The ponies all paid rapt attention as a seafoam green pony as she plucked the strings to a lyre. The old, beaten lyre was a mere shade of it's former glory, faded golden handles and strings fraying at their tips. The mare plucking them had her eyes shut, lost amid a sea of music that she streamed through the lyre. Her white and seafoam green mane fell down over her eyes, split only by her horn. On her flank rested a cutie mark of a golden lyre, the very one she was playing.
The stage was little more than a raised section of wood in the corner of a room. The mare sat on a wooden stool that creaked as she shifted her position, not really the polished ebony chair in the concert hall she imagined herself in. In truth, she was far from where she wanted to be, a dingy old tavern that was the local watering hole in her backwater hometown. The ponies who sat and listened to her performance were not the cultural elite, nor were they the princesses of the sun and moon. Instead, they were the overworked townsponies who toiled away five days a week to come here and drown their sorrows.
Silence reigned as the mare played, her song speaking what they were all feeling. The quick, shrill notes of each string, the echo of the song off the wooden walls, everything she did was captivating to them. Ponies drank their cider and licked their salt quietly, allowing the mare to play. The barkeeper shuffled back and forth between the patrons, refilling their drinks without any noise. Each and every pony there respected the mare and her ability to play. She had a gift that was truly underappreciated here, something that could give her a better life far away from this town.
The green pony kept plucking, knowing her song was nearly finished. The notes each blurred together, performing a song filled with her happiness of playing, as well as the sorrows of a town dying a slow and painful death. Her song was original, one she had written months ago when a bolt of inspiration struck her. As she played the last note, she let the sound ring out among the ponies. When it faded, she swore a sniffle had come from the crowd. Opening her eyes, the golden irises hidden behind her green eyelids scanned the crowd. What she saw amazed her because, not just one, but a few ponies had glassy eyes, a hoof-full with actual tears streaming down their faces.
The mare gracefully got down from her stool, the lyre lifted by her magic. Not a single word was spoken as she made her way through the crowd, everypony nodding their head in respect to her. As she approached the door, a pony cleared his throat, breaking the veil of silence. Turning her head, the seafoam green pony searched for the noise and saw the barkeep motioning her to the bar. She trotted up and regarded the older pony, who slipped her a bulging envelope. The mare levitated the envelope and opened it, gasping at the contents. Inside sat at least seventy bits, tips from the patrons of the bar.
She regarded the barkeep and he nodded to her, telling her that was her cut. The pony looked back at the envelope and then to the crowd of ponies, each and every one of them smiling to her. With her own eyes starting to water, she closed them and trotted back to the stage, readying herself to perform an encore. When she got back onto the stool, her lyre floated gently back to her hooves and she plucked the first note, imagining the roar of ponies in the concert hall she was playing in.
The cold wind blew across the mare's face as she looked up at the stars. The gleaming jewels studded the velvety sky of dark blue, a sight rare for a pony to see here. Glancing her purple eyes down, the glare of lights flooded her vision, erasing the soft glow from the stars. The harsh yellow light of streetlamps and windows burned angrily on the cobblestone streets, casting sinister shadows that merged with the darkness.
The mare returned her gaze to the sky, but found her soft stars had disappeared. The sky was no longer a welcoming dark blue, but had taken on the same shade of darkness that the city was wrapped in below. Sighing to herself, the mare looked down at herself. Clutched in her grey hooves sat a pristine cello, colored deep red and strung with gleaming silver strings. A bow sat in her other hoof, the same rich red color as the cello. Her nearly black mane hung loosely around her shoulders, long and carefree.
Closing her purple eyes, the mare slowly pulled the bow across the silver strings, hearing the entrancing noise of the instrument echo out into the night air. Moving her left hoof gently, she adjusted her grip on the neck of the cello, allowing a new note to ring out. She repeated the same series of movements many times, listening to the beautiful music. In her mind's eye, she wasn't standing atop a building in the middle of the city, but rather was in a small club, playing for nopony in particular. The dim light of the club kept her calm, making it difficult to see who was listening. It didn't matter here if she played classical masterpieces or complicated movements, all that mattered was that she was happy when she walked away.
The sound of the cello filled the air around her, wrapping her up and taking her far away from here. Music did that for her, a gift from the beauty she crafted. It melted the world away, telling her to just play what she wanted and not to impress others. As bright as her thoughts were, a shadow just as menacing as the one holding the city around her invaded her mind. Dark thoughts and memories pervaded the calming thoughts, telling her that she need to perform better, stay in time and to be perfect.
Forcing herself to ignore them, the pony kept playing her song, trying to drown out the phantom voices in her mind. As hard as she tried, though, the voices got louder, screaming at her to be better. It was then a wrong note rang out from the cello, her bow pulling across the wrong string. The note silenced the beautiful music and the mare opened her eyes, now as glossy as a porcelain vase. She froze, the note still ringing in her mind, as a single tear began to roll down her cheek.
The tear was slow, making its way down her grey cheek with the speed of a snail. The mare refused to move, allowing the tear to trace a familiar line down her face. As it neared her chin, the tear dripped off and splattered ungracefully onto the cello body below her. A small quiver began to run through the mare's body, shaking her fore and rear legs. Her knees were growing weak, forcing her to rely on the cello to keep herself upright. Her purple irises looked down at the cello, stunned by the wrong note. Below her, the instrument waited for the next note to be played, as blank as the faces of those whom had listened to her perform many times before.
A suffocating feeling of emptiness filled her as she watched the cello. She had gotten her cutie mark playing this very instrument and had been given the best training to play it flawlessly, but she didn't feel a connection to it anymore. Instead, the cello was her worst enemy, embodying all her fears and pain. Within the grain of the wood used to craft it sat the angry and hard faces of those who had agreed to help her. Teachers, musicians, other cello players and even her own parents looked scathingly at her from the grain, upset her performance had not been perfect.
The rain drummed heavily on the body of the train as it arrived in the station. The whistle blew loudly as the grey engine puffed out a couple jets of steam, rainwater dripping down from the sides of the boiler. Red paint trimmed the locomotive around the cabin, down onto the wheels and over to the cowcatcher. The faint yellow light at the front of the engine barely illuminated the rain as it fell to the gravel below. The chimney rang out with each raindrop that hit the inside of it, sounding almost like a steel drum. At the near the rear of the engine, a brown pony with smears of black on his coat stuck his head out, a striped white and light blue engineer's cap blocking his straw blonde mane from the rain as he conversed with a light purple pony dressed in a blue suit and hat.
Behind the locomotive, passengers left the train. Some of the ponies were running to avoid the rain, others trotted out as if there was nothing wrong. One of them, a seafoam green unicorn mare, stepped off of the train and looked around, a yellow scarf bound around her neck. Her bright golden irises were wide as she regarded the world around her, as if experiencing this for the first time. It didn't matter to her that the rain was pouring down around her, or that the conductor was herding ponies away from the train cars as ponies unloaded the luggage. The mare closed her eyes and held her head up, allowing the rain to wash over her, a confident smile on her face.
"Oi, you there!" came the gruff shout of a pony.
Opening her eyes, the mare turned to see the irritated face of the conductor. He was an older pony, white with a graying mane and tangerine eyes. He stared at the mare as she stared back blankly before she smiled awkwardly to him.
"Yer impedin' our progress here," he stated plainly.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" the mare said as she hurried off towards the overhang on the platform.
The conductor snorted as he turned back to the train. Behind him, the mare shook herself, the rainwater flying from her pelt. Her scarf was drenched, but it didn't bother the mare. She smiled widely as she looked around at the signs posted all around the platform. Various colors and images told of the city she had arrived in, some bearing images of music and others showing off stores that had taken residence here. As the mare trotted off to the luggage claim, her grin and eyes widened once again when she saw the sign she had been waiting five hours to see. Above her, a bright yellow steel sign hung with only a couple words inscribed in them with black paint, reading 'Welcome to Mere-phis'.
The sound of a twangy guitar rang out louder than the noise of the chattering ponies. The establishment was busy today, filled with all sorts of ponies. The bar was quite packed with different drink orders being called to the barkeeps. The ponies behind the bar nimbly maneuvered around one another as the poured all sorts of different colored liquids into glasses. The glasses, in turn, each made their way to the respecting patron, who downed it quickly before leaving some bits for the drink. At the far end of the bar, a glass jar sat half filled with bits.
On the other side of the room, a couple of earth ponies stood up on stage, playing a song. One of them strummed an acoustic guitar while another played the beaten up drum set behind him. At the fore, one pony sang with a voice not meant for singing. The terrible singing was, thankfully, drowned out by the noise of the crowd. Behind them hung a red velvet curtain with a sign, reading 'Open Mic Nite!'
Sitting at a table by herself was a grey mare with a charcoal black mane, a treble clef cutie mark on her thigh. Her purple eyes were glazed as she stared at a glass of amber colored liquid. Her mane was done up in the best she could muster, groomed to look perfect. On her throat rested a light purple bowtie, along with a small white collar tied around with a thin black string. On her forehooves, a set of white cuffs, tied together with small black cufflings, hung onto them. Her ears were splayed back as she waited for her turn.
As the ponies onstage finished, the crowd gave a token applause. While they left the stage, the drummer stayed onstage; not part of the band, but a hired hoof of the bar. He took a swig of a dark brown bottle sitting behind the drum set before squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing, shaking his head as the liquor went down. He then looked up and out at the crowd, waiting for the next poor pony to approach the stage. The grey mare, sitting all alone in the crowd, rose to her hooves and trotted slowly up to the stage, breathing slowly to keep her cool.
Once she put her hoof on the stage, the drummer looked to her and smiled. He was a faded orange with a slightly darker mane, wearing a golfer's cap of dark brown and black glasses on his face. The mare kept a straight face as she lifted her cello from the side of the stage, using it to balance herself as she walked onto the stage.
"What's your name, honey?" he asked in a calm tone.
The mare spun and gave him an uninterested look before answering.
"Octavia," she replied tonelessly.
The stallion nodded his head a bit and smiled more to her.
"So, what'cha got in mind, Ms. Octavia?"
"Equestrian Sonata, Movement Two, bars eight through sixty four. D minor and adagio."
The stallion's grin grew wider at her statement.
"Ah, I see. Trying to impress them with skill, huh?" he asked slyly.
Octavia's gaze hardly faltered, though she was surprised by his answer.
"Is that a problem?" she asked without any hint of emotion.
The stallion chuckled for a second before talking again.
"No, but I don't think they'll care much for all of that," he stated with a smile.
Turning around, Octavia ignored him and lifted her bow to the cello, ready to play. She closed her eyes and allowed all the noise to drain from her ears, though everypony in the bar was still carrying on. She went over the sonata in her mind, remembering the exact notes that she had practiced many times.
"Whenever you're ready, honey," came the stallion's voice.
As Octavia pulled the bow across the strings, a seafoam green mare trotted into the bar, wide eyed and amazed by everything. The mare trotted in, unable to hear the music as Octavia started to play. The bar was way too crowded for the green mare's taste, so she settled for an empty table on the far side of the room. On it sat a single glass of amber liquid that the mare sniffed before scrunching her face up.
The mare sat alone, awkwardly looking around at the ponies. It took her two passes, but eventually she realized there was music being played on the stage. The green mare's golden eyes locked onto the stage as she saw a graceful grey pony pull a bow across an over-sized fiddle. As the mare onstage kept playing, a stewardess trotted up to the green mare. She was an off-white unicorn with an electric blue mane and bright red eyes.
"Can I get you somethin', sweetie?" she asked in a bored tone.
The seafoam green mare spun her head to the stewardess and smiled awkwardly.
"Uh," she started lamely, "W-What do you have?"
The stewardess's eyelids fell a little as she regarded the mare.
"You're not from here, are ya?" she asked.
The green mare blushed slightly and she shrunk back a bit.
"I see. New to the area and you stumbled into this place because you thought it was a cool place, huh?"
The mare nodded in response.
"Alright, what's your name?"
"Um, it's Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings."
The stewardess's eyebrows shifted and she looked Lyra over.
"Alright, you look like a San-Pran Shooter kind of mare. I'll be back," the unicorn stated before turning around and trotting off.
Lyra smiled her thanks to the stewardess's back and turned to face the mare onstage again. She could barely hear the music she played, but from the way her hooves moved, she could tell it was complicated. Eventually, Lyra's ears adjusted to the noise of the crowd and she could hear some of the music. She turned her head a bit as the notes rang in her ears, sounding awfully familiar.
"Here's your drink, Lyra," came a disembodied voice.
Turning away again, Lyra saw the stewardess standing next to her, levitating a glass that looked like sweet tea. The glass, animated by the stewardess's magic, floated its way to the table and set down. Lyra thanked the unicorn, who disappeared into the crowd again, and took a tentative sip of the concoction. It made her face scrunch up at the sour taste of orange, but it was actually pretty good.
Looking back up, Lyra regarded the mare yet again as she played. She had her eyes closed and seemed to play from memory, a rather impressive thing since she played what looked like a complicated song. Lyra smiled as she listened, enjoying her San-Pran Shooter and feeling the joy of being on her own. Earlier today, she had said goodbye to her family and closest friends on the train station back home, wishing they would come with her. Now, she was sitting in a music club in Mare-phis, enjoying a drink and music.
Up on stage, Octavia looked as if she had lost herself in the song. Inside her mind, however, ran thoughts of how she should play. Proper posture, slow breathing, soft grip on the strings and the such blared through her thoughts as the ancient piece of music lived through her cello. She remembered the lessons she had learned since she had started playing, readying herself to avoid any wrong notes.
As she neared the end of the song, Octavia's face contorted into one of concentration as she played the cello harder, trying to milk some emotion out of the wooden instrument. Her efforts did not go unnoticed as the crowd quieted a bit, allowing the cello to be barely heard over them. Fueled by her passion to play, Octavia pulled the bow harder, held the strings more firmly and felt herself will the notes out. The cello responded in kind and gave the music a more emotional feel as she played the last note.
Removing the bow from the cello, Octavia stood with her head lowered and eyes closed, graceful and awaiting some kind of response. The token applause began, but it was clearly louder than the previous one. A sudden whistling and pounding of hooves on a table caused Octavia to lose her calm demeanor, looking up at the crowd with a shocked expression. Far into the crowd, the dim light barely showed a seafoam green pony whistle again and pound her hooves into the table she was sitting at. Smiling, Octavia bowed and trotted off the stage with the stallion following her.
"Hey, wait up!" he called, causing Octavia to stop and turn around.
"Yes?" she asked in an unimpressed tone.
He smiled to her, his pearly white teeth flashing, and said, "That performance was pretty good, Ms. Octavia. How about I buy you a drink in celebration?"
Octavia pursed her lips to the right as she gave the stallion an unimpressed look.
"I'm good," she replied flatly, "Thanks, though."
The stallion reared his head back in surprise, regarding the mare as if she had said she wasn't into music.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yes," Octavia replied a little too fast.
"Oh, well, if that's what you want," he said before trotting over to the bar, acting as if he had never been talking to her.
Octavia ignored his leaving, putting her cello away instead. The black case it traveled in was lined with blue satin and fit the instrument perfectly. Placing the bow across it gently, Octavia shut the case and latched it before trotting off to her table where she had been sitting before. It was a bit of a shock that, when she got there, the seafoam green mare who had applauded her performance was sitting there, absentmindedly sipping on a drink.
