[Manehattan] St. Maresons School [Open]

[FermataTheBasse]

Between tall office buildings in the downtown sprawl of Manehattan was an open area, about a block or so in it's size. Tents, tables, and chairs had been set up and ponies of all non-adult ages were being lined up and processed. The lines weren't too long, the park they were in was easily able to contain them and then some. Some students wore clothing, shirt-like pieces with collars emblazoned with a golden 'M'. This park and the event that was ongoing both belonged to St. Maresons, a well established school that served all ages of pony children- though recently some traditions had been broken and griffon children were allowed to enroll- which had rented out classroom spaces in many of the surrounding buildings. The students of Mareson's had the unique opportunity to literally walk around the city as they walked between classes, eat lunch outside of school campus, and so on. It was a very posh, high class affair; while enrollment was technically open to all it was the upper class of Manehattan that generally gravitated towards the school.

One filly, currently in her final year of school before she graduated, trotted out of a group of acquaintances she had made in a history class last year. They were fine and all, a little too fine actually. They blanched when she tried to freestyle for them, and kept inviting her out for various socials where the dress code was a minimum of an elaborate dress, with extras to be added as the guest wished others attention to be drawn to them. Not that Wordplay wasn't above high fashion, she was just annoyed by the concept of dressing super nice to go to a party that didn't even appeal to her interests.

Wordplay trotted through the park peacefully, weaving in and out of the lines of ponies that were registering for school. She had taken care of the process at the end of last year, knowing well in advance that she would not be changing schools. After Maresons, Wordplay would be free to start travelling as a fresh adult mare, start doing gigs and concerts... The new school year would pretty much be a non-factor in her life. Best to just enjoy it while she could, right? Wordplay continued to trot, looking over new students as she did so. Always good to get a peek at the newcomers, see if any of them looked interesting.

[Blueblood]

Apart from the crowd, near the back of the park where the more shaded benches were, stood one such new student. He was a unicorn colt, close to graduation, though he wasn't quite finished growing yet; there were signs of expansion in the legs. His coat was of a pale, purplish-grey colour, and his mane was brown and styled short. His half-lidded teal eyes observed the crowd benevolently, like a monarch watching his subject cavort on a bestowed holiday.

He himself was impeccably dressed in school shirt, collar, and blazer. Not a crease was out of place, and yet he could carry the look without the slight stiffening that accompanied sartorial care in most colts. He remained still, but at at ease.

The only discordant note in his outfit was the tie; it was not in the St. Mareson's school colors, but of another school altogether, Canterbridge. There was something jarring in the juxtaposition, and a pointed look at the dissenting necktie would have elicited something like an apologetic look from the unicorn. Still, bad form or not, one had to take a stand in these things.

As Wordplay passed by, he fumbled in his pocket, and produced an eyeglass, through which he peered at the filly. "[colour=#9966ff]Ah, a friendly native! Tell me, are you the Bully, the Pride of the School, the Nerd who vows Revenge, or simply the Ordinary Student whose life is turned upside-down in Chapter 2?" [/colour]He had a nice voice, quite free of any adolescent awkwardness. Evidently, it had already finished changing into its adult form.

"[colour=#9966ff]I," [/colour]He spoke again, giving a graceful if rather exaggerated bow before extending his hoof,[colour=#9966ff] "Am Psmith. P-S-M-I-T-H. The P is silent, as in Pterodactyl and Psionic. Do be sure to pronounce it right, I can tell when ponies leave out silent letter. You could call me Wordsworth, I suppose, though I wish you wouldn't." [/colour]He spoke lightly, like one prepared to go on all day. It wasn't so much that he liked the sound of his own voice, though he did; he also enjoyed the exercise of his tongue like a runner enjoys the exercise of his hooves.

[FermataTheBasse]

[colour=#40e0d0]"I'm the queen of the universe, obviously." [/colour]

[colour=#000000]Snarky comment aside, Wordplay was shooting a very sharp look Psmith, or Smith with a Pterodactyl at the beginning- whatever the hay a Pterodactyl was even supposed to be- as he insisted upon being called. It was the sort of look one reserved for something that they didn't quite know how to react to. Sort of searching, sort of defensive, sort of confused. Wordplay was mostly the last descriptor. After all, this colt had come out of literally nowhere and asked her some seemingly metaphorical question. He had a regal air to him. Was this dolt from Canterlot? That would explain so much yet open up so many more questions.[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Alright Psmith." [/colour][colour=#000000]She exaggerated the 'S', so as to make a point about the stupidity of the whole affair. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Name's Wordplay. W-O-R-D-P-L-A-Y. The Y is essentially silent, strictly speaking. I guess you could call me WordplA, with the Y cut off. Wouldn't that make a good rap name though? You know what? Call me WordplA, Psmith." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay's tone now became sharper. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"So what the hay are you doing?"[/colour]

[Blueblood]

"[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]"

[FermataTheBasse]

Into Wordplay's attitude there was a sudden infusion of detached amusement, as if she were an observer looking onto herself as she spoke. Onto Wordplay's descriptions there was a sudden surge of wordiness and possible wordplay, it being the irony that her name was Wordplay and even her narration was a play of words.

[colour=#40e0d0]"So... you're a Communist?" [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay remembered the study of theoretical governments in history, in theory a theoretical government could replace the Princesses, in actuality the theory of theories had long since become just that, a theory. The Princesses were good enough to eliminate the need for progress on some fronts, the war for progress now brought to a ceasefire. Wordplay considered the treaty that existed over this colt before her, and supposed that he was a member of the aristocracy. Like a mare who really did not wish to hear his story, she expressed her wish to really hear his story.[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Oh, do go on." [/colour][colour=#000000]It was indeed a tale that found itself woven into every ounce of disregard that Wordplay could summon from her person. Not to be the cruel matriarch over this poor child, but he was in no way poor, and his story was at once annoying to Wordplay's sensibilities and annoying to listen to in general. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"You know what the relationship I share you is? None. I am a hostile native to you, I will not be your hostel but rather I shall be your hostile, I shall be the enemy of your state and crush it beneath my hooves. Because your manner of speech is annoying as buck." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay didn't start trotting away yet. In a sense, this sense being an abstract sense that did not receive input from her environment, she was amused by Psmith's drudgery. So she'd drudge on in the conversation. [/colour]

[Blueblood]

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.

[FermataTheBasse]

((This is the best thread ever))

The floor ceded her, the war once more her's to perpetuate stalemate in, Wordplay began to speak with much less eloquence than Psmith and much more dry humor.

[colour=#40e0d0]"Now would you say that you have spelt Psocialist with a silent P, as in pterodactyl or psionic? If so, consider the implications of the silent P within the scheme of your dogma. You indeed have no political desire for socialism, however you must bear in mind that in our nation politics and economics are two sides of the same hoof. Let us return to the umbrella, which you have managed to dust off in what I am sure is a purposeful accident. To consider the role of the Princesses within the context of your metaphor, let us say there is such a thing as magic alongside the socialists and park cleaners and garbage ponies. And let us say that a benevolent pony over all other ponies may summon umbrellas for others as they please. Ripping scheme, benevolent deism." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay went so far as to sarcastically adopt Psmith's tone, which made her sound rather like a cultured filly. Perhaps appropriate considering she was arguing on the Royal's behalf, or perhaps it had a meaning more beyond what it meant already? Given the current flow of conversation, it was likely a whole world onto itself of increasingly irrelevant subtext.[/colour]

[colour=#000000]Wordplay had been punctuating her own points with poignant gestures of her own body, that was to say that she was shaking her hoof about as she spoke. It was a significantly more dust free recourse compared to Psmith's own chosen method. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"I find it suitably ironic that you try to monopolize the conversation. Allow me the change the meter thusly:" [/colour]

[colour=#000000]Wordplay began creating musical drive, that was to say she began tapping her hoof against the ground to provide herself a beat. A few of her peers stopped to watch, excited. It was rare that Wordplay freestyled in public. Or to be less eloquent, it was rare that Wordplay provided words in meter set by a musical beat with excellent lyricism, all spontaneously produced within the moment.[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Socialist,[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]No social skills, [/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]The Princess calls, [/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]The sun instills,[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]A certain light, that lights the night[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]A fire of soul, is now alight[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]And here's a light, I make of you[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]Cause you're wordy and stuffy true[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]And you're a smith, no P is due[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]I guess you have no bathroom, true?"[/colour]

[colour=#000000]Wordplay was actually a bit annoyed that she had to produce toilet humor to finish, but it was enough for her. She waited to see how Psmith would respond. She had to admit, in a masochistic way, this was fun.[/colour]

[Blueblood]

(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]"

[FermataTheBasse]

((Alas, I cannot keep up the big words forever))

Wordplay gaped, so surprised by Psmith's ability to counter her delivery that her internal monologue ceased to be a sarcastic parody of his. She went over the verse he had delivered in her head carefully, checking it. It flowed well, if not perfectly with the beat. He had a couple of pretty funny lines. Oh Celestia, where had this kid come from? Wordplay licked her lips slightly, for once without something witty to fall back on. Her mind tried to come up with something, failed a few times over. Eventually...

[colour=#40e0d0]"I am this close to jumping you and furiously making out with you." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wait... what?!? Wordplay punched a hoof into her mouth. Okay, okay. She was losing it. Deep breath, deep breath. Wordplay recovered some fraction of her thought process and managed to start speaking normally. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Okay. Uh... didn't really mean that. Not that you're not a cute guy, but I'm not that kind of girl. I'm pretty amazed though. Are you sure you're not a rapper on the side somewhere?"[/colour]

[osprey77]

((Well, here goes!))

Two of the students who stopped to watch Wordplay’s freestyle were the Unicorn twins, Swing Beat and Fictoria. Normally Baltimare residents, their parents had accepted a pseudo-temporary job in Manehatten, and felt their girls ought to expand their horizons, thus the twins found themselves enrolled for the starting school year. They were a year younger than Wordplay and Psmith, but were in the same grade, having worked ahead when they were homeschooled in Baltimare.

Swing Beat tilted her head, taking in primarily the rhythm of Worplay’s free style, whispering to her sister,[colour=#8b4513] “I never noticed it before, but with a little more music, one could improv a swing dance to that beat, just as easily as a rhyme.”[/colour] At a sharp look form her sister, that held doubt, she amended, [colour=#8b4513]“well, perhaps not that easily, but it would be fun to try!”[/colour]

Fictoria (Or ‘Ria’ as most ponies called her) paid more attention to the words being bandied about, her eyes widening. [colour=#006400]“Sweet Celestia!”[/colour] she breathed. Plot had always been her strong point as a writer, she downright struggled with dialogue, but here it rolled out in excess, and she itched to jot down notes, observe style, and take ideas for her next story. Suddenly, things changed back to norma speechl, well, almost-normal speech quicker than a pony can change gaits, and she sagged a little in disappointment.

So, apparently, did the rest of the crowd, who mostly drifted away. The twins were left alone with the speakers, wanting to leave out of embarrassment, but loath to go if another show was on the way.

An older mare wandered by, a pale-pink earth pony with an indigo mane and a kind face. It was Heart Song, the new choir teacher, and she was getting a feel for the students and atmosphere for the afternoon. Her ‘special somepony’, Thes, would pick her up for dinner in a few hours, but he was at rehearsal now, so she had pretty much the whole afternoon.

[colour=#4b0082]“Let’s see…”[/colour] She caught sight of Wordplay, the student who had given her the idea of asking if St. Mareson’s wanted to start a school choir, but since it looked like she was engaged with conversation, she didn’t want to interrupt, so she only waved.

[Blueblood]

"[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.

[FermataTheBasse]

Wordplay groaned. People had actually borne witness to her monumental failure. Luckily she didn't see any familiar faces, which meant that at the very least, she didn't have to deal with any blows to her reputation unless word started getting out. When Psmith used 'Ptarmigan' as a comparison for the silent P in his own name, Wordplay had to shoot him a look that said 'really?'" But two of them seemed to be intent on sticking around, and kind of looked awe struck. Was the result of her skill or his- she hated to admit it- skill or some combination thereof that turned into a horrible mess of sarcastic yet somehow genuine political sentiment?

[colour=#40e0d0]"Well you should do it more often. You definitely bring something to the table." [/colour][colour=#000000]Even if that something was conceited in the extreme. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Uh, everything you just heard was pretty much exaggerated on my part. Last part included..." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay coughed, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"I don't think I've seen the three of you around. Are you all new?" [/colour][colour=#000000]Oh, and there was another new face. Wordplay remembered that though her meeting with Heart-Song had been cut short during the Expo this summer, she had still managed to convince her to give teaching St. Mareson's choir a shot. Beyond diffusing some of the tense student politics that had been occurring the previous school year, it was also something Wordplay was genuinely interested in. She had a rather weak and breathy singing voice. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Mrs. Heart! Good to see you!"[/colour]

[osprey77]

Both of the twins hesitated when Psmith addressed them, glancing at each other. Swing Beat recovered first—always being the more outgoing sister.[colour=#8b4513] “Pleased to meet you both! I’m Swing Beat, but you can call me ‘Beats,’ and this is my sister Fictoria!”[/colour]

Ria took her cue from her twin.[colour=#006400] “You might as well start calling me ‘Ria’—everypony does, eventually. And yes, we’re new students. Our parents are spending a year here on a temporary job, so they enrolled us. We’re from Baltimare.”[/colour]

Beats took up the thread with a question aimed at Wordplay, who seemed to be a returning student. [colour=#8b4513]“Is there a swing dance club at school? Or one in the city?”[/colour]

Ria rolled her eyes.[colour=#006400] “Forgive my sister’s whiplash-inducing change of subject, but swing dance is a passion of hers. as for myself, I prefer writting, despite her best efforts.”[/colour]

Both turned as Heart came up behind them, admittedly a bit hesitantly, unwilling to intrude on an all-student group. [colour=#4b0082]“Hello Wordplay, hello everypony.”[/colour]

[FermataTheBasse]

[colour=#40e0d0]"My name's Wordplay. So... a writer, a dancer. Uh..." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay had an affair with dance herself, it had been her old outlet before she had discovered rap, after all. She still went around some of the local clubs to show off a few moves every now and then. But had she ever learned swing music? [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"...I couldn't tell you off the top of my head, Beats. I'd have to ask the people I know in the dance scene here. I could introduce you to some of them if you want." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay gestured for Heart to come closer. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Comeon Heart, join us! You're the new choir teacher, right?"[/colour]

[Blueblood]

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]"

[osprey77]

The twins hesitated a second, sharing a glance that seemed to ask ‘is this guy for real?’ before Ria spoke. [colour=#006400]“Something…like that.”[/colour]

Beats giggled at Psmith’s continued oratory on ‘hobby distinction,’ adding,[colour=#8b4513] “And meanwhile, the drama department and show choir are so busy practicing, they hardly know any on the group exists! Beggin’ your pardon ma’am.” [/colour]She dipped her head to the approaching teacher.

Heart smiled. [colour=#4b0082]“Not to worry. It’s quite true actually…and meantime the sketch artists and other workers in physical mediums sequester themselves away…Ah, the list could go on.” [/colour]She’d been half-imitating the colt’s speech, then switched back to her normal tone, answering Wordplay’s question.[colour=#4b0082] “Yes, they did accept me as choir teacher, though I don’t know quite how many students will actually be a part of it, or what they’ll expect. Sound and style are almost exclusively dependent on what the students involved are willing or wishing to do.”[/colour]

Ria couldn’t stop herself from scanning the group as Psmith described them. As a worker of words, and crafter of stories, she was caught by the colt’s particular fancy, musing to herself. [colour=#006400]We are an unlikely bunch, but then, just about every group of heroes is. But if we are the protagonists, what kind of a story are we in?[/colour]

[FermataTheBasse]

[colour=#40e0d0]"A Psmith is a wordsmith, to be sure," [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay interjected dryly. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Frankly speaking, cliques are a pretty big problem at this school. Dunno about Canterbridge-" [/colour][colour=#000000]Though as a school in Canterlot, there was a good chance it was pretty bad, [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"-But ponies here have very tight interest groups. Like, I'm sure that ponies joining the choir will find themselves banned from some groups and accepted into others in a labyrinthine mess of social obligations and rivalries. Again, no offense to you Ms. Heart. I'm fully a part of it myself. I find the masters of written medium to be slow minded and annoying in the extreme. No offense, Ria, Psmith. It's just the culture of this school."[/colour]

[colour=#000000]Come to think of it, Wordplay had been in this school virtually her whole life. Outside of school she was friendly- overly so in fact- and got along with pretty much anypony provided her bravado didn't scare or irritate them off. Here in school she had very specific friends and wouldn't dare stray from those boundaries. She wondered where these new arrivals could fall, if she would be their 'enemy' within weeks. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Well I signed up for choir. I don't care what style of song we do: baroque, classical, romantic, we could do stuff in other languages... Hay, I just want to learn how to actually sing decently. Oh. What classes do you three have?" [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay looked at the three younger colts and fillies in the group with her.[/colour]

[Blueblood]

[colour=#40e0d0]"A Psmith is a wordsmith, to be sure," [/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]"

[osprey77]

Heart acknowledged the bow with a dip of her head, smiling to herself. This colt’s manner didn’t put her off in the slightest. When you went to school with a friend like Thes, you got used to certain things rather quickly. [colour=#4b0082]“It’s quite all right, Psmith, I understand. Besides, it’s best not to do too much when you’re still adjusting to a new school,”[/colour] Heart replied, remembering her school days in Canterlot. She smiled at Wordplay. [colour=#4b0082]“Wonderful! We’ll have to see what the others are up for, but once we get the basics down, I thought it might be fun to re-arrange more modern music for the choral sound.”[/colour] She smiled to herself, remembering senior choir. Their director had done the same thing—giving the colts and fillies an object lesson in musical theory that had stayed with them throughout their careers. [colour=#4b0082]We got quite a few good composers out of that lot, as I recall.[/colour]

Ria considered. [colour=#006400]“I’m not one for performing, usually, but if you need a background person, I’d love to help out with choir, Miss Heart.”[/colour]

Beats chimed in now. [colour=#8b4513]“Choir sounds like fun! I don’t think that and swing dance will be too much. As for classes…”[/colour]the honey brown-coated unicorn tilted her head, her multi-colored mane momentarily slipping in front of her face as she tried to remember her exact schedule.

[colour=#006400]“Geometry, World History, Philosophy, and Chemistry,”[/colour] Ria rattled off in a near-monotone. Tan-coated filly pushed her glasses further up from where they had slipped down, twitching her forest-green tail in annoyance. [colour=#006400]“And I’ve got Civics, World History, Algebra, and Astronomy as well.” [/colour] Why did she have to have all the same classes with this colt? It wasn’t that she particularly disliked him, but she was a quiet pony by nature, preferring to save her words for her stories or written assignments. She could just imagine this font of discourse gushing forth in class, making the ponies like herself look lazy, or unwilling to participate in class discussion. [colour=#006400]I’m going to be spending a LOT of time in the library this year[/colour].

[FermataTheBasse]

Ah, so it was true enough. Psmith was a member of the stuffy Canterlot aristocracy, though he was apparently one of the few odd ones out. Wordplay had the amusing little thought that Psmith was so conceited even the conceited nobility couldn't put up with him. But she understood that he was probably better than any of those ponies with their egos inflated, who were spoiled. [colour=#40e0d0]"Going to be honest, Psmith, I can't see you being a cricket player. But St. Mareson's is pretty much the same as Canterbridge, from the sound of it." [/colour][colour=#000000]She rolled her eyes. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"You're kind of exaggerating it. The groups are exclusive, but it's not like we have gangs out here or anything." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay had read in history about how gangs occasionally formed in cities without proper harmony in their governments and proper ethics being taught. Hay, she had read about how rap was popular amongst the more trashy cities of the past. It annoyed her, to think that her art form was looked down upon...[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Well all three of you should totally join choir. Everypony is the background pony, more or less. Nopony stands out, Choir is supposed to be a team sport." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay was quite surprised with some of the class choices her younger peers had made. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Those are some heady classes, guys. I never took anything like that, I get most of my knowledge from talking to the ponies in those classes, actually." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay had almost no classes for her last year of mandated education. Instead she was a general aid to some of the teachers, a job which would allow her to keep her own hours, more or less, so she could run off and do some work on her career outside of school but still have an excuse to hang around her friends one more year. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"How modern, Ms. Heart? Sapphire Shores modern?"[/colour]

[Blueblood]

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]"

[osprey77]

Heart Song gave Wordplay a knowing smile. [colour=#4b0082]“That,”[/colour] she said in a pseudo-secretive tone, [colour=#4b0082]“is completely up to the students involved.” [/colour]She turned to Ria, seeming to understand.[colour=#4b0082] “You mean behind-the-scenes, almost administrative work?” T[/colour]he filly nodded. [colour=#4b0082]“Well, I suppose that could be arranged, though we may need you to sing if not enough students show up tomorrow.”[/colour]

Beats blinked in utter astonishment at Psmith, then whispered out the corner of her mouth,[colour=#8b4513] “Philata—”[/colour]

[colour=#006400]“Stamp collecting,”[/colour] was Ria’s curt, whispered reply. She was a bit surprised at Psmith’s…lengthy compliment, admitting to herself: [colour=#006400]Well, if he does make me look bad, it won’t be intentionally.[/colour] But she couldn't resist saying, [colour=#006400]"I'm only a year younger than you, at the least."[/colour]

At the change of subject, Beats started searching for her own paper, and Ria consulted her memory. As it was, the twins called out in near-perfect unison: [colour=#8b4513]“Coltsfoot[/colour] [colour=#006400]Commons.” [/colour]Beats checked the map. [colour=#8b4513]“That’s right next to Clopham! We’ll join you on your tour[/colour] [colour=#8b4513]Comrade[/colour] [colour=#8b4513]Psmith.”[/colour] She beamed, proud of her wit, and Ria rolled her eyes.

[FermataTheBasse]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Right. I think the school could use more ponies willing to deviate from the clique norm and just jump around as they please." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay considered the logistics of that. If she was smart about it, her reputability in this school could help out these three eccentric artist ponies- one more eccentric than the other two- find a healthy balance. They seemed smart, it would be a shame for them to be caught in the many details of the system like she had been. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"Well you can count on me as a friend, to be sure. The Commons and Clopham are the best boarder dorms on campus, but the trade off is that they're the furthest away from the main buildings." [/colour][colour=#000000]A three block walk, to be precise. Wordplay only knew this because she had boarder friends, she lived in Manehattan so she didn't need a dorm. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"So I'll go too. Ms. Heart?"[/colour]

[Blueblood]

"[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]

[FermataTheBasse]

[colour=#40e0d0]"Dude, I'm not hostile anymore. A bit annoyed, yeah. Not hostile." [/colour][colour=#000000]And so they went, Wordplay doing her best to answer questions as she received them. Having lived in Manehattan most her life, she knew what was where and some of this history of her home city. Because St. Mareson's was a wealthy school, the surrounding area was all pretty expensive real estate. It seemed that the housing was mostly empty. Whether that was because there weren't so many boarders or they were late was unclear. If they were late, they were pretty dang late. Registration was almost up already, after all.[/colour]

[colour=#40e0d0]"I think there's a sign up around here... there." [/colour][colour=#000000]Wordplay pointed her horn toward a clipboard against the wall. [/colour][colour=#40e0d0]"You're first for a room, good job."[/colour]