Feedback

by Kegisak

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Romance, Slice of Life, DJ P0N-3
Length: 7073

After Ziggy Stardust moves to Ponyville, he meets a mare who helps him to come out of his shell.

Ziggy Stardust was never good at talking. A bouncer didn’t have to be. He wasn’t expecting that to change when he moved to ponyville. He wasn’t expecting the DJ either. Sometimes it just takes somepony else to get you started – all you need is a little feedback.

Published 2011-09-01 08:18:20 UTC
Last updated 2011-09-01 10:44:41 UTC

Feedback

“C'mon kid, get out of here. It's three in the morning, we're closing.”

“Aw, chill out, bro...I just wanna get one more drink!”

“No. No more drinks. Go home, or find a friend who'll let you crash at his place, or something, but we gotta close up soon.”

“All right, all right,” The young pegasus said, sulking away from the bar. Ziggy watched him mull across the empty hall before leaving through the open double-doors.

“Is that the last of them?” The bartender asked Ziggy, picking up the glass that the sullen colt had left behind.

“Everypony except that unicorn over there,” he answered, gesturing to a mare sitting on the stage at the front of the hall. “I guess I'll get her out the door, then lock up?”

“Naw, don't bother her,” The bartender said, “That's the DJ. She usually stays here a little bit late, she likes to get a drink or two before she goes home. Says it helps her sleep, or something.” Ziggy shrugged, and sat at the bar.

“I might get something myself,” He said idly, “Who knows, might help me get used to the new shift – could you get me a rum and coke?” The bartender nodded, and set about making the drink. Ziggy sat in silence, thinking about his new life in Ponyville. Working nights would definitely take some getting used to – the most he could hope for was that the caffeine in that rum and coke would be enough to get him home and into bed, for how exhausted he was. He sipped at the drink gratefully when he heard a small set of hooves clopping towards him. He looked over to see the DJ plunk herself down on the stool beside him.

“Gimme the usual, Salty, I feel boring tonight.” She called, waving in the bartender’s direction. He set a glass in front of her and poured straight vodka into it, tapping the bottle against the rim of the glass when he finished pouring. Ziggy turned his attentions back to his own drink when the DJ nudged him sharply in the side.

“Man, what was with that crowd tonight? I swear to Luna, they were so quiet I could swear half of them were underage! You aren't getting fooled by fake IDs now, are you Rusty?”

“I-what?” Ziggy asked, shocked by the sudden jab, “My name isn't Rusty...I don't even know a Rusty. Who are you?”

“Yo, wait,” The mare said with what Ziggy considered an odd amount of surprise, “You aren't Rusty! Man, did he quit or something?”

“Yeah, that's...kinda what I just said. I don't know anything about anyone who worked her before me, tonight is my first shift here.”

“Oh,” The mare said, “Well, Rusty was the bouncer before, I guess. He was around back when I started working. I'm Vinyl Scratch, the DJ.” Scratch held out her hoof to Ziggy, who shook it slowly.

“I'm Ziggy,” He said, “Ziggy Stardust. If this Rusty guy worked here so long, how come you can't tell the difference between him and me?”

“Well, I can tell the difference between you, obviously,” Scratch said, rolling her head theatrically, “But it's not like I'm gonna figure it out by looking at you.” She lifted up the heavily mirrored sunglasses she wore, revealing two very, very white eyes.

“Oh, jeez,” Ziggy said, “I'm really sorry, I had no idea you were -”

“Don't worry about it,” Scratched laughed, putting her glasses back on, “It's not like I go around advertising it. I mean, most ponies don't like seeing my eyes, so I have to hide it, most of the time.” Her horn lit up, and a small rod levitated out of the saddlebags beside her. She gave it a sharp flick, and it extended into a red and white cane.

“I mean, most ponies can figure it out when they see this,” She said, “But I know this hall like the back of my hoof -” She paused for a moment, then chuckled, and corrected herself, “Well, not like I know that either, but you know what I mean. I don't ever need to use it in here, just when I'm walking around town, and stuff.”

Ziggy sat in silence, trying to think of what to say – that is, what he could say that wouldn't run the risk of offending the DJ.

“Look, if you've got a question, ask it,” She sighed, coming to a conclusion for him, “I've been blind since I was a little filly, I doubt you can say anything that would offend me now.”

“Okay, well,” Ziggy started, “If you're blind, how did you know I was sitting here? I mean, it doesn't seem like it was just a coincidence, to me.” Scratch wiggled her ears, and grinned at him, as if that explained the whole thing.

“I heard you,” She told him, “These stools are old, and they squeak.” She rocked back and forth on her stool, proving her point. “Now it's my turn: How does a guy get a name like Ziggy Stardust? You don't sound like a pegasus to me. I mean, I don't hear any feathers.”

“Oh, I'm not,” Ziggy said, “But my dad is, Stardust is his family name...and my parents just called me Ziggy because of my mane.” Scratch turned towards him, tilting her head up and down in a pantomime inspection.

“Yeah,” She said sarcastically, “I see what you mean. Totally.”

“Oh,” Ziggy said, hitting his forehead with is hoof, “Duh, I'm sorry. Here.” He leaned in towards her, mane first. “Give it a prod, you'll understand.” Scratch raised an eyebrow at him, but reached out slowly with her hoof anyways, being careful not to hit Ziggy's head. Her hoof brushed the tips of his mane, and she pushed with a bit more confidence.

“Man, that's your mane?” She asked enthusiastically, “Do you gel it, or something?”

“Nope,” Ziggy answered, “It does it all on it's own. Has since the day I was born. Like I said, that's why my parents named me Ziggy. 'Cause my mane was all 'ziggy-zaggy', my Mom said.”

There was a lull in conversation, with both of the young ponies thinking of what to say next. Or at least, that was what Ziggy imagined the cause of the silence was. It was certainly his excuse.

“Hey, how long've we got until 'closing time'?” Scratch asked him, suddenly. Ziggy blinked, and looked at the clock on the wall behind the bar.

“Um...well, we closed like, five minutes ago, actually. The bartender's just cleaning everything up, if you're looking for another drink...”

“Naw,” Scratch said, “Rusty was cool to drink with, but that was all he ever did. You seem like a 'hang out' guy, though – you wanna get outta here?”

“Huh?” Ziggy asked, “It's the middle of the night – where would we go?”

“Oh, I can think of a couple of places...” The unicorn said with a sly grin, and Ziggy was suddenly very glad that she was blind, and couldn't see his face flush. Scratch continued, “but I was thinking we could just, walk and talk, y'know?”

“Yeah...yeah, all right,” Ziggy answered. He checked with the bartender to makes sure he would lock the dance hall up, and got down from his stool. Scratch picked up her saddlebags and followed after him. Ziggy was surprised to see just how well she navigated the hall, exiting perfectly through the door that Ziggy held open for her.

Ziggy paused for a moment when they left the building. The air was cold compared to inside the hall, and seemed oddly crisp. In Manehatten, where Ziggy came from, a place like this would have a sweet scent lingering outside most times of the day, but in a small town like Ponyville the air smelt clean and clear. He trotted to catch up to Scratch, who seemed to relax when he pulled alongside her.

“There you are,” She said, “I thought you ditched me. Talk to me man, this town's got no acoustics.” Ziggy frowned at her.

“What are you talking about? How does a town have acoustics?”

“It doesn't,” Scratch repeated, “That's the problem. The buildings aren't big enough, sound doesn't echo. If you get too far away, I can't tell where you are anymore.”

“All right, well, I guess I'll just stay close to you, then,” Ziggy said, before he stopped dead. Scratch looked back at him, a wide smirk on her face.

“Oh man, was that flirting? Way to go, Ziggy.” She laughed as Ziggy attempted to apologize, and cut him off. “Chill out,” She said, “There's nothing wrong with a bit of flirting. Besides, I know what you meant. You're a cool guy, Ziggy – even if you are kinda vanilla. Tell me about yourself.” Ziggy shrugged awkwardly.

“I got into bouncing for a reason,” He said, “I don't need to talk to ponies. I just stand there and look mean. Easy. I've never been really great at the whole 'talking' thing.”

“Pff,” Scratch snorted, swinging her cane to smack him lightly, “Talking isn't a 'thing'. You just do it. I need feedback, Ziggy. C'mon, gimme something here. Bouncing! What's that like?”

“It's...pretty good work, I guess,” Ziggy told her as they started walking again. “I don't usually work clubs – until just a little while ago, I mostly did more high profile stuff, like fashion shows. You don't usually have to actually 'bounce' ponies at those – though I was working at an art show once when the artist showed up. Turns out he wasn't actually on the list.”

“What?” Scratch asked, “How was the artist not on the list? Was it a mistake or something?

“No, he was just a lunatic. Even if I'd let him in ponies probably would've thought he was a hobo, or something.” The two ponies laughed at the thought of it, and when their mirth subsided Ziggy countered Scratch's question with one of his own.

“How about you?” He asked, “How'd you get into being a DJ?”

“Do you know, I don't really know?” Scratch laughed, “It just kinda happened. I mean, I got really big into music after my eyes went – my Mom had this old record player that she always had playing, and I just kinda started to hear stuff I didn't before. Like, nuances in the music, y'know? I just started listening to more and more stuff, and eventually I tried making some of my own. I moved here with my Mom from Phillydelphia a few years ago, when I was still in school, and one of the fillies in my class threw me a party...I don't know how, but somepony got a hold of one of my tapes and started playing it, and after that everypony was always coming to me to do music for their parties.”

“Wow,” Ziggy said, “Now I feel kinda petty about bouncing. I mean, you got an awesome job doing something you enjoy, and I just went in because it was easy.” Scratch laughed at him.

“There's nothing wrong with that – live for the moment, right? It might not be what you love, but it's better than what you hate, right?”

“I guess you're right,” Ziggy agreed. “It's kinda funny, though – you saying how much you liked listening to music. I mean, you don't seem to really like listening that much...” Ziggy trailed off, leaving the two in an awkward silence.

Smooth, Ziggy, smooth, He thought, mentally face-hoofing, meet a cool girl and tell her she doesn't shut up. “I'm really sorry,” He started, “That didn't -”

“Hey, uh, this is my stop,” Scratch cut him off, nodding to a small two-story home, “But, are you gonna be working tomorrow night too?”

“Oh...no,” Ziggy answered awkwardly, “No, I'm only part-time – one day on, and one day off.”

“All right,” Scratch said, walking towards her house, “Well, I'll see you later, I guess...” With that, she left him outside, trying to find his bearings in the darkened town. It took him a while, but when he finally recognized the neighbourhood he was surprised to find the house he was renting wasn't far away. He was also surprised to find himself walking much faster than normal – ordinarily he would take his time on a walk like this, taking in all the sights and sounds the night had to offer, but he didn't really feel like it tonight. He felt guilty about how he'd left off with Scratch – and it wasn't the guilt that was bothering him, so much as that he felt guilty at all. He was no stranger to putting his hoof in his mouth – a good part of the reason he preferred not to talk. He sighed as he opened the door to his home, and thought to himself, I must just be tired. Night shift is getting to me. I'll be fine tomorrow...still... He shook his head, chasing the thought away, and locked his door behind him. He thought briefly about eating something, but hungry as he was, that Rum and Coke had done nothing to keep him up. Being up so much later than he was used to had exhausted him, and he happily flopped into his bed, drifting into a warm and quiet slumber moments later.

***

When Ziggy woke again, it was just before noon. He moaned groggily and tried to turn away from the light that filtered through his partially-drawn curtains, but it seemed to chase after him, filling up the room. For the briefest of moments he thought he had escaped it, and could return to sleep, when his stomach screeched at him. He shut his eyes tighter, begging his belly to be quiet, and to leave him alone, but it didn't comply. Eventually he gave up, and rolled out of bed, making his way to his kitchen.

Fortunately for Ziggy, he’d had time the previous day to go shopping, and he had plenty of food to make a breakfast from. Unfortunately, he didn't have nearly the patience to wait for food to cook in his state. In the end, he settled on a bowl of cereal – three bowls of cereal, in fact. He stacked the bowls beside the sink when he was finished, noting that we would need to wash them later. In the meantime, he desperately needed a wash himself, smelling of sweat and liquor the way he did. He ran a bath, and while he waited for the tub to fill, dragged an old stereo out of one of the many, many unpacked boxes left in his house. Putting on one of his favourite CDs, he lowered himself into the bathtub, and began to think about what he should do that day.

He hadn't started his work at the club part-time by choice. He had been perfectly willing to start full time – more than willing, in fact. He was less than comfortable with math, but he was still confident enough in his abilities to work out that he would only just scrape by if he kept up with his current schedule. However, the owner of the club didn't trust the new earth pony just yet, so Ziggy was on a trial period, working one day and...sitting around his house doing nothing the next.
“Celestia...” Ziggy sighed, sinking lower into the water, “I need to find a hobby, or something.”

The song he had been listening to wound down, and the void of silence left by the changing of tracks was filled with a thought: “You know, I never really heard any of the music last night, sitting outside...I should go tonight and see if Scratch is any good.” His mind made up, Ziggy relaxed and settled in the tub. The club opened that evening, and so he would still need to find something else to do in the meantime – which would probably end up being unpacking the rest of his things – but for now he could afford to have a nice, long bath.

***

Ziggy spent over an hour sitting in the bathtub, very nearly falling asleep in the warm water. Finally, though, he pulled himself out when his CD ended, and set about unpacking. He finished almost depressingly fast. Most of his essentials, plates, cooking utensils and the like, he had unpacked shortly after arriving, but even then he hadn't brought much with him from Manehatten. He had managed to while away some time by reading the old 'Crimson Wonder' comics he had bought when he was younger, but they didn't last very long. That had been a few hours ago, and now he was splayed out on a sofa that his landfilly had kindly provided him, playing an old video game. He was a private detective on the streets of Phillydelphia, investigating the mysterious disappearance of a mare he had been hired to follow, and he was about to find the final clue that would reveal her whereabouts when his alarm clock went off again. He trotted into his bedroom to check that the clock was right – 5:30, on the dot. Throwing together a quick sandwich to eat on the way, he left his house, setting out for the club. It was just opening when he arrived, and the front was swamped with a queue of colts and fillies waiting to be admitted in. Ziggy found a place in the lineup, slowly approaching the door until he was stopped by an enormous red-brown stallion, who Ziggy imagined must be Rusty.

“Hey, you’re the new kid, right?” The stallion asked, “Sorry, but I still gotta card you - them’s the rules.”

“No problem,” Ziggy answered, digging a piece of ID out of the shirt he had worn, “Rusty, right?”

“That’s right,” Rusty replied, “famous, am I? Well, enjoy the night - Scratch looked like she was in some mood tonight, I think it’ll be a wild one.” Ziggy nodded, and as he walked in, Rusty’s words stuck with him. He hadn’t though too much about Scratch that day, but she had crossed his mind now and then. Mostly, he just wondered what kind of music she played, but now he was wondering if he had offended her the night before. He tried to tell himself it was silly to think she had taken something a colt she barely knew had said personally, but he couldn’t help but wonder, especially when he saw her on stage, setting up for the night. It was hard to tell from far away, but something seemed different about her, to Ziggy. She seemed less excited, less bouncy than she had last night.

She’s...probably just being careful, Ziggy thought, doesn’t want to damage her equipment. It looks pretty expensive. The notion did little to quell his worries. He weaved through the sparse crowd mulling around on the dance floor, looking for all the world like a flock of sheep with no music to herd them, and made his way to the bar.

“Hey, kid,” The bartender said to him, “Wasn’t expecting to see you back on your day off. Coming to see our DJ, eh?” He grinned slyly at the young earth pony, who replied,

“I guess? I didn’t really get to hear that much last night, waiting around outside the whole time, so I figured I’d come by tonight and see how she was.”

“Is that so?” The bartender asked him. His tone had changed, Ziggy noticed, from light to suspicious, somehow. He wondered what he had said that provoked this change, but the bartender continued, “Just what were you two up to, last night? That girl’s in a fine mood, that’s for sure, I hope you didn’t just decide to swing by to make sure she was ‘fine’.”

“What?” Ziggy asked, somewhere between confused and offended - in truth, he had no idea what the bartender was implying, but he knew he was being accused of something. “No, I just meant that I wanted to see her play! We just talked last night, really.”

“Well, all right,” The bartender nodded, “Sorry about that, but there isn’t much of a club scene in a little town like Ponyville, so we don’t take on many employees. Rusty, Scratch and I are a bit like a little family, and I guess we get a bit protective of her, ‘cause of how young she is. But you seem like a good colt, so I trust you.”

“Um...thanks?” Ziggy said. Once again, the bartender seemed to be implying something that he didn’t quite get. He didn’t have time to ask, though - Scratch had finished setting up, and let the crowd know by skillfully scratching a record, producing a long, melodic note. The lights in the club dimmed, and a pair of red and blue spotlights focused on the stage, illuminating Scratch amongst her turntables and speakers, and lending their colours to her coat.

“I can’t see a damn thing with all these lights!” She shouted, her tenor filling the hall, “Pound your hooves so I know where you are!” The audience erupted all at once, furiously pounding their hooves on the floor. Ziggy and the bartender shared a chuckle at her introduction, before she called out to the crowd once more.

“Hell yeah! You foals ready to party!?” The audience erupted again, even louder this time, mixing cheers and shouts with the thumping applause. “Who’d you come here for!?” Scratch asked, and the audience responded,

“DJ P0N-3!”

“I didn’t catch that! I said, WHO’D YOU COME HERE FOR!?”

“DJ P0N-3!”

“ONE MORE TIME, ‘CAUSE IT SOUNDS SO GOOD!”

“P0N-3! P0N-3! P0N-3!”

The chanting devolved into unintelligible screams and cheers, and Scratch started her first song. It struck Ziggy immediately - very nearly sending him off his seat. The song was huge and pounding, fitting Scratch’s entrance perfectly, and Ziggy felt it almost as much as he heard it.

“Lord Luna,” Ziggy shouted to the bartender, “How did I not hear this last night?! How is all of PONYVILLE not hearing this?!” The bartender just laughed at him.

“We have soundproofing spells,” He shouted back, “Rusty won’t be hearing a bit of this, right now.” Ziggy nodded at him, not bothering to try and make himself heard as the song, impossibly, grew even more powerful. The colts and fillies on the floor danced furiously, with no real sense of rhythm, as far as Ziggy could tell. There were no steps, no moves, and no time, there was just thrashing and flailing. Eventually the song wound down, and Scratch’s voice once again permeated the hall.

“Man, you guys are rowdy! No more of that for you, not tonight! Have a little bit of this, instead!” She pulled on an oversized set of headphones, and several plugs and jacks in her equipment rearranged themselves as she spoke, preparing for the next track. It was still powerful music, but much less so than the previous song. Scratch was involved in this one, too, moving almost constantly onstage, adjusting dials and switches, and skillfully scratching on the turntable in front of her. She played several tracks like that, letting them go five, six, seven at a time without a word to the audience, before suddenly chiming in with a comment, or a warning, or asking for requests - though Ziggy would never be able to figure out just how she knew what the screaming ponies were asking for. Around the middle of the night, a mare approached him - a deep purple pony with an electric pink mane, and a pair of ice cubes as a cutie mark.

“Hey there,” The mare said to him, “You look new here.”

“Um, hi,” Ziggy said, somewhat surprised that somepony was talking to him, after sitting at the bar alone for pretty much the entire night, “Yeah, I just moved here a little while ago. I’m Ziggy.”

“I’m Sweet Stuff, sweet stuff,” The mare said, sitting beside him, “Care for a dance?” She fluttered her eyes at him, and smiled faintly. Ziggy gulped.

“Um, alright,” He said, “Sure. I’m not that great of a dancer, though.”

“Oh don’t worry, sweetie,” Sweet Stuff laughed, gently tugging him from his seat, “I’m sure you’ll do
just fine.”

Sweet Stuff dragged Ziggy out to the dance floor, and started to sway and move. Ziggy, for his part, mulled around, awkwardly bobbing to the beat, Sweet Stuff laughing at his lack of ability. After a while watching her, though, he started to get more of a feel for it. He had been right before, when he guessed there was no sense of reason to the dances, but there was a definite rhythm to it. He did as he saw his dance partner doing, letting the music fill him up, swaying and bucking in time with the pounding beats. He loved the feeling of it, and it must have showed - Sweet Stuff picked up the pace of her own dance, occasionally brushing up against him, and giggling slyly. Ziggy lost track of how long they danced together, but by the time he was shaken from his music-inspired trance, his legs ached, and sweat was beading on his face and back.

It was Scratch’s voice that drew his attention away from Sweet Stuff, calling out after another set was done. “Hey foals, I got a treat for you!” She called out, levitating a new record onto her turntable, “Some of you boring ponies are gonna ditch us all soon, so have a listen to this before you go: I’ve got a new track for you guys!” The dance hall erupted into cheers, including Sweet Stuff beside Ziggy. When the roaring subsided, Scratch called out again, “I call this puppy ‘Hobo Paintings’! Be sure to dance nice and loud, so I know what you think!” The song started slow, almost boring, like elevator music, but quickly warped into something fast and manic, twisting and grinding almost as much as the furiously dancing ponies. Everypony except for Ziggy, who stood stock still, his mouth hanging open.

“Hey, are you alright?” Sweet Stuff asked, nudging him, “What’s the matter, don’t like the song?”

“What?” Ziggy asked, shaking himself from his stupor, “I - no, that’s not it. I, Uh...I’m gonna go sit down. I was nice meeting you, Sweet Stuff. I had fun dancing.”

“You know, sweetie,” Sweet Stuff said, rubbing up against him and fluttering her eyes once more, “If you’re tired, I can always take you back to my place and give you a place to sleep...”

“No thanks,” Ziggy said, barely listening as he started for the bar, “I’m just gonna...I think I need a drink.” With that, he left the confused and offended mare on the dance floor and went to sit back down at the bar. “Hey, Salty, was it?” Ziggy called to the bartender, “Can I get a rum and coke?”

“Sure thing, kid,” The bartender said, “What’s up? You look confused. That mare wasn’t what you were expecting?”

“Well...She was different than what I was expecting, that’s for sure...” he replied, cradling his head in his hooves, “But that’s not it. It’s the song.” He paused, and listened to the music, which had turned into something resembling circus music filtered through the auditory equivalent of shrooms, “I mean, aside from the fact that it seems to be eating my brain.”

“Yeah, she’ll make those from time to time,” Salty laughed, handing Ziggy his drink, “what’s the problem?”

“Well, last night I told Scratch a story about bouncing an artist that looked and acted like a hobo...” He gulped at the drink in front of him, and looked up almost entreatingly, “There’s no way she could work that fast though, right? I mean, pump out a new song in less than a day?”

“Heck, I’ve seen her make a new track in an hour when it suits her,” Salty said flippantly. “Looks like you inspired her.” He listened to the song himself, and added, “Not sure how to call that one, I can see why it’s got you worried.” He laughed at Ziggy’s sunken expression, and told him, “listen, I’ve heard a song that she spun when her first coltfriend broke up with her - as far as I can tell, you’re probably in her good books.”

“You think so?” Ziggy asked, glancing at the lively DJ on stage.

“Well, don’t take my word for it. Stick around and ask her yourself - club is done in an hour anyways.” Ziggy glanced at the clock, which read 2:10.

“Huh...” He said slowly. It suddenly occurred to him just how tired he was, not having gotten nearly enough sleep, and now having danced for at least a couple of hours. He stifled a yawn, but said, “I think I’ll do that, yeah.”

***

“Alright, we’re done here, fillies and colts!” Scratch called out when her last track finished an hour later, “Get outta here, and have a great night!” She laughed into the microphone, drowning out the half-hearted booing that came from the crowd, and began to disassemble her equipment. What little remained of the crowd dispersed, and Rusty came in to clear out the few ponies still dragging their hooves. He passed over Ziggy with little argument, and when he was done he sat at the bar a few seats down. The two bouncers were silent, sipping at their drinks, until they were joined by Scratch, same as last night. Unlike last night, however, she paused before taking her seat.

“Hey Scratch,” Ziggy said, trying to stifle a yawn, “How’s it going?”

“Ziggy?” Scratch asked incredulously, “I thought you didn’t work today, what are you doing here?”

“Ah, well...” Ziggy shrugged, and took a swig of his drink. “I didn’t get a chance to hear your music at all last night, so I figured I’d come by and see how it was.” He scratched at his face, and added, “And, well...I didn’t really get a chance to apologize properly for what I said last night - “

“Aw, are you still on that?” Scratch laughed quietly, “I told you, it’s not a problem, it’s - look, let’s go for a walk, okay?” She pulled out her cane, and gave Rusty a swat as she walked past. “Good to hear you, Rusty, but I guess I’ll talk to you day after tomorrow.” Rusty grunted in response, and Ziggy threw a few bits down on the counter, following after the blue-maned Mare.

“Like I said, I wasn’t offended or anything,” Scratch continued once they were outside, “You just took me off guard is all. You kinda reminded me of my Mom, actually - she’s always telling me I never listen.”

“Is that...” Ziggy asked, trotting up beside Scratch, “I don’t know how to feel about that. Is that good? Nagging?” Scratched laughed him off, saying,

“Nah, that’s good. My Mom’s great...I mean, she’s a bit overprotective, and she won’t let me move out on my own, but she’s still cool about everything, you know? She didn’t even try to tell me what my cutie mark looked like more than the once.”

“Wait...you don’t know what you’re cutie mark looks like?” Ziggy asked, blinking.

“Oh, I know what it looks like - somepony was bound to let it slip. But I got it after my eyes went, so I always liked to imagine it was something really awesome, like, I dunno, a pony fighting a dragon, or something.” She grinned broadly, and chuckled. Ziggy chuckled too.

“I guess...” He said, but paused midway, wondering whether he should say it or not. When he did, Scratch walked in front of him, and turned so Ziggy could see her face. They stood there, for a moment, with Scratch completely silent, and Ziggy trying, and failing, to scan the eyes hidden behind her glasses for a hint of what she might be thinking.

“Look, Ziggy,” She said suddenly, “I know you’re trying to be nice. But I’m not made of glass. I told you yesterday, you aren’t going to hurt my feelings. Ask. The. Question.” Ziggy grimaced, and shuffled his hooves.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, and asked, “I guess you went blind pretty young?” Scratch gave him that same puzzling look, and answered him.

“Really young, yeah. A little while after I started school. Is that really what you were afraid of asking? A question about my childhood?” She shook her head and smirked, “Most ponies are at least afraid of asking me the big things, like how I do stuff, or what I think things look like, or -”

“Or what it was like?” Ziggy blurted out. He immediately regretted it, because this time when Scratch went silent, he could read her expression - deeply shocked. Ziggy lowered his head, half expecting some kind of outburst.

“I’m so sorry, I’m tired, and I wasn’t thinking at all, and, and, and...” Scratch raised her hoof, silencing him.

“Ziggy,” She said, “follow me, okay?” Ziggy did as she said, following just behind her as she walked. Scratch seemed consumed in her thoughts, so Ziggy didn’t try and speak to her. Instead, he brushed his hooves along the ground as he walked, trying to make sure she knew he was there. He had no idea where they were going, but it was in a completely different direction than they had taken last night, going east away from Scratch’s home. Finally, they crested a small hill, and Scratch sat down. Ziggy sat beside her, but they still didn’t speak. Scratch still seemed deep in thought, so Ziggy surveyed their new environment. He hadn’t been there before, not that that meant anything. Finally, Scratch spoke.

“You know, I was joking before, but you really do remind me of my Mom. I don’t think anypony’s ever asked me that before.”

“You mean, what it was like?” Ziggy asked quietly.

“Yeah,” She answered, “I never even really thought about it. She asked me how I was doing all the time back then, how I felt, but...I wanted to be a big filly. I didn’t want her feeling bad about me at all.” She sighed, and took off her glasses. She rubbed her eyes, before saying, “It was terrifying. My eyes were never great, and I guess the doctors and my parents always new, but nopony ever told me. Then all of a sudden, things started getting blurry, even with my glasses on. I couldn’t see things far away anymore, and far away kept getting closer, and closer...I had no idea what was happening. I was just a kid, I thought,” She laughed, and continued, “I thought the world was ending. But nopony else seemed worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Ziggy said, “that sounds awful.”

“Don’t be.” Scratched waved her hoof dismissively, “The world is still here. It’s just different now. I can picture it from how it sounds. It’s just not as concrete, now. It’s more fluid. It’s like music. I like it, kinda. That’s why I don’t listen, I guess. I like...noise. I like hearing things. I don’t like silence, there’s nothing there. No feedback. So, I make my own noise.”

“Well, I guess that explains how loud your music is,” Ziggy joked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, Scratch snorted and laughed.

“Thanks, Ziggy, I almost got emo there for a second.” She said, elbowing him gently. “So you heard my music, huh? What’d you think of it?”

“It was different from what I was expecting,” He answered, “But it was good. I gotta ask, though, that new song...’Hobo Paintings’...”

“Ah, that...If your wondering if you ‘inspired’ me, somehow, well kinda. I had most of it worked out, but something just seemed off...you gave me the idea to make it so crazy, so I guess you did kinda inspire it, yeah.” Scratched laughed. Ziggy tried to laugh with her, but it was interrupted by a huge yawn. “Aw, Gee,” Scratch joked, “I’m not boring you, am I?”

“No, no,” Ziggy said, yawning again, “I’m just...tired. I guess I didn’t get enough sleep, I woke up early because I was starving to death.” Scratched giggled at him.

“Oh, so it’s just past your bedtime, huh?” She said. She fell backwards onto the grass, and said, “Have a lie down. The grass is soft here. It’s nice.” Ziggy did as he was beckoned, and made a happy noise in agreement.

“You’re right,” He said, “It’s nice...How’d you find this place?”

“My first coltfriend took me here.” She answered, “He said it was beautiful...he was an idiot. Nice guy, really, but not all there, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ziggy chuckled, “I get what you mean...he was right, though. It’s nice here.” The two lay there for a while, almost in silence, if not for Scratch gently humming. Then, all of a sudden, she spoke.

“Describe it.”

“Huh?”

“This place. You’re an observant guy, Ziggy. I come here all the time, but I don’t know what it’s really like. I can’t get any feedback from it. Describe it to me.”

“Well,” Ziggy said, looking around them. He mulled over where to begin - it really was a beautiful place. He could see for miles in all directions, the hill stood overlooking Ponyville and all of the surrounding fields. “We’re on a hill,” He started simply, saying whatever came to his mind, “It’s the tallest one around. Ponyville is on one side of us...you can see the town square, and sugarcube corner...and the club where we work, tucked behind this big, fancy building. The lights in the club are out - all of the lights in town are out. On the other side are fields. Lots and lots of fields...there’s a forest of apple trees covering some of it, covering hills as big as mountains.

“Sweet Apple acres,” Scratch chimed in, naming the orchard the trees belonged to.

“Sweet Apple acres,” Ziggy repeated, “And the rest of it is open. There’s some hay, and some wheat, but it’s mostly just empty. There’s a road coming here from Canterlot - you can see it, in the distance, on the side of the mountain. It’s bright, like it’s glowing. It’s all white and gold...I think the light must be coming from the stars.” He looked up at the stars, and had to stop. They took his breath away. “The stars are incredible,” He told her, “They go on forever. There’s thousands - no, millions of them. Sometimes they clump together, so you just get these...patches, of bright in the sky. I never got to see any stars in Manehatten. They were always covered up by smog, or you couldn’t see them for the streetlights. I saw them once, when I was young...just peeking through the clouds. That’s when I got my cutie mark, I think. It was magical, almost, but here...that was nothing compared to all this. I can’t even describe it.”

“You just did,” Scratch laughed. “No, really, you did. I can’t see anything solid, in my head. It always drifts into something else, something it might be...but telling me it’s amazing? That, that I can see.”

“Really? I struggle to describe everything to you as best I can, and telling you I can’t describe it is what you like?”

“Hey, Ziggy, listen: I can spend a month on a track, and put everything I’ve got into it, and it won’t be worth listening to. But I can spin a track in an hour, and it’ll be the best damn thing I’ve ever heard. You can’t force music, and you can’t force poetry.”

“What, you thought that was poetry?” Ziggy asked, laughing feebly.

“Well, yeah,” Scratch laughed back, “why, you think you can do better?”

“I...dunno. I’ve never tried before. I told you, I don’t do the talking thing. I’ve never described something to somepony before. I've never done ‘poetry’.”

“I never did ‘music’ before I did it the first time,” Scratch said, prodding Ziggy, “I told you already, it’s not a thing. You just do it. Then you do it some more. Before you know it, somepony sees you doing it, and you’re doing it every night.”

“Oh come on, that’s different,” Ziggy insisted, “I mean, you can show ponies music. You can’t just show ponies poetry. Who reads poetry?”

“So, what, the only thing between you and poetry is that nopony ever reads it?”

“I...guess so?”

“Then I’ll read it,” Scratch told him. Ziggy rolled onto his front, and looked at the mare beside him. “Really?” He asked, “You’d read my poetry, if I made it?”

“Sure,” She answered, “Artists need feedback, right? Besides, poetry is kinda like music. It’s got a rhythm, and a beat. Would you make poetry, if I would read it?” She asked. Ziggy rolled back onto his back, and hummed to himself.

“On my back, in a field,

who knows what tomorrow yields?

stars above and dirt below,

maybe these two things might know?

I can’t ask and they can’t tell...”

Ziggy paused, scrunching up his face in concentration, before concluding,

“So I’ll wait for morning’s bell.” There was a moment of silence.

“Don’t worry, Ziggy,” Scratch said, “My first tracks were awful too.” The two ponies laughed, and Ziggy nestled deeper into the grass. He smiled, and Scratch started singing. She was soft at first, just singing to herself, but it soon grew enough that Ziggy could hear it too. There weren’t any words to the song, just a tune. It was slow, and gentle, and Ziggy felt like it was rocking him as he lay in the grass.

“Hey, Ziggy?” Scratch asked when she finished singing, but he didn’t answer. She listened carefully, and heard gentle breathing coming from beside her. Ziggy was still there. She flopped onto her side, and said his name again. “Ziggy,” She asked, “Are you alive?” Ziggy continued to breath slowly and deeply, and a small snore escaped his throat. Scratch smiled sweetly. She leaned over to the source of the sound, careful not to disturb the sleeping colt beside her too much, and kissed his cheek. “I like you, Ziggy,” She said, “My Mom is going to kill me for falling asleep outside, but you’re worth it. You’re nice.” She shifted closer to him, and snuggled into the grass, adding, “And your voice sounds cute.”