The ship nuzzled up to the Manehattan docks as if felt particularly fond of them. A cheer went up from its decks, and the cheer was echoed on the shore.
Appearances could be deceiving. In its day, the ‘Jolly Galloper’ had been most unwelcome at the Manehattan seaport, for its habit of disgorging pirates to rob the place. But the ‘Galloper’ had belonged to Kabochaebi… and for years now, its visits to ports all over Equestria had been peaceful and benevolent. Continue reading
“There! Over there!”
“Where, Tavi?”
“Through the… argh, it’s gone again! That snow up there! Break in the clouds!” Continue reading
Vinyl Scratch wriggled and stretched, in the sunbeam.
He drew her closer without waking, and the sensation flipped her heart… or, perhaps, jounced it? Penetrated it? He’d been doing that, though not with her heart. Continue reading
Kichona scuffed at the grass with a hoof. “Come out of there, right now!”
“Nooo!” came the reply.
“What ever is the matter?” she begged. Continue reading
“Sooooo…” said Vinyl Scratch, “what do you want to see at the next gig?”
Octavia frowned. “What do you mean by that, Vinyl Scratch?” Continue reading
*blinkblink* *awake*
…before dawn.
Vinyl Scratch wriggled, restless. She glared into the dark. You never knew when it would sneak up on you: after all those gigs, she’d have thought herself immune to pre-show jitters, but there she was: wakeful before dawn, and having to make that awful decision: get up far too early, or try and force a little more sleep?
Of course, it wasn’t just the gig. It was still performance in a sense, but it wasn’t only DJing on the agenda. Scratch had a feeling of trepidation that beatmongering alone couldn’t produce, and a kind of excitement that used to belong to the gigs themselves.
It was a funny thing. As you got good, really good, in some ways your art got less scary. You could try and bring back the danger and novelty of your first gigs through various means, allowing for dodgy equipment or trying bold transitions and audience-challenging stunts… but the audience learned too. It learned with you, and it learned about you, and even though she hadn’t played Neighpon for ages, word spread fast. She wasn’t going to need to explain much. The beats of Fillydelpia’s wildest clubs spoke loudly to Neighpon villages and required little translation.
It was what Vinyl planned for after the gig that had her excited and nervous. Continue reading
The skies over Neighpon were crystal blue, almost too perfect to be real. Colorful pegasi in pointy costumes zipped across the sky: patrolling, but not finding monsters, weird or otherwise.
When they passed over a certain valley, their ears turned, and they soared as if finding thermals over the small natural amphitheater.
They pirouetted, in pairs or alone, keeping still and quiet in their meditative flight, so they could listen. Continue reading
“Slow down, honey,” pleaded Flight Lightning. “Start over. What happened?”
Scootaloo took a big breath. “It’s Dad! It’s Braeburn! He’s gone!” Continue reading
“Where does this big speaker go, Scratchie?” asked Octavia.
Scratch frowned. “You shouldn’t be moving it, Tavi. It’s heavy!”
Octavia scoffed. “It’s fine! Oof… mostly fine! I’m strong enough, Scratchie, don’t worry.” Continue reading
As they rode through the hills and valleys of Neighpon, Octavia looked sidelong at Vinyl Scratch, her longtime companion.
“So, is now a good time?”
“Huh?” said Scratch, distractedly.
“To tell me.” said Octavia gravely. Continue reading
“But… are ya sure you’re gonna be okay?” said Applejack.
“Eyup.”
“Whaddya mean ‘eyup’?” challenged Applejack.
Octavia blinked. “Excuse me, Applejack, but doesn’t Big Macintosh often say ‘eyup’? It means ‘yes’ if I’m not mistaken.”
Applejack bridled, scuffing the beautiful grass with a hoof. “But it was th’ WAY he said it!” Continue reading
“Arr! No more dilly-dallyin’! Walk the plank, ya swab!” demanded Applejack, ebulliently.
“Yeah!” cried Northern Spy. “Walk the plank, Big Macintosh, right now!”
“Whut plank?” asked Big Macintosh, his ears laid back in dismay. Continue reading
Octavia shuddered, baring her teeth in sensual bliss.
She also quivered. And trembled, and wiggled… because Octavia was a generous mare, and wished her pleasure to be shared. Continue reading
Sweetie Drops cringed back, trying to figure out how to talk herself out of the predicament.
“Hey, look, over there!” she cried, but it didn’t work. Mayor Mare continued to stand in front of her, frozen in horror, staring. Continue reading
“Could somepony please explain why Mayor Mare is hiding under my bed?” Continue reading
Just across the hallway of the cozy little pony house, the atmosphere of chaotically strewn records, stained futon and pristinely polished turntables gave way to an empty room with splendidly polished floor and no clutter at all. Instead, the room held a single cello and its counterpart, the equally curvaceous Octavia. Her trim little collar lay on the floor beside the industriously coupling musical pair, for Octavia sought inspiration and she’d let her mane down and gotten naked, the better to grapple with her musical challenges. Continue reading