Be the Change You Want to See in the World (Part 9)

	You woke up, dizzy from sleep. You roll over, and feel your fur rub the bed. Oh yeah, you’re a pony now. You managed to forget for the briefest moment, but remembering the dream made it all come back. You feel something draped over you. You crane your neck. Oh yeah, you were fucked last night, and now Skyline has a wing over you. He was comfortable, even with one hoof jabbing into you. You roll back over, your ears twitching as they brush the wing. Skyline takes notice and wakes up.
	He rolls over to you, “Ready for tonight?” he asks. Oh god, not another round, you think. Then you remember the party tonight.

	“Most definitely,” you say, not sure how you are going to pull this off, “wait, wasn’t it like, a week from now?” you ask.

	“No,” Skyline replies, “you must have gotten your weeks mixed up.”

	Shit, you were going to need to figure this out fast.

***

	At least you tried. Ponies were trotting to the front door. You had everything you could think of set up; every bass you could find, a mixing table, various records, a microphone, and various electronic equipment you couldn’t identify. Skyline also brought you some decorations and crap, but you were too busy not knowing what the hell you were doing to put them up.

	You hoped your ears and electric blue tail wouldn’t betray your feelings of dread. Hopefully angry pony mobs were cuddly instead of violent. At least you managed to run home (Wait, you’re calling it “home” now?) and get your glasses. Ponies filed into the rather large room you had set up and Skyline nuzzled your shoulder.

	“Whenever you’re ready, Scratch,” he said.

	You nodded and let out a nervous laugh. Wrapping a hoof around the microphone, you pulled it closer to your muzzle, but suddenly a loud screech deafened the audience as well as you. Your ears slammed against your head and you quickly let go of the standing mic. The screeching stopped immediately. Every pony there was glaring at you for making the mistake of getting the mic to close to the speakers. Instead, you decide to lean towards the mic.

	“Sorry about that... everypony,” you say. The audience still was not amused.

	You desperately look around for something and you spot a box of records. You take one in you mouth and struggle to place it accurately on the turntable. You swore you could have caught a mumble from the audience about you not using magic, but you ignored it. You place the nub thingy on the record, and pray to... Celestia you guess... that it works. Oh wow, it actually does. The room is filled with some sort of pony pop song. The audience is still not impressed, but there are a few with a look that says ‘hey, at least it’s something’.

	You need something better! You place your hoof to the record to... pause it maybe? You had no idea how it works. For your ignorance, you were rewarded with a damaging scratch sound. Suddenly, everyone looks at you expectantly. You go to slide your hoof off, but the record scratches again! Everypony seems slightly captivated now. Excitedly, you rush over to the record box and pull out one of random beats. Eagerly, you place it on the second turntable. The bass begins to wub, and you go back to the first record.

	Strangely, every time you touch the record, it scratches in a more satisfying way, like being a DJ is something you can’t do wrong. A few minutes later, a deafening bass is blasting and electronic disk music is coming from your stage, and everypony is partying like it’s the end of Equestria... again.

	You were so good at this! It had to be the body, there was no way you would consider doing this as a human! You are so excited, you feel like you are going to burst. Actually, you feel like you are literally going to blow up. Your head is in excruciating pain, but you do your best to keep the wubs going. Suddenly, the room is filled with an ultraviolet light, flashing and spinning, turning the room into a wild display. You look for the source, then realize it is coming from your horn! You figured out how to use magic! Keeping the light up, you encase your horn in a blue glow as you imagine an invisible limb, yet not an arm, reach out to pick up things. You take one stallion’s plastic cup of cider right out of his hoof and down it. Magic, fuck yeah.

	You accidentally tip over the boxes of decorations that Skyline left onstage. You grinned as glowsticks spilled out. Perfect. Using your awesome magic, you crack dozens at a time, then scatter them throughout the audience. You loop some around your hooves, neck, and the hooks of your hindlegs. You looked like the damn sexy DJ you were.

	You may have been dead to the human world, and you may have ceased to exist on Earth. People were undoubtedly looking for you, but you would never be found. You were Vinyl Scratch, and nothing about that would change.