Blueblood

"[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?

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]"