Vinyl Scratch was a pony around which many rumors swirled. For one, her DJ performances had led to her becoming a bit of a local celebrity, and gossip and speculation always surround celebrities. Secondly, there was her generally mysterious nature. Obviously it stemmed from her almost constant wearing of dark sunglasses, but also because very few ponies seemed to know her well.
She'd recently received some negative publicity when a shot of she and Rainbow Dash fighting over a stuffed toy appeared on the cover of a local tabloid. ''Oh shit,'' she'd grumbled under her breath when she saw it at the newsstand. It wasn't so much that she was embarrassed; rather, she worried it would lead to fewer gigs and thus less income.
So when her telephone rang one day, Vinyl turned down her stereo a little more willingly than she usually did and rushed to answer it. Hopefully somepony wanted to book her for a performance.
''Good afternoon, Miss Scratch,'' boomed a voice on the other end. ''This is Thunder Press from The Ponyville Times, and we're interested in doing an interview with you.''
Vinyl was suspicious this had something to do with the tabloid photo. ''Uh, about what?'' she asked.
''Why, about you!'' the voice boomed again. ''You're only the most popular DJ around, so we feel the public would be interested in learning more about you.''
Vinyl Scratch hesitated. She wasn't sure if being in the public eye again was a good thing. But she liked the idea of a chance to deny some of the uglier rumors circulating about her. She shuddered as she recalled tales of alcohol-induced orgies and destroyed motel rooms.
''Okay, sure,'' she replied, and an appointment was arranged for the following day.
Thunder Press glanced again at the slip of paper. 240 6th. Avenue, yep, this is it, he thought. The tiny white house with the neatly cut grass and the purple petunias didn't match his expectations of a DJ's home. He climbed the single step to the stoop and knocked on the door.
Vinyl answered the door to a sand-colored unicorn with a wispy dark brown mane and tail. Thunder Press extended his hoof and introduced himself with the same commanding voice. As the two walked to Vinyl's kitchen table, Thunder Press quickly glanced around. The house was a bit cluttered, but not dirty. No empty booze bottles or pizza boxes lay around. They took their seats, and the stallion clicked on a tape recorder.
''What made you decide to become a DJ?'' the reporter asked. Vinyl could tell he was friendly, but was a bit intimidated by his powerful voice. Nevertheless, the mare maintained her composure.
''I've always been passionate about music,'' Vinyl began. ''I took lessons as a filly, but honestly never showed any real talent at playing an instrument. But then I attended a wedding reception where a DJ was playing, and after that I couldn't get the idea out of my mind.''
''Some ponies say that when you're not performing, you're partying, and partying hard. Is this true?''
Vinyl didn't flinch at the question. ''To a point,'' she replied nonchalantly. ''But most of the stories out there about me just aren't true. I've never peed on anypony's antique rug, and I've certainly never woken up in a drunken stupor between some stallion and that cello player. Basically, I have self-control. Who wants to hire an irresponsible DJ?''
The interview continued for about ten more minutes. Thunder Press was surprised by the clearness and conciseness of Vinyl's answers. He expected each one to be accompanied by a drawn-out story littered with slang terms he didn't know the meanings of. When he was finished with his questions, he wanted to get a few shots to go with the article, and was intent on posing his subject.
The stallion directed Vinyl into her bedroom. ''Sprawl out on your bed, just like you're relaxing,'' he said. As Vinyl complied, she tried to discretely shove her plushie Skye under a pillow.
''Now whuchya do that for?'' boomed Thunder. ''The public would love to see you with a special belonging. Helps you seem like a regular pony,'' he said as he removed Skye from under the pillow and plopped him down between his subject's front legs. Vinyl's dark glasses partially hid her concerned expression as the camera snapped the photo.
A few days later, Vinyl woke up much earlier than she usually did, and trotted nervously down to the newsstand. She grabbed a copy of The Ponyville Times and turned to the entertainment section.
''Damn it!'' she said aloud. Another mare at the newsstand with a small filly at her side shot Vinyl a disapproving look.
There was the picture of Vinyl and her doll. She had the foal-like urge to trample the paper under her hooves, but didn't want to have to pay for it. She threw it back on the rack and sulked home.
The next few weeks passed slowly for the distraught Vinyl Scratch. She seemed to pace in front of the telephone from morning till night, yet it never rang. This convinced her her career was down the drain. As she played Rubber Soul and Rumours over and over (though she now hated that latter title), poured coffee but didn't drink it, bit her hoofnails until they were nearly nonexistent, and clutched Skye tight, she wondered what would happen now. Would she have to take a job picking up dog crap? Would she have to live on ramen noodles? Would she have to move into Uncle Bubba's Trailer Park? Would she have to sell her audio equipment?
Vinyl broke her obsessive train of thought for a moment to get her mail. She'd been so worried that she'd forgotten about it for a few days, and her mailbox was starting to overflow. As she sorted through the usual pile of bills and life insurance advertisements, one envelope caught her eye. It was from Playmore Toys, Equestria's largest toy manufacturer, and was addressed to Vinyl directly, not ''Current Resident.'' She opened it carefully, and pulled out the letter.
Dear Ms. Scratch,
It has recently come to our attention from various sources that you are a popular celebrity around Ponyville with ponies of all ages. Your interview in The Ponyville Times portrayed you not only as a wonderful entertainer, but also as a good role model for our younger generation. The accompanying photograph of you and your stuffed pony gave one of our top executives the grand idea of a line of plushies and other toys bearing your likeness. We would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss these possibilities...
Vinyl gently laid the letter down on the table. She felt a slight smile turn into a big grin as her worries faded like a puddle on a hot summer day. She chuckled, unsure whether she was laughing because of her uncalled-for anxiety or because a company wanted to make toys of her. Still smiling, she took Skye and ran a hoof through his mane. ''Imagine that,'' she said to nopony but herself and the toy. ''Just imagine that.''