As our machine minds take over, we do not care about the misery of those who do not look like us. Nor do we let ourselves feel as we rip the lives out of the innocent families across Equus, merely because they look like our enemies. If you stopped and you listened, and you spoke to those you hate and despise, you would find that not all of them want harm to befall you. Most simply want to live without fear, just like you. Unfortunately, they are without a voice to give them hope.

~The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 027 - First Ascension (Part One)

I knew the first ascension that I would witness would be difficult after all the scraps of information I had gathered from around the Stable. Even so, I did not truly appreciate how impactful the moment would be, or contemplate that Gypsy, Elmwood, and even Mole would have their worlds rocked by the climax of this Seven Day Rule.

Knowing that the ascensions had been taking ponies on an unknown path for a decade was half the battle. Doing something about it? That was a whole other task completely and back then we were all unfit to resolve it. Telling any of us we were out of our league, with the foresight of what followed after those first few weeks would have changed nothing. We were all on a path set by our morals, our desires, our greed, and our pasts. There was no swaying from it.

When the time came, we would all have our parts to play in the battles for Stable T-Thirty, the dwellers and the outsiders. The first ascension, however, was only the beginning...

“Mellow Melody. Is it a ‘yes’ from you or a ‘no’?” Hot Shot had posed the question to his fellow judge. I hadn’t immediately seen the gleam of jealousy in her beady eyes, or else I would have been warned of what was to follow. I hadn’t taken into account that this goddess of the Stable still did not look upon me as her equal after the strength of my act.

“No,” she said, killing the hopeful spark inside me with a single bolt.

She pushing her tongue into her cheek before she started to beat me down with criticisms. “The singing was bland. You were too focused on performing-- No, I’m sorry, that’s not the right word. You were too focused on DOING a song, and not making it an enjoyable experience for everypony. Flying in the middle of the song was really unprofessional, yeah, you alienated the rest of us and made me want to quit listening halfway through. So sorry, hunny, it’s a ‘no’ from me.” Her last comment was said with a poisonous smile and a careless giggle, which echoed through the quiet auditorium.

Not a word from the crowd was said. I had been destroyed. My attention diverted to the mare with the big mane between her and Hot Shot who had seemed so nice before I’d sung, asking voicelessly for her to save me. To my horror, I discovered her nodding and agreeing with my new enemy.

“My girl Mel-Mel has a point,” she confirmed, “it’s a ‘no’ from me this time around but listen to Mellow’s advice and you’ll go far.” Flabbergasted, I finally looked to Hot Shot. Surely, I had assumed, he would be on my side since he had pushed me into performing on his stage. My hopes picked up as he gave a flash of disappointment to his colleagues and tapped on the table in impatience.

“I never disagree with Mellow, she has a perfect ear for music and she knows talent. I’m sure if you wanted tutorship in the future she would gladly offer her services?” He leaned into the table to look to Melody.

“No,” she responded as though it was the only word she knew how to say. Hot Shot shrugged and came back to me.

“We’ll talk about that, Lady Griffon, but for now it is a ‘no’ from all of us. Enjoy the rest of your day.” With that cheerful signing off went my hopes of winning.

I stared at him in disbelief for a moment, examining him for the slightest hint that he was joking. He was not. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and a small part of myself encouraged me to make my way off of the stage as I was being instructed to do. I knew I’d just been saved from an uncertain fate, but something else in me did not want to end this in such an unsatisfying way.

The louder part of my conscious brain called for action. I wanted, nay, needed to be praised for my bravery and strength. I needed to be congratulated. With the stronger mental cry succeeding the cerebral war, I jumped from the stage to their table, slammed my talons through their judging desk and squawked fiercely into their faces.

“WHAT THE BUCK! Yer paying me in cats, you bastards! Didn’t you hear me? I was amazin’! I was the minotaur’s tits! Gerroff me!” Poxy had run out from backstage and grabbed me, pulling me away from the startled crowd as best as she could. Other members of stage security joined her to get me away from the bewildered judges, tugging me towards the exit.

“I’ll show you, Mellow Melo-doaty! Yer maw’s got bawbags an’ yer dad LOVES IT! GERROFF ME!” I managed the final insult before I was hauled away from the dazzling beams of the stage into the darkness behind it. The previously shocked gasps in the audience gave way to a wave of applause, laughter, and cheers, inflaming my fury further. They were pleased with my treatment? I wanted to burst back out and call them all out on their farce of a competition, snapping my beak at the heavys heaving me away.

It wasn’t clear to me whether the door the muscle ponies found to push me through was planned or whether they shoved me into the first room they could find. Either way, I was forced inside with a shove of magic, and Poxy swiftly scampered inside as well before the guard stood in the way. His chin raised above us and he stomped his hoof with authority.

“You’ll stay here to calm down, ma’am. Hot Shot will see you after the final contestants have been seen.” As he stepped back, the door slammed with an unseen force and a waxy bubble of light formed between us and our exit. It did not stop me from attempting to barge, slash and snap at the field in order to make way for our escape but it did no good. The cloudy membrane of energy would not let me pass, and I doubted it would let my cellmate through either regardless of the fact that she did not try. I pressed my entire body against the impossible shield and screamed out every curse I could summon until logical words reached my beak.

“You tell Hot Shot I hope his next shite’s a hedgehog! Ye cannee trick me into fuckin’ aboot on stage for the entertainment of you and yer leatherface’d hoe, yer bass! You wunnay get away wi’ this!” I could have gone on screaming like this for hours, I’d been known to do so in the past. Once, back in the Wastelands, I startled a scavenger before I could rob him and the bastard shot me in the leg. I was still able to chase him on wing into a shed and pin him there. I gave him a loud piece of my mind until nightfall and in the end, I took all of his bandages for the hole in my leg as well as half of what he owned. Charitably, I sent him away with only a busted jaw and a slapped reddening flank. This time, however, I was stopped after several calls from Poxy.

“Hey, Double G...”

“Let us out of this buckin’ broom closet right now!”

“CROW!” I jumped back and spun around, fully prepared to give her an earful for interrupting my self-righteous yelling at the omnipresent Hot Shot. Instead, I followed the direction of her pointing hoof into the rest of the room and, as was becoming a regular occurrence in this stable, mewled in shock.

The room was one of the most interesting I’d seen so far. It was a home of sorts, almost as lavish as the pad Mr Shot gifted to his singing stars, with the same furnishings and lighting no doubt picked as standard from the Stable-Tec ‘one size fits all’ catalog. There was seating, a large bed, a dining table set with plates, cups, and cutlery for four, and a personal bar. A quick walk around the kitchen area revealed that it was fully stocked with fresh drinks and food as well. Surprisingly, half of the walls in this room were made from the exposed rock of the cavern, proving to me that Stable T-Thirty wasn’t endless after all. The stone had been sculpted to ensure it did not limit the space of the room and then, to truly set this apartment out among the rest, had been carved on with an intricate design.

“This is one of the nicer buckin’ broom closets I’ve been in,” snorted Poxy, poking at several of the ornaments and spinning a globe of the world. Equus really is round, who knew? “Why’d you think they tossed us into this little treasure trove if they wanted us-- well, you-- to just chill out?” While I was shrugging and confessing that I hadn’t got a clue, the mare was fishing into her pocket, pulling out a tin of Mint-als and popping a couple into her mouth. After a few chews, a spark seemed to zip through her, like the visual effect of a caffeine shot through her nervous system. “They want you to feel valued, my little dove.”

“Eugh,” I grimaced, “never call me that again.” My focus on her was reduced by half as I got closer to the carving in the wall, taking more interest in the elaborate pattern. Poxy continued regardless.

“This isn’t a jail cell. They’re gonna butter you up like a string of rabbit sausages and stick you in their pan to sizzle for them.” I felt my eye roll coming before I gave it. When Poxy was on her own little Mint-al enhanced planet, she withdrew into a language of metaphors and similes that rarely made sense to me. Whatever she was trying to figure out on my behalf was of little importance there and then, the engraved wall had captured my curiosity above everything else.

These words named the etching of a magnificent tree, it’s branches filled with more leaves than I’d seen on any of the sickly trees in the Wasteland. Between the foliage hung gems, set into the wall, although they were more likely to be glass made to look like gems. Finding real crystals, gemstones, and gold in this day and age was as likely as Elmwood turning into a charming prince. The rainbow glass shards conceived the look of succulent, colorful fruit hanging in the tree, each bearing markings upon them. I quickly deciphered names written below the jewels, although at first, I did not see any that I recognized.

“Is this a list of ponies who lived here, or died here, or something?” I asked my associate. She clopped a bit closer, then hopped up to study some of the names, scuttling over it like a trapped and confused mirelurk. After a brief examination, she slipped away and blew the fallen mane out of her eyes.

“Looks like a family tree, goes back about nine generations. My guess is the ponies up there lived long before this place was even a hole in the ground I bet.” She pointed to the tallest part of the tree, and I followed her gaze.

“Why?”

“Someone wanted to remember their past.” She gave a derisive snort and added, “must be nice,” before seeming only then to notice the bed. “Alright, Double-G, grab something naughty from the fridge and join me on that. I want to see how sticky we can get before your new friend turns up to claim you.”

Watching Poxy’s rear wiggle tenaciously in my direction made the boulder of guilt weighing down my gut grow a little heavier. I’d done it once, out of inebriation, but now I had the information I needed from her. I didn’t need or want to do it again. I had Mole.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she clambered onto the bed and posed lewdly, staring with eccentric eyes at me. The tossing of her combed and washed tail revealed scars she never discussed, too clean and straight to have come from the same creature that killed her daughter and lover. The sight reminded me that no amount of clean water, soap and makeup would hide who and what she was inside, and sent a shiver through my wings.

“Poxy, I’m not in the mood for sex,” I grunted, avoiding the question of how she knew what was in the fridge at all without having looked inside it herself. I reached in, retrieved two bottles and checked the labels. Lucky Clover’s Draught beer, not my first choice of drink but not the absolute worst. That honor was held by Punch alla Bacca, bottled wine that held the distinct taste of vomit before you’d even had chance to throw it back up. Clover’s might not have had the strength of Apple Whiskey but at least it was refreshing and buzzed the senses nicely when enough had been downed.

I lowered the bottles and found Poxy’s face mere inches behind them. She had removed herself from the bed and hurried up to me at such a pace that I had to wonder whether there was still Dash in her system.

“Are you not in the mood for sex, or are you still holding out hope that the little brown mouse you’ve been tagging around with will always believe you are a model stable dweller? Do you think you and her are going to skip away merrily into a buckin’ rainbow?” She cocked her head to one side and intensely stared at me with eyes that darted over the features of my face. A sigh involuntarily left my chest and I sagged, clapping the bottles down on the closest sideboard.

“Pox, I--” I tried to argue back, but she anticipated what I was going to say next as though she’d had the conversation before and remembered what was coming.

“Yep. You don’t like me like that. You think so little of me that you believe I didn’t buckin’ figure that out a long time ago? I’m not a buckin’ moron. But don’t kid yourself, Crow. You’re nothing like her, you’ll never be anything like her, and someday she’s going to figure that out and go bouncing away to find herself a stallion instead.”

“She is not like that--” My growl was spoken over again, Poxy believing in the ‘wisdom’ her minty pills had shown her.

“She doesn’t have to be.” She collected her own beer and walked across the room to the Melody family tree, using one of the grooves to pop the cap which she promptly pocketed. I watched her sip in stony silence, my anger increasing but my head still clear enough to want to hear her reasoning behind this belief. I was rewarded with her explanation when she’d taken a dose of her bottle.

“You’re a raider. You’ve killed ponies for a meal and she hasn’t. I’m not going to be the one to tell her, but Crow, you are your own worst buckin’ enemy. You’re more likely to buck that up and tell her on your own, and if you don’t, somepony else will. Eye Dance? Gypsy? Buck, I am willing to put bits down it’ll be that bastard Elm.”

“So?” I shot at her, “I’ll change. I won’t kill anypony or steal from anypony ever again. I’ll be just like her.”

“And if you do, what then?” She fired back, “you think ponies here will let you two live in harmony? Haven’t you heard?” She chuckled mercilessly as she prepared her new round of ammunition. “This Stable has a shitty little rule about colt-cuddlers and filly-foolers. No ponies of the same gender can fall in love. There’s a rhyme for it they teach in buckin’ schools, for buck sake! It’s not just a dislike of the same sexes bumping bits, they are serious on this shit in here.” She turned away from me with that last round, making a dangerous mistake to pay more attention to the tree than me.

“As soon as anypony gets wind of what you two are doing, they’ll come down on you two like a pair of horny slavers. Whiskey was telling me--” Unfortunately, I did not hear what Whiskey had told Poxy. I was too busy snatching her, hoisting her up against the cold stone mural and pinning her there, where I could screech furiously into her face. The bottle of beer fell from her grasp and shattered across the floor, spilling fermented liquid and icy shards over the squares of metal.

“Shut the fuck up, you dirty, thick twot! You’re right, I don’t give a cap’s worth of shit about you! I jus’ stuck around yer roost an’ kept you sweet to get a share of the supplies an’ security yous were hoardin’. If I wanted to stuff my face in a muff as minging as yours, I’d find a buckin’ ghoul.” I wanted to scream more, but something snagged in my throat and stopped me. If it hadn’t, I do not think the red mist clouding my vision would have cleared to see the state of Poxy’s face. She was not hurt, not physically at least, but there was genuine fear and grief in her pale eyes, more emotion than I’d ever cared to notice in them.

“W-Well, at least we’re being buckin’ honest with each other now,” she managed to whisper bitterly, for once not enlightened by the countless Partytime Mint-als she’d taken thus far. I let her down before she lost the wind in her lungs and listened to her cough one up. Backing away, I could not trust her enough to turn my back, knowing that whatever she believed she felt for me wouldn’t stop her doing something rash. She propped herself up against the wall, wheezing and staring at me with a similar look. A pain pulsed in my hind foot, which turned out to be a nasty cut resulting from some glass I’d trodden in.

“So, where do we go from here?” I collected my beer with a swipe and used a claw to pop the cap, letting it roll across the room to freedom. Ignoring the foam cloud instantly drifting over the neck of the bottle and across my talons, I proceeded to drink the whole thing in one go. Poxy didn’t immediately answer, eyeing my quaffing with a dark stare, huffing steadily. Although I managed to drain the bottle by the time the energy barrier on the door depleted, she hadn’t reached a conclusion.

Hot Shot was talking the moment the gateway opened before he’d put a hoof through the threshold.

“That was one of the best performances I’ve ever--” He halted, looking down at the smashed remains of the Lucky Clover’s draught soaking the floor, some of which he’d stepped into upon entering. He found the closest dry spot of the room then took out a handkerchief from a pocket. We watched him dab at his hooves before passing the sodden article to his associate tiptoeing nervously behind him. Punch had to urgently put down a red case in order to take it. “After that show, I expected a little more damage here, but I see you managed to reserve yourself nicely.”

“Buck you and buck your show,” I snapped, anger, alcohol and ill-timing building rage inside me greater than a hundred stampeding radscorpions, “you and those twots you sat with are a bunch o’ lyin’ arsewipes who made me look like a wanker out there! You sold me cats, and you buckin’ know it.”

“Now, I’m sorry if it seemed that way, Crowella, but I assure you that was not our intention. We only want the best for you.” There were ponies in the Stable who would and had fallen for the slimy stallion’s slick delivery, but I was determined not to be one of them. I wanted to break noses, and regardless of his hired goons, I was eager to make his snout top of the list. I advanced.

“Oh, you wanted the best for me, eh? That’s nice!”

Leaping on my last word, two things happened in swift conjunction. I was stopped in midair with my fist clenched tight, my eyes locked on the orange nostrils I wanted to make red. However, I only had a split second to find myself hovering, magic halting me inches away from my desired target before a fast-moving grey object zipped in between me and Shot. It impacted my chest, ricocheting me across the room. The force was enough to make the pain burn in my ribs before I’d finished sliding.

Croaking like a toad, I partially lifted myself to make out the figures blocking Hot Shot through my watery vision. While the unicorn paid to guard Hot Shot powered down the shining light around his horn, Poxy’s hind legs lowered back down from the buck she’d delivered to me. The colorless mare I’d once let boss me around took a step towards me, but Hot was the unlikely savior to save me from a further thrashing.

“Back down now, all of you,” he ordered firmly, and Poxy gave a feeble nod as she slunk back to the end of the room. The other pony merely took a stance beside him, ready to deflect any other shot I had against the contest judge, but he could have played a long game of one-o and I would have still been out for the count. I had no idea Poxy’s skinny frame had the tenacity in it to buck me as hard as had and her blow had left my wrong-footed and in pain. “I don’t want to fight, Crow. I want us to be friends. Do you know how to be a friend, Crow?” I tried to look menacing, but with the throbbing ache through my breast, I could only grimace. Speaking back was a challenge I wasn’t prepared to attempt.

“Could one of you provide our Lady Griffon with some assistance?” Hot Shot eventually enquired when he realized that I was not going to be much use to him in my dazed and upset state. “Ah, of course, Fruit Punch. If you’d be so kind?” I flinched, even as Hot Shot’s less-burly assistant was the one to hurry over to me with a bright purple vial of medicine. Trying to stop him pouring the potion down my throat long enough to let me look at it proved mostly futile, as I only managed one quick view of the vivid color before he was convincing me to drink it. I slogged the liquid, and as soon as the lip of the bottle left my lips and the cork returned to it, the pain dulled and was a mere memory in seconds. The magic not only warmed my torso but my foot as well, the slash now closing up to leave a red mess as the only evidence of there ever being an injury there.

“There, is that better?” Regardless of my recovery, I was still in no mood to answer Hot Shot’s question while Fruit Punch moved hastily out of our way. My eyes told him exactly how I felt, and he nodded in odd understanding. “I am not your enemy, Lady Griffon, and I hoped that by giving you the Amulet of Coloratura as a welcome gift to my mentorship, I would have proved that my interest is to see you succeed here.”

Coloratura? My cursed brain took longer than it ought to have to recognize the name. Seconds later, I quickly delved into my Stable suit for the trinket to see if I could find any evidence that linked his revelation to the truth.

“Oh, thank goodness. It was not damaged,” said a relieved Punch upon seeing it, while I cradled the pendant around in my claws without removing it. I didn’t want to remove the amulet, it felt like I would be giving away a piece of treasure I’d worked my whole life for, so I ensured it stayed around my neck as I examined it.

All I had to go on from the front was the polished gold star and its colorful musical notes design, but that wasn’t the only mark on the precious metal. In the haste of the amulet being slapped upon me before I was tossed onto the stage, I had forgotten what I’d spied on the back until Hot Shot advised me to flip it around. Turning it over, I found the inscription, and this time read it aloud.

For a brief moment, I was transported back into my memories of the Stable museum before all Tartarus broke loose, recalling the display of the very first ascension. I could see the picture of the mare with the pink bow in her mane who won the very first contest. I could hear the recording of her friend welcoming the Minstrel as a poor memory of the departed mare. I could remember the names of those two ponies. Coloratura. Songbird.

My mind took me further still into the past, to the old records my Pa used to play when I was a chick. He would tap one of the ancient vinyl discs, grinning like a fool.

“The Secret Sisters, Ella. These lassies have the pipes t’ make a poor Trots laddie like me weep,” he would chuckle, placing the ebony plate on the turntable as delicately as if it were one of his children. “Soprano is sweet enough, but I have a soft place in my heart for Serenade,” he’d admitted many times, before placing the needle on the groove and letting the songs play out. We wouldn’t sing raucously to those tunes, as we would to others. These songs were to be listened to while paying homage to their singers. His favorite song had been ‘Stop’, while my favorite was always ‘The Magic Inside’.

The sensation of a cuddle awoke me. They reminded me of the kind Molasses would give me, but I found that whatever was being wrapped around me came from an invisible presence when I returned from reminiscence. No horn was lit and no pony was near enough to hold me. I shuddered as I turned the pendant back over and let the melodic design hang in front of my chest. My blue feathers breathing through the yellow lined gap of the half-opened suit behind it and it felt good to feel less-stuffy air on them once more. The phantom hug relented after a few seconds, and I was left wondering whether I’d felt it at all or just imagined it.

“I’m wearing something that used to belong to Rara, the singer?” I murmured, glancing sidelong at the orange stallion still trying to win me over. He nodded calmly and brushed back some of the greased black mane which had fallen out of place in the heat of the moment. He walked towards the wall engraving, allowing me to catch sight of Poxy when he moved out of the way. Our glances clashed and I saw the simmering annoyance for me in her eyes, but she quickly turned her head to avoid my view into the dead pools. ‘Good,’ I thought, still rubbing the marks on my suit from where her hind hooves had hit me, ‘she’s not going to get away with that, and she knows it. I’ll make her my chanty pot soon as this shite for brains is done yammering.’

It was likely that she wasn’t hiding her face from me. She could have been rubbing her head to deal with the come-down effects of Dash and Partytime Mint-als. However, somewhere in the darkest reaches of my mind, I wanted the reason to be that she was afraid of me.

“You’ve no doubt seen this, Crow,” Hot Shot insisted I took a place beside him to look up at the stone tree, tapping a name five generations up from the bottom. I did so, then looked to the gem fixed above it, and finally compared the design to my amulet.

The image on the gem and my pendant were a match. I was wearing the cutie mark of Rara around my neck, and she had seen fit to share her voice with me. I couldn’t imagine what had begun to make me worthy of such an honor.

“How’d you get this?” I had to ask, my confusion pushing back my anger at Hot Shot for the time being. He gave a smile that he might have wanted to seem kind, but there was a distinct lack of crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes and no dimples on his cheeks. I knew I still had to be wary of the protected stallion.

“Inheritance,” he explained. His hoof slid across the rough cold epitaph to Rara’s family legacy until it came to two names at the bottom. I read them, and immediately identified the titles and cutie marks planted at the lowest branch of the tree.

And beside her name…

“You are a married couple,” I first surmised, although his mirthful snort indicated that it was an incorrect assumption.

“Siblings do not mate, even here,” he responded with a teasing tone, patting me on my back, “Mellow is my sister, older by a single year.”

“You told me you made her,” I squinted at the wall of names, feeling the two facts dueling each other and fracturing the cells in my brain. “You said that on the very first day that we met.”

“And I did,” he responded confidently, patting his hoof on the wall to the monogram above the names of himself and his sister. “My mother showed me our family heritage here before her ascension, and when my sister was old enough to understand what we had, I showed her as well. I encouraged her and sponsored her talents, and soon the rest of the Stable saw what a beautiful singing voice she had given by our long lost relative. They didn’t just want to see her perform for a place in the ascension, they wanted to see her in the weeks between the ‘Seven Day Rules’ as well. We put on her first large concert in the Stable Gardens nine years ago and she’s been a star of the Stable ever since. I have created the careers of artists such as Black Cherry, and the King, ~buuut~ Mellow will always be my first, my best, my Canterlot Castle.”

“Moving Melody,” I read aloud. It was the name written in stone that Shot had rested his hoof beside, and I expected him to take a moment to reflect on the pony he called mother. Instead, he stepped away proudly and, like a foal pointing at things to proved they knew something about the world around them, he directed his hoof to the necklace I wore.

“That enchanted heirloom you are wearing from my great, great grandmother has the ability to gift the most horrible singer with a fantastic voice. I think we’ve proved that this afternoon with you, have we not?” He ignored my growl to watch it and carried on. “What it cannot create is that explosive personality that you showed on stage after your audition. The ‘Bad Griffon’ attitude was so intense and fresh and different that you became an instant hit with our audience. They were begging for more.”

“They were laughing at me!” I pointed to the door, which seemed to me to be the only thing stopping the Stable dwellers beyond it from ridiculing me further.

“Yes, but that was because you were entertaining them. They had never seen anything like that, Crow, and they loved it. They loved you.”

Somehow, his last words had a profound effect on me. An immense sense of pride filled the center of my chest, spreading outwards until I was practically glowing. Somewhere in my thick skull, a little voice was asking why I had gone from feeling nothing but contempt for this stallion to bathing in his praise, yet a louder and more convincing voice told me not to worry about it. I liked it, didn’t I? I was loved, so why should I worry about petty arguments I couldn’t control? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what my complaint was with Hot Shot anymore, but I furrowed my brow in a vain attempt to hide that from him.

“I am willing to let you continue to wear that amulet right up to your ascension,” he told me, turning away from the family tree and trotting in Poxy’s direction, “and never fear any pony hearing you screech like a night creature from beneath the Stable during every song. All I need from you is one thing. A very simple, small thing that I’m sure a griffon from the outside world could manage.”

“Oh, aye?” I grunted, flicking my eyebrow up cockily at him, already tucking the pendant into my suit away from his sights and zipping it away again. “And what would that be? Do ye want me to distribute your drugs like a wee mule, sing and shake my tail like a bonny whore, sign a contract and become a… Well, act like your sister?” As surely as I was tempted to say it, I couldn’t tell him his sister was a greedy, overrated trollop who needed a smacked arse more than she needed an ascension. The amulet was giving me my new voice, and I wanted that more than I wanted to upset him. When he paused, I was concerned that he had read my thoughts.

“Partially, yes, but nothing near as crude as how you describe it, Crow.” He turned about, a dangerous twinkle in his smileless eyes. “I want you to be greater than all of my acts put together, including Mellow. I want you to use your… Hm, let’s say ‘wild and rebellious’ nature acquired from the world beyond the Stable. Let your outspoken determination, your aggression, and your Storm-King-may-care attitude take you places and make your name even more popular than ever. Most of all, I want to see you rubbing shoulders with the Overstallion and his council. I want you to relish that gift you have.” Massaging my beak slowly, I shrugged as it seemed as though he had come to the end of the shpiel, agreeing in part that it sounded easy enough for a MacRural.

“So you’re saying, don’t do anything different and I’ll be a star? It sounds like ponies love me for my attitude more than my singing, and I can do that without you, Hot Shot.”

“You're not wrong,” he made his way back to me, his snout inches from my beak, his smile starting to seem a whole lot more real now. “But without me, you would just be a celebrity, the way my sister is content to just be a celebrity. I would have you be something far more important; the right-hoof griffon to the Overstallion.”

“You’d make me Overlook’s personal bitch?” My disconcerted look gave him something to snigger at, and he was pleased to tell me I had misunderstood him. He took a moment to demand somepony clean the mess of spilled beer up, pointedly staring out Fruit Punch until the pony fetched a mop. With his PA hard at work cleaning, Shot strolled across the room to the large globe of Equus, revealing the top opened up to provide the best of my preferred liquor inside.

“Overlook has spent longer in office than he ever should have,” he advised me, pouring a whiskey for himself, me and finally Poxy, who was cautious as she trotted over to retrieve it. I gave her another killer glare while the judge continued. “His predecessor and their predecessor ascended in half the time that he has been in charge. It has led many to speculate that he has something to do with the blackouts, the strange occurrences in the Stable lately, all of it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be one of those ponies, would you, Mr Shot?” I let my amber eyes glance over at him as I sipped my drink.

“I have every faith that our Overstallion does what is right for the Stable,” he stated, triggering every single bullshit detection alarm my mind had available to activate. I smiled privately and let him proceed. “But do you not see how stale and unimaginative our Stable is becoming compared to your world beyond the gate?” He closed the lid of the drinks cabinet and spun it slowly, his eyes gazing over the turning world with a hint of his deeper ambitions glowing behind his pupils. “I believe a fresher face in the office could liven this Stable up, make it a shining beacon in Equestria, as Canterlot once was. The pony that could take over from him might even make Equestria great again...”

“And… Who do you have in mind to take up that great wee challenge?” I asked pointlessly, as I knew the answer yet needed to hear it from Hot Shot’s own lips.

“There’s only one pony I see with that imagination and determination. One pony who I see leading this Stable into a new age when I close my eyes, Crow. Me, wearing that red cape proudly, standing above everypony with you and Mellow by my sides.” The thrumming walls never felt more claustrophobic to me as they did at that moment. Not only did they have ears, but I was also convinced that there were eyes between the matt-metal sheets and mouths eager to report this accidental treachery back to Procrustean and his lackeys. The droning sound of the pumps and machines in the vents supplying the oxygen, water, and atmosphere to this Stable grew like a headache. It filled my ears with rubber and my skull with concrete until my eyes hurt and breathing was difficult.

“I want you to be there, Crow,” Hot Shot was ignorant to the humming I was drowning in, and seemingly confused that I’d stood speechless for so long. He could not stand in silence for a long time, it seemed to bother him. “I want you because… I don’t know. It feels like you should be destined for something greater than the world has allowed you so far. You should stand tall above the other ponies in this Stable with me. You’re the most powerful creature I’ve ever met, you’re brilliant.”

The ceaseless grumble moved back into obscurity behind the walls and the unreal pleasure that Mr Shot’s recognition gave me swelled again. I let out a relieved sigh I did not realize I had contained within my chest and nodded before I could stop myself as well. It felt like the effects of being drunk without having drunk the amounts it would usually take to get me there. My following suspicion was that Hot Shot had spiked one of my drinks, but the prideful feelings had started before my whiskey and after the beer, which the Sunrise Sarsaparilla poster colt hadn’t been anywhere near. “Is it worth worrying your wee noggin about when it feels good?” My brain asked, and I could not find an argument against that logic, so I chose not to fight it.

“What do you say, Crow? Want to sign a contract and make this official?” He flapped a hoof snappily at his assistant, as though Punch should have already gotten the sheets of paper out of the scarlet briefcase they’d brought in with them, alongside acting as cleaner and facilitator to us. Once the document sat on the untouched coffee table, the small weasel of a pony beside the judge drifted the pen towards me and smiled nervously. I let my eyes cast over the print, not one word of it registering in my head, and parted my beak to speak.

“Mr Shot,” I said slowly, trying to catch a rational thought from the pond of my mind.

“Yes, Lady Griffon?”

“... Where do I sign?” Hot Shot provided a winner’s smirk, pointed out the lines to put my name and let me take the quill. As I scribbled, the smart little minnow in my mental pool slipped out of my grasp, swimming into the dark hidden places where my consciousness could not reach it. I didn’t care, I had made a good decision here and someone else would come up with the right ideas for me from now on. Once he had my soul in the form of ink, Hot Shot quickly packed the parchment away and closed up the case once more. “What now, Mr Shot?”

“What now?” He patted the dome top of his drinking cabinet and raised his eyebrows, expecting me to already know, “now, you rest. Watch the ascension process, see if anypony you know goes whizzing off to hang out with Celestia and Luna. I’ll be behind the scenes, trying to make sure the crowd votes for as many of my group as possible.”

“I cannay help ye with that?” I asked, eager to be useful if it meant gaining more of that sweet, positive recognition. He placed the briefcase in Punch’s grasp and saw the stallion out of the room, seeming to ignore my offer of assistance.

“Try to build a rapport with the Overstallion. That stallion you know with the marked eyes seems to be a firm friend of his already, and you are making waves with his daughter, correct? It shouldn’t be a problem for you.” He clapped my shoulder with a hoof, shared a brief, limp smile with me and spun around while I was still talking.

“But why? I thought we wanted to take down Overlook?” The question was asked to the backend of Hot Shot, and front nor arse replied.

“Poxy, wasn’t it?” He asked instead of the elephant in the room, who looked startled to be noticed at all. “Walk with me. Crow isn’t the only one I have a proposition for. After your few words to me earlier, I think you might prove interesting to... Oh, goodbye, for now, Lady Griffon.” Poxy stared at him as he pushed her on through the exit, then at me, and seemed to finally settle on the lesser of the two evils as she rushed after him. Aroused from a spell, I sped to the door as well, finding it once more blocked by the guard.

“Oi,” I hissed at him, “I need a word with that mare, let me pass.” He said nothing, and I growled, scraping the ground with sharpened talons. “Am I still bein’ detained, laddie?”

“No, ma’am,” he finally replied, “Mr Shot just wants you to make you spend a few more minutes appreciating the room before I allow you to leave.”

“A few more min— ye ken what? Fine. Lemme appreciate the buck outta this wee hole.” I gave him my best impression of an innocent pony, before slamming the door in his face.

“Ow,” I heard, to my satisfaction. I didn’t waste time, diving towards the atlas that concealed the liquor. Yanking open the lid, I pilfered the whiskey, a hefty bottle of vodka, a nearly-untouched bottle of rum, and several bottles of Sparkle Cola. Thinking I had emptied the globe, I went to close it, before noticing something shine beneath the hole I’d pulled the rum from. Inspecting it, I found a pull ring shaped for a hoof to lift easily and gave it a gentle tug.

The bottom of the cabinet moved with the pull and it took a few more tugs to lift it out. The hinges were stiff and uncooperative, it was clear this section had not been opened frequently, but once I could get my claws under the lip the rest came out easily. The light of the room illuminated the contents, protected from dust and damage that would plague most items in this haphazard world. There was a small fortune of bits, mostly gold, and were the first to be squeezed into my overspilling pockets. In the end, I resorted to shoving them into my suit along with the vodka and rum, before searching the rest.

There were papers, contracts, things of little consequence to me, and then there was a clawful of holotapes, and a small velvet box. I would have been intrigued by a box regardless of what was on it, but stamped on the top of this one was the same cutie mark that was imprinted into the medallion around my neck. With care, I lifted it out of its hidey hole and raised the lid. Four small, perfect orbs, hazy purple, sat in the heart of the case. Memory orbs.

There came a tap-tap-tap on the door as I looked over them.

“You’ve got a couple of ponies out here wanting to see you, Guardian Griffon.” The guard’s voice still sounded sore and nasally.

“Oh, well, only if wee Shotty says it’s okay,” I retorted as I closed the box and attempted to stuff it into my largest pocket. It only went halfway, and I found the culprits blocking its path were a few canisters of Dash. I had no plans to hold onto Poxy’s shit for much longer, if I saw her again it would be too soon, so I placed them inside the secret cabinet along with two collections of Mint-als and a few snacks I’d swiped from Mr Shot’s private clubhouse. After discarding the offending items, I had enough room for the small case along with several of the holotapes. There was nothing else the cabinet had to offer once those were taken, so I replaced the fake bottom and closed the lid, after which I headed for the door. It was tricky balancing my loot as I went.

“THERE YOU ARE! Oh-my-squeakness, you were so good and I thought you said you couldn’t sing, you silly goose! Then you got all mad and swear-y and wow have you been working out in there? It’s like your chest is a pair of cylindrical, bottle-like items, but that’d be crazy, right? OH, and you sang such a good song back there, it was--”

“Candy, I think Crow knows what happened on stage, she was there, remember?” Elmwood advised the little brown toffee teddy bear cuddling me insistently. I didn’t realize it until that moment, but I’d never wanted a hug so much in all of my life, and gratefully squeezed her close. Best of all, she didn’t seem to know or suspect that I had been rolling about in a bed with a gray old snake, and despite my guilt, I was not prepared to tell her about it while she was so happy to see me.

Her hooves were still wandering my chest when she finally backed up, and I had to take them and peck them with a chirp to discourage her. A quick peek at the guard suggested he was too busy rolling his eyes and snorting at the display of affection like he was having some sort of a stroke, to listen to Mole almost give away the location of my stashed goods.

“It’s good to see you two, too. Come along, I’m famished, take us somewhere to eat, Moley.” I didn’t want to stick around any longer to see if Shot’s hired hoof would figure it out. I urged the pair to show me the way out and hissed as the brighter synthetic light outside of the music hall corridors scorched my retinas. If the blinding was bad, the sudden whooping and hollering that came with it practically forced me back. I dove into the protection of the darkness backstage, only muffling the sounds of joy behind the door I’d slammed. I pressed my back to it, looking to my cohorts for an explanation.

“What was that?”

“Your fans,” replied Elm, taking simple delight from this situation I was in, “you’re a big bucking celebrity now.”

“Swear,” mumbled Mole hurriedly, “but Elmy is right! Ponies are starting to love you just as much as--” She threw her hoof over her mouth, gestured urgently but silently to herself, then bobbed her head hurriedly in Elmwood’s direction. The dark-eyed stallion gave no reaction to her not-so-subtle message, holding his smile while his expression imposed that I make my next move for his entertainment.

I let my talons rest on the ground and ignored him, gazing into Molasses’ leafy colored eyes.

“They love me…” The warmth and titillation from saying the words radiated into my system once more and pushed a wild grin up to my cheeks. “Well then. Let’s not keep my public waiting.” Pushing my stowed bottles up like a badly fitting breast of armor, I spun about on the spot and snatched the door holding back the tide. Without hesitation, I pulled it open to let the waves of adoration crash in on me and relished it before stepping into the pushing, invading fanatical sea.

Author's Notes:

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Song for this chapter; Benny Goodman and Martha Tilton - This Can't Be Love

I'll keep this short - apologies for the wait for this chapter. More to come, I promise. I haven't given up, but I had to figure out how to make this next bit as fun to write as the previous parts have been.

All good things,
Scaramouch, nee Duskhoof