“How is my mane? My mane—look at it, Anton, my mane!”

The pretty pony Prince daintily swept a hoof through the bane of his latest anxiety attack, his eyes scanning the face of the human sitting across the table for that ever essential validation.

Anton frowned, pursing his lips and twiddling a few hairs of his beard between his fingertips. Blueblood looked so damned fine, he could probably turn a stallion or two, not that Anton would ever feel the need to tell him. “Hmm… Kinda reminds me of the mop I used to unclog that nightclub toilet in Baltimare, y’know—after Shiny drank a whole bottle of that cheap Prussian vodka?”

Night Knight snorted, almost spraying the tablecloth with wine as he took a sip from his glass. Blueblood merely huffed. “Please, I’m fabulous and you know it,” he declared, turning up his muzzle with utmost regality. “I will look like a Prince worthy of the name, this evening.”

The Crystal Carousel was probably a bit too upper crust for such crass conversation. Hell, it was the empire’s most venerated restaurant—a high-rise, magically revolving structure with a panoramic view, filled to the brim with priceless hoof-crafted crystal sculptures, and paintings so lavish they were probably worth more bits than Anton could make in a lifetime. The acclaimed establishment’s main clientele consisted of nobles, royalty, and wealthy bottom-feeder ponies wishing to elevate their status. Most of them appeared to be under the illusion that Princess Celestia herself shone out of their asses. Anton didn’t really care for the place, but it made Blue and Knight happy, so he could deal.

A group of pegasi mares sitting at the next table across paused their conversation, their eyes momentarily glued to the Prince, or, the back of his head, at least. Anton, being the ever persistent troll, raised an eyebrow at them, flashing them a cheeky grin he knew from experience would be ill received. Sure enough, their heads swivelled away from him so fast, he was surprised none of them got whiplash.

It was a prejudice all too familiar to him. Being a huge assed, minotaur-looking thing put him at a pretty considerable disadvantage in the friend making department. The vast majority of ponies were dick-high to him. He could hardly expect to make much of a good impression with their eyes on the same level as his nuts.

Through years of patience, and a little reassurance from the friends he’d actually managed to make, he was able to shrug it off without too much trouble.

“You were the one who wagered me I couldn’t do it,” Shining Armor reminded the human.

Anton straight up laughed aloud. Ah, yes. That particular bet had been a master plan of manipulation and general bro-fuckery. “Shiny, you’ve known me for ten years. Come on—who’s the idiot here?”

“I’d still say it was you,” Shining countered, not even bothering to spare Anton a glance as he took another bite of his vegetable salad from the fork levitating in front of his muzzle.

With a grin, Anton nudged Shining in the side. “Hey Shiny—those fifty bits—did they buy you enough copies of Playcolt to see you through the month of blue balls Cady served your stupid ass for listening to me?”

Shining rolled his eyes, returning a grin of his own. “You’re just salty you lost the bet.”

The foursome fell silent, simply enjoying their meals. For around the hundredth time that day, Anton found his thoughts drifting to their little group’s planned escapade for the evening. Blueblood being Blueblood—the most flamboyantly ostentatious pony Prince that ever did prance—had managed to snap them up front row tickets to see the mare of Anton’s dreams.

When questioned on how he had managed such a feat, the magnificent bastard merely grinned, fluttering his perfectly permed royal eyelashes. Git.

Songbird Serenade, in Anton’s slightly rose-tinted perception, was the epitome of pretty ponies the world over. Pegasi were already his fetish, not that he’d ever admitted such a thing, but Songbird struck him as the most genuine superstar of the music industry thus far. Where other ponies relied on drama and controversy to get attention, this sweet mare utilised pure talent, and an innocent charm that had captured the adoration of thousands, Anton included. He had never been able to get tickets before, but thanks to Blueblood, he was in luck.

One of the mares at the adjacent table, an adorable little teal-coated bit of a thing, caught Anton’s eye. Her gaze instantly snapped down to her forehooves resting on the table, a few locks of her wispy white mane falling in front of one of her eyes. It wasn’t too long before she was visibly trembling, her ears flat to her head and her eyes darting left to right. The table began to shake like it was possessed, all the while her wings twitched, partly extending from her sides.

Anton looked away, his fingertips once again twisting the hair of his beard, except this time relishing the sting. If he had to see one more pony look at him like his only salvation was to be bitch slapped by the elements of harmony, it was going to end up ruining his day. The fact that the mare had wings just annoyed him even more.

Pegasi were indeed his fetish. There was no denying it. For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to explore a mare’s wings. Of course, none of them wanted anything to do with him, and if he was honest with himself—he couldn’t really blame them. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from stealing a glance at a pretty mare every once in a while.

Spurred on by the cute mare’s terror, the doubt that had been fighting for attention in Anton’s mind emerged triumphant. Were front row tickets really the best idea? Blueblood’s motto had always been ‘go big, or go home.’ Though, in this particular instance, Anton couldn’t help wondering if a little restraint was in order.

What if Songbird took one look at his ugly mug and flew off into the night, screaming like someone had just murdered several of her crew members? Anton wasn’t particularly bad looking—at least, he didn’t consider himself so. But, to a pony, he had to look more than a little odd. The phrase ‘don’t meet your heroes’ sprang to mind, and Anton sighed, slumping over the table. This night could potentially turn into a disaster, and as usual, it would be all his fault.

Night Knight slammed his fork down, an angry nicker flying from his muzzle. He made to get out of his seat, but Anton knew exactly what was happening. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate it, it just wasn’t the time or the place. Reaching over, the human grabbed the stallion by the scruff of the neck. “Don’t, Knight. Please.”

“I’m sick of ponies treating you like you’re some kind of monster,” Knight quietly growled, though he stayed seated, much to Anton’s relief.

Blueblood, apparently finished hoof-combing his mane, turned his head to look at the mares behind him, but Anton snapped his fingers in front of the Prince’s face. “Hey, eyes front!”

The last thing Anton wanted was for his friends to make a scene. He’d been through enough of those to last several lifetimes. Shining simply gave him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe we should get going?” he suggested.

Anton nodded, spying around for the hoity toity waiter pony that had mistaken him for a fishman not three seconds after he’d walked through the door. “Cheque, please.” Such gross misjudgement was going to be reflected in said pony’s tip.

Having made their way under a star spangled sky to the open-air venue on the outskirts of town, Anton and his friends were ushered in by an earth pony stallion. He was kitted out with a black jacket, white shirt and a black tie, along with a pair of almost comically large sunglasses and a wireless headset.

“This way, gentlecolts,” he directed, leading them across a large field that was already rapidly filling with excited concert-goers.

A few pegasi could be seen darting about the field, seeing how high they could get before triggering the security barrier. One black coated stallion managed a good ten feet before his wings were magically immobilised and he drifted back down to the grass, grinning smugly at his friends.

The stage—a long, sweeping curve of polished wood constructed of several block sections—must have been about fifty feet wide. A large metal pipe-frame awning had been constructed over the top, holding an entire array of various lights and speaker cabinets.

Anton rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand, where a cloud mobile consisting of several different coloured hearts had been stamped into his flesh. It was some sort of magical ink, that he’d been told would fade after a few hours. He’d give an arm and a leg to be able to run his fingers over the real thing. It probably felt like the softest silk, or the fluffiest pillow, or…

“Do you think she’ll notice me?” Blueblood pondered aloud, interrupting Anton’s slightly lewd thoughts. He shook his head, attempting to clear them. “Maybe she’ll invite me up on stage?” the Prince continued, “I daresay a duet may well be on the agenda!”

Night Knight snorted. “Blue, your singing sounds like a rabid cat getting a back alley lobotomy.”

The VIP area, Anton soon discovered, was a damn sight closer to the stage than he had expected. Like, a couple of paces, and that shit was right there. It was quite a low stage, probably only three feet high. If he remained standing, he’d be staring Songbird right in the eyes like some sort of creeper. Fuck that. No one wanted to be that guy, especially not Anton. Maybe if he sat down on the grass, he’d be a bit less conspicuous?

It was a start.

Even sitting, the metal railing ‘barrier,’ for want of a better word, barely reached his chin.

“You okay, big guy?” Shining asked, just as Blueblood, thoroughly offended by doubts of his musical prowess, no doubt, began to sing. Several ponies covered their ears, their faces scrunching up. One mare even pulled a pair of fuzzy pink earmuffs from her bushy tail, snapping them over her ears with a look of disgust.

“Yeah, fine,” Anton muttered, an idea springing to mind. “Say, Shiny, how about you rustle up one of those invisibility spells from your head boner?”

The stallion gave Anton a thousand yard stare. “You keep calling it that, and I’ll turn you into a buttplug.”

Night Knight hit Blueblood with a solid boop, putting a swift end to his tone deaf screeching. The Prince huffed, rubbing his scrunched up muzzle. “Ruffian.”

“Come on, dude,” Anton persisted. “I could use a little discretion right about now.”

“Not happening, bro.”

“Shiny, dude,” Anton muttered, prodding the unicorn in the side. He knew it was futile. As stubborn unicorns go, Shining Armor was notoriously resolute.

“What is hiding from her going to do?” he challenged. “How can you ever hope to meet her if she can’t even see you?”

Anton did a double take. “Come again?”

“Oh, come on, Anton. I know you want to ruffle her feathers. You’re almost as bad as Blueblood. Pony up and grow some balls, for Celestia’s sake.”

“I… What? But…” Anton stuttered. Was it really that obvious? Sure, maybe he had one too many Playcolt magazines featuring pegasi models dressing up like the singer, but he’d always made sure to keep them hidden.

“My dear Anton, why do you think I got us these tickets?” Blueblood chimed in, leaning in close and whispering, “rumour has it that Songbird has a thing for the exotic type.”

Anton shot the Prince a deadpan stare. “Yeah, sure she does.”

The overhead lighting dimmed, the general din of the crowd winding down so quickly it could have been snuffed out by a spell. Well, that’s one problem solved, Anton thought. He had zero complaints at the sudden darkness, a sentiment not shared with some of the other inhabitants of the VIP section, it seemed. Exasperated nickers and stomps of annoyance abounded, but were quickly silenced by the faint echoing of hoofsteps on polished wood.

The clunk of an electrical switch broke the monotony of the hoofsteps, and a bright spotlight illuminated a sole pony on the stage. Anton had to resist the rather large urge to squee like a fangirl. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Holy flaming horse apples, she’s right there!

There she was, the pony Anton had admired from afar—same gold and black mane, the illustrious fringe covering her eyes, same buttercream coat, the cloud mobile shining proudly from her perfectly toned flanks. She looked even more adorable in the fur than any poster or magazine could give her credit for.

Anton could do nothing but gaze upon her with fondness, that is, until she trotted head long into a microphone stand.

CLONK.

A loud screech of feedback pierced the ears of everypony in the crowd, not to mention every human as well. Anton cringed, covering his ears, but snorted at the mare’s antics nonetheless.

“Oops.. oh… um…” Songbird muttered. She sat on her haunches, using her wings for balance as she held one forehoof out in front of her, trying to unscrunch her nose with the other. After a few moments, she seemed to suddenly notice she was sitting in front of several thousand ponies. “Oh, there you all are!” she laughed, finally grabbing the microphone with her wandering hoof.

The crowd erupted into frenzied cheering at her words, the ground physically shaking with the amount of ponies stomping their hooves. Anton, however, felt his face steadily morphing through several shades of red. He had caught a glimpse of something he probably shouldn’t have when Songbird had sat down. The pony was so damned innocent, she had forgot to close her hind legs…

The music began to play, triggering two smoke machines to flood the stage from either side. Ponies in the crowd sang along with Songbird.

“Baby, I don’t need bags of bits to have fun tonight!”

Blueblood managed to butcher the song entirely. Thankfully, he didn’t have a microphone. Several stallion dancers flocked to the superstar, twirling about their hooves and spinning like tops in a circle around her. Lucky bastards.

When it was over, the cheering took an age to die down. Songbird waited patiently, before taking her microphone off the stand. “Y’know, it’s a shame there isn’t a crystalling going on,” she began, only for the crowd to flare up again. Songbird chuckled, flaring her wings rather adorably. Once she could be heard again, she continued. “Yes, it’s a shame there’s no crystalling. I’d love to be a crystal pony for a day.”

Anton clapped, along with the ponies still stomping their hooves and screaming their confessions of love for the pegasus. Songbird smiled, beginning a leisurely trot along the edge of the stage. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Anton attempted to hide behind Blueblood, but due to the minor drawback of him being roughly twice the Prince’s size, he was rather unsuccessful.

“I’d like to introduce a special guest for this evening. She’s a little shy, and might be a little nervous, but she’s very talented. I think you ponies will just love her performance,” Songbird continued, walking right by where Anton was hiding in plain sight. Phew. Maybe she really was blind with that fringe of hers?

“Please welcome, Pearl Parade!” Songbird practically sang, just as another track began to play.

A small earth filly pranced onto the stage, as agile as the springiest of spring chickens. Slamming her tiny hooves into the polished wood, she pulled a triple front flip without so much as breaking a sweat, flying right over the top of Songbird’s oversized pink bow and landing perfectly in front of the superstar with a flourish.

The audience roared their appreciation, but the filly showed zero emotion, completely and utterly dedicated to her craft. Her coat was almost identical to Songbird’s, as was her mane and tail, though Anton had a sneaking suspicion those weren’t her natural colours.

Through use of a few odd facial expressions, and almost mechanical hoof movements, the filly captivated the audience with a masterful display of interpretive dance, flying through the air at times, and simply lying motionless on the stage at others.

“That little filly is going places!” Night Knight commended, just as the young foal began a series of front flips, mixed with back flips, with an added portion of spinning pirouettes for good measure. Anton clapped. He’d never seen an earth pony move with such grace, let alone one as young as… Oh dear.

The filly, halfway through her crazy technical segment, just happened to look Anton right in the eyes.

With a couple more flips, she completely stuffed the landing, bouncing off the stage, way past her landing point and flying right over the edge. Anton didn’t even have time to think. He spang to his feet with a little too much enthusiasm, tripped over the barrier as a result, and ended up lying flat on his back in the no man’s land between the crowd and the stage.

The filly landed on his chest, not unlike a feather would land on a blanket.

Anton blinked, his eyes rolling down to the terrified foal. Well, shit.

With a scream that could be heard even over Songbird’s singing, Pearl Parade shot off around the perimeter of the stage without so much as a backwards glance. Anton cursed aloud, pulling himself rather ungraciously back over the barrier and crumpling into a heap on the other side.

“Are you okay, Anton?” Blueblood shouted over the music. Songbird was still belting out lyrics, and swinging from a chandelier attached to the pipe-frame awning above the stage.

Anton nodded, following Shining and Night’s example of scanning either side of the stage for any approaching security ponies. When none came to kick him out, Anton put his face in his hands. Stupid, stupid. So stupid.

Songbird, ever the professional, continued to sing, despite finally noticing her dancer had abandoned the performance. Anton caught her fringe covered gaze more than a couple of times through his fingers. He had no idea if she was angry, or scared, or disgusted at his mere presence, perhaps? The power of the almighty fringe hid her emotions too well. Either way, she probably assumed some weird alien had come to gatecrash her gig and distract her dancers.

“Don’t feel bad, Anton, you probably saved the poor filly quite a nasty fall,” Blueblood assured, draping a comforting hoof over Anton’s soldier.

A nasty fall? She weighed about as much as a pint of milk for crying out loud! She’d be back on the stage dancing again if Anton hadn’t tried to be a hero.

Subsequently, the human spent the rest of the show trying to make himself as small as possible. Thankfully, Songbird didn’t look at him again, or mention that her young talented dancer had been scared off by an alien freak in the VIP section. It wasn’t much consolation, if he was being honest. He just wanted to go home, where ponies couldn’t judge him.

After a lengthy encore, during which Songbird pulled out all the stops—not that it did much to brighten Anton’s mood—the show was at an end.

“Simply marvellous! Songbird, you are a true talent, and your beauty rivals that of Princess Celestia herself!” Blueblood proclaimed rather loudly as Songbird left the stage. Songbird even gave the Prince a smile for his efforts.

“Come on, let’s go,” Anton muttered, trying, and failing, not to be salty as they trudged along the now thoroughly hoof-pummeled grass lining the barrier. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to go home and drown himself in a bucket of cider. Maybe he’d add some bleach for good measure. Eh… He’d figure it out when he got there.

“You there!” somepony suddenly grunted.

Anton blinked. The security stallion that had ushered them in was pointing a hoof at him like he was some sort of criminal. Oh, crap. This is it.

“Is there a problem?” Shining Armor asked. The stallion was quick to step right up to the accusatory guard, almost daring him to try and take Anton.

The guard ears dropped just a shade. Anypony who didn’t live under a rock knew Shining Armor was married to the ruler of the Crystal Empire. Night Knight also stepped up to the guard, a formidable expression on his face.

The guard cleared his throat, quickly regaining composure. “My apologies, your Majesty. Songbird Serenade has merely requested to have a word with your… tall friend,” he explained, nodding up at Anton.

Anton felt the bottom drop out from his stomach. It was obvious, what was happening. She was probably going to give him a good telling off face to face. “Nothankyouweshouldreallygetgoingnow,” he spluttered, hastily trying to side-step the security pony. The stallion simply held out a hoof.

To his absolute horror, Shining and Knight shared a look. Blueblood just had a stupid grin on his face. “Well, okay,” Shining said.

“Yes, we’ll wait for you here,” Blueblood added, grinning up at Anton like a loon.

The human turned his gaze to Night Knight, but the crystal stallion simply gave a weak smile. “Just… go and see what she wants.”

“B-But…” Anton stuttered, the security pony already nudging him around the side of the stage. Such betrayal from the ponies he thought were his friends would not be forgotten. Let it be known, that on this day, if I make it out of this without completely breaking down and crying like a little man-child, I will find you, and I will boop you.

Turning away from his friends, Anton walked. He walked like a man condemned, but held his head high regardless. Passing through into a makeshift building behind the stage, the human and his captor entered a dimly corridor lined with black curtains. Roadies, dancers, security guards and the like eyed Anton, the dead man walking. A few paparazzi ponies that had managed to sneak in even hastily pulled out their cameras and snapped a few photos as he passed, others giving him solemn nods. One of them even saluted.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or so, the security guard stopped outside of a bright blue door. Anton gulped, spotting the plaque that was fixed to it.

Anton waited, both images of the cutie mark on the door and the one on his hand taunting him. He turned to the security guard to ask if he could just leave and that everypony just forget he even turned up to the concert, but the stallion stood stoic and motionless.

Biting the bullet, Anton knocked, the butterflies in his stomach doing their best to burst out of him like that one scene from that creepy alien movie. As soon as the door swung open, the security guard pushed him inside. “Hey! Damn… You could’ve just asked!” he muttered, but the guard had already pulled the door closed.

The room was smaller than he’d been expecting. It was painted the same shade of blue as the door, but most of the walls were obscured by the thick black curtains hanging from a perimeter rail near the ceiling. A long, luxurious looking couch, also the same blue as the door, lay off to the side. Laying on it, looking at Anton with a mixture of curiosity and just a little bit of fear, was none other than Pearl Parade.

Anton looked away. It was his go to response to ponies that were clearly scared of him. A large dresser caught his attention, with an even larger mirror hanging on thick silver chains from the curtain rail above it. A series of lights ran around the edge of the mirror, through which Anton caught a blast of Songbird’s fringe-covered gaze.

She swivelled around in her desk chair, almost like she had been waiting for the right moment. “Hello, Anton.”

“You know m-my name?” Anton stuttered

A light chuckle escaped the pretty pegasus. “Yes. I, er… had one of my staff check, of course,” Songbird replied, her voice almost as mesmerising talking as it was singing. “You saved young Pearl here. I just wanted to give her the opportunity to thank you.”

A dead weight seemed to lift from Anton’s shoulder. “Well, y’know,” he chuckled, bringing a hand up to the back of his head. “It was nothing, really.”

“I-I’m sorry for running off like that,” Pearl piped up, her eyes still a little unsure. “I just panicked. I know you were just trying to help me.”

“Heh, don’t worry about it, kid. You’re a really good dancer, unlike me. I dance like I’ve got two left feet. It would be fine, but of course, I’m not a pony.”

A musical chuckle escaped Songbird, and Anton blinked. Had he seriously managed to make her laugh? Like, legit humour? Pearl giggled as well. Anton beamed. It was always a win when a pony realised he wasn’t about to try and eat them or something.

“Okay, Pearl, now that business is concluded, you may leave if you wish.”

The filly nodded, leaping from the couch, grabbing onto the doorknob with a fetlock and pulling it open. “Bye, Mr Anton!” she chirped, scampering off into the corridor.

Anton smiled, until he felt something brush against his leg, then he nearly jumped out of his skin. Songbird, having left her seat, proceeded to kick the door closed with a foreleg, and was now rubbing a folded wing against one of his thighs, not unlike a cat would rub its side against a scratching post. “So, Anton. Did you enjoy the show? Please, sit. Let’s have a little chat, you and I.”

“I… er… wut…” Anton.exe has stopped responding. Would you like to drink some bleach?

Half falling onto the couch, the human watched in disbelief as his favourite pony popstar hopped right up beside him, her wing once again pressed to his side as she got herself nice and comfortable. It was odd. He’d seen such behaviour before—ponies were very social creatures, after all—but it had never been directed toward him… Well, that’s if you didn’t count Blueblood and his lack of boundaries. Anton didn’t count Blueblood.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… What exactly are you?”

“Uh… A h-human.” Her hooves seemed to have a mind of their own, one of them flying to his chest. Anton was suddenly glad he’d managed to find a gym that was actually beneficial for someone of his stature. Her fetlock slid over his pecs, exploring without reservation. What is happening? Did that security guard knock him out? Was he actually lying in a puddle of his own drool in some dumpster somewhere?

“I’ve never seen a human before,” Songbird whispered, biting her lip. Maybe Blueblood hadn’t been lying? Perhaps Songbird really was a sucker for non-ponies? Oh gawd, please let that wonderful idiot bimbo colt be telling the truth.

“Oh, look—my cutie mark,” she chuckled, spotting the stamp on his hand. She smiled, rubbing the softest of forehooves over his skin. Anton barely suppressed a fangasm. “What’s your cutie mark? Can… Can I see it?”

“Well, humans don’t actually have cutie marks,” Anton muttered, almost disappointed that he had nothing to show her.

“That’s okay. You can just keep borrowing mine if you’d like,” Songbird sweetly offered, gazing up at him through her fringe.

Yep. It was one hundred percent confirmed. Songbird Serenade was a xenophile. Hallelujah! Praise the fuckin’ lawd! “That’d be nice,” Anton replied, turning his hand upwards to gently grip her fetlock. It was so damned soft. He had no idea that anything could be so soft. Her wings were probably even softer. Just thinking about it had his thoughts spinning off into inappropriate places.

The superstar tilted her head, her fringe falling away to reveal one of the prettiest sapphire blue eyes Anton had ever seen. This pony, this beautiful pegasus truly was perfection in pretty pony form, and she had decided to show him something that had never been captured by any camera.

“Your eyes…” Anton breathed. “They’re beautiful.”

Songbird smiled, her free wing springing out to lay over his chest. “Touch it. I know you want to,” she urged.

“B-But why-”

She nuzzled him—actually gave him the one pony social interaction that he had been craving from a pegasus ever since he could remember. The urge to wrap his arms around the mare and pull her into a hug was strong, but he somehow rustled up the restraint. The feeling of her soft muzzle against his neck almost made him melt beneath her hooves. “Don’t ask me why. Just do it,” she whispered, her breath glistening his skin

Hands trembling, Anton stared at the buttercream wing pressed against his chest. He knew there were certain parts of a pegasi’s wing that were definite no-go areas. The only trouble was, he had forgotten where they were. He still had no idea why she was even letting him do this.

Taking his time, her gingerly trailed his fingertips over the leading edge, heading out towards the end of her large primaries. Blueblood had mentioned that because they were most exposed to the elements, they weren’t overly sensitive for another pony to touch. So, so soft. Songbird cooed at the contact, pressing both her hoof and her wing into his chest with a bit more enthusiasm.

Her muzzle was higher now. Anton could smell her breath. It was minty fresh, and reminded him of a cool winter morning. Oh crap. What if she could smell his? He had brushed his teeth that morning, and once again before going to the restaurant, but that had been hours ago. It was lucky he’d settled on the salad, and not the garlic bread…

Wait… Was she? No…

Anton waited with bated breath, his fingers splayed over Songbird’s wing. He waited, and waited, until he could wait no more. He had to exhale. The crazy pegasus half sprawled on him inhaled, her lips parted. Her ears flew back on her head, and he felt a noticeable twitch in her wings. She smiled, and it was the most wonderful smile Anton had ever witnessed.

“I have a little confession to make,” Songbird admitted out of the blue.

Anton held in a breath. Of course there would be a catch. There was always a catch. Was this some sort of cruel joke? She had shown him a little affection, now she was going to kick him to the curb. Had that been the plan all along?

Songbird gave him a squeeze, noticing the panic on his face. “Oh, Anton, you’re so cute,” she chuckled, giving him another nuzzle.

Most of the worry was chased away by her affectionate snootie rubbing his neck, but it still left the question. “What is it?”

The mare sighed, her ears drooping for a different reason this time. “I gave Blueblood those tickets. He told me about you being a fan a few months ago and I got pretty curious. After he showed me a few photographs of you, well… I really wanted you to come and see me.”

Anton blinked, his heart lifting in his chest. Could this be true? His idol had sought him out, had set up this whole night just so she could meet him! And Blueblood had been in on it… Blueblood. “That son of a bitch. Why didn’t he tell-”

“I told him not to tell you,” Songbird cut him off.

“But, what about the others? Did they know? And Pearl? Did she dive at me on purpose?” Anton asked. Was the entire night just one long script?

“No, only Blueblood knew. As for Pearl, she just wasn’t expecting somepony like you to be in the crowd,” Songbird assured, her fetlock caressing his chest again.

Anton didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. It didn’t really matter, of course—neither emotion was strong enough to overpower the pure sense of joy coursing through him. “So… you just wanted to meet me?” Anton asked. He wasn’t buying it. There had to be something this adorable little pegapopstar wasn’t telling him. “Come on, Songbird. Tell me the real reason.”

Songbird grinned, biting her lip again. “Well… Okay. I have… an opening… that needs filling.”

Anton stared at her, his jaw dropping a shade. Did he have wax in his ears? Or, was she just an extremely talented troll?

Songbird nestled herself closer to his chest. “I think somepony of your size would be just perfect for this opening.”

Sweet Faust above, my body is not ready for this. “B-But… I’m n-not a pony.”

Songbird twisted herself fully into his lap, her hind legs falling to straddle his waist. “That hardly matters,” she whispered. Anton could see the fire in her eyes, and it spread into him, captivating his very soul.

“So?” asked Shining, his horn light casting a faint glow over the empty field. Everypony had long since left, and Anton had only just stumbled out from behind the stage, his hair slightly ruffled and a big dopey grin on his face.

The human ignored Shining completely, instead dropping to his knees and pulling a rather startled Blueblood into a hug. “I love you so much, you royal idiot,” he gleefully sang, bursting out into a fit of giggles and ruffling the stallion’s perfectly styled mane.

“Mmmph! Mmph,” Blueblood protested, finally wriggling free enough to open his muzzle properly. “How did things go, Anton? You simply must tell us!”

“Well,” Anton proclaimed, releasing the Prince and raising himself to his fullest height. “You’re now looking at the newest member of Songbird Serenade’s security task force!”

Blueblood, telekinetically peeling a hayburger wrapper off his flank after being unceremoniously dumped on the ground, got to his hooves. “So, she just offered you a job? That’s it?”

Anton smiled, his heart fluttering in his chest. “God, I hope not.”