Planescape: Equestria 24

>You’ve been to some wild parties in your time.
>Ceilidhs with the sidhe, Sensate orgies, dwarven wakes, feasts in Ysgardian mead halls - just about every manner of celebration or social gathering the planes had to offer, or so you had thought.
>This, though… this is something else.
>This is overwhelming.
>The volume of the music, the flashing coloured lights, the sheer number of ponies filling the great ballroom, all of them mingling, drinking, dancing, enjoying themselves.
>As you move through the crowd towards the bar you meet curious and enquiring gazes from the ponies all around.
>Thanks in large part to Pinkie’s glowing recommendation, you assume, most of the looks you’re getting are friendly and smiling, and many ponies offer you a friendly greeting in passing.
>All the interest still can’t help but put you further on edge, though, when combined with the noise and the crowded, dimly lit atmosphere.
>It’d be all too easy for some faceless member of the crowd to slip a blade in your back, and given recent events it’d be foolish to rule out the possibility that somebody wants to do just that.
>To some extent, maybe you just have to trust that your friends among the ponies wouldn’t let that happen.

>That feels like a dangerous amount of trust to be putting in anyone, though, even if it wouldn’t be the first time today that a pony saved you from a folding.
>So, but, more importantly: you have to trust yourself.
>You have to trust yourself to smell trouble before it happens and to handle the situation.
>You’re not going to be able to do that – at least, not with any aplomb – as long as you’re tense and nervous.
>Belief is power; act like a frightened cony, and you’ll get caught like one.
>Relaxation is the order of the day.
>Thank fuck for alcohol, then.
>Two quick scotches later, you’re starting to unwind to the point where you can accept the sensory barrage of the party for what it is without bracing yourself against it.
>The bass from the speakers vibrates inside your bones in a way that might be kind of a kick, actually, if you can just stop being so alarmed by it.
>And the more that you let yourself go with the flow, the more you find yourself able to pick up on the subtleties around you rather than just being overloaded by the whole crushing weight of sense input.
>Subtleties like the cute yellow pegasus with the fiery orange mane who just glanced at you from further down the bar.
>All right, in the interests of relaxing and enjoying the party, you reckon you can work with that.
“Care to dance, miss?” you ask over the pounding music.
>The look she gives you is doubtful, but good-humoured.

“…how would that even work?”
“Only one way to find out.”
>You grin, holding out a hand.
>After a moment she places a hoof in it with a wry smile.
“Well, if only so I can say I was the first pony to dance with a human. Spitfire: going boldly where no pony has gone before.”
“Play your cards right and who knows what other fun frontiers you might push.”
“….ugh. Suddenly my pioneer spirit is drying up.”
>You just give her another shameless grin and whirl her about by the hoof in your hand, bringing her up onto her hind legs and into a tight clinch before immediately reversing the spin and holding her suspended at arm’s reach for a moment as her wings flare out in surprise.
>Luckily, even as unfamiliar as these dance steps are to her, she obviously has the natural balance and grace to follow quite successfully as you dip her, whirl her, throw her about and generally give her the fastest crash course in swing dancing that she can possibly keep up with.
>It helps that you know how to lead her, guiding her steps and subtly correcting her centre of gravity as you go.
>Her size makes it all a little more difficult, but it’s not your first time dancing with someone a lot smaller than you.
>You knew the time spent flirting with Halfling girls at barn-dances would come in handy again one of these days.
>You dance a couple of songs with her, and by the end of it the two of you are making a pretty good team.

>The pony uses her wings in some unexpected ways to jazz up certain moves, and you feel increasingly confident to try some daring stunts.
>You’re even getting into the music; as brutally loud as it is, that pounding bass definitely demands to be danced to.
>For your grand finale you slide your partner through your legs before reversing her momentum to fling her high into the air.
>She uses her wings to send herself into an impressive spin on the way down without arresting her fall, and you smile inwardly: she gets it.
>You drop to one knee as you catch her neatly on the last beat of the song, and there’s a moment’s silence before loud applause breaks out over the opening bars of the next one.
>You hadn’t even noticed the circle of eager spectators that had formed up around the two of you, but now you give them a smile and nod of acknowledgement as you set your partner down.
“See? Not so bad,” you say to her.
“Not so bad yourself,” she smiles, a little out of breath.
>Anything else that you might have had to say to each other is swallowed up as a tide of mares presses forwards to be the next to dance with you, and – not wanting to get stuck with a full dance card for the night – you make your excuses and beat a hasty retreat back to the bar.
>You find Rainbow waiting there, eyes wide as she watches you approach.
“Dude.”
>You raise an eyebrow at her.
“…dude.”
“….yeeees?”
“DUDE. That was Spitfire. The WONDERBOLT Spitfire.”

“Oh. No kidding?”
“And those were some crazy moves. Holy CRAP, dude.”
“Does this mean I win our dancing contest?”
>Her awestruck expression vanishes instantly, replaced by grim determination.
“The buck it does. I’m still gonna destroy you.”
>You grin. “Good, for a minute there I thought I wasn’t going to get a decent challenge tonight. But who are you gonna dance with to top Spitfire?”
“It’s not about who I dance with, it’s about how awesomely I dance,” she says dismissively, before giving you a sidelong smile. “But if that’s how you wanna play it, I’m gonna be dancing with the guest of honour, obviously.”
“Heh. Touché.”
“What?”
“I said – never mind. I’m gonna go talk to Octavia. Catch up with you later.”
“Later.”
>You make your way up to the stage, politely fending off friendly overtures from dozens of ponies along the way before you finally reach the front of the crowd.
>Vinyl Scratch is holding court on the edge of the stage with a throng of ponies crowding up to gush their approval, request autographs or just chat.
>She looks relaxed and totally in her element as she signs whatever is offered to her and exchanges a few nonchalant quips and jokes with her fans.
>Octavia sits awkwardly a little way behind her and to the side, hugging her cello close to her side.
>Either she doesn’t have the same fanbase as her collaborator, or she’s putting them off with her shy and reserved attitude.

>Either way you can’t help but feel bad for her.
>She sees you approaching through the crowd – you do stand out rather, what with standing twice as tall as anybody else here – and you give her a warm smile.
>She looks away nervously before returning her eyes to you and giving you a half-smile in return, and your heart melts a little bit.
>Arriving at the stage, you take up a position leaning on the edge of it and beckon the grey pony over.
>You’re right next to a ludicrously huge stack of speakers and you feel like the noise might liquefy your bones at any moment, but you’ve adjusted pretty well to that sensation by now and it’s not bothering you too badly.
“Hey,” you greet her as she gets close enough for you to be heard over the music.
“Hello, Anonymous.”
>You hop up onto the stage and lounge on the edge, leaning towards her so that you can speak into her ear and be heard without yelling at the top of your lungs.
“Good to see you back on your hooves. You okay?”
“Yes… yes, thank you. Quite fine, it was apparently a simple enough matter to cure whatever toxin that changeling used on me. I feel right as rain, only a little shaken up.”
“That’s a relief. Feel pretty bad about getting you mixed up in that mess.”
“Well… it was hardly your fault, after all, was it? Changelings are an indigenous nuisance, if anything we ponies should be apologising to you.”

“Hmm, good point. Okay, apology accepted I guess.” You grin and raise an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you can make it up to me later.”
>She takes an embarrassed half-step back, face flushing red.
>Your grin just broadens as you lay a hand on her shoulder to keep her still as you go on.
“Hey, hey, I mean by buying me a drink or something. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Hmph.”
>With satisfaction you note a smile of amusement battling with the look of offended dignity on her face.
“Hey, Anon,” comes a voice from your left.
>You turn to see Vinyl leaning in close and looking disapprovingly at you over her shades, having disentangled herself from her mob of admirers.
“Are you making Tavi squirm?” she asks with a stern frown. “Because... that’s kinda my thing, and I don’t appreciate just anyp0ny coming along and muscling in on my territory.”
“Oh, hey, sorry,” you smile. “You looked kinda busy over there, figured you wouldn’t mind if I filled in for you for a bit.”
“Hmm…” she gives you a long stare, her eyes hidden behind the opaque purple lenses.  “Okay, buddy,” she says at length. “You’re my official Tavi-tormenting deputy. Don’t let me down.”
“Yes ma’am.”
>You give her a half-assed mock salute, and she returns it.
“Cool, now get the buck off my stage, and prepare your body. We’re gonna get this party started.”
“Right then.”
>You hop down to the floor and make your way over to the bar in the hopes of getting in another drink before all the Abyss breaks loose.

>It seems like a sensible move to be a safe distance from the speakers, too, until you’re sure of exactly what new horrors await.
>The song on the speaker system fades out just as you’re taking the first sip of your beer, and a thunderous cheering and stomping of hooves fills the air as the lights go down and a single beam illuminates Vinyl and Octavia on the stage.
>A long moment goes by as Vinyl drinks in the anticipation and excitement from the crowd – and then she bends over her array of dials and sliders, and the noise begins.
>You thought it was loud before, but it had nothing on this.

>This is the sound of the world ending in one giant pulsing, crunching, continual cataclysmic explosion of bass, hammered into intricate shape and form by the percussion, traced over in harsh, vibrant colour by the melody.
>How one pony can possibly be making all this noise – and yes, it’s just one pony, Octavia hasn’t even touched her bow yet – is totally beyond you.
>Fog, or smoke, drifts over everything, lit up into a roiling sea of colour as tinted spotlights flash and roam over the crowd.
>Vivid beams of red and blue light shoot straight up from the front of the stage and spin in complex patterns to the music.
>This time, bracing yourself against the onslaught is no option.
>It sweeps you away like a tide, crushing all resistance, submerging you and filling you up.
>This whole enormous room is one great sonic apocalypse, and you and all these ponies are its victims, its willing slaves, its heralds and celebrants.
>Your beer forgotten, you throw yourself into the very heart of the throng of dancing ponies, and take your place at the centre of the revels.