You’ve been waiting months for this concert. As a journalist for the leading music magazine in Equestria, “Cantering Rock”, you have a passion for meeting some of the biggest names in music and bringing their opinion, ideas and dreams to the everyday ponies of the nation. The gig that you are on your way to is at a huge nightclub along the outskirts of Canterlot – a fairly long way from your original home in Ponyville and you’ve been staying at the Crimson Stallion Hotel in a five star suite paid for by your employers. The artist you’re hoping to speak to tonight is none other than the infamous DJ P0n3, also known as Vinyl Scratch. The white unicorn filly is notoriously hard to meet with, having an almost legendary dislike of the media and of journalists in general, but you’ve been given a back stage pass by your superiors and hope to be able to sneak into her dressing room for an interview.

As you approach the back door of the club it becomes pretty obvious that you’re not the only journalist hoping to get an interview with the elusive celebrity. Deciding that you have no chance, you walk around back to the front entrance of the club and wave the press pass around your neck at the two large Earth Ponies acting as bouncers. They let you through, much to the chagrin of the trendy young fillies and colts queuing for several blocks. As you enter the venue, you can hear the music of the warm up act filtering through the large doors ahead of you. The doors swing open just as the act finishes, two masked stallions bowing before the audience and leaving the stage. The lights dim as you find a spot at the back of the cavernous black-walled room and pull a notebook and pencil from your saddlebag. Seeing a high table nearby, the sort usually used to hold drinks, you relocate there and place the notebook on it, holding the pencil between your teeth and scribbling down the date and location.

Suddenly the lights on the stage blaze a blinding white as Vinyl appears, rearing before a light and casting a shadow over the front rows of ponies. You can see her clearly from your vantage point, her trademark purple lensed goggles over her eyes, streaks of electric blue contrasting against the darker navy blue of her mane and tail. As she drops back to four hooves, an image of her cutie mark appears on the screen behind and she trots over to the record deck that her warm up act had also been using. You remember from having read her profile back at the office that she tends to try and give her supporting artists a bit of popularity by first performing a remix of one of their songs and sure enough her horn glows, raising the previous record and placing it on the deck before her. She chooses one of her own and puts it on the adjacent turntable and they begin to spin.

The familiar tune of “Derezzed” begins to flow out of the speakers causing an almost visible euphoria to erupt in the crowd cheering for the song with a noticeable P0n3 twist. Scribbling furiously as you watch the star, trying to note her style and technique for the magazine, you glance up at her, almost certain you can see yourself in the reflection of those goggles despite being close to a hundred meters away...

As the first track ends, you see her smile as she launches into her own music, whilst you frantically make notes about how every track she produces is unique, never being reproduced at a live event. In your notes you begin to wonder what her special ability is and circle the suggestion that she is in fact a complete musical genius. Your eyes still occasionally flicking up at her, you can see her smiling in the full enjoyment of seeing so many ponies enjoying her work yet you still feel like you’re being watched, she must surely have noticed that you’re the only pony not throwing themselves around to the beat. Pencil still hanging from your lips you simply stare at the disk jockey as she nears the end of her set.

As her last song approaches, you decide to return to the back door of the club, waiting for the artist to leave amongst the other reporters. A long black carriage sporting Scratch’s cutie mark is pulled opposite the doors. Five more minutes pass before the doors themselves burst open and two huge earth ponies, easily a good three hands taller than you, appear with the young unicorn between them. Barging their way through, her bodyguards force a channel through the sea of fans and journalists, Scratch suddenly stops, looking you dead in the eye through the crowd. You gulp as she nudges one of her bodyguards and whispers in his ear; the huge pony looking at you with the dull eyes of a horse with a short temper and very little sleep. He plods towards you, almost walking over the ponies in front of you, a startled Pegasus taking to his wings; the giant lowers his head to your ear and speaks in a deep and monotonic voice.

“Ms. Scratch saw you at the concert. She would like to have a word with you. You are to get in her carriage.” He promptly turns and guides you through the crowd to the door of the limousine before placing a hoof on your head to prevent you from banging it as you enter. Inside you realise that you’re alone with the white unicorn, she simply stares at you, unnerving you. As the limo travels, you wonder if you should try and speak to her, the eyes beneath those goggles penetrating you and causing your heart to beat slightly faster as you struggle between fight and flight instincts.

The carriage comes to a halt and she motions for you to follow her, still silent. It turns out that the carriage has pulled around the back of a large building to try and avoid any sort of attention from the media. The two of you enter an elevator and step out again on the very top floor – the penthouse of the hotel. You gasp at the beauty and decadence of her hotel room, the sharp intake of air causing your companion to crack a slight smile before returning to her silent emotionless gaze. She takes a seat, folding her legs beneath her and continues staring at you. Still feeling slightly threatened by this incredibly famous mare, you copy her, sitting across from her. Five minutes pass with you both staring at each other before she sighs.

“Not nice is it?” She asks, her voice gentle yet firm with a heavy tone of displeasure. “I don’t appreciate being gawked at, especially whilst I’m working. You completely threw my second and third tracks, it’s a good job for you that the fans didn’t notice.”

You look at the floor ashamed, not realising that you could well have ruined the event. Following the pattern of the thick white and grey rug that you’re both laying on, your eyes eventually meet Vinyl’s fur without you realising, you blush and look straight down again. She eventually speaks up once more.

“Let me see what you’ve written about me then.” She says, slightly less harshly than her first sentence to you but still with a slight angry twang. You lift the flap of your saddlebag before her magic lifts the notebook out and over to her. Reading your name from the front of the book, one of her eyebrows rises slightly.

“So, you’re the one from Cantering Rock. I read your article about Pies & Roses a couple of months back, it was a fair piece of work - Rose is completely insane yet you managed to bring that out as a good thing for his creativity, definitely better than what I’ve read about him and others in that rag the Enquirer. Most new artists don’t even get off of the ground because of the damn media deciding how ponies should express themselves to fit into their little cliques.”

Your ears prick at the recognition for your work and you raise enough courage to look at her. Her goggles still obscure her eyes, but you’re sure you can see the outline of her pupils tracing your words as she flicks through the book looking for her entry, she stops for a moment, “You know, you should start interviewing the opening acts too. They need just as much love as us established artists – I can set you up with Daft Pony sometime, heck, I used to be involved with the lead guitarist from Applestein until he became a total clover addict, so I can get you in with them too.” She then continues to flip through the book, eventually stopping. Your heart begins to pound as she reads your notes, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach and easing slightly when you see her crack a grin, “So, you noticed that I like to help out the openers. That’s good.” She continues to silently read, you secretly hope that she will stop before she reaches the part about...

“Musical genius?” Scratch says; her slightly cold voice an octave higher than before, a slight pink appearing on her cheeks. She continues reading until the end of the page and then sets the book down next to you, bringing the pencil out from your bag.

“What can I say? You’ve impressed me. I’m guessing you’ve been sent to try and get an interview?” her cold tone reappearing. You reply saying that you were originally sent to get one, but chose to write a documental piece instead, an analysis of her techniques. She sighs, obviously not impressed at the slightly stretched truth.

“This is why I can’t stand journos. You think we can’t tell the horse apples? If you want to ask questions just ask them. It’s not like you were just invited up here for me to mock you.”

Mouth slightly open in mild shock, you slowly lean around to your bag once more and pull out a sheet of paper with questions from fans of hers that have written into Cantering Rock asking about their idol. Your first question comes from an eight year old fan from your home town, simply asking what colour Vinyl’s eyes are. She lets out a slight laugh, her voice a little warmer at the thought of such a young fan wanting to know something so different from the usual questions about sexual preference or dietary routines and fashions. She looks at you again before levitating the pencil and notebook over to her, a grin turning the edges of her mouth upwards.

“You know what? I’ve been a little frustrated of late, so I think I’m going to make you work for your interview. Come over here, I want you to nuzzle and kiss my neck. Do a good enough job and off the goggles come. Got me?”

You nod and shakily rise to your feet, seeing the diva before you grinning once more as you place hoof after hoof, approaching her slowly. You sit at a right angle to her and slowly lean in, rubbing the top of your snout against her jawbone, before gently kissing from behind her ear, over the straps of the goggles and down her neck to her shoulder.

“C’mon, put some feeling into it.” She says bluntly, tilting her head to allow you better access. This time you start a little further around, from her shoulder kissing upwards in a trail using a little more force – just enough to move her fur and skin under the pressure of your moistened lips, noticing a flavour similar to mint on her white coat, smelling blueberries as your nose gets closer to her mane. This seems to have the desired effect as she arches her neck as far as she can to give you more room, obviously enjoying the sensation. You reach the bottom of her neck again and nuzzle her, able to feel a slight moisture on her coat from the light layer of saliva on your lips.

“That’s better.” She sighs, unfolding a hoof from beneath her casually flipping the goggles over her horn and from her head altogether with it. She turns to face you revealing the most amazing pair of scarlet eyes you have ever seen, you lean in again and return to kissing her neck before being interrupted.

“So... Next question?” She asks, despite enjoying the feeling of your breath against her skin, her neck arched like before, but her body pressing against you. You mumble something about a pony from Trottingham wondering if she dyes her mane, still lost in the gentle spearmint scent of her coat. She pulls away from you and flops her blue mane over to your side, the streaks blending together with movement.

“Play with my hair and you’ll find out.” She sighs once more. You begin to nuzzle at her mane, whilst massaging her neck using your hoof. Seeing that the colour reaches all the way down to her skin, you consider that mystery solved and gently nibble at her ears, receiving a gentle moan of approval from the filly. You pull away momentarily to check the list and then ask her your next question as you continue rubbing her neck, asking about how often the visits the gym.

Without warning, she rolls onto her side, almost causing you to lose your balance and lazily waves a hoof at you. Starting to get the idea, you take the manicured foreleg between your own hooves and begin to run them up and down, feeling her toned musculature through her silky white coat and pressing firmly to massage the muscle. She moans again, you notice her pupils getting larger as you once again gaze into those eyes. You lean in close to kiss the pad at the sole of her hoof before being stopped.

“Not a chance. Those are ticklish. Do the other leg.” She orders, snatching her leg away and replacing it with the other. You repeat the process, hearing Vinyl’s breathing become heavier as her arousal deepens. Taking this as a hint, you slowly and without protest roll the unicorn onto her back, massaging her chest as you kiss down her sternum, her toned white stomach heaving up and down as she breathes deeply.

You think about finding another question to ask her before seeing the top of the list poking out from beneath her rump and decide to let her choose when she wants to be given another. Working your way back up and placing your hooves either side of her head, you stare into her eyes before lowering your snout to hers, your lips meeting slightly parted in a lingering kiss.

Evidently wanting more, Vinyl wraps her forelegs around your neck and pulls herself up to you, deepening the kiss, her tongue just gently probing at your own. The pair of you roll, placing her now on top, Vinyl using gravity to her advantage and pressing closer against you.

Completely forgetting about your assignment now, you’re surprised at how strong the small unicorn actually is, unable to remove her legs from around your neck and still enjoying the more intense mint flavour of her tongue. She pulls away, her mane dangling almost like a veil and encapsulating the two of you, you realise that your hooves had been massaging her cutie marks and flanks as you had been kissing, the young mare seemingly impressed with your work. To your slight shock she unwraps her legs from around you and stands upright, her half closed eyes flicking to the huge waterbed through double doors in the hotel room. Grinning like maniacs, the two of you wander in, throwing the doors closed...

You wake up alone, it’s close to two o’clock in the afternoon and you begin to feel used. Realising that you were probably nothing more than a groupie to her, a single tear runs down your cheek as you pull yourself out of the bed; fully remembering the activities of the night before, the beautiful musician who had seduced you now gone without a trace, or so you think.

As you head to the elevator, you see your saddlebag, notebook and the list of questions with your pencil placed neatly beside them. Flicking through the notebook to Vinyl’s “interview”, you find all of the questions answered by an obviously fully satisfied disk jockey, along with a personal note at the end;

Hey.
I’m sorry that I won’t be here when you wake up, I have another gig tonight and we need to make tracks to get to New Colt City on time for setup and sound check. I really enjoyed being with you last night, but you need to leave Cantering Rock. I want you to be my permanent publicist and the editor for a project I’ve been thinking about for some time that I call “New Music in Equestria”. Cantering Rock can have last night’s interview; I’m hoping you’ll find your way to NCC tonight for the second of many? Dumbbell and Squat-lift will be around to pick you up at three PM and I think there is a dragon in the lobby who can send your notes to Cantering Rock.
Love,
VS.

You smile deeply at the note whilst hastily scribbling a resignation for your boss at Cantering Rock, before taking the elevator down to the lobby and sending it. As you leave the building once again, you’re met by the two huge stallions that take you to your musical genius.

Fin.

<3 Coffeebean,

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