It Takes a Foal to Raise a Family

Chapters

Prologue. ...we came in?
1. That's All Right, Mama
2. Suffer
3. You've Got the Silver
4. In the Flesh?
5. Architects
6. Behind Closed Doors
7. Forbidden Beat
8. Nobody Listens
9. Thank God it's Christmas
10. Stranger Than Fiction
11. Joy to the World

Prologue. ...we came in?

Her full name was Glissando Philarmonica Scratch, but she liked it when ponies called her Gliss. She loved her pancakes thin and she liked to sleep in. She despised canaries and couldn't stand the smell of melting rubber. She played the guitar, but then again, everypony in Los Pegasus played something, so it didn't make her special. She was a foal of two filly-foolers, conceived magically, but she wasn't the only one; so it didn't make her special either. She enrolled at Music faculty at sixteen, but there were other such exemptions, so, a prodigy in a city of prodigies, she was nothing special.

She lived with her mothers who argued and loved and she played her six guitars in turn, for, were she to be poor in her circumstances, she would actually be special; and she wasn't; and she studied music at a university which was dedicated solely to teaching arts. She had coffee in the morning and tea at night. She was sixteen but laughed like an adult and cried like a foal. In time, she would still be sixteen but would laugh like a foal and cry like an adult.

She was easily impressed; she was cement. She was fragile like glass. She toured the streets in a scarf and boots. She missed summer when she slipped on ice and she looked forward to winter on hot summer days. She sat grimly by the window on Hearth's Warming Eve and she never liked getting presents. She wasn't tighthooved but she didn't like parting with her golden bits. She loved her mothers dearly and she knew their marriage was on a brink. She held them together and she hated herself for being so unable. She caught snowflakes with her tongue and she was afraid to drink water from the tap.

She admired history and hated it deeply. She could never pick up foreign languages but wished she could speak them all. She pretended to be a professional guitarist and knew her faults by heart. She wanted to try out other arts but never succeeded.

She never liked tobacco smoke or alcohol but didn't mind trying either. She didn't mind drugs but was terrified of trying them. She knew her mothers lied to her and she loved them all the same. She knew everypony lied to everypony.

She was fine with her mothers' relationship and was afraid to admit that she was into males. She was proud to be an earth pony but envied unicorns for their magic. She was afraid of being deemed racist. She knew she was supposed to hate griffins but honestly didn't mind them.

She liked to pick up wet autumn leaves from the charcoal asphalt. She kept her guitar in a sack but had a couple cases. She hated university and wished she had a decent room of her own instead of a modified living room. She was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old foal, like so many post-war foals in Equestria, who never knew true oppression or criminality, and yet complained the loudest. She would become the voice of her generation, standing up against the war, and the police, and the criminal world. She would fail.

She would love a strange love and be loved back. She would hate deeply and receive honest hate. She would try to save her family. She would try to save her neighbours' family. She would try to save the city. She would try to save the world. She would try to save herself.

She would try to be herself - and surprisingly, she would succeed at this task. She would try to find friends - and she would succeed. She would try to find love - and she would succeed.

She succeeded and lost, much like everypony everywhere. In short, she was just a common teenage foal. But, maybe, it was just such a foal that the city needed.

1. That's All Right, Mama

Los Pegasus was roaring with snow. They promised a little snowfall but then again they never kept their promises. It was a snowstorm, a snowwhirl, a snowfury. The white was omnipresent, swishing around, blocking the sight and the roads; one could easily bump into somepony without even seeing them. The snow culture was wild, unfamiliar to the city, the city that was only used to sun and warmth, and the ponies snailed, wide-eyed, through the thick white barrier.

"It's impossible!" Gliss shouted out, coughing up the wind, gulping on the snow that rocketed into her throat. "It's... It's an anomaly!"

Vinyl laughed, tugging at her scarf. "Come on, Slidey, you've just never been in Manehattan." She raised her head high, smiling into the weather. "Me and your mother used to have colder weather. Why, I remember one time we-"

"Mom," Gliss interrupted, "don't. Not making it any easier. Besides, I'm not in the mood for your romantic stories." With effort, she dragged on.

"Oh, come on!" Vinyl took a glance around her shoulder at her daughter. "My romance stories are awesome!"

"Your romance stories," Gliss countered, "always end up with you and Mother having sex. And not always in a conventional manner."

"Well," Vinyl reasoned, "you're sixteen. I thought you were old enough to know about that stuff."

"And I think," Gliss replied, barely following as they stepped on ice, "that sometimes you are just boasting." Though, she thought, there is something to boast about. Before your virgin daughter. ...yeeeaaah. "Oh buck!" With a grunt and a pop, the young mare fell onto the ground, hitting the ice with her back. "Fuuuck," she decided that the situation called for censorship to be dismissed.

"Glissando!" Scared, Vinyl ran up to her daughter as quickly as the tricky ice permitted. "Are you all right?"

"My head," the filly wailed. "It hurts like hell. I think I must have hit it." Or worse, her eager mind supplied.

"Oh buck oh buck oh buck..." Vinyl cursed, dancing around the filly and finally remembering to help her up. "Octavia will kill me. She will murder me and hide my body in a- uh!"

"Ugh. Don't worry, Mom," Gliss assured as she wobbled, a little dizzy. "I am sure Mother will act reasonably..."

***

"Vincenza Staccato! I will murder you and hide your body in a- uh!" Octavia yelled at the very shy Vinyl, who sat at the small kitchen table, looking at the floor. "How come you didn't- uh!" She hit her hoof against the table.

"Tavi..." Vinyl let out meekly. "You'll wake up Glissando..."

Octavia sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Vinyl... Why are you so irresponsible?"

Gliss resonated her mother's sigh as she eared in to the conversation that took place at the other side of the wall as she lay in her mothers' bed in their room and tried to make the dull ache in her head go away. Can they not argue for one day?

It wasn't the arguing that made her feel bad; it was the way her mothers argued, the quiet and disappointed way. When she was a wee foal, her parents used to argue, sure, but it somehow seemed more of a slapstick variety, more of a run-and-kiss kind of thing. Now, it was more of a rehearsed epilogue - and it was driving her mad with worry.

The whole household had been, for a while, in stasis, interrupted only by arguments. And the arguments themselves were part of the stasis too. All the members had their own anabiosis. Their interactions had become rare. Gliss ran into music. Octavia ran into reading. Vinyl ran into alcohol. Talk of divorce was floating in the air, unspoken, dangerous.

Gliss wanted to save the family. She needed to save the family. She could do absolutely nothing to save the family. So, she watched her mothers drift apart, tucked away into stasis, safe.

"Where has the passion gone, Tavi?" Vinyl asked in the kitchen, quietly, almost silently. "Where's our youth and... attraction?"

Gliss could her Octavia sigh in response. "Vinyl, love... We aren't young anymore. Our youth's run out, dear. All's left for us is late-night radio broadcasts and silent wine in the kitchen." Her voice didn't sound bitter; it was, if anything, accepting. "And raising Glissando."

Gliss winced. Raise your love first, Mother. Raise it from the dead, for hellsake. I - I'll manage.

"A quiet, peaceful life, huh." Vinyl sighed audibly. "With nothing but radio and our foal keeping us together."

"It's what they call 'getting accustomed to each other', I guess," Octavia replied. "First, there's love and passion. Then you just get used to each other..."

"And when you can't stand each other? When you constantly argue? When you get into quarrels over everything?" Vinyl was raising her voice considerably. "When you realise just how different your characters are? When you understand that, maybe, just maybe, you were drawn to each other because of hopelessness and, and not..." She didn't finish the sentence.

There was a long, thoughtful silence that seemed to have enveloped the whole flat. Finally, Octavia spoke, "I'll go check on Glissando. Seems like we'll have to share her sofa tonight. She needs to rest, if in our bed."

Gliss winced, half from the pain, half from disapprovement. As soon as her mother opened the door and entered carefully, she blurted out, "Mother, I'm fine. I can go sleep in my own bed."

Octavia furrowed her brows sternly. "Glissando Philarmonica Scratch. Have you been eavesdropping?"

Oh damn. Concussion doesn't make for good thinking. "Uhm." Gliss tried to fake a smile. "I just have really good ears?"

Instead of a scolding that never came, Gliss was surprised to receive a gentle pat on the head from the cellist mare, who had placed herself on the edge of the bed. "That you do," Octavia confirmed lovingly. "How much did you hear?" she asked cautiously.

"Everything," Gliss confessed. "I always hear everything." She paused. "You and Mom... Why don't you love each other anymore?" Now that sounded like a little foal talking...

Octavia sighed and put on a thoroughly fake smile. "We love you, honey. You're our little filly. And that's all that matters."

Uneasily, Vinyl stepped into the room. "Hey." She approached the bed, cautious not to touch Octavia, and ruffled Gliss's hair slightly. "How're you, Slidey?"

"Fine, Mom, thanks." Gliss closed her eyes, shapes of all kinds commanding her vision. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she slept, under the full moon that would soon crawl onto the sky, wondering what the whole commotion was about.

2. Suffer

"Heeey."

Gliss moaned, rolling to the side, slowly recognising her mothers' bed, soft to the touch, a bed she wanted to spent the rest of the day in. "Mmgway," she mumbled and went back to sleep briefly until a telekinetic field lifted the blanket off her. Grunting, the filly opened her eyes, only to see Golden String, a beautiful mare of golden coat and rusty mane, and, coincidentally, her best friend, grinning at her and holding the aforementioned blanket with her telekinesis.

"Rise and shine!" Golden String urged, tossing the blanket aside. "Your mothers told me you had a concussion so I felt it my duty to check on you."

As soon as Gliss came to terms with her existence in the room, and String's undoubtable presence, and having been woken up from a particularly pleasant slumber, she glared at the intruder and wondered honestly, "In how many ways do you think I can kill you right now?"

"Seventeen?" Golden String guessed with a wide grin. "Lemme tell you about today's uni instead." The young mare sat on the edge of the bed excitedly.

"Uh," Gliss replied. "A source of joy and all the happiness in the world, I presume." She yawned, retrieving the blanket and cuddling up into it contentedly.

"There's a new colt, an overseas student," String told conspiraciously. "He's at the Vocal department, and boy, does he have a smooth voice! Sineightra's crying with envy." Gliss doubted the comparison, but listened on, half-snoozing, her head still aching, not in the least fuelled by the sudden wake-up. "And he's hot. So smooth. Imagine a pristine coat, neatly brushed and all, and such muscle underneath... but he's not a jock, not overpumped. Name's Silver Chord. Mmm."

Gliss chuckled with a yawn. "Looks like he really struck a chord with you." Hehe. So punny. "Why aren't you stalking him as of now, instead of talking to me?"

"Wellllll..." String drawled reluctantly. "You know, I'm a bassist mare. The rough kind who likes beer and anal sex." Gliss cringed at the mentioning of the eighteen-year-old's mare sexual victories. "And he's... real gentle-like. You know? All brushed up and silk scarf and fur lotion. You know, I think he even might be... well, playing for another team."

"Uh?" Gliss dumbed at the question, her head splitting.

"Swinging anticlockwise," String elaborated.

"Uhm?"

The bassist groaned in exasperation. "Likes to take a cock in his ass?"

Gliss almost did a spit-take on thin air. "W- Couldn't you be... less blunt?"

"I tried!" String countered. "Oh, and the age difference too. He's sixteen," she concluded. "A prodigy accepted early, like you. Only from the Crystal Empire."

Gliss raised her head slightly. “Huh?” She paused, her hazy mind trying to analyse the information. “Interesting,” she finally settled.

“Interesting?!” String laughed, patting Gliss’s small belly, which always made her deeply uncomfortable. “He is your age, Gliss,” she pointed out unnecessarily. “It’s a pact made in Heaven.” She grinned.

“Har har har,” Gliss replied, burying her aching head in the pillow. "You don't even know I prefer colts," she mumbled from underneath.

"Oh, I do," String laughed. "I've read your diary, remember?" Gliss jerked up. Oh buck. True. "You are a fine connoisseur of the penis variety," the bassist wrapped up grandiloquently.

"Yeah..." Gliss mumbled into the pillow. "Not that I'll ever get some." Ugh.

"Don't worry." String patted her on her back. “The right dick will come along.” She laughed at her bawdy joke. “But say, Silver’s mighty interested in meeting you. Another young prodigy. He’s all glee about the…” She nudged the young guitarist. “Musical possibilities.” She winked at Gliss, who groaned and went back to her pillow.

“If you haven’t noticed, String,” Gliss replied, “I’ll be in this bed at least for a week.” She paused. There was hissing noise from the corridor. “Knowing my mother, two weeks.”

“What’s that white noise?” String wondered, rolling her head about.

More like white and grey noise. “My mothers,” Gliss said simply. “They’re arguing.” String looked at her sympathetically. “I’m used to it.”

Golden String stood up. “Chins up.” She patted Gliss on the back - which, frankly, was more preferable than the belly. “And about your meet-up with Silver… I’m sure she can arrange something.” With that, she winked again and ran out of the room.

Gliss groaned and faceplanted into the pillow again. Now, sleep.

***

Why do we suffer? Or, rather, why do we have to suffer? The masses of equinity will always have to suffer, I get it. There’s war, and poverty, and disease. If nothing else, there’s old good Life herself. But why bear torture?

Say, in a world where all is good and right, everypony is absolutely healthy, everypony is rich, everypony is happy - won’t that make everypony ill, poor, and sad? How can we achieve happiness without comparison? We may lie to ourselves but we are only happy either for somepony or in comparison to somepony. We see that there is war, and poverty, and disease, and we think ourselves happy to have avoided all that. It makes us happy, this exemption.

But even if we are happy, our brain will always find something negative to focus on. We always have to suffer, we always do suffer because we choose to. It is a conscious choice that we all make. We may pretend we are all right, but guess what? The foals are never all right. You were never all right as a foal, and when you grew up, nostalgia replaced the pain, the unease, the oppression, the feeling of being incomplete, an under-being.

We carry our problems into adult life, and they stay. We pay loads of bits to escape them, but guess what? They are always there. It is our nature to suffer, and, by dealing with it, we evolve. But bringing our nature to terms with self-realisation, self-approval, self-achievement, we take a step towards what really makes us equine.

Is this what separates us from griffins? ...They always say about something, about this and that: “This is what separates us from griffins.” I don’t know. I can barely see anything that separates us from griffins apart from physiology. I don’t know. I think griffins suffer too, maybe even more that we do. ...If that’s even possible.

3. You've Got the Silver

“Good morning, Miss Scratch! Good morning, Miss Philarmonica!” String greeted the mares cheerfully as soon as they opened the door. “How’s Gliss?”

“Glissando is still ill,” Octavia remarked, observing an unfamiliar white colt who was standing next to the very familiar Golden String and looking at them calmly. “I don’t know if she should be making new acquaintances, given the circumstances.”

“Ma’am,” Silver Chord stepped up, looking into Octavia’s eyes with that bluey gaze of his. “My name is Silver Chord. I am a transfer student from the Crystal Empire-”

“Explains the accent,” Vinyl muttered.

“-and I have heard a lot about your daughter.” Silver smiled. “A guitar prodigy, a talented songwriter, a progressive thinker.”

“That’s all our Slidey?” Vinyl blinked, receiving an invisible slap from her wife. “Ouch.”

“I would be honoured to meet her,” Silver concluded humbly, “especially now that I see who she draws her qualities from.”

Vinyl leaned in to Octavia and whispered, “Who’s that?”

Octavia facehoofed. “Us. Now,” she addressed the two young ponies, “Please, do come in. Glissando is in the bedroom. Don’t be loud, her concussion is still severe.”

String led Silver through Gliss’s room, which was both the living room and the room that led to the kitchen (on the left) and the bedroom (straight ahead). She opened the door without knocking and ushered the young stallion in.

Gliss was lying in bed, snoozing peacefully. “Isn’t she cute?” String whispered to the new colt, who managed to blush such a tiny shade of pink that she didn’t notice. “Gliiiiiiiiss~” she cooed over the sleeping mare, nudging her slightly.

“Go away,” Gliss called out without opening her eyes and rolled over. Golden String tried to snatch the blanket from her telekinetically but Gliss crushed it in her grip.

“Let me try,” Silver whispered and took a hesitant step towards the bed. “Miss Philarmonica? Um, Gliss?”

Hearing an unfamiliar (and male) voice, Gliss opened her eyes and looked over the room curiously. She registered the presence of Golden String, and then her gaze fixed on the white, handsome figure a little away from the bed. She blinked sleepily. That. That must be Silver. She added the white coat, and yesterday’s promise, and her concussed brain estimated that yes, indeed, it must be Silver.

“My name is Silver Chord,” the colt said with a tiny bow. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Gliss.” He took another tiny bow and a step towards the bed. Gliss extended her hoof automatically, which Silver kissed slightly and took a step back with a polite bow. Gliss turned fiercely red. Oh my Celestia. He kissed my hoof. Like those knights from stories. “Very pleased to meet you,” Silver added with a tiny smile that Gliss wanted to take and keep on the wall as a picture.

Say something, brain, she ordered. “Uuuuhm.” Not that good… Gliss tried again, striving to keep her embarrassment and concussion at bay. “Uhm. You’re pretty.” Ugh! What the hay, brain?!

String roared with laughter, almost collapsing on the floor, leaning against the wall as she heaved with barking laughs. Silver, on the contrary, fell very silent, the pink evident on his white face - and the rest of his body. "Um," Gliss tried to rectify. "Pleased to meet you too." Celestia, please let the ground swallow me right now.

“I hear you are a very talented guitarist,” Silver spoke gently, his deep voice rumbling about the room. “A true prodigy.”

“Aahheeee…” Gliss rubbed the back of her head. Come on. Please. Form at least some semblance of thought, brain! “I… I’m just good at playing the guitar is all,” she tried humbly, her legs kicking excitedly beneath the blanket for some reason.

“Mmm…” Silver rumbled, and Gliss mused, momentarily, if this was what losing ear virginity felt like. “I’ve also been informed you’re a good lyricist?”

Gliss blinked. “I’m a what?” Uhmhm. She took a brief glance around the room as she heard a door opening and closing. Must be Lyra and Bon-Bon dropping by. Sure, their neighbours had a trend of dropping at the most inconvenient times. Hope they don’t check on me till I’ve talked with the sexy stu- ssssssssSilver Chord here, I mean. She sighed. Boy, String is right. I need to get laid.

“You write very fine verses?” Silver tried, slower. “Lyrics? I’m sorry, it must be my accent-”

“No,” Gliss interrupted, blushing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Golden String grinning slyly. Damn you, you... shshcchhinkly... cchshshchchshinkler. “Y-your accent is very beautiful. I-I… I did write some lyrics,” she admitted, battling the headache. “Would you like to hear them out?” She smiled.

“Go for the balls, filly!” Golden String whispered to her a little too audibly.

Silver flushed, but, instead of averting his eyes in embarrassment, pierced Gliss with his bluey gaze. “With pleasure.”

***

Lyra smiled at the jingling laughter that reached her ears from the bedroom. She put off her cigarette in the ‘tray, nudging Vinyl. “Gliss’s having a fun time with her marefriend?”

Vinyl laughed, exchanging indulging looks with Octavia, who merely smiled. She wrapped her hoof around Lyra’s neck, showing her other front hoof about the kitchen. “Just a friend, Lyra. Golden String’s just Slidey’s friend.”

“Though,” Octavia chimed in, “I personally would be glad if they started dating. She’s such a nice, mannered mare.” She looked at Bon-Bon knowingly and remarked, “Any relationship needs at least one reasonable pony, to keep an eye on her… less reasonable counterpart.”

“Exactly.” Vinyl nodded solemnly. “I always have to keep an eye on Tavi’s unreasonable…” She paused. “Counter what?”

Octavia facehoofed. “Vinyl, counterpart means a pony. You. In this case.” Bon-Bon chimed with deep, low laughter. From the bedroom, another spur of fun resonated. Octavia smiled and nodded. “A nice, mannered mare.”

***

“And then I said, ‘Professor, the only A this song needs is in ‘Anus’!”

String roared at her joke, accompanied by the high embarrassed laughs from Gliss, who remembered the experience, and nervous chuckles from the blushing Silver, who was, no doubt, wondering what level of hell would he burn in for laughing at such attempts at humour. But, he noted, Gliss seemed nice; despite her concussion, she kept up a friendly discussion, had an interesting, non-jazz, non-blues, approach to music; it was almost as if… as if she were trying to come up with an entirely new genre. And he liked it. He didn’t like her of course… well, not like that, at least… But he definitely felt his vocal cords explode with excitement at an opportunity to try out a new genre; for in blues he just had to sing a range of five notes, and jazz felt like a lyricless moan, where the voice was not the lead, but just another instrument. He wanted the words to shine. And, upon hearing some of the lyrics that Gliss had written, he knew her words would definitely shine.

"So, may I attend a rehearsal?" Silver enquired politely.

"What rehearsal?" Gliss shifted in place, butterflies biting up her stomach from the inside. Maybe we could rehearse deep kissing, just you and me? Mm?

"A rehearsal of your band, of course!" the young stallion clarified. "The next one scheduled?"

Just as Gliss opened up her mouth, Golden String interrupted: "Oh, we don't schedule those." She laughed. "Usually, it's just the four of us telling bawdy jokes and playing a couple songs and Gliss complaining about how imperfect our songs are." She nudged the reddening filly.

"Quite the contrary!" Gliss parried indignantly. "We do have a fine band, and our next rehearsal's scheduled for..." Sunday? Saturday? Tomorrow? Right now if you kiss me.

"For whenever you've recovered," String wrapped up. "Come on." She nudged Silver. "Let's give her some rest. As the two turned away, String took a brief glance over her shoulder and mouthed, Go for the balls. Gliss waved her hoof and laughed.

When the door closed, Gliss released the breath she'd been holding for a while. Then, she thought about Silver for a moment, and her stomach once more filled with butterflies. Then she laughed, grabbing the pillow, and laughed, despite the pain, laughed until her mothers - and neighbours - burst into the room to enquire what was going on.

"Nothing," Gliss replied, smiling widely. "It's just such a nice day, isn't it?"

4. In the Flesh?

Jimi Clawrix didn’t feel quite at home.

Even when he stayed the whole day in his hole of a flat - his hole, his very personal, not rented hole - and roamed the only room that lacked furniture pathetically, and flung himself into one of those chairs that were always restrictive on the wings; and when he mindlessly trod the streets of Los Pegasus, an alien in an alien city, his guitar sack on his back, again, restrictive on the wings, damn pony tech and convenience - he didn’t feel quite at home.

He was born in Equestria, true; but there was never a time when he felt at home in his homeland. He was born after the war, and he never knew his mother, who decided it for the best to leave the kid and escape to the Empire. His father, a griffin nationalist, soon took up little Jimi and tried to escape too; but wasn’t let through. Suffering from being unable to go home, he soon died, presumably of a broken heart.

Ever since his childhood - and he couldn’t say he really had one - he had often wondered: why was he verbally berated in the streets when they thought he couldn’t see him? Why was he verbally berated in the streets when they thought he could? Why wasn’t he let into theatres and restaurants? Why couldn’t he find a proper job? Why couldn’t he go to university and get a degree? No griffins allowed, they said. No feathered beaks, the signs read. Get out of my way, you feathered bastard, the ponies said.

So, there were a select number of things he could do: drink (he drank), smoke cigarettes (he smoked), find odd jobs (he did), and play the guitar in small ‘feathered’ bars (he played). He also got laid very frequently. Something in his disposition made the female griffin population of Los Pegasus want to have babies with him. He certainly didn’t mind this one positive outlet in his life.

When he walked home from the gig, he sometimes looked at the sun rising over the only world he had ever known and he thought that, maybe, if Celestia were aware of the situation, life would be different. But then he remembered that it was Celestia who had waged a war against his nation, and that it was Celestia who supported the segregation policy. But then again, he didn’t mind a little sun as he returned to his (very small) private domicile.

Jimi Clawrix performed on the guitar for his feathered kin, but he was, guiltily, thinking of - even dreaming about - performing for rich snooty ponies in Golden Ground clubs and in the Bohemia Bar, and he could almost hear the hooves stomping, yes, it was his guilty secret, he despised those equines, but he, he, for some reason he so sought their approval, their excitement, their love.

That evening was hardly any different: Jimi Clawrix came home without a pretty griffin female on his wing - he’d already ditched the one he’d slept with two hours ago - dreaming of fame and fortune; or, at least, relative well-knowness and a little money. Knowing that tonight’s gig would be as upsetting as the previous one was somewhat filling him with a sense of stability. Passing by the old wardrobe that never hosted anything but his worn-out leather jacket, he pondered on his most recent dilemma: he finally had enough money to buy winter boots, and he was planning on giving himself exactly those as a present for Hearth’s Warming Eve, or, Bravery Day, as it was known in the Griffin Empire, but… “But the damn ponies don’t have boots for a griffin leg,” he said aloud, popping open a beer and propping himself on the sofa. He cast a glance at his inferior guitar and frowned. Some day, he said to himself, some day I’ll have so much money I’ll buy a Les Pone. ...In spite of the name.

Gently still, he took up the guitar and plugged it into a small 10-watt combo, setting the beer aside. He started out with a riff, then his imagination supplied a drum beat to which he tapped his foot, the bass notes which he hummed in his low voice, and then the riff grew into a solo and it was late evening, and the moon jammed its shiny head to the tune, and he knew this tune he’d memorise, as all of his tunes - for he could not write or read a note - and perform it tonight, and he could already picture himself in the light of the stage, and, thus, the song was born.

***

“Gah, I can’t do it.” Gliss touched her forehead, feeling the pain returning. Gently, she placed her Les Pone next to her on the stand. “It’s that damn headache,” she complained to her mothers, who didn’t seem upset by the filly’s inability to perform, but rather, only her health. “It’s like, I have the song in my head, but I can’t play it out loud.

“It’s just the concussion, Slidey,” Vinyl chimed in, sipping on a beer. “It’ll get better soon.” She smiled at her daughter. “See, you’re already sleeping in your room.”

“Yeah.” Gliss narrowed her brow. “If my room were a room, you know, and not a pass-through living room.” But then again, I guess a living room is still a room…

The silence was awkward, but it was nothing new; Octavia carried herself primly, and Vinyl sipped on her fourth (fifth? sixth?) beer today. She glanced at the clock. Ah, it’s almost midnight. Another day gone, and thank Celestia for that.

Octavia yawned theatrically, covering her mouth with a hoof. "Come on, sweetie. Time to go to bed." She smiled at her daughter the way only mothers can smile. You don't want the headache to get worse, do you?"

Gliss groaned quietly. Always with the ifs and predictions. She opened her mouth to argue but decided against it. She turned off the Mareshall amp and freed her guitar of the cord. "Sure thing, mother," she replied, faking exhaustion. "Good night, mother. Good night, Mom." In turn, she let her cheeks be kissed by the perfumed lips of Octavia and the boozy lips of Vinyl.

"Sweet dreams, honey," Octavia cooed, patting the filly on the head, making her shake her long mane disapprovingly.

"Night, Slidey." Vinyl patted her daughter on the shoulder and followed her wife into the bedroom. "May your dreams be filled with pretty mares!" she called out from behind her shoulder and, with laughter and an embarrassed 'Mooom!' closed the door behind the two of them.

Gliss sighed and tried to close her eyes and just lie still, but the sound of the flat didn't let her: the screeching of the bed soon ceased - Gliss knew her mothers were not making love anymore - and the snoring soon filled the room through the door; but there were sounds coming through the closed window, sounds of the busy city that was waking up, again, from its daily awakening, waking in its wake, it roared with music, it drummed with hoofsteps, it blared with laughter; the days of bop were ending, Gliss knew it, but they were still clinging to it, the bop was still in the city, she knew she wanted to play something different, but how could she put the melody to life when-

Gliss groaned and picked up her unplugged Les Pone. She ran a hoof across the neck, feeling the frets rubbing against her, like a warning, like a storm, like a lover. She tried a few notes. Somehow, the soft, gentle sound of an unplugged electric guitar soothed her, didn't make her head blaze with pain.

Suddenly, inspiration hit. Why don’t I just play that tune of mine with intervals, and maybe… Quickly taking a round-about glance, as if she were doing something dirty, she tapped the neck boldly with one hoof, then with two hooves. That’s just like Mom playing the piano… Embracing the new technique was easy, after a few minutes of practice.

The tune surfaced in her mind with effect, an after-delay, and a pre-reverb, it resonated inside her mind, healing her; the headache was gone, and she was glad, and she was trying something new, and it felt like a nocturnal kind of thing, and she was smiling, eyes closed, guitar unplugged, and, thus, the song was born.

5. Architects

“And we’ll have our hearts warming on Hearth’s Warming Eve~” Vinyl sang as she sipped on a bottle of wine and levitated the toys by the New Year’s tree. “And our hearts will be warming on Hearth’s Warming Eve~”

“Mom!” Gliss complained with a wince, holding in her hoof a basket with tiny flickering lamps. Those unicorns and their magic… she thought with envy. “That’s an awful song, and you know it.”

“What should I sing instead?” Vinyl gulped on the wine. Again… A bottle, every day. “Rock’n’roll?” she laughed. “That pseudomusic that the feathered play?”

Gliss frowned invisibly. It’s not pseudomusic. It’s better than your jazz, Mom. Or any jazz, for that matter. It’s strong, and carries a message. And who cares if the griffins play it? Aloud, she just mumbled something random and incomprehensive. “Well, I, for one, have come up with a new tune,” she tried, giving her mother a hoofful of lamps.

“And here I was, thinking that you were supposed to be sleeping,” Octavia chimed in with tinsel on her shoulders. “Vinyl, take the spangle, please.”

“Spangle.” Vinyl rolled the word on her tongue. “Sounds like a verb. Like ‘I’ll spangle you, Vinyl’.”

“What should we call it then?” Gliss dove in, happy that they were finally having one of the family moments. She knew that arguing about words was somehow tying them to the past, to the happy times when she trotted about the flat with a lollipop, two happy parents watching her every move. “It is spangle.”

“Ack!” Vinyl took up the bait gleefully, even putting down the wine. “It’s tinsel!” She took the tinsel telekinetically from Octavia, trying to decorate with it the tree, which was already full of festive colour and light. “It’s called tinsel because it… tinsels.” She pondered. “Doesn’t it look tinsel...ish?”

“Nope,” Gliss replied happily, “it looks spangtacular. It spangles. In a spangly way,” she added. “Mom, could you hold the lamps, please?” she addressed Vinyl, who snatched the lamps with her telekinesis. “I want to show you guys the song I wrote yesterday.” Hearth’s Warming is still a while away, but the song may fade… I need to perform it and write it down. But how the hay do you write down… what should I call it? Slamming? Tapping?

“The song you wrote at night,” Octavia clarified, taking up some tinsel to put on the tree. “When you were supposed to be sleeping with a headache.” She glanced sideways at Vinyl’s bottle but said nothing.

“I still have a headache,” Gliss protested, plugging in her Les Pone. Okay, a touch of reverb… Some delay… There. “It’s just not as pronounced.”

Vinyl sniffed. “My filly, speaking such smart and complicated words.” She dried a tear which, frankly, neither Gliss nor Octavia could identify either as true or fake. There was a good chance that it was a bit of both.

Gliss ran her hoof across the frets, feeling the sound, the slight electric crunch, the clean feedback. She played the scales that formed the piece, the usual way, just without the pick. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mothers stop the decorating and listen attentively. With a smile, she let her hooves tap on the neck, repeating yesterday’s, rather, yesternight’s, performance.

The notes danced properly; the tempo may have been twitchy, but she felt so warm inside, now that she was performing with a technique she herself invented, a technique that was fresh and new, and-

“Nice.” Vinyl chewed on her lip. “Um. It was… nice.” She stepped towards the tree, where Octavia was already decorating the tree, a little too busily.

“Mom?” Gliss asked with caution, putting down the guitar. “Usually, your opinion is more colourful.” Something’s wrong. Something’s amiss. “Mother?” she addressed Octavia, who was conveniently standing with her back to the filly. “What did you think about my new tune?”

Octavia let out a nervous laugh. “Well, sweetie, I’m not a guitarist, I’m a cellist.” She handed the tinsel to her wife. “Now, Mom here is very knowledgeable in the guitar field, as you know what a wild guitarist she used to be in her youth…” She smiled disarmingly, while Vinyl just blinked. “So you’d better ask her. And I’m off to do the groceries!~” Swiftly, Octavia trotted towards the door, grabbing her white-and-blue scarf along the way.

The door slammed. Vinyl sighed and looked at her daughter. “She didn’t actually take any money.” Sneaky sneaky Tavi.

Gliss shook her head. “No, she didn’t.” With a frown, she confronted her mother: “So, what did you really think about my tune? It’s a new technique,” she explained with barely concealed pride. “I invented it. I called it… tapping.”

“Tapping?” Vinyl reiterated.

“Tapping,” Gliss confirmed with a nod. “Because of how you tap the neck, not glide your hoof on it.”

Vinyl sighed. “Listen, Slidey, kid…” She wrapped her hoof around the filly’s neck, making her vastly uncomfortable. “You’re not supposed to tap the neck, you’re supposed to play the notes. It’s not the way to play the guitar. It’s not a piano.” She chuckled. “And, believe me, I play both.”

“Why not unite them?” Gliss asked defensively. To hell with how I’m ‘supposed’ to play it. Let’s talk about how I want to play it.

“Because,” Vinyl explained, as if to a little foal, “they are two different instruments.”

“So you don’t approve?” Gliss wondered bluntly.

“I don’t approve as a guitar player.” Vinyl let go of Gliss’s neck and shoulders. “But I approve as your mother. Exploration and all of that.”

The doorbell rang, and Vinyl trotted over to open it. Gliss fell behind, watching her mother open the door. Before them stood a now-familiar white unicorn, who tipped his hat to the pianist. “Good evening, Miss Scratch.”

Vinyl blinked. “And you are?”

“Silver Chord,” Gliss chimed in from behind. “He’s my new acquaintance, Mom.” More like, ‘the guy who makes me giggle silly and sets my stomach on fire’... “Come on in, Silver,” she motioned for the young stallion.

Silver entered the flat, taking off his hat and scarf, eyeing curiously the tree and Octavia in a red nightcap. The cellist waved at the unicorn with a smile. Silver nodded. Gliss quickly disrupted the awkwardness. “Mom, we’ll be in the kitchen. We’ll need some privacy to talk.”

“Sure thing, kids.” Vinyl nodded. “All the privacy you could ever want.”

As the two young ponies sat in the kitchen, Silver took a cautious look around and wondered, blushing slightly, “Can you explain to me what is a tree doing in the middle of your household?”

Gliss blinked. “It’s Hearth’s Warming!” Seeing Silver’s oblivious reaction, she asked, more carefully, “You… You don’t have Hearth’s Warming in the Crystal Empire?”

“We have the holiday,” Silver confirmed. “We just don’t celebrate it… How do you prepare for Hearth’s Warming in Equestria again?”

Gliss smiled.

***

“And then we decorate the tree with lights and spangle and-”

“I thought it was called tinsel?” Silver interrupted.

Gliss furrowed her brows into the famous Philarmonico frown that made Silver gulp and nod. “Anyway, we decorate the tree. And we count the days till Hearth’s Warming on the calendar, and then on the Eve we get presents and warm cocoa!” And Mom gets some booze… She really is… drinking a little more than she used to.

“We don’t have that custom in the Crystal Empire,” Silver explained, sipping on his tea. “We don’t count days till Hearth’s Warming - but we do celebrate the New Year with presents and resolutions.”

“What’s your resolution gonna be?” Gliss asked with curiosity, her heart beating slightly faster than usual. She blamed it on the coffee.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Silver finished the mug and looked into Gliss’s eyes. Heeee, eyes. Such blue. Uuuum. “Get on with my studies?” The young stallion shook his head. “Reconcile with my father?” Another shake. I’ll have to investigate this one, Gliss thought immediately, before the idea that this might be none of her business came into her head. “Maybe… fall in love with a smart, beautiful young mare?..” Silver leaned in slightly. Gliss felt her breath ragging up, her heart beating, her hooves trembling.

“Hey there, kids!” Vinyl entered the kitchen clumsily, throwing away the now-empty bottle. “You having fun?” She proceeded to the fridge. Yes, we were, Gliss thought. Until you stepped in. Why do parents always have to ruin everything?

“Yes, thank you, Miss Scratch,” SIlver replied politely, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Vinyl took out a six-pack out of the fridge and popped a can open with a hiss. She gulped the beer greedily and let out a tiny burp. “Oh, sorry,” she apologised easily, stepping out of the kitchen.

Gliss’s face fell flat on the table, all the while lighting with embarrassment. Oh Celestia, now would be a good time for the ground to swallow me up…

Octavia stormed into the kitchen with grocery bags, planting those on the counter. “Oh!” she noticed with a polite smile. “Silver, nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Miss Philarmonica,” the guest replied with a neverdropping smile. I would give my Les Pone to see this smile every moment of my life. Wait, what am I even thinking?!

“Glissando, stop faceplanting on the table,” Octavia chided sternly. “You don’t want that thing to happen?” Turning to Silver, she began, “When Glissando was just three…”

“No!” Gliss quickly raised her head. “Of course we don’t want that, Mother.” What we don’t want is a foalhood story to embarrass me before a possible coltfriend… Noting that her mind had already registered Silver as one, Gliss smiled innerly. A very fine candidate. If he really does fancy me and doesn’t just smile at everypony the same.

“I am afraid it is time for me to leave,” Silver said, dropping his smile to a sad-but-still-polite level, and stood up. “It has been very nice to visit your household.”

Gliss stood up as well. “I’ll see you to the door.” She followed the colt into the corridor. On the way, Vinyl waved from Gliss’s couch. “Heyo there, kid!” Silver replied with a small nod. Gliss reddened. “I’m sorry,” she said as Silver put on his scarf. “My mothers… They can be… tiresome.” And they embarrass me every day. Thank Celestia Lyra didn’t drop by…

“That’s okay,” Silver replied, looking at Gliss’s hooves. He raised his head, joining their looks. “I’ve come to see you, after all. And I am charmed by your mothers. I can see that your good looks are inherited.”

“My…” Gliss reddened fiercely. Good looks! I’m good-looking! He’s calling me beautiful! He’s basically asking me out!! ...or he’s just being polite. Gliss steadied herself. “Thanks. Um. It must be weird for you.”

“What?” Silver tugged on his scarf. “Why?”

“Well…” Gliss rubbed the carpet with her hoof. “You’re from the Crystal Empire, right? I know that… most of the crystal citizens don’t approve of… what my mothers have. I know same-sex marriage isn’t legal in your country.”

“And will never be,” Silver confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean that I am against it. I am not your average crystal citizen.”

“Oh yes,” Gliss let out with a whisper. With a body like this, far… from… average. I wonder if his… um… is far from average too?

“I don’t blame the crystal citizens,” Silver said. “They are all very conservative. It’s the crystal culture. But that doesn’t mean I am not open-minded. After all, I found a way to study here, and not there.”

“I thought it was because you could find more musical opportunities here?” Gliss wondered idly, her heart racing for some reason.

Silver kissed her hoof as a good-bye gesture. Oh, that’s why. “It seems that there is so much more that I can find here.” With that, he put on his hat, tipped it, and walked off. Gliss waited for a moment, then giggled gleefully and ran into the flat, crushing Octavia in an embrace.

The older mare blinked in surprise. “Glissando? What’s the matter?” she asked gently, rubbing the filly’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” Gliss replied with a smile. “I just felt like giving you a hug.”

“Is your head better?” Octavia wondered, kissing the filly’s forehead.

“Oh yes.” Gliss smiled. “So much better.”

6. Behind Closed Doors

“So, we are short on hookers in Al Meccho,” Tom said, scanning the report. The room around him breathed with old wood and rest, reminding him of times when he was a little colt under Alexandro’s tutorship, playing with his sister and brother, while his father talked to big ponies in suits. Now, he was just such a big pony in a suit, talking to his father, who was significantly older, but never lost his charm nor his presence of awe and calm display of power. “Our people in Manehattan ask for assistance with the booze trade. The police had been exceptionally nosy lately.”

Alexandro Philarmonico sniffed, tapping his hoof against the solidwood table, then extinguished his cigar into the large marble ashtray. “Cannot they bribe the police themselves?” He looked around, even though he and his adopted son were the only ponies present in the room. “Do I have to go down to Manehattan and do everything myself? Is this what they are expecting?”

“Alexandro,” Tom tried patiently. “Times have changed. Not all police officers take bribes now. I suggest that we use our influence with the Parliament to get at them.”

“The Parliament doesn’t really control the agency, despite what their Constitution says,” Alexandro replied without irritation, but with deep disgust at the document. “We’ll have to talk to the Minister.” He stopped tapping and looked at his consigliere expectively. “As for the… hired mares, send McGregor to talk to the casino owners.” He smiled. “Sometimes it takes somepony from Stalliongrad to remind those Al Mecchans what the colts from Scoltcilia expect from them in return for our help. As for Manehattan, send Damien to talk to the Mayor, if the Minister asks too much. I bought the bastard at the elections and he’s not doing his part of the deal.” He leant back in his chair and lit up another cigar, a swift attempt through which Tom stood still. “What happened to loyalty, Tom? What happened to honour?” He took a small puff on the tobacco. “Ten years ago you only came in here to report our victories and losses, to talk about our friends and enemies. Now you come here with news that our friends may not be friends any more; that our contacts rat out; that our operations are infiltrated. What happened to the golden days of the marefia?”

“That was ten years ago, Father,” Tom replied softly, addressing Alexandro in the special form. “Now the world has changed. Way too much to my liking,” he added quietly.

“Mine too,” Alexandro agreed. “Now, if that’s all, send in a waiter. I’d like to have dinner.”

“Sure, Alexandro.” Tom nodded. “Straightaway.” He walked out of the door quietly and closed it behind him. He took a few steps down the corridor and picked up the black phone from the wall. “To capos: McGregor to talk to all casino owners in Al Meccho. Damien? Come up to my office; it’s about Manehattan.” Tom lingered before the phone. “No, no time. Damien? Private line, now.” There was a beep. “We need to remind the Minister of Defence who sponsored the air tank division during the war. And if he asks too much, talk to the-” Tom pauses, figures in his head dancing around. He is just walking over Father… No, Father is just too kind to traitors like him. “Whatever he asks, pay him. It’ll all be fine in the long run. Have one of our economists run it through and tell us how we can get a payback. As for Manehattan, Don Philarmonico has reasons to believe that the Mayor got out of hoof. It would be better for the family if we eliminated the old mayor and ‘elected’ a new one. What?” He listened attentively. “Mayors are assigned now?..” He paused, thinking. “Well then, run through our people in the State Affairs department, let’s see if we can ‘assign’ a new mayor. The old one has to go. Understood?” He listened for the moment, and then put the receiver back on the wall.

Tom smiled, finally. That’ll teach him once and for all. And what we pay to the minister will be mitigated by booze trade, uninvestigated by the police. Al Meccho will be dealt with, and- Oh. Tom picked up the receiver again. “And send in a waiter to the Don’s office.”

He nodded to the receiver. “Yes, Don Philarmonico will be having dinner.”

***

“You don’t even want to have dinner?”

Gliss sighed, watching the four mares at the table. “No, thanks, Lyra. I think I should go on a diet…”

“What for, honey?” Bon-Bon wondered, taking a glance at her very own belly. “A mare’s beauty is-”

“I know, I know…” Gliss lamented, “but I really want to lose some weight.” She dragged a chair and set it aside from the table.

“What for, Slidey?” Vinyl forked her peas greedily. “You’re slim enough.”

“Of course, dear,” Octavia confirmed, attaching butter to her toast. “You are a slim, beautiful young mare. Why would you want to lose weight?”

Gliss blushed, averting her eyes. Damn. Do you have to be so nosy about everything? “I… I just want to,” she tried weakly.

Lyra whistled, lighting up a cigarette, much to everypony’s disapproval. “Woah! Looks our little filly’s here got a crush on somepony!”

Bon-Bon smiled comprehensively, while Octavia and Vinyl exchanged meaningful glances. “Is it true, dear?” Bon-Bon wondered shyly.

“I may or I may not have a crush on somepony,” Gliss avoided the inevitable; or, rather, prolonged it. Damn. I need to get out, quick.

“So who’s the lucky filly?” Lyra wondered bawdily, wiggling her brow. “Oh! I know. That String mare you’re hanging out with. Yeah, a tad older, but still your type, I gotta admit.” The lyrist immediately received a nudge from her wife. “What, Bonnie? I’m just telling the truth!”

“It isn’t Golden String,” Gliss countered, after a moment of consideration, if only to clear up her friend’s name. Oh boy, I knew the time would come. “I…”

“Is it some other filly we don’t know about?” Vinyl interrupted, putting down her fork and exchanging another glance with Octavia.

“No,” Gliss said firmly, preparing herself. “Mom, Mother. Lyra, Bon-Bon.” Might as well address everypony. “I do not have a crush on a filly. I think I might have a crush on Silver.”

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen. “But…” Vinyl said finally, lacking understanding. “He is a colt?..”

“Yes.” Gliss took a breath. “I am straight. I am into colts.” She paused. Time to spill everything. “And, frankly, I hate jazz.”

7. Forbidden Beat

“Are you sure you are all right?”

“Yeah.” Gliss strapped her guitar gloomily. “My head’s not killing me anymore.” She paused. “Well, not that much, that is.”

“You look kinda down,” Golden String continued while Steady Rhythm, the fatty drummer, and the proud owner of the carriage-less garage, set up his kit. “Something happen?”

“I told my folks I’m into colts,” Gliss decided to omit the precise nature of her confession. “And that I hated jazz and loved rock’n’roll.”

“Wow.” String put her hoof on Gliss’s shoulder. “Two word-bombs at one.” She pondered. “Well, that’d be three word-bombs.”

“They tried to give me a lecture,” Gliss replied, plugging in her trusty Les Pone. Why do I even have all these electric guitars if I only use one? “You know, about rock’n’roll being the ‘feathered’ music, and its connection to drugs - as if Mom’s the one to talk…” She sighed. “But the talk didn’t really go anywhere. It was like, they were so astonished by my orientation that they could barely give me a lecture on music.” Gliss gave her guitar an angry fifth chord. “What’s wrong with being straight?”

“In my country, they’d say it’s the only normal orientation.”

Gliss looked quickly at the entrance to the garage and her heart did a leap at seeing Silver… in a leather jacket? Suddenly, the heat extended to all of her body parts and a blush covered her cheeks.

“It was cold,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Am I in time for the rehearsal?”

“Just in time!” Steady Rhythm replied, finishing with his drums. The chubby unicorn trotted towards the white colt. “Steady Rhythm, the guy who handles the garage, and, coincidentally, the oldest of these kids here.”

“He’s just turned nineteen,” Golden String whispered audibly.

“And I’m Silver Chord.” The stallions shook hooves. “Pleased to meet you, Steady Rhythm.”

“Just Steady,” the drummer replied, getting back to his stool. “The kids call me that.”

Gliss rolled her eyes at the usual ‘kids’ routine. Yet, this time she was a little irritated to be treated like a foal in Silver’s eyes. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact reason for that, apart from being all gleeful and itchy in Silver’s presence, and wanting to kiss those smiling- okay, that’s enough.

“So this is your band?” Silver took a look at the three ponies. “A guitar, drums, and a bass… guitar.” He eyed the electric bass curiously. “Something tells me you’re not playing jazz.”

“We’re not,” String called out, setting up her bass telekinetically. And she still plays with her hooves, Gliss mused. Show-off. “We play rock’n’roll. The equine rock’n’roll,” she clarified. “Not what the feathered play.”

“I’ve always been fascinated by how you treat griffins in Equestria,” Silver let out, and all gazes were drawn to him at once. “I mean… In my country, there are very few griffins, but if they’re citizens, they are given the same rights,” he explained bashfully. Gliss smiled a tiny smile. Oh Celestia, yes! He doesn’t mind the griffins, just like me. I’m not the only one and- oh, who am I kidding. It’s a match made in Heaven!

“Well, you’re in Equestria now, so get used to it, bro,” Steady called out from his stool, juggling the sticks. “The feathered are the ones who mug, and murder, and push drugs. We’re not gonna take lightly to that.”

“I did not know about these problems,” Silver replied politely - though it seemed that he was not entirely content with the idea - while String mouthed to Gliss, How come he gets called ‘bro’, and I’m still a ‘kid’?

“We waged quite a bloody war with the feathered,” Golden String explained to Silver patiently. “It’s a long story, so, like Steady said, just get used to it. We are.” She elbowed Gliss lightly. “Well, apart from her, but then again, she’s weird.”

Gliss opened her mouth to protest, but Silver merely smiled at her, making her let out a very meek ‘eep’. “Doesn’t our race include feathered ponies, the pegasi? What justice does it do them, calling griffins like that?” he enquired.

“Well…” String drawled, emitting a few low bass notes. “They are military ponies, I’m sure if any one of them would get called that, he’d deliver a nice’n’tasty kick in the face to whomever said that.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Everypony turned to the entrance, through which staggered a very physically thin, yet psychologically imposing black earth pony, whose breath smelled heavily of mustard gas and roses. “You.” He pointed at Silver. “I don’t know you. Are you a cop?”

“I’m Silver Chord, an exchange student from the Crystal Empire…” SIlver tried, watching the stallion stagger into the garage, up to the piano in the corner. “Are you sure it’s all right he’s drunk and trying to open your piano?..” he addressed Steady Rhythm worriedly.

“It’s my piano!” the black stallion roared, not so much as glancing at Silver. String giggled, then, with a snort, broke into laughter at the scene.

“This is Ebony Keys,” Gliss came to help, “and he’s our pianist. He… has a preference for strong alcohol in the afternoon.” She paused. “And the evening. And morning, from what I gather.” Just like Mom…

“So what?” Ebony Keys slurred defensively, sitting on his stool and running his hoof across the keys sloppily. “Is this all because I’m black?!”

Everypony just blinked at the mysterious accusation. “Nevermind,” Steady chimed in. “He’s often like that when he’s drunk. And that’s always.”

“Shut it, you- you-” Ebony Keys waited a moment, his hoof raised. “You... accursed... accuser.”

“Wow,” Silver noted. “Must take some awesome skill to pronounce that in such a state.”

“Are we playing or what?!” the pianist asked, his head rolling left and right.

“I am afraid-” Silver began calmly. “That is…” He tried to muster a polite smile. “I am not sure you can even perform in such a state.”

“Oh,” String countered, “it’s Keys we’re talking about. He can play blindfolded and asleep.” As if in confirmation, the pianist nodded.

“So, then.” Silver rubbed his hooves, looking around the garage. “Can you perform a song of yours? Preferably, with vocals.” He smiled a charming and disarming smile. “I am slightly biased towards vocal pieces, if you may forgive me.”

“If you may forgive me.” Hee! He’s such a gentlecolt! Gliss thought gleefully. “Not at all,” she said aloud, trying to follow the colt’s eloquent phrasing. “We play very few instrumental pieces. It’s not jazz, after all.”

“Oh, I don’t mind jazz,” Silver said, much to the surprise of the band. “I like instrumental jazz, but the vocal pieces seem to be… lacking. I would really like to hear one of your songs. Who’s the singer?”

“That would be me,” Gliss called out. “I… Kinda sing, from time to time.” Damn, now a real vocalist is gonna judge my ability… A cute vocalist, at that! “Okay…” she addressed the gang, gulping. Just imagine he’s not here… “And one, and two, and one two three-”

The band began to play with Ebony Keys displaying proficiency at the keyboard, Steady keeping the rhythm easily, and String laying down the accurate, precise bass notes. Gliss started off with a solo, then began the rhythm, singing in her usual voice, a voice that made her sound like a griffin woman - but she herself enjoyed it, and, besides, it was a nice homage to the race that invented rock’n’roll. The lyrics were very simple, but it allowed Gliss to show her vocal skill. At times rasping, at times almost breaking, she still kept a grip on the vocal line. The bridge, a darker addition, she nailed by raising her voice ever so slightly, chirping the last crunchy notes before she broke into a solo that, frankly, wasn’t particularly showing skill or speed, but still sounded very fitting, and nice to the ear. Another bridge, immediately breaking into the chorus - or were those two choruses?

Silver listened to the song very attentively, as the band played on and on into the natural fadeout, with all instruments gradually silencing, and just Gliss rasping out, her voice eventually breaking at the last “oh baby”, which resulted in the filly coughing violently.

“Are you all right?” Silver asked the guitarist, coming to her aid.

“I’m fine…” Gliss said, reeking from embarrassment. Celestia, why couldn’t I finish this one song properly?!

“Does it happen often?” Silver wondered professionally.

“Well…” Gliss began, but Golden String chimed in:

“Almost every time. Eventually she just breaks by the end of the song.”

“That’s because there’s strain on my voice,” Gliss explained defensively, “It’s just breaking because of the power I have to invest in it.”

“Not quite,” Silver argued suddenly. “It’s breaking because you do not control your voice.” He took a step towards Gliss. “Your breathing is ragged. You don’t necessarily need to take a deep breath, and then throw it all into a vocal line.” He took another step, yet closer, making Gliss tremble slightly. “Let me feel you breathe. Sing that chorus line.” With that, he put his hoof on the filly’s chest.

It took Gliss all the force in the world not to yelp in embarrassment. Come on. He’s doing… whatever he’s doing… it’s strictly professional. She repeated the “oh baby” lines, feeling Silver’s hoof on her chest. As she finished, the hoof withdrew, much to her disappointment.

“You’re not breathing properly,” Silver said tutoriously. “Try breathing with your belly, and not your chest. And,” he added, “Take breaths with your mouth, not nose.”

“Heeey, smart fella,” Ebony Keys called out, “why don’t you show us your singing talent?” Gliss was thankful for the drunken interruption, for it both saved her pride and allowed her to listen to what Silver had to offer.

“Well, I’ll need your piano then,” Silver said simply, trotting towards Ebony Keys, who assumed a defensive position at once.

“Keys, kid, let him try out the piano,” Steady urged. “He won’t ruin it.” Reluctantly, the pianist rose, staggering, and stepped aside.

“I’ll be trying my ‘soft’ voice here,” Silver explained as he ran his hooves across the keyboard. “It’s why they allowed me to study here: I have several types of voices at my disposal; I can change by varying the strain on my vocal cords.”

“More music, less talking,” Ebony Keys slurred, eyeing the colt at his piano jealously.

Silver cleared his throat. “Just one thing: don’t forget to applaud when I’m done.” With a laugh, he began to sing.

***

Why do I love him?

Did I say ‘love’? I must have meant ‘like’. Adore. Enjoy the company of. Fond of. Keen on. Whatever. Why does he make me feel this way? I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never thought of myself as possessive, but I want every piece of him to myself. I want to be with him. Even now.

Is it hormones? Is it just stupid biology, and Silver just happened to be in my way? Then why do I imagine him standing on two knees and saying, “Gliss, will you marry me?” Why then do I imagine myself saying yes? Why do I imagine so many more intimate things, with him and me?

The way he sang - why do I get shivers every time I try to remember the tone of his voice, the pitch, the strength? Why do I remember how his muscle trembled in his neck - and sure, there was a small belly there, but why is that belly so appealing? Why, then, does his smell make me mad with lust?

Why am I so painfully attracted to him?

And, more importantly, how do I deal with it? Do I tell him? Do I wait until he asks me out? What if he doesn’t like me back? But… I’ve seen the way he looks at me. He sees something in me, and I can’t tell if it’s a guitarist or a mare. I really hope for the latter.

I can’t even ask advice… Who will help me? Mom? Mother? It seems they still have trouble communicating with me, even tonight at dinner, despite them both claiming it’s all right. Lyra? She seems to avoid me for some reason - not in the least because she runs a label that only signs jazz… Bon-Bon? She is nice, but she’s… she’s a wife. I’m not a wife. I don’t want to be a wife. ...Not yet, at least. Can I just have somepony straight and female whom I can talk to?!

...Oh no. Not her. She’ll never let me live it down. She already has her speculations, and if I address her on that issue… Oh Celestia. But then again, I don’t have anypony else to turn to.

Seems that tomorrow, I’ll have to talk to Golden String.

8. Nobody Listens

The bass went down, and the treble went up.

Bzzt.

A touch of reverb.

Bzzt.

The piano, a little to the left. There. It sounds all better now. It isn’t dirty any more.

Bzzt.

What is wrong with that bass? Bass down. Damn, those steel strings. They drive you mad. Why can’t ponies simply use upright basses, as they used to? Bzzt. Why use those electrically amplified bass guitars? Bzzt. Who even invented those?

Poke.

“Lyra?”

Lyra raised her head from the mixing deck, seeing with her tired eyes the image of the most beautiful mare in the world, her mare, Bon-Bon. She placed her hoof on her shoulder gently and smiled that tiny, kindly smile. “Lyra, it’s five in the morning. What are you doing at the studio?”

“What are you doing up so early?” Lyra countered, kissing the creamy hoof. “I thought you’d be asleep till seven at least.”

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” Bon-Bon replied, nuzzling the mint cheek. “Come on, let’s go home. The studio can wait. I baked a pie for breakfast.”

Lyra pressed the button and the tape stopped. “Can’t get used to tape,” she lamented. “I miss vinyl records.” She stood up with a deep sigh. “I miss when they sent me blues records to edit and jazz ponies came by the record their trios and big bands.” The lyrist rubbed her eyes wearily. “Now they send me griffin tapes with that be-damned rock’n’roll. Do they seriously expect Heartstrings to sign the feathered?” Lyra smirked darkly. “I’d rather sell the label than let animals play animal music in my studio rooms.”

Bon-Bon stroked Lyra’s short mane lovingly. “Gliss seems to like that kind of music…” she said quietly.

“That’s the problem, Bonnie!” Lyra exclaimed violently, slamming her hoof against the extremely expensive console. “It can’t be right, it just can’t be! I remember her,” she said, teary-eyed, “a little filly, dancing to the tunes of Sineightra, singing Vinyl’s old songs, pretending to be Mom… I remember her studying the guitar parts of Montcoltmery… How is she all teenage, all strange, all… into colts?, and she’s a fan of what the feathered play!” Lyra sighed, rubbing her eyelids that screamed with lack of sleep. “Haven’t her parents… haven’t we all taught her about how races are different, how she’s supposed to stick to ponies, not griffins?”

“But she doesn’t have any griffin friends,” Bon-Bon assured her in the same gentle voice. “I’m sure it’s just a phase.”

“Yeah…” Lyra sighed. “Hope it’s just a phase.”

***

“String, I need to have a talk with you.”

The bassist mare stopped in surprise, letting an array of students past her in the corridor. “Hey there, Gliss,” she replied. “Thought your mothers wouldn’t let you go to studies with a concussion?”

“I’m not here for the studies,” Gliss said seriously. “I’m here for you.” She pointed with her head towards the end of the corridor, which led towards the exit.

“Oh, well.” String tossed her mane. “I’m flattered and all, but I’m really into stallions.” She laughed at the filly’s surprise.

“Come on,” Gliss motioned. “It’s serious. And it’s about stallions.” A particular stallion, to be more precise.

“Ooooh,” String drawled, turning round finally. “I get it.” She winked. “You’re finally getting some and need my instructions. Well,” she began, “the first rule is: never take it in the-”

“STRING!” Gliss roared, attracting some seniors’ attention. She blushed as she realised her outburst. “Let’s go. We need to talk somewhere more private.”

String shrugged and followed the filly outside. The cold of the street bit into them as the mares rolled into their scarves and shielded their muzzles against the wind. “So, what’s on your mind?” Golden String called out, battling the weather with her voice.

“I wanted to talk to you about colts!” Gliss shouted back, blinking the snowflakes away.

“About what?” The two mares neared a cosy cafe, a small coffee shop with barely four tables.

“About colts!” Gliss roared as String opened the door, letting the warm envelop them and the colt bite into the room.

“What now?”

“About COLTS!” Gliss yelled on top of her lungs, just as they entered the establishment. Her cry pierced the low-chatter quiet and silence of the room, with several ponies looking at her in surprise. The filly blushed and averted her eyes. “Sorry. I wanted to talk to you about colts. A certain colt, to be more precise.”

“Ooooh~” String cooed, wrapping her hooves around the filly’s neck and placing her vigorously on one of the chairs. “So you finally admit you’ve fallen for our crystal colt?”

Gliss flushed crimson. “How did you know?”

String winked and motioned for the waitress to come by. She leant in, head on her elbows. “Tell me everything.”

***

“Vinyl, when will you stop?”

Vinyl looked up from her glass in surprise, blinking at the grey mare who’d just entered the kitchen. “Come again, Tavi?”

I would come again and again, if you’d make me. But you don’t. You just turn and snore. “I said,” the cellist repeated, “When will you stop drinking? Will you ever?” She sat down opposite the white unicorn.

“What’s wrong with having a glass now and then?” Vinyl protested, sipping her whisky.

“Nothing’s wrong with having a glass now and then,” Octavia agreed, pouring herself a glass of wine. “But there’s something seriously wrong with having a glass all the time.” She took a sip of the crimson liquid.

“Yeah, but I don’t-” Vinyl tried.

“You do,” Octavia interrupted. “You don’t even notice that you’re always drinking. You don’t feel drunk because you are constantly drunk.” She shut her eyes painfully. “It’s like buck all over.”

“Buck was different,” Vinyl protested. “It was a drug, and this is just booze.”

“You’re right,” Octavia said suddenly. “Buck was different. You want to know how?” She narrowed her eyes at her wife. “Back when you were doing buck, I cared. Now I don’t.” The cellist pause. “It’s Hearth’s Warming soon,” she said with a sigh, getting up from the table. “Try not to ruin it.”

***

“No, babe, it’s not jazz.” Jimi rolled over, picking up his jacket from the floor. “It’s not rock’n’roll either.”

“What’s it then?” the female griffin yawned, closing her eyes. She patted the now-empty bed next to her. “Hey, Jimi, stay the night, willya?”

“No can do, babe,” Jimi replied, putting on the old, worn-out, frankly small jacket. “But here I tell ya. It’s something new. I can’t quite picture it, but I see it’s something from ten years ahead.” He rubbed his beak in irritation. “It’s something based around guitar instrumentals, it’s something… something that changes the sound. I play on the intense overdrive, I distort the sound to the extreme,” he explained to the visibly bored griffin woman. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t roll, ya dig? It rocks, but it, it rocks hard. Rock hard?” He pondered. “Hard rock?”

“Stay the night, Jimi, willya?” the female continued, rolling over and fluttering her fake eyelashes. “I’ll get you a beer.”

“No, thanks.” The guitarist headed for the exit. “It’s been… a night.”

With that, he opened the door and headed out into the cold, unwelcoming Equestrian night.

9. Thank God it's Christmas

The night was painting Los Pegasus with the white of snow. Snow reflected in the many lit windows of the nasty skyscrapers looming over once peaceful valleys and hills, now torn down with stone and cement. Snow barked at the streets, coughing under the trump of a million hooves rushing home to their loved ones, or to a club to get drunk, or to a friend’s place to celebrate. Snow covered with white the green-and-red motif the city sported this Hearth’s Warming, every Hearth’s Warming. Snow fell on Jimi Clawrix’s beak as he looked up, his guitar sack pressing painfully into his shoulder. The pain was old, formidable, pure. He’d grown used to the sack, just as he’d grown used to jackets that put pressure on his wings, and horseshoes that were no protection against the cold as they were against the many pins that littered the street, hidden by the rarest winter snow.

After all, Los Pegasus was never prone to much winter, let alone snowfalls. Something was going on with the weather this year, and if this meant change, then Jimi Clawrix was ready to embrace the cold that it brought with it.

With a flicker of red, the cigarette popped alive.

All around him, ponies rushed in their never-stopping fever, always eager to be somewhere else - a notion he could not quite understand. His heritage, or maybe his very genetic structure allowed him to be contemplative. Griffins live for decades upon decades, and aging comes gracefully to them. Ponies rush through their meagre lives, failing to notice the world around them. It was no wonder that dragons, another nation known for their longevity, were so much more acquainted with griffins and zebras. And maybe, Jimi Clawrix thought as he stopped in front of the lights and splendour of the Golden Ground, if the war had gone any differently…

“Hey,” a voice ruptured the air from the side. “Your kind aren’t welcome here.”

Jimi turned to see a mold-coloured earth pony, a wary gaze and an uninviting frown, next to the entrance. “It seems,” he said, “my kind ain’t welcome anywhere.” He opted to keep on going, but loud music from aside made him stop in his tracks and take a look.

A marching band pushed through the street, brass wailing an old tune, with clarinet staccatoing over the jumping rhythm of the trumpets and the bari’s bassline. Jimi lifted his eyes and followed the band as the colourful ponies made their tipsy way towards the Golden Ground. With a sigh, he crossed the street and walked on to the feathered side of town.

As the wind cringed him with the cold, he noted the absence of the majority of griffin population, because of the holiday the “feathered” had got used to call their own holiday - Hearth’s Warming Eve. Jimi wasn’t sure if there was anything warm about it, but his heart definitely was not warming.

He slid between two houses into a narrow walkway and discarded the cigarette butt with a flick. Approaching the familiar steely door, he gave it a knock, then pause, then two knocks. The door slid open. “Our hearts tremble,” a raspy voice called from the darkness inside.

“But our claws remain true,” Jimi replied, and was let in, ushered past a corridor of discarded furniture, and into a spacious garage-like room where the tint of weed smoke filled the air, and where dozens of griffins talked, and chowled on the recent jokes, and “Who the hell is that?”

Jimi approached a peculiar group of three griffins and a pony - a four-hooved, coated, smiling (!) pony. “Who the hell let an equine here?” Jimi demanded, feeling displaced fury washing over, a sting at his race’s inability to stay unbothered even here, to be pressed even in their secret safe.

“Calm your feathers, Jimi.” One of the griffins, a taller, slimmer one, flicked a cigarette into the dustbin with alarming precision. “He’s not Equestrian. He’s from the Crystal Empire."

"Sounds like the same hell to me," Jimi rasped in a voice audible enough to draw attention.

"Silver, meet Jimi Clawrix," the taller griffin introduced his younger acquaintance. "Our friendly neighbourhood racist. Doesn't trust anything that doesn't fly or has hooves."

"Paying the equines with the same coin is all.” Jimi picked a feather from his wing with his break, spitting it aside. “What do you want here, intruder?”

“I prefer to be called by my name,” the pony countered politely. “Silver Chord.”

"Silver Cord?" Jimi asked with a smile tugging on his lips. "Your name is a cord made of Silver?"

"Silver Chord," the pony corrected softly, but with urging solidity. "Chord, as in, seventh chord."

"Silver Chord?" Jimi asked, bewildered. "You equines really have the weirdest names." He wanted to say something else, but the pony stepped away with a sense of urgency.

"I really have to go, though," Silver said reluctantly, rolling from hoof to hoof. "There's a certain... matter I have to tend to." He blushed quickly enough for the griffins to guffaw light-heartedly. Jimi remained calm, and didn't crack a smile.

"More like a certain filly you have to tend, Silver, ain't it?" One of the griffins barked a chuckle.

"Tend her well," an older griffin patted the teenage pony almost paternally. "Tend her all night long!" he called out loud enough for everyone to hear. A deep, low rumble shook the room with laughter. They laughed, Jimi noted with blue notes tugging at his soul, because of a unity that, to him, was still alien - but no less desirable.

The door slammed shut behind the pony, and the feathered community returned to its talks and drinks.

***

“-died of severe poisoning, and now we’re in the process of trying to assign a new mayor; McGregor has talked some sense into the casino owners, and now we have to deal with the mole that somehow has gotten into our family.” Tom paused, looking at the don cautiously. “I believe it might be a Melodico.”

“A Melodico, huh.” Alexandro nodded, closing his eyes wearily, a glass of whisky by his chair. “What gives you the idea?”

“Well,” Tom began, “It looks like their style, and we’ve had bad blood between us.” He nodded, as if to assure himself.

Alexandro took up the drink. “Why are you lying to me, Tom?” He took a gulp. “Your voice is trembling, and I can feel that you do not believe in what you say. Tell me the truth, Tom,” he added, “no matter how bad it hurts.”

“We…” Tom pondered. “I… I have reasons to believe that…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I have reasons to believe that the mole is one of us. A Philarmonico.”

Alexandro drank silently, then looked up at his consigliere. “So a soldier of fortune, then. While it bothers me greatly, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him out?”

“I…” Tom trotted towards the don and sat next to him in another chair. “Father. I am afraid it’s not one of soldiers. It’s one of the capos.” He sighed again. “It’s one of our finest.”

Silence fell upon the room.“Do you remember the way it all was some forty years ago?” Alexandro asked, then laughed. “Of course you don’t. You were a little foal, playing with your toys.” The stallion sighed. “Everything was so simple back then,” he said, sipping on his whisky. “Way before the war, when griffins still had mobs. We knew who our enemies were. We knew our friends. We knew that the government was not a power to recognise.” The old stallion sighed. “But that’s life. And that’s what all the ponies say, as Sineightra tells us. Riding high in April, shot down in May. Let’s hope for that May never to come.”

“Let’s,” Tom replied softly, his eyes tearing up at the sight of his calm, aging father. “May it never come.” He smiled at his own pun.

“Give me the phone, Tom,” Alexandro asked. “It’s Hearth’s Warming, and I want to talk to my granddaughter. And my daughter. And her reckless wife.” He shook his head. “Still can’t get used to the whole same-sex marriage thing, Tom.” As the younger stallion brought the device closer, Alexandro coughed. “Change, change, change. But some things never change.”

“What things, Alexandro?” Tom asked, less from curiosity, more from just wanting to hear his stepfather share his tranquil, serene wisdom.

“War never changes, Tom,” Alexandro said, taking the phone and placing it on his knees. “But you know that already. Family never changes. But that’s not new. Friendship,” he said suddenly. “I’ve always thought that friendship never changes.” The don began entering the number. “But now it seems that even friendship has changed.”

***

The phone rang.

"Maybe if you weren't too busy arguing, you'd've noticed that the celery has gone bad!"

"Maybe if you weren't arguing about what you don't know-"

"I hate it when you use my words against me!"

Gliss sighed and trotted towards the telephone. "Hello?"

"Glissando, my filly," came the familiar old rasp, making Gliss crack a fraction of a smile at the form of addressing.

"Hello, grandpa," she replied in a softer, warmer tone the shouts from the kitchen turned into violent hissing, a thousand snakes tearing her family apart.

"A merry Hearth's Warming to you," Alexandro's voice interrupted her thoughts. "How are your parents?

"Arguing," Gliss answered honestly, with a slight wince. "As they do most of the time."

“Let’s see if I can talk some sense into your mother.”

Alexandro didn’t need to specify; Gliss knew he was talking about his daughter so she, banishing thoughts of her stern grandfather making it even worse, called out, “Mother? Grandpa wants to talk to you.” It felt strange, she mused, walking a distance away, to never know the other side of her family, that is, Vinyl’s parents; but then again, she’d been told that those were some bad ponies, and having been magically conceived and not adopted was strange as it was already.

A look out of the window told her that the city was going mad with snow. Flakes meshed, collided, collapsed onto the ground, only for new ones to take up their place. The streets were blinded by the whiteness of snow. The wind somehow managed to blow even through the closed window. Gliss had a strange urge to open the window and just stand there, breathing in the watery air of the snowstorm.

The doorbell rang. “I got it!” Gliss shouted out and trotted towards the door. Who might it be? Probably Lyra or Bon-Bon or- Silver. Silver Chord was standing there in the doorway, holding a small case meant for a small instrument, wrapped in bright green-and-red wrapping paper. “Hiiiiii…” Gliss drawled, blaming her inability to act cool before this stupid sexy Silver. I did not just think that!

“Happy Hearth’s Warming!” Silver wished, extending the case. “You told me you ponies give each other presents, so I brought you a present!” He smiled that charming and disarming smile that made Gliss’s knees feel a little weak.

The filly wobbled a step towards the colt. “Th-thanks,” she managed weakly, placing the present on the little stool by the wardrobe. “I- I don’t have a present for you.” Such stupid. This is advanced stupid, Gliss. “I’m sorry.” The guitarist blushed a little. Okay, not a little. A lot.

“That’s okay,” Silver assured in his deep, rumbly voice. “It’s a violin.” He motioned towards the present. “I really thought your little ensemble would benefit from a violin. It was a nice rehearsal,” he added. “Thanks for letting me listen to you guys.”

“You’re always welcome,” Gliss blurted out, which contributed to the pink shade of her cheeks. The two ponies stood in silence for a few stretching moments. "Silver... I have a question." Gliss stepped from hoof to hoof uneasily, especially considering that she had absolutely no present for Silver - and hadn't even thought of one! So much for his being infatuated with me... "Why did you sing 'children' back then? 'Children waiting for their day to feel good'," she quoted. "Why not 'foals'?"

"Because," the vocalist replied simply, "I sang about children. I care about any child, be it pony, zebra, or griffin.” He smiled disarmingly.

Gliss’s breath quickened as a surge of deep, powerful feeling inside her, something that urged her to do exactly what she did, which was to stand on her toes to reach for the tall stallion and kiss him on the lips breezily, her cheeks roaring with pink.

Silver’s eyes widened, and so did Gliss’s, as she realised what she’d just done. Just as Silver opened his mouth to say something, she yelped and slammed the door in his face, shutting her eyes fiercely. If I just wait here forever, he’ll go away. Probably. She could feel the heart in her chest beating, racing against itself.

There was a knock at the door. Of course there would be a bloody knock at the door. "Go away!" Gliss called out, shutting her eyes even more.

"Gliss?" came the muffled response. "Can I come in?"

"No," Gliss replied, quieter. “Go away,” she reiterated.

“I just wanted to-”

“Go.” Tap. “Away!” Stomp.

“I just wanted to talk…” came Silver’s voice, calm, slightly disoriented.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” Gliss replied, adding mentally, Because I kissed you, and, as any filly, I need to be alone. Don’t be a dumb-flank and understand that!

“I understand,” Silver said through the door. “You might want to… sort things out?”

“Yes!” Gliss replied a little too enthusiastically. Yes, thank Celestia, that buys me time. ...For what? “Yes, please,” she repeated in a calmer tone. With some hesitation, she nodded resolutely and walked away from the door.

“Dinner’s ready!” came Octavia’s voice, as if on cue. Gliss put on her best smile and walked up to the table. A single glance was all it took for Octavia to notice something was amiss. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked in concern, putting the celery on a plate.

“Nothing,” Gliss lied easily, taking her seat at the table. “Why?”

“You have a very fake smile on your face, Slidey,” Vinyl remarked from her spot, picking up the celery and taking a chew. “Told you it wasn’t gone bad at all.”

“I… Something happened,” Gliss said evasively, knowing very well that it would only fuel her mothers’ curiosity.

“Glissando, if something-” Octavia began, but, at this point, Gliss had decided that it wouldn’t hurt to share her worries with her parents, if only because she had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Remember I told you I liked colts?” Gliss winced at the poorly-hidden reaction. “Well, Silver… That is, I like Silver. And I kissed him. Kinda. On the lips.”

“Oh.” Vinyl pondered, looking at her celery thoughtfully. “So, did he use tongue or-”

“Vinyl,” Octavia warned her spouse in a growl. She then turned to her daughter. “So… Was it… What I mean, is…”

“I don’t know if he liked it,” Gliss admitted. “I kinda told him to buck off and shut the door in his face.” She paused. “What could I do? I freaked out! I never kissed a colt before- and you,” she pointed her hoof at more Octavia than Vinyl, “always told me about fillies and fillies and lesbian kisses, and so I don’t even know what to do when I like a colt!”

“Sweetie…” Octavia began apologetically, putting down her fork. “We are really sorry, but we don’t know anything about dating stallions… Neither do Lyra and Bon-Bon…” She looked at Vinyl hopelessly. “I… Cannot you turn to your friends’ help?”

“Of course,” Gliss mumbled, looking at her plate. Somehow, her appetite could not arrive at all. “It’s all better than turning to parents who can’t do a damn thing.”

“What did you say, Slidey?”

“Nothing.” Gliss picked up her fork. “Happy Hearth’s Warming.”

***

I kissed a colt! And I liked it!

I hope he doesn’t mind it… What I mean is, I hope he minds it, in a way that he likes me too! Sweet Celestia, I really did kiss a colt! I kissed a colt whom I like! It felt so good! Is it what sex feels like? Does sex feel better? I dunno, but kissing him felt pretty awesome! Silver… Silver Chord… Glissando Philarmonica Chord… No, I’d rather he took my surname… Silver Philarmonico Scratch. Yes, that sounds awesome! I wonder if he’ll want a colt or a filly…

What am I even thinking? I don’t even know if he likes me back… Oh Celestia. I’ll have to talk to him, won’t I. I’ll have to talk to him. Oh Celestia. I’ll have to talk to him about… what happened. I’ll have to talk to him about the kiss! Oh Celestia, how do I do that?

How indeed...

10. Stranger Than Fiction

Why do we dream?

Is it a way to shield us from boredom throughout the night - or is our brain trying to tell us something? Is it, then, okay to wake up in the morning and, while having the post-dream haziness, work up new melodies, or ideas? Is it a shame not to be able to control our thoughts?

And if we don’t control our thoughts when we dream, who does? If I’m my brother’s keeper, who the hell is my brother? I’d sure like to meet him. In a dream.

Each time we wake up, we feel renewed. Even better: we feel anew. Are we completely new beings, mentally, every morning that we shrug off the slavery of the dream? Or is our dreamscape a single world, even, that contains all our dreams, and links them, to give us some higher revelation? Does, then, epiphany take its roots in a dream?

Our second selves, created by dream, destroyed every time we wake up - where do they pool up? Are those us, or merely reflections of us? If I can touch the shadow, and make it mine, do I own the shadow?

And when reality outshines the most vivid of our dreams, when truth becomes so stranger than fiction, that fiction simply gives up, when our deepest desires do not come to us through toil and strife but appear, rather, on a platter, when love, the biggest of all those desires, the weirdest, the most shame-inducting and thus the most desirable, when love just springs up and flies to us from the realm of Dream where it belongs - what do we do?

Hell, what are we to do?

Nopony asked our opinion, our stance on the matter, and yet we are bombarded by dreams-come-true. When dreams come true - is it necessarily a good thing? And does it behoove us to turn away from them once they come true?

When dreams turn into nightmares… The pain that we experience is real. A nightmare does not just fade away. It’s there to haunt us. It’s there to trouble us. It’s there to hurt us. It always hurts. Your subconscious remembers. You may not, but that part of you remembers. And it hurts. When you remember the nightmare, you may trick yourself into believing that you can make it leave. But it stays. And when you are at your weakest, it will appear, and it will make you bleed.

It is only when your whole life becomes a nightmare that you finally realise that you can- no, not beat it… but live with it.

***

Silver Chord walked through the yet-unfamiliar streets of Los Pegasus, shivering from the snow. The Crystal Empire was snowy at winters, but not like this. It wasn’t the temperature; it was the humidity torturing him. But he was a Crystal citizen. He could endure any torture. Right?

Memories came back to haunt him. The terrible breakup. It was at the seaside. His father, blastingly drunk, throwing bottles at the wall. His mother, on her knees, trying to stop him, Silver, as he grabbed a long sharp knife and…

Years, years of therapy, and nothing good to come of it. Sure, he had overcome anxiety. He had almost overcome panic attacks. But what he had not overcome was fury. And what was frightening him most was that he had, slowly but steadily, become his father. At least in terms of character.

That’s Uncle Alex, she’d said, his mother, when she first brought him home. To his home. “Uncle”? He’d wanted to kill him. I have a father! he shouted. He beat his hooves against the wall. He couldn’t get used to the fact that “Uncle Alex” was there to stay. And so he ran. Now he was here, and… he’d promised himself never to fall for any mare. Any mare.

Except her.

Silver sighed and shivered, turning left into the feathered neighbourhood. Except her. Why had she kissed him? And, more importantly, why did he like it? What should I tell her? We obviously cannot date. I cannot get attached, or I’ll be hurt. Again. As per the norm. If I reject her subtly and painlessly-

“Where d’you think yer goin’?”

Silver stopped dead in his tracks. Snow crunched under the feet of the two griffins who approached him from one direction, yet keeping apart, so as to draw nearer in an entirely menacing way. “Hey, fellas,” the pony greeted the griffins, feeling his heart leaping to his throat a little. A reminder about why griffins were hated in Equestria popped into his head. He shook it off, reminding himself that these were just as much people as ponies, and that they probably wanted to ask the time.

“Yer wallet, nice’n’smooth.”

Not the time then. “Look, guys,” Silver tried to reason, taking a precautionary step back. “I don’t have a wallet with me. I just went for a stroll. No saddlebags, no wallet.” He laughed a weak, artificial laugh.

One of the griffins approached, knife in claw. “That ain’t very reasonable-like.” Backing down from the advance of the griffins, Silver gulped, his mind freezing while his body moved by sheer inertia. Is this the point I die? Sweet merciful gods, I don’t wanna die right now.

“Hey, fellas.”

The drawl came from the side, a low, growling voice that was at the same time both menacing and gentle, dispassionate and intrusive. From around the corner came a familiar griffin, smiling his beak at the other feathered. “Having a talk here with my friend Silver?” Jimi asked, wrapping a protective wing over the pony.

The griffin with a knife frowned and snarled, “Since when do you make friends with the equines, Jimi?” He still took a step back from the pony - but not from the young griffin.

“Since he is not Equestrian and, thus, not responsible for the racism equines treat us with?” Jimi suggested reasonably, letting go of the white unicorn. “Cut the guy some slack. Our friends Underground,” he emphasised, “took a deep liking to this here colt. So how about we let him go and go grab a beer or two?”

Before the griffins could reconsider, Jimi lowered his beak to Silver’s ear and whispered, “Run.”

So Silver sprinted, and galloped, and he knew that, after this mind-shattering experience, there was a certain matter to tend to. Something he could have lost today. Something that, instead, he was about to find. He ran to Her.

***

Vinyl was chugging her beer when the doorbell rang. Since Octavia wasn’t home (which meant less pestering from the cellist), it fell to her to open the door. And that, she did, levitating the bottle like she had once levitated little Glissando, with care and love.

“Missis Scratch!” the guest greeted her, rose-cheeked, sweaty, breathing heavily. “Good afternoon! Is Gliss home?” The young stallion stepped from hoof to hoof uneasily. I have to see her. And tell her! If I...

Vinyl blinked. “Slidey’s off to meet a friend. Silver, right?” Vinyl yawned, looking over the unicorn, his white coat weirdly wet from the snow. Is this the colt Slidey fancies?.. Well, I am not a specialist here but he seems… nice? Reproduction-wise, I guess.

“Ma’am, I.” Silver froze, panting. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need to see her,” he blurted out. “I really, really do. May I come in?” he enquired hopefully, already raising his hoof.

Vinyl shrugged. “Sure.” She motioned at the flat. “Welcome to our humble abode.” She sipped the beer and stepped aside, letting the young stallion in. “Will you have a beer?” she suggested, trotting towards the kitchen.

“A tea, please,” Silver replied with an uneasy smile. She… she does realise I’m sixteen… right? He walked into the kitchen, watching the mare pour him a cup of tea. She remained standing while Silver sat down and blew on his tea to cool it down.

“Listen, let’s get straight here.” Vinyl immediately winced at her own wording. “I am her mother, so of course I know Slidey likes you.” Silver almost did a spit-take on his tea. “Yes, yes, don’t pretend to be oblivious. I know she kissed you. Now, I am a filly-fooler,” Vinyl said without the fear that used to follow such words long ago - but without the pride ponies had come to associate this with. “I don’t know much about colts-and-fillies relationships. But I can say this.” She tapped her hoof against the table sternly. “If you are going to reject her, please be mild. And don’t lead her on. I want for my daughter to be happy. So if you have to break her heart, do it now, while it’s still young and while she hadn’t spent much time with you.” She glanced at the white unicorn, who stared at his cup of tea. “You got me?”

“I got you, Missis Scratch,” Silver replied, staring into his cup. Then he raised his head, and Vinyl saw determination in his eyes, firm determination she hadn’t come to associate with teenagers. “But I won’t reject her. Because I think… I like her.” He smiled. “I really, really do.”

***

“And then I kissed him.”

Gliss walked alongside Golden String up a near-vacant street, fighting her way through snow with relative ease. The scarf was itchy, but at least it was providing the necessary warmth. Snowflakes swirled around, having lost control of one another, drifting apart. Like Mom and Mother. The young guitarist sighed.

“Wow.” String fell silent for a while, accompanying the filly in the general direction of her home. “So,” she asked finally, “did he use tongue or-”

“String!” Gliss blushed, looking around as the two came up to Gliss’s block of flats, lest some neighbours hear them. “I mean… No. No he didn’t.” But I wish he did. “It was I who kissed him, remember?” She sighed and hugged her friend tight. “Thanks for listening, String.” The young mare chuckled. “Well, now to come home and think on what to do.”

“I wish I could give you some advice.” Golden String winced as if in pain. “But, honestly, only you yourself can figure it out. Though, I do have one piece of advice.”

Gliss rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. ‘Go for the balls’?”

String smiled. “Yes, that too. But my advice is: tell him. Don’t wait for him to confess that he likes you. Tell him and let him tell you whether he likes you or not. Be the first.” With that, the bassist blew a kiss to the grey mare and ruffled her black-and-blue hair.

“Bye, String,” Gliss whispered and entered the house. As she ascended, she wondered if she’d adopted more from her mothers than just the looks. Adopted. It was weird, what with most foals of same-sex couples being adopted, and, with her, it was… She was the genuine article, the genetic product of her mothers, and-

“What are you doing here?” Gliss whispered almost breathlessly as she saw Silver behind her mother. “You-” You shouldn’t have come!

“Gliss.” Silver came up to the young mare from behind Vinyl’s back, not shameful in the slightest. He smiled his best smile and wrapped his hooves around the still tense filly.

“I like you.”

11. Joy to the World

“Happy New Year, Happy New Year~” Vinyl hummed, tiptoeing about the kitchen and taking a good swig of the beer that was standing by the sink. “Baby, just grab a beer now and then mmm mmm hahamm hmm hmmm~”

“Vinyl, that’s not how the song goes!” Octavia called out from the living room, to which the pianist swiftly downed the bottle and threw it into the dustbin.

Octavia walked into the kitchen, carrying the special set of wine glasses they usually kept in the bedroom. She took a breath. Vinyl… You’ve been drinking again… She sighed, putting the glasses onto the table. Why do I even care?

“Why couldn’t I bring Silver?” Gliss demanded from her usual place at head of the table. Long ago, when she was a little filly, her parents had found it cute for her to be at head of the table, and the little tradition had persisted. “We’re dating now so he’s basically family.”

Octavia scrunched her nose, putting the wine glasses on the now-slightly-larger table, now that the wooden extensions were brought up and propped up properly. “Glissando, you two have been dating less than a week-”

“And you and Mom had been dating less than a week when you already had sex!” Gliss blurted out defiantly, picking up a glass and filling it to the brim with orange juice, which she then proceeded to consume. Suddenly, from the silence in the room, she realised she had said something wrong.

“Glissando…” Octavia spoke very slowly, her eyes narrowing slowly. “How exactly do you know that?”

Gliss gulped. At least she’s not denying it.

“Oh come on, Tavi,” Vinyl chimed in, taking the blow. “Slidey is old enough to know about such things. She and Silver are going to, you know, eventually, so it’s all right for her to know.” She filled the four other glasses with champagne.

“It’s not about being old enough,” Octavia protested, taking out the starters from the fridge. “It’s about that being our private matter!”

“I like private matters!”

Gliss chuckled, seeing how quickly Lyra had popped up in the kitchen, followed by her wife Bon-Bon. The mint unicorn swiftly levitated one of the sandwiches up to her mouth. “Besides, you told me and Bonnie all about your love life, so why not tell your daughter?”

Octavia sighed and shook her head, looking at the floor. Then, with another sigh, she waved her hoof in the air dismissively. “Might as well let her have a glass of champagne.” And hope that she doesn’t become an alcoholic like Vinyl.

Gliss squeed and clapped her hooves together at the prospect of a slightly-more-adult treatment. “Did I show you my violin?” she blurted out, immediately showing the inner child she’d been working so hard to hide. “I, uh, I’ll get it now!”

Swiftly, the filly ran into her room - which wasn’t technically hers - and fished out the violin case from under the bed. Returning to the kitchen, she announced proudly: “Silver gave it to me as a Hearth’s Warming present!”

“Ooooh,” Lyra cooed immediately, grabbing the case and opening it. “Shiny! Is it that one colt that you like?”

“And the one,” Gliss finished with a goofy smile, “that likes me back. We’re dating now!” she announced with pride in her tone. “But somepony…” She glared at her parents, mostly at Octavia. “Somepony thought that it’s too early to invite him to celebrate with us.”

“Yes, because it needs time,” Octavia replied sternly and sighed only innerly. I am the one who tries to keep this family together. I am the one who does all the housework. I am the one who brings in money. I am the one who looks after Glissando. And what do I get?

“Come on, Gliss, don’t be grumpy!” Lyra exclaimed, patting the filly on the shoulder. “Let me tell you the story of how Bonnie and I got drunk and bought a riding crop…”

Octavia downed her champagne in one go. “I am not nearly drunk enough for this…”

***

The whisky swished in the Old-Fashioned glass as Tom sat in the armchair, looking at it with a grim expression. He remembered this glass so well: when he’d told Alexandro he and Cornelio had picked up drinking, their father did not shout or reprimand them. He bought them two identical glasses, with initials: C.P. Cornelio Philarmonico. T.P. Tom Philarmonico.

Now Cornelio’s glass was forever on the shelf, and his glass was in his hooves as he cradled it, waiting for Alexandro to come. How long ago it had been, long before the… All what was wrong with the world… The world had changed. Fairness was no longer an option for the marefia. Other clans had moved on to pushing drugs to foals, and dealing in business with the feathered, and… The police were damn liars, and didn’t do their responsibilities to the marefia, hiding behind ill-rotten politicians. The golden days of the marefia were over, but what made Tom furious was that the days of honesty and word-of-honour were gone too.

“Tom?”

The younger stallion looked at his father, eyeing the grey-maned stallion with a sombre expression. “Hello, Father,” he greeted Alexandro warmly. “I am sorry to be in your office.”

“Well, Tom…” Alexandro made his way towards his own chair. “I am sure you have reasons for that.”

“I do.” Tom winced and placed the whisky on the table. “I have news for you.”

“I’m listening.”

Tom sighed. “You’re not gonna like it.”

***

With laughter, the five ponies escaped the block of flats, walking into the early morning, the two unicorns floating champagne glasses. Happy colourful equines all around, dancing, carolling, drinking champagne and congratulating each other.

And at this precise moment, Gliss knew that, even though there were desperate and dispossessed, even though there were griffins who couldn’t take part in the celebration, even though there were lies and unfairness and cruelty - at least she could finally feel that they were a family, Vinyl and Octavia and she, and maybe Lyra and Bon-Bon too, at this precise moment-

At this precise moment, the public radio system came to life, drowning out chatter and yells and songs. Magically amplified, the radios informed, dully, severely, in that bland, emotionless male voice:

“CITIZENS OF EQUESTRIA! IT IS WITH DEEP REGRET THAT WE INFORM YOU THAT ALL NEW YEAR FESTIVITIES ARE TO BE CANCELLED. THE GRIFFIN KINGDOM HAS JUST DECLARED WAR ON OUR BRIGHT AND PEACEFUL LAND. ALL PEGASI ARE TO REPORT TO THEIR UNITS IMMEDIATELY. EVERYPONY WHO IS PATRIOTIC AND WANTS TO DEFEND THEIR HOMELAND SHOULD ENLIST AT THE LOCAL RECRUITMENT CENTER. WE REPEAT, IT IS WITH DEEP REGRET-”

Somberly, Gliss took a sip of her champagne and looked around. Fear and disillusionment on every face. Horror on the grey face of Octavia. Drunken confusion on Vinyl’s white face. Paleness on Bon-Bon cream-coloured cheeks. Deep, thoughtful silence from Lyra.

Welcome to the New Year, Equestria, Gliss thought and downed the champagne gracelessly. Welcome to the New Year.