"Yes yes, if you're quite finished screaming, oh 'Great and Powerful' Trixie, we can get started."
The magician stops struggling against the incomprehensibly powerful magic holding her in place and looks fearfully at the beast before her, her mouth quivering. Discord shakes his head with disapproval and rolls his eyes, speaking off to the side.
"Honestly, here I am trying to set up a nice little meeting and she has to go and ruin the atmosphere. Well, fortunately for you, Trixie, your penchant for spoiling things is precisely why you were invited in the first place."
Trixie swallows, wary of Discord, but she manages to tear her eyes away from him long enough to survey her surroundings. She sees you sat a few seats over from her and you smile weakly, giving her a tepid wave.
"He-ey, Trixie. Nice seeing you."
"Starlight...?” She blinks before relief washes over her. “Starlight! Oh thank Celestia, what's going on? Where are we?"
You glance at an aged, peeling promotional plastered on a nearby stained wall.
"Discount Dan's Dishwasher Den," you say flatly before looking back at your host, currently addressing his claw with a very floppy nail file, "but I was hoping Discord might be willing to enlighten us as to why?"
The draconequus points to himself and mouths ‘moi?’, then chuckles.
"A keen eye as ever, Starlight Glimmer, and I appreciate your professionalism. It will be needed for our little arrangement."
"Cut to the chase, Discord,” you shift about in your wet seat, “I was in the middle of something and I'd like to get back to it if you don't mind."
You take a moment to flick your soaked mane out of your eyes, frothy shampoo suds from your shower still clinging to it.
"So boring these days, aren't you?" He drawls and snaps a claw. Your mane dries and forms into its preferred style in an instant, though it is now a shock of black and pink rather than purple and aquamarine. "Much better," he grins.
He claps his hands together and rubs them excitedly, standing before and addressing the crescent table you all find yourselves sat at. 'All' being the operative term, as Trixie isn't your only associate in the musty basement.
"Welcome, friends and others! Before you each start pitching your theories as to why I so graciously transported you to this fine establishment, the answer is tangentially related to Miss Lulamoon's outburst."
Trixie blinks in surprise, "Why, what did I say?"
Discord shakes his head gravely, "Something no longer acceptable, I'm afraid. You thanked 'Celestia' just now, but if we are going to accomplish our mission that will have to stop." To emphasise his point, he replaces Trixie's mouth with a closed zip, much to her muffled consternation.
The mare blanches and looks worriedly at you, her face that of a student who is aware she should know the answer to the teacher's question, but doesn't. She wears it well; it's a no-doubt familiar expression.
"Celestia!" Discord declares, "Quite the paragon, is she not? Quite the perfect little princess? Well, I for one am quite tired of turning every street corner in this banal little country only to hear ponies singing her praises! Ask yourselves this, what has Celestia ever done for us?"
"She raises the sun and gives warmth to the planet," you answer dryly.
"Any band of simpleton unicorns can do that, Starlight, as can any draconequus for that matter. Try again."
“She had the good grace to let you out of prison.”
“Am I supposed to be thankful that I was granted a freedom that had previously been my birthright?”
"She's ruled with a fair and gentle hoof for thous--"
“HA!” Discord interjects, "Oh-ho, no no no, Starlight, no. Celestia is no 'fair and gentle' ruler, she's a despot! A tyrant that must answer for her crimes against the masses!"
You narrow your eyes, more on edge than you previously were.
"Are you planning to attack our Princess, Discord? I'll warn Twilight, and she'll--"
It's hard to finish the sentence with your lips abruptly becoming a closed zip. Discord snickers at your disapproval and continues.
"No one is attacking anyone, Starlight, at least not with spells and violence." Ever the Thespian, he continues with his usual dramatics. "No, we are going to bring Celestia and her oppressive government to their knees. The people of Equestria cry out for deliverance from the drudgery of modern life and conventional physics, they want to express themselves and be free to do whatever they please!"
You cock an eyebrow at him, and he falters somewhat.
"Alright, perhaps not yet-- but they will! No more rules, no more hierarchy, no more suffocating orthodoxy! And we're going to do it all with the power, of MUSIC!"
He strikes an heroic pose; fireworks erupt behind him, deafen you, and start a small fire in the corner of the basement. He ignores this and continues to hold the pose, likely waiting for an applause that will never come, though Trixie seems nominally impressed with the pyrotechnics.
"Well don't get too excited," he huffs. He begrudgingly summons a folding chair and sits on it without bothering to unfold it, regarding the occupants of the table before him with measured interest as he continues to talk.
"Each of you has been on the 'wrong side of the law', so to speak. Each of you has earned the ire of society for one reason or another. I too, have felt the cruel sting of wanton authority. Therefore, I propose that we assemble under a single banner - a grand alliance of the finest delinquents the world has ever seen! Ladies and gentlecolt, I propose, that in order to facilitate the creation and dissemination of anti-establishment propaganda in service of nurturing a radical anarchist movement to overthrow the government and the authoritarian moral busy-body that allegedly raises the sun each day,” he pauses for breath, “we start... a punk rock band!"
You stare in bewilderment at Discord, who seems terribly pleased with himself. The beast raps his fingers on a knee for a moment, and then seems to remember something.
"Oh yes, I forgot. I am sorry, but you all made such a terrible noise when you first arrived." A snap of his fingers and every figure around the table finds that they are able to speak again.
The first and most volatile of whom being a griffon.
"Who the hay do you think you are, you mismatched freak?! I ought’a come over there and pull your stupid horns off!"
Discord seems delighted by this notion, rising from his seat and approaching the ornery avian.
"Yes! That's precisely the sort of anger we're looking for, Gilda the Griffon. You made quite a name for yourself in Griffonstone, didn't you? Public belligerence, resisting arrest, petty theft!" His voice drops an octave as he savours the final charge, "Loitering. We'll need that sort of teenage angst if we're to be successful!"
"I'm not a teenager," Gilda hotly retorts, "I'm twenty-four."
"Exactly!" Discord beams, "And the fact that you've refused to grow up or even slightly mature since your adolescence will serve us well in the coming days."
Before she can launch herself over the table and main him, he binds her to her chair with silly-string and wraps her beak shut in a frilly pink ribbon. She growls; a worrisome, guttural noise that only seems to encourage the draconequus.
"I think that's a perfectly good introduction to the club, well done Gilda! Next we of course have the adorable Starlight Glimmer." He turns his predatory gaze to you.
You sink into your chair, trying to appear smaller as he looms over you with an eager grin.
"Political extremism? Cult worship? Stealing the cutie marks of not just an entire town but the Element Bearers to boot? Then trying to rewrite the very course of history itself because Old Sparkler got one over on you? Why, Starlight Glimmer, if I was a pony I would be absolutely besotted with you. In fact, actually, I don't need to be a pony, and I am besotted with you."
With a flick of the wrist he's wearing a gaudy t-shirt with your face on it. The face is smug and appears to be booping itself on the nose. It resonates with you deeply, and you’re not sure how you feel about that.
"Cards on the table, I'm a huge fan. I can't wait to see what you get up to next!"
He gives you a wink and you try to hide your face in shame as he moves onto his next victim, who appears far less confident without her characteristic hat to hide under.
"Trixie Lulamoon!” She winces at his attention. “Acquiring an ancient artifact and using it to take over Ponyville? A bold choice, and I must say I admire your conviction to enslave a town and kick out the purple nerd that lives there. Not quite as impressive as Starlight over there, but you still show great potential! I wanted you in the band because the two of you seem to have great chemistry, and I was thinking we could do a sort of will-they-won't-they deal where the fans are always wondering what you're both doing in the wagon behind the stage." He pauses. "I'm talking about promiscuity, by the way."
Trixie's look goes from nervous to livid in a heartbeat.
"How dare you! I would never do that with Starlight! I'm not a le--"
"Up up up! I'm sure you're woefully traditional, Trixie, but the fans don't need to know that. We'll keep them in the dark, it'll be like a stage performance-- an illusion! You like those, don't you? All those fans wondering about what you'll do next, surely it's appealing, is it not?"
She scowls at him, "I prefer to work with magic, not music." He titters at this.
"Oh Trixie, I thought you were wise enough to know that the line between music and magic is as easily broken as your ego."
The mare’s expression transitions into a full-force glare, but Discord merely winks at her and saunters away to the final person - or rather, object. His gleaming eyes fall on a jar about the size of your head.
Of all the things in the room, even Discord, this is the one that gives you the most pause. An oppressive malevolence emanates from the glass. A roiling black fog seems to thrash against the sides of its prison and, as Discord addresses the jar, a pair of eyes - of green sclera and red irises - emerge to fixate on the draconequus before it.
Everyone but Discord flinches as a deep, hateful growl resounds, vibrating not just the table and walls of the basement, but the bones of all present. Discord finds this wonderfully endearing.
"Sombra! You old mule, you look terrible! Had a nasty run-in with the Crystal Heart, did you?" Discord plucks the glass from the table and holds it aloft in a claw, regarding it with pride.
Your eyes bulge as you gawk at the entity within the jar and the implications that accompany it.
"Wh—King Sombra? You brought the bane of the Crystal Empire here? He's supposed to be dead!"
"Who, Sombra? Well, I suppose if you consider total bodily obliteration 'death' then yes, you could assert that he's dead, but just look into those loveable eyes and tell me he's not as fresh as a daisy."
He turns the jar to you, and said loveable-eyes lock onto yours. You freeze. Your blood runs cold and the breath catches in your throat. You feel tendrils of fear grasping at the edges of your mind, seeking to find purchase as a looming pall of dread threatens to overtaken you. The eyes bore into yours, and the corners of your vision darken. Echoes of madness gnaw at your psyche, suffocating your hope--
You vigorously shake your head and jab an urgent hoof at Discord.
"No-- You have to put him back where you found him!"
"Aww, you're not acting like the mare I fell in love with, Starlight." He pouts. "Besides, I thought it would be fun to have a ‘wild-card’ on the team.” He appraises the jar and taps its lid with a digit, “I was thinking of giving him a top-hat; it would juxtapose with his sinister air, don't you think?"
Sombra rumbles his contempt at the idea.
"See? Sombie loves it!"
"...Sombie," you echo.
"Yes! I thought that since he was back from the dead that sort of made him a Sombra-Zombie. A Sombie, if you will."
He hugs the jar to his chest and gives it a loving squeeze, drifting from side to side, "My little Sombie."
‘Sombie’ redoubles his efforts to break free from the jar to no effect, though his fury is assuaged (slightly) when Discord sets the King back on the table. The draconequus presses his palms together.
"So! Let's talk roles. I already have the whole thing planned out!"
"You're not giving us a choice, are you?" You feel the creeping embrace of despair, and you're certain it's not coming from Sombie. Discord shakes his head in mock-seriousness.
"I'm afraid self-determination and free will are luxuries we cannot indulge in if we are to make it to the contest in time."
"...Contest?" You blink.
"Of course! Surely you've heard of the Manehatten Band Bash, haven't you?"
"...Have you?"
"Not until five hours ago, no, but I'm quite taken with the idea so I thought I'd participate."
"But--"
"I should clarify, when I say ‘I’, I really mean ‘you’."
"We don't even know how to play instruments! Well, I mean, I don't, and I don't think Trixie does?" You give her a quizzical look and she shakes her head, "Right! And I don't think Miss Gilda does either?"
"Mphm." Gilda asserts, her beak still bound in pink.
"So no one here knows--"
"Forgetting someone?" Discord inquires.
"I'm not asking the undead dictator of the Crystal Empire for his opinions on anything."
"Now that's just rude. Although, given that we're putting a punk band together I think we can make that sort of antagonism work...” He scratches his chin ponderously. “Oh, I've got it! You and Sombie can be rivals! Doesn't that sound like fun? You two will play together on stage, then, when the show's over, you go right back to trying to destroy each other. That's nice and dramatic, isn't it? The fans will eat it up!"
The colour leaves your face as Sombie's gaze slowly focuses on you again. In the emerald flickers enveloped within that Stygian mist you sense an intelligence as cruel as it is brilliant already forming plans for your destruction, and you swallow heavily.
"W-we'll um, put a pin in that. How exactly are we supposed to learn how to play instruments in... When is this contest again?"
"Wednesday evening."
"Wh-- that's in two days!"
"I know. Exciting, isn't it?"
"Discord, I'm not embarrassing myself on stage in front of a crowd of ponies for your amusement!"
"Then just don't embarrass yourself. Come now Starlight, it's not difficult, is it?"
"I can't even play an instrument!"
"That's perfectly fine, you aren't playing one anyway."
"Huh?"
"Roles! As I was trying to say before, roles. Each of you will have a part to play in our motley crew, I have the whole thing set out here in my notes."
A diner napkin desecrated with mad chicken scratch materialises in his hand, and he dons a set of glittery pince-nez to read it, airily gesturing with a free paw as he does so.
"Starlight Glimmer, you and your alluring, cult-marshalling voice will be our lead vocalist. You'll be breathing life into the songs we create to bring down Celestia."
Your stomach does a flip at the notion of singing before a crowd.
"Gilda, you and your ferocious energy will be our guitarist! I want to hear that sucker howl like only a griffon can!"
Gilda, remarkably, looks rather keen on the idea and nods appreciatively, earning her a wink from Discord.
"Trixie, you're rather useless and have terrible taste in fashion." He looks up and stares at her for a few seconds. She glares back at him. A mute silence hangs between them. "Also I'm putting you on bass because someone has to do it." Her glare intensifies.
"Sombie," the jar rattles aggressively, "you'll be on drums. I think you can manage a little bit of magic in there," your pulse quickens at this, "so you shouldn't have any problems levitating a few sticks and working the kick drum." Discord taps his chin thoughtfully, "Though if you're having trouble I could unscrew the lid and let you out for a little while, but you have to promise not to devolve the world into a totalitarian nightmare."
Sombie considers this, and a short rough grunt vibrates from the jar.
"Wonderful!" Discord seems pleased with his negotiating skills and glances back at his notes, mumbling to himself for a few seconds as he reads what you assume are irrelevant afterthoughts. "Oh, and Fluttershy is on the tambourine," he dismissively waves his paw. He then stuffs the note in his pocket(?) and surveys you all. "So! Any questions?"
"Sorry-- Fluttershy?" you ask incredulously.
Discord stares at you dumbly, then slaps his forehead.
"I knew I'd forgotten something!"
He snaps his claw in a panic, and a sudden flash accompanied by a balloon ‘pop’ deposits a stunned-looking Fluttershy onto the floor between him and the table. She blinks a few times, then shakily stands up and looks around at your eclectic posse before finally turning to see Discord. Her confusion evaporates and she looks somewhat reassured.
"Oh! Hello, Discord!"
"Good evening, Fluttershy. I'm sorry for the sudden transportation but this is related to that talk we had the other week."
"Which one?"
"The one where you said you'd like me to open up a bit more and invite you on more of my little 'adventures'. With that in mind, would you like to be in a punk band? We're trying to destroy the government."
"Ooh, yes please!"
"Can you play the tambourine?"
“Not really."
"Ehh, it doesn't really matter, I don't think anyone can. Just slap it and try to look angry."
He puts his hands on his hips and beams at his new group.
"To finish, I will be your manager. I'll work tirelessly to see you all reach the highest of heights and the greatest of glories before I sell out and betray you all to line my own pockets. It's all going to be terribly dramatic and should make for a thrilling theatre production based on actual events if I can twist a few arms. Now, can anyone tell me why there's a fire in the corner? I'm not naming names, but I think it might be Trixie's fault."
***
The plan to turn Equestria's "finest delinquents" into a punk rock band goes about as well as you'd expect.
You have trauma-induced stage fright and can't sing in front of anyone; Gilda keeps literally shredding the guitars she gets given; Trixie doesn't want to play bass because it's not ostentatious enough, and Sombie keeps using his handicapped levitation magic to try and skewer you - and only you - with his drumsticks. According to Discord, the jar sees you as a viable threat, which, also according to Discord, is something you should be very proud of.
Only Fluttershy is making any progress, but that doesn't count because a tambourine isn't a real instrument.
It's the day before the show, and you're all once again stuck in the basement of Discount Dan's Dishwasher Den, and have been for the last four hours. You have yet to see or hear from the enigmatic “Dan”, and are wondering whether or not he actually exists, though you can at least attest to the existence of his many discounted dishwashers on the ground floor whenever you go to use the bathroom.
You try to mumble some words into your microphone and wince at both the whining feedback and the sound of your own voice. A few more lukewarm attempts are made before you give up with a sigh. Each time you open your mouth to sing you recall scenes of fake smiles and soulless eyes. A hauntingly familiar phrase echoes in your mind “exceptionalism is a lie”. A shiver runs up your spine and you step away from the mic.
To your left, you see Gilda gingerly working her sixth guitar. She plucks a string and it makes a noise that almost sounds like a note. The griffon looks up at you in triumph, and you return her smile, trotting over to her.
“Hey, Gilda. How are you getting on?”
“Kinda good, I think. I can hold the guitar without breaking it now at least.”
“I’m glad you’re at least giving this a good try, I don’t think I’ll be able to sing all that well.”
Gilda shrugs, turning her attention back to her instrument.
“It’s just punk. You don’t need to sing all that well, just shout about things that get you mad, like work, or people more successful than you. Punk was popular in Griffonstone for a while, but then the punks got mad because everyone else was acting punk, so punk was declared mainstream and we all decided to hate punk. It was punk to hate punk, which is super punk if you think about it,” she gestures at something behind you, “drumstick.”
A flicker of your magic absently deflects another drumstick shot at you by Sombie, who growls at his latest setback and goes back to randomly hitting drums and cymbals in an effort to either look busy or vent his anger.
“I see,” you nod slowly, “so you at least have experience doing this?”
“Nah, never been in a real band, could never afford the instruments. Kinda glad I didn’t try if they’re this easy to break.” She adjusts her grip, strums a few strings, breaks three, then snaps the neck of the guitar. She squints at the wreck in her claws. “Whoops. Hey, Discord?”
Discord lazily snaps a claw without looking up from whatever he’s doing and a new guitar materialises next to the griffon, which she takes up gleefully.
You glance at your ‘manager’ and back at Gilda. You lean in and lower your voice to a whisper.
“What do you think? Do you think he’s serious about doing this?”
“Who, him?” she glances at the draconequus, “Maybe. I don’t really care what he wants; he’s kind of a jerk. I was visiting a friend when he abducted me, so at some point I’ll have to get even with him.”
“What will that look like?” You ask, amused at what is either recklessness or bravery on her part.
“Probably smash a guitar over his head. It would be the punk thing to do.”
You both share a muted snicker at that, and you depart to check up on Trixie over to the right of the set-up.
“Trix? Are you okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Trixie rounds on you, indignant fury plastered across her features. “He put me on bass, Starlight. Bass! The Great and Powerful Trixie should be front and centre! Wowing the audience with her incredible feats of wonder and spectacle, and he puts me on bass!”
You’re impressed with the measure of disgust she manages to express each time she utters the word ‘bass’, but decide against making any off-colour comments about it.
“If it helps, Trixie, bass players provide a valuable layer to musical arrangements. I was reading a book the other month—“
“No offence, Starlight, but I don’t care. If I’m going to be forced into playing this stupid thing in front of an audience I need to get as good at it as possible. Or if I can’t be good at it, at least I can be better than the rest of the band so I don’t look like a complete failure.”
“Uh... huh. Well, you do you, Trixie, I’m rooting for you!”
She sighs, shoulders sagging, and she gives you a wan smile.
“I don’t mean to nag at you, Starlight. I know we’re not exactly in a position to bargain here—“ she nods at something behind you, “drumstick.”
Your horn ignites with magic and you deflect another projectile.
“Thanks. And don’t worry, Trixie, I know you mean well. If you end up being even half as good on bass as you are on stage doing magic, I know we’ll get through this.”
Trixie gives you a warm look, pawing at your shoulder fondly.
“Aw, thanks Starlight. I am kinda tired though, hint hint. Also drumstick.”
With a deadpan look, you magically deflect yet another shot from an increasingly aggravated Sombie, then stomp over to Discord, who is lounging in a director's chair pondering a puzzle book in his grasp.
"Can we please take a break, Discord? We’re getting tired and I can't concentrate with Sombi-- Sombra trying to kill me all the time."
Discord looks up from his crossword puzzle, "If it's any consolation, Starlight, a drumstick puncture isn't likely to kill you unless it hits a vital organ."
"Well I'd like my organs to be intact before the show tomorrow, not that it really matters, since no-one knows how to play their instruments."
"I-I can play mine, Starlight!" a timid voice calls.
"You don't count, Fluttershy,” you call back.
"Sorry..."
"Oh come now," Discord sits up, "it's not too hard to play, is it? Just imagine that the audience is naked."
"We're ponies. We're always naked."
"I know, it's disgusting. Clothed then, if that flies your kite. And just as a reminder, you won't be--"
"I know, Discord, I'm singing." You let out a cringing sigh. "B-but I don't... do that, anymore. It reminds me of my old life."
“Ahh, I think I understand...” He nods sagely. “In that case, just pretend you're in a new cult and the audience are your mindless devotees, problem solved!" He beams at your pale expression. "Anyway, whilst you've been practising, I've finally come up with a name for our marvellous band."
"You... didn't have one already?"
"Coming up with a band name is very difficult, Starlight, but I was thinking..." A dramatic pause. "The Ponytones!"
"Already taken, also Gilda's a griffon and the jar abandoned his ponydom." Sombra grunts affirmatively.
"Hrm. How about Metal Blimp?"
"That'll never take off."
“Seducing Celestia?”
“Kinda defeats the purpose.”
"Discount Dan's Dishwashing Delinquents?"
"Copyright issues."
“Untitled Band Two?”
“...‘Two’?”
Discord grumbles to himself, then gives you a hard look. His eyes dance over your features for a beat before he develops a playful grin.
"Starlight and the Glim Glams?"
"Not very 'punk rock', is it?"
"But I think it has a nice ring to it! Think about it, you're the face of the band, and the others are your glimmering, glamorous associates."
"I don't really feel comfortable assuming a leadership position, Discord."
"You and I both know that's a lie, Little-Miss Equality, it'll be fine! Besides, Sombie will be vying for control of the band anyway, and if he dispatches you he'll want to change the name to... what was your suggestion, Sombie?" He calls over your head.
A visceral growl answers him.
"That was it! Yes, Sombie thinks we should be called King Sombra."
"...That's it?"
"Yes,” he intones sadly, “not very imaginative, is it? He was never the most creative type, and I fear being an incorporeal mist has played havoc with his already lacklustre IQ. It's another reason I put him on drums," he whispers his next words, "drummers are rarely the shiniest crystals in the geode.”
You glance over your shoulder at Sombra. Sheer hatred glares back.
"Alright, we'll go with, um, your idea."
"Wonderful! Well, with that out of the way, I think we should probably speed things up a bit, don't you?" He waggles his fingers suggestively, and you narrow your eyes in suspicion.
"What do you mean?"
"I have been known to tamper with a pony's mind on occasion - Fluttershy can vouch for me - and I know you of all ponies will appreciate the artistry in this. Now, you said you suffered from stage fright, didn't you?"
Without waiting for further comment, Discord plants a finger on your head and a blitz of magic surges through your entire being. Your skin tingles and your vision is full of bright lights and sunspots in the aftermath of his invasion. Staggering around, you blink heavily and try to focus on Discord without losing your balance. The draconequus smiles innocently at your discombobulation.
"What-- what the hay was that?!" you splutter.
"You said you couldn't face a crowd? Now you shouldn't have a problem." He pinches your cheek dotingly before slithering out of his chair and over to the resident griffon, who is once more attempting to gingerly pluck a few strings on her seventh guitar without tearing them to pieces. "Oh Gilda? I have a present for you! No, it's not another guitar."
You watch in stunned silence, unable to move your legs or even think straight as Discord lazily drifts around the basement, violating the brains of each band member. Except Sombra, whom he just pats affectionately and tells to "shoot for the stars, kiddo".
He gently floats you over to your position behind the mic-stand set up at the front of the band arrangement. Once the team recovers from its arcane trauma, Discord raises a megaphone to his lips.
"Alright team, from the top!"
Apparently, you can sing really well now.
***
It's the night of the Manehatten Band Bash, and you find yourself backstage with the team and an assortment of other hopeful bands both old and new. Each member of your group is dressed up in pink and black with plenty of studs. Gilda is the only one not put off by the idea of wearing a leather jacket, and Sombie is, as Discord promised, wearing small top-hat on his lid.
Your manager is excitedly talking to the owner of the building, gesticulating and hyping you all up.
You try to focus on his voice, and not on the boiling anger between your hooves. As the de facto leader of Starlight and the Glim Glams, transporting the otherwise immobile drummer is your responsibility, which is why you're cradling him in your hooves as you sit on your haunches.
You dare to glance down for a second to see his eyes still burrowing a hole into your skull.
"H-hey, Sombie," you'd given up calling him anything else, "ready to, um, win the contest?"
The jar vibrates, and you see foreign visions of burning cities and enslaved children in your mind. You force a smile and try not to sweat too much. You feel a tap on your shoulder and twist your head to see Trixie giving you a cautious look.
"You alright, Starlight? I know how nerve-wracking it can get before a show, so try to breathe steadily. If it makes you feel better you could try giving us a speech? I know you're good at those, and it could help stretch your vocal chords before you sing."
"That's... really good advice, Trixie, thank you!" Your heart warms at your friend's compassion.
"I mean, I could always take over doing the singing and you could play bass if you want?" She grins hopefully, and your faith in Trixie's intentions is snuffed.
"I'll be fine, thanks. I guess I could give a quick pep-talk though."
You shuffle around on your butt and gather the band, sliding Sombie's jar away from you to stop between Trixie and Gilda. After a chewing on your lip thinking for some rousing, likely plagiarised words, you give up and speak from the heart.
"So, I won't lie, this got weird. Seems like life has a habit of doing that, though. Sometimes you find yourself in bizarre situations you couldn't have predicted, but it's the greatest of mares who are able to reflect on their strengths and use what talents they have to make the most of a bad situation, if not for victory, then at least to mitigate their losses."
The band nods/rattles slowly.
"Sure, I didn't expect to be drafted into an anti-government punk band against my will this time last week, but crying about it isn't going to change that we're here. This whole thing could end up burning to ashes around us, but as long as we rely on ourselves and each other, we'll get through unscathed. We're a team, not a group of individuals, and our collective efforts will be necessary to see us through this trial."
You gesture at your bassist.
"Trixie, you're my best friend. I've got your back if you've got mine, and I know I can count on you to keep a cool head out there." Trixie smiles in encouragement as you turn to the guitarist.
"Gilda, I barely know you, but you seem great so I hope we can at least stay in touch once this is all over and bond over how much we both want to kill Discord." Gilda gives you a thumbs-up, and you look down at the jar.
“Sombie... You're the worst. I hate you." The glass shudders defiantly.
You purse your lips in thought for a moment, then remember something, looking to your immediate right.
"Oh, and it's been nice to spend time with you too, Fluttershy."
"I'm just glad you remembered I was here," says Fluttershy, who was sat next to you the whole time looking very out of place. You'd all decided she didn't suit the punk outfit, so Discord just gave her a wristband that reads "Las Pegasus Hustlers 1981". She wears it proudly, and that's what counts.
Discord strides over, still representing the t-shirt with your face on it, though now it's decorated with the band's name as well. He says if the act does well you can sell similar merchandise, and you're still not sure how you feel about that.
"Alright, team, we're in," he grins. "We'll be on in two hours as the final act, so the audience should be nice and warmed up by the time we're out there. They'll also be comfortably drunk, so they probably won't notice if you completely screw up your act." The band shuffles uncomfortably. "Not that you will! I'm confident you'll bring the house down. Now," he summons his crossword puzzle again and gazes at it thoughtfully, "does anyone know a five-letter word for 'malicious burning of property'?"
***
The announcer's voice booms around the room over the sound-system following the penultimate set.
"...An electric performance from Static Stockmarket. I would like remind the audience that we do not condone swallowing batteries to "supercharge your band blueprints", and I'm sure we all wish Pone Volter a speedy recovery. And now, onto our final act of the night! A fresh new band hailing from all over Equestria! Members from Ponyville, Trottingham, Sire’s Hollow, Griffonstone, and the darkest recesses of your worst nightmares! Performing their début hit: 'Daddy Didn't Buy Me A Kite So Now I Start Cults And Kiss Mares' - it's Starlight and the Glim Glams!"
The lights illuminate your stage, and against your every expectation, Gilda absolutely kills it.
Her guitar screams like a tortured devil. Accompanied by Sombie's relentless, brutal assault on his drumkit and further supported by the pulse-pounding bass from Trixie, the griffon almost steals the show right from the start.
The crowd roars its appreciation as she opens the song - which for some likely magical reason you all instinctively know how to play - before it transitions into your vocals. Your previous fear of relapsing into your old preaching days appears to have vanished as you essentially just rant about your dad and the government to a backing instrumental.
As you bellow such inspirational lines as "You're not getting grandkids; your bloodline will die with me", and "Celestia's tax proposals are archaic and stupid also she smells like how I feel on a Monday morning", you consider that some of this stuff may affect your future employment opportunities.
Still, the crowd eats it up. Clearly lyricism isn't important to them, and they're more concerned with the feel of the music, something your band-mates are all too happy to provide. Just as you really get into the vibe, you rock your head forward in a head-bang in time to evade a drumstick aimed at the back of your skull. It shoots out over the heads of the crowd to embed itself in the opposite wall.
Oh dear.
The stick vibrates and bursts back out of the solid brick, hurtling towards you. You briefly wonder how a wooden stick could survive being crammed into solid stone as a more pressing thought vocalises before you can stop it.
"Celestia's flanks, the drummer's trying to kill me!" you scream into the microphone.
A stallion at the front of the crowd is sobbing from the passion of your words, and a nearby mare begs you to sign her filly. Still clutching the mic, you duck and weave around the stage to the roar of the crowd, your bandmates doing a fine job of improvising on the spot.
Even Sombie's doing well multitasking; maintaining the proper drum tempo as he diligently attempts to perforate your torso.
Sliding on your knees across the stage to a prolonged squeal from Gilda's guitar, you find yourself next to Fluttershy, who is sat to one side with her legs dangling off the edge, tapping away at her tambourine with a serene, decidedly non-punkish look about her.
"Fluttershy! I'm being attacked!"
"Oh yes," you can just about hear her over the music, "you made that quite clear in your line about Celestia's police reforms attacking your sense of freedom. I'm really starting to see the appeal!"
"No! I mean Sombie's trying to kill me!"
"Isn't that the point?"
"No! I--" you pause to throw up hasty shield in order to deflect one of Sombie's drumsticks. The stick itself was charged with magic, and you could only manage a stripped-down, unstable variant of a localised shield before the two forces met. The feedback between the two spells causes the stick to veer off on a whistling corkscrew to some far corner of the venue.
The enchanted stick collides with a light fixture, knocking it out with a shower of sparks, which cast upon a pile of dry paper-based props leant against the wall. You don't notice this, however, and yelp as you nimbly evade another drumstick to an appreciative howl from the crowd.
"Sombie, stop! We're supposed to be on the same team!"
The jar behind the drums roars in anger and a swarm of dozens of drumsticks enveloped in black lightning levitates into view. Your eyes shrink to pinpricks.
***
The mare in the audience watches, mesmerised, as the singer on stage uses her impressive unicorn powers to deflect or destroy a torrent of homing missiles. Small explosions and shockwaves flicker all over the show as she screams into her microphone about the virtues of cooperating with her belligerent band-mate instead of being murdered. All this happens as the drummer, bassist and guitarist provide a cacophony of thrashing punk sounds that invigorate the hearts of all that hear them.
She leans closer to her coltfriend and shouts in his ear as the music thunders around them.
"It's like, so evocative of our struggle against the establishment, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, "it's sort of like, a representation of how we need to work together if we have any hope of surviving in a modern consumerist culture. The singer represents us, the drumsticks trying to stab her are the authorities, and the magic she's using is our collective will to strike back against our oppressors. You see the jar wearing a top hat? That's like, that's like the super rich using money to keep us down! Beating us, like a drum!"
"It's so... deep!"
"Super deep! These guys are geniuses!"
“Hey so what about the chick with the tambourine?”
“Oh wow, I didn’t even notice her before.”
***
On stage, you realise that a fire has started at the back of the room and is growing horribly out of control.
"There's a fire!" you shout, "We need to get out of here now!"
"Hell yeah!" shrieks a mare, "Fight the power!"
"No you idiot, we're all in danger!"
"Too right, lady! Peach it!"
You realise, as the inferno starts to claim the rows at the back, that punk rockers aren't very bright. You then scream as a searing pain lances through your right shoulder and a victorious bellow is heard behind you.
***
"Well." Discord shakes his head as the fireponies do their best to combat the roaring blaze consuming the old downtown building the competition was using as a venue. "I for one am shocked that things deteriorated so quickly. I definitely didn't see this one coming. Worst thing is that I never even figured out what that five-letter word was... Ah well, c'est la vie, right Starlight?"
You glare at him as hard as you can, the blanket around your soot-stained body doing little to comfort you as Trixie gingerly makes an effort to remove the deeper part of a snapped drumstick lodged in your shoulder.
"Now I know what you're thinking, and I suppose I must acquiesce that bringing Sombra onto the team might not have been the wisest decision, but it all made for a dramatic finish, didn't it? I did say it would be dramatic when we started. That being said, I still blame the fire on Trixie. She's done it before, you know."
"I'm telling Twilight,” you say bluntly.
"Oh now don't be such a bore, Starlight. Can you smell that in the air? That rich scent?" You can only smell the smoke and ashes drifting on the wind. "That's the smell of change, my friend. Celestia's days are numbered, I just know it!” he looks back at the burning building with pride.
“Viva la revolution!" he announces.
Then Gilda smashes her guitar against the back of his head.
The End
