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Talent Show
Outside behind the town hall, under the dome of night, thunder could be heard coming from the town green, the sounding of earth beneath the hooves of one-hundred Ponyvillians, sublimely entertained, inspired, and enthused. Their chants echoed as Trixie, the Great and Powerful, stormed into a square gray tent where was headquartered the administrative board in charge of running the evening’s event; she pushed her way through the staff (who took her to be an eager well-wisher) and addressed herself directly to the mayor, in the following terms:
“I HAVE AN OBJECTION! How is it,” she said, “that a group which wasn’t even in the competition gets awarded FIRST PLACE at a talent show that some of us have spent weeks preparing to enter, hmm!? Tell me your process, Mayor Mare.”
“Just the same as that of any other talent show judge, at any other talent show, past, present, or future,” she replied.
“And were you facing THE STAGE?” said Trixie.
“Oh! It was such a wonderful success,” said the mayor, “don’t you agree? One must concede with grace under such circumstances.”
“I would just as well concede to this topiary,” cried Trixie, indicating one on the campus ground, “or to the bluebirds nesting above my wagon window, who might wonder why I list, list… LIST! to master the art of trigonometry, with such a paltry result as this. Oh, the hours of untold study! Did you not feel, Mayor Mare, did you not sense in your very bones, the quell of the audience—that doth abide—as Trixie dared to solve the arc sin function of angle, side, side?”
Mayor Mare smiled at her. “I admit that I’d never seen you in such form. It was a personal and technical triumph, if I’ve ever seen one. So we agree, then, on the final outcome? Ah, and here come the winners, now!”
The tent ponies parted way for three garlanded fillies to enter, Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo. They were received and congratulated by the onlookers who had let them by, as Trixie stood in abeyance, and the mayor waited with happy anticipation of their interview; but the former would have no part in tolerating such a ceremony, and accosted the unfortunate victors before the hoofshakes were done.
“Nice to see you show up.”
“Good performance, Trixie,” said Applebloom, uneasy in the silence that had fallen. “We really enjoyed your act.”
“We especially appreciated your choice of equation,” said Sweetie Belle. “If you had done something with calculus, I think it would have been more derivative.”
“Thank you,” Trixie replied facetiously. “And might I say how much I enjoyed your imaginary number.”
“Uh… But… Didn’t you like the show?” asked Applebloom.
“Don’t play stupid with me!” snapped Trixie. “You got a first place ‘I Particpated’ award—only worse, since you didn’t even participate!”
“Ooh,” went all three girls. They laughed, and Scootaloo stepped forward.
“Aw, Trixie, silly,” she said, “helping other ponies to find talent [i]is]/i] our talent.”
“Which is why,” Sweetie Belle added, “since we helped to organize the show, and it was such a success—”
“Thanks to performances like yours,” Applebloom interjected—
“That it’s really our success, to the extent that we foresaw, and supported operationally, your success.”
“The staging, the funding, the scheduling of work crews—heck, even the port-a-potties, we were involved in everything,” said Scootaloo. “None of it would have happened without us.”
“That’s exactly right!” said Mayor Mare, stepping in. “And I hope now you can understand, Trixie, that the right decision was made in this contest. Every shining talent was a shining endorsement of our organizers, Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo!”
All the ponies in the tent broke into a short applause, excepting the contest winners, who returned modest acknowledgment for the plaudits, and for Trixie, who could no longer oppose the logic of the mayor’s decision, and who hung like a blue candy cane in the tinsel of her opponents’ triumph.
Rather than arguing, therefore, she waited for an opening.
“You have a dumb talent,” she said, after the fanfare had died.
Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo held a tacit conference of exchanged glances, and turned out a collective shrug.
“So do you,” said Scootaloo.
“And by the way,” Trixie growled at the mayor on her way out, “don’t expect me to show up for Fluttershy’s seminar on how to avoid public speaking, tomorrow!”
Mayor Mare clapped her hooves in delight at the proposal. “Ah, perfect!”
“I HAVE AN OBJECTION! How is it,” she said, “that a group which wasn’t even in the competition gets awarded FIRST PLACE at a talent show that some of us have spent weeks preparing to enter, hmm!? Tell me your process, Mayor Mare.”
“Just the same as that of any other talent show judge, at any other talent show, past, present, or future,” she replied.
“And were you facing THE STAGE?” said Trixie.
“Oh! It was such a wonderful success,” said the mayor, “don’t you agree? One must concede with grace under such circumstances.”
“I would just as well concede to this topiary,” cried Trixie, indicating one on the campus ground, “or to the bluebirds nesting above my wagon window, who might wonder why I list, list… LIST! to master the art of trigonometry, with such a paltry result as this. Oh, the hours of untold study! Did you not feel, Mayor Mare, did you not sense in your very bones, the quell of the audience—that doth abide—as Trixie dared to solve the arc sin function of angle, side, side?”
Mayor Mare smiled at her. “I admit that I’d never seen you in such form. It was a personal and technical triumph, if I’ve ever seen one. So we agree, then, on the final outcome? Ah, and here come the winners, now!”
The tent ponies parted way for three garlanded fillies to enter, Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo. They were received and congratulated by the onlookers who had let them by, as Trixie stood in abeyance, and the mayor waited with happy anticipation of their interview; but the former would have no part in tolerating such a ceremony, and accosted the unfortunate victors before the hoofshakes were done.
“Nice to see you show up.”
“Good performance, Trixie,” said Applebloom, uneasy in the silence that had fallen. “We really enjoyed your act.”
“We especially appreciated your choice of equation,” said Sweetie Belle. “If you had done something with calculus, I think it would have been more derivative.”
“Thank you,” Trixie replied facetiously. “And might I say how much I enjoyed your imaginary number.”
“Uh… But… Didn’t you like the show?” asked Applebloom.
“Don’t play stupid with me!” snapped Trixie. “You got a first place ‘I Particpated’ award—only worse, since you didn’t even participate!”
“Ooh,” went all three girls. They laughed, and Scootaloo stepped forward.
“Aw, Trixie, silly,” she said, “helping other ponies to find talent [i]is]/i] our talent.”
“Which is why,” Sweetie Belle added, “since we helped to organize the show, and it was such a success—”
“Thanks to performances like yours,” Applebloom interjected—
“That it’s really our success, to the extent that we foresaw, and supported operationally, your success.”
“The staging, the funding, the scheduling of work crews—heck, even the port-a-potties, we were involved in everything,” said Scootaloo. “None of it would have happened without us.”
“That’s exactly right!” said Mayor Mare, stepping in. “And I hope now you can understand, Trixie, that the right decision was made in this contest. Every shining talent was a shining endorsement of our organizers, Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo!”
All the ponies in the tent broke into a short applause, excepting the contest winners, who returned modest acknowledgment for the plaudits, and for Trixie, who could no longer oppose the logic of the mayor’s decision, and who hung like a blue candy cane in the tinsel of her opponents’ triumph.
Rather than arguing, therefore, she waited for an opening.
“You have a dumb talent,” she said, after the fanfare had died.
Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo held a tacit conference of exchanged glances, and turned out a collective shrug.
“So do you,” said Scootaloo.
“And by the way,” Trixie growled at the mayor on her way out, “don’t expect me to show up for Fluttershy’s seminar on how to avoid public speaking, tomorrow!”
Mayor Mare clapped her hooves in delight at the proposal. “Ah, perfect!”