“Are you sure you are all right?”

“Yeah.” Gliss strapped her guitar gloomily. “My head’s not killing me anymore.” She paused. “Well, not that much, that is.”

“You look kinda down,” Golden String continued while Steady Rhythm, the fatty drummer, and the proud owner of the carriage-less garage, set up his kit. “Something happen?”

“I told my folks I’m into colts,” Gliss decided to omit the precise nature of her confession. “And that I hated jazz and loved rock’n’roll.”

“Wow.” String put her hoof on Gliss’s shoulder. “Two word-bombs at one.” She pondered. “Well, that’d be three word-bombs.”

“They tried to give me a lecture,” Gliss replied, plugging in her trusty Les Pone. Why do I even have all these electric guitars if I only use one? “You know, about rock’n’roll being the ‘feathered’ music, and its connection to drugs - as if Mom’s the one to talk…” She sighed. “But the talk didn’t really go anywhere. It was like, they were so astonished by my orientation that they could barely give me a lecture on music.” Gliss gave her guitar an angry fifth chord. “What’s wrong with being straight?”

“In my country, they’d say it’s the only normal orientation.”

Gliss looked quickly at the entrance to the garage and her heart did a leap at seeing Silver… in a leather jacket? Suddenly, the heat extended to all of her body parts and a blush covered her cheeks.

“It was cold,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Am I in time for the rehearsal?”

“Just in time!” Steady Rhythm replied, finishing with his drums. The chubby unicorn trotted towards the white colt. “Steady Rhythm, the guy who handles the garage, and, coincidentally, the oldest of these kids here.”

“He’s just turned nineteen,” Golden String whispered audibly.

“And I’m Silver Chord.” The stallions shook hooves. “Pleased to meet you, Steady Rhythm.”

“Just Steady,” the drummer replied, getting back to his stool. “The kids call me that.”

Gliss rolled her eyes at the usual ‘kids’ routine. Yet, this time she was a little irritated to be treated like a foal in Silver’s eyes. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact reason for that, apart from being all gleeful and itchy in Silver’s presence, and wanting to kiss those smiling- okay, that’s enough.

 “So this is your band?” Silver took a look at the three ponies. “A guitar, drums, and a bass… guitar.” He eyed the electric bass curiously. “Something tells me you’re not playing jazz.”

“We’re not,” String called out, setting up her bass telekinetically. And she still plays with her hooves, Gliss mused. Show-off. “We play rock’n’roll. The equine rock’n’roll,” she clarified. “Not what the feathered play.”

“I’ve always been fascinated by how you treat griffins in Equestria,” Silver let out, and all gazes were drawn to him at once. “I mean… In my country, there are very few griffins, but if they’re citizens, they are given the same rights,” he explained bashfully. Gliss smiled a tiny smile. Oh Celestia, yes! He doesn’t mind the griffins, just like me. I’m not the only one and- oh, who am I kidding. It’s a match made in Heaven!

“Well, you’re in Equestria now, so get used to it, bro,” Steady called out from his stool, juggling the sticks. “The feathered are the ones who mug, and murder, and push drugs. We’re not gonna take lightly to that.”

“I did not know about these problems,” Silver replied politely - though it seemed that he was not entirely content with the idea - while String mouthed to Gliss, How come he gets called ‘bro’, and I’m still a ‘kid’?

“We waged quite a bloody war with the feathered,” Golden String explained to Silver patiently. “It’s a long story, so, like Steady said, just get used to it. We are.” She elbowed Gliss lightly. “Well, apart from her, but then again, she’s weird.”

Gliss opened her mouth to protest, but Silver merely smiled at her, making her let out a very meek ‘eep’. “Doesn’t our race include feathered ponies, the pegasi? What justice does it do them, calling griffins like that?” he enquired.

“Well…” String drawled, emitting a few low bass notes. “They are military ponies, I’m sure if any one of them would get called that, he’d deliver a nice’n’tasty kick in the face to whomever said that.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Everypony turned to the entrance, through which staggered a very physically thin, yet psychologically imposing black earth pony, whose breath smelled heavily of mustard gas and roses. “You.” He pointed at Silver. “I don’t know you. Are you a cop?”

“I’m Silver Chord, an exchange student from the Crystal Empire…” SIlver tried, watching the stallion stagger into the garage, up to the piano in the corner. “Are you sure it’s all right he’s drunk and trying to open your piano?..” he addressed Steady Rhythm worriedly.

“It’s my piano!” the black stallion roared, not so much as glancing at Silver. String giggled, then, with a snort, broke into laughter at the scene.

“This is Ebony Keys,” Gliss came to help, “and he’s our pianist. He… has a preference for strong alcohol in the afternoon.” She paused. “And the evening. And morning, from what I gather.” Just like Mom…

“So what?” Ebony Keys slurred defensively, sitting on his stool and running his hoof across the keys sloppily. “Is this all because I’m black?!”

Everypony just blinked at the mysterious accusation. “Nevermind,” Steady chimed in. “He’s often like that when he’s drunk. And that’s always.”

“Shut it, you- you-” Ebony Keys waited a moment, his hoof raised. “You... accursed... accuser.”

“Wow,” Silver noted. “Must take some awesome skill to pronounce that in such a state.”

“Are we playing or what?!” the pianist asked, his head rolling left and right.

“I am afraid-” Silver began calmly. “That is…” He tried to muster a polite smile. “I am not sure you can even perform in such a state.”

“Oh,” String countered, “it’s Keys we’re talking about. He can play blindfolded and asleep.” As if in confirmation, the pianist nodded.

“So, then.” Silver rubbed his hooves, looking around the garage. “Can you perform a song of yours? Preferably, with vocals.” He smiled a charming and disarming smile. “I am slightly biased towards vocal pieces, if you may forgive me.”

“If you may forgive me.” Hee! He’s such a gentlecolt! Gliss thought gleefully. “Not at all,” she said aloud, trying to follow the colt’s eloquent phrasing. “We play very few instrumental pieces. It’s not jazz, after all.”

“Oh, I don’t mind jazz,” Silver said, much to the surprise of the band. “I like instrumental jazz, but the vocal pieces seem to be… lacking. I would really like to hear one of your songs. Who’s the singer?”

“That would be me,” Gliss called out. “I… Kinda sing, from time to time.” Damn, now a real vocalist is gonna judge my ability… A cute vocalist, at that! “Okay…” she addressed the gang, gulping. Just imagine he’s not here… “And one, and two, and one two three-”

The band began to play with Ebony Keys displaying proficiency at the keyboard, Steady keeping the rhythm easily, and String laying down the accurate, precise bass notes. Gliss started off with a solo, then began the rhythm, singing in her usual voice, a voice that made her sound like a griffin woman - but she herself enjoyed it, and, besides, it was a nice homage to the race that invented rock’n’roll. The lyrics were very simple, but it allowed Gliss to show her vocal skill. At times rasping, at times almost breaking, she still kept a grip on the vocal line. The bridge, a darker addition, she nailed by raising her voice ever so slightly, chirping the last crunchy notes before she broke into a solo that, frankly, wasn’t particularly showing skill or speed, but still sounded very fitting, and nice to the ear. Another bridge, immediately breaking into the chorus - or were those two choruses?

Silver listened to the song very attentively, as the band played on and on into the natural fadeout, with all instruments gradually silencing, and just Gliss rasping out, her voice eventually breaking at the last “oh baby”, which resulted in the filly coughing violently.

“Are you all right?” Silver asked the guitarist, coming to her aid.

“I’m fine…” Gliss said, reeking from embarrassment. Celestia, why couldn’t I finish this one song properly?!

“Does it happen often?” Silver wondered professionally.

“Well…” Gliss began, but Golden String chimed in:

“Almost every time. Eventually she just breaks by the end of the song.”

“That’s because there’s strain on my voice,” Gliss explained defensively, “It’s just breaking because of the power I have to invest in it.”

“Not quite,” Silver argued suddenly. “It’s  breaking because you do not control your voice.” He took a step towards Gliss. “Your breathing is ragged. You don’t necessarily need to take a deep breath, and then throw it all into a vocal line.” He took another step, yet closer, making Gliss tremble slightly. “Let me feel you breathe. Sing that chorus line.” With that, he put his hoof on the filly’s chest.

It took Gliss all the force in the world not to yelp in embarrassment. Come on. He’s doing… whatever he’s doing… it’s strictly professional. She repeated the “oh baby” lines, feeling Silver’s hoof on her chest. As she finished, the hoof withdrew, much to her disappointment.

“You’re not breathing properly,” Silver said tutoriously. “Try breathing with your belly, and not your chest. And,” he added, “Take breaths with your mouth, not nose.”

“Heeey, smart fella,” Ebony Keys called out, “why don’t you show us your singing talent?” Gliss was thankful for the drunken interruption, for it both saved her pride and allowed her to listen to what Silver had to offer.

“Well, I’ll need your piano then,” Silver said simply, trotting towards Ebony Keys, who assumed a defensive position at once.

“Keys, kid, let him try out the piano,” Steady urged. “He won’t ruin it.” Reluctantly, the pianist rose, staggering, and stepped aside.

“I’ll be trying my ‘soft’ voice here,” Silver explained as he ran his hooves across the keyboard. “It’s why they allowed me to study here: I have several types of voices at my disposal; I can change by varying the strain on my vocal cords.”

“More music, less talking,” Ebony Keys slurred, eyeing the colt at his piano jealously.

Silver cleared his throat. “Just one thing: don’t forget to applaud when I’m done.” With a laugh, he began to sing.

***

Why do I love him?

Did I say ‘love’? I must have meant ‘like’. Adore. Enjoy the company of. Fond of. Keen on. Whatever. Why does he make me feel this way? I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never thought of myself as possessive, but I want every piece of him to myself. I want to be with him. Even now.

Is it hormones? Is it just stupid biology, and Silver just happened to be in my way? Then why do I imagine him standing on two knees and saying, “Gliss, will you marry me?” Why then do I imagine myself saying yes? Why do I imagine so many more intimate things, with him and me?

The way he sang - why do I get shivers every time I try to remember the tone of his voice, the pitch, the strength? Why do I remember how his muscle trembled in his neck - and sure, there was a small belly there, but why is that belly so appealing? Why, then, does his smell make me mad with lust?

Why am I so painfully attracted to him?

And, more importantly, how do I deal with it? Do I tell him? Do I wait until he asks me out? What if he doesn’t like me back? But… I’ve seen the way he looks at me. He sees something in me, and I can’t tell if it’s a guitarist or a mare. I really hope for the latter.

I can’t even ask advice… Who will help me? Mom? Mother? It seems they still have trouble communicating with me, even tonight at dinner, despite them both claiming it’s all right. Lyra? She seems to avoid me for some reason - not in the least because she runs a label that only signs jazz… Bon-Bon? She is nice, but she’s… she’s a wife. I’m not a wife. I don’t want to be a wife. ...Not yet, at least. Can I just have somepony straight and female whom I can talk to?!

...Oh no. Not her. She’ll never let me live it down. She already has her speculations, and if I address her on that issue… Oh Celestia. But then again, I don’t have anypony else to turn to.

Seems that tomorrow, I’ll have to talk to Golden String.