Blueblood

(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.

"[colour=#b22222]Oh, certainly![/colour]" The interviewer had begun on just the right note; Flying Brick loved her home city, and was all too willing to show it off. Her eyes were bright, her voice was eager, and her bracing exercises had left her rather more energized than exhausted. "[colour=#b22222]There is so much worth seeing here, it is impossible to tell where to begin![/colour]" The mare, in her eagerness, had trotted ahead of Swan Dive, and was now walking backwards, facing the Canterlotian. Flying Brick apparently knew the streets of Stalliongrad well enough to do so without running into anything. "[colour=#b22222]This is Industrial District, mostly workers live here. My father works construction, his team was on that site back there. They don't mind my using equipment as stage, if I don't break it, and I don't. Oh, my house is near here, would you like to see it?[/colour]" By now her slowed pace had brought her even with the unicorn, and she was facing the right way round.

"[colour=#996699]Theft, Comrade Wordplay?[/colour]" A look of pained reproach came into Psmith's face as he regarded Wordplay's through his eyeglass. "[colour=#996699]Every pupil has the right to the key to his own domicile; how else to ensure a moment of privacy? One could hardly have moments of quiet study and reflection if at any moment some blighter might walk in and start talking about himself. The bathroom key as well merits not this censure, it is merely the practical side of Socialism: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. The house-master's ability to collect keys is world-renown, my need to secure the passage you have remarked already. Lock-picking, as well, is only one of those skills necessary to a smooth domestic life, such as plumbing. I fancy we leave the courts without a stain upon our characters![/colour]" He settled back in poise as they departed the room, as if to say 'I rest my case.' The colt waved departure to his fellow-defendants, merely remarking that he would meet them outside. He did raise an ironical eyebrow at his companion's addendum. "[colour=#996699]I should think 'ballast' the more appropriate term. My ego resembles more a balloon than any terrestrial structure, floating high above the sordid realities. I anticipate your next remark, Comrade, shall be that I am sustained by no visible support than my own hot air. Wit I do not mind; it spices the conversation, but I should wish for cleverer satire from my close friends.[/colour]" This conversation brought them fully outside, and it was no long wait before Beats and Ria rejoined them. The library was duly added to their itinerary, and they set off. "[colour=#996699]My first period is entirely occupied with Civics, a class fortunately situated at no great distance from our domicile. The other three are spread with greater ease over the course of the week. I anticipate a certain degree of keenness in our Civics master, but at least our afternoons shall belong to ourselves.[/colour]" (OOC: At what point do you want to skip ahead to Psmith's confrontation with his floormates?)

These streets were home to Flying Brick. She'd cut her performing teeth on them, and had become one of the local fixtures in the district. She'd ranged across the city in her time, but these were the ones she knew best. Most everypony (and non-ponies) who lived here, she knew, and they knew her. Thus, it was usually only newcomers who took enthusiastic interest, and Swan Dive was about as much a newcomer to Industrial Stalliongrad as it was possible to imagine. "[colour=#b22222]I should think you were not from here." [/colour]The mare replied, in the accent of her city and the strained diction of a lower-class pony talking to an upper-class one. If Swan Dive had been more on Brick's level, her greeting would have been more obviously enthusiastic, and probably rougher as well. Despite the lack of complete comfort, however, the earth pony was pleased at the compliment, and when Swan Dive mentioned she was from a paper... "[colour=#b22222]Yes, I should get my jacket first, but I should be glad to give a few words.[/colour]" Inwardly, excitement was stirring and straining. Publicity was a craving for all with the showmare's instinct, and that Flying Brick had in spaded. She practically skipped on the tips of her hooves as she went to fetch her clothing, and only slightly downplayed it upon her return.

Ouch, but yeah, I can see one not feeling it.

Hm, interesting... Well, Earth Writer is easy: Honesty. He's an academic sort, and is quite interested in finding out the truth of things and telling it, in his own way. Flying Brick... Probably loyalty; she really is quite patriotic for her home city of Stalliongrad. Wordsworth Psmith, gonna have to go into the secondaries with this one: Sociability. He really takes a genuine joy in the company of other ponies, any other ponies, which goes a good way towards redeeming his faults.

Think of it this way: What's the craziest idea you can put into Psmith's head? Or, what might be some unforseen consequences of his putting into motion the Great Public Umbrella Scheme? What would the bold declaration of Socialism inside a previously upper-class bastion actually do? I was kind of thinking near-term; if we bring in NPC's, the first thing they'd try to do is evict Psmith from his study. That's a source of conflict right there.

Psmith patted an inside pocket of his blazer. "[colour=#996699]Worry not, Comrade Wordplay, I had already secured the keys while leaving the clipboard in the House-master's office, both to the bathroom and this study. The cry goes 'round the castle walls, 'Psmith has stymied us! We must attempt a direct assault!' I don't anticipate, though, any further troubles until the small hours of the night, which gives us plenty of of time to locate our classes, and for me to take preparatory measures.[/colour]" He smiled benignly upon his guests as they finished their tea. Obviously, being used to the bustle of the cities of the Strand, one could not expect them to take tea in the Canterlot manner. You were allowed a break in work for tea there, and naturally the citizens had evolved methods of drawing out the respite, which suited Psmith to the ground. Nevertheless, he aimed to match pace with his guests. One mustn't aggravate one's company by lingering over-much over food and drink; they might begin to pay attention to the sounds a pony makes while eating, and those are rarely pleasant to hear. Thankfully, conversation served to drown out such noise. "[colour=#996699]Radio adverts... yes, that would seem to be your specialty. Delegation, that is the key; I leave advertisements in your capable hooves, Comrade Wordplay. Ah, you are finished, Comrade Beats? Toes tapping, eager to be off? Quite the right spirit, keep it up. If you will bring your class schedules, we shall conclude our exploratory expedition of this bastion of academia.[/colour]" He made certain to lock the door behind him as they departed, marking "[colour=#996699]W. B. Psmith[/colour]" on the door in chalk. "[colour=#996699]To cement the claim.[/colour]" He explained. There was no window into the room, so one couldn't tell what was behind the door when it was shut.

Even in this district in this city, such an intrusion into the street was an unusual obstacle to encounter. Or rather, a rare opportunity, to one particular mare. Out of view of the milling crowd accumulating around the blockage of traffic, Flying Brick was warming up, stretching each leg in turn and flexing each joint in every direction. In order for this to work, she had to be limber in every way. This also included not wearing heavy clothes, which exposed the red-brown earth pony to the chill in the air. As a native of Stalliongrad, however, she could stand the cold better than any Equestrian, and her exertions would serve to warm her up. [colour=#b22222]*It's Showtime* [/colour]She thought to herself, before springing into action. She clambered up the fire escape up to the roof of the building to the left of the crane, leaping beyond the final step right into a somersault, stopping just short of the edge of the roof on her hind legs. Her upper body was raised almost perpendicular to the ground, her head thrown back as she heard the gasps of the ponies below who'd first noticed her. Flying Brick kept the pose for two seconds while the clawed machine swung over to her side of the street. Just when it was beginning to pull away, she stepped off the roof, her front hooves barely reaching the cross-bar of the crane as her forelegs bent to grip it. From there, she pulled herself into a bar routine, rotating around and under the cross piece, before launching into the air to land on top of it, transitioning into a balance beam set. Whoever was operating the crane seemed to notice by now, and it stopped moving on the right side of the road. Not missing a beat, Flying Brick swung and spun down the rope to to claw, now close enough to the ground to safely jump off of. This she did, right on top of a trash can. Neatly tipping it onto its side under her hooves, she barrel-walked it into the middle of the street, before lightly stepping down and kicking it back to its place in the alley. She bowed to the stunned crowd. It did not stay stunned for long though; cold as it was, every city appreciates a good show, especially if it's free.

Hm, troubling. And I suppose you're right; there aren't many school-related characters that aren't already in Ponyville or Canterlot. Still, we'll get on as best we can.

Alright, so we've gotten a plot going, though I don't know how far it will get without more characters to rope in/oppose Psmith's little scheme. Any ways you think we might rope in more players/ponies?

Alright, I'll take out Flying Brick for my interview; she's not in anything right now and I think she'd make for a good story. As for type, I'm fine with it being public. She's a street acrobat, so it'd most likely start off with Swan Dive watching her practice/perform, and asking for an interview afterwards.

((OOC: That's alright, sis. Got other OOC stuff to discuss; check the discussion thread)) More and more, Pmsith felt that Wordplay was a lucky find as a friendly native. It was very rare that he found someone who played along to his mannerisms. Usually they were just tolerated, or simply overlooked, like a pile of clothes on the floor of a colt's room. Though, impeccably dressed as he was, it was extremely unlikely that this particular colt had ever been so sartorially careless. "[colour=#996699]So they might be, Comrade Wordplay, but if they wished to reserve this cozy nook for themselves, they should have come down on an earlier train. In any case, they are always welcome to visit. Save for our private moments of thought and meditation, we Psmiths keep an open-door policy, hence the fifth cup.[/colour]" Irregardless of the opinions of the soon-arriving boarders at Clopham, it seemed that Psmith had rallied the troops present. He clapped his hooves together once, falling back into his couch with a pleased smile. "[colour=#996699]Excellent! Our alliance is cemented. I shall talk to the schoolmaster about getting the official recognition set, with member's badges if I can get some. One oughtn't to leave the pageantry out of things, it lets ponies act poetry as well as write and rap it. Once you have finished your tea, we may recommence our reconnoiter.[/colour]" He waved a hoof deprecatingly as he leant back, clearly indicating that he was in no hurry.

Ah, I'd been waiting for you to respond. It's alright, I understand. On that note, though, how would we handle his withdrawal IC?