end of the hall and turned the corner.
"He does know that he won, doesn't he?"
Fancypants arched his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, I imagine he's quite aware of that."
"The contest. He won the contest."
"Well, you know what they say: Winning isn't everything." He tossed his head to one side with a grin. "Six times as many vocal cords, they say. Six times! There's a reason dragons are renowned for their mighty roars. The fire and claws are dangerous, mind you, but the roar? There's a special kind of magic to it that'll put the fear into anypony."
"You know what you are?" she hissed through her teeth. "You're a sneaky... conniving... childish... impish little scalawag! You don't have a single dignified bone in your body, do you?"
"So I'm a scalawag, am I?" He puffed his chest. "Well then! You know what you are? Do you? Oh just ask me what I think of you!"
She glared at him, but her face softened as soon as she looked into his eyes.
"The sweet little filly I married."
She leaned close and kissed his cheek. He rubbed his neck against hers and lifted her up, making his way out the door. She sang a few quiet notes from a particularly romantic sonnet, interspersed with a few play giggles.
"Ah yes," he whispered in her ear. "Now there's the sweetest music of all! It's neither the effort nor the talent that matters at all. No, it's something else entirely."
She smiled back at him. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"
"Forget, my sweet little swan? I couldn't if I tried. But perhaps a little reminder is in order, just to be on the safe side..."
He carried his wife down the hall and out to the waiting carriage, singing along with his own resonant tenor.
