Mane Motif

Solzar's picture






Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: Stallion pony height? Haven’t been sized in ages.
Weight: Goodness, have you no manners?
Species: Earth Pony
Eye Color: Brown
Mane Color: Blonde
Fur Coat: White
Hooves: Black
Special Talent: Inspiration


Who is this magnificent creature, you ask? He is a world-weary stallion, darling, whom of which happens to deserve these rose petals littered about his visage like so many tears of fans that had never gotten an autograph despite standing in line for three whole hours. I cry for you, dears. I truly do. But you’re here to know the whole story, so allow me to recount it with speed. You people do your TL;DRing far too quickly these days. And by you people I mean everyone. Myself included.

His name was not always Mane Motif, that was an invention of the media in my teenage years. Until then, I was known as Blanc. It’s a pathetic name, isn’t it? It literally means white, because that was all I had at the time. I was a white colt with a short, dirty blonde mane and muddy eyes living within the Equestrian orphanage for lost souls, and I was able to blend in with the crowd without trying. When I didn’t want to. Often, ponies actually forgot I existed. My life for those early years might as well have not even happened, and when all the others began to bud cutie marks and I was left being the last, with nothing, I felt as if I’d truly arrived at my fate, to be absolutely nothing, destined for nothing, forever. I remember the shooting star that I planted a wish upon the night before, how I yearned for a purpose. I wanted to stand out, at all costs, and be valued for something, or just die. That would be better than to go on without a purpose.

And the next morning, imagine my surprise to look like -that-. My mane and tail began to grow rapidly, turning the most spectacular shades of gold. All attention suddenly swarmed me, and everyone wanted to know more about me. I was invited to all the parties. Asked on all of the dates. My career was being popular. I discovered that I could sing, act, dance, and do all sorts of things I had no idea that I had a capability for. No self-discovery led me to this, the ideas were thrust upon me. In a stark, sudden contrast to my entire life until that point, ponies wanted to see me perform, move, star, and be visible.

I hated all of them. My achievement, that garnered all of this attention, was effectively puberty. Even so, I tried to hold on to what was, apparently, my dream coming true. Only not. It was a perverse twist upon it, as if the gods themselves decided to mess with me. The more time passed, the more jaded I began to feel. I looked at all my new friends as assets, pieces of cardboard to sand on to get at that jar of cookies I had a craving for. After a decade in the spotlight, I cashed out.

So now, here I am. Living a quiet life in a small town, running my own talk show, living off smart investments. I’ve put on a few pounds, midst the parties I feel guilty not attending, and the calls for modeling and acting have declined as a result. I’m aware of what the tabloids say about me, and I don’t so much care. To my to new fans, the ones that love my voice over my looks? I’m alright with you guys. We can hang out sometime. I’m open to questions and invitations. Just ask.

My relations: