For the Craft
Too long... It’s been far too long.
The stallion shuffled along down the hallway, tired and agitated. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and took in the silhouettes of his sofa and table as he entered the living room. He looked over to his right, grimacing at the piano. Even in the dark, he could still envision its decrepit state, like some abominable crouching beast.
I know how you feel, darling. There’s no need to scream it about it.
The state of the piano had tormented his dreams the night before, and other nights as well. He shuffled over towards it, stopping briefly in front of the shelf next to it to glance at the pictures and other trinkets on display, each one mocking his restlessness and inadequacy.
So much material back then, seemingly endless and ripe for the taking. I can’t believe it’d dry up so quickly.
The pony moved to the playing bench and sat down. He brought up a hoof and felt along the hardened frame before him. The chipping, the dents and the uneven textures felt more visceral due to his hindered sight, and they sickened him even further.
More than six months since your last upkeep, and look at you. It’s no wonder you won’t give me a moment’s rest.
He brought up his other hoof to tap away at the keys, but the results were more miserable than melodic, like the screeching of crushed insects.
Nothing out there fits you these days. It has to be special, you know that. But you keep getting on my back about it.
He threw his hooves down, the piano producing a sour note. The miserable performance left him feeling nothing but bile within. He raised a hoof weakly to his face to look at it, eyeing it as though it belonged to somepony else.
It’s hard to focus in this state, you know. Doing this to me won’t do either of us good, so lay off already and give me some peace.
He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the first rays of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the curtains.
I have to go. Just a little longer, I swear. Somepony’s bound to turn up. They just have to.
With a deep breath, he sealed away the ivory keys, the sound of the closing lid reverberating mournfully around the room. His face matched the grimness of the shadows as he trotted away, but not before stopping to look back at his beloved with a wry smile.
Soon, darling. Somepony will answer for this, and as the saying goes: good things come to those who wait. And we’ve waited plenty.
“Pardon me, which room is Encore’s rehearsal in?”
“Number four, down the hall, left-hoof side.”
The receptionist returned to reading her magazine as the lobby became silent again. Capriccio, shrugging off the dismissive reply, turned and went to the hall on her right. She trotted down a corridor of worn wood paneling and aging white paint, glancing at the pictures and commendations that adorned the walls. She smiled as she looked over the decor, breathing in the subtle scents of age and dust. Her observations ended when she noticed the door labeled “4” and made an abrupt halt.
Bringing a hoof to the door, she opened it and entered the spacious, sunlit room beyond. The wood paneling of the room was as worn as the hallway’s, but across from her were five sets of windows that bathed the room in sunshine. Standing before the windows was a line of musicians talking amongst themselves or tending to their instruments.
Barely a moment passed after closing the door when a light-brown unicorn strode across the room towards her.
“Ah, I take it you’re Capriccio?” the stallion asked.
“That I am,” Capriccio replied with a nod.
“Perfect. I’m Encore, dear,” he said, patting his chest with a polished hoof. “You’re the last to arrive, so we can finally begin.” The stallion turned to the other gathered musicians and raised his voice. “Alright everypony, the whole ensemble is here. Now that we have our accompanying pianist we can all take our places. So gather your instruments, chop-chop!”
As the other ponies shuffled around, Encore turned back to Capriccio. “Alright, dear, did you remember to bring the right sheet music?”
“That I did, Mr. Encore!” Capriccio replied, shifting the pouch she had strapped around her side.
“Please, just Encore,” he said with a flourish of his hoof. “We were lucky to get two pianos for this rehearsal. Yours is right over there beside Fred. Oh, Fred! Are you getting ready?”
Near a back corner of the room, a silver-maned brown stallion at a piano turned his head and waved to the pair. Capriccio immediately recognized him as Frederic Horseshoepin; his signature red bowtie and mane were dead giveaways.
“It’s not often that dear Fred gets an accompaniment in piano, even at practice sessions such as this,” Encore said. “No doubt you feel honored.”
“I guess a little, yeah,” Capriccio replied.
“Well, don’t be. He’s as plain as they come.” Encore strode to the podium in the middle of the room.
Capriccio trotted over to her assigned piano. As she approached, she took in the curvature of the frame, the way the light shone off its surface. More focused on the piano rather than walking, she tripped over her own hooves and stumbled violently forward. Capriccio lifted up her forelegs to catch herself against the piano to prevent full-on collision, but looking around she saw that some of the musicians were looking at her. She blushed as she looked back an embarrassed smile before taking a seat on the piano bench. Letting out a sigh, Capriccio reached back into her pouch for her sheet music as Encore tapped his baton on the podium.
“Right, enough dallying for now,” he said. “Turn to the first page of your sheets, and let us begin.”
A distant time ago. Frederic, his coat youthful in tone, was preparing to leave. He had stuck around longer than usual that day, and the music hall was about to close. After closing the lid on the piano keys, somepony spoke to him.
“That’s some fine playing you did there.”
Frederic turned around on his stool, and across the room stood an elder, ash gray stallion wearing a plain brown bowler derby. There was a stubble of black hair on his chin that matched the color of his tail and mane, and on his flank was the image of a lone dark-gray nail. There was a soft smile on his face, giving him a hardy youthful look despite the wrinkles around the corners of his mouth.
He was somepony Frederic had never seen before, but it wasn’t the first time ponies had stopped by to listen. Though it was the first any had spoken to him.
“Thank you,” Frederic replied. “But Beethoofen’s composition deserves most of the credit.”
“Mm, that’s true,” the stallion said in his subtle drawal. “Gotta say, you play him fairly decent.”
“You think? I thought it came off dry.”
The stallion gave a shrug, then said, “Not entirely. I stop by here every now and then to listen to what styles the future talent will bring. Developed somethin’ of an ear for what’s good and what’s not, though I’m no real expert in the field by any means. But listenin’ to you, I see a glimmer of potential.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Frederic replied, rubbing a hoof behind his neck. The stallion gave a short laugh before speaking again.
“I take it you practice plenty at least?” the stallion asked.
“Yeah, though not enough apparently,” Frederic admitted. “Honestly, I don’t think it makes much more difference.”
“Oh? What makes ya say that?” The capped pony tilted his head curiously. Frederic looked away a moment before responding.
“It’s just, no matter how much I practice, I don’t get better. I mean, I get faster and handle more notes, but it just feels... dull. I just don’t evoke the heart of a piece, if you know what I mean. Guess it takes time, but it’s disheartening regardless.”
The elder stallion immediately brought a forehoof to his chin and closed his eyes in thought. Frederic just watched the pony silently as he did so.
“Maybe...” the stallion said to himself, then dropping his hoof he looked back to Frederic. “Say, son, what’s yer name?”
“It’s Frederic.”
“Well, Frederic, name’s Lucas. Tell ya what: you keep playing as you’ve been doin’, and I’ll get back with ya in a week or so. I may have just the thing you need.”
“Alright, good start. Everypony take five.”
The various musicians eased from their playing stances to either tune their instruments or speak amongst each other. Capriccio moved her hooves from the keyboard, taking a breath as her nerves settled down. Despite the uncouth impression made by her earlier stumble, she played well and kept pace with everypony else.
“Nice show there, miss.”
Capriccio looked over at the grinning face of Frederic, who had turned on his piano stool to face her.
“Thanks. You did nicely, too,” she replied.
“Well, that piece has become mostly mechanical to me by this point, but thank you regardless.”
Capriccio then recalled that during the session she had heard some discordant notes from their end of the room. It might have been her, but she couldn’t recall making any missteps in the key presses. Too absorbed to have noticed, she reckoned.
“Yours, on the other hoof, was rather graceful,” Frederic continued, leaning a hoof on his keyboard. “Controlled, elegant, but also lively. You must be quite experienced.”
“Yeah, I’ve played a lot since I was a filly. But I’ve never had formal training. It was just recently that I started getting invitations to play actual concerts.”
“Really? That's surprising...” Frederic looked aside briefly, then turned back. “All the more impressive, Miss...?”
“Capriccio, Mr. Horseshoepin.”
“Please, call me Frederic,” he said. “I assure you, Miss Capriccio, not all professional musicians are rigidly formal.”
“Oh,” she replied. “In that case, just Capriccio for me.” The mare gave a nervous laugh, averting her gaze slightly. However, Frederic chuckled warmly, dispelling the silence.
“Not one for talking, huh?” he said. “That’s okay. Not everypony has a gift for gab.”
Capriccio returned a smile, relieved by his kind words.
“Say, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to continue our chat after rehearsal,” Frederic said. “That is, if you’re fine with it?”
“Oh, yes! I’d love, eh, like to.”
Frederic gave a firm nod. “Glad to hear.”
“Okay everypony, break time is over!” Encore called to the musicians. “Rosin up your bows and so forth and get back into place. There’s more music to be made!”
“So, what do ya think?”
Frederic was speechless. Before him, near the back wall of Lucas’ workshop, surrounded by assorted tools and wood shavings, was a pristine grand piano. From the smooth curves to the rich paneling and gleaming keys, it was deserving of its title. Wide-eyed, the colt could only utter one word before such beauty.
“Magnificent...”
Lucas chuckled. “Go ahead and give her a closer look. She won’t bite.”
The young stallion moved to the piano with some trepidation, still unsure if what he was seeing was some wondrous mirage. Once he got close enough to smell the varnish, Frederic reached a leg out tenderly and knew it wasn’t a dream. The wood felt firm as he glided his hoof over the piano’s polished surface, tracing it from the side to the keys. He raised his forelimb over the exposed ivories, looking to Lucas for permission. Lucas gave a nod, and Frederic looked back to the keys and gently planted his hoof on one. The ringing of the piano wire filled the workshop with a sharp, sweet sound, the most soothing thing Frederic had ever heard in his life.
“I’m somethin’ of a craftspony, tables and chairs mostly,” Lucas spoke again. “Sometimes, though, I craft instruments. I say I do pretty decent at that.”
“It’s beautiful,” Frederic replied breathlessly as his hoof caressed the piano top. “And you made this in a week?”
“Easy enough to do when ya got lots of free time on yer hooves,” Lucas explained. “And thanks for the kind words. I do take pride in my work.”
The elder stallion watched the young buck marvel over the piano a while longer in silence, then said, “Anyway, I’d like you to consider this your own private piano.”
“What?” Frederic whipped his head toward Lucas. “My own private... you’re not joking?”
Lucas took on a stern look, bereft of his previous warm smile. “Does it look like I’m joking, son?” Immediately the smile returned to his face, softening his look.
“You-you mean, you’re just going to give it to me?” That solitary note must have done something to his head. He couldn’t have heard that right. Even so, a manic grin started forming on his face regardless.
“Of course,” Lucas answered. “Ain’t no biggie to me. I’m no musician. Besides, I believe it takes a proper instrument to bring out somepony’s best. With a beaut like this, you’ll be puttin’ heart in just about anything you play. Although, I only have one thing to ask of ya.”
Frederic dropped his smile as he adopted a face of rapt sincerity and seriousness. “Anything.”
The stern look from before filled Lucas’ face. “Plenty of tender love, care, sweat and blood went into making her. All I ask is you do the same, and tend to her needs, whatever they may be. Any musician worth their salt knows this, and I want you to take heed as well. Treat your instrument well, and you’ll never err in the way of your craft. Neglect her... well, I trust yer smart enough to know what somethin' worn-out sounds like.”
“No... No...”
Frederic’s mumbled complaints reached Capriccio’s ears, even amidst the sounds of the other instruments. She also knew with complete certainty that the off-notes from earlier were in fact his; he had been making several of them for this round of the rehearsal, and they grew more numerous and obvious as the hours went by. Eventually he slipped over the keys every few seconds, a hoof landing one half-beat after the other. Soon, everyone started to notice as Frederic kept faltering.
“...Darn it.”
With a sigh, Frederic ceased playing and let his forelimbs drop. It wasn’t long before Encore saw this, and immediately gestured for the rest of the players to stop. Despite the immediate silence, Frederic didn’t budge.
“Fred, is everything alright?” Encore asked. After a pause, Frederic turned around with an embarrassed grin.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he replied. “Just a bit of a concentration issue, nothing more.”
“Well, we can’t go having that,” Encore said, then after rubbing his chin in thought he brought his hoof down on his podium. “Seems we’ll have to call it a day.”
“It’s fine, Encore. Really,” Frederic insisted with an annoyed look.
“No, it isn’t. If you can’t concentrate, then you clearly can’t perform,” Encore said, twirling his conductor’s baton. “A group rehearsal just makes things worse, so go—”
"I said I'm fine, dammit!"
Frederic slammed a hoof on the piano, further punctuating his outburst. As the harsh chime went away, Frederic looked around, and calmed down from seeing everyone in the room looking at him. He looked away and let out another sigh.
“I suppose I could use a break.”
Taking the sheet music from the piano, Frederic got up from his bench and trotted out of the room with all eyes watching, making a quick furtive glance at Capriccio before leaving. Uncomfortable silence followed after he left, but the tapping of Encore’s baton turned everyone’s attention to him.
“That goes for the rest of you. I’ll send out notices for our next meet-up date, so rest up and stay in good form as always.”
Heeding Encore’s words, the musicians eagerly dropped their playing stances to leave. Capriccio, however, furrowed her brow in concern, and after closing up her piano she went over to Encore.
“Excuse me, Mr. Encore? What’s with Freder—um, Mr. Horseshoepin? Is he okay?”
“Just call him Fred, dear. That other name reeks of pretentiousness,” Encore said off-hoofedly. “Anyway, I believe it’s just stress. There’s the concert up at Canterlot Castle he’s been preparing for, and a venue like that can rattle just about anypony.”
Capriccio’s eyes widened at this information. “He didn’t strike me as the nervous type.”
“Normally he isn’t. But nopony is perfect, so don’t worry yourself, dear.”
Capriccio still felt concerned despite Encore’s assurances, as reflected by the frown she kept on her face. Encore merely huffed at this, and turned to go about his own business. Capriccio did the same, going back to the piano to retrieve her sheet music and pack before heading for the door. Eyebrows still furrowed, the mare trotted down the hall back to the lobby, looking at the floor the whole way, not noticing the orange hue of evening that shone from the windows above.
“You Capriccio?”
Capriccio snapped from her thinking and looked over to the main desk, which still housed the same disinterested receptionist from earlier.
“Yes?”
The receptionist planted a sheet of paper on the desktop and slid it in Capriccio’s direction. “Message for you.” She quickly resumed her reading, seemingly out of fear of further social interaction.
Capriccio hesitated briefly, then went up to the desk and looked at the paper. On it was an address, as well as the following note:
Come around 7:30. I still would very much like to continue our conversation.
—Frederic
“Well, here it is.”
Capriccio thought it weird that Frederic would invite her to his home after having just met her that day, but she also thought not showing up would seem very rude to him, and that was what brought her to the doorstep of his condominium. Swallowing a bit, she raised a hoof, hesitated a moment, then rapped on the door three times. Some seconds passed with no response, and she knocked again.
“Hello? It's Capriccio, from the rehearsal. Anyone home?”
Capriccio stood uncertain for a moment, then pressed her ear to the door. It was faint, but she could make out something like haggard breathing from inside
“Frederic? Are you there?”
Still no response. Capriccio stepped back from the door, and taking a breath, brought a hoof to the doorknob and gave it a turn. It proved to be unlocked, and it opened into a dark living room, the light from the streetlamp showing the outline of a sofa and coffee table to Capriccio’s right. Pushing the door further and stepping through, she saw the bulky frame of a piano across from her, along with some heaving mass draped over it. At the sound of the swinging door, the mass straightened up and separated from the piano to look at her. An eye as dark red as a garnet pierced through the dark, shaking Capriccio to the core. She nearly ran away when a gentle sound came from the creature.
“Ah, hello there. Could you do me a favor? There’s a lamp close to the door. Mind turning it on?”
Capriccio was instantly flushed with relief at the sounds of Frederic's voice. After taking a breath, she looked around, and spotting a lamp on a stand to her right, said, “Sure.”
She went over to the lamp and turned it on, before closing the door behind her. The lamplight allowed her wandering eyes to see that the spacious living room was painted a calming powder blue and had relatively little clutter. Mauve curtains on the right wall covered the windows, and near the piano she saw a shelf filled with trophies, gold-plated plaques and various photographs. Frederic, his mane frazzled and bowtie skewed, took a moment to adjust himself.
“I apologize for my appearance,” he said. “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, and must’ve nodded off while playing.”
“Oh, well, sorry for waking you. Maybe it’d be best if I—”
Frederic stuck out a hoof to halt Capriccio’s impending dismissal.
“No no, I’ve rested enough,” he said. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to the sofa. “I’ll get some refreshments while you relax.”
“Oh, alright. I’ll just take a seat.”
Capriccio trotted over to the front of the sofa and took a place on its cushions as Frederic got up from the piano and headed to the kitchen. He appeared like his usual self, yet the frightening image of the eye from earlier still tugged at Capriccio's thoughts. Was it the streetlight hitting his retina a certain angle? He also looked more contorted, but that could have been a trick of the dark.
She didn’t have long to ponder this as Frederic re-entered the living room, carrying a tray with two filled glasses in his mouth. He placed the tray onto the coffee table, then offered one of the glasses to his guest.
“I hope milk is to your liking. The only other thing to drink is wine, and that may be overdoing it for a friendly chat.”
“Mm, thanks,” Capriccio said, taking the proffered glass in her hooves. Frederic took the remaining glass and sat on the other side of the sofa. He looked over the cool liquid thoughtfully.
“It may seem foalish, but I take comfort in having a tall glass of milk. It builds strong bones, so for someone as old as me, it’s practically necessary.”
Capriccio gave a chuckle as she sipped her drink. The nap must have improved Frederic’s mood considerably; he wasn't at all as tense as he had been earlier. And certainly not some red-eyed ghoul, she chided herself.
“So, I take it everyone was disappointed with rehearsal ending so soon?” he half-asked, half-stated.
“I don’t think so. Actually, I think they liked getting out early.”
“Ah, guess that makes for some relief.” Frederic gave a huff.
“We had been playing for a long time though,” Capriccio said.
“Yes, but Encore is the sort who makes the musicians under his hoof play to the bone,” Frederic responded. “He’s also the sort who abandons professional conduct at the first sign of distress from his respected colleagues, while also adamantly denying it. Something of a hypocrite that one is.” Frederic laughed, which brought an eased smile to Capriccio’s face.
“He means well, though,” he resumed. “An uptight impresario at times, but a decent fellow when you look past the excess pomp.”
“He mentioned something about a concert that was stressing you out,” Capriccio stated.
“Ah yes, he would bring something like that up.” Frederic sighed, then said, “Two days from now, I’ll be attending a charity concert at the Grand Canterlot Concert Hall. I’ll be sharing a performance with several of Equestria’s finest musicians from all corners of the kingdom, including the reclusive lyre player from Ponyville. In a way it’ll be a kind of reunion, since I know several of them. It’d be especially nice to catch up with Octavia, but such hope pales in the light of the fact that many of Canterlot’s elite will also be there, with their critical ears and lofty expectations. Such thoughts can dampen an otherwise exciting night.”
“I can see why...”
A silence followed, and Capriccio instinctively tried to sink further into the gaps of the cushions as she grew nervous.
“But I’ve rambled enough about my lamentations,” Frederic said, turning his eyes to her. “I’m more interested in you, Capriccio.”
Capriccio almost spat her milk at those words, but she forcefully gulped it down and looked at him.
“You are?”
“Certainly. It is the reason I wanted to continue our conversation,” he said, overlooking her startled reaction. “You’re undoubtedly aware of my oft-embellished ability and renown. Yet you, despite your wonderful style, remain unknown. Please, enlighten me.”
This forwardness made Capriccio’s deep-seated anxiety start to raise its ugly head, but only slightly.
“Uh, is there anything specific you’d like to know?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Perhaps how you’ve developed your talent at the piano, without any formal training, as I recall.”
“Oh right, I did say that.” She unconsciously rubbed a hoof behind her head. “It’s nothing remarkable if that’s what you’re asking. Just one day in grade school I was messing around and banged on a piano in the band room. I say banged because I had no idea what I was playing, but I had fun doing it, and I got interested in it. Read books, bugged adults, that sort of stuff. Then one day, as I was playing some chords with my mom, my cutie mark just appeared. Sorta surprising to say the least.”
Capriccio gave a wistful glance at her cutie mark: an airy treble clef wrapped in a spiral of staffs.
“Hmph” Frederic snorted. “That’s kind of funny.”
“Yeah,” Capriccio admitted. “At first I just played random notes and chords, but I eventually learned to read sheet music thanks to my mom. Over time I got better at it, more ‘refined’ as it were. Played in some coffee shops and libraries to make some bits on the side, which was how I got noticed in the first place. And that’s pretty much everything up to now.”
Frederic nodded to himself, taking the moment to put down his empty glass. “I’m sure there’s more, but that’s still interesting. Such an easygoing approach to an otherwise solemn and methodical art, I say, is quite admirable.”
“Well, I guess easygoing is just how I go about things,” Capriccio said. “Get lost in the moment, take in the sights and sounds without really thinking. Usually it leads to slip-ups, like my little tumble earlier today. But life looks more interesting when you just go with it without stopping to think it over. My parents have bugged me about getting more grounded, and going to these rehearsals is kinda a first step towards that.”
“The important thing is that you do get your hooves on the ground,” Frederic said. “More importantly, and perhaps luckily, you landed in the direction of something that you enjoy. And from what I heard you produce today, I say you’ve found the right path.”
A thoughtful smile lit up Capriccio’s face as she gave a gentle nod, eyeing the nearly empty glass in her hooves. She never put much thought into her musical abilities, she admitted, but thinking of the joy that always came with those times on the keyboard gave her a warming sense of fulfillment. Combined with the relaxing effect of the milk, it made for a wonderful sense of self.
“I believe some music is in order,” Frederic said as he got back onto his hooves. “If it pleases you, I can provide some.”
“Oh, by all means,” Capriccio smiled back. Frederic trotted over to his piano and resumed his previous place atop the bench. He began tapping out a soft relaxing Moozart melody, intensifying the comforting aura of the room. Capriccio decided to put down her unfinished glass and join Frederic, giving her a chance to see the awards shelf up close.
“A collection accrued over many years,” he spoke, never taking his eyes off the keys. “Years of practice, years of devotion to the craft, beginning at a young age, much like yourself. Hmph, it may be hard to believe, but I didn’t start out as a child prodigy. In truth, I was fairly average.”
“Really?”
Frederic nodded. “Unthinkable I know, but that’s how it was. I could play pieces just fine, but they sounded stiff, lacking vitality or grace. I may have ended up being a supporting pianist, but then one day something entered my life. Something that filled me with inspiration, that let me put feeling into every note I played. Something that has been with me for many years.”
Frederic stopped playing to move his hooves over the breadth of his piano. Instantly realizing what he was indicating, Capriccio took the time to actually inspect the piano. Though the surface was mostly smooth, there were some worn spots and even a few chips along the edges of the keys, and even the luster of the wood’s coloring had faded a good deal. In all, a rather old piano, and one that had been thoroughly used.
“A gift given in my adolescence, and something of a good luck charm,” Frederic resumed his playing. “Not long after receiving her, I got my first break. An aspiring pianist I had been assisting couldn’t be reached to perform an exhibition at the School for Gifted Unicorns, and a coordinator had asked me to be a last-minute replacement. It was the best I had ever played up to that point; that stroke of fate laid the foundation for my future successes. And along the way, she’s always been there.”
Frederic’s eyes took on a nostalgic, caring look as his adored keepsake continued to pour more tender notes to his and Capriccio’s ears. This bit of sentimentality seemed quite touching to Capriccio, which further added to the stallion’s charm.
“Say, Capriccio?” he asked. “Are you perhaps familiar with ‘Revolutionary Etude’?”
“Um, somewhat? I haven’t heard it in a long time,” she answered.
“Well, allow me to refresh your memory.”
Frederic briefly stopped before beginning a fast succession of key presses across the board, punctuated by the occasional high note, raising the hairs on the back of Capriccio’s neck. As he began to slow down, he resumed talking.
“Some would consider it as a somber piece. However, I always felt that playing it on this one piano makes it sound inviting. In fact, anything I play on her sounds sweeter. That first day I brought her home, I knew there was something truly special about her. Every key press, every arrangement played, I felt myself feeling more complete, more alive. Each day I play a little on her, and it gave me the will to move ahead and perform to my fullest ability. My darling muse...”
As he talked, Frederic’s voice dropped in volume into a soft, sensual tone, to Capriccio’s unease.
“To be honest with you, Capriccio,” he resumed, talking slower as he went on. “My lack of focus today wasn’t due to the upcoming concert. I was actually worried about the current condition of my piano here. You see, ever since I got her, I was instructed to care for her, to keep her pristine. As time went by, her luster would fade, her dulcet sounds would dull, and I would suffer as a result.”
He looked to Capriccio with deep, grave eyes that wiped away all of his charm in an instant, replacing his warm visage with despondency.
“I have to keep her in good condition, at all times. If I let her decay longer than she has to, my craft begins to fail me. I lose focus, I lose passion. The world around me steadily becomes dead, and I’m left with emptiness, a nobody. She must be maintained, preserved in her original glory, if I am to stay true to my calling. If I am to live...”
He paused and looked back to his keys, becoming absorbed in his playing while Capriccio just stood in increasing dismay and uncertainty over his mental state.
"It wasn't easy, the first time."
"Excuse me?" Capriccio asked, sounding a little shaky.
"I couldn't believe what she had asked for, what she needed to be whole again. Even as the light slipped from me I didn't want to believe it, but she insisted, she demanded, relentlessly. And it was simple: I just had to bring them over, and she'd do the rest."
Frederic began laughing brokenly as something painful yet demented came into his gaze. Capriccio started to back away with mouth agape while he kept playing, never missing a stroke.
"I watched it as it happened, how she took him: that aspiring pianist, gone in an instant. All because I led him there," he resumed. "I was disgusted with myself. I thought I couldn't go on afterward. But with her restored and my ability reinvigorated, I understood that it was necessary. The second time, I did as she commanded without question, and every other time since then. I convinced myself it was all for a good purpose, and I even learned to enjoy it. That especially made subsequent restorations much easier to witness."
"W-what did you do?" Capriccio's eyes were fixed on Frederic, her lower lip quivering. He stopped playing, but after a long pause he gave a cruel chuckle.
"Do you know what it is she needs, Capriccio?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Something special, something that many take for granted. More refreshing than a fresh set of wires, more beautifying than a fresh coat of varnish. It is the very thing that makes a piano play at its very best, every time." He made a vicious sneer. "It's talent, my dear. Specifically, yours."
The light went out. Capriccio swung her head around rapidly as she backed into the shelf, blinded by the darkness. She felt the air go cold.
“Pure talent such as yours is a blessing.”
From the direction of Frederic’s contorted voice, a streak of fierce red light emanated from the crack of the piano lid, searing into Capriccio’s pupils as the sounds of Revolution returned.
“Given time, you would have undoubtedly grown into a magnificent composer. Your name gracing the pages of history with all the other masters of our art. Now imagine sharing that talent with those who truly appreciate the craft.”
Capriccio turned and frantically made for the door, bumping into furniture and stumbling over her hooves in terror. Eventually her hooves hit the wood of the door, and she desperately reached for the knob. At that moment something thin and sharp wrapped around her hindleg and dug into her skin, producing a fearful cry from her as it pulled her back. She clawed at the door as it slipped away, while a demonic cackle joining the harrowing music.
“That’s the thing with musicians these days: sound-proofing the walls has become an expected courtesy.”
More of the restraints wrapped around Capriccio’s legs, and she felt herself lifted and swung around before coming to a halt. Through thick tears she saw that the bindings on her limbs were piano wires from the malevolent instrument, its light growing more intense beneath the wooden cover. The lid started shaking, trying in vain to contain the heinous monstrosity within. Basking in the piano’s evil glow, she saw Frederic turn in his seat in her direction, leaving the keyboard as the music played on its own.
“It’s nothing personal, but I cannot go back to being average. I’ve been unable to find the right material for some time, and with the concert so close, I have to be at my best. Someone ordinary wouldn’t do. As I said before, your talent is a blessing...”
The stallion slowly got up from his piano and stepped away from it to look at his captive. The music from the piano degenerated into a manic rumbling of keystrokes, as though bellowing hungrily. In the glow of the red light, Capriccio got one last look at Frederic’s face and immediately went pale. What she saw were the wild crimson eyes and malicious smile of a demon.
“And I only use the finest quality.”
The lid of the piano exploded open, revealing a howling maw of razor teeth and a storm of metallic tendrils that shot out at Capriccio, moving at wailing speeds that muted their victim.
“Bravo! BRAVO!” The uproar of cheers and applause from the packed concert hall was deafening. A resounding success if there ever was one.
At the piano, Frederic gave a contented breath before looking over to his side. Octavia was starting to ease from her playing position with her cello, and catching Frederic’s gaze, she gave him a nod of congratulations, as did he to her. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the stallion looked out to the adoring crowd and waved with a modest smile on his face, joining Octavia and the other musicians on stage. Nobody in the crowd had noticed the mild glint of red that shone in his eyes at that moment, nobody except for one.
In the right center of the floor seatings, a gray pony in a bowler derby was the only one sitting as everypony was swept up in standing ovation. From him, the performers received only a firm nod.
“Well played,” he said softly to himself. “You stick to your craft marvelously.”
A sinister grin slowly formed on his wrinkled face as several more pairs of eyes glinted red in the spotlight.
Author's Note
Much special thanks to Figments and soundslikeponies for editing, and an extra special thanks to Rosencranz for some fact-checking and for helping me develop an appreciation for the piano. Still a long way from playing "Revolution", though...
