The booming bass stylings of DJ-Pon-3 echo above the frenzied stomps on the riotous dance floor, vying against scintillating strobe lights and dizzying disco balls. Electric, in a word, with a theatricality evident in every outrageous costume and getup half the ponies sport. Manes and tails, striped with streaks of glaringly vivid colors, flip and whip about, the result a chaotic calamity to make Discord proud. When one spins about the others press together, barely making enough room to avoid the flailing hooves, only to collapse back in as soon as the unbridled motion ends.

Trixie regards the pack of prancing ponies with a leery eye. Not that she minds giving the ‘ole flank a crank, but with the number of nachos she scarfed down? She’d hate for them to make an unwelcome reappearance on the dance floor, not that any of the psyched-up prancers would notice. Granny Smith shares none of her inhibition, looking ready to storm the checkerboard floor despite having consumed three times the sour cream and pepper laced chips, not to mention the complimentary ciders.

She glances down, watching the reflection of the glittering lights on the polished floor. They remind her of the fireworks she loves to fire off, back when she was performing nearly every night. A far cry from watching the foals on the farm, or teaching Generosity at Twilight’s School of Friendship, or any of the multitude of things a responsible, herded mare does. And something something about not letting the grandmares go too hog-wild.

She looks back, briefly mesmerized by the swirling colors. Eh, what the hay. You only live once, right?

While Trixie sticks to a simple sway-and-bob, the four grandmares have something more strenuous in mind. Each of them takes the quickly-clearing center stage, directly in front of the headset-clad ravist.

And, on the other side, a pair of unicorn studs.

The larger, Big Bucks - cutie mark of a yellow star coming out of a top hat, his coat an electric purple with a neon green mane and a trimmed tail that hides none of his prodigious package - sips from a teal cocktail. He glances backward as Apple Rose begins her stretches, green eyes running over every inch of her suddenly supple body. His handlebar mustache twitches as he lets loose an appreciative snort. The smaller of the two, Jack Pot - who sports a mane, tail, and coat identical to Trixie’s - trades a grin with his partner as he sips from a yellow drink through a pink swirly straw.

Granny Smith struts past the swaying DJ to the raucous woops and hoots of her fellow Gals, eyeing the smaller and snazzier of the stallions. With one smooth motion she pulls the band from her braided hair, the decades falling away much like the long, silken strands of silver mane. She swishes them back with a practiced flick, standing on two legs and borrowing Doug’s standing method of dancing. She moves like a fish in water, all curves and shakes and alluring rolls.

The display certainly entices the stallions. Jack Pot adjusts the collar of his spiffy brown suit, taking the lead while Big Bucks follows just behind, not about to let his partner have all the fun. The three yellow stars on his flank ripple back and forth as he saunters to the swaying grandmares, the two offering a low bow while touching their hoof to their chest.

“Look!” Auntie Applesauce exclaims, sidling next to Big Bucks as the grandmares circle like a pride of griffons. “It’s our favorite magicians, Big Bucks and Jack Pot! And aren’t they lookin’ handsome as ever?”

Jack Pot chortles as the grandmares giggle. “You little fillies have got some smooth moves!”

Big Bucks continues as Jack Pot puts his hooves together, “Say, how would you Gold Horseshoe Gals like to bring some of that good energy into our magic show tonight?”

Jack Pot pulls his hooves apart, revealing five golden tickets. “Here’s five complimentary tickets to our most amazing show, just over there!” He motions toward a rippling fabric entryway, several other ponies just heading through.

“Sugarcube,” Auntie Applesauce drawls, “we never miss your show.”

“Fabulous.” Jack Pot winks at Granny Smith. “We’ll save a spot for you on stage.”

Big Bucks grins even wider, focusing on Apple Rose and Goldie Delicious. “And in our hearts.”

The four grandmares ‘daww’, slowly surrounding the stallions, their intentions clear. As Jack Pot’s gaze shifts from mare to mare, as if deliberating which one to select, his eyes settle on the azure mare on the periphery.

“Hello, sire,” Trixie states, muzzle tight as she bites her tongue. What (or, in this case, who) the grandmares pursue isn’t her decision, but her dad? Really? Her eyes flick to Granny Smith, the mare on whom her sire’s gaze lasted the longest, then back to her dad’s. If anything, his smirk grows larger, and not in a good way. “Hard at work?”

“Hardly working,” he shoots back with a wink. His ears flick as an announcement about the upcoming magic show comes over the PA system, mostly drowned out by the deafening music. “Sorry, Gals, we can’t stay and chat.” Jack Pot offers Granny Smith a regretful sigh, laced with eager anticipation. “We get to know our assistants after the show.” He tips an imaginary hat, the two stallions strolling away with a leering glance backward that leaves the Gals giggling like schoolfillies.

*

The first thing that surprises Applejack about Gladmane’s office is the spartan decor, a sharp contrast to the ostentatious adornments lining the rest of the luxury resort. All he has on his large desk (though not oversized compared to Doug’s, who likes to spread his maps out, and especially not to Filthy Rich’s monstrosity) is a little metal box with some slits on the side and a plain desk lamp. She gives the box an odd look as she walks past, curious what it does. The plush red carpet does an excellent job of muffling any hoofsteps, with a pattern of curling black lines that climbs the walls and spreads out over the brightly-lit ceiling. Large glass windows line half the room, but the top half of those are blocked by the twisting rails of the Wild Blue Yonder.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” Gladmane asks, the two staring out over the atrium below.

Applejack is inclined to agree, even if the decorations ain’t to her taste, but finds she cannot. “To each their own,” she remarks after a moment of silence, apprehensive as to her Honest reaction. “But for me?” She shrugs. "As Ah said before, it’s all too much." But she notes his gaze is not focused on the inside of the hotel and the ponies milling about but on the large windows leading outside, to the lines of colorful buildings making up the rest of the strip. She gives him a curious glance, cocking her heading to the side enough to ask the question.

Gladmane gives a jovial chuckle. “Never thought I’d be shown Honesty by the Element herself. Rumor has it you’re lookin’ for some sort of friendship problem? By Celestia, I hope you ain’t hopin’ to find it here! Why, this is one of the friendliest places on Equus! Uh-huh-huh.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack replies, unconvinced about his contention about friendliness. “But friendship problems can crop up anywhere. Which is why it’s so important to make sure all those friendships keep goin’, ya know?”

“Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Gladmane roars, merrily pounding a hoof on his desk. He presses the button on the little metal box. Applejack can hear his voice, faintly reflected through the speakers throughout the resort.

“Hey there, friends. If you think my resort is a winner, wait ‘til you see Big Bucks and Jack Pot on the big stage! Tickets are on sale now, two for the price of one! Thank you. Thank you very much. And good night.”

He releases the button, then rummages about the desk long enough for her to peek inside, intrigued by row after row of personnel files. “Those are… friends who used to work here,” Gladmane explains as he pulls out two packets. Applejack can taste the… not quite a lie, but certainly a hesitation, a reframing of the relationship not unlike when Twilight Sparkle viewed Queen Chrysalis not as an ‘enemy’ but as a ‘future friend’.

“Quite the number,” Applejack remarks, a tad jealous of the sheer number of ponies Gladmane has had working for him. How much bigger would Sweet Apple Acres be if’n she could round up that kinda help? “How’d ya get so many?”

“Why, by treating them like friends, of course!” Gladmane grins, though Applejack can detect more and more chips in his chipper demeanor. “Lots of ponies come to Gladmane’s, both the top of the talent and those just startin’ out. I give ‘em all a chance, and many more’n that - prime spots, free advertisin’, my personal recommendations.” He chuckles to himself, a deep ‘Uh-huh-huh’, as he continues with a touch of darkness, “Quite unfortunate I can’t convince my employees to stay the same way you did at the farm. Or at all.”

“Ya heard ‘bout that?” Applejack says, more curious than ashamed, not terribly surprised that her method of ensnaring Doug made its way to Gladmane’s ears. Not that she’s remorseful about it; stallions often entice mares to put their talents to use on their farms in much the same way. Maybe they should have been looser with their requirements? Mm, but the Apple way isn’t like that. And if there’s one thing that’s worked for her in the past, it’s the Apple way. “Too bad it only worked the once, least as far as the farm’s concerned. But me’n Big Mac make do. Hay, Ah’m holdin’ out hope that one of these days he’ll put those muscles toward something that ain’t a plow.”

“When that time comes,” Gladmane drawls as he opens the first file, adding notes from today to what looks like a personnel review, “mind if I make a few recommendations? From one friend to another?”

“Err,” Applejack stalls. She has no doubt there are a dozen mares in that desk that would leap off Las Pegasus without a parachute for a chance to be with her brother, but how true was that a year ago? “Ah’m sure he won’t mind a few hats thrown his way. But…” Applejack doesn’t want to say it, but neither can she stay silent. “What makes ya think ya know the kind of mare mah brother wants?”

“Why, because we’re friends, of course,” Gladmane explains matter-of-factly. “Normally it’s him chaperonin’ those grandmares around, but we’ve got around to talkin’ more’n once. Uh-huh-huh.”

“Talkin’?” Applejack contests, dubiously raising an eyebrow. “Mah brother? ‘Bout what?”

“Oh, this’n that.” Gladmane shrugs off her doubtful gaze. “Maybe I was the one doin’ most of the talkin’.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack returns a shrug of her own. While she might need to take her brother’s eventual love life into her hooves, given his stoic (some might say stolid) pace, now ain’t the time. “But, back to those employees’a yours. Ya said ya couldn’t convince ‘em to stay? Why not?”

“Why,” Gladmane starts, regarding her with a confused expression, then pausing at some puzzlement befouling him.

“Because my friends,” he tries, again failing to continue.

“Friends wouldn’t…” His smile - which up until this point has remained plastered on his face - falters, letting a flash of fury twist his muzzle to an angry grimace. For a moment Applejack tenses, until he slumps forward. His head rests in his hooves, staring blankly at the bare desk.

Next Chapter: Ch. 161 - Mutated Growth, Part Seven Estimated time remaining: 6 Hours, 44 Minutes