/pj250/ Starlight and the Glim Glams


                                            Joint-second place in the Pastejam250! Thank you to everyone that voted for it.


                                            Update 26/03/2021: Now on Fimfiction as prose - https://www.fimfiction.net/story/491678/starlight-and-the-glim-glams

                                            ---


                                            >"Yes yes, if you're quite finished screaming, oh 'great and powerful' Trixie, we can get started."

                                            >The magician stops struggling against the incomprehensibly powerful magic holding her in place and looks fearfully at the beast before her, mouth quivering.

                                            >Discord shakes his head and rolls his eyes, speaking off to the side, "Honestly, here I am trying to set up a nice little meeting, and she has to go and ruin the atmosphere. Well, fortunately for you, Trixie, your penchant for spoiling things is precisely why you were invited."

                                            >Trixie swallows, but she finally manages to tear her eyes away from Discord long enough to survey her surroundings, only to see you sat a few seats over from her.

                                            >You smile weakly and give her a tepid wave.

                                            "He-ey, Trixie. Nice seeing you."

                                            >"Starlight...? Starlight! Oh thank Celestia, what's going on? Where are we?"

                                            >You glance at an aged promotion plastered on a nearby stained wall.

                                            "Discount Dan's Dishwasher Den," you say flatly before looking back at your host, who is currently addressing his claw with a very floppy nail file, "but I was hoping Discord might be willing to enlighten us as to why?"

                                            >The draconequus points at himself and mouths 'moi?' at you, then chuckles.

                                            >"A keen eye as ever, and I appreciate your professionalism, Starlight Glimmer; it will be needed for our little arrangement."

                                            "Cut to the chase, Discord; I was in the middle of something and I'd like to get back to it if you don't mind."

                                            >You take a moment to flick your soaked mane out of your eyes, frothy shampoo suds from your shower still clinging to it.

                                            >"Ever a bore, aren't you?" He drawls and snaps a claw, your mane drying and forming into its preferred style in an instant; the only difference is that it's now a shock of black and pink instead of purple and aquamarine. "Much better," he grins.

                                            >Discord clasps his hands together and rubs them excitedly, addressing the crescent table you all find yourselves at. 'All' being the operative term, as Trixie isn't your only companion in the dingy basement.

                                            >"Welcome, friends and others! Before you each start pitching your theories as to why I so graciously transported you to this fine establishment, the answer is tangentially related to Miss Lulamoon's outburst."

                                            >Trixie blinks in surprise, "Why, what did I say?"

                                            >Discord shakes his head gravely, "Something no longer acceptable, I'm afraid. You thanked 'Celestia' earlier, but if we are going to accomplish our mission that will have to stop." To illustrate his point, he replaces Trixie's mouth with a closed zip.

                                            >Trixie blanches and looks to you, her face that of a student who is aware she should know the answer to the teacher's question, but doesn't. She wears it well; it's a no-doubt familiar expression.

                                            >"Celestia!" Discord declares, "She is quite the paragon, is she not? Quite the perfect little princess? Well, I for one am quite tired of turning every street corner in this banal little country only to hear ponies singing her praises! Ask yourselves this, what has Celestia ever done for us?"

                                            "She raises the sun and gives warmth to the planet," you answer, dryly.

                                            >"Any band of simpleton unicorns can do that, Starlight, as can any draconequus for that matter. Try again."

                                            "She's ruled with a fair and gentle hoof for thous--"

                                            >Discord guffaws, "Oh ho! Oo-oh no, no no, Starlight, no. Celestia is no 'fair and gentle' ruler, she's a tyrant! A tyrant that must answer for her crimes against the masses!"

                                            >You narrow your eyes, suddenly on edge.

                                            "Are you planning to attack our Princess, Discord? I'll warn Twilight, and she'll--"

                                            >It's hard to finish the sentence with your lips abruptly becoming a closed zip. Discord snickers and continues.

                                            >"No one is attacking anyone, Starlight. At least not with spells and violence." Ever the Thespian, he continues with his usual dramatics. "No, we are going to bring Celestia and her oppressive government to their knees. The people cry out for deliverance from the drudgery of modern life and conventional physics. They want to express themselves and be free to do whatever they please!"

                                            >You cock an eyebrow at him, and he falters somewhat.

                                            >"Alright, perhaps not yet-- but they will! No more rules, no more hierarchy, no more suffocating orthodoxy! And we're going to do it all with the power, of MUSIC!"

                                            >He strikes an heroic pose, fireworks erupting behind him, deafening you, and setting a small fire in the corner of the basement. He ignores this and continues to hold the pose, likely waiting for an applause that will never come, though Trixie seems nominally impressed with the pyrotechnics.

                                            >"So don't get too excited," he huffs. He begrudgingly summons a folding chair and sits on it without bothering to unfold it, regarding the occupants of the table before him with measured interest as he continues to speak.

                                            >"Each of you has been on the wrong side of the law, so to speak. Each of you has earned the ire of those around you for one reason or another. I propose that we assemble under a single banner; a grand collective of the finest delinquents Equestria has ever seen! Ladies and gentlecolt, I propose, that in order to facilitate the creation and dissemination of anti-establishment propaganda in service of nurturing a radical anarchist movement to overthrow the government and the two-faced hag that allegedly raises the sun each day, we start - a punk rock band!"

                                            >You stare in bewilderment at Discord, who seems terribly pleased with himself. The beast raps his fingers on a knee for a moment, then seems to remember something.

                                            >"Oh, right, I forgot. I am sorry, but you all made such a terrible noise when you first arrived." A snap of his fingers, and every figure around the table finds themselves able to speak again.

                                            >The first and most volatile being a griffon.

                                            >"Who the hay do you think you are, you mismatched freak?! I oughta come over there and pull your stupid horns off!"

                                            >Discord seems delighted by this notion, rising from his seat and approaching the ornery avian.

                                            >"Yes! That's precisely the sort of anger we're looking for, Gilda the Griffon. You made quite a name for yourself in Griffonstone, didn't you? Public belligerence, resisting arrest, petty theft!" His voice drops an octave as he savours the final charge, "-Loitering-. We'll need that sort of teenage angst if we're to be successful!"

                                            >"I'm not a teenager," Gilda says hotly, "I'm twenty-four."

                                            >"Exactly!" Discord beams, "And the fact that you've refused to grow up or even slightly mature since your adolescence will serve us well in the coming days."

                                            >Before she can launch herself over the table and main him, he shackles her to her seat with silly-string and binds her beak shut with a frilly pink ribbon.

                                            >"I think that's a perfectly good introduction to the club, well done Gilda! Next we of course have the adorable Starlight Glimmer."

                                            >You sink into your chair, trying to appear smaller as he looms over you, grinning.

                                            >"Political extremism? Cult worship? Stealing the cutie marks of not just an entire town but the Element Bearers to boot? Then trying to rewrite the very course of history itself because Old Sparkler got one over on you? Why, Starlight Glimmer, if I was a pony I would be absolutely besotted with you. In fact, actually, I don't need to be a pony, and I -am- besotted with you."

                                            >With a flick of the wrist he's wearing a t-shirt with your face on it - the face is smug and appears to be booping itself on the nose. It resonates with you deeply.

                                            >"Cards on the table, I'm a huge fan. I can't wait to see what you get up to next!"

                                            >He gives you a wink and you try to hide your face in shame as he moves onto the next figure.

                                            >"Trixie Lulamoon! Acquiring an ancient artifact and using it to take over Ponyville? A bold choice, and I must say I admire your conviction to enslave a town and kick out the purple nerd that lives there. Not quite as impressive as Starlight over there, but you still show great potential! I wanted you in the band because the two of you seem to have great chemistry, and I was thinking we could do a sort of will-they-won't-they deal where the fans are always wondering what you're both doing in the wagon behind the stage." He waits a beat. "I'm talking about lewdness, by the way."

                                            >Trixie's face goes from nervous to absolutely livid in short order.

                                            >"I would -never- do that with Starlight! I'm not a le--"

                                            >"Up up up! I'm sure you're woefully traditional, Trixie, but the fans don't need to know that. We'll keep them in the dark, it'll be like a stage performance-- an illusion! You like those, don't you? All those fans wondering about what you'll do next; surely it's appealing, is it not?"

                                            >She scowls at him, "I prefer to work with magic, not music."

                                            >"Oh Trixie, surely you're wise enough to know that the line between music and magic is as brittle as your ego, right?"

                                            >The mare transitions into a full-force glare. Discord simply smirks at her and saunters away to the final person, or rather, object.

                                            >Discord's gleaming eyes fall on a jar about the size of your head.

                                            >Of all the things in the room, even Discord, this is the one that gives you pause. An oppressive malevolence emanates from the glass. A roiling black fog seems to thrash against the sides of its prison and, as Discord addresses the jar, a pair of eyes - of green sclera and red irises - emerge and fixate on the draconequus before him.

                                            >Everyone but Discord flinches as a deep, hateful growl resounds from within, vibrating not just the table, but your very soul.

                                            >"Sombra! You old mule; you look terrible! Had a nasty run-in with the Crystal Heart, did you?" Discord plucks the glass from the table and holds it aloft in a claw, regarding it with pride.

                                            >Your eyes bulge as you gawk at the presence within the jar.

                                            "Wh-- KING Sombra? You brought the bane of the Crystal Empire -here-? He's supposed to be dead!"

                                            >"Who, Sombra? Well, I suppose if you consider total bodily obliteration 'death' then yes, you could assert that he's dead; but just look into those loveable eyes and tell me he's not as fresh as a daisy."

                                            >He turns the jar to you, and said loveable eyes lock onto yours. You freeze. Your blood runs cold and the breath catches in your throat. You feel the tendrils of fear grasping at the edges of your mind, seeking to find purchase as a looming pall of dread threatens to--

                                            >After vigorously shaking your head, you jab an urgent hoof at Discord.

                                            "No-- You -have- to put him back where you found him!"

                                            >"Aww, you're not acting like the mare I fell in love with, Starlight." He pouts. "Besides, I thought it would be fun to have a wild-card on the team. I was thinking of giving him a top-hat; it would juxtapose with his sinister air, don't you think?"

                                            >Sombra rumbles his contempt at the idea.

                                            >"See? Sombie loves it!"

                                            "...Sombie."

                                            >"Yes! I thought that since he was back from the dead that sort of made him a Sombra-Zombie. A Sombie, if you will."

                                            >He hugs the jar to his chest and gives it a loving squeeze, drifting from side to side, "-My- little Sombie."

                                            >Sombie redoubles his efforts to break free from the jar, to no effect.

                                            >Discord sets the King back on the table and presses his palms together.

                                            >"So! Let's talk roles, I already have the whole thing planned out!"

                                            "You're not giving us a choice, are you?" You feel the familiar embrace of despair, and you're certain it's not coming from Sombie. Sombra.

                                            >"I'm afraid time and free will are luxuries we cannot indulge in if we are to make it to the contest in time."

                                            "...Contest?"

                                            >"Of course! Surely you've heard of the Manehatten Band Bash, haven't you?"

                                            "...Have -you-?"

                                            >"Not until five hours ago, no, but I'm quite taken with the idea so I thought I'd participate."

                                            "But--"

                                            >"I should clarify, when I say -I-, I really mean you."

                                            "We don't even know how to play instruments! Well, I mean, I don't, and I don't think Trixie does?" You give her a quizzical look and she shakes her head, "Right! And I don't think miss Gilda does either?"

                                            >"Mphm." Gilda asserts, her beak still bound in pink.

                                            "So no one here knows--"

                                            >"What about Sombie? You didn't ask him!"

                                            "I'm not asking the undead dictator of the Crystal Empire for his opinions on anything."

                                            >"Now that's just rude, although given that we're putting a punk band together I think we can make that sort of antagonism work... Oh! I've got it! You and Sombie can be rivals! Doesn't that sound like fun? You two will play together on stage, then when the show's over you go right back to trying to destroy each other; that's nice and dramatic, isn't it? The fans will eat it up!"

                                            >The colour leaves your face as Sombra's gaze slowly focuses on you again. In the green flickers enveloped within that Stygian mist you feel an intelligence as cruel as it is brilliant already forming plans for your destruction, and you swallow heavily.

                                            "W-we'll um, put a pin in that. How exactly are we supposed to learn how to play instruments in... when is this contest again?"

                                            >"Wednesday evening."

                                            "Wh-- that's in two days!"

                                            >"I know - exciting, isn't it?"

                                            "Discord, I'm not embarrassing myself on stage in front of a crowd of ponies for your amusement!"

                                            >"Then just don't embarrass yourself; come now Starlight, it's not difficult, is it?"

                                            "I can't even play an instrument!"

                                            >"That's perfectly fine, you aren't playing one anyway."

                                            "Huh?"

                                            >"Roles! As I was trying to say before, -roles-. Each of you will have a part to play in our motley crew, and I have the whole thing set out here in my notes."

                                            >A diner napkin adorned with indecipherable scribblings materialises in his hand, and he dons a pair of spectacles to read it.

                                            >"Starlight Glimmer, you and your alluring, cult-marshalling voice will be our lead vocalist. You'll be breathing life into the songs we create to bring down Celestia."

                                            >Your stomach does a flip at the notion of singing before a crowd.

                                            >"Gilda, you and your ferocious energy will be our guitarist! I want to hear that sucker howl like only a griffon can!"

                                            >Gilda, remarkably, looks rather keen on the idea, and nods appreciatively, earning her a wink from Discord.

                                            >"Trixie, you're rather useless and have terrible taste in fashion." He looks up and stares at her for a few seconds. She glares back at him. "Also I'm putting you on bass because someone has to do it." Her glare intensifies.

                                            >"Sombie," the jar rattles aggressively, "you'll be on drums. I think you can manage a little bit of magic in there," your pulse quickens at this, "so you shouldn't have any problems levitating a few sticks and working the kick drum." Discord taps his chin thoughtfully, "Though if you're having trouble I can unscrew the lid and let you out for a little while, but you have to promise not to devolve the world into a totalitarian nightmare."

                                            >Sombie ponders this, and a short rough grunt vibrates from the jar.

                                            >"Wonderful!" Discord seems pleased with his negotiating skills, and glances back at his notes, mumbling to himself for a few seconds. "Oh, and Fluttershy is on the tambourine." He dismissively waves his paw.

                                            >He stuffs the note in his pocket(?) and surveys you all.

                                            >"So! Any questions?"

                                            "Sorry-- Fluttershy?"

                                            >Discord stares at you dumbly, then slaps his forehead.

                                            >"I -knew- I'd forgotten something!"

                                            >He snaps his claw in a panic, and a sudden flash accompanied by a balloon pop deposits a stunned-looking Fluttershy onto the floor between him and the table.

                                            >She blinks a few times, then shakily stands up and looks around at your eclectic posse before finally turning to see Discord. Her confusion evaporates and she looks somewhat reassured.

                                            >"Oh! Hello, Discord!"

                                            >"Good evening, Fluttershy; I'm sorry for the sudden transportation but this is related to that talk we had the other week."

                                            >"Which one?"

                                            >"The one where you said you'd like me to open up a bit more and invite you on more of my little 'adventures'. With that in mind, would you like to be in a punk rock band? We're trying to destroy the government."

                                            >"Ooh, yes please!"

                                            >"Can you play the tambourine?"

                                            >"Not really?"

                                            >"Ehh, it doesn't really matter, I don't think anyone can. Just slap it and try to look angry."

                                            >He puts his hands on his hips and beams at his new group.

                                            >"To finish, I will be your manager. I'll work tirelessly to see you all reach the highest of heights and the greatest of glories before I sell out and betray you all to line my own pockets. It's all going to be terribly dramatic and should last for about six seasons with movie rights if I can twist a few arms. Now, can anyone tell me why there's a fire in the corner? I'm not naming names, but I think it might be Trixie's fault."


                                            >The plan to turn Equestria's "greatest villains" into a punk band goes about as well as you'd expect.

                                            >You have trauma-induced stage fright and can't sing in front of anyone; Gilda keeps literally shredding the guitars she gets given; Trixie doesn't want to play bass because it's not ostentatious enough; and Sombie keeps using his handicapped levitation magic to try and skewer you - and only you - with his drumsticks. According to Discord, he sees you as a viable threat, which, also according to Discord, is something you should be very proud of.

                                            >Only Fluttershy is making any progress, but that doesn't really count because a tambourine isn't a real instrument.

                                            >With a deadpan look, you magically deflect yet another drumstick from Sombie and stomp over to Discord, who is lounging in a director's chair pondering the puzzle book in his grasp.

                                            >It's the day before the show, and you're all once again stuck in the basement of Discount Dan's Dishwasher Den, as you have been for the last four hours.

                                            "Can we please take a break, Discord? I can't concentrate with Sombi-- SomBRA trying to kill me all the time."

                                            >Discord looks up from his crossword puzzle, "If it's any consolation, Starlight, a drumstick puncture isn't likely to kill you unless it hits a vital organ."

                                            "Well I'd like my organs to be intact before the show tomorrow, not that it really matters, since no-one knows how to play their instruments."

                                            >"I-I can play mine, Starlight!" a timid voice calls.

                                            "You don't count, Fluttershy."

                                            >"Sorry..."

                                            >"Oh come now," Discord sits up, "it's not too hard to play, is it? Just imagine that the audience is naked."

                                            "We're ponies. We're -always- naked."

                                            >"I know, it's disgusting. Clothed then, if that flies your kite. And just as a reminder, you won't be--"

                                            "I know, Discord, I'm singing." You let out a cringing sigh. "B-but I don't... -do- that, anymore. It reminds me of my old life."

                                            >"Ahh, I think I understand... In that case, just pretend you're in a new cult and the audience are your mindless devotees, problem solved!" He beams at your pale expression. "Anyway, whilst you've been practising, I've thought of a band name!"

                                            "You... didn't have one already?"

                                            >"Coming up with a band name is very difficult, Starlight, but I was thinking..." A dramatic pause. "The Ponytones!"

                                            "Already taken; also Gilda's a griffon and the jar abandoned his ponydom." Sombra grunts affirmatively.

                                            >"Hrm. How about Metal Blimp?"

                                            "That'll never take off."

                                            >"Discount Dan's Dishwashing Delinquents?"

                                            "Copyright issues."

                                            >"Starlight and the Glim Glams?"

                                            "Not very 'punk rock', is it?"

                                            >"But I think it has a nice ring to it! You're the face of the band, and the others are your glimmering, glamorous associates."

                                            "I don't really feel comfortable assuming a leadership position, Discord."

                                            >"You and I both know -that's- a lie, Little-Miss Equality; it'll be fine! Besides, Sombie will be vying for control of the band anyway, and he'll want to change the name to... what was your suggestion, Sombie?" He calls over your head.

                                            >A visceral growl answers him.

                                            >"That was it! Yes, Sombie thinks we should be called King Sombra."

                                            "...That's it?"

                                            >"Yes; not very imaginative, is it? He was never the most creative type, and I fear being an incorporeal mist has played havoc with his already lacklustre IQ. It's another reason I put him on drums," he whispers his next words, "drummers are rarely the shiniest crystals in the geode, if you catch my drift."

                                            >You glance over your shoulder at Sombra.

                                            >Sheer hatred glares back.

                                            "Alright, we'll go with, um, your idea."

                                            >"Wonderful! Alright, I think we should probably speed things up a bit, don't you?" He waggles his fingers suggestively, and you narrow your eyes.

                                            "What do you mean?"

                                            >"Well, I have been known to tamper with a pony's mind on occasion - Fluttershy can vouch for me - and I know -you- of all ponies will appreciate this. Now, you said you suffered from stage fright, didn't you?"

                                            >Without waiting for further comment, Discord plants a finger on your head and a blitz of magic surges through your entire being. Your bones tingle and your vision is full of bright lights and sunspots in the aftermath of his powers. Staggering around, you blink heavily and try to focus on Discord without losing your balance, the draconequus smiling innocently at your discombobulation.

                                            "Wh-what the hay was -that-?!"

                                            >"You said you couldn't face a crowd? Now you shouldn't have a problem." He slithers out of his chair and over to the resident griffon, who is attempting to gingerly pluck a few strings on her seventh guitar for that session without tearing them to pieces. "Oh Gilda? I have a present for you! No, it's not another guitar."

                                            >You watch in stunned silence, unable to move your legs or even think straight as Discord lazily drifts around the basement, violating the minds of each band member.

                                            >Except Sombra, whom he just pats affectionately and tells "shoot for the stars, kiddo".

                                            >He gently floats you over to your position behind the mic-stand set up at the front of the band arrangement, and once the team recovers from its trauma, Discord raises a megaphone to his lips.

                                            >"Alright team, from the top!"

                                            >Apparently, you can sing really well now.


                                            >It's the night of the Manehatten Band Bash, and you find yourself backstage with the team and an assortment of other hopeful bands both old and new. Each member of your band is dressed up in pink and black with plenty of studs. Gilda is the only one not put off by the idea of wearing a leather jacket, and Sombie is, as Discord promised, wearing small top-hat on his lid.

                                            >Your manager is excitedly talking to the owner of the building, gesticulating and hyping you all up.

                                            >You try to focus on his voice, and not on the boiling anger in your hooves.

                                            >As the de facto leader of Starlight and the Glim Glams, transporting the drummer is your responsibility, which is why you're cradling him in your hooves as you sit on your haunches.

                                            >You dare to glance down for a second to see his eyes still boring a hole into your skull.

                                            "H-hey, Sombie," you'd given up calling him anything else, "ready to, um, win the contest?"

                                            >The jar vibrates, and you see foreign visions of burning cities and enslaved civilians in your mind. You force a smile and try not to sweat too much.

                                            >You feel a tap on your shoulder and twist your head to see Trixie giving you a cautious look.

                                            >"You alright, Starlight? I know how nerve-wracking it can get before a show, so try to breathe steadily. If it makes you feel better you could try giving us a speech? I know you're good at those, and it could stretch your vocal chords before you sing."

                                            "That's... really good advice, Trixie, thank you!" Your heart warms at your friend's compassion.

                                            >"I mean, I could always take over doing the singing and you could play bass if you want?" She grins hopefully, and your faith in Trixie's intentions is snuffed.

                                            "I'm fine, thanks. I guess I could give a quick pep-talk though."

                                            >You shuffle around on your butt and gather the band, sliding Sombie's jar away from you to stop between Trixie and Gilda. After a chewing on your lip thinking for some rousing words, you speak.

                                            "So, I won't lie, this is weird; fact is though that life has a habit of getting weird. Sometimes you find yourself in bizarre situations you couldn't have predicted. But it's the greatest of mares who are able to reflect on their strengths and use what talents they have to make the most of a bad situation, if not for victory, then at least to mitigate their losses."

                                            >The band nods slowly.

                                            "Sure, I didn't expect to be drafted into an anti-government punk band against my will this time last week, but crying about it isn't going to change that we're here. This whole thing could end up burning to ashes around us, but as long as we rely on ourselves and each other, we'll get through unscathed. We're a team, not a group of individuals, and our collective efforts will be necessary to see us through this trial."

                                            >You gesture at your bassist.

                                            "Trixie, you're my best friend; I've got your back if you've got mine, and I know I can count on you to keep a cool head out there."

                                            >Trixie smiles in encouragement as you turn to the guitarist.

                                            "Gilda, I barely know you, but you seem nice so I hope we can at least stay in touch once this is all over and bond over how much we both want to kill Discord."

                                            >Gilda gives you a thumbs-up, and you look down at the jar.

                                            "Sombie, you're just the worst. I hate you."

                                            >The glass rattles defiantly as your speech ends.

                                            >You purse your lips.

                                            >...

                                            "Oh, and it's been nice to spend time with you too, Fluttershy."

                                            >"I'm just glad you remembered I was here," says Fluttershy, who was sat next to you the whole time looking very out of place.

                                            >Discord strides over, still wearing the t-shirt with your face on it, though now it's decorated with the band's name as well.

                                            >"Alright, team, we're in. We'll be on in two hours as the final act, so the audience should be nice and warmed up by the time we're out there. They'll also be comfortably drunk, so they probably won't notice if you completely screw up your act." The band shuffles uncomfortably. "N-not that you will! I'm confident you'll bring the house down. Now," he summons his crossword puzzle again and gazes at it ponderously, "does anyone know a five-letter word for 'malicious burning of property'?"


                                            >The announcer's voice booms around the room over the sound-system.

                                            >"...An electric performance from Static Stockmarket; I would like remind the audience that we do not condone swallowing batteries to "supercharge your band blueprints", I'm sure we all wish Pone Volter a speedy recovery. And now, onto our final act of the night! A fresh new band hailing from all over Equestria! Members from Ponyville, Trottingham, Griffonstone, and the darkest recesses of your worst nightmares; performing their début hit - 'Daddy Didn't Buy Me A Kite So Now I Start Cults And Kiss Mares' - it's Starlight and the Glim Glams!"

                                            >The lights illuminate your stage, and against your every expectation, Gilda absolutely kills it.

                                            >Her guitar screams like a tortured devil; accompanied by Sombra's relentless assault on his drumkit and further supported by the thumping bass from Trixie, the griffon almost steals the show right from the start.

                                            >The crowd roars its appreciation as she opens the song - which for some likely magical reason you all instinctively know how to play - before it transitions into your vocals.

                                            >You previous fear of relapsing into your old preaching days appears to have vanished as you basically just rant about your dad and the government to the crowd with a backing instrumental.

                                            >As you bellow such inspirational lines as "You're not getting grandkids and your bloodline will die with me", and "Celestia's tax proposals are archaic and stupid also she smells like how I feel on a Monday morning" you consider that some of this stuff may affect your future employment opportunities.

                                            >Still, the crowd eats it up. Clearly lyricism isn't important to them, and they're more concerned with the feel of the music, something your band-mates are all to happy to provide.

                                            >Just as you really get into the vibe, you rock your head forward in a head-bang in time to evade a drumstick aimed at the back of your skull.

                                            >It shoots out over the heads of the crowd to embed itself in a far wall.

                                            >Oh dear.

                                            >The stick rattles and bursts back out of the solid brick, hurtling towards you.

                                            >You briefly wonder how a wooden stick could survive being crammed into stone as a more pressing thought vocalises before you can stop it.

                                            "Celestia's tits, the drummer's trying to kill me!" you scream into the microphone.

                                            >A stallion at the front of the crowd is sobbing from the passion of your words, and a nearby mare begs you to sign her labia.

                                            >Still clutching the mic, you duck and weave around the stage to the roar of the crowd, your bandmates doing a fine job of improvising on the spot.

                                            >Even Sombie's doing well multitasking, maintaining the drum beat as he diligently attempts to perforate your torso.

                                            >Sliding on your knees across the stage to a squeal from Gilda's guitar, you find yourself next to Fluttershy, who is sat to one side tapping away at her tambourine with a serene, decidedly non-punkish look about her.

                                            "Fluttershy! I'm being attacked!"

                                            >"Oh yes," you can just about hear her over the music, "you made that quite clear in your line about Celestia's police reforms attacking your sense of freedom."

                                            "No! I mean Sombie's trying to kill me!"

                                            >"Isn't that the point?"

                                            "No! I--" you pause to throw up an arcane shield in order to deflect one of Sombie's drumsticks. The stick itself was charged with magic, and the two forces meeting causes it to spiral off into a corner of the venue.

                                            >The enchanted stick collides with a light fixture, knocking it out with a shower of sparks, which cast upon a pile of dry paper-based props leant against the wall.

                                            >You don't notice this, however, and yelp as you evade another drumstick.

                                            "Sombie, stop! We're supposed to be on the same team!"

                                            >The jar behind the drums roars in anger and a swarm of dozens of drumsticks enveloped in black lightning levitates into view.


                                            >The mare in the audience watches, mesmerised, as the singer on stage uses her impressive unicorn powers to deflect and destroy a torrent of homing projectiles. Small explosions and shockwaves flicker all over the show as she screams into her microphone about the virtues of cooperating with her belligerent band-mate instead of being murdered. All this happens as the drummer, bassist and guitarist provide a cacophony of thrashing punk sounds that invigorates the hearts of all that hear it.

                                            >She leans closer to her coltfriend beside her and shouts in his ear as the music thunders around them.

                                            "It's like, so evocative of our struggle against the government, right?"

                                            >"Yeah, yeah," he responds, "it's sort of like, a representation of how we need to work together if we have any hope of surviving. The singer is us, the drumsticks trying to stab her are the authorities, and the magic she's using is our collective will to strike back against our oppressors. You see the jar wearing a top hat? That's like, that's like the super rich using money to keep us down! Beating us, like a drum!"

                                            "It's so... deep!"

                                            >"-Super- deep! These guys are geniuses!"


                                            >On stage, you realise that a fire has started at the back of the room and is growing horribly out of control.

                                            "There's a fire!" you shout, "We need to get out of here now!"

                                            >"Hell yeah!" Shrieks a mare, "Fight the power!"

                                            "No you idiot, we're all in danger!"

                                            >"Too right, lady! Peach it!"

                                            >You realise, as the inferno starts to claim the rows at the back, that punk rockers aren't very bright.


                                            >"Well." Discord shakes his head as the fireponies do their best to combat the roaring blaze consuming the old downtown building the competition was using as a venue. "I for one am -shocked- that things deteriorated so quickly. I definitely didn't see this one coming. Worst thing is that I never even figured out what that five-letter word was... Ah well, c'est la vie, right Starlight?"

                                            >You glare at him as hard as you can, the blanket around your soot-stained body doing little to comfort you as Trixie attempts to remove a snapped drumstick lodged in your shoulder.

                                            >"Now I know what you're thinking, and I suppose I must acquiesce that bringing Sombra onto the team might not have been the wisest decision, but it all made for a dramatic finish, didn't it? I -did- say it would be dramatic when we started. That being said, I still blame the fire on Trixie. She's done it before, you know."

                                            "I'm telling Twilight."

                                            >"Oh now don't be such a bore, Starlight. Can you smell that in the air? That rich scent?" You can only smell the smoke and ashes drifting on the wind. "That's the smell of change, my friend. Celestia's days are numbered, I just know it. Viva la revolution!"