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♥To find him♥ (PurpleBird, RackenHammer)


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Canterlot, the city of the rich and glamorous, was bustling down its main street. People across Equestria have come to watch the races. These flying-aerodynamic races were an exciting and uplifting event for the ponies of Canterlot. The masses of ponies were the largest audience the racing games had in years, possibly because this was the supposed race of a century according to Canterlot daily presses, in which most of the community would read and depend on for any of its local news. If it wasn't the encouragement of the newspapers to bring about pony folk to the games, it might have been the appearance of rather well-known celebrities. Diva Daffodil, Top Knot, and even the famous Peppy Peppermint; just to name a few. Among the stars that made an appearance to watch the spectacular race, Fimble Harmonia.

Fimble poked her head out from the giant blue balcony, looking at the scene of flyers prepping themselves for the race. She tried keeping her excitement to herself, her hooves shaking. Fimble was never a sporty type, but, having a clear view of everything with the comfort of champaign and the luxury of comfortable chairs it made it hard for her not to try and go to these events on a daily basis. The only downside of this is having to keep a reputation around her civilized friends/company that rather talk among each other than sit back and watch the actual game. She always thought it was silly and pointless they'd do this. Almost disrespectful really for the hard working athletes that try and put on a show. Fimble laid herself slouched in her side chair. her pink sunglasses nestled on the top of her head, bracelets dangled on her hooves, champaign close to her; she was now comfortable for the game.

[colour=#808080]"My, my Fimble."[/colour] an unfamiliar stallion, coat white but hair a dark brown slicked back. his curled mustache tweaked by his hoof. Fimble gave an absent gaze at him, but after a sip of her drink she smiled and waited for the possible senator/duke/actor/whatever he may possibly be to speak to her. She mentally prepared herself for the usual boring conversations that stallions seemed to only want to talk about. The key thing she recognized to do, no matter what they are saying, is to just smile and nod in between every break of their sentence. This has saved her from coming off as rude when she never knew what to say/do. He tweeks his mustache again and takes a few steps towards her.

[colour=#666666]"It's quite a surprise a mare like yourself comes to these games often. Hmmmmm. Do you have a charity fund for these games? I mean, such a generous pony like yourself that has donated to the filly-colt orphanage must have a said charity in many places, hmm?" [/colour]His accent was obviously fake, his Hoofington tongue cutting in and out. Fimble having to meet many, upon many ponies in her line of work could catch where a pony came from just through speech. It made her giggle a bit this stallion was trying so hard. She thought back to his question and looked up to the sky to think, rubbing her chin. She has donated so much in the past year she had forgotten. She wouldn't be surprised if she did, considering she came her often. She did her signature nod and smile to confirm his question. A sip of her drink once again. She felt uncomfortable that she did not know this stallions name, especially since he addressed her out of the blue.

[colour=#FFD700]"Oh, may I ask your name?" [/colour]she said, trying to lean in with slight interest. A brow raised and her glass set aside.

[colour=#808080]"Oh, pardon me, I am Duke le Ensemble. I make the finest of stallion suits in Canterlot." [/colour]a smile and another hoof graze of his mustache. Fimble nodded but glanced away with already disinterest, her interest back to the race. It was now about to begin. The Pegasuses lined themselves at the line. Snorts and hooves kicked the plank they had to stand on, wings lifted up, preparing for speedy flights. The announcer called out the count down, everypony became quite, well the ones that sat in the stadium, along with Fimble which eagerly gritted her teethe.

[colour=#808080]"Have you placed a be-"[/colour]


The stallion flared his nose at Fimble's shushing. He turned away with head in the air, commencing towards the crowd of mares that were eating at the small snacks. Fimble smiled that he was finally gone, she now could allow her hooves to rattle at the edge of the balcony. The unicorn announcer fired light into the air with his horn, and now the games were off.

It has been 5 minutes and the head of the race by a long shot was a pure black mare. Fimble's tail was shaking with happiness. She didn't care who won, she didn't even bet. The fact alone that the flying itself was becoming more and more intense is all that pertained her interest. She could smell the excitement and disappointment the crowd below her were bellowing out. She giggled loudly, Ponies behind her glared from a distance, she caught herself quickly, a hoof over her mouth, cleared her throat and tried watching the race with collective calmness. She winced at herself for being a bit rowdy and uncivilized. Letting the excitement get to her around company like this wasn't the greatest for her rep.

Another 20 minutes in and the mare has won the race. The crowd went even wilder, flags shot into the air. The announcer announced the mares name proudly, a medal is placed around her neck. Another good game won. The gentlecolts and mares that were on the balcony finally glanced at the race as the excitement down below could be heard clearly from atop. A few mares would absently say "Oh that was a good game." or another would say as their snout still stood in the air, "I say, wasn't that thrilling". As for Fimble she kept her commentary to herself as she felt her insides jumble with excitement, refraining from prancing about and singing. This was impossible for the young mare.

[colour=#FFD700]"Oh~What a game, a race of honorable steeds~"[/colour] she now twirled in her chair, the others tried walking away slowly.

"Oh no, not this" a pony remarked before ducking their heads away from the musical scene that was about to bestow.

[colour=#FFD700]"Oh~ What a game, what a game~ ♫" [/colour][colour=#000000]her voice sang gracefully out towards the spectators and athletes, which all became startled and looked up at the balcony where they find Fimble twirling and singing. Lots of ponies below whistled and enjoyed her rhythmic voice.[/colour]

[colour=#FFD700]"Dashing and thrilling the game is to mee~ ♫ Oh what a game indeed~♪ the winner takes their rightful place at the wonderful game~ Oh~ What a game, what a game~ What a race, what a raaaccceeee~♪~♫" [/colour][colour=#000000]as she twirled past the staring civilized company she danced and twirled about as if she was in her own setting. She jumped and twirled mid air on the edge of the fountain that was displayed on the balcony. The ponies around her began to watch her in awe, as if this was the entertainment... [/colour]

[colour=#FFD700]"Look around and you will seeeee~ the awe that transpired from the great race before theeee~♫ What a game~ Oooohhhh What a gaaammmee, a race fit for meee-"[/colour]

Suddenly as she does a graceful step off the fountain and to the steps down below, a camera flashes in her face. She stops in mid step and almost tumbles over, before her were journalists and a long stretch of reporters. She stood frozen, she gasped. The immediate thought that raced through her mind as her eyes focused in and out of the powerful flash. [colour=#FFD700]"Oh no...! I probably look terrible! I-I can't have pictures now! I'm an embarrassment!"[/colour]

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Editors and writers are the bane of each other's existences. This isn't so much because each thinks so low of the other as to see their work as consistently terrible, but rather because they are apt to praise the very qualities that the other didn't wish to emphasize.

Case in point was one Earth Writer. The young Stallion had been a journalist for a better part of a year before finally publishing an article of any distinction, and then, purely by a random whim, had found himself in one of the most exciting hoof races in Ponyville's history: this year's Running of the Leaves. It had everything, a storied tradition, the fury of nature, a dramatic rescue, and a photo finish. Being a rather studious fellow, and a student of geography, the unicorn had carefully crafted an article narrating not only the race, but it's geographic context, demonstrating why Ponyville was one of the few places that still kept the old Earth Pony season-changing traditions, and how the local terrain contributed to the outcome of the race. It ended up being a feature article in the latest issue of Equestrian Geographic, fulfilling a great ambition of the young journalist.

Earth's success had also come to the notice of his editor at the Daily paper in Canterlot. Unfortunately, this illustrious official had gotten it into his head that he'd just found the next great sports reporter, and without so much as a by-your-leave, Earth was shipped off to the races.

At first, the tan unicorn thought this would merely be a trial, having to be surrounded by hard, rough-housing sportswriters, with a statistical knowledge and insight that would leave him exposed as the neophyte that he was. But no, fate was not so kind to him today. The vast majority of reporters in the press box were not covering the racers, but the audience. [colour=#8b4513]*Tabloids, oh Luna why did it have to be the tabloids?*[/colour] He honestly couldn't imagine a more vapid subject for public discourse. If sports were not edifying (and Earth Writer would be the last to deny they might be), they were at least exciting, and not infrequently real things were at stake in the contest. But the only thing worse than being cooped up in a heated glass box with a bunch of ponies excitedly pointing out sightings of various ponies in the audience so that he couldn't see the course, was the knowledge that his Homburg hat and press card immediately associated him with them in the minds of all watching.

From the noise in the stands, the race had apparently had an exciting finish; Earth Writer only hoped he could get a good account of what happened from somepony in the lower seats. In any case, it was a relief to get out into the open air. He almost felt like singing, the cool breeze was such a relief.

Oddly enough, somepony was singing, a mare, and what's more, he recognized the voice. It was coming from the next balcony over, and soon the journalist felt himself carried in a wave with the other members of his profession to watch the show. Sure enough, there was Miss Fimble Harmonia, singing and dancing for all Equestria as if she were on the stage. Earth noted she was singing about the game, and thought that maybe he could get a word or two in with her about it, since she had such a good view. Right now, however, the crowd of reporters and photographers had subdued her, and were in the process of embarrassing her. This wouldn't do, she'd never get a quiet moment.

Thus, he did the first thing that came into his head (almost never a good idea), and pointed suddenly and shouted. "[colour=#8b4513]My word, is that the Princess?[/colour]" Lame, perhaps, but it did make most of them look the other way, briefly, giving miss Harmonia a chance to escape.

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"W-where?!" almost a dozen of them said at once. Their eyes scattered everywhere but where Fimble was for a moment. Camera flashes ended and hysteric ponies questioned among each other. A few pleaded out in disappointment as they realized the much expected Celestial Princess herself was nowhere to be found. As they all stopped rustling about and turned their attention back to their superstar of prey, she had vanished. Fimble had dashed off in a haste as soon as the sudden diversion gave her the opportunity. The journalists and tabloids called out in exasperation to quickly catch up with the speeding Fim. Her galloping hooves down the paved road made an echo of fear and pace.

[colour=#ffd700]"Ugh! Dang it!"[/colour] huffing and wheezing escapes her breaths.[colour=#ffd700] "why... is... cardio.. SO HARD." [/colour]she wheezed, distraught from the sound of an angry, bickering mob of flashing cameras and desperate reporters. Fim, feeling the white paved road go into a dip, turned very sharply before they could get themselves on top of the small dip. She found herself turn into a familiar, but much narrower road. A road that was the ally way of the fancy parlors and foreign cafes. She kept still behind a small bit of a cafe, her chest extending in and out, sweat dripping from her forehead. [colour=#ffd700]Now... just a few more blocks away I can get to my mansion... lock my doors.. and just never come out in a few weeks. yeah? yea[/colour]

she had almost mumbled her plan, swooshing and panicked eyes looked about as she heard the group of rampaging ponies run past in a cloud of smoke. She looked over from her hiding place, to find the street was clear other than the nearby ponies that soon got their afternoon tea time disturbed from the chaotic pony storm... Fim felt her shoulder slouch and she panted. She looked ahead to the alley, looking forward at the hills and layers of roof tops that paved alongside the trail to her mansion. She could see the white, three story building in the very far distance. She picked up a walking pace, panting slightly from the sudden adrenaline; her legs wobbly from it.

After a travel of sight seeing, while still staying low in cover, and slightly window shopping she had finally made it to the big gates of her suburban home. The great gate before her, the bars in the middle entwined together by a giant F emblem, glimmered in the light. She smiled gleefully trotting promptly forward without a slow in her pace a buzzer goes off and the gates open to the path way of her home. Fim, dancing in her step looks back in hope the bizzer goes off again, reassured the gate will be closed. The melody of the buzzer soothed her small worry. She trotted up the flight of stairs to her almost palace like entrance, a smirk of relief and just happy to be away from the outside world... almost a final step at this point into her comfortable, conditioned home. All she could think about was a pony martini and a good bubble bath.

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[colour=#8b4513]*I guess it's true what they say,*[/colour] Reflected Earth Writer as he observed the success of his simple rules, [colour=#8b4513]*You can't beat Old School.* [/colour]The reporter departed shortly after Fimble, carrying a greater respect for all the old tricks in the book. In actuality, this really didn't do more than put him ahead of the pack, since the tabloiders, deprived of their grand prey, had turned to pursue their first object. The unicorn, therefore, had ducked into one of the cafes on the side street to avoid being trampled.

While there, he watched the crowd rumble past, and reflected on his options. All told, this hadn't been a good day for him; already sent on as assignment he wasn't fit for in covering the races, he now had nothing to give his editor. Altogether, it was a discouraging situation. Looking out again, the stallion saw that the crowd had passed, and also that Fimble had exited another one of the coffee shops, probably on her way home.

Earth Writer decided to follow her, partly out of a lack of anything else to do, partly out of a hope that she had seen the race (which would allow him to salvage his copy), and partly because his sister, who was a huge fan of musical theater, would never forgive him if he told her he'd gotten this close to talking with the Fimble Harmonia, and didn't at least ask for an autograph.

By the time he'd followed her to her mansion, he was no closer to finding out a way of naturally broaching the subject as he was at the beginning. He might have turned back, except that to do so after walking all the way here would have been simply unbearable. [colour=#8b4513]*Well, I guess I could just push the door buzzer, and see what happens.*[/colour] And so he did.

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Fimble felt each hoof closer to being inside her home like taking weight off her back. She hummed harmoniously, and a twirl finished her flamboyant entrance to opening her giant doors. She was about to take one more graceful hoof in the door way, until her ears perked in alert. The sound of hoofs tapping the tiled pathway infront of her gate. Her coral eyes widened more as she turned her snout towards the gate. A gasp filled her throat. [colour=#ffd700]'Oh no! They found me! How could they have found me?' [/colour]was all she could think, even if her logic was lacking to her fear (considering most ponies would run away to their homes). She paniced, a cold sweat ran down her face. The buzzer now went off and her face was in a twitch. She dashed behind a oversize vase that was placed in the entrance way, huddling close to herself. [colour=#ffd700]'what do they simply want to ask meee' [/colour]a whine began in her head. She thought of how many were there, possibly thousands since she never got a good look at the group chasing after her earlier. She looked over. There was no sound to be made, other than the buzzer going off once again. Relief was starting to get to her, but, paranoia was prominent.

She looked to her surveillance camera that pointed towards the gate. She had an idea. She instantly thought that it mighht have just been safe looking at the cameras view of what was behind the gate, less likely for a paparazzi photo shoot without her knowing it. She ran inside very quickly, up the three flight of stairs, pass the salon room, the Jacuzzi, and her master bedroom. She got to the surveillance room. Two butler stallionz were hovering over the screens and with questioning expressions. Fimble out of pure haste pushed the two aside. She gritted her teeth as she looked at the screens before her... it was nothing more but one pony. She raised a hoof to place under her chin.

[colour=#ffd700]"Hmmm..."[/colour]she thought out loud. Judging from the gear this stallion was wearing, he possibly worked for a magazine or Newspaper of some sort. She had never seen this ponies face before, not that she'd pay attention to anyone wanting to talk to her over and over again about the same thing in the mean while trying to smear her wrongly in tabloids. She cleared her throat, the butlers behind her raised a brow. She raised a hoof as if to silence them for their mute expressions of confusion. She clicked the mic button and proceeded to speak.

[colour=#ffd700]"Can I help you?"[/colour] she tried to hold back slight annoyance but showed prominent gesture in being polite. It wasn't really her thing to yell at someone to get off her property... It wasn't a lady thing to do. But, questioning a ponies purpose being on her property should be more than acceptable.

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The wait was discouraging, no way around it. Admittedly, Earth Writer wasn't familiar with the protocol of answering door buzzers in a gated house. Perhaps one had to wait for the butler to do it; he wouldn't know. [colour=#8b4513]*The upper half lives differently, I guess.*[/colour][colour=#8b4513] [/colour]

[colour=#000000]It gave the reporter time to think, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. He couldn't help but reflect that the reason the celebrity class generally preferred gated houses was not to offer hospitality to the hoi polloi, especially when in the employ of newspapers. And, admittedly, there was legitimate cause for dislike when it came to the tabloids. All told, it wasn't looking as if Ms. Harmonia would be open to interviews today.[/colour]

[colour=#000000]What kept the unicorn at the gate he couldn't say, possibly it was stubbornness, mixed with a little fatigue from the walk. Nevertheless, it was at least partially justified when the magitek speaker buzzed with the voice of the famous singer. "[/colour][colour=#8b4513]Er, yes,[/colour][colour=#000000]" Earth replied, "[/colour][colour=#8b4513]I would just like to ask a few questions about the race...[/colour][colour=#000000]" He was acutely aware of how weak that sounded, and how unlikely it was to gain him entrance. Interviews were not his strong suit, and even the prospect of success in this venture could make him nervous. He could feel the sweat bead on his forehead-[/colour]

[colour=#000000]No, that wasn't sweat. He looked up to see the local pegasi team gather the rainclouds together. Of course, they had been holding off the front to make for a fine day at the races. Now that they were over, the scheduled precipitation came down, drizzling at first, but promising a great crescendo. "[/colour][colour=#8b4513]Um, could I come inside, please? The local weather team has a flair for the dramatic.[/colour][colour=#000000]"[/colour]

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