Show-off like entrance that seems to go wrong [Open to All]

[Heel]

Rhinestones on his jacket and a smile on his face. Blackfire, the showoff, had made it to Ponyville. Why he had wanted to go to Ponyville, he could no longer remember, possibly involving lumber or discount tools. No matter, he was there and he was prepared to make sure he wouldn't be forgotten. The best way would be to introduce himself in the simplest manner possible, by simply speaking. He spotted a nearby bench and hopped onto it, clearing his throat.

"Attention Mares, Stallions, colts, fillies, Foals of all ages. You have been blessed with the presence of one of the world's greats. For I, Blackfire, am the greatest carpenter the world has yet to see." he announced to the heavens. Blackfire hopped off the bench and began trotting through the streets.

"You've possibly seen countless ponies claim to be the greatest. But believe you me, I am that of which I speak." he continued, standing on his hind legs and extending his forelegs aside to show the words on his jacket.

"These words are a symbol of my incredibleness. Some say I am a show off. But if that is what you call the best in the world doing as he does, then you may call it as you please." Blackfire dropped to his four legs again, and turned to the ponies he had assumed were following, and listening. He was absolutely stunned, to see not a single pony stopped their activity to listen to him. He muttered something under his breath, but the moment an older looking stallion looked at him, he quickly ran away. Later that afternoon, he was sitting alone at a table, withing sugar cube corners, enjoying a milkshake and grumbling to himself.

"Confound those ponies. Can't appreciate a great talker if it kicked them in the face." he said to himself, an idea being hatched in his head.

[king121222]

A pure black unicorn filly walked by.

[kamerad]

Professor Barding stood nearby, his cloak draped around his body and the brim of his top hat lowered over his eyes, so that he was both mysterious and forever bumping into Erma, his assistant. Exactly what he was a professor of was open to debate, but all that really mattered was that he was possibly the most odiously wealthy pony that anypony knew (which was to say anypony within five miles or so of Ponyville) and, while it could never be proven, had an obvious dislike for all things pastel and sweet and worked against sunshine and happiness with a dreadful persistence. He snorted. "Foal!" he sneered derisively, while twirling his substantial moustache around his hoof--a feat in itself: not only to have the moustache but to have mastered the ability to twirl it menacingly without the use of digits, but to anypony that knew of Professor Barding's unquenchable willpower (Erma, and she alone) it was not a surprise. "Anypony can see that carpentry is mere foalsplay! The real way forward is in metal, of course. Gears, cogs and steam!" He grinned maliciously as his verdant imagination exploded into visions of enormous towers of steel and brass, with pipes ferrying ponies as they might ferry lubricant or fuel between them and grand vessels prowling the far reaches of the heavens where pegasi dared go. It was a wonderful thing to think about--if only it were real, and not this impoverished peasant pastureland that was Ponyville. But he--yes, he!--would bring it into the modern era, kicking and screaming if he had to.

Erma, who evidently never left her employer's side, nodded absently. She had heard this tirade before, and wasn't really sure if she agreed or not, but the Professor did so have a way with convincing her that she was never quite certain she'd disagreed with him in the first place or what she had thought that had made it so vital to challenge him. In fact, if you were to take a look at the outcome of all their arguments, you might have deduced that Erma was entirely of one mind with the Professor. She resigned herself to exclamations of "Quite so!" and "How wonderful!" until he should exhaust himself, which was typically quite a long time. She waited so long, in fact, that lunch threatened to pass by without either of them eating, and, finally desperate to have something approaching food (for breakfast had been so long ago and quite gone by mid-afternoon with the work in the machine shop), approached the Professor with her very best pleading, slightly damp eyes (being sure to pout, but not so much that she could not pout still more if he should refuse), and inquired of him if they might possibly get something to nibble upon, if that was quite all right with him, being as she did like to hear him talk, but could not focus any longer without sustenance--and, of course, they might chat over lunch.

The Professor sighed. He could go without food or material comforts (or so he told himself) if it meant the attainment of his grandiose paradise, but he did tend to forget that lesser ponies did not have his drive to succeed--and Erma's eyes had the capacity to be so very, very large that he could not bring himself to say no to them and found himself frequently succumbing to her occassional whims--and he was quite glad that they were so infrequent, for if she should decide to usurp him and pout at the same time he should be entirely powerless to do anything about it. "That is quite enough of that, Erma!" he shouted, and cast a glance around him desperately. "I have not forgotten about you--indeed! what a preposterous thought!--and, if you should stop being so impatient, you would have noticed that I was leading us to... here!" he assured her in the same voluminous voice, gesturing pointedly at Sugarcube Corner.

Erma, perking up with remarkable swiftness, smiled from ear to pointed ear. "Oh, thank you, Professor!" she exclaimed, and before he could recoil, she had kissed him on the nose and was off before he could rebuke her for her cavalier attitude. She trotted ahead of Professor Barding into the little shop, while the Professor exhaled nervously, thankful that he had escaped more of her charms and had managed to (he thought, at any rate) preserve some measure of his authority over her.

[Heel]

Blackfire finished nursing his milshake, and decided to get something else into his system. He looked out the window, to The oddly dressed stallion sayong something. Blackfire caught a few keywords 'carpentry, foalsplay, metal and future'. What was he saying, that carpentry was no longer a preferae career, and that metal works would become the preferable? Proposterous. Blackfire paid for his drink and made his way to the door. He opened it and nearly bumped into a mare.

"Pardon me." He said, letting her enter, and nearly tripping on nothing. He steadied himself and spotting the cloaked one.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you say that carpentry is foalsplay?" Blackfire asked, clearly bothered by the aforementioned statement.

Blackfire wouldn't allow his beloved artform (yes artform) to be insulted by anypony. Especially one as oddly dressed as this. Then again, Blackfire was weareing a jacket with rhinestones on it, so he couldn't judge on appearances.

[kamerad]

Erma sped by with nary a second glance at the glittering pony; she had more important things on her mind, these being what sort of sandwich should she get? And what pastry (for the shop did have so many to choose from, and she could never remember them all)? She looked from one item on the chalkboard menu to the next, unsure of what to get. Oh! And suppose she should get the Professor something? Barding entered a moment later, but was held up in his progress by the acrylic-encrusted assailant.

He grinned maliciously. "You did indeed!" recalling from some time ago that it was this very pony that he had been insulting from afar. The Professor took him by the withers and showed him the threshold, gesturing broadly at the town outside, paying no mind that he was blocking the way for somepony else. "Do you see what I see out there?" he asked rhetorically. "I see a town living centuries--centuries!--in the past, when it could be so much more! Simple..." He waved his hoof dismissively. "Woodworking will not suffice to bring these ponies out of the Dark Ages--indeed, they already have mastered that primitive art, and look at how far they've gotten with it! But what way--what means, what engine--will bring them out of their short-sighted self-imposed misery? There is, of course, only one answer, and that is metalwork, and all that accompanies it. Imagine!" he exclaimed, pulling him closer as if to transfer his vision by osmosis. "Ponyville prosperous, for once in its miserable history! Bountiful and modern, not just barely scraping by! Ha-ha!" The Professor loosened his hold on the pony. "Now, it is unfortunate that you were born, I suppose, a few centuries too late. But--" And here he leaned in. "--let me tell you something." The Professor shifted his eyes from left to right and back again, as if this were a great secret he was about to reveal. "These two arts--yes, yours is an art, though long rendered obsolete--have much the same in common. All the maths are the same, all the engineering and planning. But what can you do that I--or a mason, for that matter--cannot build higher, stronger--better?" Satisified that he had made his case, he stepped back and bowed flamboyantly to allow a couple to pass by him (who had been standing there for some time, but this was immaterial to the Professor).