Coltband Act 2: A Huge Production
COLTBAND
By John Derk
Act Two
A Huge Production
“See ya Braeburn... ol’ buddy!” Soarin called in a slurred yell from the train as all but the morning star left the sky, “that was a blast!”
“You’re leaving me with this mess?” he replied.
“All the rowdies... have been put to bed.... haven’t they?” asked Saorin through sleepy eyelids.
“All but this one,” came the voice of Applejack who bore an unconscious Rainbow Dash on her back, “pegasi... such lightweights!”
“Hey!” Soarin yawned, “you earth ponies know nothing ... about having hollow bones!”
“You should lie down,” Braeburn told him.
Soarin yawned and said, “yeah” at the same time.
The “thunk” they heard from inside the train told Applejack and Braeburn that Soarin missed the benches when he passed out.
“Next stop: Canterlot!” cried Pinkie Pie, bouncing toward the train door, stopping at the attendant, “pay the nice stallion AJ.”
“No need,” Applejack moved past the attendant and shrugged Rainbow Dash onto a bench not too roughly. “Four return trips to Ponyville where we catch up on life fer a whah’l.”
“But Applejack,” Pinkie protested, “we’ll lose our momentum! We need to round them all up now, while the inspiration is fresh!” And at seeing Braeburn’s incredulous expression from the corner of her eyes, she turned to him.
“Seriously Braeburn,” she seriously said, “we’re getting the five of you back together.”
“Nah, I’m chalking this crazy idea up to the cider,” he said with a cool smile.
“Cider?” Pinkie cocked her head, “Ideas don’t come from cider, they come from brains, silly!”
Braeburn just laughed his great, hearty laugh.
“What?”
“You’re... cute. Bye Pinkie Pie. I had an awesome night. Take care of Rainbow Dash.”
The train let out a toot.
“Excuse you!” a raspy female voice shouted at it.
“All aboard!” shouted the attendant back.
Pinkie Pie looked to the source of the raspy voice to see another pink earth pony with a deeper pink mane. Her cutie mark was a bunch of berries.
“Oh...” groaned Pinkie Pie, “that one’s from ponyville.”
“Where are my keys?” the other pink pony asked the world around her in sudden frustration.
“Keys for what?” Braeburn asked her.
“Um...” the deeper pink pony seemed stumped, “my diary?”
Pinkie Pie jumped onto the train and addressed the attendant, “she can catch the next train. After she finds her keys.” She looked to Braeburn who laughed again.
The nondescript attendant closed the nondescript door.
“Bye!” Pinkie called from the window as the train began to roll away from the one platform station.
“Bye Pinkie Pie!”
***
“Two down, three to go!” Pinkie Pie said with a “squee” to a weary Applejack who was picking Soarin up off the floor.
“Ya think we can really round ‘em all up?” she replied, heaving Soarin onto a bench.
Pinkie Pie gave her a big white smile and gestured a vacant booth. After Applejack took her seat, Pinkie sat across.
“Five stallions—oh! And the manager! I almost forgot about him,” she drew six Xs on the back of a cheque book.
“Is that our slush fund account cheque book?” Applejack inquired.
“Stay focused!”
The sleeping pegasus ponies stirred, but remained asleep.
“Soarin is definitely in. He’s like me and Rainbow Dash: anything that spells ‘fun,’ is what he’ll do.” She drew an X on the first X to mark it off.
“Like makin’ out with yer flirty self despite he’s already seeing Spitfire.”
“It stopped at kissing.... Braeburn though—”
“Braeburn what now!?”
“He’s had an image in his hometown that’s kinda been... fraggled.”
“About things getting ‘fraggled—’”
“Stop interrupting!”
Soarin’s eyes blinked open to look at the source of the high pitched yelling that was Pinkie Pie, and fell back asleep.
“Braeburn is a mare’s pony deep down. He’ll do what the mares and fillies want if it’s clear to him.” She grew a warm smile that Applejack’s intuition was still too keen to ignore.
“Did you—?”
“Hoity Toity is tricky, cuz him and Rarity’s relationship is a purely professional.”
“As far as we know.”
“Where is your mind right now Applejack? It’s like the cider makes your brain slow and yet easily distracted.”
“I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout! You’re the one gettin’ affected by it, not me! You acquire the longest attention span for anything stallion.” Applejack only realized her voice had raised when Rainbow Dash stirred.
“Look,” Applejack sighed, “if’un there’s anything between you and Braeburn, just know when he’s had certain amount of cider he’s quite a player—”
“I love games!”
“Oh Pinkie—anyway, once yall’ve drained yerself of the cider, yu’ll forget—”
Pinkie Pie’s eyes went wide as she got up and danced around, squealing suddenly, “I didn’t realize...”
“Sorry to break it to ya Pinkie Pie, but ol’ Brae—“
“I gotta pee! And the train’s at full speed!”
“That’s what’s got ya anxious? Go off the back of the car.”
“I’m a girl!”
“Duh I know that! Stand with yer hind legs on the next car behind ours.”
“But I’m afraid...”
“That’ll help yuh go.”
A sudden retching sound came from behind Pinkie.
“BAH!” she shrieked.
“Ugh! Rainbow Dash!” Applejack hollered, “Ya scared the pee out of Pinkie Pie!”
***
The sandy gold deputy stallion hauled one last semi-conscious, deep pink pony to the watering trough where several groggy ponies and buffalo sat and stood at various stages of thirst and tiredness. He moved past the greedy water drinkers who’d arrived more recently and shoved aside one who’d had his fill and was on the verge of passing out. Gently sliding the pink pony off his back, he guided her to the water and she lapped up the water right next to a buffalo that stood on the other side.
Standing right next to the buffalo, right across from Braeburn, was the Sheriff Silver Star, smiling under his thick mustache.
“Buckstreet Colts?” he asked with a chiding chuckle, “what is that like Romp Alley Boys? Rainbow Road Roy? Pwn Direction?”
Every pony and buffalo at the trough stopped drinking and laughed.
Braeburn fixed the Sheriff his angriest squint.
“Don’t compare me to those sissy prancing twits,” he spat, “you know the fights I’ve been in, and the mares I’ve partied with. My life ain’t been sequins and glitter.”
The nearby buffalo snorted, and grumbled “you eat poo-poo.”
“Look,” Braeburn sighed, “we were a legitimate coltband. The fillies went wild for us. The mares went wild. Non-equine girls all over went wild. And guys from every species loved our music and gave rave reviews on our sound and lyrics. Our token album, “Lunar Millenium” was a huge, award winning hit! You’re the Only Pon’ For Me was #1 for the summer of 999 of the Solar Epoc.”
“Just another flash-in-the-pan kid,” the buffalo rumbled, “and look how quickly forgotten. No one around here even knew. Even two of your friends were surprised.”
“Some-buffalo’s butt hurt for losing a little dance off!” snarked the dark pink pony.
“Who the hay are you?”
She hiccoughed, and stated with a sense of pride that was full of cider-induced swagger, “Berry Punch.”
“You should shut your mouth Berry—”
The Buffalo was interrupted by a hoof to the face. He fixed his eyes again on the pink mare, fuming with anger and growling in his deep bass rumble. The Sherrif put a hoof on the buffalo’s rump, more as a gesture of holding him back than an action he could accomplish against the great buffalo’s strength.
“Easy there Head Smash,” said Sheriff Silver Star, “she’s a scrapper, but you’re the bigger mammal.”
Head Smash let out a slow and measured breath, grumbling, “and I don’t have to hide behind the stronger gender.”
Berry Punch turned red, like a strawberry of pure rage.
“You’re right,” said Braeburn, and Berry Punch redirected a more complicated anger his way before he continued, “in regards to the Buckstreet Colts. Our light has completely faded.”
By some coincidence “completely faded” also described Berry Punch’s rage.
“Why’d you guys stop?” she asked.
“Shining Armour had enough of the life and joined the army to do something noble for his nation, our manager got married, Hoity Toity and Ah didn’t git along all that well, and Soarin lost interest as soon as he felt the fun was lost, which... it sort of was when Shining Armour left.”
The buffalo yawned and began lumbering away, calling back in his rumbling voice, “Cool story Brae.”
Sheriff Silver Star tipped his hat and trotted another way. Their departure created a huge window between their trough neighbours, through which he saw across the street the community building’s house-like structure. Shoe Shine was just taking out another couple bags of garbage (tied together and hanging over her back) and flinging them with her teeth into a garbage cart.
Berry Punch put a hoof around Braeburn.
“Forget about that beef. He’s jealous cuz all the mares like ya.” She stumbled and leaned on him with all her weight.
“Oh! The buffalo... yeah. You shouldn’t use the four letter ‘B’ word. Folk here don’t take kindly to folk who don’t take kindly to those of another race.”
“Sorry.” She righted herself. “Anyway, I really think you should sing some of those Buckstreet Colts’ songs at the Salt Lick Saloon. It’s darn sexy.”
When Braeburn gave no response, Berry Punch took a step back awkwardly.
Braeburn watched Shoe Shine almost disappear back into the community hall.
“Hey Shoe Shine!” he called.
She turned to him, calling back, “yeah?”
“If I did all that over again, would you come see?”
“You mean...” and in place of words, Shoe Shine mimicked his dance moves, ending with a pelvic thrust.
“Yeah... that.”
“I would buy tickets!”
Berry Punch nudged him. “So, uh, would I...”
But Braeburn paid her no heed, for his mind was already a million miles away, in a huge country club where hundreds of cowgirls (pony and bovine) cheered for him and his band: all five of the guys back together again.
An aggressive side check brought Braeburn back, and he looked at Berry Punch to see what she wanted.
“Help me find my keys?”
***
The train car stunk.
The platform at Ponyville where Applejack had hauled a hose and was generously dousing the train car stunk.
The four ponies that Twilight and Rarity were genuinely happy to see again, if not smell again, who came from that train car stunk.
“Was your night...” the pretty white unicorn pony with a well groomed purple mane named Rarity said with a feigned hesitation, “worth it?”
“My fun was doubled,” Pinkie Pie said, side checking Soarin while trying to make it look like she just lost her balance. “The other pony I’m referencing is Braeburn.”
“Subtle,” was Rarity’s soft spoken comeback.
“The others are looking a little ‘fun-‘d out,” Twilight, the purple unicorn, whispered to Rarity.
“Soarin looks happily exhausted,” Rarity whispered in reply, watching Pinkie Pie use Soarin’s frame to push herself back into balance on all four of her own hooves. Soarin just looked at the little pink pony with a stupid smile and did nothing useful for her. “And dear Applejack is too much of a ‘trooper’ as it were. One pony here isn’t used to this though...”
Rainbow Dash had fallen asleep standing, just like a horse.
“Dashie,” Rarity addressed Rainbow Dash, who snapped awake suddenly and groaned with the regret of doing so, “you look like the ‘fun’ drained you, doubly. Are you okay?”
“Am now... I guess I can’t hold my cider down,” Rainbow Dash sighed with a awkward chuckle, looking at the puddle forming beneath the train where yellow pee mixed with electric blue cider to form a light green, with bits of nachos scattered throughout, all diluted by mass amounts of water.
“What’s hard about holding it down?” asked Pinkie Pie perplexed, “did you have some bad cheese from Soarin’s nacho platter?”
“Pegasus ponies are light-weights—” said Soarin.
“Dang hollow bones,” Rainbow Dash grumbled.
“A few apple ciders and one Zap-Apple cider throws us off balance,” said Soarin.
“That’s why they have to toss it all back up?” asked Pinkie Pie.
“Yes.”
“It scared the pee out of Pinkie Pie,” Soarin laughed, “we should call you Pinkie Pee and Up-chuck Dash.”
“What a pleasant conversation,” Rarity said sarcastically.
The bright green puddle beneath the train was massive by this point, and still plenty of the sickly liquid combo inside the train flowed out. Rarity tried to breathe as little as possible.
Twilight cleared her throat loudly. “So AJ, what did we miss... besides the p—um, urine?”
Applejack grunted through the hose on her mouth.
“Let me get that for you,” Twilight said, and the hose immediately became wrapped in a magenta aura matching the glow around her horn. As Applejack let the hose go from her mouth, the magic encased hose began snaking through the train car to get every angle of the mess.
“Thank you,” Applejack said, “We won a dance off against five buffalo, with—” the unicorn girls gasped, “wait ‘til you hear the best bit—a song from the coltband Braeburn and Soarin used to be a part of. Which, very int’restingly, a business acquaintance of yers—” (she looked at Rarity) “and a brother of yers—” (she looked at Twilight) “happened to once be a part of.”
Twilight laughed awkwardly as the hose in the train car went wild with a sudden loss of control, as she said, “yeah, Shining Armour did that for a while, but now that he’s a guard of the Canterlot Palace he kinda wants to keep that element of his past sorta hush hush.”
“I knew none of this,” said Rarity speaking bluntly and struggling to contain an ungraceful giddiness, “and would have never let Hoity Toity out of my sight if I’d known...” and then her voice went up two octaves, “HE WAS IN A COLTBAND!!!”
Like a magnet to the joyful, excited energy of Rarity’s, Pinkie Pie dashed over to her and bounced in place in front of her.
“Oh! Oh! And we’re figuring out how to get the five of them back together!” Pinkie piped.
“Oh my gosh! I’ll write him a letter immediately!” Rarity said while bouncing like Pinkie Pie for a few beats before becoming self conscious.
“Twi,’” called Applejack, “write yer brother, an’ get him to perform with his old pals again!”
Twilight clenched her teeth in a superficial smile.
The hose cracked one of the windows on the train car.
“Oh my gosh!” Twilight exclaimed, “I forgot about the hose!”
“They call them backup dancers,” Pinkie Pie said.
“No! I mean the WATER HOSE!” the purple unicorn shouted, yanking the hose out of the train car with a violent swoosh of unicorn magic, “and why am even using this when I know a cleaning spell!” She cast the spell with a bright flash of light and the train car was suddenly sparkling clean. Even the puddle beneath was clean upon the ground.
“Oh,” Rarity piped up, “And an air freshening spell too, please!”
“Conveniently I know that one too,” Twilight replied with another flash of pink light bursting from her horn.
The air everywhere smelled of lilacs and rain.
“Thank you!” came a distant voice from somewhere on the train.
Twilight inhaled the lovely aroma and sighed.
“Alright,” she said, “I’ll write Shining Armour and see if he wants to jam with his old coltband again.”
“Hurray!” cheered the girls.
“Hotdog!” cheered Soarin.
“We’re not going to make a huge production out of this are we?” Twilight quickly added, sending the bulk of her concerned vibes toward Pinkie Pie, and catching her attention by hitting her with a cleaning spell scaled down to be friendly on pony coats.
Pinkie Pie bounced and bounced, “I’m gonna invite lots, and lots, and lots, and lots—”
Applejack used her hoof as a mute on Pinkie Pie’s mouth, also arrested her vertical momentum, “we won’t let this thing get too big. My cousin Braeburn also has a reputation to uphold.”
***
The Salt Block Saloon: home of Appaloosa’s salt addicted old mules; a rowdy hang-out zone and messy lick fest by night... and a tidy, quiet place in the morning with its most consistent and sadly solitary customer.
The old pony drying his whitened tongue on the salty block of sodium had been doing so since the town of Appaloosa had been founded, and so everypony called him Salt Lick.
Morton Saltworthy was the dapper and hardboiled proprietor of the establishment, and worked the salt bar everyday but Monday.
On the busy nights, a pretty blue mare by name of Shoe Shine aided the service of the tasty, mouth drying blocks of heart-attack inducing goodness.
The saloon doors swung open to dolly loaded with crates of glassware being pushed by the aforementioned pretty blue mare. She had to work various part-time catering and service functions to support her love of tap-dancing on the stage... the thing which earned her a cutie mark, but alas no income.
“Hi Mr. Saltworthy.”
Saltworthy paused in the middle of the water glass he’d been polishing and looked up with his cold, sea blue eyes which instantly softened upon beholding the young mare.
Salt Lick likewise stopped with his salt block, leaving his mouth open and quickly replenishing the saliva to his dry mouth with the drool of passive covetousness.
“You can take them all the way to the kitchen,” he spoke through his dapper mustache, “it’s quite clean back there now.”
“Do you need a hoof polishing?” she asked, “I can come over as soon as I’m done mopping the hall.”
Morton smiled, saying, “if you’re sure you have enough energy and really want to pick up a few extra bucks, I’d be happy to oblige Miss Shine. I’ll pay time and a half since it is Sunday.”
“Oh you don’t have to—”
She was interrupted by an outcry from upstairs, “you found my keys!”
Morton continued polishing, using a cloth tied to his tail to get the inside of the glass.
“Don’t let me keep you from your duties at the community hall,” he said.
“Right,” she said, but a vague suspicion held her in place.
Heavy hoof-steps clopped above them from what must have been the hallway in front of the five rooms Morton Saltworthy rented up there.
“Have you seen the deputy?” asked Shoe Shine, braced for disappointment.
“Indeed,” said Morton with the punctuating sound of his glass being set on the counter.
The heavy clops made their way down the stairs until Braeburn became visible with Berry Punch on his back, miming a lasso. Berry Punch cheered, “Giddyup cowpony!” and Braeburn bucked like a rodeo stallion on the saloon floor; much to Shoe Shine’s wide-eyed dismay.
“Miss Shine,” Morton called her attention, “the glasses are quite fine here.”
Shoe Shine set the stack of crates in front of the bar and ran off without a word.
Braeburn stopped acting like an animal and looked at the still swinging saloon doors.
“What’s wrong with her?” Braeburn asked as though Berry punch would provide an answer like, it’s a girl thing.
“Heh, heh, heh,” came the phlegm filled laughing cough from Salt Lick.
“What’s wrong with yourself Mr. Braeburn?” asked the saloon owner rhetorically, leaning over the bar so his sea blue eyes caught more of the morning sunlight, “a deputy should have more self respect.”
Berry Punch stood at full height on Braeburns back, bracing herself with her front hooves on top of Braeburn’s head, making a statement she felt would redeem the embarrassing situation: “he found my keys!”
Salt Lick offered the still obvious question, “keys to what?”
“Maybe they’re for a jewelry case,” Berry Punch said after scratching her dark pink, fluffy mane.
The old salt licker grabbed a tall glass of water from his table and slurped very loudly for some time. And as Morton seemed more interested in polishing his glassware than conversing, Berry Punch and Braeburn left awkwardly and gave each other equally awkward goodbyes.
From the dusty main road of Appaloosa, Braeburn looked at the Salt Block Saloon. Now would probably be a bad time to ask Saltworthy if we could perform Buckstreet Colts’ songs in there, he thought.
***
Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and a baby dragon with purple scales and green spines by the name of Spike, stood near a rain barrel at the back of Sugar Cube Corner (a store trying to look like a gingerbread house, with every window tinted pink, stacked twice over with units that perfectly resembled the kind of cupcakes that have windows, finished on top with giant candle sticks that used kerosene lanterns to represent flame).
“There’s a perfectly good water pump at the front of this place,” the dragon said to the ponies, who were all gulping back mugs of rainwater.
“Meh,” the girls replied and shrugged.
“Did Soarin go home?” Spike asked, hoping for conversation this time.
“Yup.”
The ponies finished and refilled their mugs of rainwater.
“Oh! Here comes Rarity!” Spike exclaimed, sounding more excited that it was Rarity than that she was finally here.
“Cough up Applejack,” said Pinkie Pie, holding out a hoof.
“Your pony is only in the lead,” Applejack argued, “she ain’t here yet.”
“Are you gonna tell Rarity who the fifth member of the band is?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“Not yet,” said Pinkie Pie, “we’ll let things progress a while first.”
“Ah think that’s uh bad idea,” Applejack said.
Rarity arrived at the rain barrel.
“My little pony came in first!” Pinkie Pie blurted, “you owe me two bits Applejack.”
Applejack tossed two coins at Pinkie Pie.
“Was I the object of a bet?” asked Rarity, indignant.
“A winning object of a bet!” Pinkie Pie squeaked, picking up the bits.
“Darn,” Applejack spat, “Ah thought fer sure Twahlight would finish her letter furst!”
“Without me writing it for her? No way!” Spike exclaimed, “Twilight’s a perfectionist.”
The lovely white unicorn shot Spike an offended expression that sunk his heart right through his feet and into the ground.
“I mean,” Spike panicked for words, “she’s not naturally perfect. Like some.”
Rarity giggled gracefully—a talent she alone had—and presented the scroll to Spike.
“Short, sweet, and in the most elegant cursive,” she said, letting the scroll fall from the aura of deep blue magic matching the glow of her horn.
Rarity presently looked at each of her pony friends. Rainbow Dash was chugging water back really fast and once finished, she replenished it right out of the rain barrel, confirming Rarity’s suspicion and causing her to recoil.
“Rainbow Dash! That’s disgusting! Are you all drinking out of that?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a perfectly good water pump in front of the store.”
“Meh.”
“I don’t know why,” said Rainbow Dash, “but we’re all really, really thirsty!”
Spike opened Rarity’s letter.
“If that had been a personal note I’d have been angry with you,” Rarity chided.
Spike froze, his baby dragon heart starting to sink again.
“You’re okay,” Rarity giggled, shorter and sweeter than before.
Spike read aloud, “Dear Mr. Toity, I would be elated if you came to the Carousel Boutique to see some of my latest designs. My current project may be something you would be especially interested in. Hope to hear from you soon! Sincerely, Rarity.... That’s it?”
“Of course,” Rarity said with a flick of her mane, “won’t he be ever surprised when I dress him up in a pop star outfit of my own making?”
Applejack piped up quickly, “Ah thought we weren’t making a huge production.”
“Maybe not, but they must have outfits with a unifying design! Celestia forbid they put on this local concert with their own choice in clothing. I mean, if all goes as planned, we will have one of my most valuable Canterlot connections in the fashion industry singing and dancing on stage. And, nothing against the others, but one of them is an athlete, one of them is cowboy deputy, one is a security guard, and... who did you say the fifth one was?”
“What fifth one?” Pinkie Pie asked with feigned ignorance.
“The fifth member of the Buckstreet Colts,” Rarity said as if talking to an imbecile, “every coltband has five members.”
“Oh yeah! Um, I don’t know his name off the top of my head.”
“You don’t? I thought you were a major fan-filly.”
“Yeah but all I could think about was Braeburn and his handsome rugged—”
“Whoa now Pinkie Pie,” Applejack said with some warning in her voice.
“And Shining Armour! Oh my gosh! He was SOOO CUTE!!!”
The purple head of a purple unicorn peered around the corner.
“There you girls are!” Twilight chimed.
Pinkie Pie shrieked, “WAH! How long have you been standing there?”
“Just now. Here’s my letter. Who was so cute?”
“Sh—Br—Soar—Blue...” Pinkie Pie stammered with her heart and mind each racing in their own way, her eyes darting from Rarity to Applejack to Rainbow Dash, to the inside of her head, “Solar Blue.”
Somewhere a cricket chirped.
Pinkie Pie stuck to her guns with her best poker face. “He’s the fifth member.”
Twilight scrunched her face, “I don’t remember Shining Armour talking about any ‘Solar Blue.’”
Pinkie Pie splashed a little water from her mug in front of Applejack and Rainbow Dash just before saying with a touch of extra volume, “I could be wrong, but that’s the name I remember Braeburn and Soarin mentioning last night.”
Applejack nudged Rainbow Dash and winked. Rainbow Dash nodded.
“‘Solar Blue?’” Twilight tried, not liking it any better coming from her own lips, “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Must be his legal name,” said Rarity, “No way would an artist use a name hardly worthy of a contact lens.” Her ensuing giggle had a greatly decreased sense of grace from her first two.
Spike made to unravel the letter.
“No!”
Rainbow Dash coughed rainwater. Spike stopped without protest.
“Aww, can’t we read it?” Pinkie Pie whined.
“No, it’s just sibling stuff. Send it Spike!”
“Wait!” cried Pinkie Pie, “I’m not ready!”
Pinkie Pie bolted away for a second and everyone exchanged confused glances, until she came back rolled up in a large scroll.
“I don’t think that’s going to work Pinkie Pie,” Twilight told her; with a familiar tone of having explained to this same pony many of the laws of nature and magic.
“Just try!”
Twilight sighed and took a step back. Spike stepped forward and placed the letters by Pinkie Pie and inhaled deeply for the huge gout of flame that would follow.
The green fire engulfed Pinkie Pie and two letters and transformed the set into three separate, green fireballs which flew towards the tallest mountain in the landscape near Ponyville, where the most ridiculously placed city and its enormous castle jutted out from the steepest side.
“I guess it worked,” said a stunned Twilight, “Pinkie Pie just mailed herself to Canterlot by dragon flame.”
“Twilight,” piped Spike, “we tried that with you several times and it never worked.”
Twilight shook her head, still looking in the direction of the cliff side city.
“I guess: cuz Pinkie Pie,” she said, and turned to Rainbow Dash and Applejack. “Are you girls drinking rain water?”
“Yeah.”
“When there’s a perfectly good water pump in front of the store by the nice pink flowers?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
***
Flush!
The satisfying sound of Canterlot indoor plumbing whirled through the marble basin in the floor of the pristine, glimmering, Canterlot bathroom.
A white unicorn stallion with a long blonde mane made his way sleepily back toward the bedroom. Sunlight shined from the eastern window of the hall into the baby blue eyes he squinted through, as he sleepily stumbled along with the clop-clop of his hooves echoing from stone tiled floor.
Gently he opened a bedroom door letting in the only light save a faint outline of the closed curtains inside. By the soft sunlight caressing his shadow, he saw the bed’s occupant stir beneath the blankets and become still again with only the slow breathing of slumber for movement; loud for a breathing sound but graciously not a snore.
The stallion closed the door without entering the room. Instead, he went downstairs to the living room: a giant fashion statement that boldly set itself against the Canterlot norm.
There was rug with its black and white stripes (not from any animal hide for no Canterlot pony ever found that tasteful), upon which the white stallion had to tread to reach his destination as it took up almost the entire floor. He hated the look of it but loved its soft texture beneath his hooves. And as he stepped over an empty bottle of vegetable oil he looked down to see that some of the remaining oil had dripped from the uncapped nozzle, missing the black stripes and staining a white one.
With a frown he magically levitated the bottle out of the living room with his unicorn magic and sent it into the kitchen; without giving that room a single glance.
“That’s where it belongs,” he said quietly to himself.
There was the sofa and its sharp angles that defied this Canterlot house’s architecture. The dark pink striped with even darker cerise splashed its aggressive color through the darkness cast by likewise colored and striped curtains. The tastefully non-striped cushions’ rumpled state provided another job for the gentle-stallion who fluffed them back up in a twinkling of baby-blue light cast by his magic horn. During this action he saw another empty bottle, but of an entirely different kind: “Potato Water.” Another swirl of baby blue luminescence sent that into the kitchen still without a glance.
“That’s where empties belong.”
And the walls: the light blue marble Canterlottian walls were covered everywhere with photos. Nothing but professional photos alternating from the dark and moody to the ones flooded with light, and framed in black or white in a checkerboard pattern. These he paid little heed to, but for the one picture in the collection featuring himself, right above the object he reached for with his hooves instead of his magic: a guitar.
The photo was one of the lighter pieces in the checkerboard pattern, which had five stallion ponies in white suits. Two earth ponies, two unicorns, and one pegasus, all starring directly at—or perhaps into the viewer with their soul searching eyes and mysterious expressions.
“That’s where I belong.”
And he found himself quietly singing, “show me the meaning of being lonely. Is this the feeling I need to trot with...” He sighed, turning away from the picture with his guitar in hoof.
He sat on the arm of the couch, his hind hooves on the seat, and his fore-hooves cradling the six string, but before he could demonstrate how a guitar is played by hooves, a green flame burst mere feet away from his face; sending the startled unicorn backwards from the arm of the couch onto the striped rug and hard marble floor.
“Hi!”
He looked up at bubble-gum pink mare with hair like cotton candy. The pink on pink was not unlike the sofa she stood atop.
“What?” he groaned.
“You’re Prince Blueblood right?” she squeaked.
“Yeah.”
“I mailed myself to you!”
The young pink pony bounced up and down on what was probably a young pink sofa.
“Can you get off the couch please?” he awkwardly pleaded, “It’s had enough... stress for one night.”
“Okay.”
She leapt to the centre of the rug and was still bouncing on the floor where the lack of springs didn’t slow her down at all.
“How did you find me?” he continued with questions, bringing himself to standing with some difficulty as he refused to let his guitar touch the ground. “I don’t live here. Did you follow me from a party?”
“I used dragon mail,” she said with her movement finally arrested. The stallion thought he saw her slow down in the air before touching the ground, but that must have been an illusion in the dim lighting. “All it needs is a name and the mail-carrying fireball will find the recipient! I’m Pinkie Pie and I am a HUGE fan of yours. Can I give you a hug?”
She hugged him before he could say anything so he held his guitar at foreleg’s length away. He felt paper crinkling between the two of them and realized she had a scroll wrapped around her torso.
“You’re a fan of Cadenza Perfetta?” he asked her.
“Who?”
Pinkie Pie looked up at him confused.
“That’s my band. Is that actually why you’re here?”
“No, Blueblood!” she laughed and flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes, “I mean your old band. The Buckstreet Colts!”
“You—that fandom is dead!”
“Fandoms never die!”
“Okay, who are you?”
“I told you, Pinkie Pie! You’re number one f—”
“No, I mean—”
He shook his head and went back to the wall to return his guitar to lean in its same place, then drew the curtains to let in the sunlight.
Pinkie Pie shielded her bright, sky blue eyes.
“Whoa! I did not need that,” she said with loud groan, “I’m still headachy from a night of cider drinking and dancing. We danced to your song, by the way.”
“You’re the mare who did the pony pokey at the Grand Galloping Gala weren’t you?”
Pinkie Pie giggled.
“Not my strongest performance.”
“Thanks to your stage dive, Rarity doesn’t want to speak to me again.”
Pinkie Pie raised an eyebrow at this, and in the blink of an eye, she was lying back, lounging on the sofa looking at her right front hoof.
“No, no, no. It was thanks to your impulse to use my friend Rarity as a shield against the oncoming cake that she doesn’t want to speak to you again. Not to mention snatching roses for yourself and never giving her one, taking the comfortable seat and giving her the cold ground, and making Rarity—who is more of a lady than anypony you’ll meet in Canterlot apart from our great Princesses, may they live forever—OPEN DOORS FOR YOU.”
“Could you keep it down? My hostess is still sleeping upstairs.”
She polished her right front hoof with a little spit and a scrub of her tail, before concluding the story: “I told her to leave a clue to give you a second chance, but she shattered that clue into a thousand pieces on Princess Celestia’s royal steps. You lost a good one bucko.”
“You’re right, I was a bit of a donkey-hole that night, but it’s not like we’re likely to cross paths again, so what does it matter? And why are you here? Are you here on her behalf or something?”
“No!”
Pinkie Pie sat up, flush with anger and indignation.
“I’m a fan of the Buckstreet Colts trying to get you guys back together for one more performance, not a messenger for—she doesn’t even think about you anymore!”
“Yeah well—you’re still wrapped in a scroll!”
He turned away from her to look out the window then quickly turned back.
“Wait, you want to get the five of us back together? And perform?”
Pinkie Pie looked above him and at the wall of pictures as she responded, “yeah, when I said we were dancing to one of your songs last night, I meant Braeburn, Saorin and I. They thought it was a good idea.”
“Zat is a great idea!”
The owner of “zat” voice came forward from the shadows.
Pinkie Pie shrieked and leapt high into the air, hovering at the apex of her jump.
“Most Canterlot houses have a chandelier right about here,” Pinkie Pie called down, still reaching for what she hoped could have supported her in the air.
“Zey are old, kitschy and frivolous zings, I have use for zem not!”
With that Pinkie Pie fell to the rug and the hard marble floor, landing hard on her rump, face to face with a light blue mare with no mane, an intense left eye with an iris so dark it looked black, and an all white eye on the right that was probably blind. The pain of her landing took a backseat to Pinkie Pie’s awe and fear of this pony.
“I’m sorry to intrude in your house Ms. Photo Finish! I didn’t know where Blueblood was; I just used dragon mail, and magicked myself all the way here. I’m not trying to move in on your—”
“Shh! It’s quite alright,” the mare named Photo Finish said with a hoof gently pressed to Pinkie Pie’s lips, “Ze two of us, vee just met. So he spent ze night. How do you wecognize me vissout my vig and shades?”
“I, um, figure things out really fast,” Pinkie Pie said sheepishly, “this living room, those pictures... I recognized a bunch of the photos on your wall from when one of my friends had a brief carrier in modelling. Also you’re the only pony I’ve heard with that accent.”
Photo Finish cocked her head, saying, “Is it zat noticeable?”
“Oh no, not that noticeable, I just have an ear for that stuff.”
“You’re delightful Pinkie Pie,” she said smiling, then turned a sharp look at Blueblood, “hey Baby Blue! Put ze coffee on vile vee I discuss vis ze nice lady a vay to set up wehearsals viss you and ze uzzer boys. Zis is going to big!”
“Yes m’dame!” he said like a loyal servant and cantered into the kitchen, without a thought. Then the girls heard, “Oh gods, what a mess!”
“So, uh,” Pinkie stammered awkwardly, “ya see, my friends were just hoping for a small concert in Ponyville.”
“Ponyville?” said Photo Finish aghast, “Nein! Vee must book a large concert hall of a major ceetee! Zis is going to be a huge production!”
Coltband Act 1: Country Cabaret
COLTBAND
By John Derk
Act One
Country Cabaret
Drums, bass and lead guitar, fiddle and banjo greeted Rainbow Dash through a haze of prairie dust and cigar smoke in the rustic interior of Appaloosa’a City Hall. Three of the five instruments sported by the band were Rainbow’s favourite; the fiddle and the banjo, however, ruined it for her. And words like “honky-tonk,” and “giddy-up” were as foreign as to her as the clumsy partner dancing about the floor.
The only thing familiar, besides the two friends who brought her along only to disappear into the crowd not five minutes after entering this make-shift club, was the pungent smell of hard apple cider. It wafted toward her unadjusted nostrils from plastic cups, the breath of the rowdy ponies and buffalo, and what was spilled into the straw covered ground.
At a loss for anywhere else to go in the crowded hall, the cyan coloured pegasus pony with the rainbow striped mane and tail, made a dash for the bar. Her eagerness came from a place of “missing out” specifically with apple cider, as it was only a seasonal commodity in her hometown of Ponyville. In her one track mind she bumped a feathered appendage like the ones on her own flank.
“Hey! Watch it!” shouted a blue pegasus stallion, as a plate of nachos slipped off his right wing which he had extended to carry it. “My nachos!”
Rainbow Dash caught it with sonic speed reflexes, and looked up startled; not just to see the only other pegasus in the club, but one of her idols: Soarin the Wonderbolt.
Her heart pounded.
“Whoa! Nice catch! Thanks again—” he said loudly over the music, and his eyes settled on her mane, tail and finally her eyes, “Hey! It’s you! I remember you from the Grand Galloping Gala. You caught my apple pie!”
“Yeah!” Rainbow Dash shouted in reply, then fumbled for something else to say. “deja vu, heh?” she forgot to shout.
Soarin just looked her over.
“You’re missing something!”
“I don’t like hats!”
“Me neither! I meant, where’s your drink?”
“I’m getting one! I just got here!”
“Hold on!”
Soarin turned to the bar.
Rainbow Dash caught some looks which she interpreted to mean, “what’s she doing here? Where’s her drink? And why doesn’t she have a hat?” So she bobbed her head like she would to music she liked, that being classic rock or metal, but she soon discovered was not the right moved as ponies smiled or laughed out loud as they looked away. Luckily, before any awkwardness could progress out of this, Soarin came back yelling in her direction.
“Here!”
Soarin gave her a big red cup with a big head of foam.
Rainbow Dash took it and took on the smell of apple cider fresh from the tap.
Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! she barely heard herself think, Soarin—one of the Wonderbolts—just bought me a drink!
“Thank you!” she screamed like the fan-filly she was.
Soarin simply shook his head with a grin and tossed his head in the direction of the far end of the long tables where there was still some room away from the crowd. Rainbow Dash’s heart pounded louder in her own ears than the overwhelming country music.
“It’s Rainbow Dash right?!” he said, sitting across from her and sipping his own apple cider.
“Yeah!”
There was a pause as he waited to see if she’d say anything else.
“Third time’s the charm,” Soarin continued, “You’ve saved my pie, my nachos, and I think I remember you saved me from hitting the ground too!”
“I guess I’m kinda fast,” Rainbow Dash said with a short giggle, “I mean yeah. I’ve saved my friends a few times here and there too, and dodged a rockslide,” with a big swig of cider all her false-modesty evaporated, “and I’ve broke the sound barrier three times now, AND dived into a barn so fast it generated a rainbow mushroom-cloud explosion... so I AM pretty fast.”
Rainbow Dash would have sold her soul just to find out what Soarin would have said to that, but fate brought Pinkie Pie out of nowhere bouncing right in between them on the table. The bubblegum pink pony with the fluffy magenta mane wore a neon green cowpony hat, several sizes too big.
“Ride ‘em cowpony!” she hollered, “hey! Oh wow! A wonderbolt! At a cabaret in Appaloosa? No way!”
For Pete’ sake, Pinkie Pie! Rainbow Dash bellowed inside her interior monologue, Plot-block much?
“You must have friends in Appaloosa like we do!” Pinkie Pie plopped down on a chair next to Soarin. “Oh, duh! Rainbow Dash is your friend! Of course! How silly of me!”
While Pinkie Pie giggled loudly with an occasional snort, Rainbow Dash sat grinding her teeth. Friend!
“No! Haha!” Soarin laughed, to Rainbow Dash’s concern (“No” what?), “If I knew Rainbow Dash would be here, I would have pumped some more iron at the gym. You know, cuz I’m sitting across from the fastest flier in Equestria.”
Rainbow Dash coughed on her cider really hard.
“Ya ar’right Dash?”
She nodded as she continued coughing, and somehow Pinkie Pie was on her side of the table patting her back.
“Anyway, I’m here cuz Braeburn invited me. We go back a long ways.”
“Great bubbling caramel!” exclaimed Pinkie Pie, while onstage the song finished and the hall was momentarily quiet, “you’re old time friends with Braeburn?”
He cocked his head back like he was offended.
“We’re good friends! Not old friends!”
Pinkie Pie stood blankly, afraid he was mad. Many ponies nearby had heard in the quiet between songs and were looking at them.
“Haha! Had you going!” he laughed, just before the music kicked back in, “Where is that guy anyway?”
Pinkie Pie bounced up and seemed to hover in the air for a second as she spoke, “with Applejack! Be right back!”
Soarin blinked right after her outburst, and Pinkie was standing right beneath the spot she had been hovering.
“Aren’t you going to go get them?” Soarin asked.
“I just did,” she squeaked and grabbed a red cup that no one remembered who it’d belong to with her teeth and gulped the whole drink down, “I prefer Green Apple Acres Cider, but this stuff’s good!”
Rainbow Dash nudged Soarin, and in a loud whisper into his ear said, “You missed her zipping away and back again when you blinked.”
Soarin laughed until the nodding of Rainbow Dash’s head affirmed her seriousness.
“She’d have to be faster than you Dash,” he club-whispered back, “at top speed!” And he finished off his beer in a manner not unlike Pinkie Pie had just done, taking in the pink pony now bouncing up and down, and no longer facing them.
“Yeah, that’s Pinkie Pie,” Rainbow Dash said in normal shouting-speaking voice, and gave a silly laugh. The speed thing couldn’t bother her when Soarin was referring to her as “Dash.”
Ohmygosh! This means we’re pals! Rainbow Dash’s internal monologue squeaked like a raspy Pinkie Pie, and if I play my cards right, maybe more!
While finishing her thought Rainbow Dash missed another blur of a golden-yellow with a cattle rustler’s hat somehow attached in that speed. She shook her head after realising that blur had tackled Soarin to the ground. In her own flurry of rainbow colors, she leapt onto the table expecting a fight.
“Braeburn you plot-hole!” Soarin roared, knocking the sandy-yellow stallion’s hat off and giving him a noogie with his right fore-hoof and locking him by the neck with the other.
Rainbow Dash made eye contact with Applejack across this scene, which they had played out between themselves many a time.
“Dude! Easy on the hair!”
“Agh, put your hat on!”
Pinkie Pie stomped her hooves merrily, “you two are SOOO much like Dashie and AJ!”
They got up. Soarin handed Braeburn his hat, and while the typical greetings were exchanged (the “you haven’t changed” bits and what-not) Rainbow Dash was distracted by the thumping of many hooves on the table beneath her.
“DANCE!” many shouted.
She looked around the smoke filled cabaret as the crowd transformed from its formerly chaotic state, to an audience that would chant until they got their way.
Was it just because she had chosen to stand at this elevated level? Did her bright colors contribute?
Then she realised, as she looked behind, that another hoofed animal had stepped to her level and likely drew a lot more focus with his immense stature; which was causing the table to bow.
“Dance,” came the buffalo’s deep resonant voice.
It did not sound like a request.
Rainbow Dash only trembled in place, hearing what she later confirmed was the band’s fiddle player adding a coaxing trill to the rhythmic assault.
“It could be worse!” the contrastingly high pitched squeak of Pinkie Pie’s voice cut through the chants like a laser beam into Rainbow Dash’s fallen ears, “they could be chanting, ‘Fight! Fight!’ OR... it could be better! They could be chanting, ‘Chug! Chug! Chu—’”
A hoof, likely belonging to Applejack muffled Pinkie Pie after that. Rainbow Dash didn’t look their way, she could only dart from the buffalo’s eyes to the growing number of chanters forming around her.
Just how would a pony and buffalo partner dance? she could just hear herself think, I don’t even know how it works between ponies.
“I said, DANCE!” the Buffalo boomed with an extended fore-hoof.
Rainbow Dash reluctantly reached back to what she feared would probably toss her around until one of her legs broke, when Soarin fluttered onto the table beside her; bowing the table further.
“No, dance off!” Soarin countered.
The buffalo bared his teeth, in was on its way to a snarl before it widened to a grin. He then crouched for take-off, which alarmed nearly all the onlookers, even just in concern for the dangerously deep curve bowing the table nearly to its threshold, before the great beast took off rolling through the air in a great barrel roll.
THUD!
He landed beside them as the table rattled the two Pegasus ponies up and down, and with just a quick, loud snort, four more buffalos joined him from the crowd. Then they waited, with hooves scraping the dirt floor through the straw.
“Hey Fiddlesticks!” Braeburn shouted at the fiddler in the band, “play Everypony, Buckstreet Boys!”
“ALL OF MY YES!!!” Pinkie Pie shrieked after gasp that nearly cleared the smoke out of the room.
Before Rainbow Dash cloud blink, the hyper Pink pony was beside her, without her neon green cowgirl hat, which fell to the ground now that it only had her vapour trail to rest on. Pinkie quivered in joy.
The fiddle playing mare took the microphone.
“We’ll give ‘er a college try,” she said, “but you know we ain’t that type o’ band.”
“Yeah, we know,” Braeburn said, giving Soarin a hoof-bump, “but we are.”
“NO GALLOPING WAY!!!” Pinkie’s jaw dropped. She seemed to be the only one to have whatever this revelation was. “You look so different now—”
“AJ, take outer left, Dash, outer right,” Braeburn ordered, “Soarin, inner left with my cousin, and I’m with Rainbow Dash on the right.”
Braeburn stalled playfully, giving Soarin a wink.
“Who—um, who’s gonna be your fifth?” Pinkie Pie asked with the most obviously hopeful tone Rainbow Dash had ever heard. Her eyes were even glistening in anticipation.
Soarin grinned, “Why don’t you be in center Miss Pie?”
Pinkie Pie let out the breath she’d been holding.
“It’s Pinkie,” she said in coolness, then cracked with a “squee,” then shrieked with a loud, “OH MY GOSH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE—AND I’M—AHHH!!!” as she bounced into formation.
Rainbow Dash gave a confused look to Applejack, to which her friend said, “Ah’ll tell ya later, just follow her’s an’ the boy’s lead.”
“CAN WE GET ON WITH THIS ALREADY?!” the main buffalo of the opposing group of five blasted at them.
Braeburn and Soarin nodded to the band, and the music started up.
The buffalo looked at each other, perplexed at the Colt-band style music so out-of-character for a country cabaret.
“What the hay is this?” one of them asked.
The pony team had already began their attack, with Pinkie Pie, Soarin and Braeburn moving in sync with perfect fluidity as if they’d rehearsed, and Rainbow Dash and Applejack doing pretty well to keep up.
Pinkie Pie finally spoke when they’d finished, “It’s just bin brought!”
***
“Okay, now that we showed those buffalo up,” Rainbow Dash said over her new cider, on the house, giving Pinkie Pie a suspicious squint from across their smaller table that the cabaret runners had cleared for them up on the mezzanine, “you gotta tell me what the hay went on down there. Did you three plan that dance off?”
“No way! Those buffalo are big meanies, and I wouldn’t even plan a birthday party with them. Their chief is a nice guy though.” She finished one of her red cups of apple cider (on the house) and grabbed another of her three, having been the only pony to order multiple at once.
“I know. We both met Chief at the same—anyway!” Rainbow Dash took another swig, “what was that song you three knew so well you could dance the whole thing without missing a beat?”
“You don’t know?!” Pinkie Pie spat through her second apple cider (on the house).
“Ever heard of the Buckstreet Boys?” Braeburn asked coolly.
“No, I usually listen to rock and heavy metal,” said Rainbow Dash.
“Good stuff!” said Soarin.
“Blegh!” said Applejack.
Braeburn swished and sipped his pint of apple cider.
“You’re lookin’ at two o’ them,” he said.
Pinkie Pie quickly responded to this by pecking Braeburn on the cheek, then giggling, and finishing her second cider. Applejack raised an eyebrow at this, though nopony noticed.
“You were super famous?!” Dash exclaimed, “I mean before being a deputy or a... a Wonderbolt!”
“We didn’t become a big deal or much of a sensation,” Soarin said, “but the five of us got quite a taste of the celebrity fine life in those days.”
“But you’re a major celebrity now!” Rainbow Dash argued.
“An athletic one yes,” (swig) “but the musician life was different.”
“How?”
“The concerts. The crazy fangirls.”
“You do airshows, and, uh,” Rainbow Dash whipped her hair back with a quick flick of her head, “the fangirls are probably just as crazy.” She hiccoughed.
Pinkie Pie coughed on her third apple cider (on the house).
“Rainbow Dash,” Applejack said, “yud be comparing yourself to Pinkie Pie.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve never been to a colt-band concert?” Braeburn asked.
“No.”
Pinkie Pie gasped. Unfortunately she still hadn’t put the cider down and inhaled much in the sudden reaction. She coughed wildly for some time. Finally, through coughs, she managed to say, “you should perform one more time!”
Braeburn let out a jolly laugh, as Soarin chuckled.
“They’d run me out of town!” Braeburn belted.
“I’d have to learn to sing again!” Soarin said.
Pinkie Pie only rose into a higher octave in response, “I give singing lessons!”
“Ya do?” Rainbow Dash and Applejack spoke together.
The pink pony gave a happy squint. “Do now.” She gulped her last cider, and covered a giant burp with her hoof, before turning to Braeburn, “and you just did a dance off to your own pop music and with your old coltband dance moves, against buffalo of all things.” (giggle) “The town’s already gonna be talking about that!” (squee) “You might as well show us all where it came from.”
Braeburn adjusted his hat. Pinkie felt her head for her own hat and seemed perplexed not to find it.
“There’s another thing,” he said, “I haven’t seen the others in a long time.”
“Who?”
The question came from Rainbow Dash, though Applejack looked equally curious.
“Hoity Toity...”
Rainbow Dash and Applejack gasped.
“Prince Blueblood...”
They gasped again. Pinkie smiled along, knowing each answer already, until...
“And Shining Armour.”
As Rainbow Dash and Applejack gasped a third time, and Pinkie Pie even joined in.
"We know all three of those guys!" Pinkie piped, "Or, we all know Shining Armour, and Rarity knows the other guys.
Soarin flicked his empty cup onto the table.
“Our ex-manager is completely unreachable.”
“Who’s that?” Pinkie Pie asked eagerly.
“Fancy Pants,” Braeburn and Soarin said as one.
Pinkie Pie fell over backwards at this, and Braeburn and Soarin both caught her from each side, as Applejack and Rainbow Dash spoke their reactions:
“Well Ah’ll be!”
“No flipping way!”
Pinkie was brought back to sitting, and looking like she about to burst, she belted in her craziest fangirl squeal, “RARITY KNOWS HIM TOO!!!”
“We need to celebrate!”
Pinkie Pie clapped her hooves at the nearest waitress pony; a mare of light blue coat and even lighter blue mane, wearing bright pink cowgirl hat.
“Five Zap-Apple Ciders!” Pinkie called, “please Shoeshine!”
Shoeshine smiled with a nod.
Focused turned to Applejack.
“Twouldn’t be too hard to’t least connect up ‘gain with the uthers. Ah mean, Shining Armour is Twilight’s brother—”
“Twilight, the one whose read a lot of books?” Braeburn asked.
“The unicorn from Canterlot who lead us ta save the world more tahms th’n Ah can count? Yeah, that’s her.”
“Right on.”
“And Rarity could get us all the others,” said Rainbow Dash.
“She does business with Hoidee-Toidee,” added Applejack.
“She’s great friends with Fancy Pants,” continued Rainbow Dash.
“And—oh,” Applejack bit her bottom lip.
“Oh yeah...” Rainbow Dash said through teeth clenched in awkwardness.
Soarin and Braeburn looked around the quiet girls, then to each other with confused looks.
“Rarity doesn’t want to talk to Blueblood again,” Pinkie Pie spoke with some tension as well, and then suddenly broke it with, “HAH! You should have seen it! There I was, dancing on the stage at this booooooooooooooring party in Canterlot, not noticing that Applejack is wheeling this HUUUGE cake into the main hall, and Rarity—she’s there with Prince Blueblood, her LOUSY date, not dancing but on the fringe of the dance floor. So I call, ‘STAGE DIVE!!!’ with my eyes shut, and jump way out above the crowd. Well those snobs never been to concert in their life—prolly never been young either—prolly think I’m attacking them—they gallop out of the way! No one catches me. Instead, I land on the front of AJ’s cart and BOING! Up goes the cake, flying directly at Prince Blueblood. He sees this. Oh yeah! He saw it with plenty of time to react. YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?! He uses Rarity as a shield against the cake! He actually had to pull her into the way so that it would land all over her instead of him!”
No pony had even touched the last remains of their ciders during Pinkie Pie’s story.
“Then animals from the garden broke in, fleeing from a deranged Fluttershy, so that gets us running—actually it was Celestia who was like, “Run!” but you could tell she thought the whole situation was really funny. As we run, Rarity drops one of her glass slippers on the staircase. I saw it and was like, ‘Oooh! Now your prince is sure to find you!’ And she growls like I’ve never seen her growl before and stomps on the slipper. Totally shattering it!”
Pinkie Pie breathed.
“I don’t think she wants to see him again.”
Applejack let out a whistle.
“My, my. Ten apple ciders and she didn’t even slur a word.”
Pinkie Pie gave Applejack a clueless expression befitting her character.
“Why should apple cider make me slur my words?”
The other ponies all laughed.
“Your five Zap-Apple Ciders?”
Pinkie Pie leaned to Braeburn’s side to let the light blue earth pony waitress in the pink cowgirl hat rest the edge of the tray on the table while she removed one glass at a time and place them in the centre, being careful to set the drinks down with as little impact as possible. Even so, the electric-blue liquid in the glasses let out some static sparks as the hit the table.
“What the hay?” came Rainbow Dash’s awestruck voice.
“Is that actually an electric drink?” asked Soarin.
“This is gonna smite your little pony brains,” said Applejack.
Braeburn nodded in what looked kind of like a grave expression, if not for glint of mischief in his eyes.
He didn’t notice Pinkie Pie had stolen his hat while she had leaned on him.
“To the Buckstreet Colts!” cheered Pinkie Pie, raising her glass, “may they sing again!”
“To us!” cheered Braeburn, nudging Pinkie Pie on the head where his hat rested with his free hoof.
“To these awesome girls!” cheered Soarin.
“To servin’ buffalo on the dance floor with our fruity moves!” cheered Applejack.
“To, uh...” Rainbow Dash searched for something to add, before joining her glass with the others. They all looked, waiting. Shoeshine even stopped serving others to hear their toast.
“To this crazy night!”
“Aye!”
The five friends clanked their glasses together with great arcs of electricity crackling between them all. And all as one, they gulped their spark-flashing drinks in one shot.
It hit Rainbow Dash the instant the liquid sloshed against the back of her throat. Like an electric brain freeze that shook her whole head and caused her teeth to clench really hard involuntarily (thanks be to Celestia her tongue wasn’t in the way). The muscle spasm ran down her spine and she felt like her hair was made of ice.
Though her friends would say she did plenty else that night, all Rainbow Dash remembered was a thundering reverberation through her body a few seconds from the initial shock, and then darkness.
