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Technicolor - Chapter 1

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Dec 7th, 2012
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  1. Pinkamena floated through the dead expanse of space. The stars around her glittered and faded and were tantalizingly out of reach. She reached her hoof towards one anyways, a pleasant smile spreading across her face as she watched the light bloom all around her. An island formed before her and she navigated towards it. As she landed, she noticed a warm, comforting flame and she walked towards it. The flame bloomed and swallowed her in a flash, and the pony was no more.
  2.  
  3. She blinked slowly, focusing on her surroundings, her sheets wrapped around her tight.
  4.  
  5. They were, it seemed, not the only thing keeping her down. Somehow, Pinkamena couldn't bring herself to leave the damned bed she had been wallowing in for the past week. Weeks. She wasn't sure anymore.
  6.  
  7. Her spirit, or at least, her mind, were eager to wander, as they had since she had first taken a break from the hectic life of being a forgotten musical talent in a world that had stopped caring.
  8.  
  9. Not just about her. Canterlot had simply forgot how to care.
  10.  
  11. She sighed. What had brought her here in the first place? What had made her set out on a quest to have the world recognize her talent? It wasn't her own ambition, to be sure.
  12.  
  13. Rarity grinned triumphantly at the five ponies' blank stares. "How do you like these?"
  14.  
  15. Twilight was the first to muster a response. "It's... wonderfully diverse. Canterlot seems to have grown since the last time you were there."
  16.  
  17. The gray one raised a hoof in the air. "Oh, of course it has! Such culture, such beauty. It really is a shame you couldn't join me, friends. Especially you, Pinkie!"
  18.  
  19. "Huh?" The earth pony took her eyes off a life-size chocolate statue ("Seventy-five percent cocoa, dear.") of a draconequus. "What about me?"
  20.  
  21. "I know how much you love music."
  22.  
  23. "Well... it is my talent." She snuck a look at her flank just to be sure. A flurry of musical notes greeted her and she smiled.
  24.  
  25. "You simply must learn about the Canterlot music scene. It's... a bit rough for my tastes, but then again, you always were a wild one..."
  26.  
  27. "You mean you brought instruments?"
  28.  
  29. "Yes."
  30.  
  31. "Oh my gosh! Can I...?"
  32.  
  33. "Yes."
  34.  
  35. The mare approached the array of objects, inspecting it further. There were so many fun things she had to try...
  36.  
  37. She lifted herself a bit lazily, looking down on the city below her high rise. Snow was falling down, blanketing the world. Cold. Numb. She dropped again.
  38.  
  39. Rain crashed down on the cobblestone streets of Ponyville as Pinkie watched the carriage that waited for her to board. She knew once she started her way to Canterlot, her life wouldn't quite be the same.
  40.  
  41. She turned and nodded at the five others. Their figures were faded in the pouring water, but she thought she recognized a smile. She certainly hoped so.
  42.  
  43. She tried to yell out a farewell. No sound came out. Instead she nodded slightly and stepped up into the carriage.
  44.  
  45. "Morning, Miss. Where are you headed today?"
  46.  
  47. "Canterlot, please."
  48.  
  49. "That's where they all go these days..."
  50.  
  51. "Is it bad?"
  52.  
  53. "Bad? Oh, no. It's different, that's all."
  54.  
  55. "I love new things!"
  56.  
  57. The driver turned and smirked at her. "Then you're going to love Canterlot."
  58.  
  59. The stallion had been right in a way. The city of Canterlot, no matter how much agony it caused her, had a worrying, unexplainable draw to it.
  60.  
  61. Something strong enough to pull her away from her lifelong friends and keep her there, at least. Locked in a gilded cage.
  62.  
  63. She stopped and rose to look over her windowsill, resting her head on it. A row of electric lamps extended below her, flickering. Some broken. And ponies, an endless trickle of ponies everywhere she looked. She couldn't escape them.
  64.  
  65. But for some reason she insisted on trying.
  66.  
  67. Once more, she dropped, deciding more rest was the prescription.
  68.  
  69. The same as the past week. She had to be running low.
  70.  
  71. Life had been hard when she had first arrived, as just another street artist in an impressive tide, but her multitalented performances had often drawn quite a crowd, who seemed to enjoy the performances as much as she did- a wonderful feeling of mutuality that she felt was what her true purpose was.
  72.  
  73. One day the audience happened to include a talent scout from one of Canterlot's major record labels.
  74.  
  75. She'd never forget the way he came up to her, ecstatic about how he had never seen anypony incorporate so many instruments with such spontaneous passion, and a lovely voice to boot! He promised her a contract right then and there. She would become a star, no question about it.
  76.  
  77. To say she hadn't even given it a second thought would be an understatement. She had thrown herself at him, her hope fulfilled at last.
  78.  
  79. Things were a bit hazy after that. She got big, and then she got bigger. Somewhere along the way she cracked. Maybe she had collapsed under her own weight, just as all stars do...
  80.  
  81. She eased herself out of the bed and trotted over to the full-length mirror set up in her room. A proud horn, seven full inches of lifeless plastic stared at her. Worthless, but it looked real enough- and what else mattered in show business?
  82.  
  83. She lowered her head, admiring the two rubber flaps on her back. It took effort to move them, seeing as how the neural wiring was primitive at best.
  84.  
  85. She was just a prototype, after all.
  86.  
  87. Maybe she was outdated, used and ready to dispose of. But she simply couldn't give in, couldn't let her one dream die so easily.
  88.  
  89. This was all that she had left.
  90.  
  91. She paused in her thoughts to scratch under her mane ("Straight, straight makes you look so much more unapproachable, dear.") Those stitches still itched. Perhaps they were from yesterday, perhaps it had been years. She wasn't sure anymore.
  92.  
  93. All Pinkamena knew was she felt stitches everywhere.
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