Blueblood

Hm... colour me interested, though at the moment, I'm not sure which of my three characters I'd like to be interviewed.

(Figured I'd give a bump to this thread) "[colour=#996699]Ah.[/colour]" Psmith levitated the clipboard Wordplay indicated towards himself, scanning the list. "[colour=#996699]Very well! Let us take a quick tour of this domicile, and see if we cannot locate a humble nook fit for giving hospitality.[/colour]" The room Psmith eventually selected for himself was not a dorm, but a study, such as are reserved for the private use of senior students to do schoolwork. It was comfortably furnished, though it lacked a proper bed. "[colour=#996699]No matter,[/colour]" the colt had commented. "[colour=#996699]We Psmiths are old campaigners. Give us a room, a tolerably cushioned couch, a warm stove for the making of tea, and we are content to rough it. This, though[/colour]," His magic lit up a bar running through the middle of the large window. "[colour=#996699]It shall have to go.[/colour]" With a wrench of his neck, it came out, leaving an unobstructed view of the back garden. "[colour=#996699]There we are. Now, I have tea things in my crate, if you will allow me to treat you, we make ourselves cozy in this abode of wrath.[/colour]" It didn't take long, and soon Psmith had a pot steaming, and five cups ready to pour the beverage into, with bread and butter besides. The unicorn doled out the victuals with the manner of a monarch distributing largess among his subjects. "[colour=#996699]Now that we are comfortably apportioned, comrades, let us give thought to the social campaign we are to conduct.[/colour]" He leaned back to more comfortably discourse. "[colour=#996699]As our native guide has pointed out, it would be for the good of the school if we were to ignore its cliqued social norms. It is, however, worth considering that the establishment has ways of making things pretty hot for those who blithely disregard it. On the other hand, we have ourselves an advantage in that all of us are only here for one more year, which insulates us from any long-term recriminations.[/colour] [colour=#996699]"I propose, as a first move, confusion to the enemy. We must take for ourselves a role not yet cast in this school drama. To this end, I am going found a Socialist Society, into which you all are cordially invited. Having established this club, we may move forward in our twofold goal. The first, is to establish ourselves as equally comrades to all groups, a net drawing in all kinds, this stance of principle to be incorporated into our founding charter, which I shall draft this evening. The second, of course, is to implement the Great Public Umbrella scheme, joint brainchild of comrade Wordplay and myself.[/colour]" He indicated his fellow social theorist with a toast of his teacup, before taking a sip. "[colour=#996699]Does this strike you,[/colour]" He asked the company, "[colour=#996699]As a sound proposition? In your capacity as Socialists, you may serve as ambassador to each of your chosen activities, and participate as fully as you wish, provided you scorn not the company of any others. Hospitality is our watch-word. Without hospitality, where are we? In isolation and depression, comrades; let it never be so![/colour]"

Maybe another day after letting everyone know? At least you've poked them for response and the balls in their court. If they don't acknowledge, it would be best to move things along.

---[colour=#daa520]Skeeve[/colour]--- As I watched the others around the table, I couldn't help but wonder if any of the other 'Outsiders' were Dragon Poker players. I don't play much these days; when I did I had to rely on luck and being able to read people. I think it was Lambdadelta that reminded me of those games; she seemed to take the attitude of the table dealer. She wasn't playing for the stakes, she was just interested in the game itself, drawing the players in, making it interesting... It wouldn't be until later, when we were all deep into it, that she'd play for the house, as it were. Already, she'd brought in the most powerful piece into interaction with her own. Of course, she was also a little crazy. All this summoning of viewbubbles made it harder to keep track of one's own piece... but easier to keep track of other's. Perhaps poker wasn't quite the right parallel Certainly, there wouldn't be much display of the fine are of bluffing, if the blue-haired guy in the dark cape was any indication. Obvious moves, both in Equestria, and in dealing with his fellow players. He didn't seem to be paying me much attention, perhaps it was because I hadn't given so much away. Still, he had a good hand for playing the political game, but I wasn't sure about his grasp of the rules. I'd served in a Royal Court before, and in my experience, what Power go you was attention, which could take many forms, from admirers to assassins. The only thing worse was notoriety, which gave you attention without the means of dealing with it. That, however, wasn't my problem now. I couldn't help but smile. It was kind of refreshing, not being thought worth noticing. There was no need to bring my observations to his attention, in any case. The blue mage also didn't quite fit the poker metaphor. It was like he wasn't even interested in the game, but in the artwork on the cards. Even if he lost his bets, he still got what he came for. Left on his own, I suspected he wouldn't bother with much interaction, until he exhausted the solo researches of his piece. Another thing to file away for later. And then there was Peona. He reminded me a little of Grimble, the chancellor back at the court I was a magician for. Business-like, and fairly irritable. Still, that sort can be dealt with, if you grease them with compliments. "[colour=#daa520]If a man picks a piece of cheese for his weapon in a duel, you may count on the fact that he has thought of an innovative and surprisingly effective way of using it." [/colour]I spoke from experience here.[colour=#daa520] "You look to me like the intelligent sort. Smart enough to play a subtle game, anyway."[/colour] I was rather interested in what he was planning. I'd learned the hard way what damage a child (or apparent child) could do if ignored or underestimated. ---[colour=#008080]Trixie[/colour]--- The sudden and unexpected arrival of the Princess of the night (or, at least, a projection of her), startled Trixie. She bounded to her hooves, immediately dipping back down again in a bow. Amazingly, the frog still managed to keep it's footing on her cape, and acknowledged the proceedings with only a perfunctory "[colour=#006400]Ribbit.[/colour]" "[colour=#008080]Your Majesty! Trixie was not expecting... you.[/colour]" That sort of understated the case, but she couldn't find the appropriate words on short notice. But when Luna actually answered her question, that was when her statement was really inadequate to the situation. This was something on the level of a miracle. It is regretful, therefore, that Trixie did not feel that appropriate mixture of awe and gratification one gives to divine interventions in mortal affairs. Her eye twitched a bit, and then she started wailing. "[colour=#008080]Trixie caaan't![/colour]" There was another collapse, with further reply choking out through sobs. "[colour=#008080]That's the problem... Ponyville did face disaster... Trixie tried to stop it... Trixie wasn't powerful enough... if Trixie tried that again now... Trixie would only be humiliated again... Trixie needs to be more powerful before she can be great... Trixie has been trying to teach herself-[/colour]" "[colour=#006400]Ribbit.[/colour]" She spun her head around, glaring at the amphibian. "[colour=#008080]And you were no help![/colour]" *[colour=#006400]Perhaps, if Trixie was taught by someone better than Trixie...[/colour]* Another thought Trixie couldn't quite place. In a less vulnerable moment, she might have been suspicious of it. Right now, it did seem to make sense. "[colour=#008080]Would you...[/colour]" No, some things you couldn't just ask of a Princess. "[colour=#008080]Do you know... anyone who might be of help to Trixie?[/colour]"

---[colour=#daa520]Skeeve[/colour]--- You would think, wouldn't you, that I had seen enough not to be surprised at anything. Between Don Bruce the Fairy Godfather, Necropolis, vampires terrified of humans, and pretty much everything at the Bazaar of Deva, you would probably say that I couldn't have found anything weirder in all the dimensions. Well, you'd be wrong. Things can always get weirder, things can always get worse, and with me, they generally do. I really should have known better; the Smuggler's Guild hadn't talked much about the difficulties they'd had getting through to this new dimension, just that they wanted us to get rid of them. I was all for caution, but from what everyone else had said, the possibility of a new inter-dimensional trade route was literally once-in-a-lifetime, and the chance to control it was pretty much once in forever. So, the ink was dry on the contract before we had a grasp of the complications. First off, the closest anyone could get to this place was here, wherever here was; second, only one of us could get here at a time (and as MYTH Inc's top field agent, guess who got the job); third, apparently we had competition. Or not; the creepy-looking sugar freak who introduced herself as Lambdadelta didn't seem to be here on business. She looked like she might have come from my home dimension of Klah, but apparently the "human" look was fairly common. Speaking of dimensions... I leaned forward to peer at the image of the one I'd been hired to scout. Equestria, it was called, and I could see why; it's main inhabitants seemed to be all multicolored ponies. That wasn't what caught my eye, though; the place was absolutely soaked in magic. I was used to power being along ground or sky lines, criss-crossing over a dimension, carrying power ready for a magician to tap. Small wars had been fought over control of where two or more of these lines intersected, but this... all the power one wanted, available anytime, anywhere. No wonder the natives had sealed it off; a dimensional traveler might go power-mad here. Apparently, Lambdadelta had come to the same conclusion, hence the indirect way in. I could see the advantage of this approach; by getting local help, one could bypass the blockade, and perhaps open negotiations, or at least a door. I looked up again at the others around the table. They made things a little trickier, but maybe we could cut a deal. "[colour=#daa520]I certainly wouldn't want to hurt anyone." [/colour]I assented, looking back at my chosen local assistant,[colour=#daa520] "There's no real need for it." [/colour]I waited for their reactions as I sent my first move. It was true, really. I'd managed to build MYTH Inc. on inspired win-win solutions- I then remembered what had happened after those "win-win solutions." For the tenth time, I really, really wished I could have gotten a few of my friends to back me up. ---[colour=#008080]The Great and Powerful Trixie![/colour]--- "[colour=#008080]Why, why does the world hate Trixie?[/colour]" "[colour=#006400]Ribbit.[/colour]" Slumped on the ground, a pale blue unicorn mare stared at the frog in the middle of the magic circle. Three nights, three nights without sleep, studying these impossible grimoires, carefully inscribing magic runes, pouring every bit of magical energy she had into it, was this all Trixie had to show for it. Trixie groaned. It just wasn't fair! The book had assured her that the spell would summon a powerful creature, one she could tame and use to gain power, and all she got was a frog. And not a magic frog, just an ordinary green frog. "[colour=#006400]Ribbit[/colour]." After that second croak, the creature hopped out of the magic circle and onto Trixie's cape. She didn't care. It was made out of ordinary purple cloth now, just like her hat. She hadn't been able to afford decorations, and anyway those could always be magically enhanced before a show. And all of this was because of that little show-off back at Ponyville! *[colour=#006400]Trixie, you mean? That really wasn't anyone else's fault. You were pretty much on your own, there.[/colour]* Trixie was not sure where the thought came from, but she couldn't deny that none of this would have happened if she'd been a better magician. So, she'd been spending all the time she could spare from her shows getting better, or trying, anyway. "[colour=#008080]Oh Luna, what does Trixie have to do!?[/colour]" She practically howled the sentence at the moon.

@Fermata: OK, thanks for the clarification.

Hm, if we're allowed multiple OC's, I may bring in another MYTH Inc member...

What? I didn't know one could have more than one Outsider.

[colour=#ff0000]I've never actually read the visual novels though, or seen the anime. [/colour][colour=#0000cd]You couldn't call me a fan, I guess. I only heard about it because someone I knew tried to plagarize the colored text rules for his own game, and someone else called him on it.[/colour]

"[colour=#8b4513]Hm..[/colour]." Earth Writer weighed the book he'd got in his magic, musing. "[colour=#8b4513]The only really convincing individualist I ever encountered in literature was Robincolt Crusoe. He served as a really well written argument for how much a pony could really do by oneself. Oddly enough though, that book also contained the best rebuttal to it's own individualist arguments, Stallion Friday.[/colour]" He set One Pony aside, levitating a copy of A Single Note towards him, considering it. "[colour=#8b4513]Hm, sounds very... mythical. I rather like this sort of thing, actually.[/colour]" A smile tugged at his lips. "[colour=#8b4513]I do believe I shall pick this up. If you're here next week, I should like to go over it with you. It's not often I get the chance to go over a book with its author.[/colour]" While the two authors were going over their proposal, the stallion chanced another look through his notebook. He wondered if he could tease a column out of this meeting; perhaps if he could tease the conversation into the sociological vein? *[colour=#8b4513]The Impact of Books and Bookstores upon Social Construction...[/colour]* He frowned a bit. That sounded way too Ivory Tower-ish. Subject was good, snappier headline needed. He looked up at Blaze's question. "[colour=#8b4513]Yes, provisionally, at least. I work as a columnist for one of the papers, sold my first bit of copy last night. It was actually kind of neat the way it turned out; the Princesses were soliciting letters from their subjects, and Princess Celestia told me about the founding of Canterlot. Odd thing is, it was based off a military fortress, back in the Reign of Discord. All the different ponies who first came here were refugees; after the war ended, they decided to bring together their architectural heritage to make it into a proper city.[/colour]" He settled back, a thoughtful look on his face. "[colour=#8b4513]Most ponies who move here seem to fall in love with Canterlot's beauty, but it had to be loved before it could be beautiful. That was the point I was trying to get across, anyway.[/colour]"

You're pretty much meant to, he's from a humorous series. As for knowing what Umineko is... [colour=#ff0000]I recognized the name.[/colour]

Thank you, thank you. You wouldn't happen to be familiar with the series Skeeve is from, MYTH-Adventures, by Robert Asprin? Really good books, those; the original author died a couple of years ago, but they're still continued by another.

Hm, perhaps I shall throw my hat into the ring... Name: Skeeve Appearance: Not Particularly impressive: Personality: Skeeve is an inter-dimensional magician and con man; rather more competent at the former than the latter. He eventually ended up founding, along with other inter-dimensional beings he'd befriended, M.Y.T.H Inc., the highest paid company of magical contractors operating in the cross-dimensional market. He's grown up quite a bit since his early days, into a friendly guy, who on most occasions does really try to do the right thing. He prefers negotiation to fighting, but hurt those close to him, and he can be quite ruthless. Motivation: Skeeve is on contract; the existence of Equestria has just been discovered by the inter-dimensional smuggler's Guild, and M.Y.T.H. Inc has been hired to scout it out. It's almost impossible to enter it from the outside, so in addition to getting the lay of the land, Skeeve is using his piece to open some kind of gateway, which M.Y.T.H. Inc can take exclusive control over, as a lucrative trade route. Powers: Skeeve isn't wholly incompetent as a magician; he can cast illusions, though they have to act as disguises upon organic matter, not just appear in thin air. He can levitate quite hefty objects, to use as projectiles or defenses, and minor forms of elemental control. Name: [colour=#008080]The Great and Powerful Trixie![/colour] Appearance: Personality: She resembles what Skeeve might have been in his early career, if he hadn't found a good business partner. Trixie is a stage magician, who uses big talk and flashy magic to come off as a hot-shot in her shows, though lately things hadn't been going so well with her. After one of her shows, some over-eager fans wanted her to show off how she beat an Ursa Major (she hadn't, and she didn't). Thankfully for the town, their resident magician, Twilight Sparkle, put the beast to bed! After fleeing the town in disgrace, Trixie attempted to get back on her hooves again, but it was tough going. Without most of her supplies, she'd had to start from scratch again, and knowing she would likely never be as skilled as that purple unicorn, definitely grated. When she could spare the time, she would look through libraries at the towns she'd visit (always keeping a look out for that other magician, she'd been a librarian, right?), for some kind of way to augment her magic. This kind of desperation often leaves one open to outside influences... Powers: Trixie is first and foremost a showmare, she can grab attention and keep it spellbound on sheer force of personality alone... at least until the watchers get bored with her. Her magic mostly reflects this, being mostly based on illusions, but she has an adeptness with the tools of a stage magician's trade, the hat and cape, rope, mirrors, smoke, and fireworks.

I don't think we have any characters in the legal profession; I'd been knocking about an idea or two for a lawyer OC...

*Bump* Just to let everypony know, we're still open to admissions! Any student/teacher char you want to bring in is welcome. Also, it mightn't be a bad idea to brainstorm incidents to liven up subsequent events; having established characters, we can thicken the plot.

"[colour=#996699]You have gotten into the spirit, comrade Beats; I shall enjoy being your neighbor.[/colour]" Psmith smiled warmly at the filly. She may not have been the most sparkling of wits, but she was a game pony, and would bring her best to the table when called for. Prospects indeed pleased. Wordplay's next comment also had the effect of visibly brightening the colt's countenance. "[colour=#996699]I believe I have remarked before, comrade Wordplay, on your wisdom in matters of social policy. If I have not, consider it said. Your recommendation, we take to heart.[/colour]" A subtly playful smile sauntered languidly over his muzzle. "[colour=#996699]We place ourselves in your guidance. Lead on, dear hostile native, lead on, to our place of abode.[/colour]" Three city blocks need not take the strenuous walker long to cover, but the group was in no hurry. Psmith would often pause to inquire or comment upon objects of interest, from time to time replacing his eyeglass for a closer inspection. At last, however, the object of their journeyings came into view. Back in the days before urban expansion had incorporated the villages along the strand into one conglomerate metropolis, stately houses had been constructed in little enclaves to form neighborhoods all to themselves. As the encroaching city surrounded and besieged them, the original genteel owners had fled, leaving the real estate to whoever bid for it. In this case, St. Mareson's school had come into possession. Clopham and Coltsfoot houses had gotten their surname "Commons" from the road which they faced, which had in turn probably been named for a stretch of heath now built over. They were stately townhouses, recently connected by a newly-constructed side corridor which contrived, not altogether successfully, to blend in with the original construction. Clopham house felt empty as they entered; apparently most of the boarders came down by the last train possible. Their luggage had been sent ahead of them, however; Psmith located his box and sat upon the edge of it. "[colour=#996699]I wonder if the house-master has not arrived yet. Do they assign rooms, or does one sign up upon arrival?"[/colour]

Psmith gave a slightly relieved smile at the reprieve granted to him by Heart Song. "[colour=#996699]Thank you, I would like to explore the options available. Who knows what interests may yet develop over the year? A passion for collecting butterflies? An infatuation with school journalism? Perhaps open-air theatrics? Philosophy, Philatery, and of course, Music. I cannot say that I see myself as a musician, anymore than comrade wordplay sees a cricketer. But then, I didn't see myself as one. As one of my erstwhile former teammates was wont to remark, 'You don't know 'till you go for it.' I always admired his wisdom; that experimentalism gave his batting a good leg-up.[/colour]" He raised an eyebrow at Wordplay's comment about St. Mareson's being similar to Canterbridge, but surprisingly, declined to comment. Truth be told, his focus was elsewhere, on the filly who would be sharing his classes. "[colour=#996699]Indeed, comrade Ria? You advance your schooling beyond your years, but it is only to be expected. At first glance, I said to myself, 'Psmith, here is a filly with a topping portion of the grey matter; academically, she is most undoubtedly The Goods.' What you do not absorb shall not be worth absorbing, and what you can impart to, say, Comrade Wordplay, shall suffice as well as any class.[/colour]" Having paid this long-winded but not insincere compliment, he bowed once more, pocketing his monocle. "[colour=#996699]Anon, we have talked enough, my comrades all. Action! That's the ticket. As a boarder, I've been assigned,[/colour]" He pulled out a sheet of paper from an inside pocket on his blazer, "[colour=#996699]To Clopham Common House. The first order of business is to confirm that such a place as Clopham Common exists. That done, I shall stake a claim upon a portion thereof, pausing for a moment at the tea and biscuits to restore the tissues, and then to tour the grounds, and locate the classrooms I shall visit in an official capacity tomorrow.[/colour]"

"[colour=#996699]We aim to please.[/colour]" If Psmith was wearing a hat, he'd doff it. He listened with interest and attention to the exposition of social tendencies at St. Mareson's, this being, more or less, his first real orientation to the social terrain of the place. "[colour=#996699]It is interesting; you mentioned ignorance, Comrade Wordplay, of my alma mater. It was, in fact, an all colt's school. It is not so much that it had no cliques, as that it had but one, which had long ago supplanted the others. It's psychological makeup is produced, in equal parts, by sport, tuck, a valiant attempt by the masters to give us a classical education, and a spirited resistance by the pupils to the same. It is called, in the ancient texts, 'The Public School Spirit,' I cannot now recall the etymology. It was very much a preparatory school for the aristocracy, stamping out stallions in a uniform mold, save for one or two eccentrics. I pride myself[/colour]," Psmith bowed modestly, "[colour=#996699]On being one of the eccentrics. However, the spirit is insidious. It is a solemn fact that, by the end of my second year, I had developed, entirely against my will, into solid-caliber slow cricket bowler! Such things chill the blood, when considered philosophically.[/colour]" For all his amiable garrulity, Psmith was a little chilled, not only be reminisces, but future prospects. His thoughts, in fact, were running along similar lines to Wordplay's, speculating upon how incipient friendships and present camaraderie could be broken, simply because they wished to develop their talents or enjoy their hobbies. For a colt used to being able to get on tolerably well with anypony he met, this was really quite saddening. On the surface, of course, you could never let such things show. It Wasn't Done. He prattled on, as apparently unperturbed as ever, "[colour=#996699]Oh, I'm still doing the rounds of the classics. Civics, World History, Algebra, and Astronomy. As for extracurriculars...[/colour]" He trailed off, with a slightly rueful smile, "[colour=#996699]Ah, but it seems I should not be incautious in selection. I should not like, for instance, to join the archaeological society, and then commit a dreadful faux pas by engaging a member of the fire brigade in light banter. This is quite unexplored territory for me! Forgive me,[/colour]" He bowed here to Heart, "[colour=#996699]That I cannot now commit to what I'm sure shall be a lovely choir. More preliminary research is apparently prerequisite.[/colour]"

For all his vanity and long-windbaggery, Psmith had one great redeeming merit, that being a genuine pleasure in the company of other ponies, any other ponies. He was no snob in the company he'd pass the time with. "[colour=#996699]You think I have a future in impromptu verse, comrade Wordplay? Well, never let it be said that a Psmith failed in hospitality when serving the musical repast. We often have, but we don't like it spread about[/colour][colour=#9966cc].[/colour]" Momentarily releasing his attention from the rapper, he focused now upon the twin fillies, now apparently recovered from their nervousness. The colt bowed in reception of their introductions. "[colour=#996699]Comrade Beats and Ria, of Baltimare? A sisterly pair, taking arms to win academic glory for their home city upon the turf of Saint Mareson's! Quite right, of course. I,[/colour]" he paused reverentially, "[colour=#996699]Am the representative of Canterbridge.[/colour]" He gave a listen to the exchanges between Beats, Ria, and Wordplay, greeting the arriving teacher with a genteel gesture of initiation, silently assenting to Wordplay's invitation. He rejoined the conversation with a prefatory sigh, "[colour=#996699]How often we find, that our own hobbies consume us so, that we can hardly spare the attention to anyone else's? I have fancied, sometimes, that the class divisions in our society chiefly arose from the fact that the players of cricket and baseball could not come to speaking terms, and would never consider associating with the track and field crowd, who altogether shunned the band.[/colour]" He brightened a bit, as if a firefly had buzzed into an ear and illuminated the back of his retinas. "[colour=#996699]Ah, but there may yet be possibilities to remedy this. I had thought my chief attentions would be dedicated to the Social question, but I find that it may be worth my time to dabble in lyricism. And behold! A teacher of music comes, already known to the metrical master who deftly extracts the goods from other's minds and her own. And to supplement, a dancer, and a wielder of words? Such coincidences are not insignificant in the history of the world, comrades.[/colour]"

"[colour=#9966cc]Bah?[/colour]" Well, if anything could spike Psmith's guns, it was that. Fortunately, Wordplay's backpedaling gave him time to muster reinforcements for the artillery, and he quickly recovered his poise and monocle. "[colour=#9966cc]For everything, there is a first time, and that was it. I have publicly rhymed in recitation, but to date my composition has all been in prose. The cry goes 'round- but Hark, comrade Wordplay! We have gathered an audience[/colour]." Psmith, cutting himself off in the middle of his catchphrase, turned to gaze benevolently at the two younger fillies through his eyeglass. "[colour=#9966cc]Ah, fellow students?[/colour]" He inquired. "[colour=#9966cc]I am Wordsworth Psmith, of the Canterlot Psmiths. The prefectory P is silent, as in Ptarmigan.[/colour]" He gave a bow. "[colour=#9966cc]Comrade Wordplay and I were just having a stimulating discussion on poetry and political economy, and I must say, if she is a fair sample of the hostile natives, we shall have a perfectly enjoyable exile.[/colour]" And it was true. While his loyalties may still have tied him to his old Alma mater, the colt was now truly looking forward to what the next year might bring.

(Thank you! Psmith is most fun to write of any character I've ever had.) Psmith's pleasure in the conversation, by contrast, was entirely sybaritic. Both he and Wordplay were producing at full capacity, a perfect sea of words in which the colt mentally wallowed, happy as a pig in mud. At the sound of the filly's sarcastic political philosophy, his eyes lit up. "[colour=#9966cc]Why, comrade Wordplay, you are yourself a socialist! You have grasped one of our main tenants, that the state shall control the means of production. Why should the Princesses not make the umbrellas we put into the public umbrella stands? I must confess, I had not given that matter thought. The cry goes 'round the coffee shops, Psmith has not thought this through! We integrate our wisdom, and the system is complete. But it must take both halves, Comrade Wordplay, the graciously bestowed umbrellas should be public. After all, he who would keep his umbrella, the same shall lose it. But he who gives his umbrella to the public, the same shall find it, when it is raining.[/colour]" True to his word though, he remained respectfully silent as Wordplay freestyled, nodding his head along to the beat. When she had finished, the unicorn clopped his hooves in enthusiastic, and to judge from his eyes, sincere applause. "[colour=#9966cc]A poet who rhymes extempore![/colour] [colour=#9966cc]You have great skills, Comrade Wordplay.[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]To have a rival such as you,[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]Is more than I deserve, quite true.[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]The best you pull right out of me,[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]Like a dentist with a costly fee.[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]You're only defect, lack of class.[/colour] [colour=#9966cc]Did you really have to be so crass?[/colour]" There was nothing the matter with Psmith's delivery, he flowed like a brook. He gave a bow to rival once he had finished his own lines, remarking, "[colour=#9966cc]In matters of metrical dexterity, however, I must acknowledge you superior. I am as conservative as a mud soaked stick, in that aspect.[/colour]"

Ponies who'd known Psmith for any amount of time could place him at once as one of the great aristocratic pifflers. Almost everything he said he said for the sake of having something to say. To extemporize was his greatest joy, as might be seen symbolized by his cutie mark, a word bubble. From a word, he could develop a theme into a puff pastry paragraph. So it was with Wordplay's question of communism. "[colour=#9966cc]And if I were, an aristocrat leading the proletariat in the clashes of the class war? A picturesque suggestion, comrade Wordpla, but it lacks reality. The political communist I am not, but the economic socialist, perhaps. I might say Psocialist, which would be silly, but not inaccurate. Father, you see, never does things by halves; he wishes to be egalitarian, to make his social relations equitable, in both the distribution of politeness and property. For example,[/colour]" Here the unicorn reached underneath the bench, magically bringing to hoof an umbrella, evidently left there some time ago. "[colour=#9966cc]Observe the umbrella. It is lost, unclaimed, and yet taken up by nopony, though it is a fact that so many are soaked and catch colds for the lack of one. And why is this? Because nopony wishes to be a thief, and so risk their health, and yet, that same sodden soul has lost umbrellas himself, and would probably not mind a poor tramp using them if he found them! Thus we, the Socialists say, shall amend this by declaring all umbrellas public property. You see an umbrella, you pick it up, walk dryly and gaily to your destination, and drop it into the public umbrella stand, where the next pedestrian has it to hoof! It requires no revolution, lost umbrellas can be collected by park cleaners and garbage ponies, and given to the mailponies to distribute. They already visit each building, and can check the umbrella stand as easily as the mailbox, to see that each has their fair share of envelopes and umbrellas! Ripping scheme, socialism.[/colour]" During this speech, he'd been punctuating his points by waving the umbrella, which had rained dust in a surrounding cloud, mostly upon the speaker. Having discovered this fact with a jolt of self-consciousness, he set about ruefully flicking the dust off his clothes. It was at this point that the filly's declaration of hostility met him. "[colour=#9966cc]Ah, a conservative, I see. Natives usually are[/colour]." He spoke softly, conscious of a rebuke. "[colour=#9966cc]It is rather a pity my elocution offends you, I find yours to be piquantly poetic. But I monopolize the conversation! Do give me your story, in what style and meter you think best; I shall listen.[/colour]" Having done the best he could for his clothes, he stopped talking, and relaxed, indicating with a hoof that the floor was ceded to Comrade Wordplay.

Yes, do. We are trying to populate a school, after all.

"[colour=#9966ff]Your Majesty.[/colour]" Psmith bowed again, intoning his reply with the utmost solemnity. In his entire attitude there was, surprisingly, no sarcasm; for all the world he'd taken Wordplay entirely seriously. He gazed at the filly with pleased interest as she spoke. "[colour=#9966ff]All right then, Comrade WordplA. You don't mind the honorific, do you? By parental fiat, I am to become an egalitarian. The prospect intrigues, I must confess. The cry goes 'round the castle walls: 'Psmith is to shed his snobbery!' The old Pater was rather keen on that, you see.[/colour]" His speech was free and easy, like a rich uncle pouring bits upon his nieces and nephews, assuring his siblings with a chortle that 'There's more where that came from!' When asked what he was doing, he gave a somewhat theatrical sigh. "[colour=#9966ff]Ah, with that comes the bitter pill. Shall I tell you my sob story? We begin at birth. My older cousin was to be paid 10 bits a week for keeping watch over the cradle and seeing that I kept out of trouble; on the first day she struck for 20 a week and got it. On to early colthood. Mother was a titleless lady of the social graces, while Father planned my future. Now, the old Pater had a hobby, and his hobby was hobbies. Never more than one at a time, and not one for more than six months altogether. He took a great and guiding interest in my future, but declined to narrow the scope; out went one scheme, and in another, swarming along with all the bees that make their hives in bonnets, or top hats, rather; father's fads did not extend to his headgear. Well, in a fit of temporary sanity, he sent me off to boarding school for the good of my character. Once I'd found I liked the place, he bounced me out to here, to mix and mingle with all sorts; the blending of the classes being his latest enthusiasm[/colour]." His speech was rather of the effervescent sort, a sort of breezy refusal to let external troubles trouble him, or internal troubles trouble anyone else; a sort of lighthearted and chatty stoicism. "[colour=#9966ff]Soliloquy ended, we resume dialog. Now then, Comrade WordplA, what are you labeled, under dramatis personae? In what relation do you stand towards the exile? I had rather hoped the friendly native, but we shall not presume.[/colour]"