Blueblood

If there was anything about his boss that actually irritated Earth Writer, down to the very depths of his soul, it was this ahistorical carelessness. It wasn't just that she underrated the past, but underrated herself. 100 years from now, the archives of this paper would probably be the only record of certain ponies and their stories. Any scholar would tell you that a true account of contemporary life was the most valuable resource imaginable. He didn't argue, though. It wasn't worth the dust-up, not when he still lived hoof-to-mouth like this. Leaving aside the debate, he went straight to the question. "[colour=#8b4513]Conclusions? They're mostly just thoughts right now.[/colour]" He shrugged. "[colour=#8b4513]What generalizations can you make about 'day life'? The first can be as varied as the second. Some work the nights, and some come to play, and some can't have it any other way.[/colour]" He paused, having just realized that he'd composed a couplet accidentally, and wrote it down. Speaking of writing... "[colour=#8b4513]Yes, I remember. It was sort of a tie-in to the piece about Rarity. We grew up in the same town, though she was just taking off in her business while I was still in university. I was writing about hats. Even ponies who don't normally wear clothes wear hats, and the kind of hats they wear often tell more about their origins than they know.[/colour]" *For instance, no other city could possibly have composed that hat.* He didn't say that last thought out loud, though. He returned in a desultory way to his copy, before speaking up again. "[colour=#8b4513]If you don't mind getting my article late, I could probably go out to the nightclub myself, tonight. I've never been there when it's open for business.[/colour]" Earth wasn't the most sociable of ponies, and definitely preferred sleep to dancing the night away. Still, the boss had asked for interviews, and the stallion was nothing if not diligent.

"[colour=#4b0082]Oh, why, thank you.[/colour]" Balanced had been feeling a little underdressed, given the sartorial care obviously given by Swan Dive. Plus, she'd had to deal with all the feelings of a working-class mare playing host to a posh guest. She hadn't been around Swan Dive long enough to feel comfortable around her. "[colour=#4b0082]What I mean is, I don't believe I caught your name?[/colour]" "[colour=#b22222]Mama, this is Swan Dive. She works for a Canterlot paper.[/colour]" Flying Brick spoke more easily, though it was a bit forced, like she was tiptoeing around a subject she didn't want to talk about. This note of artificiality grew more pronounced as she returned to her interviewer's question. "[colour=#b22222]Well, see, I mostly trained on my own. There's not a lot of troupes on the streets, not in this city.[/colour]"

If Earth Writer had been wearing glasses, he would have looked at Swan Dive over the top of them. He sometimes failed to remember how much of a sieve her head could be when not concerned with her pet subjects. "[colour=#8b4513]Yes, it was real alright. Reality is often much more interesting than anything an author could make up. That's why we write non-fiction. Not that I don't mind a good novel myself.[/colour]" He paused again, staring off into space. "[colour=#8b4513]Although I'm dashed if I know why we ever had it. Maybe it was all an elaborate plot to cultivate a nightlife in Equestria, so Princess Luna would not be so lonely upon her return. Hm, maybe I should put in that speculation.[/colour]" The stallion jotted down a few more sentences, finishing out the paragraph, before he spoke again. "[colour=#8b4513]This shouldn't take me too much longer. What else is coming out in the latest edition?[/colour]"

Flying Brick had to raise an eyebrow at the sudden movement on the part of Swan Dive to make sure her body was still intact. The mare had felt something like that before, after running a particularly dangerous obstacle course, but to suddenly do so in the middle of a warm kitchen was unusual, to say the least. These reflections had to give way to the next question, which seemed to cause some embarrassment in the Earth Pony. "[colour=#b22222]Well...[/colour]" She started off, not really sure how to continue. At this point, Flying Brick's mother came back into the room, slightly limping. She had cleaned up, washing the dust off of her coat and putting on a simple but serviceable dress for receiving company. She made her own spiked cocoa before coming to the table, but before she sat down, Swan Dive would have been able to see her cutie mark, a pair of dancing shoes. "[colour=#4b0082]My Daughter has not introduced us, I think? I am Balanced Tip.[/colour]" She nodded to the Canterlotian before taking a sip of her own drink.

The lavender colt gave a courtly bow, acknowledging the reception of his compliment. He could manage a kind of natural stateliness unusual in a school-aged pony. "[colour=#996699]That you have certainly done, miss Octavia. Some credit, of course, must be given to the impresario of this little nook for sponsoring your public performance. He has missed his true calling, he ought to be running a concert hall. It is a piteous situation, dear comrades, my heart bleeds for him.[/colour]" He seemed to fall into reverie for a little while, before coming back to himself. "[colour=#996699]Ah, but I have neglected politeness. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Wordsworth Psmith, though I prefer Psmith, spelled P-S-M-I-T-H. The 'P' is silent, like the tomb. Miss Octavia I know by reputation, and you are...?[/colour]" Psmith looked in Damask's direction, leaving open an opportunity of introducing himself. The colt held himself ready to depart with the other two, including himself in Octaiva's 'we.' He slid off his seat, flicking an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his dinner jacket.

I'd like to put up Earth Writer for the event!

Having to deal with a boss so laid-back that she would randomly dance with invisible stallions during work hours was, perhaps, something that took a little getting used to. On the other hand, the lack of stress this encouraged in the office made for a easy work atmosphere, so Earth Writer didn't bother too much about it. He gave Swan Dive a precis of his copy, "[colour=#8b4513]It's a kind of follow-up to our piece on the mare who worked security for the nightclub. I looked into the history of the place; turns out it used to be a secret speakeasy, back in the days of Prohibition. I thought that the place's story had a parallel to Princess Luna's; how it used to be emblematic of what had gone wrong in Equestria, but outlived all the worst aspects of itself, living on and making the night more fun and hospitable.[/colour]" He tapped his pencil on the desk before asking, "[colour=#8b4513]Do you think she'll like it? The Princess, I mean.[/colour]"

The sight of Swan Dive repeatedly scalding the roof of her mouth, and the steps she took to relieve the pain, elicited a sympathetic chuckle from Flying Brick. Temperature extremes didn't bother her so much, you had to get used to them, living in Stalliongrad. The question of whether she'd ever considered the danger of her stunts caused her to pause for a second, before finishing off her cocoa in another big gulp. "[colour=#b22222]I cannot say I do, most of the time. I've been doing this sort of thing since I was a little foal, so I don't think about it much now. Sort of a habit, you see. I've gotten injured before, but nothing too serious.[/colour]" She shrugged. "[colour=#b22222]If you can follow your talents, you should. If you can stand the danger, all the better. I'm not completely reckless, you know. Not having a formal performance schedule means I can pace myself, and not have to force myself to play injured until my legs give out entirely. My hooves are the tools of my trade, and I can't replace them.[/colour]"

Psmith's verbosity had a tendency to overwhelm most of his conversational partners, but whenever he did listen, he appreciated most ponies who stimulated him intellectually. This Wordplay did, at first argumentatively, and now playfully. He responded in kind. "[colour=#996699]Ah, so my occupation is finally acknowledged as legitimate? I am glad to hear, Comrade Wordplay, that I have at least as much right to my study as a jailbird to his cell. It gives me, at any rate, a legal leg to stand on. Moving on to the question of distribution of company, I feel I may trust your discretion, though I should like for Comrade Beats to at least have one familiar face around on the first day of class, as a kind of moral support.[/colour]" The group, having arrived at the building, now encountered one of the teachers, a Pegasus of a brilliant white coloring. Psmith greeted her with a stately bow, but found, to his mixed amusement, that she was quite capable of not letting him get in a word edgewise. Definitely a mare of science, in so far as she reserved her mental focus for her special discipline. Not, perhaps, reaching to the highest state of the balanced philosophic mind, he thought, but no doubt one of the sorts that makes the world go round. "[colour=#996699]We have no objections to you joining us, Comrade Moonwing. You don't mind the 'Comrade' do you? Tomorrow, of course, Comrade Ria and I shall be under your authority, but for today, we are alike strangers in a strange land, conducted by our native guide.[/colour]" As they started off again, the colt put another question towards the teacher. "[colour=#996699]I wonder, is it very usual for telescopes to be put in the middle of a city? There were a few in Canterlot, particularly at the University, but mainly they were on the outskirts of the main thoroughfares. As I was given to understand, the prevalence of lights in the city tend to obscure the ones in the night sky.[/colour]" Psmith may not have been the most academic of ponies, but he could generally retain enough information relevant to any subject to engage most anyone in a conversation on that subject. It was more or less part of his special talent of fostering sociability through talk.

Oh, if you're open to requests, could I have one of my character, Wordsworth Psmith? Most of the coloration/personality details are in the profile description, though details about his manestyle and facial expressions can be found here (they're human, but they served as an inspiration for this pony): Anyway, if you could do a pony version of the bottom sketch, that'd be great. I mean, if you can fit it in.

Payment for one column a week does not a life in Canterlot make. Oh, sure, a pony can survive on the bits, but the pleasures of the city are beyond his reach, which leaves him only the inconveniences. Such was the insight that came to Earth Writer some time after starting his rather unexpected journalistic career. He'd had no training in the business, until he found out that the market for academic geographers wasn't open to fresh goods. On the other hand, there was always a market for ponies who could tell the whole of Equestria about every particular thing in it, provided you could write the story. This Earth Writer could do, and it was this skill, of being able to learn about a place and tell its story, that made him his bits. Still, the once-weekly business wasn't enough, as mentioned before, so he'd gone hunting for another paper to work for as well. He'd walked into the offices one day, under the impression that he was giving a job interview. He'd given so many in the course of the day, all unsuccessful, that once Swan Dive started on her own business, the stallion was only too happy to pour out the story of his life. Result: His story had been published in the evening edition of The Young Mare's Tail, and he found himself next day at a desk, writing out articles for the paper. His approach had similarities to his editor's, with one major difference. If Swan Dive represented the "Who," Earth Writer represented the "Where." Each and every place, he believed, had a story worth telling to the world. Naturally, most of his articles dealt with places relevant to the ponies' stories printed in the paper, but he didn't mind. They were far and varied, and The Young Mare's Tail had a rather generous travel budget... For now, however, he was content in the Canterlot offices, greeting his editor with a cheery, "[colour=#8b4513]Yes, Thank You![/colour]" as he wrote out his copy. "There is a distinct parallel between the nightclubs and the Princess of the Night; often times they were once places of secret, and not quite legal, meetings, which time transformed, and care redeemed, into the clubs now frequently enjoyed..." He couldn't help the academic flavor of his writing, but he had a knack for drawing parallels that were thoughtful and interesting.

"[colour=#8b4513]Oh. Really?[/colour]" It seemed Blaze Bright had been slightly mistaken on the book's contents. Still, It would have been rude to put it back now, and it was supposed to be similar, so it probably wouldn't be a waste of bits. The quotes on the cover didn't move him much; he knew pretty well that jacket blurbs were the bare minimum of out-of-context praise any publisher worth his salt could get... though on two separate occasions he'd made the mistake of trying to read a book that couldn't even get that. As for geography, that he was on firmer ground. He considered the question of relatability, in reference to Canterlot. "[colour=#8b4513]Hm, I can't say I've thought about that much, though I will say, I found it easier to be a scholar here than where I grew up. There's more space to allow sectors for ponies to pursue their aims, though they do tend to be somewhat isolated from each other. The academic quarter, where I live, really has more to do with Canterbridge town than, say, the warehouse district of its own city.[/colour]"

Flying Brick hadn't taken any offense to the refusal of the hatstand; Swan Dive's hat probably couldn't have stayed on anyway, top-heavy as it was. The mare's attention was mostly on her mother, following her exit with something of a sad look, before turning to the task of making some hot cocoa for her guest. "[colour=#b22222]Mama takes it with a little vodka, but I don't think you would.[/colour]" She said as she brought the mugs to the table. She took a sip of her own as she faced her guest, who looked just about recovered from the cold. "[colour=#b22222]I should think I ought to be suited to this weather, It's home to me. Stalliongrad builds strong![/colour]" She said it with pride, more in her city than in herself. "[colour=#b22222]I practice in the same place I perform, the streets. The best place is a construction site, there are a lot of props to incorporate, and there's nothing like scaffolding for acrobatics.[/colour]" She took another long drink from her mug, disregarding it's still-scalding temperature. "[colour=#b22222]My father lets me on his sites when the workers are breaking for lunch, or clocking off for the day. Hm, that's sort of how I got my cutie mark. I used to help him as a little filly, carrying tools to his workers. One day, I was taking a spanner to some griffon at the top of some steel beams. Nopony thought I could get up there without wings, but I did! Lived up to my name, I did.[/colour]" She gestured back to her flank, where her cutie mark was visible, a brick with wings.

Hm, as it happens, I have a writer character currently living in Cantelot: Earth Writer I hadn't originally conceived him as a journalist, but he's become one in his RP-storyline, as it were.

(Would you mind if I came in now?) Damask had not been the only pony that rumors of musical virtuosity had brought to Galloway. Sitting rather nearer to the performer during the set had been another older colt, around Damask's age if not a little younger, dressed in immaculate evening clothes. The music had been the main attraction of the place, the food he regarded as merely an excuse for his occupying a table. He'd ordered, as a minimum, bread, jam, and tea, and was currently feeling curiously rather like a jam jar himself, full of a kind of wobbly stickiness. These sensations he'd been able to suppress, thanks to the support of Octavia's playing, but now that the set hand ended, they came over him again. His alternative means of obtaining relief, a good talk, had been precluded by the unfortunate fact that he'd omitted to provide himself with a good conversational partner. Wordsworth Psmith, for it was he, sighed at the remains of his late-night repast. He did not feel equal to the task of mopping up, and elected to leave it to the waiters. Having left the required bits on the table, he departed for the bar to see if there might yet be something else to say for this place, when he once again found the musician from earlier, talking to another colt. Psmith looked around, there seemed to be nopony else around, and if an opportunity opened up, he should very much like a word with Octavia himself. Several, actually. As many as politeness would stand, preferably. Keeping silent the whole evening had begun to oppress him. A break seemed to come, and he proceeded inward, without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "[colour=#996699]I should not wish to appear rude, coming in at this juncture[/colour]," He started in, "[colour=#996699]But I did want to offer my own congratulations, and gratitude, before you left. You brighten the place, miss Octavia, you give it that touch of class which you carry about with you. It was certainly a privilege to be in the audience tonight, to hear you play upon the strings of- well, I don't know of what they're made, actually. I had heard that got the parts from dissecting cats, but I can't see it, myself. I don't class good musicians as capable of animal cruelty.[/colour]" We might excuse his somewhat off-putting debut from the fact that he had bottled up speech all evening, and had let himself go at a rush, but the fact was that, for him, this was reticence. One point in his favour though, he had a rather pleasant voice, a smooth and civilized set of tones, that could continue for hours without grating on all but the most sensitive of nerves; his speech as well was light and easy, as one who had much practice at it.

I have to agree, that is very impressive!

"[colour=#b22222]Urm, well, alright.[/colour]" Flying brick nodded in resolve as she guided her guest up the steps to the front door. Unlike most streets in Equestria, houses in this district of Stalliongrad had no front gardens acting as an aesthetic boundary between the brick and the cobblestone. Most Equestrians who came here thought it uncommonly ugly. This particular house was distinguished by an elegant facade which did much, in its own way, to make up for that, though it was obviously a later addition. The mare walked in without knocking; it was her house, after all. "[colour=#b22222]Mama? I'm home.[/colour]" She called out, nodding towards a hatstand doubtfully as she looked at Swan Dive. She hadn't given the hat much regard at first, but now that it showed against the background of plain walls, the architecture of the thing became apparent. The sound of arrythmic steps brought both their attentions to a newcomer, an older earth pony mare with a burgundy coat and chocolate mane, currently dressed in a smock that told of her constant battle with the coal dust that seemed to get everywhere in this part of the city. She walked in with a limp, like one who had a long time to get used to it. When Flying Brick's mother, for it was she, saw her daughter's guest, she started a bit, taking in Swan's elegant appearance, before laying into the mare in earnest. "[colour=#800080]Daughter, if you were going to bring in a guest, could you not have waited until I got the house ready?"[/colour] "[colour=#b22222]And leave her out in the cold?[/colour]" She asked. Her mother sighed. [colour=#800080]"I suppose not, can't keep an Equestrian out there. Not a one of them can stand it, beg your pardon."[/colour] She bowed to the visitor, before motioning to the kitchen. "[colour=#800080]You can fix some hot drink, while I go clean up[/colour]." And with that, she limped off. Flying Brick smiled sheepishly as she guided Swan Dive to the small table in the Kitchen. "[colour=#b22222]We don't usually have guests at this hour, you see.[/colour]" She said, apologetically. "[colour=#b22222]Still, I couldn't give you the runaround, you looked as if your eyes would freeze over![/colour]"

Well, if you don't mind me adding to the wait list, could you do one of my OC, [colour=#0000cd]Wordsworth Psmith[/colour]? There's a coloration reference in the profile itself, though if you like more details as to his mane style (and personality, for that matter), here's some pictures of human!Psmith:

Hm, a misunderstander of metaphors, and a fumbler of figures of speech? Wonder how she would deal with my torrential conversationalist, Wordsworth Psmith.

"[colour=#b22222]It's no trouble.[/colour]" Flying Brick assured the pink-maned mare. The dexterity with which Swan Dive had neatly recovered herself hadn't gone unnoticed by the acrobat. "[colour=#b22222]You are not too bad on your hooves yourself, if you look where you are going.[/colour]" Indeed, now that the Earth Pony really began to look at her, she could tell the grace with which the interviewer moved was not an affectation; real work and training had gone into it. Mentally, she allotted to Swan Dive a larger portion of respect. "[colour=#b22222]As for pay, well, it's not as if I can close off the street and sell tickets, yah?[/colour]" Flying Brick had to smile a bit at the mental image. [colour=#b22222]"It's not a well-paying venue. Ponies are appreciative, but rarely in any position to pay much more than spare change. I wouldn't play to any other, though."[/colour] She laughed a little, but there was an increasing strain in her voice as they neared her street. When at last they reached her house, a thin building of brick wedged in a street of such, she was chewing on her lower lip. "[colour=#b22222]I... don't know. If you promise not to print anything about her that... she doesn't want you to, I suppose it could be alright.[/colour]" A new note, tinged with embarrassment, had come into the acrobatic mare's voice, as the pair mounted the steps to her home.

Hm, if it's alright, could you do one of my OC Wordsworth Psmith? I put a ref pic for his coloring and cutie mark in the profile. Also, I have some expressions of Wodehouse!Psmith, that I used to inform his character. If you could give me a pony version of one of them, that'd be great:

"[colour=#996699]You admit the necessity at least.[/colour]" Psmith pointed out. "[colour=#996699]Mine is, of course, a pragmatic claim; that I have more need for it than the bravos who should otherwise claim it for their nefarious purposes. Still, there may well be something in what you say, necessity not having the highest claim on a pony's honor and all that.[/colour]" He conceded indulgently, speculating, "[colour=#996699]Do you think it leaves a blot upon the newly formed Socialist Society's Eustachion? You do have a say in that, and much there is to be said for your point of view. Very well, when the house-master returns, so shall the key, along with certain admonishments onto the advisability of securing public property from private indulgences.[/colour]" You had to say this for Psmith, having an ego that floated like a hot-air balloon did allow him to receive with equanimity most wit at his expense, being above sordid cares and all that. He smiled at Wordplay's inventiveness upon the theme, remarking as Beats and Ria returned. "[colour=#996699]You see, therefore, the importance of ballast; of a private and confidential friend to relate to me the happenings at ground level. Stick by me, Comrade Wordplay, or we are undone.[/colour]" The Social Studies building, though it would be the first stop for Psmith and the two sisters on the morrow, was on the far side of the science building. The quartet, therefore, arrived at the science building first. Added to one side, rather spoiling the symmetry of the building, a newly-erected observatory marked it as the home of the Astronomy course, at the very least. "[colour=#996699]I wonder if any of the teachers are at home. Strange how we think of places like this as their 'home,' they must live like other ponies, though I haven't seen evidence of it myself. Perhaps they fear that, seeing them in a personal light, their official majesty is somewhat tarnished.[/colour]"

Flying Brick was a little surprised at Swan Dive's imitation of her temporary walking style. The Stalliongrad native could do it safely, but- "[colour=#b22222]Look out![/colour]" Reaching with a forehoof, the earth pony brought the reporter to a stop with a quick grab to the neck, right before she would have run into a lamp-post. "[colour=#b22222]I know these streets, but you might miss something if you don't look where you're going.[/colour]" She remonstrated good-naturedly. Having prevented disaster, Flying Brick was now able to concentrate on Swan Dive's questions, and the most important one first. "[colour=#b22222]My name is Flying Brick, and yes, I am an acrobat, though I only play the streets. As for professional...[/colour]" She gave a kind of sheepish shrug. "[colour=#b22222]I am not paid much; have to take odd jobs to get by.[/colour]" The pair had now started walking again, at a steadier pace this time. "[colour=#b22222]My house is not far from here, but I do not know if mother will be ready to be hostess.[/colour]"

Dunno if this thing's died or not; two of our key players left.

Hm, seems she'd fit in as the Astronomy teacher. The students would probably encounter her when they toured the classrooms, as they're just about to do, just have to wait for Osprey's post to bring them 'round.