Feather Bangs was alone, and he hated it.
It wasn’t the typical juxtaposition of feeling isolated whilst surrounded by the usual mass of entourages and paparazzi and fans that plagued celebrities. He was used to that feeling by now, and had even gotten fairly good at managing it. He rolled over on the foam mattress on the floor, dislodging various stacks of empty bottles and discarded fast food containers from their precariously balanced piles next to him.
No, Feather Bangs was actually alone right now, and the concept was almost entirely alien to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been in a room with just himself that didn’t have a toilet in it, and even then he was hard pressed to find a memory of solitude.
He sighed, brushing his namesake away from his eyes and checking his phone, noticing the dozens of red bubbles from various apps, from ponies pestering him about schedules and contracts and sessions and catching him up on all the miniscule, unimportant details of other celebrities. That at least hadn’t changed, and he grunted before dropping his leg, letting the phone fall to the mattress.
The Earth Pony stood up and stretched, cracking his back before shuffling out of the trashed living room. What a party last night was, he thought sarcastically, kicking some more cans out of the way. There was absolutely going to be a huge room service charge on his bill, but it didn’t matter. When you’re rich and famous, you can afford to be reckless and stupid all you want.
But not after you lose all that, he thought.
Feather Bangs reached the minifridge and cracked it open, sighing when he noticed that all of the water bottles had been consumed throughout the night. He was just reaching for the telephone to order some more up when his own phone buzzed, a special vibration set for only one pony. He gulped hard, and checked it.
babe? u ok?
It was from Party Favor, and his throat swelled shut as he read the message again.
“Fuck!” Feather Bangs shouted, tossing the phone hard into the other room. “Fuck,” he whimpered, dropping to the linoleum and sobbing.
He hated being alone. And who was he kidding? He hadn’t learned to handle the feeling of crowded isolation at all. There was a single pony, though, his favourite unicorn in the entire world, who made it all go away. It could have been just the two of them together, or them both at a party of a hundred people—though he desperately wished it was just the two of them—and he would feel at peace. Loved, actually loved. Wanted and appreciated. Not idolized. Not used like a tool, either obtrusively or stealthily.
But how could he talk to him now? He hadn’t replied to a single message of his in two days. Not since his manager, Showtime, pulled him aside after finding out about the two of them.
“Listen kid,” Showtime’s voice rang throughout Feather Bangs’ head. “I’m all about free love, I’m happy for yah, yaddah yaddah, you know the bill. It don’t bother me none what kinda junk you go after. But it do bother the record labels. Songs with a stallion singing ‘bout he’s and hims don’t sell. The mares don’t care for it if you ain’t after them, and they make up eighty percent of the sales. Ditch the chump, stud, or you’re gonna lose your next tour, I guarantee it.”
The acrid stench of his cigar reached Feather Bangs’ nose, not actually there but so vividly ingrained in his memory that he felt sick all over again. The thought of not being with Party Favor felt just as nauseating as losing his livelihood over it. How could he adjust to a modest life?
He glanced at his cutie mark, wincing back from it as he forced himself to move his tail from its protective, concealing position. Tears welled up and the mark became obscured to him again, and he groaned. This was his destiny, wasn’t it? He had to do this.
He had to break up with Party Favor.
Right?
His phone buzzed again, having apparently landed on something hard that it rattled noisily against, and he sniffed hard once before standing back up on shaking hooves.
The party last night hadn’t helped. He had thrown it hoping to drink away the apprehension and make it easy to dump his secret coltfriend. He had thrown it to try and talk up the various clingy mares that always made it to these sorts of things, establish some sort of false front relationship for all the newspapers to gawk and gush about while he focused on making music and selling tickets to tours. He had thrown it hoping it would make him feel better, feel loved without the blue unicorn.
But parties that he threw weren’t good, ever. That was how they met, damnit! He picked up a half empty bottle of beer and whipped it back into the side kitchen, where it exploded against the fridge and sent shards of brown glass and globs of foaming, skunky liquid everywhere.
The phone buzzed a third time, and he dropped his head, walking over to where it lay.
u can talk to me about anything babe
if i did something wrong plz let me know
i miss u :(
Feather Bangs sat on the couch for an eternity, thinking about the night before.
Every shot and fake, distant conversation only made him more anxious, more upset. Every mare he stumbled through speaking with had rolled their eyes, either uninterested or disturbed by the apparent stupidity of their idol, and somehow he had felt even lonelier than alone by the time midnight struck. There, drunk, furious with himself, scared for his future, he demanded everyone leave.
His security guards tried to apologize, tried to haul him into the bed, discounting his raving as an eccentric habit, him being simply exhausted from the latest album, move along, don’t worry about him... He turned on them too, firing them when they started to baby talk him. Every pony left, disgusted at the so called ‘party’ they had been attending, promising to go someplace ‘actually cool’, leaving the pop singer to wallow in beer and tears.
Another buzz.
babe im scared plz let me know ur ok
Feather Bangs stared at the phone for a very long time.
He hadn’t done a lot of thinking in quite a while. Usually the ponies in his entourage took care of that for him, often without his request. He had been scurried around like a priceless painting from stage to recording booth to stage for years now.
Party Favor let him think.
Party Favor made him have to think.
Party Favor kept him from feeling alone.
Feather Bangs set his jaw, biting his bottom lip as it started to quiver. He pulled up the list of frequent contacts, his hoof hovering between the top two: Party Favor, and Showtime.
Several minutes passed as anxious thoughts and fears and guilt and shame and confusion battled for supremacy inside his head. Finally, he tapped his choice, pulled up the keyboard, and sent the text he never believed he would send.
We’re done.
