The studio walls were soundproof, but not all of the doors automatically swung shut. Pan Flash could hear things, through that little slit. She sat in the dressing room, a script laid out before her, but she wasn’t reading it. Instead, her ears were tilted up, straining for the faintest of sounds.

She heard soft words and ruffled feathers, and an indignant whine cut off by a sudden silence. Then, there was a steady cracking. Something was breaking—a hairbrush perhaps—something that was not made of bone but might have been in an earlier era. The sound alone was not enough to identify the object, but the cracking made it clear that whatever was breaking wasn’t a material that gave easily. It was something that fractured, and warped, and when it finally broke with a loud snap, it made a point.

Pan Flash’s expression changed quickly as she listened. First she was intent, face narrow and eyes ahead. Then her eyes widened, and she leaned forward in her chair, mouth open half a degree as she nearly pressed her ear to the door. Then, a smile appeared on her face, a hoof quickly rising to hide it. The smile rose and fell in cycles, coming and going five times in twice as many seconds, until finally Pan Flash sat up straight, and the smile remained.

Then there were hoofbeats, growing louder through the crack in the door, until finally it swung open and First Take pushed into the dressing room. She moved at a quick step, headed directly for her station, head down and eyes turned to the floor.

“Hey, First Take,” Pan Flash said, her tone cheerful and that bright smile still on her face. “What’s up? You and Barnstormer have a nice chat?”

First Take walked directly to her station, her saddlebags still left there from the morning prep. Her horn shone a pale blue and the bags unstrapped themselves, but the glow was discolored and unsteady, full of shifting blotches and points of light.

“You two,” Pan Flash waved a hoof, “talk about anything specific? Mmm?”

Still without a word, First Take fumbled through her bag. The already discolored light around her horn flickered on and off like a dying bulb as she rummaged through the contents of her bags, until finally she produced a small plastic pill bottle. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled with the lid, but the bottle drunkenly swung back and forth in space without opening. Finally, the light around her horn flickered out entirely, and the bottle fell, landing on the counter with a clatter.

She stared at the bottle for a moment, her expression blank. Then, she lifted a hoof to the countertop. Her legs shook like she was freezing, a stray hoof knocking the bottle across the counter. But she managed to catch it, and lowered her head, and fixed her teeth around the cap like an earth pony or a pegasus would. A sharp twist of her neck wrenched it open, and a good number of the pills scattered across the countertop. Ignoring the mess, she counted out two with a hoof, and swallowed them both.

Pan Flash stopped smiling. Her expression fell, and her ears tilted back, and she watched First Take. She watched First Take sink her head down into her hooves, and watched her try and fail to draw deep breaths through a shaking chest. At several points, she opened her mouth as though to speak, but each time she shut it again without a word. Her ears folded back, her legs tucked up against her, and still she watched.

First Take was made up for the day’s shoot, and so she looked a great deal like Rarity—not that the two had ever been terribly physically distinct. They both had the same snow white coat, the same bright blue eyes, and the same tall and agile build. Neither was quite thin, but that was only because a healthy confidence carried better than a twig’s demeanor. Both had long purple hair, invariably perfectly curled, and parted on the right side to flow around the line created by their horn. The only real difference was the cutie mark. That always got adjusted on set, and so where Rarity would have had three blue diamonds, First Take had a more elaborate design: two film reels, a length of steel chain spooled around them.

First Take’s makeup was also different. It was running around her eyes. Rarity’s makeup was always immaculate.

“Um…” Pan Flash asked, over the little uneven gasps of First Take’s breathing. “Are you okay?”

First Take turned, and fixed Pan Flash with an intense stare, her pupils wide but eyes narrow. With her chest as unsteady as it was, it took her a few tries to work up enough breath to speak. “You can…” she managed at first, pausing a moment before she went on, “be an idiot if you’re nice, because who doesn’t like that sweet mare up the way? Or if you’re sharp, you can be a bitch, and ponies will put up with you because you’re competent. But dumb bitch is not a great combination. You…” She wheezed again. “You might want to work on that.”

“Wh-?” Pan Flash pulled away, her ears shooting up. It took a moment for her to recover, and then her eyes narrowed, and her head lowered. “Hey! I’m just... trying to be nice. Don’t be so nasty all the time!”

“Or what? You’ll have your marefriend beat me up?” First Take rubbed at her jaw, her hoof traveling to her temples as she still struggled to breathe clearly. “Fight your own battles, coward. Or…” She assumed a light tone, despite the wheeze in her voice, “am I supposed to be impressed that you manipulated a damaged mare into thinking she’s your knight in shining armor? You were always pathetic, but I think this might actually be a new low for you.”

“Well F-!” Pan Flash caught herself, then stamped her hoof on the ground and rose. “Screw you! You want to be nasty to me all the time, fine! But don’t be surprised that everypony hates you because I never did anything to you! I’m sorry I’m not as good at this as you are. Not all of us have acting as our special talent, but you know, I’m trying!”

“No. You aren’t. You know how I know that?” First Take managed to force a deep breath without it being interrupted, and slowly let it out. After a moment, she regained enough composure to lift her head again, and to look Pan Flash in the eye. “Because I’m still here every night, practicing. I have trained, and watched my tapes, and reviewed, and studied, until midnight, every night since I was twelve. You go home at four to help your parents cook.”

She stretched out a hoof, the shaking much diminished. Her leg still wasn’t steady, but she managed to sweep the loose pills into a little pile on the counter, and after a few tries she got her horn to glow again. “If you’ve ever wondered why I take the time to tell you what a miserable waste of oxygen you are, that’s most of it,” she said, as one by one she put the loose pills back in their bottle.

“See, Deep Cover is a shitty actor.” She snapped the bottle top shut, sliding it into her bag. Her voice was remarkably steady, with only subtle notes of anger to show her feelings. “She was even worse than you when she started. Marginal talent, no gifts. But she wants it. She wants it bad enough to work for it, and a few thousand hours of practice later, I even kind of enjoy her. Star Power doesn’t practice much, but she doesn’t expect to be treated like an adult. Heavens help her, she actually enjoys acting. Just happy to be here, you know? Like a puppy.”

She slid the saddle bags over her shoulder and turned to face Pan Flash, who was still standing there with a wide-eyed, blank expression. “You, on the other hand, are the most miserable type of loser. The kind who manages to be arrogant about the fact that they’ve never succeeded at anything and never will. You can sit there and judge us for being all superior, while you sit there comfortable in your mediocrity. You fuck up a scene, you still go home at four, sit down with your oh-so-loving family and bitch about how the director was mean to you. I fuck up a scene? I get to sleep in the attic. And you think you’re better than me?”

“I—”

First Take’s hoof clapped against Pan Flash’s cheek. Her head jerked to the side with the impact, and the sound resounded around the room, a powerful and distinctive smack. Pan Flash froze there, eyes wide and pupils dilated, slowly raising a hoof to the distinctive horseshoe imprint forced into her cheek.

“You tell Barnstormer whatever you like. But you pick a fight, you’d best be prepared to win it.” First Take shook her head just so, a gentle motion. “I don’t think you got the guts.”

She turned and pushed open the door to the hall, pausing a moment with it half-open. “Oh,” she added, briefly looking back over her shoulder. “And my special talent isn’t acting. Just… FYI.”

Then she left.

Pan Flash stared at the door as she left. It was still open that little crack. And so Pan Flash reached up, and shut the door. Then she locked it, and settled back down in front of the mirror, and her eyes filled with tears. Her own makeup ran, and her own breath came in starts, and her ribs and hooves shook. Somepony knocked on the door and told her she was needed on set. She ignored them until they went away. She sat rigid and tried not to cry, feeble squeaks and brief whines escaping her as she scrunched up her entire face.

Then she drew in a sudden, sharp breath. She rose from where she stood, unlocked the door, and stalked out into the hallway. A quick step carried her out of the studio, onto the lot, and into the hedge maze of trailers that occupied the rear. Then to one trailer in particular. She lifted a hoof and swung in a swift motion to kick the door clear off his hinges and let her storm inside.

The door was sturdier than anticipated. Also it opened outwards. Pan Flash’s mighty blow resolving itself to more of a firm knock. She tried the handle next, but the door was locked.

She was still thinking of what to do next when the door opened, First Take just inside staring out at her. “What is it, Pan?” she demanded, with a tired voice.

Pan Flash straightened up, squeezed the tears out of her eyes, and held her spine straight the way Barnstormer did. “I’m sorry I had Barnstormer threaten to beat you up,” she said, her voice cracked and unsteady. “I didn’t suggest it. But I didn’t try very hard to stop her either. And even if you are an awful bitch two wrongs don’t make a right. So… I’m sorry! I’ll talk to her and tell her to apologize.”

First Take hesitated, tilting her head as she looked down at the pony outside her door. “Uh… good, I suppose. On your way then.”

The door glowed blue with her horn, and started to swing shut, but Pan Flash blocked it with her hoof. Sniffling loudly, she took a half step forward so her shoulder blocked the way. “What did you mean earlier about having to sleep in the attic?”

“I meant fuck off.” Her voice rose, and she glowered. The glow in her horn brightened, and Pan Flash soon glowed the same color. A power not her own picked her up off her hooves, and shoved her back several inches to clear the doorway. The glow around her faded, and First Take took the trailer door once again.

“You can talk to me about this,” Pan Flash said, raising her own voice in turn, “or I can talk to the police. And I may be a bad actor, but I bet I can manage, ‘And after she hit me, which is definitely assault, I saw her stash some white powder in her saddlebags. You should search her trailer.’”

The two of them stared at each other for some seconds that way. First Take’s face was still largely flat, her muted expression giving away little. She’d cleaned herself up, wiped away her makeup, and hidden the redness in her eyes. Pan Flash’s makeup was running, her eyes still watery, and not even her forcefully straight pose could hide a small tremor.

Eventually, First Take sighed. “Come on in, then.”

The inside of the trailer was a darkened mess, the smell of green tea and must heavy on the air. The couch was covered in old clothes, costuming, and assorted junk. The trash was overflowing and hadn’t been emptied in some time, the kitchenette in the back a crowded and dirty mess. There was a cot folded up in the corner, and next to it, a shelf full of neatly arranged awards. Pan Flash spotted the golden Equus award in the back, mostly hidden by a set of dirty cups. With the blinds drawn tight, the only light was a pale glow from a collection of TV’s, three of them resting on a small table. They were all playing episodes of some show or another. First Take was in all of the scenes.

“Holy…” Pan Flash rubbed at her eyes. “Are-are you living here?”

“Yes.” First Take shoved a collection of trash off the couch to clear space, letting it form a pile on the floor. “Only until my paycheck for the episode clears. Rent isn’t free and I haven’t got any money.” She gestured around vaguely. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t let the cleaning staff in because I worry they’ll talk to the tabloids.”

First Take gestured, and Pan Flash didn’t move. She gestured again, more firmly, and Pan Flash took her place on the couch, and First Take sat opposite her. Pan Flash was still teary, but her tears were slowing, and she wiped them away from her face. “How can you not have any money? You get paid, like… lots.”

“I turned eighteen last month. Happy birthday to me.” First Take let out a sharp breath, blowing a few strands of her mane out of her face. But Pan Flash kept staring, eyes wide and ears up. First Take held the look at first, but it didn’t take long for her to turn away and stare off into the corner. “That means,” she drew out the word, “that I haven’t been paid at all yet. My parents have gotten paid for my work for the last six years. But I haven’t been paid.”

“What…” Pan Flash drew in a loud sniffle. “What did you mean earlier? About having to sleep in the attic if you messed up a scene?”

“I meant that if I messed up a scene, my parents made me sleep in the attic.” First Take laughed a little. “Kind of self-explanatory really.”

“N-no. No!” Pan Flash lifted her head. “No, First, it’s not! That’s not okay! That’s child abuse! Not to mention super illegal.”

“True. But as a twelve year old, I generally found it difficult to argue my case before the magistrate.” First Take smiled for a moment, but the smile quickly faded. “In any case, it’s normal. Child actors don’t have a happy lot. I was lucky, in some ways.”

“No, First Take!” Pan Flash raised her voice, a new note of strain entering it. “That is not normal! And you were not lucky! How were you lucky!?”

“When Deep Cover made a mistake, her parents beat her with a sack of oranges.” First Take reached up to tap her cheek. “Doesn’t leave a bruise.”

“Bullshit.” Pan Flash’s breath came a little quicker, and for all its suddenness and volume, the word had less anger behind it than it might have.

First Take shrugged. “Ask her. Or if you want to be more circumspect, ask her what she thinks ‘loving family’ means. It’s like staring into a box full of knives and spiders.” She paused a moment. “She carries a gun, you know. Got it the day she turned eighteen.”

Pan Flash worked her jaw, once. Then again. No sound came out, and she looked away.

“I’m going to make some tea.” First Take stood up. “That always calms me down.”

She rose, and soon was rummaging about the kitchen. Pan Flash sat there in silence, and after a time, looked around the room. She looked at the pill bottles, and the costuming, and the scenes silently playing on the old television sets. “Is that why you’re such a… why you’re so nasty to me? Because your parents mistreated you?”

“No, I’m nasty to you because you’re a lazy, entitled, stupid whore and every time you vomit out your lines in front of the camera, you’re insulting my profession and insulting me.” Her words drifted back from the kitchen, a sharp spike of anger shoved in the middle of the otherwise calm sentence. “If you were merely talentless, that could be forgiven. A mare can’t help it if she’s born crippled. But you don’t even understand acting well enough to understand what you’re doing wrong.”

“I just play Pinkie Pie the way the director tells me to.” Pan Flash swallowed. “First, this isn’t about acting. This seriously isn’t okay. You can’t—”

“That’s the problem.” First Take raised her voice a moment, as the low rumble of boiling water carried out into the main room. “You try to play Pinkie Pie. Which is impossible, because Pinkie Pie doesn’t exist. She’s a fiction. An illusion. An image that exists to make the audience happy. Because for all her stuck-up pretentious drivel about the Method and that awful fucking accent, that is at least one thing that Deep Cover understands. Acting is selling emotions, and your job is to facilitate that transaction.”

Water poured, and ceramic clinked on the counter. Pan Flash leaned her head over, fast enough to see First Take dump something into one of the mugs and stir quickly. “But you don’t do that. You can’t see what the camera sees.” Her horn glowed, and she returned to the room, offering Pan Flash one of the two steaming mugs of tea she carried. “Because I want you to look at that. Right there.”

Her hoof pointed at one of the screens, where at that moment, it was showing a closeup shot of her as Kelly Canter, the other character’s hairstyle and makeup all that could tell her apart from Rarity at such an angle. “Look at the way I twitch my ears there. And the little eye movements. And tell me what emotion Ms. Canter is feeling there.”

Pan Flash looked at the screen, then back to First Take, drawing her muzzle back in a grimace before she finally answered. “She’s upset.”

“So, if I was upset,” First Take gestured at herself with a hoof, “I’d look down at my hooves and back. Flick my eyes just so. Work my jaw a little, like I’m having trouble getting the words out? All that?”

“I…” Pan Flash worked her jaw. Then abruptly, she snapped it shut, and First Take laughed.

“No,” First Take said. “Of course I wouldn’t. Because, real ponies can control their emotions and expression, to some extent or another, and they rarely care to wear their feelings on their sleeve. Real ponies hesitate because they have to think about what they’re saying, not just because they’re showing some underlying emotion. Real ponies make decisions for petty personal reasons, not the profound motivations the writers give us. Real ponies don’t act sad if they’re depressed, don’t rave if they’re insane, don’t slur their words if they’re drunk, and don’t lower their voices just because they’re doing something bad.”

She sipped her tea. “Barnstormer managed to threaten me with a perfectly cheerful tone, point in fact.” She swallowed again, her voice croaking a bit as her throat was suddenly dry. “And that’s the point, as it were. Reality is complicated and arbitrary, and audiences don’t like either of those things. Things they don’t like, they don’t watch. Thus, we are not here to portray real characters, but to conjure images that invoke the desired emotion. That send the signals we want to send. And sometimes, that means playing a character in a way that doesn’t quite make sense off camera, but…”

She flicked a hoof. “‘Off Camera’ doesn’t matter. If the camera doesn’t see it, it doesn’t exist. When you’re acting—real acting, not that dairy-induced bowel upset you produce—you always feel the camera on you. You know what it sees and what it doesn’t see. And you stop thinking about the truth, and start thinking about the illusion. Because the illusion is all that matters.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s great.” Pan Flash waved a hoof. “Whatever. But seriously, First Take. You can’t let your parents… rob you this way. Mistreat you and throw you out and act like nothing happened!”

“They didn’t throw me out. I left. I told them I didn’t want to give up all my acting money anymore and… well. It’s not like I was paying rent, was it? I was evicted fair and square.” She shrugged. “That’s just how some parents treat their children.”

“No it isn’t!” Pan Flash’s voice rose to a shout, her ears and tail coming up as she leaned forward. “It’s not…” Her hoof beat on the couch cushions as she struggled for the words. “It’s not normal First Take! That’s not okay! And the fact that somepony else’s parents were even worse doesn’t make it right! Parents are supposed to love their children.”

“My parents love me.” First Take said, her voice quiet. “It’s important to teach a young mare to have standards. Or she won’t grow up to be anything at all.” Silence followed that. Pan Flash slowly pulled away, saying nothing and never breaking her stare.

In one large gulp, First Take finished her entire mug of tea, tossing the mug to the nearest flat surface. “In any case,” she wiped the overflow from her jaw. “The same logic applies. The camera never once saw anything that might be described as mistreatment. It’s a different lense, mind, but a lense all the same. I had a bedroom, that to all reasonable appearances was well lived in. As a minor, I was a legal ward of my parents, and the money was placed in their care. For my benefit, nominally, but they were always careful to provide the very best for their child. The best acting tutors, the most bribable night schools, and hot and cold flowing antidepressants.”

She croaked for a moment, and then a small burp escaped her, a distinctive odor of green tea coming up with it. She smiled, and even laughed a little. “And even if I wanted to, what could I do? My childhood is gone and I don’t think a magistrate can conjure it back. And the money is gone too. It’s all been spent on expensive tastes. What’s done is done, so what would I have to gain?”

“You could send them to jail.”

“Ah, revenge! Of course.” She thumped a hoof against her forehead—the first part of a rather flowery gesture. “How silly of me to forget. They hurt my feelings, so I can have the police come and send them to jail. But tell me, after I hurt your feelings, and you got your just due, did that make you feel better? Did seeing another suffer soothe the pain? Worth the effort?”

“That is not even close to the same thing.” Pan Flash’s tone was distant, though her eyes remained focused on the pony across from her. “First Take, I-I can’t let this go. I just can’t. I’ve got to go to the police.”

“If you do, I’ll deny everything.” First Take shrugged. “You’ll notice there’s no bruise on your cheek, because I know how hard you can hit an actor. Nopony heard our conversation about my parents. By the time you can get to a phone, there will be no illegal pharmaceuticals in this trailer. And there’s no physical evidence whatsoever to draw upon.”

She reached out for her empty teacup, examining the dregs to see if there was any more there. “The only reason I’m even entertaining your cute little attempt at blackmail is that I don’t want to have another chat with the director about how your precious feelings got hurt. The camera didn’t see it. Which means it didn’t happen. Not that we’re letting it slide, or trying to explain it away. There’s nothing to explain, because it doesn’t exist. You understand?”

“No.” Pan Flash’s voice was rough at the edges, and she rubbed at her nose with the back of a hoof. “I don’t understand at all. That isn’t right.”

“Well, sadly, the world doesn’t require you to understand in order for it to exist.” She stared at Pan Flash, her eyes a little unfocused, her expression duller than it had been. “And in any case, if you start an unpleasant conversation with the director, I will be forced to punish you.”

Pan Flash sniffled, playing with her hooves for a moment as her eyes went all over the room, looking for something uncertain. “What…” she asked. “Is it all this bad? For everypony?”

“Well…” First Take hesitated a moment, biting her lip. “Barnstormer’s parents seem alright. Then again, they don’t have to do much. She pressures herself to distraction without their help. And, of course, Star Power is the most blessed of us all. Sweet child.”

“Oh…” Pan Flash swallowed. “That’s good.” The comment earned her a sharp glare, and she quickly added. “I mean, good that they’re okay. You said this was normal, and I just thought…”

“It is normal.” First Take snorted.

“Right, sure.” Pan Flash played with her hooves for a moment as her eyes went all over the room, looking for something uncertain. “What…” she asked, when her eyes were somewhere near First Take. “What does your cutie mark mean? I never really looked at it before now. I just assumed it was for acting.”

First Take smiled, her expression a tad unsteady and rounded at the edges. “Just noticing that now, are we?” She let out a breath, and her head went down to the couch. “Cinematography. I wanted to be a camera operator. Framing the shots, setting up the blocking, managing the lighting, all that. That’s the significance of it, you see? Film spools and a chain. What the camera,” she jerked a hoof into the air, miming struggling against some unseen restraints, “captures.”

Her smile brightened, but the glaze in her eyes was more noticeable, not starting at Pan Flash so much as through her. “Never let anyone tell you that they don’t believe in prophetic naming. It’s all set in motion, on that day we get named. And worse, fate has a sense of humor.”

Silence hung in the trailer for a time, before First Take scrunched up her brow, and stared closely at Pan Flash. “Why do you care what my cutie mark means?”

“I don’t. Or… I don’t know. I was just curious. I…” She took a breath, and straightened up. “You should come back with me tonight after work. My family will have you over.”

First Take let out a loud snort. “I literally cannot go five minutes without pointing out what a miserable bitch you are and you want to put me in front of your oh-so-precious little G-rated siblings?”

Pan Flash swallowed. “Yeah.”

A little breath escaped First Take, and she turned her head away, staring off into the corner of the room. “You’re a fucking idiot,” she eventually managed.

“Yeah. Sure.” Pan Flash gave a small nod. “I’m coming around to that realization. But, I’m serious. I want to have you over.”

“No.” Her hooves brushed the couch cushions. “I’m busy.”

“Tough.” Pan Flash needed a moment after that, taking time to square her shoulders and reinforce her straight pose. “I’ll pick you up at four, after the last shot.”

“I said-”

“I heard you. You have a busy schedule of watching your tapes, getting high, and crying. Well, too bad!” She thumped a hoof on the couch. “It can wait a day. You’re going to come back with me at four, you’re going to get fed some real food, and hopefully you can keep the profanity and insults to a minimum.”

“You’re emulating Barnstormer’s body language.” First Take let out a derisive snort. “What, are you two actually fucking each other or something?”

Before Pan Flash could answer, a loud knock came at the trailer door. Then there was another voice, an angry voice, demanding to know where they were. It said things about how they were needed on set, and the difficulty of hunting them down, and that the director and the crew and the other cast members were just waiting around.

Both of them ignored the new voice. Pan Flash held her stare. First Take’s ears faltered, pulling back a few degrees, and her tail tucked up under her. “I wouldn’t know…” She looked away, and managed a sharp, “Fine, whatever. If it’ll get you to leave me alone.”

Rising from her couch, First Take stalked out of the trailer, kicking open her door and vanishing to sight. Pan Flash hesitated a moment, looking around the trailer, and at a slower pace, followed her.