Chapters Ch. 1 – City of the Angels
Octavia gently separated the bow from the strings, letting the last note ring and fade on its own. She opened her eyes to the polite applause from an audience she couldn’t see. The concert had been practically perfect, of course; the Royal Canterlot Symphony was the best in Equestria.
Even so, Octavia didn’t feel like celebrating after her performance. She packed up her instrument slowly and carefully before making her way out of the concert hall.
She pushed through the crowd of pretentious ponies. Every single one was busy praising the concert to their friends or guests. She heard phrases like “magnificent,” “brilliant,” and “performance of the year,” but they didn’t mean anything. The ponies that were talking about the music had no idea how to talk about music. The concert was just another thing to make an appearance at, another mark of high society. It was something to do, not something to enjoy.
So what was she, Octavia, doing? Appeasing the masses with predictable, traditional music? Allowing herself to be caged by the elites of society? Or, even worse, becoming one of them?
She shuddered as she stepped out in to the evening air. Luna’s moon had just barely risen, and a piece of the sky still held on to the dying colors of the day, framing the various towers and spires of the Canterlot Palace with streaks of pink and orange.
Despite herself, Octavia smiled. She had always enjoyed the sun; even though it did the same thing everyday, it still found a way to incorporate variety into its routine, as demonstrated by the beautiful sunsets that were never the same from one night to the next. The sun was her beacon of hope, her refuge. It took her mind off of her day- to-day life.
‘If you’re so miserable, though,’ she thought to herself as she began the trek to her apartment. ‘Why keep doing this? Why continue to live here?’
It wasn’t that Octavia hated Canterlot; this was her hometown. She had been born and raised on these pristine streets; asking her to just get up and leave would be asking her to give up her life, and she couldn’t do that yet.
‘Are you sure? What life do you have here, anyway?’
Her thoughts immediately went to the Symphony. She was first chair cellist, and one of the best musicians in the organization! Surely that was a good enough reason to stay!
‘Is it really? You aren’t appreciated, you’re bored with the music, and you didn’t even want to celebrate tonight.’
She sighed. Whose side was she on? She loved playing her cello, and loved performing for an audience, but the voices in her head had a point. The music she played had grown stale, and the audience no longer cared whether a V-I chord progression resolved to a major or a minor.
Come to think of it, the entire city seemed to have grown stale. Nothing new happened anymore, and it sometimes it felt as if the buildings themselves were getting bored of the Canterlot routine.
Octavia frowned as she continued her nighttime walk. At this hour, most offices and homes were dark and empty, even though it was just after sunset. She gazed up at the tiers of mournful windows, hoping one would light up, or show some sign of life. None did; the city remained gloomy as ever.
It was sad, really, to think of the city as gloomy. The buildings were bleached white, and the palace rose majestically, as if to scrape the sky. It was an inspiring sight, promising hope and light not just to the citizens of Canterlot but all of Equestria. For anypony outside the walls, the city looked anything but gloomy. Most ponies praised it as an ideal city; a utopia created by the Goddesses themselves.
Octavia had spent her life in the city, and she knew the truth. The utopia everypony expected was broken and flawed, and the high walls gave a feeling of imprisonment, not protection.
She reached her destination: a tall apartment building on the mountain side of the city. It looked as empty and dead as everything else she had seen tonight, and provided no reprieve from the sense of depression she suddenly felt.
Her apartment was simple and clean; the walls were the same white as the outside of the building, and her furniture was plain. She didn’t mind, of course; she had never been extravagant, but tonight it only reminded her of the blandness overtaking her hometown.
‘Oh, well. What can one pony do?’
For now, she could go to sleep. Her body ached from carrying her instrument, and her mind ached from just being around the Canterlot Elites. She set down her cello in its usual corner with slightly less care than normal, and flopped down on her bed.
-XXX-
The next morning dawned bright and early. Octavia was gently awakened by warm sunlight squinting between her curtains and caressing her face. She stretched and sighed contentedly, happy to wake up to the sun she adored. Octavia was definitely a morning pony.
She rolled out of bed an adjusted her sheets so they looked straight and proper.
‘And boring.’
‘No,’ she thought back. ‘Today is a new day, and I will not start it off by thinking like that.’
She continued her morning routine without any other thoughts on the matter, and exited her apartment with a cheerful smile.
She procured breakfast from a small, family owned café down the street.
“Good morning, Latte!” She greeted the owner behind the counter.
“Hello, Octavia. The usual for you?”
Octavia was about to answer in the affirmative, but remembered her thoughts last night. She figured she could at least try something different, and this would be a great way to start breaking the recent monotony of her life. “Actually,” she said aloud. “What do you recommend today?”
Latte blinked, and took a moment to answer. “Well, we just got a fresh batch of Cloudsdale Croissants this morning. They’re supposed to be the best in Equestria; as light and fluffy as a cloud, they say.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Octavia responded. “One of those with my coffee, please.”
Latte began to fill her order, but not before a questioning gaze passed over her features. Octavia pretended not to notice.
“So what’s on your mind?” the barista asked with her back turned.
“Nothing, why do you ask?”
Latte set the bread and beverage on the counter a few moments later. “This is why,” she motioned to the croissant. “Octavia, you’ve been coming to my shop every morning for almost three years now, and not once have you ordered anything besides a blueberry muffin with your coffee. What gives?”
“I thought I’d just, you know, switch it up.”
“Things don’t normally change without a reason, Octavia.”
The cellist broke at that comment. “But that’s just the thing, Latte; I wish they would!”
“How’s that?”
Octavia sighed and sipped while she tried to think of a way to explain how she felt. “The Symphony has played the same few songs for the last three concerts we’ve done, and every time, the nobles and other ponies that show up say it was the best performance they’ve ever seen.”
“Because it probably was.” Latte answered. “I’ve heard you play, Octavia; you drove me to tears.”
“That was an original piece. The symphony turned it down.”
“What? Why?”
“My director told me it was ‘too new,’ and that ponies would never appreciate it.”
“But that’s absurd!”
“It’s not just the music, Latte. Everything Canterlot does is the same. The art, the music, the science, they even eat at the same couple of restaurants every day! Nothing ever changes! You said it yourself: I’ve been coming here for three years and haven’t once changed my order!” Octavia wasn’t shouting, she never did, but her voice was clearly distressed.
Latte listened to her friend, but she couldn’t understand the urgency in Octavia’s words. “There’s nothing wrong with sticking to what works, Octavia. The day-to-day similarities are comforting. Why mess with the balance?”
“It would be a different thing if they were similarities, Latte, but they’re not. They’re the same thing: the same ponies, the same songs, and the same critiques, every single time! I can’t remember the last time I was challenged by a piece the Symphony played, but we’re supposed to be the best! We should be pushing our limits, trying to get better, but we’ve stagnated. The critics say we’ve reached the peak of perfection, but what do they know?” Octavia’s shoulders drooped. “We could be so much better if they’d let us change something every now and then. They’ve denied every piece I’ve submitted, even the traditional classic ones. They say they don’t want to take any chances; that they want to keep playing what they know ponies like. They want to stick with what works.”
The irony of her own words being turned against her like that sent a chill down Latte’s spine, and she realized what Octavia was so upset about. “I’m… sorry, Octavia,”
Octavia gave a mirthless laugh. “It’s not your fault. The entire city’s the same way.”
“No, it’s not!” Latte protested. “Not while there are still ponies like you who think things can change for the better. You can fix it, Octavia. You can change the world.”
“I’m just one pony. What difference could I make on my own?”
-XXX-
Octavia returned to her apartment a short while later and found everything just the way she had left it: two chairs, a couch, a coffee table, and her music corner with her cello, stand, and composition paper. She made her way to the latter and reviewed the sheets she had written yesterday before the concert. The first page bore the title of the piece: “Luna’s Dreamscape,” but not much else. Octavia knew how she wanted the song to sound, but couldn’t bring herself to put notes to paper just yet. She stared at the lines sadly, knowing that this music would never make it to a stage, would never be performed, because the Canterlot Elites expected her to do the same thing she had done for years: play the instrument, not the music.
Every day for the next few weeks she stared at the paper, willing the notes to manifest themselves onto the paper, transforming the beautiful swirling melodies she heard in her head to reality. They never did. The page remained as blank as the faces she performed for every month.
-XXX-
Rehearsals for the upcoming concert were the same as ever. The director hadn’t even bothered passing out new music; it would be a waste of paper. Octavia dutifully pulled her bow across the strings as she had so many times before, and thought she might physically collapse from boredom. Nopony was struggling with the music; most of the Symphony had the songs completely memorized, and the first song they practiced was finished with no mistakes to speak of.
“Excellent, everypony.” The director commented. He was an old stallion; his coat was brown, but his black mane was graying on the sides. It gave him an air of experience and wisdom. In another time, Octavia’s childhood, perhaps, he would have been considered a sensational composer and director, but nowadays, he was just paid to wave a stick. “I’d like to work on Beethoofen’s Seventh Symphony now.”
Octavia shuffled her pages until she found the piece. She felt a sinking in her chest. She had heard great things about this particular composer, but had never heard any of his original compositions, and couldn’t believe the Symphony was playing his masterpieces the way he had intended.
She began to play, the notes slowly flowing at the same tempo they always had. Octavia had reviewed the music extensively, and thought she had some ideas to make it sound less bland. If she put a crescendo here, perhaps the rest of the Symphony would follow…
The tapping of a baton on the director’s stand stopped her. “Miss Octavia,” he said, looking directly at her. “Why did you get louder?”
Octavia hurriedly glanced around. The entire Symphony seemed to be staring at her. “I thought it would… add some feeling,” she attempted to explain.
Her director sighed heavily. “The ponies we perform for do not listen to us for feeling, Miss Octavia. Please just play the music like you always have.”
Octavia nodded and averted her eyes. “Yes, Coda.”
“From measure sixty-two, everypony.”
-XXX-
Octavia packed up her instrument, struggling to hold back tears. The second chair cellist approached her.
“Hey,”
Octavia looked up. “Hello, Fermata.”
Fermata shuffled her hooves awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. “I thought you sounded good,” She finally said.
Octavia gave her a small smile. It was sort of a running joke between the two musicians that Fermata was secretly plotting Octavia’s downfall in order to claim the first chair seat. This was utterly ridiculous, of course; both had the utmost respect for the other, and Fermata knew Octavia was simply the better player. Octavia took the compliment at face value.
“Thank you,”
Fermata lingered, as if she had something else to say, but couldn’t. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, and stepped back when Octavia stood up with her instrument secured.
Before either one could speak, Coda appeared and put a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. “May I have a word?”
Octavia had no choice but to follow.
Coda led the confused cellist to the small back room he used as his office, gesturing to indicate that Octavia should have a seat across from him. He sat himself behind a simple desk and pressed his hooves together in front of his face.
Octavia sat ramrod-straight in her chair. If Coda wanted to fire her, she would at least keep her dignity through the process. She did not fidget, and looked her director in the eyes.
After a few moments, Coda seemed to relax. “Why did you perform a crescendo in that piece, Octavia?”
It was incredible how hard it could be to answer such a simple question. Octavia decided to go with her previous answer, ”To add feeling,”
Coda did not nod, frown, or otherwise show what he was thinking. His face was not that of a pony who would understand the concept of “feeling.” “Why, though?” He asked.
Octavia did not waver as she answered. “The piece called for it. It was written in the music.”
Her director stared at her for a long time. “Octavia, we both know that you are quite adept at reading music. What on that page told you that there was supposed to be a crescendo at that particular point in the song?”
Octavia’s answer was robotic. “The phrase consisted of a rising eighth note run ending with a unison chord and led into the next few measures. There should be a contrast in volume to maximize the effect of the chord and differentiate it from the rest of the phrase.”
“No words, though. Nothing physically written on the page?”
“Just the notes.”
“And you believe the notes give you direction on how loud the music is supposed to be?”
“…Yes.”
Coda leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. Just one more question.”
Octavia remained silent.
“Why now?” He asked. “You haven’t done this in any other rehearsal. What prompted the change?”
Octavia’s prim posture slackened slightly. How should she put this? “I suppose I got bored,”
“Bored? Is the music no longer challenging you, Octavia?”
Octavia mentally backpedaled. “No! Well, yes, but it wouldn’t be- I mean, it was challenging the first time I looked at it, but Coda, this is the fourth concert at which we’ve played the exact same songs. The whole Symphony has their parts memorized, and this repetition isn’t making us better musicians,” she stopped herself before she seriously offended her director, if she hadn’t already.
Fortunately, Coda didn’t seem offended. He didn’t seem happy, either. He retrieved a notepad and pencil with his mouth and began scribbling something down. Octavia waited patiently, but apprehensively.
Finally, Coda spat out the utensil so he could speak. “I wish there was something else I could do for you, but for now, this is the best I can think of. “ He handed her the paper, which had a couple of addresses on it in his messy handwriting. “If I could support you further, I would, but my position will not allow me.” He explained. “I am therefore effectively firing you from the Symphony.” He waited for a response, but Octavia gave him none, so he continued. ”You are one hundred percent correct, Octavia. About everything. The crescendo you played was perfectly placed and executed, and I’m sorry I had to cut you off. You are also correct in saying that this music no longer challenges you, so I am letting you go.”
Octavia was very quiet and still, whether from shock or thought Coda couldn’t tell. They sat staring at each other for quite a while, until something clicked in Octavia’s head.
“If you know I’m right,” she started slowly, “Why not let me stay? Why not put the crescendo in?”
“A few years ago I would have, and if the owner of the Symphony would go for it, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Thing is, he wants to play it safe. Everypony wants to play it safe nowadays, and I can’t change that without major repercussions. But you can.”
“Me?”
Coda sighed. “Octavia, I know how good you are. Much better than anything I can offer.” He tapped the note he had written. “If you want something different, I suggest starting here. The first is a new club I’ve heard about, and the second points to an old friend, if he’s still there. These are the best leads in music I can get you. Where you go from there, I can only hope.”
Octavia stuck the paper in her case and rose. “I just have one question,” she said.
“Fire away.”
“Did you see this coming?”
Coda looked her squarely in the eyes. “If you called me a coward for what I didn’t do, you would be right in doing so. Yes, part of the blame rests on my shoulders. I’m passing it to you, Octavia, and I apologize for that. I’m asking you to do what I could not, but I have confidence you will succeed. The next time I see you, it will be to beg you for symphony arrangements of your new music.”
Octavia smiled softly. “Thank you, Coda.”
“If you succeed, it is I who will be thanking you. Save me, Octavia. Save all of Canterlot.”
Author's Note
Tell me what you think, please, and be honest. I want to know how I can improve.
Ch. 2 - Lights
“Save me, Octavia. Save all of Canterlot.”
Coda’s words rang in her ears long after she had left the rehearsal hall. Save all of Canterlot? By herself? She was only one pony, after all. What did Coda expect her to do?
She regarded the addresses her director (‘Former director,’ she thought) had given her. They were both located in the Outer District, one Octavia had never visited. It was known to be slightly… less posh than the central city area, to put it gently.
As much as she questioned the sanity of venturing outside of her comfort zone, she knew it was necessary. Besides, it would be nice to have a change of scenery, right? She might even meet some ponies who shared her concerns and would be willing to help her out, or point her in the right direction, and Canterlot would realize how stupid it had been and start accepting new art and music and culture and she could be home in time for dinner.
Okay, maybe that was a little bit optimistic, but right now it was what Octavia was holding on to. She dropped off her cello in her apartment and again wistfully regarded her unfinished compositions. ‘Someday,’
Perhaps tonight she could visit the “club” Coda had mentioned. It would be a good opportunity to observe a completely different part of the Canterlot culture, and possibly get some ideas as to what she should now do. Who knew? Some ponies there might actually be as interested in music as much as she was.
-XXX-
Octavia was content to simply sit at the bar and sip her wine. (The bartender had given her a strange glance when she ordered it; his patrons usually opted for something much stronger.) The thudding music and strobe lights in the background weren’t her style, not to mention the type of dancing these ponies participated in.
‘But isn’t that what you came here for? A change of scenery, you said.’
Octavia groaned. She thought that voice had been drowned out by the music. Still, she couldn’t deny what she had told herself. She had come here hoping for something different, something to get her mind off of the repetitive, dull, “Canterlot Elite” lifestyle. While she had certainly found something different, she couldn’t quite bring herself to associate with the crowd, or the behavior that went with this sort of establishment, hence the wine as oppose to vodka or whisky.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a blue and white blur plopped itself down beside her.
“Yo, Mix! I need my usual over here!” It yelled.
“Comin’ right up, Vinyl!” The bartender called back.
Octavia looked around to find the newcomer, a white unicorn mare with a striking blue mane, staring at her. At least, she thought she was staring at her. She couldn’t see anything behind the huge pair of purple tinted glasses on her face.
Octavia turned away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
“Heads up, V!” A glass slid down the bar and the unicorn caught it with her magic, not taking her eyes off of the gray mare in front of her. Well, presumably.
“You don’t look like the type to come here,” she commented.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, your mane’s too straight. Definitely not a regular.” She took a swig of her concoction.
Octavia visibly recoiled. “Too straight? Am I to believe that yours is ‘just right,’ then? It looks like it has never seen a brush!”
The white mare laughed and shook her head. “Yep! One hundred percent freedom right here!”
Octavia cocked an eyebrow.
“So, why are you here?” The white unicorn suddenly sounded serious.
Octavia feigned offense. “What? A girl can’t enjoy herself in a club?”
The unicorn smirked. “Sitting here drinking wine? Yeah, you’re havin’ the time of your life.”
Octavia scowled.
“But since you’re here,“ the unicorn continued. “What’s your name?”
Octavia was taken aback by the question, and answered more out of surprise than anything else. “I’m Octavia,”
“Hmm… Nope, too uptight. You need a nickname!”
“What?”
“How about Octy?”
“Celestia, no. That sounds like some repulsive creature. And what about my name is uptight?”
“Okay, then, what about Tavi?”
Octavia did not like the idea of chopping up her perfectly good name to satisfy some stranger, but she supposed it was better than the previous suggestion. She sighed. This was what she got for trying something new. “Fine,”
The unicorn pulled her into an awkward one-hoofed hug. “All right! I’ll call you Tavi, and you can call me Vinyl! Mix! Another round for me an’ my friend Tavi here!”
“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I-“
“Nonsense! My boss said something about hospalality so that’s what I’m doin’!”
“You mean hospitality- wait, your boss?”
“Well, yeah. I just got done with my shift as DJ. Beats’ll keep this crowd occupied ‘till closing.” She jerked a hoof over her shoulder to the DJ booth, where a blue Pegasus with a light yellow mane was expertly manipulating records and buttons using wings and hooves alike.
“You were responsible for that music?” Octavia failed to hide her disdain, and Vinyl noticed.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s what the ponies want, you know? Personally, I’m more of a fan of the classics.”
“Classics?” Octavia could hardly believe her ears. Could this messy DJ really be a fan of-?
“Yeah, ever hear of Journeigh?”
Octavia should have known that was coming. “Yes, of course I’ve heard of them, but I don’t really-“
“Just a small town girl!” Vinyl started singing at the top of her lungs. “Livin’ in a lonely wo-orld!”
“Yes, I know-“
“Took the midnight train goin’ aaa-neee-where!”
“Please stop,”
“What? Don’t like my singing?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it, but did you really find it appropriate to break out in song like that?"
“Uh, it’s a club. How was it not appropriate to break out like that?”
Octavia huffed. She couldn’t fault that logic.
“Speaking of which, you never did say what you were doing here.” Vinyl finished off the last of whatever was in her glass and motioned for another.
“I suppose I… thought it would be fun. Try something new. Something different.” Octavia explained, though she wasn’t sure why she was telling Vinyl.
“Different than what?”
“Than what I’ve been doing; than the same old thing. A break, I guess you could say. I just… needed to escape, you know?”
Vinyl laughed. “That’s another Journeigh song, Escape. My favorite, by the way. But yeah, I get what you’re saying. Feels that way here too, sometimes. It’s the same old ponies, the same old music. It gets boring, right?” She suddenly leaned closer to Octavia. “And the worst part is you can’t change it, because the audience won’t let you. You’re trapped by their ex… expec… wow that ruined the whole thing.”
“Expectations,” Octavia finished for her. “Yes, that’s exactly it. The ponies aren’t there for the music, they’re just there to be there.”
Vinyl nodded slowly. “Tell you what.“ She slammed her glass down on the counter. “Let’s do something.”
“Beg pardon?”
Vinyl nearly launched herself off her stool. “C’mon, we’re leaving,”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Let’s just go.”
Octavia hesitated. She had just met this mare, and now she was going to just go with her, with no plan, no anything?
Vinyl turned back to her new friend to see her still sitting still at the bar. “Hey! Isn’t this what you wanted? Somethin’ different?”
Octavia drained her glass and followed the white unicorn out the door.
-XXX-
The pair exited the club and surveyed the city before them.
“So, where are we going?” Octavia asked.
“I told you, I don’t care. C’mon!” Vinyl set off down the street at a gallop, laughing.
“Hey, wait!” Octavia groaned and ran after her.
Vinyl did not slow down until she reached a grassy park almost ten blocks away. She collapsed at the base of a tree, still laughing. Octavia arrived a few seconds later, gasping for air.
“What… are you doing?” she said between breaths.
Vinyl sat up suddenly. “Whatever I want,” she reached up and hooked a hoof around Octavia’s foreleg, pulling her to the ground beside her. “Tag! You’re it!” She shouted, and bolted toward another tree.
Octavia yelled in surprise as she hit the ground, but that quickly turned into focused determination. “Oh, she is gonna get it,” she turned around to see Vinyl sticking her tongue out at her from a little ways away.
Octavia gave chase, but soon realized she wasn’t going to outrun the other mare. She leaned against a tree, breathing heavily.
“Tavi? Where’d you go?” Vinyl called. “You didn’t give up, did you?”
Octavia was about to answer, but then stopped herself. Vinyl couldn’t see where she was, which gave her an immediate advantage. She also noticed that the paved path was the only part of the park that was lit at this time at night. She smirked to herself. In the dim illumination, Vinyl’s white coat would be easily noticeable, while her own gray and black hair would be practically invisible. She could work with this.
“Tavi?” Her target called again. “C’mon, seriously. This isn’t funny anymore.”
Octavia did not move from her concealed position. Vinyl sounded like she was coming closer, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the white mare stepped under a light, her coat almost gleaming in contrast to the dark background. Her hoofsteps were slower, now, and her head swept left and right in an attempt to locate her pursuer.
Octavia snickered quietly. She had forgotten the ridiculous glasses her new companion wore; they would only make it easier for her to sneak up on the unicorn unnoticed.
As Vinyl neared the tree, Octavia tried to make herself as small as possible, using the shadows as camouflage. She grinned in anticipation and waited for just a little while longer.
The other mare, oblivious to a certain pair of violet eyes following her, passed the tree and continued down the path.
Octavia slunk after her quarry silently, her hooves muffled by the grass, her form hidden by the darkness. Ever so slowly she crept up behind Vinyl, forcing herself not to laugh. This was going to be entertaining.
She was hardly a leg’s length away now. She reached up slowly and tapped Vinyl’s shoulder. “Tag,” she said simply.
-XXX-
Vinyl calmed her breathing and slowed to a trot, having quickly outdistanced her opponent. She looked behind her and couldn’t see anything; the entire area was dark.
“Tavi? Where’d you go? You didn’t give up, did you?” she taunted, hoping to draw the gray mare out. She received no answer, unless you counted wind blowing through the trees an answer. Vinyl stopped and listened hard. Nope, nothing.
Vinyl started back toward the path, straining her eyes and ears against the darkness and silence. She would never admit she was scared, but being in an empty park alone, this late at night… well, it was enough to make anypony’s imagination run wild.
“Tavi?” she tried again. “C’mon, seriously. This isn’t funny anymore,” She reached the path and stepped under an island of light, scanning for any signs of movement. Each one of her hoofsteps was amplified in her ears, and her heart thudded against her ribcage. She thought she saw a shadow move and whipped her head around, but it was gone.
She continued walking, even slower and more carefully now. . Her breath echoed, her ears twitched, and her eyes flicked back and forth behind her shades. Her body was tense and alert; nothing could possibly surprise her in this heightened state.
And then something touched her shoulder.
-XXX-
Vinyl did not scream at first; her body seized up, preventing her from drawing breath for a second. Her hair comically stood out from her head, resembling bolts of lightning. Her legs stiffened, and she seemed to levitate momentarily. She spun around and let out a cry worthy of a seventies martial arts movie, landing on her back hooves in a fighting stance to see Octavia rolling on the ground, cackling.
Vinyl immediately regained her composure. “That wasn’t funny; I nearly had a heart attack!”
Octavia could barely breathe. “I thought it was pretty funny,”
Vinyl lightly kicked her in the side with a hoof.
“Ow, hey!”
“Please, that was a gentle nudge. You deserve it, anyway, scaring a helpless mare like that.”
“Helpless? You were ready to kill me!”
“Well maybe I wouldn’t have had to go ninja on you if you hadn’t gone ninja on me! Speaking of which, where the heck did you come from?”
“Behind you,”
Vinyl waited, but that was all the answer she got. “That’s it?”
“A good ninja never reveals her secrets,”
Vinyl rolled her eyes, which Octavia couldn’t see, of course. “Yeah, whatever, I still win.”
“How’s that now?”
“Tag,” Vinyl set a hoof squarely on Octavia’s exposed stomach, effectively pinning her to the ground.
“Hmph,” Octavia decided not to fight it, and lay down on her back just in time to see a shooting star wink in and out of existence overhead. “Look!” she pointed with a hoof, but of course Vinyl had missed it. Octavia shut her eyes and made her wish.
“What, you see a shooting star?”
Octavia sighed in response. “It’s been a while since I’ve just looked at the stars. They really are quite beautiful.”
Vinyl followed her gaze, then sat down beside her. She even levitated her glasses off of her face. “Yeah, I guess,” she admitted. “Luna did a great job with those, huh?”
“Mmh-hmm,” Octavia fell silent, and felt her body relax for the first time in at least a few days, possibly a few weeks.
Vinyl couldn’t stay quiet for long. “I’ve always liked the moon. When I was little, I thought the Mare in the Moon was my mom watching over me, protecting me. It’s why I chose the nightlife instead of a day job; I felt more comfortable with the moon over me.” She considered her story for a bit. “Well, it made sense back then. Who’d have guessed it was really Princess Luna, huh?”
Octavia gave her full attention, but did not interject. Vinyl kept talking.
“Not seeing that face up there anymore… it was like losing my mom all over again.” She paused. “But then I look up at the stars and say, ‘Just because she’s not in the moon doesn’t mean she’s not watching over me.’ She’s somewhere out there.”
Octavia looked up at the stars again with a new perspective. She saw one sparkle, and imagined it was her granddad smiling down at her like he used to when he saw her practice her violin, and later cello.
Vinyl leaned back and rested her hooves behind her head. “So what about you?” She asked. “You haven’t told me hardly anything about you.”
“Oh! Well, there’s really not much to tell. I was born in Canterlot and spent my entire life here. I play… rather, I used to play for the Royal Symphony, but-“
“No way; you’re a musician?” Vinyl interrupted, suddenly sitting back up and putting her glasses back on. “Do you do original pieces? Oh, you have to show me! Where do you live?”
Octavia flinched from the barrage of questions, and answered them as best as she could. “Umm, yes?”
Vinyl jumped up. “C’mon, you gotta show me!”
“All right, calm down first,” Octavia struggled to her feet and wondered how Vinyl could possibly have this much energy at this hour.
As she stood up, Octavia noticed something about her companion. “Your cutie mark; the notes go backwards. Why is that?”
“I guess I’ve always been sort of backwards.” Vinyl grinned lopsidedly.
Octavia smiled at that, and led the way out of the park.
-XXX-
They reached Octavia’s apartment without any complications, and Vinyl bounded over to the cello and music stand in the corner.
“Awesome; it’s like a giant guitar! I bet you can play some sweet riffs on this baby! What are these? Are these the sweet riffs?” She grabbed several sheets of music off the floor with her magic. “Hmm… ‘Seventh symphony’… Nope, don’t care; sounds boring. What’s this?” She turned to the page on the music stand. “’Luna’s Dreamscape,’” She read. “Sounds less boring. Not much to look at, though.”
Octavia had hardly closed the door behind them. “I haven’t gotten around to putting anything down yet,”
Vinyl’s face lit up. “We could write it together!”
“What? Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Octavia was rather hoping Vinyl wouldn’t actually want to help. A DJ had no business co-writing a classical piece.
Vinyl, however, had other ideas. “No, don’t you see? The new thing in music! A mix between your boring old guys and my awesomeness!” She was practically bouncing with excitement.
“Old guys?” Octavia was understandably indignant.
Vinyl didn’t even seem to notice, she was so excited. “I bet I can hook up your guitar to the turntables with magic, and-“
“Oh, no,” Octavia interrupted. “Firstly, it’s called a cello, not a guitar. Secondly, you are not ‘hooking it up’ to anything!”
“Aw, come on, ‘Tavi, that would sound amazing!”
Octavia would have crossed her forelegs if she were standing upright. “Do you know what a cello sounds like?”
“Umm, amazing? Maybe you should play for me, so I have an idea!” Her enthusiasm hardly missed a beat.
“Vinyl, it is two in the morning. I am not waking up half the apartment building because you haven’t heard what an actual instrument sounds like.”
Vinyl didn’t even notice the jibe. “Half the building? Is it that loud?” Her unseen eyes grew wide.
“String instruments are designed to resonate, and these walls aren’t exactly soundproof,” Octavia explained. “Though, I suppose it was a bit of a hyperbole.”
“Hypa-what?”
“Never mind. Listen, it’s getting late, and I’m not used to being awake at this hour. I don’t mean to sound rude, but shouldn’t you be heading home?”
Vinyl shuffled awkwardly on her hooves. “Uh, yeah, about that… Would you mind if I sorta… crashed here tonight?” She smiled sheepishly. “Like you said, it’s kinda late, and I do live in the Outer District,”
Octavia understood what she was saying. A walk alone to the Outer District this late at night would be less than desirable. The walk from the park had been quite enough to make both mares aware of that fact.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a spare guest room or anything like that,”
“No prob, I can take the couch.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Hey, I’ve slept on worse. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so. Let me get you some blankets and a pillow,” Octavia fetched the necessary items from a nearby closet so Vinyl could be at least a little bit more comfortable.
“Thanks, ‘Tavi. I owe ya,”
“Think nothing of it,”
“Okay, well, g’night, then.”
“Good night, Vinyl.”
Octavia made her way to her own bed and settled down under her sheets. She reflected back on her evening, and the new friend she had found. Vinyl might be brash, messy, and, well, pretty much the opposite of herself, but Octavia felt comfortable talking to her for some reason. She had a certain… charm wasn’t the right word. Well, it was something.
Octavia had found a pony that shared her ideas about music and the Canterlot lifestyle. She had even said something about the new thing in music, even if it did involve a certain electronic element. She felt a mixture of excitement and fear, and knew that tomorrow she’d make even more progress.
Author's Note
This is why I love these two. Writing for Vinyl alone is interesting, but bouncing her personality off of Octavia's is just plain entertaining. This was a lot of fun, and I'm reasonably pleased with the results. If there's anything I can do to improve it or if I've made some mistakes, feel free to let me know!
Ch. 3 – Escape
Octavia woke up to the loudest snoring she had ever heard. She wondered where it was coming from for a moment before she remembered what had happened last night.
She sat up, and discovered her head ached slightly. Oh, well. Nothing a little coffee and possibly some orange juice couldn’t fix.
She got up to shower and brush her hair and teeth, and then walked out of her bedroom to find the rambunctious DJ. She was right where she had fallen asleep, sort of. She was now lying on her back, with the blanket draped over a single hoof and spilling onto the floor. Her head was almost off the couch, and her mouth was open wide, producing the snoring Octavia was sure could wake the dead. Amazingly, her glasses were still on her face.
It was weird; Octavia had known this mare for less than twelve hours, and most of that time had been spent sleeping, but she still felt a connection, like she had more in common with the unicorn than she had thought at first glance. Well, she could figure that out later. She needed some coffee.
-XXX-
Latte’s twins Cream and Sugar were sweeping the patio and wiping tables when Octavia showed up.
“Hi, Miss Octavia!”
“How are you, Miss Octavia?”
Octavia smiled down at the colt and filly before her. They had been brought up on old-fashioned Canterlot values: their manners were flawless, their appearance ordinary. Cream’s coat was a slightly lighter brown than his sister’s, but Sugar’s mane was lighter than his.
“I’m just fine Sugar, how are you?” Octavia gave a polite reply, and continued the conversation at the same time. It was very high society of her.
“Very well, Miss Octavia,” was the answer. “Lovely day we’re having isn’t it?”
Octavia felt proud that this young filly was growing up knowing how to converse properly, but it was tarnished by guilt. She was just a child, and was being molded into the very thing Octavia was fighting against: an emotionless socialite. She decided to throw the little filly for a loop.
“I’ll bet tomorrow will be even lovelier,” she said with a smile.
Sugar did not have a response to that, so she set her face to a default smile. It seemed to satiate Octavia, who trotted past her and into the shop itself. Cream, in lieu of a hat, tipped his head slightly as she passed.
The bell tinkled, and Latte looked up from her newspaper. “Octavia! How are you? You look good,”
“I feel even better,” Octavia could not keep her smile from spreading. “What have you got for me today?”
“Hmm, nothing new, I’m afraid, but maybe you’ll like this,” Latte retrieved an item from one of her display cases and presented it to her friend. It was triangular in shape, and had berries sprinkled through the dough, almost like a muffin. “It’s called a scone,” she explained. “The dough isn’t as soft or as moist as a muffin, but it still has real fruit inside, and I know you like blueberries.”
Octavia accepted the pastry and took a polite bite. The crunchy texture was a welcome difference, and she munched happily on her newfound treat.
Latte gauged her reaction with the expertise of a pony that made a living making sure ponies were satisfied. “Like it?”
“Mm-hm,” Octavia managed, and then swallowed. “It’s delicious.” She pushed the necessary bits across the counter, and Latte took them graciously.
“So tell me what’s got you so happy today. Meet a nice stallion, did you?”
Octavia laughed briefly. “No. A mare, actually. At a club, of all places.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t take you for a… you know,“
“We are not together, Latte; I met her just last night.”
“A lot can happen in a night,” Latte winked.
Octavia treated her to her best deadpan stare before moving on. “Anyway, she says she’s going to help me write a new original piece for my cello.”
“She’s a musician? Wow, you got lucky!”
Octavia grimaced only slightly. “Well, she’s a DJ for a club… I’m not sure she’ll be big on classical composition. She called some of the most brilliant composers of our era ‘boring old guys.’”
Latte fought back her giggles. “Ah, she’ll be good for you, Octavia. You need a DJ in your life.”
Octavia stared into her now empty cup. “Maybe… Thank you, Latte.”
“Anytime, Octavia. You’re always welcome here.”
-XXX-
As Octavia approached her door, she heard the same racket she had heard when she had woken up. Was Vinyl still asleep?
The key clicked and the door squeaked, revealing her answer. The white unicorn she had met last night was unconscious on her sofa in the same position Octavia had left her in when she went out that morning.
‘Does she know it’s after 11:00?’ Octavia didn’t wait for an answer, hypothetical or otherwise. She walked up to the couch and solidly kicked one of the legs, jolting its occupant awake.
“Spiders! Ninja spiders! Spi…” Vinyl woke up screaming and breathing heavily. “Spiders,” She turned her head and saw Octavia standing over her. She adjusted her glasses on her face and launched herself at the other mare. “Oh, Tavi! You saved me!”
Octavia rolled her eyes and gently pushed Vinyl off of her. “Clean up and have some breakfast,” she said. “We have work to do.”
“Work?” the DJ’s brow furrowed, but Octavia could only see her frown.
“Yes, work,” Octavia repeated. “Now go take a shower, and for the love of Celestia brush your mane!”
“No way!” Vinyl shook her head violently, further agitating her hairdo. “Chicks dig the wild style.” She smirked.
Octavia did not even smile. “Well, at least use some soap.”
Vinyl sighed. “Fine, but only because I like you.”
Octavia pointed out the bathroom and handed her companion a towel, which she accepted with magic. Unfazed, Octavia retrieved the note she had gotten yesterday and found the second address Coda had written.
It wasn’t really an address, though; there was one word at the top: “Syncopation,” along with a street name from the Outer District, with a second name in parentheses below it. An intersection, perhaps? But who would live there? Maybe it pointed to a business? There were too many questions, and only one way to get the answers. Unfortunately, Octavia only recognized one of the street names. ‘This might turn into a wild goose chase.’
Vinyl exited the bathroom, trailing steam and rubbing the towel behind her ears.
“Heads up!”
Octavia barely had time to turn around before the towel hit her. It slid down her face to show a less than pleased expression staring back at Vinyl’s own cocky grin. “So! What’s for breakfast?” The white mare asked.
Octavia wordlessly folded the towel and placed it in a laundry hamper, keeping her aggravation in check. Latte thought this mare would be good for her? She was having a hard time believing it, herself.
“There’s oatmeal in the pantry, or you can make toast, if you like.” She finally said.
“Ugh, boring! Got any cereal? And please don’t say Corn Flakes.”
“What’s wrong with Corn Flakes?”
“Are you kidding me?” Vinyl had opened the pantry doors and was peering inside. “You don’t even have any Sugar Puffs?”
“Sugar Puffs. You’re serious?”
Vinyl shrugged. “Packed with nine essential vitamins and minerals. That’s healthy, right?”
“Actually, they’re really not.”
“Whatever. Got anything to eat that’s somewhat tasty?”
Octavia gritted her teeth, but spoke calmly. “Well, you can do what I always do when I want to treat myself.”
“What, put raisins in your oatmeal? Bleagh!”
The amount of restraint it took for Octavia to bite back a retort was quite extraordinary. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed. “No, you can sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on buttered toast.”
Vinyl was silent for a moment, thinking. She nodded. “Can’t hurt to try!”
“That’s the spirit,” Octavia said dryly.
As Vinyl chewed, Octavia filled her in on the plan for the day: to find the other street Coda had been talking about when he had written his note. Between bites, Vinyl glanced at the slip of paper, not careful about whether she dirtied it with crumbs or not. The result was that she did indeed make a mess.
“So, who we meetin’ up with? What’s this? Syncopation? What’s that even mean?”
“If I knew, I would tell you. We’re just going to have to find out when we get there.”
“Well then let’s get there!”
-XXX-
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Octavia was walking half a step behind Vinyl, this being “her side of town,” as she called it. Since she didn’t recognize any of the buildings or streets, Octavia had no choice but to trust her companion.
They made their way behind a series of brick buildings where Vinyl pointed out a bent and faded street sign. “There you go; Withering Way. Told you I’d get us here!”
“Maybe, but we still need to find this other one, this ‘Breakaway Street,’ and I don’t see any other roads.” Octavia looked around. The alleyway was deserted, except for a snoring pegasus wearing a battered hat leaning against the side of a wall. He had a dirty cream-colored coat, and they could see streaks of silver in his midnight blue tail. Vinyl immediately trotted over.
“Hey, buddy!”
The snoring continued.
Vinyl’s second attempt consisted of actually pushing the stallion over.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?”
“Oh, good; you’re awake,” Vinyl ignored the glare she had deserved. “You know where we can find Breakaway Street?”
The stallion’s expression changed in an instant. “H-How d’you know that name?”
Vinyl showed him the slip of paper “Or you could tell us where this ‘Syncopation’ is.”
The old pegasus’s eyes grew even wider, and he snatched the note from Vinyl’s magical grasp. “Who gave you this?” he demanded.
Octavia finally spoke up, ”My symphony director; do you know a Coda?”
The old pony slumped against the wall, and thrust the paper back at Vinyl, who barely caught it. “Ain’t no ‘Syncopation’ here,” he said. “No ‘Breakaway Street,’ neither. Leave me alone.”
“You gotta know something!” Vinyl pressed. “This note says ‘Withering Way,’ and this is the only Withering Way in the city! Did Breakaway Street and Syncopation just get up and leave?”
The pegasus scowled. “Yeah, they left. Long time ago. Wish you would do the same. Leave me alone.”
He turned away from the two mares, and as he did, Octavia caught a glimpse of his cutie mark. It was simple: just two black notes, but Octavia understood it in a heartbeat.
“A dotted quarter note and an accented eighth note,” she said slyly. “If we assume the first note is on a down beat, that would put the accent of the second one on the off-beat. The simplest form of syncopation.”
The stallion squinted at her. “Somepony who knows their music, eh? You’re a disappearin’ breed, you are,”
Octavia wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, so she remained silent. Vinyl covered for her.
“You’re Syncopation? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I said ‘leave me alone,’ and I meant it. I don’t wanna be bothered by nopony. That includes you two.”
“But why?”
“Don’t matter why; go away.”
Vinyl did not. “So where’s Breakaway Street, huh?”
“Don’t know nothin’ about it.”
Octavia cut in, “But you recognized the name when we showed it to you, and Coda said you were an old friend. You must know something.”
The disgruntled stallion sighed. “Look, it ain’t nopony’s business where Breakaway Street is or who Syncopation is. Not even that old fart Coda’s. You’re wastin’ your time here.”
Octavia didn’t budge. “What happened between you two?”
Syncopation was silent for a few seconds. “You’re not gonna go away, are you?” The mares shook their heads in unison, to Syncopation’s chagrin. “Let’s say he chose his own path, and leave it at that.”
Octavia suddenly remembered something Coda had said: “If you called me a coward for what I didn’t do, you would be right in doing so.” What had Coda not done?
“What the hay does that mean?” Vinyl’s voice brought her back to the situation at hoof.
“Means I don’t want no part in whatever you two are doing. You gonna go away now?”
“Fine,” Vinyl turned away impatiently, but Octavia lingered, still thinking.
“If Coda didn’t do something,” she mused, “And you say he took a different path, that means you must have done what he didn’t do, right? What were you trying to do?”
Syncopation’s eyes and mouth moved slightly as he followed Octavia’s train of thought. Finally, he frowned. “It wasn’t nothin’ important.” He declared.
“It must have been!” Octavia insisted. “Or you wouldn’t feel so strongly about it! Did it have anything to do with music?”
Syncopation gave her a tired look and adjusted his hat. “Go home, miss. While you still got one. It’s too late to change anything. I did my best; look where that got me.” He indicated the run-down alley. “Canterlot’s too far gone; you can’t save it.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, believing the discussion was over.
“I can’t believe that.” Octavia said quietly. “I won’t believe it. Coda said I could save him…”
Syncopation barked a laugh. “You got any idea what you’re up against? The whole of Canterlot is stuck in the same way of thinkin’. There ain’t nopony in this city who’ll support you; you got no money, no plan, no nuthin! Give it up. You lost before you even began.”
Octavia tried to step back, and realized her whole body was shaking. Even worse, she could feel tears forming at the edge of her eyes. “You… how can you say that? How can you even suggest that? Giving up on music is tantamount to giving up on life!” She shook her head to purge her brain of the very thought of quitting. She couldn’t, not now; she had barely even begun. “Even if you have,” she held her chin high, masking the frustration and sadness she felt. “I can’t. Not while I know I can still do something.” She turned sharply on her hoof, her strides long and purposeful, taking her somewhere, anywhere away from the alley. She did not wait for Vinyl, and did not stop until her anger-driven energy ran out, and she collapsed on a stoop a few blocks away.
Vinyl caught up to her just as she put her face in her hooves. “Aw, c’mon Tavi, it’s not that bad,”
Octavia barely lifted her head. “How bad is it, Vinyl? Even ponies who used to care about music have given up. What can we possibly do?”
Vinyl shrugged, undeterred. “We’ll figure something out.” She held out her hoof. “C’mon. Don’t listen to that phil, fuh, fay, oh, you know what I mean?”
Octavia rolled her eyes, but accepted the hoof. “I believe you mean philistine.”
“Yeah, that! Who needs ponies like that?”
Octavia conceded a small smile, ignoring Vinyl’s improper use of the word. “So, what do you think we should do?”
“There’s a good burger joint just up the street,”
Octavia couldn’t resist facehoofing.
-XXX-
The “joint” Vinyl mentioned was a quaint 50s style restaurant, nestled between an old brick building and an out-of-business antique shop. The food was decent, but Octavia could do no more than pick at her hay fries and wildflower salad.
“Aroo not ‘unree?”
Vinyl’s attempted sentence was met with a disapproving frown. She gulped and tried again. “Sorry; are you not hungry?”
Octavia stared at her food, not really seeing it. “I’m just contemplating what we should do next.”
“Oh, lighten up; I told you we’d think of something,” Vinyl took another impossibly huge bite of her sandwich.
Octavia delicately placed a fry in her mouth and chewed slowly, not sure what to think at this point. “I feel almost… trapped. The ponies we’re trying to help don’t want help, and the ponies who should try to help don’t want to.”
Vinyl swallowed this time before talking “Ah, there’s always a way out, even if you can’t see it. Least, in my experience, anyway.”
“Why, Vinyl, that was almost wise,”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
A smile was Octavia’s only answer.
Half an hour later, the mares were back on the streets of Canterlot. They wandered aimlessly; they weren’t in a hurry to be anywhere. They passed Withering Way again, with no sign of Syncopation: the pegasus had disappeared.
Octavia stood for a second at the alley, but Vinyl pulled her onward. “Don’t worry about him; let’s get outta here.” Octavia nodded forlornly and followed.
They were passing through the park that they had run to the previous night when a voice stopped them.
“Hey! Hey, wait up!”
Both mares turned to see an airborne pegasus clutching a hat to his head as he flew. He touched down just behind them, breathing heavy. “Whoo! I ain’t built for sprint-flyin’, that’s for sure,”
“Syncopation? What in Equestria are you doing here?”
“Tried to… follow you… couldn’t find…” The older stallion was still having trouble breathing. “Look, I thought about what you said. You’re right; I can’t give up on my music an’ be happy about it. So,” he looked behind him, “To get outta that thinkin’, I guess I gotta get outta here, too.”
Octavia nodded approvingly, glad that the day hadn’t been a complete loss.
“All right, Sync!” Vinyl clapped the Pegasus on the back.
“Don’t call me Sync,”
“Sorry; Tavi’s got a nickname, so you need one too.”
“Two syllables is pretty much your limit, isn’t it, Vinyl?” Octavia had a smile back on her face.
Vinyl stuck her tongue out at her.
Author's Note
This is the last chapter I'll be able to update so quickly; I have to write the others from complete scratch, so they might take a while. As always, any comment is appreciated, good or bad!
Ch. 5 – Edge of the Blade
Octavia woke up happy: the sun shined down upon her, and she had slept well. She stretched and hummed contentedly, preparing her body for the day.
First thing on her agenda, after a shower, of course, was to fill her good friend in on the advancements she had made yesterday. She donned her trademark bow tie and set off.
-XXX-
There was actually another mare in the café that morning. Octavia politely greeted her with a silent nod and smile before approaching the counter.
“Hey, Octavia! Got any more juicy news for me today?”
“That depends: do you have a juicy pastry for me in return?”
“Ooh, a witty retort? I told you that DJ would be good for you. See anything you like?”
Octavia rolled her eyes at the mention of Vinyl and scanned Latte’s selection. “What do you recommend?”
“How about a new flavor?” Latte responded easily. “We have more than just blueberry muffins, you know: cranberry, strawberry, banana nut, cinnamon… they come in from Ponyville, of all places,” She rubbed her chin and shrugged.
Octavia considered her options. “Well, I trust your judgment; surprise me!”
Latte cocked an eyebrow and presented a muffin with large red chunks of berry in it. “Those are fresh, real strawberries, so you better enjoy it,”
Enjoy it Octavia did. The strawberries were slightly sweeter than blueberries, and their size ensured a piece in every bite. “I think,” she said between mouthfuls, “my new goal will be to try everything you have here, Latte.”
Latte chortled. “I’ll make a checklist,” The mares shared a laugh. “So, you got your pastry, where’s my news, huh?”
Octavia swallowed the last of her muffin. “I suppose I promised you, didn’t I? Well, it seems as though I’m not the first to start this musical crusade; Vinyl and I found a pegasus stallion who said he would teach us a new style of music.”
“Really? An entirely new style? How are you doing with that?”
“I guess I’m more of a traditionalist,” Octavia admitted. “I’m still working on not making my accents sound like they’re supposed to.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a classical feel, you know,”
“Of course not,” Octavia agreed. “Though, if I am to broaden my horizons, learning a new style is necessary.” Latte had to concede that much.
“So, are you going to play a gig any time soon?”
Octavia stopped to consider that. Even if she and Vinyl got the hang of swing today, and Syncopation had pieces they could play, who would offer them a chance to perform? Surely not any high society organization or gathering. They would have to aim lower for their debut.
“No,” the cellist answered slowly, “We still have a lot of work to do,” she realized. ‘More work than I thought. I have to talk to the others! ’ She excused herself as quickly as she could while still being polite, and exited the café at a trot.
-XXX-
Octavia eased open the door to find Syncopation lying on the dusty ground, asleep. Confused, she shook him awake.
“What? Huh? Oh, hey ‘Tavia.” The old stallion groaned and stretched. “What time is it?”
“A little after ten-thirty. Syncopation, did you sleep here?”
Syncopation dusted off his hat with a wing and placed it securely on his head. “Better’n I have in a long while,” he answered.
Octavia felt sorry for the pegasus; he deserved more than this.
“Don’t gimme that look, Octavia,” Syncopation interrupted her thought. “I ain’t sorry ‘bout it. I just gotta get back up and fix it. Where’s Vinyl?”
“Knowing her, still asleep.” Octavia mentally chastised the DJ for her habits.
“Whelp, in that case, I gotta grab my instrument. I’ll be right back!” He flew off toward the outer district.
Octavia had been expecting to be alone for a little bit: she was used to being the first to any gathering. (Unless ponies camped at the meeting place) She pulled some blank sheets and a quill from her saddlebags and tried to get something done.
She had a rough first draft of the intro to Luna’s Dreamscape scribbled down when Syncopation flapped to the open door and let himself in. It wasn’t much, but it felt good to write something after the stress she had been experiencing lately.
“Is Vinyl still not here?” Octavia shook her head in response. “I’m almost thinkin’ about leavin’ without her.”
“Nah, I’m too pretty to be left behind,” a voice sounded right behind Octavia. She whipped around, coming face to face with a giant purple and white bug. “Hey, Tavi.”
Octavia would have smacked her, but her heart had to calm down at least a few beats per minute, first. “And just where did you come from?”
The DJ gave a smug grin. “A good ninja never reveals her secrets.”
“Personal Invisibility Spell,” Syncopation guessed. “That ain’t simple magic, Vinyl; I’m impressed.”
“Aw, come on!” Vinyl groaned. “I had her, Sync!”
Octavia was dignifiedly gathering her supplies. “Well, since you’re here now, I believe it’s time to be off.”
“Alright, then, first stop is to get Vinyl an instrument,” Syncopation led the way out of the park.
-XXX-
It took three abandoned concert halls for Vinyl to start complaining.
“Don’t any of these places have a piano they were too lazy to get rid of? They can’t all be gone, I mean, right? How many did the Symphony take?”
“Some places sold the instruments they weren’t using. Others destroyed them and used them for firewood, or had them made into furniture.” Syncopation said evenly.
“They would do that?” Octavia felt a chill in her hooves.
Syncopation glanced back at her. “Unfortunately, yes. You hafta remember: once the Symphony and Orchestra took over, these ponies didn’t have an income anymore. They did the best they could.”
“That’s horrible,” Octavia shuddered. This was Canterlot! The symbol of hope and prosperity for all of Equestria! The thought gave her strength; she wasn’t just saving a city anymore: she was saving the country.
Syncopation turned into another run-down building with boarded up windows. Octavia could tell the hall had been magnificent in its time: lush red and gold drapes that had adorned the rafters now hung limp and dreary. The handsome wooden doors were creaky, and many seat cushions were torn or missing altogether. The balcony, painted a pristine white, was faded and peeling.
Syncopation walked by, seemingly unaffected. His eyes were trained on the stage, which was hidden by a thick curtain. The other two musicians lingered, as if at the gravestone of a loved one.
Octavia’s hoofsteps were tender and cautious as she made her way down a central aisle to where Syncopation was just pulling back the heavy cloth to look for abandoned instruments. Bent or broken metal stands were scattered across the stage, and old plastic chairs sat in a semi-circle, but no cases were open, no instruments were tuning, and nopony was playing here.
In the wings, Syncopation tried a light switch that ended up burning out most of the stage lights and blinding Octavia with the flash. Undeterred, the pegasus made his way through in the poor light. Vinyl trotted over, her horn illuminated. The pair continued their search while Octavia hovered around the chairs. In her mind’s eye, she could see musicians, friends, talking, laughing, getting ready for a performance. She picked a seat and looked toward the center of the circle, where the director would be. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the large window behind the balcony, creating a natural spotlight. The image was one of the saddest things Octavia thought she would ever see.
A clatter drew her attention back to her companions: Syncopation had torn off a drop cloth from something Octavia couldn’t see. The noise had been whatever the pegasus hadn’t bothered moving in his haste. Octavia could only barely make out what he said next.
“Hello, beautiful,”
-XXX-
Octavia didn’t know a whole lot about pianos; she had never talked to the Symphony pianist, and had never played one herself. That being said, she was no less in awe of the instrument before her than either of the other two. It was sleek, polished, and, as Syncopation said, absolutely beautiful.
The black finish was scuffed in a few places, but considering the condition of the hall around them, they were lucky all the keys were there. Syncopation was circling it, making sure it was in working order and marveling at the craftsmanship. Vinyl had seated herself at the bench and was gazing absently at the keys. She brought a hoof up and slid it across them, bringing the piano to life.
The sound coming from it, though, had Octavia clutching at her ears. That wasn’t at all what the symphony’s piano sounded like!
“It’s out of tune,” Vinyl observed, and Syncopation laughed.
“That’s the least of our worries. I’m just glad it exists!”
The piano was, according to Syncopation, a Baldwin baby grand; a fairly common model used for accompaniment or pleasure playing. Larger halls wouldn’t be caught dead with a grand this small, but it was just the thing for the trio’s purposes.
“I know a guy who can look at it, get it back into shape,” Syncopation was musing to himself as much as he was telling the other two. “She’ll be back to her old self in no time.”
“So, what now?” Vinyl couldn’t sit still for long. As soon as she had found out the piano was virtually unplayable, she had stood up, and was now pacing the stage.
“Now, you do the same thing Octavia did yesterday,” was the answer. “And she gets to watch you bob your head.”
-XXX-
Vinyl was naturally very relaxed; she picked up the essence of swing in no time, and was using a few of the keys that were relatively in tune to make up her own rhythms faster than Octavia had expected. Hearing it, she felt she finally understood why she had been having trouble: she hadn’t been able to find the proper beat because there was no proper beat. Vinyl inserted notes where she thought they should go, and didn’t stop if they sounded bad or off.
Consequently, Octavia got no chance to laugh at a ridiculous show of bodily uncoordination. She watched Vinyl sway when she had a beat, and stop when it disintegrated into a freestyle hodgepodge.
Syncopation guided her practice, but when it was clear she had it down, he moved over to Octavia and started humming improvised beats that picked up the notes that Vinyl missed, or added some embellishment to her playing. The way he used his voice reminded Octavia of a string bass, which was odd. Shouldn’t he be humming a trumpet-like part?
He kept doing it, bobbing along to his low, accented accompaniment, sometimes letting the piano take over in a solo. It fit uncannily well, Octavia thought, especially because he couldn’t predict what Vinyl was going to play next. She wondered if he was going to get his trumpet out to play; she would like to hear it.
However, his bass part continued as he danced beside the cellist, until it suddenly dawned on her. Syncopation was humming her part. She started listening more intently to what he was doing, but again could find no pattern. The entire piece was improvised using Vinyl’s two or three notes and his voice. She tried to keep up with him, moving her mouth and humming along, trying to fill in what Vinyl left un-played. He smiled as she did, staying with her for a bit longer before moving to his trumpet case and clicking it open.
Octavia continued her part, doing her best to relax into the feel of having a less than definite beat guiding her. Syncopation held his slightly tarnished trumpet sideways, operating the valves with an extended wing. He licked his lips and played a single, loud note that lasted a second before he cut it off. He smirked and played it again, twice this time, in quick bursts. His timing seemed random, but somehow it melded with what Vinyl had laid down as a baseline. Octavia stopped her humming unconsciously to better hear the stallion play.
The trumpet was more than an instrument; it was an outlet. Listening to it, Octavia could hear, see, and even feel what he felt while he played. His trumpet eagerly accepted the notes, translating his thoughts into raw sound. This was what he meant by the music feeling natural. The trumpet wanted to play this, and it wanted to do it without a meter or director stifling it.
Even Vinyl stopped playing, so Syncopation was soloing for a good minute when he realized he was the only one playing.
“What?” He asked the mares staring at him.
Unsurprisingly, Vinyl found her voice first. “That was awesome, Sync! Where’d you learn to play like that?”
The old pegasus blushed at the praise. “Well, like I said: it’s more of a feel than a style.”
“Hay yeah, it is! Right now I’m feelin’ pretty good! How ‘bout you, Tavi?”
“Yes, this was… productive.” Octavia did her best to keep a ladylike face on, but Vinyl saw straight through it.
“Aw, come on: we’re awesome!” The DJ-turned-pianist shook the cellist by the shoulders. “I wanna hear you say it!”
“Vinyl, get off me!”
“Say it, Tavi!”
“We’re awesome,” Octavia mumbled.
“I can’t hear you, Tavi!”
“We’re awesome, now please stop manhandling me!”
Vinyl complied, but not without complaint. “Aw, but you’re so manhandleabuhdle… I think.”
Octavia sighed, though she was beaming on the inside. Today had gone well so far, better than any of them could have guessed.
“Uh, ladies? I don’t mean to interrupt your little session, there, but who’s up for lunch?”
-XXX-
The next weeks were repetitive, but it was the good kind of repetitive: the repetition of rehearsal. Syncopation called in a favor with a friend of his to get the piano tuned and ready. Octavia decided to store her cello at the old hall, along with Syncopation’s trumpet; it wasn’t as if anypony would care.
Instead of having written music, Syncopation described their songs in terms of what chords went where and for how many bars. The rest was up to improvisation, which Octavia struggled with and Vinyl mastered. Noticing this, Syncopation brought in some old pieces he and Coda had put together years ago, with a suggested cello part written in. He strongly encouraged Octavia not to use it, though, so she would have to rely on the feel and flow of the music to play.
Day after day they practiced, never playing the exact same song twice. Since Octavia and Vinyl were already versed in music theory, the only thing Syncopation could do to help their improvisation was to force them to improvise. He emphasized what feelings the song conveyed, and urged them to feel the same way as they were playing it. This resulted in a natural progression of the song, and made the improvised parts easier for Octavia to understand.
One day broke the tradition. Syncopation had been gone for most of the day, leaving Octavia and Vinyl alone to practice. Vinyl prodded a few keys, coaxing out a melody with no more than three notes, like she had the first day. Octavia let her play for a few bars, so she could get the feel, and then fell in with her. The cello supported the piano thorough the melody and the solo Vinyl made up with a single note. It reminded Octavia of the freestyle Syncopation had done on her cello when they had first tried to swing.
After a few minutes, Vinyl finished out the made-up song with a few long, heavy chords. “Nice, Tavi!” She complimented. “Think we’re really getting’ into the swing of things!”
Octavia did not laugh. “That was terrible,”
Before Vinyl could defend herself, Syncopation barged in, clearly ecstatic about something.
“Hey!” he huffed, winded from flying so fast. “You guys… are not gonna believe this!”
“Well, spit it out, man!” Vinyl demanded.
The old stallion held up a hoof, still wheezing faintly. “I… I got us a gig.”
-XXX-
A thin haze of smoke permeated the modestly lit room. It was the kind of place ponies went to so they could talk in hushed voices, or just drink and reflect on their lives. Octavia and Vinyl stayed close to Syncopation as he made his way to the bar.
“Syncopation,” the bartender tilted his head as a greeting. “Are these your friends?”
“Yep! This is Octavia and Vinyl. Octavia, Vinyl, this is Scat Cat. We’ve been buddies for a little while now,”
“Fifteen years, if I recall, Syncopation.”
“Don’t say it like that; I don’t want to feel that old.” Scat Cat smirked. “Anyway, he’s agreed to let us play here tomorrow night.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scat,” Octavia said politely.
The bartender winced. “Call me Cat. Please.”
“I’m just gonna show ‘em around, get the layout, you know?” Scat nodded to his friend.
The stage was small and simple: a half circle of wooden planks was raised about six inches above the rest of the floor. Even so, Octavia could see the entirety of the venue from here. The main bar stretched along the side wall, and wooden tables occupied most of the rest of the space. A tiny sign in the back pointed out the restrooms.
“I know, it isn’t much,” Syncopation admitted. “But it’s a start,”
Octavia nodded silently. The huddled groups of ponies gave her the creeps; it was as if they all knew what needed to be said, but nopony wanted to say it.
Vinyl blew the dust off of the small electric keyboard Scat had set up, and coughed from the resulting cloud. Her magic found the wire and plugged it in. She pressed a hoof to a single note, listening to the tone.
“I can work with this,” she said, satisfied.
“Good, ‘cause it would be a pain in the flank to get the piano through the door,” Syncopation remarked.
“Yeah, well, when we make it big, we won’t have to worry about that!”
Octavia scoffed. “What, are you going to make a new piano that will fit through the door?”
Vinyl waved a hoof at her. “Mare, please. Doors will be made to fit my piano, not the other way ‘round!”
-XXX-
Nerves. Jitters. Cold hooves. Whatever you called them, every performer had them, and Octavia was no exception. The stage suddenly felt very cramped, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably as she tried to tune. Though the lounge was dim, and hardly anypony was paying attention to the musicians setting up, Octavia felt as if a spotlight were shining in her face. This could possibly be the only chance she and her compatriots would get to introduce swing. If it didn’t take off here, they had nowhere else to go.
She motioned in Syncopation’s direction to let him know she was ready. He affirmed with a nod and turned to Vinyl, who was grinning widely.
“A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three…”
They started low and slow, just loud enough to be considered background music. Hearing the soft, natural notes calmed Octavia significantly, and she closed her eyes like she usually did while she was playing something familiar to her. The song washed away her worries; she could only hope it was doing the same for the ponies listening in the small crowd.
This was unfortunately not the case.
“What are you doing?”
“Would you play the notes right?”
“How is that even music?”
The patrons closest to the stage, who had evidently been expecting a rigid classical piece, protested the free-flowing style. Octavia cracked an eye to glance at Syncopation, who shrugged and kept on playing. That is, until the words thrown at them turned to projectiles.
“Get off the stage!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you , ya phistaline!?” That one was Vinyl. At least she had used the word in proper context this time.
Octavia put a hoof to her head. This wasn’t working out according to plan. She caught Syncopation’s eye, and the two ducked off the stage into the crowd. Vinyl noticed their absence moments later and hurried to catch up with them.
They regrouped in the back alley where Scat Cat was waiting; he had exited his bar when the critics had begun raving.
“Look, guys, I’m sorry about this. I didn’t quite tell them you wouldn’t be playing traditionally.”
“Don’t sweat it, Cat,” Syncopation sounded exhausted. “If they ain’t ready, they ain’t ready.”
The bartender nodded, but otherwise did not move. “Still, they coulda been at least a little open,”
Syncopation took a breath. “Well, we gotta take what we’re given, I guess. See you around, Cat.”
“I wish I could offer more than this, but best of luck. Looks like you’re gonna need it,”
Syncopation tipped his hat in thanks, and then they were off.
Author's Note
Sorry for the long wait, hopefully it'll take less than a month and a half to write the next chapter, but unfortunately, I can't make any hard and fast promises. Anyways, yeah, more words.
Ch. 6 – Separate Ways
“At least Mr. Cat was kind enough to pay us. He didn’t have to do that,” Octavia forced herself to see a brighter side to their situation.
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Syncopation didn’t sound interested, and didn’t continue the conversation.
Vinyl was quiet, for the first time Octavia could remember: even when she was asleep, she was noisy and rambunctious. Now she was frowning, and grumbling under her breath.
The walk back to their adopted hall was tense and awkward. Octavia couldn’t identify what her new friends were feeling; both were silent, and their faces didn’t give her much to work with.
The trio trudged to the stage, where Syncopation unceremoniously dumped his trumpet and Octavia rested her cello. She felt she should say something.
“Well, while that didn’t go quite as planned,”
“Putting it lightly,” Syncopation interjected. Octavia ignored him.
“This doesn’t mean we should just give up. Maybe next time, we can—“
“There isn’t gonna be a ‘next time!’” Vinyl suddenly burst. “You saw them as well as I did, Tavi! They didn’t want anything to do with swing!”
“Vinyl, one bad performance does not a musician make,” the cellist argued. “I know I’ve dealt with some… adverse reactions, in the past, and I’m sure Syncopation has as well.”
“I wouldn’t mind some un-adversity, given my streak,” the pegasus groused.
Again, Octavia brushed him off. “The point is: we have to keep going. We can’t let one bad bar beat us, now can we?”
Vinyl rubbed her horn. “I dunno, Tavi. That was our only lead. Who knows when we’ll get to play again?”
“Oh, come now. Wasn’t it you who said ‘there’s always a way out, even if you can’t see it?’” Her friend pursed her lips and turned her head.
“I gotta agree with Vinyl on this, Octavia.” Syncopation cut in. “It’s not like we had a backup plan.”
Octavia made a sound between a groan and a sigh. “I know. I can’t bring myself to just throw in the towel, though.”
“I’m not saying you should, not completely,” he added. “Maybe Canterlot’s not ready yet, you know? Like I said, music ain’t somethin’ you can force.”
“You shouldn’t have to force good music,” Octavia reasoned to herself. Still, she had a sinking feeling Syncopation was right. And if Canterlot wasn’t ready now, would it ever be?
“Ah, screw ‘em!” Vinyl slammed her front hooves onto the stage. “Whadda they know about good music, anyway? Bunch ‘a freakin’ cows, if you ask me.” She hopped down to the aisles and worked her way back to the main door.
“Vinyl? Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. Anywhere, I don’t know! I’ve had enough.”
“Enough? That was only our first performance!” Octavia barely kept her voice from cracking. She couldn’t lose a member, not just after a failed concert, and especially not just after she had started to become friends with this pony.
“No, I know. It’s not that, it’s… you wouldn’t understand.” With that, the unicorn was gone.
“Understand what? Vinyl! Vinyl, come back!” The cellist’s call received no answer, and she spun to face the remaining member of her group, her eyes sparkling with moisture.
Syncopation could give no consolation. He looked weary, even beyond his advanced years. “I can’t tell you what to do, Octavia,” he offered. “But if Vinyl needs some time alone, I say we give it to her.”
“What about you?”
The stallion shrugged listlessly. “I don’t have anyplace else to go, so I’ll stay. I…” he slumped to a sitting position. “This old pony can only take so much, you know? I think it’s best if we hold off for a few days.”
Octavia nodded and swallowed, which was made difficult by the growing rock in her throat. She bade Syncopation a good night, and went on her way.
-XXX-
Octavia would remember the next morning as the first morning she had ever cursed the sun’s existence. She resented the fiery glare streaking through her eyes, and wished it would just go away.
She groaned and rubbed her temples as she sat up in her bed, somehow feeling more tired than when she had fallen asleep last night. Luckily, she didn’t have anything planned for the day. Or was that unlucky?
She stayed at home for breakfast, eating her oatmeal with raisins slowly and silently. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, the day passed lethargically. She considered writing more of Luna’s Dreamscape, but her heart wasn’t in it. To be honest, it wasn’t in anything right now. The previous night had emotionally drained her, especially after the streak of good luck she had just had.
Octavia spent the next week drowning in her thoughts. She entertained the idea of visiting and talking with Syncopation, or even going to find Vinyl, but it didn’t seem worth it: what would she say? What would she do? So she thought to herself. She thought about the state of affairs in Canterlot, she pondered why ponies couldn’t just open their minds and hearts, and she contemplated what she could do differently to change it.
-XXX-
Octavia pulled the first note out of the instrument with her bow; a low, resonant pitch that seemed to go on forever. The low note was followed by a few more just like it, changing pitch every now and then, and then a pause.
Even if somepony watching could not hear the notes from the instrument, they would have been entertained just watching Octavia play. Her eyes were closed, but her hoof and bow placement were impeccable. There was no beat supporting her, but she swayed in time with her music, her body and instrument perfectly balanced.
She played passionately, her expression unchanging even as her emotions were in flux. She poured that energy into the song, enhancing each note as they flowed forth.
Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation that it didn’t sound quite right, as if something were missing. She had gone over this intro several times, but hadn’t yet composed an adequate transition to the main body of the song. Her cello offered no suggestions, no matter how hard or long she stared at it. After another twenty minutes of soundless staring, she decided it was time for a breath of fresh air.
-XXX-
Octavia prowled Canterlot with no destination in mind and nothing to find. She wandered forlornly, almost subconsciously, and her path took her to the park she and Vinyl had visited that first night Octavia had tried to branch out. She ambled along, watching ponies take walks around the paths. They traveled in groups, always talking, but never hearing. The sight depressed Octavia even further, and she picked up her pace.
The cobble paths turned to sidewalks once more as Octavia found herself on the other side of the park, in the Outer District. She didn’t even bother to wonder where she was going, and as a result found herself at the wall of Canterlot, looking out through one of the panoramic viewing spots.
‘How easy it would be,’ she thought as she touched a hoof to the rail that separated her from the void below, ‘to just leave it all behind, to never have to worry again.’
She looked out upon Equestria. The shadows of the western mountains lengthened as the sun dipped their tips in liquid gold. She could just make out Ponyville, nestled between the expanse of the Everfree Forest and White Tail Wood. Farther west she knew the town of Apploosa would be commemorating its one year anniversary soon.
This was what she had to protect. This free way of life. No walls, no high society expectations, and no philistines throwing bottles at her. She glanced down at the sheer cliff that supported the city.
‘Five seconds, and you can forget it all,’
There were ponies out there, though, both inside and outside the city, that were depending on her to not give up. She looked up at the first stars twinkling in the night sky, and again imagined her grandfather smiling down at her.
‘Why fight it? Why continue to beat your head against a wall?’
‘Because I can’t give up,’ the response sounded in her head. ‘Because I can’t let them down.’
‘Them? Surely you can’t mean the director who fired you, the friend who abandoned you, and the only one who helped you skulking in an abandoned building?’
Octavia chanced another look to the bottom of the mountain.
‘Five seconds, and I can make it all better,’
She thrust herself away from the wall and staggered backward, suddenly very frightened. What was she thinking? This wasn’t her. She shouldn’t be thinking like this. Her hooves moved to her temples and massaged gently as she lowered herself to the safe, solid ground. Holding her head, she finally let loose what she had been holding back all week.
She cried.
She cried for her lost grandfather, she cried for her lost friend, and she cried for her lost cause. She even threw some tears in there for her former director.
“If it makes you feel any better, I am glad you did not decide to jump,”
Octavia choked on her sobs as her body flinched away from the sudden voice.
“Especially before your wish was realized,”
Octavia had to blink her eyes several times to ensure they were working properly, but there was no mistaking that navy blue coat, or the flowing mane. “Princess Luna!” She awkwardly twisted herself into a seated bow. “Um, h- how long have you been there?”
“I only just arrived, my little pony. Though I was in time to see you contemplating what looked like some very questionable actions. May I ask why?”
“Oh! That, yes, well I… I’m just… going through something at the moment.” Octavia said shakily. It really wasn’t a princess’s business to know her personal issues, was it? She was just one pony, after all.
“Ah,” Luna left it at that. She could recognize somepony who didn’t want to talk. “What is ‘Luna’s Dreamscape?’”
“What?”
“Your wish upon a star, some nights ago. You wished to finish something called ‘Luna’s Dreamscape.’ What is that?”
Octavia could only stare for a minute. “Wha- how do you know that?”
Luna turned to her for the first time, a neutral expression on her face. “It is one of my duties to keep track of wishes made upon my stars, and do what I can to fulfill them,”
“I thought that was just a myth,”
“Even myths have some basis in fact,” the princess said sagely.
Octavia thought for a moment. “So, where’s my puppy?”
Luna laughed out loud at that, and had to take a breather before she responded. “I, hah… I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you; it is just that… When you made that wish, do you think you were ready to assume responsibility for the care of another creature?”
Octavia had been four when she had seen that star streak past her window. She had wished for a companion to keep her company while her father was out of town and her mother was working the shop at street level.
“I suppose not,” she conceded.
“Do you think you are ready now?”
“No; I can barely take care of myself right now.”
With a nod, Luna continued. “So you see, it is not only wishes I must keep track of, but which ones are practical and earnest. I could make a million bits appear out of thin air, or build a mansion for somepony, but then what will they have learned?”
Octavia understood. “So you think my wish was practical?”
“I believe so, but you still have not told me what it is you are trying to finish. What is it? My Dreamscape?”
Octavia felt her face grow hot. “It’s a piece I’ve been trying to write. A musical composition.”
“About the night?” At Octavia’s hesitant confirmation, Luna smiled slowly. “It has been many years since a musician has honored us in such a way. I should like to hear it, when it is complete.”
“I thought you said it was your duty to help me?”
Luna fixed the cellist with a level gaze. “I said it was my duty to do what I can to fulfill wishes. I cannot write the piece for you; I am no composer. As such, I will do what I can to make sure you have what you need.”
“And what is that?”
Luna only winked. “Keep an open mind, my subject. That is all I will tell you.” She unfurled her wings and dove off the edge of the cliff, swooping into a wide, banking turn towards the castle. Octavia watched her go, thinking about what she could possibly have in mind.
Author's Note
Okay, so, I know my update schedule is scant (at best) but I WILL be finishing this story. It doesn't look like it, but I do have plans for this. Thanks to those who have stayed with me so far. As always, any and all criticism is appreciated.
Ch. 7- Ask the Lonely
“No, I know. It’s not that, it’s… you wouldn’t understand.”
Vinyl put as much distance as she could between herself and the concert hall, tears threatening to spill from behind her glasses.
“Stupid Tavi, stupid swing, stupid philatines,” She grumbled as she came as close as she could to running while still walking. “Whatadda they know, huh? Huh!?” She screamed the last word at the sky. Receiving no response, she continued on her way.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”
She reached her rundown apartment in minutes, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls vibrate.
“Vinyl!” Her landlord called from down the hall.
“Sorry, Ginger!” she shouted back. She looked for something safe to hit. She settled on her bed, but regretted it after she remembered the hard wooden box it was mounted on. Nursing a hoof, she decided the bed would be put to better use if she flopped down on it and vented into her pillow.
Her mini-tantrum didn’t last; her impulsive anger could only energize her for so long. After a mild bout of thrashing she went limp, silent but for her quiet sniffles.
“Stupid…”
-XXX-
Everypony copes with problems in their own way. Some meditate calmly and breathe deeply, others go hysterical trying to find out what they did wrong. Vinyl preferred to use flashing lights, loud music, and a whole lot of booze. The club she DJ’d for was a good place to find all of those things in one convenient package. The downside was that she had to deal with ponies who knew her well enough to pick up on her troubles.
“What’s happenin’, V?”
“Hey, Mix! Doin’ good, how ‘bout you?”
The bartender glanced down the counter, than leaned closer. “You misunderstand my question. What happened to you?”
“What makes you think something happened?” beneath her shades, Vinyl’s smile dropped just enough to be perceptible.
“You can try to hide behind those glasses, V, but I can read you like a scroll.” Vinyl clenched her jaw, and Mix noticed. “So let’s try this again; what happened?”
“Ponies, Mix. Ponies friggin’ happened.” Vinyl took a swig of her usual.
“Well that’s specific,” A customer occupying one of his stools caught Mix’s attention. “We’re not done with this,” he said before he turned away.
Vinyl glared after him, but caught herself. He was only trying to help. She should have known he would see right through her. Wasn’t it part of a bartender’s job to be a shrink? Or sorta, at least? She went back to her drink.
She must have dozed off, because an instant later Mix was shaking her awake. “Stay with me, V! You sill got a story to tell.”
“More booze first.” She nudged her glass over, and Mix obliged. After draining half, Vinyl started talking. She told him about Octavia, about finding Syncopation and learning swing, their rehearsals, and their resulting failure.
“So that’s what happened.” She finished her story and drink one after the other, and gestured for more of the latter.
Mix hesitated, digesting what she had told him. “I dunno, V. That doesn’t sound like something that would get you this down,”
“Yeah, well, it did, okay? I’m sick and tired of it.”
While surprised by her tone of voice, Mix took it in stride. “Didn’t think you were the type of pony to let anything get to you. I mean, you’ve been here for two years and haven’t gotten tired,”
Vinyl’s head hit the counter with a clunk. “It’s not that, it’s... well, you know.”
Mix wordlessly topped off her glass.
-XXX-
Stumbling the streets of the Outer District at one in the morning was good for her health, right? The cool night air, the shadowy darkness, the nice friendly ground that caught her when she fell…
“Good morning, my little pony,”
Oh, and here are the hallucinations, right on time. Hello, Princess Luna, her mind said.
“Ullo, Prnciss… Oona,” her mouth formed. “’M a lil’ bizzy righ’ now… bein’ drunk,” she giggled and hiccupped.
“So I see,”
Vinyl squinted. The princess looked oddly solid, for some reason. “You… are you a ‘llushinashun?”
Luna considered this. “No more than the rest of the world around you,” she finally answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Good… tha’s good,” Vinyl managed to slur before she fell unconscious.
The Princess of the night paused. She had seen this conversation being… less one-sided. This pony clearly wasn’t going to be able to comprehend her in their state. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down and waited. As she did, the unicorn before her began to dream.
~OOO~
Luna found herself in a small schoolyard. Suddenly, a loud, repeating clang shattered the peaceful silence, and young foals flooded out of the school doors. They laughed, they talked, they enjoyed each other’s company.
“Out of the way, freak!”
“Yeah! Out of the way!”
The shouts drew Luna’s attention to a trio of colts shoving past a small white unicorn filly. She stumbled, almost falling down the set of stone stairs that led to the street.
“Can’t see where you’re goin,’ freak? Lemme help you!” One of the colts finished the job, and the filly slipped and tumbled to the sidewalk, sustaining scrapes to her legs and face. The colts rushed on.
“See you tomorrow, stupid freak!”
Luna had to restrain herself from helping the little unicorn; she couldn’t interfere just yet, not even as the child began to softly sob, not even attempting to pick herself up from the ground.
Luna felt a rush of acceleration as the landscape morphed into a dimly lit house. A pale purple mare with a striking light blue mane lay in a simple bed, waiting for something. To Luna’s right, a wooden door opened, admitting a slightly older version of the white foal she had just seen. In her magic, she held a steaming bowl of soup and a tall glass of water.
“Thank you, dearie,” the mare whispered hoarsely. “I know this probably isn’t—“
“Mom, please,” the unicorn waved her off. “You took care of me for sixteen years; let me do the same for you.”
The mare in the bed smiled weakly. “At least… you won’t have to for much longer…”
The dream changed again, and Luna saw the unicorn, now with a large pair of shades, walking down the hall of a high school. Turning a corner, another student crashed into her head first, knocking the glasses to the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you—“ the student stopped when she noticed the white mare’s eyes. “Wha… wha,” she stammered.
The unicorn scrambled to put her lenses back on, but the damage had been done.
“Get away, you freak!”
Luna did not have time to brace herself; she fell into darkness, overwhelmed by words.
“Freak!”
“Useless!”
“Stupid!”
“Weirdo!’
“Can’t you do anything right?”
~OOO~
Luna gasped as her mind was expunged form the dream. She looked down at the pony writhing and whimpering on the ground. With a sympathetic frown, she lowered her horn to the pony’s head, and she fell still.
“Sleep well, my little pony,” she murmured. “You deserve it.”
Author's Note
I know, long wait and short chapter. I apologize, I've just been having trouble with the editing. Originally, this chapter wasnt supposed to exist, and I debated with myself on where to end it... Thanks to those who have stuck around. I love reading your comments, and as always, tell me if you see something that needs improving!
Ch. 8 – Faithfully
Vinyl snapped her eyes open and was immediately thankful for her shades. They dulled most of the glare bearing down from on high, but enough got through to make her head throb.
She took in her surroundings even slower than usual, eventually realizing she was not at her apartment. She remembered collapsing, and some awful dreams, but no details.
She struggled to her hooves, wincing as the headache reminded her why that was a bad idea. Closing her eyes against the offensive sunlight, she started to walk forward and immediately tripped over a prone princess.
“Hm?” Luna regarded her fallen subject. “Well, it’s better than some of the ways ‘Tia wakes me up…” she muttered. “Good morning, pale, hung-over unicorn!”
Vinyl clapped her hooves over her ears and grimaced. “Not so loud,” she mumbled.
Luna grinned. Her sister may not consume so much as a single cocktail per night of “fun,” but she could sympathize with the effects of a drink too many. “Sorry. Did you sleep well?” She knew the answer, of course, but figured it was polite to ask.
“Umf,” the unicorn in question was attempting to stand for the second time that day, and it required all of her extensive concentration. “Slept. Don’t remember sleeping. Guess so.”
Nodding, Luna considered her options. She deduced that she was not going to get the answers she needed while her target was intoxicated. She could wait until the unicorn was sober, but she was much too impatient for that. The quickest way would be to just revert her mind to a sober state. That was risky, though: mind or memory alteration could have serious consequences if done improperly. Ponies had been known to wake up believing they were a different type of pony, or sometimes a different species altogether.
The other magical solution was simply to flush the alcohol from her system completely. This technique did have drawbacks: It would leave the pony completely dehydrated, and the liquid had to come out of the body somewhere.
Long story short, Vinyl spent the next few minutes vomiting for a good cause.
-XXX-
“Feel better?”
Vinyl regarded the floating water bottle as if were the source of every moment of misery she had ever experienced, and grudgingly accepted it. “No,”
“That is fair. So why did you run away?”
The bottle froze halfway to the DJ’s lips. “Uh, what?”
“Why did you run away?” Luna repeated, a little slower this time.
Deciding her thirst was more important than her answer, Vinyl took several large gulps of water before responding. “I didn’t run away!” She grumbled, but softened her tone when she realized whom she was talking to. “No offense, Princess, but why do you care?”
“One of my subjects is in need of your talents,” Luna said, unperturbed by her companion’s mannerisms.
“My talents?” Vinyl snorted unattractively. “Well, they better keep looking. I’ve got nothing to offer.”
“Everypony has something to offer,” the princess countered.
“Not me,” the DJ asserted. She took a long sip of water to emphasize her point.
Luna ruffled her feathers, but retained her composure. “And where, if I may, has that attitude gotten you in life?”
Vinyl’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds. “I… have a job,”
“That you enjoy?”
“… Yes…”
“And friends?” the princess pressed.
Vinyl exhaled a tired sigh. “What do you really want, Princess?”
“I told you: one of my other subjects is in dire need of your talents.”
The unicorn fell into a brooding silence. “Everything… I’ve done,” she said quietly. “It always backfires somehow. I lost my dad, then my mom, even the friends I thought I had…”
“Just because you walked out doesn’t mean—“
“No, not them. The… ponies I tried to make friends with in high school.” She paused to draw a shaky breath and wiped her messy face with an even messier hoof. “And I tried to fit in, I did! But no: every time I did something, something I thought was cool of funny, or… gah, I don’t even know. I just remember getting shot down. Every. Single. Time!” She punctuated the last three words with vicious hoof-stomps.
“But then, I thought I had a chance. I really liked swing, more than any other music I had ever heard! And Tavi n’ Sync… they didn’t question me, didn’t care who I was. We just… played together. Like it should have been. Like it should be.”
Luna tilted her head. Perhaps these musicians were a more perfect match than she had at first perceived. Certainly each had their issues, but with the right nudges in the right directions-
“And they killed that, too!”
The exclamation startled Luna out of her thoughts. “Pardon?”
“Those stupid philtalines ruined swing the first time we performed. That’s why I ran out. I just…” She collapsed into a heavy heap. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The princess had to pause to try and understand. “I’m sorry, do you mean ‘philistines’?”
“Izzat not what I said?”
“I suppose. More or less,” Luna resisted the urge to giggle. “So, if you don’t know what to do, why not go back to your friends?”
“I can’t. I can’t do it again. I just can’t handle the rejection, Princess!”
“Your friends will not reject you,”
“No, you still don’t get it! I’m tired of society rejecting me.”
Luna fell silent, contemplating. She hadn’t expected this level of opposition. Wasn’t everything supposed to work out? Wasn’t everypony supposed to be happy? Where had she gone wrong? ‘Oh, I wish ‘Tia could help me out here.’ But this was her sworn duty, and she would not cave so easily.
“Have you told your friends that you are albino?”
Vinyl’s head whipped around, her hooves waving frantically. “Shhhh, Princess! Not so loud!” She looked side to side before calming down, confident nopony had heard the princess’s revelation.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of,”
Vinyl mumbled something intelligible in response.
“What was that?”
“I said tell that to the rest of Canterlot. I’m not ashamed of who I am, Princess, but I tried living as an albino. It didn’t work out.” Her gaze lowered and her ears folded back. “The job I have right now only panned out because I wouldn’t be near anypony behind the turntables. It’s even in my contract to wear these glasses.”
“I… things have not changed in a thousand years, have they? Discrimination is still very much prevalent,”
“Sucks to be different,” Vinyl said hollowly.
Luna put a hoof to her chin. ‘It shouldn’t be, though. Difference is the spice of life, after all,’
-XXX-
Octavia hummed to herself as she walked down the sidewalk at a sedate pace. The tune was one of her favorites: Beethoofen’s Ninth, otherwise known as “Ode to Joy.” It was simple, but that wasn’t why she loved it so much. She could hear in her head the orchestra supporting her quiet main theme, every part balanced, rising and falling dramatically with the notes. She could practically feel the passion of the strings, singing praises to happiness and wonder. Each cycle of her four steps measured out a bar of music as she continued on towards her apartment.
As much as she hated to be a passive observer, she trusted Princess Luna to do her part. She didn’t mind relaxing, contrary to belief. In fact, she relished the freedom from responsibility. She just didn’t want ponies to think she was slacking.
She entered her room, still tapping a hoof in time. When she had a song in her head, it was hard not to move some part of her body to the beat. She supposed that contributed to her inability to swing, but what if…?
Keeping the same time and the same notes, Octavia began to experiment. She lengthened some notes and shortened others, making a new rhythm, a new feel. She smiled and began dancing to her improvised beat, one completely different from the original.
Somehow, it worked. Despite an unrestricted tempo and practically indeterminable time signature, the piece lost none of its impact: Octavia could still hear the orchestra support her, proclaiming the happiness she felt.
Her concentration was broken by an outside voice. “Octavia? Um… what are you doing?”
Octavia jumped. “Fermata! I must admit I didn’t expect you to be here.” Thoughts raced through her brain, chief among them ‘What in Celestia’s name?’ and ‘Why didn’t I shut that door?’ Fortunately, she wasn’t so far gone that her social decorum had completely vanished. “How are you? Would you like something to drink?”
“Hm? Oh, no thank you. I ah… ate before coming here. I just wanted to… touch base? I’m sorry if I interrupted something,”
“Not at all! Please come in, sit down!”
“I’m fine. Really. I … just wanted to… check up, you know?”
“Of course!” With nopony to usher into her apartment, Octavia shuffled awkwardly in front of her fellow cellist. “It’s been what, days since we last talked?”
“Weeks, Octavia.” Fermata glanced around the small living room. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” Octavia answered, a bit transparently. “What about you? What’s going on in the Symphony?”
“That’s… um, actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you mind if we take a walk?”
Octavia deliberated, weighing her options. Fermata could certainly lend her some insight as to what the rest of Canterlot was doing musically, plus she had a respect for classics and composition. It wouldn't hurt to hear her out. Could this be what Princess Luna had in mind? Her inspiration?
“Sure. Let’s go,”
-XXX-
‘I wish I could tell you something a bit more, well, light-hearted, but there it is,”
It had only taken a few blocks for Fermata to tell her story, even with the pauses and hesitation in her speech.
“Do you ever regret staying?”
“Oh, never! I don’t know what else I’d do! That’s… that’s why I came to check up on you. Because I knew it might be hard…” her sentence trailed off, and the two shared a moment of silence.
Surprisingly, it was Fermata who spoke up again. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing when I… well… the twirling and dancing? It’s not like you,”
“There are lots of thing you don’t know about me,” Octavia said with just a touch of humor.
“Octavia, please,”
The cheerless pall returned. “If you must know, I was experimenting with a new style of music,”
“New style?” Fermata murmured, but her companion heard her.
“Not even as new as you might think. Apparently it was developed years ago by a couple of stallions who were just playing around,”
“But that… that doesn’t sound right,” Fermata halted her pace as she thought. “A ‘new style’ doesn’t make any sense. I mean, of course I know that you can play different tempos, or different instruments to make certain sounds, but notes are notes. What do you mean by ‘style’?”
“It’s just… it’s a different way to play the notes. That’s the best I can describe it,”
Fermata gave her a look that suggested she had grown an extra hoof out of her forehead. “Different way? Octavia, there… there are no other ways to play notes.”
The charcoal cellist could swear she actually felt her spirits fall. Fermata wasn’t her inspiration; she couldn’t be. Luna wouldn’t send her somepony so close-minded, though it pained her to think of another musician in such a way. She shook her head and strode forward at a slightly brisker pace.
“Octavia, are you alright?”
“Yes,” Octavia sighed.
“Are you sure? Have you been getting enough sleep?”
‘Oh, yes; Vinyl and Syncopation are really into reasonable sleep schedules,’ she answered in her head, and had to repress a chuckle. “I’m fine, Fermata. Just going through a bit of a slump, I guess.”
“I think I know how you feel. The whole world’s against you, and it seems like you can’t go anywhere without running into- Oof!”
“Ow! Son of a hay bale, I was just getting over my headache,”
“I- I’m so sorry! I wasn’t…” Fermata suddenly quailed under a crimson gaze. To her credit, she made it almost thirty seconds before bolting down the street. Vinyl watched her go with a bored expression, having one of the biggest déjà vu moments in her life.
That boredom quickly morphed to fear, though, when she noticed the pony that had been walking next to her accidental assailant. She blinked once before dashing off as well, leaving Octavia and Princess Luna alone on the sidewalk.
“Hmm. Not quite what I had in mind,” the princess mused, glancing in the opposite directions her subjects had fled. “It would appear you have a choice, my little pony,”
It was a no-brainer. Octavia paused for less than a second before galloping after her friend.
Ch. 9 – Don’t Stop Believing
“You should probably take these back. They don’t really suit me.” It had taken the better part of an hour and some interesting inquiries, but Octavia had finally caught up to her prey in a surprisingly dingy alley a few blocks from Canterlot’s main drag. The alabaster unicorn only twitched her ears to show she had heard.
Octavia tilted her head, and the obnoxious glasses she had picked up before chasing her quarry fell into a waiting hoof. “Seriously, it’s no wonder you run into things: this purple tint is ridiculous!”
“It’s not like I want to wear them!” Vinyl snapped back. “Just made the best of a bad situation.”
“They look good on you,” Octavia offered. Antagonizing remarks would do her no favors here, so she slipped into a standard Canterlot Compliment Conversation tactic. Usually the other party responded with some social grace, even if they saw through the flattery.
Vinyl was anything but socially graceful, and the noise she made proved as much. “At least I got that goin’ for me.”
Octavia sat down next to the DJ, who promptly turned her head away, hiding her eyes. “Vinyl,” she started, but there was nothing to say. All those years in the ranks of the Canterlot elites of socializing, conversing, sucking up, and watching others suck up could not have prepared her for this: a civilized conversation with an ailing friend. It was a haunting realization; she had never been close enough to another pony to warrant this kind of communication. What had she become?
In lieu of speaking, she examined the alley further. Most of the buildings were in decent shape, with only sparse examples of graffiti decorating the washed-out brick walls. The small house nestled between two larger complexes Vinyl had chosen as a stopping point, though, was a different story. The door was boarded up, and the lock was rusty. Rotting window boxes held remnants of what looked like plants, but given the color, Octavia couldn’t be sure.
It was just like the old concert hall, she thought. It was run-down now, but with a little imagination it came to life: birds perched on the low roof to call out to their friends or mates. A tiny foal rushed out the door on her way to school, and an aging mare dutifully watered her flowers.
"My mom's old place," the unicorn's unprompted explanation startled Octavia. "She was the only one I could... She..." Octavia noticed her deep breath and the small sniffle that followed: her friend was crying.
Octavia didn't know what to do. Some part of her suggested laying a foreleg around her, but would Vinyl appreciate the contact? She had to do something in the way of consolation.
"They're beautiful," she heard herself saying. "I've never seen that kind of color before,"
"That's 'cause I'm a freak."
Octavia remained quiet momentarily to let the sentence have its full effect. "Do you really believe that?"
More sniffles answered her. "Doesn't matter what I believe,"
"Of course it does! Why would you say that?"
“Because that's what I’m up against, Tavi!” Vinyl spun, her scarlet irises blazing. “A whole city that doesn’t give a rat’s rear end what I think! Hay, a whole stupid country, even! They hate me because I was born!” Her tears were freely falling onto the pavement now. “I’m a mutant. A freak.”
“I think you’re wonderful,” Octavia said, and then lost control of her jaw muscles. Had that really just come out of her mouth?
Vinyl hardly noticed. “Oh, sure; everything’s ‘wonderful’ in Tavi-land! Lets all live happy and normal lives there and never worry about anything!”
Octavia huffed. “I know you’re upset, so I’ll let that one slide. I’ll admit you’ve had more than your fair share of hardship, but I’m not so naive as to think everything will just work out for the best. I’m trying to help you, not find reasons I should leave you.”
Her companion was clearly still fuming, but she bit her tongue. At least she had some modicum of sense left. Octavia glared at her to make sure that modicum remained.
Vinyl turned away after a few seconds, not quite admitting defeat. “So why’d you stay?”
Octavia blinked once to clear her confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m a-”
“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘freak’ or ‘mutant’, I swear I will hit you.”
The unicorn shut herself up with an angry clack. “It might not’ve been,” she mumbled.
Relieved, Octavia pressed her advantage. “Come on. I know what will make you feel better,”
“Ice cream and alcohol?”
“Nope. Even better.”
“Ice cream flavored alcohol?!”
“Wha-? No!” The cellist had to close her eyes to retain her composure. “No. Just get your glasses and get up. We have a song to write.”
-XXX-
“Look, just use a heavy beat here to transition to the faster tempo and change the feel,”
“Are heavy beats your solution for everything?”
“Hey, I work with heavy beats for a living, filly. I think I know what I’m doing,”
"This is not a 'heavy beat' song!"
Vinyl recoiled as if struck. “Not a… You take that back!” Octavia had to flinch back from the sudden hoof in her face. “Take it back, you… you beat de-flier!” The spirited spinner screeched.
“I think you mean-”
“Take it!”
“Vinyl-”
“Take. It. Back!”
Octavia's deadpan expression faced off against Vinyl's half-hidden one. It would have been a good topic for a painting, really: two opposite forces clashing spectacularly in an explosion of mixed sounds and rhythms. An epic battle of classic composition versus modern music, of good versus evil, light versus dark.
That is, until Vinyl cracked. “Bahaha! You should totally see yourself, Tavi! You’re taking this so seriously!”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Music is serious,”
Vinyl vigorously shook her head. “No, it’s not! You still don’t get it!” Her words were punctuated by residual giggles. “That’s what swing’s all about: not taking things seriously! You gotta let go, Tavi,”
“I am perfectly capable of ‘letting go,’ Vinyl.”
“Then show me!” Vinyl prodded her friend’s shoulder. “All I’m saying is give beats a chance!”
“... You’re joking, right?”
The DJ offered a shrug. “Well, not on the beat part.”
‘Deep breaths ’ The cellist chanted under her breath. ‘Deep breaths. You can do this, ’ “Vinyl, I just don’t think that type of foundation follows the overall feel of the song,”
“Okay, fine. What’s the feel, then?”
“Well, night, of course.” Even as Octavia spoke, she realized how much sense she wasn’t making. “I mean… the feeling of night,”
Vinyl bobbed her head rhythmically. “Alright, alright. So… dark?”
"Don't patronize me!"
“Hey, you’re not exactly being descriptive here!”
Octavia groaned and sat down. "I know, I just... Well, I guess I don't know, after all."
Vinyl's face moved closer to hers, the insectoid lenses unnerving Octavia more than her natural eyes. "I bet I know somepony who could help," she suggested.
Octavia fought to keep her expression neutral. "Go on,"
"Sync!"
Of all the reactions Vinyl was expecting, a pained sigh was not one of them. "Vinyl, we don't even know where he is, let alone what he could do to help!"
"C'mon, Tavi, he's the king of swing! He's gotta have a pretty good idea of how the music should feel. Better than your description, anyway."
Octavia frowned at the jab but knew the unicorn was right. She could hear what she wanted her piece to sound like, but that oh-so-important feeling was missing. "Fine," she relented. "I suppose you magically know where to find him, as well?"
"I've got a few ideas, yeah!" Her companion smirked.
-XXX-
It was obvious really: Syncopation had gone home. Or rather, what felt most like home to him. Having a roof was much more preferable than sleeping in an alleyway.
Vinyl exhibited her characteristic decorum as she entered the old concert hall. "Yo, Sync! You here?" She shouted.
"Vinyl!" Octavia swatted the unicorn.
"What? I'm asking a question!"
"You could at least try to be polite about it!" The cellist chastised.
"What wasn't polite about that?"
"Do you have to shout every time you enter a building?"
"Better than knocking; it's louder!"
"Ladies, please," a third voice interrupted them. "It's no use fighting; I'm too old for either of you." The duo turned to see Syncopation rubbing his eyes.
“Sorry for waking you up, Syncopation-” Octavia began.
“But we need some awesome old guy wisdom ‘cause Tavi doesn’t know how to write a song!”
Octavia had to literally bite her tongue to stop herself from making an impulsive retort. No, lashing out wouldn’t do anypony any good. “What she means is that we’re having trouble tying the composition together with a cohesive feel,” she explained.
Syncopation turned a large yawn into a sigh. “I guess you better come in, then,” He led the pair down the hall’s central aisle to the stage. “I don’t need to educate you on the behavior of chord progressions, I assume? You’re having trouble incorporating the swing beat, aren’t you?”
“No, I know the majors and minors and augments and diminished and all. I… I don’t think I know what I want the song to… sound like? It’s difficult to explain; ambiguous.”
Syncopation hopped on the piano bench and tapped a few random keys. “You don’t know what you want the song to say.”
“Er… yes, I suppose that makes sense. Can you help us?” Octavia found her hope returning rapidly. She looked at Syncopation with wide, pleading eyes, though she couldn’t imagine him refusing to give help to a friend.
“No.”
And there it went. Octavia deflated, while Vinyl opened her mouth before the old stallion continued.
“I can’t tell you how to make the song feel: that’s your choice. I can point you in a direction. No promises it’ll lead you anywhere, of course.”
“I’ll try anything at this point,”
“I told you heavy beats would-” Vinyl started, but physically retreated from the fiery scowl she caught from her companion. “Or... not. Just a suggestion.”
Syncopation waited for Octavia’s eyes to settle before he spoke again. “The question you gotta ask yourself is: ‘What do you wanna think about when you hear the song?’”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, come on: you know how to put feeling in written music. You just have to pick something, like happiness or pride or anything else. What emotions and thoughts do you want to convey?” The keys Syncopation tapped became less random, fleshing out a melody Octavia knew well.
“Ode to Joy,” she breathed.
“Now why do you think Beethoofen called it that?” When he received no verbal response, he continued. “Music is feeling. Its purpose is to create emotion. So, what emotions do you want associated with your piece?”
“Awesomeness,” Vinyl answered automatically. The others stared at her. “What? That’s a thing!”
Octavia nodded, now lost in thought. What emotions should she associate with night or dreams? In a trance, she felt her hooves carry her back down the aisle and into the brisk air outside, Ode to Joy still playing through her head. The sun had just set, and silvery light mixed with purple shadows dominated her vision. Though Octavia had never been one for the “night life,” she had to admit the moon was just as inspiring as the sun.
The soft clopping of hooves brought her back from her reverie as Vinyl caught up with her. “You okay? You kinda… looked weird,”
“Yes, Vinyl, I am perfectly fine. Just thinking about what Syncopation said.”
“You mean what I told you but you didn’t listen to?”
“What you tried to tell me,” Octavia corrected. “It’s no fault of mine your words fell short.”
Vinyl shoved her in retaliation. “Whatever. Whaddaya got so far?”
“Well… I’m not sure. I can’t seem to pin down a single emotion for ‘night.’ I don’t know what to associate with it; I’m usually asleep by the time the moon fully rises.”
Her companion chuckled. “You’re such a lightweight, Tavi,”
“I also get up before noon,” Octavia retorted.
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t think I’m missing much. But as for what to feel about night, I think I can help you there.” She suddenly stopped, sat, and raised her glasses to her forehead.
“The night… it’s mysterious, with hidden power and misunderstood beauty. It’s majestic, calming, comforting. I look at the night sky and I see patterns and lights that aren’t possible for the day. It’s a freedom, a release. The night doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t expect anything from you. I… I can be myself at night.” She glanced to her fellow musician to gauge her response and laughed again. “Careful, Tavi: if your jaw drops any lower you’ll be tasting concrete!”
Octavia recomposed herself with all the grace she could muster. “That was… beautiful, Vinyl. I-”
“Never knew I was a deep, complicated pony with deep, complicated feelings?”
“Didn’t know you could string words with more than two syllables together to describe those feelings, certainly,” she finished. “In any case, your ideas are simply wondrous: majesty, power… now we just have to choose one that fits. Any ideas on that?”
“What, you want more from me? Sorry, Tavi, but my deepness limit has been reached for today.”
Octavia would have to invest in some aspirin in the future if she kept smacking her face like this. “Pick your favorite, then,”
“Umm… What all are my options?”
Or maybe she could use that aspirin now. “Do you even remember what you just said?”
“I’m messing with you, Tavi!” The unicorn snickered. “Give me some credit?”
Octavia massaged her aching head. “As soon as you show me you deserve it,”
“I got the night thing, right?”
“Yes, and that was worthy of respect, but in order to earn credit-” Octavia was silenced by a hoof on her shoulder.
“Tavi, Tavi, Tavi,” Vinyl shook her head as if she knew something the cellist didn’t. “I stopped caring at least thirty seconds ago.” She paused briefly, considering her statement. “Well, not about the music though. Let’s get to it!” Her energy was back in a heartbeat as she rushed off into the freshly fallen darkness.
“Wait! You never said what feeling you had in mind!”
“All of them!” Vinyl cackled and kept running.
Author's Note
Yay. Finally got something done here. Only a few more chapters 'till the end; hopefully I can get it done by the end of the year, but I make no promises. I'll try to do better. Next chapter's already in the works.
Ch. 10 – Who’s Crying Now?
Octavia didn’t bother to keep up with her hyperactive companion. She found Vinyl outside her apartment building, sitting down and breathing heavily. “Have a nice jog?” she teased.
The huge purple glasses turned towards her. “Shut up and open up. We’ve got work to do.”
“As you command,” Octavia exaggerated a bow before retrieving her key. “Though you could try being more patient. Things will seem to happen faster if you don’t expect them to happen as fast.”
“Uh, you know that didn’t make any sense at all, right?” Vinyl replied as she trotted ahead to the elevator and mashed the button with a hoof.
Octavia sighed dramatically. “I suppose it was too much to hope that there was some iota of sense left in you from earlier.”
“Yup!”
Octavia took two aspirin when they finally entered her apartment.
-XXX-
With a better understanding of the purpose behind their song, composing went a lot smoother for the two musicians. Vinyl proved to be quite adept at designing transitions that didn’t look great on the score but worked out when they were played. Somehow. Octavia was simply grateful that not all of them required blowing out the listener’s ear drums.
They had decided, appropriately, to incorporate a sense of freedom as the basis of the song. It adequately captured the sense of dreaming, nighttime, and swing all in one. Starting with the pre-written introduction, the piece moved into powerful resonant chords dotted with staccato piano notes. This was the background for the “dreamscape.”
“Now we use a heavy beat here, right?”
“No.”
“What about here?”
“No, Vinyl.”
“Well we’re gonna have to pick it up at some point, Tavi! If I’m flying in a dream I wanna be going fast!”
“Yes, I quite agree,” Octavia said, surprising herself. She regarded her hoofwritten notes. “Hmm… I think I have an idea. How about this…?” Her modernistic counterpart gave her scribbles a once-over. It was a bold statement; Octavia didn't know if they could even pull it off.
“Oh, yeah, that could work.”
-XXX-
“Vinyl… Vinyl Scratch!” For the second time, Octavia found herself attempting to rouse a certain unicorn from her couch. “Ugh, you didn’t even have anything to drink last night!” She kicked the stubborn piece of furniture for good measure. The passed-out prone pony remained so.
“Very well. I suppose shall have to go and get breakfast at the cafe on my own,”
A rush of air and a thumping of hooves was all the warning Octavia got before she was knocked back rather forcefully by the unicorn now bouncing in her doorway.
“I heard food. Did you say food? Are we gonna get food?”
“You do know what manners are, correct?” Octavia grumbled from her position on her floor.
“Boring,” Vinyl answered confidently.
Sighing, Octavia slowly stood. “You will get food if you behave.”
Her companion’s expression wilted just slightly. “Okay,” She walked out the door with her back straight and her nose slightly raised. “Like this?” she said in a crude imitation of Octavia’s own voice.
The original preemptively took two more aspirin.
-XXX-
Vinyl chatted about nothing the entire way to Latte’s cafe, and Octavia faked her interest. If Vinyl wanted to play posh pony, she would go along with it, if only to see how long it would take her to get bored.
She kept it up, though, at least until the pair reached their destination. Cream and Sugar were enjoying the sunshine outside, playing some sort of board game. Vinyl hesitated, so Octavia took the lead.
“Hello, Miss Octavia,” the two greeted in unison.
“Good morning Cream, Sugar. I don’t believe you’ve met my friend. This is Vinyl.”
"Hello, Miss Vinyl," the children chorused.
"Miss Vinyl" took a few steps back, and hid behind the first thing she could find, which happened to be Octavia.
"They're not ninjas. Or spiders." The cellist said under her breath.
"No, even worse: I think they might be robots!" Vinyl whispered back.
Octavia rolled her eyes and entered the store proper, not bothering to respond verbally, no matter how appropriate the comparison was. Vinyl followed cautiously, keeping an eye trained on the twins.
“Octavia!” Latte brightened at the sight of her friend. “How are you? I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“I’m well, Latte; thank you. I’ve been busy lately,” Octavia was briefly interrupted by her companion smacking into her rump. The impact was thankfully enough to divert Vinyl’s attention away from the cyborgs watching her. “As it turns out, being fired is a full-time job.”
Latte tittered. “Is this your DJ friend?”
"Yes, this is Vinyl Scratch. Vinyl, this is Latte. She owns the cafe."
“Oh, hi. Are you aware that there are robots outside your cafe?” The DJ gestured toward the window.
“Er, what?”
“Vinyl,” Octavia said sharply.
“Hm?”
"Do you remember what we talked about before?"
Vinyl immediately did her best to put on airs, which essentially meant standing straighter and using a fake accent. “Indeed,” she said in her best snob voice.
"Good. You can pick out what you want." As her companion perused her options, Octavia turned back to the barista. “I apologize. She’s… eccentric.”
Latte watched Vinyl with a curious expression. “It’s alright. What was she saying about robots?”
“You don’t want to know,” came the quick reassurance. Rule number 231 of polite conversation, Octavia remembered: never insult the other party’s foals, not even if they deserved it.
Rule number one, of course, was to never say anything meaningful.
“So how has business been, Latte?” The conversation smoothly continued with a predictable, simple example of high-class small talk.
“Good, actually. I’ve been seeing new faces everyday, which means word is getting around about this place.”
“Hey Tavi!” Vinyl interjected. “What’s a…” she attempted to sound out the name of the pastry. “Coo-gin a-man?”
Octavia sighed. “Do you want to take this one?” she directed at her friend.
“Gladly!” Latte replied. “That’s one of our newer items, pronounced ‘queen amahn,’ though I know it’s spelled funny. It’s essentially a layered butter cake with caramelized sugar baked into it. If you liked those Cloudsdale croissants, Octavia, you’ll love this. It’s light and sweet with some crunch to it.” A businessmare through-and-through, Latte knew just what to say to sell her product.
“That does sound delightful. One with my coffee, please? What about you, Vinyl?”
“Um… that one!” She pointed to a cinnamon roll, piled high with icing.
“Very well. Any coffee?” Octavia prompted.
“Do I look like the type of mare that needs coffee?”
Octavia repressed a frightened shudder. “No,” she said, almost thankfully. Vinyl hyped up on any drug was a creature not fit for even the imagination. Unfortunately, the follow-up question still managed to chill Octavia’s blood.
“Got any energy drinks?”
-XXX-
"How did you eat that?"
The pair was walking to the concert hall after their breakfast. Latte didn't stock any brand of energy drink, so Vinyl had opted for a soda.
"Um... With my mouth?"
Octavia scowled, but otherwise did not let the response affect her. "No, I mean how can your body possibly ingest, let alone process, that much sugar?"
“Same way I process alcohol, I guess: tolerance!”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Octavia deadpanned.
“How do you know?” Vinyl shot back. “You’ve never had a tolerance for anything!”
Before she had time to think about it, a jab escaped the earth pony’s mouth: “Except annoying unicorns, apparently,”
The pair froze, and Octavia whipped a hoof up to her muzzle. Rule number four: do not insult your conversation partner! She knew better than to say something like that!
Vinyl, of course, had no knowledge of rule number four, and therefore could not quite understand Octavia’s mortification. Petty insults were a staple of her interactions, after all. Her sudden laughter was a surprise to her companion.
Octavia frowned, searching for an explanation. By all rights, Vinyl should be furious with her. Then again, she supposed, Vinyl was by no rights a pony of high class.
“Tavi,” she said, still gasping for breath. “Did… did you just use a comeback? Oh, I didn’t think you had it in you!” She broke into a fresh round of giggles.
“I… fail to see how this is so funny,” This only prompted more laughter.
“But that’s… that’s why it’s so funny! You’re so serious, you don’t even know when you’ve made a joke!”
And then Octavia understood: it wasn’t a new style of music she was looking for, but a new way of thinking. Canterlot had been trapped by its own rules and customs for so long that it had forgotten that there were other cultures in Equestria. Cultures like Vinyl’s nightlife, which incorporated freedom and honesty as opposed to rigidity and flattery. Were there even others she didn’t know about? This would need to be studied, observed...
‘No, ’ she caught herself. ‘No more redundant rules and regulations. I’m on a path to freedom now. Mine and the city’s. ’
She felt better just thinking about it.
-XXX-
“But actually, it’s not so much the criticism from bar patrons I’m worried about,” Octavia was saying as the duo returned to their impromptu base of operations at their adopted concert hall. “I would much rather catch the eye of the-”
“Princess,” Vinyl interjected.
“Well, them too, I suppose, but what I was going to say was the-”
“Princess,” Vinyl repeated.
“You know, it is rather rude of you to keep interrup- Oh! Princess Luna!” Octavia sunk into a practiced bow. “What are you doing here? If you don’t mind me asking, that is?”
Luna did not answer her; her eyes were trained on the concert hall.
“It’s a shame,” she said softly. “To see such a building reduced to naught but a shadow of its former glory.”
‘She can see it, too .’ Octavia thought to herself. ‘She can see what it once was. ’
Her thoughts were cut off by a shouted exclamation. "Hey! Maybe you can help us rebuild it!" Vinyl said.
Luna replied with a sad smile. "I'm afraid not, my dear under-appreciated unicorn. What purpose would that serve?"
"To show those phinlatines who's boss!" To be honest, Octavia was more impressed by how her friend managed to pronounce that word differently every time she used it than anything else.
"But they still wouldn't support you," Luna reasoned back. "It would be an empty victory."
Vinyl mumbled something about where she would shove an empty victory if she could, but backed down for the moment. She was getting calmer, Octavia thought. Maturing.
"As for your question, Miss Melody, I am here checking up on your progress. How goes the songwriting?"
Octavia started, but answered quickly. "Very well, your highness. We're almost finished with the piece."
"Excellent!" The princess of the night crowed. "You will have no qualms, then, about performing it tomorrow for a small dinner I'm hosting in the castle?"
Numbly, dumbly, slowly, Octavia forced herself to nod. There was no way to refuse a princess, but she had no idea how Syncopation was going to take this at once exciting and terrible news. He did have a part to play, after all.
Vinyl, on the other hoof, jumped up and down with eagerness. "Aw yeah, we are so ready to stick it to those snooty snobs! Right, Tavi? Uh... Tavi?"
“We… we’ll have to notify our third member…” Octavia said slowly, still in a state of mild shock. “Practice… revise…”
“Have no fear, charming little charcoal cellist! I have already informed your third party of my intent, and he assured me there was no way you would not be ready!”
Somehow, this did nothing to calm Octavia’s nerves.
-XXX-
Twenty-four hours later, Octavia was officially on the verge of a panic attack.
"No, that's not quite right... We need to... Move this part here, and..." She frantically scratched at the parchment, perfecting the music that would make or break her career. "...There! Oh, who am I kidding: this is all going to go wrong,"
"Octavia," Syncopation yawned. "You need to calm down, or it will all go wrong. You've been working on this for two days straight; it'll be fine."
"But what if it's not?" Octavia's voice was steadily rising.
“Then what do you expect to lose, hmm?”
“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Octavia moaned. “I don’t want to think about it like that.”
“That’s what it’s come to, unfortunately. Why deny it?”
The next words were just above a whisper: “Nothing to lose means you have nothing to give. I refuse to believe that I have absolutely nothing left.”
Syncopation looked as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. “That’s… you’re right, Octavia. Even so, we can’t back out just because we’re afraid of what we might lose.”
Octavia reluctantly nodded. “You make it sound like music is a lost lover you’re rediscovering,” she observed.
“Isn’t it?”
Vinyl could stopper her emotion no longer. “I love you guys!” she sobbed, pulling both of her best friends into a hasty, yet heartfelt hug.
“We love you too, Vinyl,” Octavia reassured the distraught unicorn. “We love you too.”
-XXX-
After a walk to the castle that felt much longer than it was, the trio found their way to the correct dinner room with the aid of a few professionally indifferent guards. Vinyl huddled close to Octavia as they were escorted.
“What now, Vinyl?” the cellist whispered. “More robots?”
“Of course not, silly; they don’t let robots join the guard,”
“Well, at least you’re-”
“Just be careful. They’ve been merged with the hive mind.”
“... Are you actually a conspiracy theorist, or just crazy?” That was a reasonable inquiry, right?
“No way! I’ve seen ponies that were conspiracy theorists! Poor souls have been completely brainwashed, left to spread rumors and false information about their own fellow ponies. Can you believe it?”
“More and more each day,” Octavia muttered. She heard Syncopation sniggering softly behind her.
“‘Sides, the C.T. are out to get me because they know I know the truth!”
Octavia hung her head in defeat.
The guards halted in front of a modestly carved wooden door with a sharp click. “Lunar Dining Hall,” one of them announced as the other swung the door open.
The Hall had been recently renovated to reflect better its name. Deep blue and purple banners hung at regular intervals, softening the already muted light. The tables were darkened wood, with shining silver plates and utensils. The contrast was very appealing.
Most impressive and beautiful, though, was the ceiling. The supporting arches disappeared into darkness, and twinkling motes of light resembled stars in the seemingly infinite background. They shifted slightly together, as if in a mild breeze.
The sight was calm and serene, and did wonders for Octavia’s frayed nerves. She and her crew slowly made their way to the stage at the far end of the hall. There was a piano and music stands already set up for their performance.
“Come on, then,” she said to her compatriots. “Let’s make this night perfect.”
Syncopation exhaled and shook his head. "You’re still not getting it, Octavia: it doesn't have to be perfect; that's the point. If you believe in your music, and you put the feeling in that I know you can, they will feel it too.” He set down his trumpet case and popped the latches. “You just have to give them a show they’re willing to see.”
Octavia set herself up to Syncopation’s right, just in front of the piano Vinyl was currently appraising. “Thank you. I… I needed that,”
“Salutations, musicians!” The group turned towards their exuberant hostess as she cantered up to their stage. “I trust you are ready for tonight’s festivities?”
“As ever, Princess Luna,” Syncopation replied, inclining his head into a bow. “Do we have an itinerary?”
The princess turned to business in an instant. “For the dinner, you need only to provide ambiance. I shall of course allow you to take a break for refreshments. When dessert is served, I shall draw the party’s attention to you, and you will begin your prepared performance. Is this to your liking?”
Two of the three nodded assent. Vinyl grumbled something incoherent, but quailed under Octavia’s harsh glare.
“Excellent!” Luna continued as if she had not noticed Vinyl’s discomfort. “Please enjoy yourselves, then; I can not wait to hear what you have come up with!” With a wink, she turned and sauntered off.
“Hey, Tavi?”
“What is it, Vinyl?”
“What’s ‘ambiance’?”
-XXX-
The night progressed as smoothly as it could. Octavia wasn’t fooled, though; the last two major social events she had played at had started this way, and ended with her flat on her stomach, wondering where the night had gone wrong. Hopefully she could at least stay upright this time.
She used the background playing time to scope out her audience. She identified figures such as Fancy Pants and Night Light right away; they were both prominent members of the Canterlot Advisory Council. Surprisingly, she didn’t see ponies like Upper Crust or Jet Set. Princess Luna had either been very smart or very stupid to avoid inviting much of Canterlot’s unicorn elite.
Speaking of which, she didn’t see very many unicorns at all. Canterlot’s population in the last census was nearly 60 percent unicorns. The crowd she saw in the dining hall was less than half that. The distribution looked to be about even between the three tribes. Most of the guests weren’t even wearing clothes, as was the unicorn custom in Canterlot. Why would Luna host a party in the castle where clothes were optional? This was not the social norm…
Although, to be fair, neither were they. This entire dinner seemed to defy everything Canterlot thought a gathering should consist of. Maybe that was the point: it was a perfect setting to introduce new thought to a group of open-minded ponies. This might become interesting, Octavia concluded.
A tinny ringing distracted her; Luna was tapping her fork on her glass. This was it, then: the dessert course. “Attention, everypony!” the navy Princess called. “Your attention, please!”
Octavia was impressed by how fast the chatter ceased. Normally partygoers had more important things than the hostess on their minds. Pushing the thought from her brain, she focused on Princess Luna’s announcement.
“I wish to thank you all for joining me on this loveliest of evenings,” she started. “It means a great deal to see such support for the newly refurbished Lunar Dining Hall! I hope to host many more events within these walls in the future, but for now, I’d like to bring your attention to the stage, where a trio of capable musicians stands ready to entertain you!"
The horde of heads turned in their direction, and Octavia’s apprehension flooded back.
“Lately, though, most concerts have lost that sense of feeling, of wonder. Ponies think that if something has worked for them in the past, it will continue to work for them. I have recently found that this philosophy is wrong.
“So tonight, I would like to bring back that feeling, and instill once more into my audience an appreciation for what music truly is. The pieces we have prepared are of a different sort than what you are probably used to, and certainly different than what I am used to. I invite you all to cast aside your assumptions and preconceptions, and enjoy this entirely new style, which we like to call: ‘swing.’”
Her speech was met with polite applause, which Octavia took as a good sign. She carefully set her bow in her case and prepped her cello for the first song they had rehearsed. Taking a glance at her companions, she counted off: “A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three...”
Plucked strings formed the base of the number; low, short notes arranged into a haphazard beat. Vinyl joined her next, the high piano notes contrasting beautifully. Syncopation jumped in when he felt it was right, smoothly inserting his improvised part into the established melody. He ran up and down his scales in spotty eighth notes held together by a slur or two.
As they played, Octavia noticed that the crowd they were performing for had become deathly quiet; not even the clink of silverware interrupted the music. That was either very good or very bad. She desperately hoped it was the former.
When she plucked her last string, though, the audience retained their silence. She heard maybe one or two clear their throats before she decided to continue. She hadn’t had to duck any projectiles, so they were already doing better than their last gig.
Their next piece was more upbeat: Octavia found it more of a challenge to keep up with the short, quick notes her companions were able to produce. She didn’t have her bow to aid her, after all. She kept her part simple, with strategic rests followed by tasteful support. Syncopation opted show off his technical side with complicated runs and rapid transitions, Vinyl surprisingly right behind him. They traded the solo part between them effortlessly; it seemed they knew how many bars each was going to take for their “turn.”
None of their parts were explicitly written.
They ended on what Syncopation called a "jazz chord," which to Octavia meant: "these three notes are close enough to a relative minor that no one will complain, but you can definitely hear the difference." Vinyl thought it was the coolest thing ever.
Still the audience held their applause, and Octavia began to grow worried. Were they doing something wrong? Did they not like it? Should she continue? Could she continue?
Talking would get her mind off of it, right? Besides, their flagship composition deserved some sort of introduction. She shifted uncomfortably and worked up her courage to address those present: “Before we perform our last piece, I want to put it in some form of context.
“When I left the Symphony, I was working on a new cello solo I had hoped to present and perform someday. My aim was to reestablish some of the culture I thought had been missing from our recent performances; I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about.
“Anyway, my director gave me two leads to help me with my little crusade, and I ended up following them to a ‘techno’ disc jockey and a homeless old bum.” She finally got a reaction in the form of sparse chuckles. “Yes, I was dubious as well. And yet, they stayed by me, helping even when I didn’t want it, and they are the musicians you see before you.
“Together we completed my work, and we’d like to perform the result for you. This is: ‘Luna’s Dreamscape,’ and we hope you enjoy.”
The first part was low, calm, and sonorous. Octavia thought about a sinking sunset giving way to the evening's first stars as a reference for what she wanted to portray. She translated that image to her music, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.
The music notes dropped into a lower register as her mental sun disappeared below the horizon. The last vestiges of color faded along with her last deep note.
Vinyl struck up an incessant plinking rhythm as a transition, and Octavia saw her night sky awaken: stars and constellations popped into existence on an ebony canvas; Syncopation's trumpet set the moon on its nightly path.
Octavia's solo had been sketched as a series of chords and ideas. She imagined a spread of dusty galaxies swirling with color moving, interacting, even colliding. She poured the sensations of wonder and freedom into her style, using dramatic changes in pitch connected by short, quick runs.
She did not open her eyes, did not even acknowledge that there were others in the room. There was only her music, and it filled her entire being, her existence. In a way, she became the music, and thought that this must have been what Syncopation had been trying to show her all along.
And then it all broke down: Octavia set her bow down and reverted back to her plucking technique. The other two played random sporadic notes whose only relationship was that they were in the same key. No pony was following anypony else, and the three kept a loose beat between them as a sense of time. The dreamlike flight turned to a hazy, incomprehensible confusion.
Syncopation started an upward run, the signal to move to the last part of the song. As he reached the crux, Vinyl and Octavia caught up with him, sounding triumphant major chords in a bell tone style. Octavia’s cello defined the downbeats, while the trumpet and piano filled in between.
Finally Octavia strummed her last note with her accomplices, and the chord rang through the acoustically designed dining hall. Their audience sat in what she perceived to be shocked silence, before enthusiastic clicking and clopping came from the head of the table: Luna was leaning against the wood, clapping her hooves for all she was worth.
“Splendid! Uncanny! Wondrous!” Her voice sounded both impossibly loud and quietly muted in the emptiness of the rest of the room.
“Thank you, Princess,” Octavia croaked. She was still waiting on the public’s reaction.
“Fillies and Gentlecolts, Miss Melody and her Marvelous Musicians!” Luna proclaimed, still clapping. She got a few to clop slowly along with her. The others were sporting either slack jaws or wide eyes. Both, in several cases. Octavia didn’t know what to make of it.
Eventually, small talk and chatter returned as the guests went back to their dessert. One or two glanced back at the stage, but that was it.
Syncopation was the first to comment: “I’ll be honest here, that was the most ambiguous reaction I’ve ever gotten in all my years of playing. I’m not sure what to think,”
“Nor I,” Octavia agreed as she began to pack up. Now that the music had ended, she felt hollow. She nestled her cello in its case in a trance, unaware of their vivacious visitor until she was almost upon them.
“Commendations on performing so admirably!” Princess Luna’s voice was a thunderclap to Octavia’s unprepared ears. “And thank you. Really. That was, without doubt, the best artistic representation of the night I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing! I am glad to have it dedicated to what I love.”
“Your words give us more credit than earned, Princess. I'm sure that-"
"Ever,"
"We-"
"EVER," the princess insisted. "I'll not have you belittling your own work, especially not something as magnificent as what you've created, Miss Melody."
"I-" something in the back of Octavia's mind reminded her that she was arguing with an extremely powerful, immortal being, and she decided to leave it be. "Thank you, Princess. For everything."
"Nay, 'twas my pleasure! Now if you'll excuse me, there are some ponies with whom I desperately need to converse."
The trio bowed their heads in farewell before returning to their instruments. Octavia shouldered her case, while Syncopation tucked his under a wing. “Any ideas?” The old pegasus asked, to which Octavia solemnly shook her head.
Ch. 11 - Wheel in the Sky
The musicians had almost made it to the door when they were stopped by a voice: “Octavia! Syncopation!”
“I never told anypony here my- Coda!” Syncopation interrupted himself as he saw his old friend trotting toward them. “I didn’t know you were invited to this!” Suddenly his expression darkened. “Wait… what do you want?”
“To apologize, first of all. All those years ago… I should have at least stood up for you, and I was too much of a coward to do so. For that, I’m sorry. I… I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through…”
“Save it,” Syncopation said curtly. “I don’t accept pity.”
Coda lowered his head and nodded. “So… swing, eh? To see it resurrected like this… It’s a dream come true, isn’t it?”
“My dream come true,” the pegasus corrected harshly, forcing Coda to retreat. "And not even that: I can't tell what anypony thought of it,"
"I can offer some insight. Actually, it's what I came over here to discuss.” Coda shifted nervously as he tried to find appropriate words. “As soon as you stopped playing, everypony here was trying to digest what they had just heard. Now, I can't speak for the entire group, but most of them seemed to enjoy what you've done here. I think a few of them want to tell you so, too, but I had to get to you first." He turned to his once-prized cellist. "Octavia, I told you that the next time I saw you would be to beg for arrangements of your work, and I wasn't lying. I know what you must think of me, especially since I’m sure Syncopation told you his side of the story, but I have to try: would it be possible to get a symphony arrangement of 'Luna's Dreamscape?'"
Octavia had not forgotten about Coda, but knowing what she knew now, she couldn't help but laugh. "Coda, the Royal Symphony couldn't play it if they tried!"
"Come, now, there's no reason to insult your fellow musicians. What about a copy of the three parts you used tonight? Perhaps we can-"
"I can't give you those parts, Coda."
"It's not about any hate, Coda. Not that I hate you at all. I can't give you those parts because I didn't write them."
"No? Then who did?"
"Nopony. They were never written down. Not completely, at any rate.”
"You mean to tell me that was all improvised?!"
“Well,” Octavia idly waved a hoof. “Most of it, yes.”
The normally composed director faltered, slumping to his haunches in an uncharacteristically undignified manner. "You... You've come a long way in a short time, Octavia. I'd be proud if only any of it were my doing."
“Don’t be silly: you got me started on this!”
The old Earth Pony shook his head. “I gave you two addresses and an impossible task. It was you who carried through, without any contact, insight, or certainly any help from me. I cut you loose from a drowning ideal and let you struggle to the surface. What is there for me to be proud of?”
Tense, uncomfortable silence answered his question. Ponies were starting to mill around the group, mingling after their meal. Coda coughed surreptitiously into his shoulder. Both Octavia and Syncopation glanced at their third member.
“What?” Vinyl raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing to say? No crazy remark to diffuse the awkwardness?”
“I never say anything crazy!”
“Thank you, that was perfect.”
“I say, Miss Melody, that was the most stunning musical performance I have ever seen or heard!” The group whipped around to see Fancy Pants approaching. “Congratulations on a job very well done!” Behind him, the musicians could see ponies failing to pretend to not be listening in.
“Thank you, Fancy.” Octavia replied easily. This was a style of conversation she excelled at. “I couldn’t have done it without my friends, though,” She gestured to her accomplices beside her.
“Aww, Tavi! I knew you cared!” Vinyl slung herself over Octavia’s back, the added weight nearly tipping the cellist over. Syncopation accepted the attention with a brief nod.
Fancy Pants chuckled at Octavia’s sheepish grin. “You really are quite the trio. I must admit, though, my reasons for this conversation are not entirely social.”
Octavia’s ears perked. If Fancy Pants wasn’t just chatting amicably, he was talking business.
“I know a few ponies around and about Equestria that would be very interested in this style you’ve demonstrated. With your permission, I could arrange some appearances for you here and there, get the word out that you’re back on the music scene. I could even sponsor you in Canterlot, if you prefer to stay here for now. Or do you already have a home venue?”
“OF COURSE THEY DO!” Luna’s voice boomed next to Octavia’s head for the second time that evening. “It is called the ‘Dreamscape Theatre’ and is on the east side of town! I shall be overseeing the renovation myself!”
“Oh! Princess, you don’t have to-”
“Nonsense, Miss Melody! This is the perfect opportunity to encourage arts on which my sister has turned her back! Music, art shows, even plays that actually have meaning and subtext performed weekly! With you three as the primary act, of course. I see a bright future here, Miss Melody!”
“Now wait just a hay-picking minute!” Coda intervened. “That’s my cellist you’re talking to; you can’t just take her away on some cross-country tour, or… or a-!”
“It is my understanding, Coda,” Fancy countered in the most politely acidic tone Octavia had ever heard him use. “That you fired her from your Symphony, which means that she is a free agent, and certainly able to make her own decisions about her music, and where she wants to go with it.”
Coda huffed, irked at being rebuked so easily. “Octavia, I… Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to come back to the Symphony. So, best of luck with that and all. I hope you’ll make room for a few commissions from time to time, though?”
“It sounds like I’m going to be quite busy,” Already Octavia was worried about not measuring up to everypony’s standards.
“The greatest reward is doing what you love,” Syncopation said.
“True, very-”
“Besides rubbing it in the faces of everypony who doubted you.”
“Of course,” The group shared a good-natured laugh.
-XXX-
Octavia spent the walk back to her apartment deep in thought. Everything was happening so quickly! A job offer to go on tour? A whole theater dedicated to the new style of music and thought? Princess Luna really had outdone herself with that dinner: Octavia couldn’t have dreamed of a better outcome. She would have to thank the night princess the next time she saw her.
She supposed it was for the best: progress and all that. She had grown out of the old ways, and ushered in a new revolution of music. If Fancy Pants was right, and he could get her sound out to the edges of the country, than her vision of changing Equestria’s mind about how they viewed musical performance would be a very real possibility.
The short answer, she decided, was “no.” She had commented that she would be busy, and it would only get busier if she rose as fast as Fancy had predicted. She would be writing a lot of music with her friends, and she realized she wouldn’t have it any other way.
-XXX-
“Taaaaaaviiiiiiiiiii!”
Octavia’s breath fled her as she was tackled by what appeared to be a white and blue missile with four legs. It would have been comical, she thought, were it not for the scrapes and bruises she sustained upon landing.
“Oof. Good afternoon, Vinyl. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Vinyl either missed or was immune to her victim’s sarcasm. “I haven’t seen you in two days! That’s way too long for friends to be apart! Besides, you gotta see this!”
Any argument Octavia had died in her throat when she saw Vinyl’s face: her glasses had been pushed up over her horn, and she was practically glowing with excitement. “Well, then I guess you’d better show me,”
They made their way through the city, Vinyl bouncing a little with every step. “You’re not gonna believe what they did Tavi! The whole thing! It’s good as new!”
“What thing, Vinyl?” Octavia trotted lightly to keep up, now somewhat peeved at the unicorn she was following.
“You’ll see!”
“See wha-?” As the pair turned the corner, a massive construction site came into view. Scaffolding climbed up the facade of a building halfway down the street, with pegasi buzzing around the top, signaling to each other and lifting beams into place. Earth Ponies and unicorns clustered around the base and scaffolding, painting and polishing whatever they could reach. In the middle of it all stood Princess Luna, directing the commotion with exacting precision. On her head, a bright orange helmet looked oddly at home.
Luna saw her drawing nearer and trotted to meet her. “Ah, Miss Melody! Come to see the fruits of your work?”
“My work? It looks like you’re the one in charge here,”
“‘Twould not have been possible without your bravery and dedication. As I told Miss Scratch earlier, rebuilding this would have been a hollow victory. Now, thanks to you, there is reason to spend resources on this project.”
Octavia looked up to where a team of four pegasi were guiding the "T" in "Theatre" into place. A strange sense of pride and accomplishment the likes of which she had not felt in six months, since performing her last solo pieces, filled her chest and brought water to her eyes. This was really happening!
"Would you like to see the interior?"
"Yeah, c'mon, Tavi!" Vinyl had noticed her friend's absence and doubled back. "The inside's even cooler than the outside!"
Octavia followed eagerly now, wondering what could be better than seeing a monument to your dreams erected.
Her ruminations were answered in the best way possible: the interior decorations were gorgeous. The windows had been replaced with a smoky light cyan glass, filtering in the sunlight and tinting it blue; Octavia could have mistaken the effect for being underwater. The carpet was rich blue with swirling purple patterns. Matching banners hung from the ceiling, embroidered with depictions of what could only be snapshots from dreams Luna had seen. Strange flora and fauna populated the landscapes; she saw trees with purple branches, red branches, and even no branches. Flowers with hundreds of petals stretched to the sky in every hue imaginable. Ponies played with friends, spent time alone and with loved ones, and did incredible things like flying or fighting ninjas and, in one case, a fully-grown dragon. Ponies were putting finishing touches here and there: painting, arranging the lobby furniture, and sweeping the carpet.
“So! You like it?” Vinyl popped up next to her.
“‘Like’ is a pretty tame word to describe what I’m feeling. Amazement, adoration, incredulity…”
“Limit’s two syllables, remember, Tavi?”
Octavia laughed at the memory. “Yes, Vinyl, I like it very much.”
“An appropriate setting for a cultural renaissance, is it not?” Luna commented from behind them.
“Luna, you’ve completely outdone yourself with this. I can’t thank you enough for-”
“Then thank me not, cellist; I did this of mine own accord. It was a dream of mine as well, after all.”
Accepting this, Octavia made her way toward the refurbished stage. The cherry stain on the wood almost glowed under the glaring lights. She turned to the center, where the natural spotlight she had noticed the first time she had been here still illuminated a circle in front of her. Looking out at the contrast between what she saw now and what she remembered made her feel lightheaded.
“How did you do all this in two days?”
“I am Princess Luna, Alicorn Mistress of the Night. I may do what I wish!” Luna proclaimed, but then wilted at the look her subject directed at her. “Come now, you saw all the workers outside. I’ve had them rotate eight-hour shifts for the past 48 hours. All were happy to help contribute to this cause.”
And what could be a worthier cause than the progression of thought? Octavia stepped off the stage and walked reverently back down the central aisle. Vinyl and Luna fell in behind her, and the former spoke up.
“So, what are we doing for opening night?”
-XXX-
It felt strange to be writing music for a purpose once more. Octavia resented the fact, but there was nothing to do for it except to write music. She found her task much easier and more enjoyable without the shackles of social dogma.
The grand opening of the Dreamscape Theatre was scheduled to be in one week; next Monday evening. Of course Octavia and her friends would be headlining for the event. That meant new music in addition to revisions of Luna’s Dreamscape, rehearsing that music, determining a playlist order, and finding time to eat or breathe in between. Vinyl didn’t understand her obsession for perfection, but she was not about to ruin her good streak with a poorly executed piece of music.
Her days became a blur of repetitive activity: wake up, brush teeth, visit Latte, write music, eat lunch, play music, eat dinner, revise written music, go to sleep.
She gladly accepted and incorporated other ideas from her friends. The results were a mixture of three similar yet separate styles to accomplish the same general message for each song. The blends were designed so that the performers would have fun playing them, and were fun to listen to; just like Syncopation had suggested months ago, but couldn’t put into practice. Now it was finally happening, and she would be there to see it through.
-XXX-
Celestia liked to think that she was reasonably knowledgeable about what her subjects were up to, and she enjoyed keeping tabs on a few of her favorite ponies, including her sister. Nothing invasive of course; that was a breach of valued privacy. Even so, the newspaper headline that morning came as a surprise: "NEW THEATER TO OPEN ITS DOORS MONDAY."
"Luna," she said over breakfast. "Were you aware of this?"
Peering over her sister's shoulder, Luna hummed an affirmative. "Tis a great accomplishment, is it not?"
"I suppose a new business is always a good thing, but I have to wonder: why a theater?"
"The purpose of a theater is usually to procreate the arts,"
Celestia's voice grew testy. "I know what a theater is. Why is there a new one in Canterlot?"
Her sister's tone gave Luna pause. Suddenly she had a realization. "Why does it bother you so?"
"Carneighgie Hall gets plenty of business. We don't need another theater or hall or whatever interfering with that; it disrupts the balance of the city.”
"Balance? But this shows growth, that the city is adapting!"
"Adapting to what? Canterlot hasn't had a major cultural shift in the past 500 years!"
"Then perhaps it is due for a change sister. Maybe even past due?"
"My ponies are happy! There is no need for a revolution, cultural or otherwise!"
Luna stayed silent for a long while, regarding her breakfast.
"Sister..."
"You're afraid,” Luna whispered. “Is that it? You fear your rule is insufficient so you stifle all attempts to even nudge the status quo and hope the citizens remain ignorant? You give them a picture of peace and butterflies and say everything is perfect when all of it is to mask your refusal to change! What city is there in which to keep balance? All I see is your little wind-up toy!"
"You have no right to judge me, Luna. You haven't been here-"
"Indeed! And 'tis a very different world than the one I knew! Times change, Celestia. You tell me that every time I use the Royal Voice, which, by the way, I still say we should re-implement. It's effective if not outright fun."
“That’s no way to rule, sister. One thousand years of interacting with the populace has taught me that.”
Luna scoffed. “Insult me not, O great and wise one. You cannot call what you do to your constituents 'interacting.' At best 'tis distant observation."
"I am plenty capable of getting emotionally attached to ponies," Celestia snorted.
"Ah yes; I forgot about your precious student. I presume you're monitoring her 'balance,' as well?"
"I am doing what's best for her!"
"She follows you obediently; most of the time, blindly! When was the last time she thought for herself, Celestia? Where does the freedom of the mind fit in your perfect world?" The Princess of the night sat back and stared at her plate, which had by now gone cold. Across from her, Celestia stood up and walked to one of the ceiling high windows on the East side of the dining hall. Both sisters were breathing heavily.
“You cannot imagine what it has been like,” The elder said.
The younger slowly shook her head. “Then enlighten me.”
“One thousand years passed, dear sister. One thousand years without a hint of a spark of intelligence, without the capability for thought. When you had gone, I was left to guide our ponies to prosperity. They looked to me to tell them what to do, how to do it, how to live and carry on. They didn’t want to think; they only wanted to exist.
“Starswirl was dead, Clover was dead, and I had just banished the only being that could have possibly understood me. I was so very alone, dear sister. Alone in a sea of omission and denial.”
“If these words of yours are meant to inspire pity in me, I should tell you that it isn’t working,”
“I am simply giving you my perspective.”
"What, then, is your point?"
"The point is that I found something that worked and stuck with it. I learned that no one being can run a country, not even me. So I delegated the day-to-day tasks to some trusted friends from before your fall, while I handled the panic and confusion that comes with any major shift in power. It took seven hundred years to achieve this cultural, political, and economic balance. I won’t go through that again.” Celestia closed her eyes and bathed in the warm glow her rising sun provided. “There is, however, another chapter to the story.”
Luna’s harsh glare softened. “Do tell,”
“Shortly after I had established relative balance in Canterlot and the other major cities, a small family of farmers approached me with a petition: they wanted to settle a centrally located plot of land, not far from the Everfree Forest. I was… hesitant to let anypony near our old castle, but they… I saw their eyes sparkle, and I seized the opportunity. I wanted them to succeed; they showed such promise. I had spent so long looking for somepony, anypony to show some love and pride for their life, and I had finally found it.”
Breakfast forgotten, Luna joined her sister at the window. The spread of Equestria lay before her, rolling green hills giving way to the Central Valley and the Everfree Forest. In the valley itself, a quaint little village rested.
“I still go there now and then to check their progress, and they have progressed.” Celestia’s voice was soft and calm, but Luna could hear the tension: her sister sounded as if she was about to cry. “Ponyville: the last of the free cities.”
Luna draped a wing over her much larger sibling in an attempt to comfort her. "It doesn't have to be that way, you know,"
Celestia heaved a sigh. "If you can find even three ponies besides ourselves willing to change this city, I might just believe you."
"WONDERFUL!" The outburst nearly made Celestia jump out of her shoes. "I shall inform them immediately, and you can see them for yourself come Monday evening!" Luna pranced back to her place at the table, the previous argument washed from her mind. "Chef! I require a new breakfast, please!"
Celestia’s ears were still ringing. Princess or no, the Royal Voice did a number on your hearing. “Wait, what? Luna!”
Author's Note
So the return key on my laptop has decided to stop working... Result: indented paragraphs. Please let me know what you think so far!
Chapter 12 - Open Arms
There was no Royal Box, no distinct separation between the seats reserved for the Princesses and the rest of the spacious balcony. Celestia had nearly balked at the arrangement, certain that her proximity to other ponies would detract from the performance on stage; Luna had bodily restrained her to her chair and raised a hoof to her mouth to indicate that she should be silent.
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried: all attention was on the stage, as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. Celestia noticed that none of her subjects had made a move to acknowledge her entrance, so focused were they on the impending performance. ‘They’re more interested in the cultural scene than the social one,’ she realized, and the implications stunned her. Just what had her sister been planning?
The heavy midnight blue curtains drew back to reveal an Earth Pony mare Celestia was familiar with, if only in passing. She remembered that face from several occasions, most of them formal in nature; Symphony recitals, A Gala or two, and the like. Was this the aspiring musical mind Luna had wanted her to see?
Even stranger were her two companions: an aging pegasus holding a trumpet sideways and what appeared to be a white changeling with purple eyes sitting at a baby grand piano, of all things. Celestia couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a piano that small be used for a musical performance. She reminded herself that she had promised her sister to keep an open mind.
-XXX-
Octavia blocked out the dull but increasing roar of the audience just beyond the curtain and did her best to concentrate. She mentally reviewed the pieces her trio was to play, and her part in them. This concert would be much longer than the dinner at which they had performed, being a full-length performance, so there was about twice as much material to memorize.
Her nerves were getting to her even more than usual tonight, and for good reason; as per her usual tactic, Princess Luna had decided to spring a crucial bit of news on her mere hours before the performance: not one, but both Royal Sisters would be in attendance this evening, and only half of them were openly supportive of what Octavia had spent so long trying to accomplish.
Performing for Princess Celestia was not a new concept for a former member of the Symphony, of course, but in her current capacity...
The heavy blue curtains began their rattling journey into the wings, and the musicians were faced with the familiar sight of a row of dimly lit visages and a sea of inky blackness. Somewhere out in the void, close to two thousand ponies sat waiting to judge them.
-XXX-
As the raucous applause died down and the curtain reappeared, Octavia sagged, using her faithful cello for support. She could only recall one other performance that had drained her as this one had: her first one with the Orchestra. Although, she supposed it made sense, in a way. This concert represented her rebirth, so to speak. A brand new style, a brand new age of music. Along with a brand new set of worries. Those would have to wait.
Her companions did not seem to share her fatigue; Syncopation was staring at her with a confident smile, while Vinyl was bouncing like a foal excited for Hearth’s Warming on her bench. Octavia to had assume her eyes were wide and excited.
‘The transition to the main theme of “Majesta Noctus” was a bit sloppy,’ her perfectionist mind told her as she settled her cello into its velvety bed. ‘And listening to what Syncopation did there, adding one or two bars wouldn’t hurt. I wonder...’
Her ruminations were rudely interrupted by an untimely side tackle and a series of fuzzy, moist smacks on her cheek.
Octavia instinctively went rigid, thankfully shielding her body from the stranglehold in which she suddenly found herself. The wet smacks continued, halted only by Syncopation's voice: "Uh, Vinyl, I think you've sufficiently broken her,"
The white furry pressure that replaced the smacks was only somewhat of an improvement. "Vinyl," Octavia grunted tersely, her legs still locked. "Did you just kiss me?"
"I couldn't help it, Tavi! I had to kiss something, and Sync smells weird!"
"I've been told it's the shampoo I use," the stallion in question rolled his eyes.
"Is this a bad time? We can come back when you are done celebrating." Octavia had to look upside-down to see the Princess of the Night smiling at her, with Celestia at her shoulder.
"Apologies, Princesses, if you'll excuse the lack of a proper bow. I appear to be... indisposed." It was difficult, Octavia decided, to be cultured with another pony on top of you. She nudged the offending party, hoping they'd take the hint, but as usual, Vinyl ignored any semblance of common decency.
"Apology accepted, Miss Melody, and may I commend you on an even more stirring performance than your previous endeavor,"
"Previous?" Celestia muttered, tired of being out of the loop about her sister's activities. Her confusion was quickly overruled.
"You're not kidding, Princess! I haven't had that much fun since my pet monkey found out what cymbals were!"
The mere thought of such a spectacle was enough to turn Octavia's brain into a muddle of a migraine. "You have a pet monkey?"
Vinyl tilted her head at the mare she was still straddling. "Well, had. Apparently finding something in the woods and calling dibs doesn't mean you get to keep it," she sniffed theatrically. "They took my baby away from me."
"I'm so sorry for your loss,"
"Marty!" Vinyl wailed.
Octavia took the moment of weakness to shove her friend off of her, brushing dust from her coat as she returned to four hooves. She looked to Syncopation for some form of support, and found him biting his lip to keep from laughing.
"Don't look at me," he chuckled. "I just play trumpet."
"This is the future of Canterlot's cultural influence?" Celestia wondered aloud.
Luna beamed. "Is it not wonderful?"
-XXX-
Octavia inhaled deeply, and the scent of fresh mint and honey cradled her senses in a warm embrace of deliciousness. She had been denied the pleasure of quality tea for too long. Sipping demurely, so as not to waste even a drop of the heavenly concoction, Octavia allowed herself to truly relax.
Directly across from her, Princess Celestia took her own tea, exhibiting a slow, natural grace Octavia knew she could scarcely hope to match. The perks of being an alicorn, she supposed, though even Luna looked rushed and excitable next to her sister.
Vinyl had sniffed at her tea and decided to focus on the cakes and snacks on the tray, popping them into her mouth whole and hardly chewing before reaching for the next one. Syncopation, by contrast, observed proper tea etiquette almost robotically. His sips were small and polite, and he dabbed at his lips exactly twice after every one.
"I must say, I find myself confused," Celestia's calm voice broke the silence. "Why exactly have you elected to pursue such a vastly different style than what you were taught? What was wrong with the old way?"
"Nothing," Syncopation responded immediately, not taking his eyes off his teacup. The other four waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed to think that he had adequately answered the question.
"With respect, Princess," Octavia supplemented. "The music was never the problem. I for one actually prefer the works of the old masters, no offense to my current companions, of course."
"So why not play those pieces?"
"I did. I was asked to leave the Symphony shortly thereafter."
The conversation lapsed into silence, like the stillness of an open field before a thunderstorm. Octavia reflected that perhaps she could had worded that less harshly, but there was nothing for it now.
"That can't be right; you've always played your instrument so well."
"I thank you, Princess, but that's just the problem: playing the instrument instead of the music."
"I don't understand,"
"Let's put it this way, your Highness," Syncopation interjected, and Octavia was glad that he did. He was even more qualified than she was to discuss the topic. "Did you enjoy tonight's performance?"
"Of course,"
"More than the latest Symphony appearance at Carneighgie?"
"I... believe so, yes,"
"Can you tell me why?"
Celestia set down her teacup and thought long and hard about the differences between the performances she remembered. The classical numbers had been as enjoyable as ever, but what made this backwater band so special? Not their instruments, for sure. Nor was it their technique, tone, tempo or any other musical device she could come up with.
"The style was different," she finally said.
"Alright, how was it different?"
"The notes... bounced. Like they were afraid to spend too much time in one place."
"Even on the slow songs?"
The air grew warmer as the Sun Princess became increasingly frustrated with herself trying to pinpoint what exactly each performance had done for her. Carneighgie Hall was the pinnacle of high class, the bar above which no musician could rise. That was just fact. What had these three done to contest this?
“Princess,” Syncopation interrupted calmly. “What do you feel when you go to watch the Symphony or Orchestra play?”
That was an easier conundrum to solve. “Stability. Reassurance. Contentment. Peace,”
“And what do you see while you’re there?”
The Princess cracked a small smile. “Ponies trying to get ahead in life,”
Syncopation nodded, his own sad smile matching Celestia’s. “Same questions, but for here.”
“I felt…” Celestia recalled the pieces she had heard, performed with just three simple instruments that should not have been able to hold a candle to the majesty of the Royal Orchestra, but had somehow surpassed it. “Joy, sadness, freedom… I even felt like I was flying once.”
“And you saw?”
“I saw a gorgeous sunset give way to beautiful night. I saw twinkling lights of fireflies and happy couples stargazing. I… call me crazy, but I saw a pony fighting ninjas in space.”
“Tha’ wus mun! Uh ‘ro tha’!”
Octavia’s voice was the bite of a viper: “Vinyl Scratch you swallow your food this instant! That is not how you behave at tea time!”
Syncopation’s only reaction to Vinyl’s outburst was to close his eyes and smirk. “So, Princess, which one would you prefer?”
Celestia bowed her head in concession. “I see your point. But how do you paint such vivid imagery?”
“Trade secret, I’m afraid.”
“Now I wish the Royal Symphony had copies of that music. Coda told me you denied him this?”
Octavia answered this time. “Yes, Princess. Though not out of any kind of spite. Even if the Symphony had an arrangement, you wouldn’t get the same effect, not from their views.”
“What are you saying? They’re just notes, aren’t they?”
Syncopation leaned forward, something close to anger glittering in his eye.“Princess, I want to make this very clear to you. The notes don’t make the music. Neither do instruments. The Symphony and Orchestra have everything they need to succeed except for a creative spark. If you let him, Coda can take the pieces you’ve heard the past year and give them feeling and meaning. He can make you see what the composers saw when they wrote them down. You just have to loosen his noose a bit.”
“But I couldn’t do that! The system works-”
Luna interrupted sharply, “Tia. I have brought you three ponies willing to free your city from itself, but you have to take steps in the right direction. This is the first one.”
“My ponies…”
“Will adjust. In fact, I’ll bet that within weeks, Carneighgie Hall will produce more revenue than you’ve ever seen. Ponies will be enjoying themselves again. You’ll be enjoying yourself again. You don’t have to do this alone, but we need your support.”
Celestia looked at her subjects before her. Even though she could only see four eyes, she could sense the determination in all six. They reminded her of a ragtag bunch of farmers who had wanted to strike out on their own with the promise of new horizons to be conquered. Her stubbornness had no choice but to concede defeat.
“Very well. You shall have it.”
Epilogue - Any Way You Want It
Six Weeks Later
Octavia's ears swiveled as she inadvertently picked up bits and pieces of the conversation around her. The chatter at Carneighgie Hall had changed drastically the past few weeks. Instead of "excellent" and "perfect," now she heard words like "moving" and "inspirational" being used to describe the music, which she thought were much more suitable terms. Opinion of the Orchestra had never been higher, as Luna had predicted.
Even better, Octavia thought, were the dissenters: those who didn't enjoy the sounds they heard. Going against the social grain was a big no-no in Canterlot, so if the Orchestra was making these ponies feel so strongly that they felt the need to make an unpopular opinion known, they were doing their job beautifully.
The gray mare had a destination in mind, however, and would not be so easily distracted. She made her way through the crowd towards a side door, beyond which she knew the musicians were gathering after their performance.
Slipping through the portal, she spotted her target immediately: Coda was having a chat with Uplifting Tune and Whistling Wind, two violists Octavia had never met outside of rehearsal. In the interest of being polite, she directed her attention elsewhere, namely to her former section.
“Hello, Fermata,” she greeted.
Her fellow cellist started violently. “Oh! Uh… H-hey, Octavia! Didn’t expect to see you here!”
“Well, the stage door isn’t exactly locked, and of course I would be here to see you perform. That was wonderful!” The praise came easily, probably because it was sincere. “You’ve really stepped up to the first chair hotseat!”
“Th-thank you,” Fermata whispered. “I had been.. um…”
Octavia set a hoof on her friend’s shoulder to comfort her. “You’re doing great. I’m glad I could leave the cellos in your hooves.”
“But be aware: There’s always room for improvement. You’d better blow me even further away the next time I see you in concert!”
“Of course, Octavia,”
Satisfied, Octavia turned to see Coda waiting behind her. “Congratulations, you old coot,” she said with a smirk.
He smiled warmly in reply. “There was a time you would never dream of insulting your conversation partner so harshly,”
“Times change,”
Coda let loose a full-bellied chuckle. “‘Change’ does not adequately describe what you’ve done, Octavia. ‘Revolutionize’ is closer to the actual action.” He took a deep breath and settled himself. “I want to thank you, Octavia. On behalf of every musician and artist in this city. We all owe you a debt of gratitude; the Dreamscape theater has opened new avenues of culture to Canterlot, and I’ve heard tell of plans to restore other halls in the area, too. Thank you for giving this to us. Thank you for not being afraid.”
Octavia felt tears welling up, and coughed into her hoof to mask the act of wiping them away. “I never did it for the thanks,”
Her mentor nodded. “And that is why you deserve thanks,”
Unable to stand still any longer, Octavia threw her forelegs around the older stallion. She held him for a moment, regained her failing composure, then let go. “I… that means a lot to me.”
“I know. That’s why I said it!”
-XXX-
The peaceful evening gave way to a brilliant dusk, complete with a blended purple sky and pale moon. Illuminated as Canterlot was by streetlamps at regular intervals, Octavia easily spotted an approaching pony.
“So, how did it go?”
“Swimmingly, Vinyl. Couldn’t have gone better.”
“Awesome. Sorry I couldn’t make it.” Despite her known preferences, Octavia detected genuine regret in her companion’s voice. Another point for the new and improved symphony: reaching out to those with completely different tastes.
“Quite alright. Nopony should force you to listen to good music.”
“If it’s good enough, I won’t be forced. When’s the Symphony’s new record coming out?”
“The Symphony doesn’t make records, Vinyl.”
Vinyl’s reaction was a tad dramatic, Octavia thought. Certainly she would never hold her throat and make choking noises while spasming on the ground like a fish out of water.
“Oh, now you’re just embarrassing yourself,”
“But!” Vinyl coughed and wheezed. “But that… you… why not!?”
“Ticket sales have always been enough for revenue,” Octavia explained with just a touch of impatience. “There has never been a reason to spend more money on a recording session.”
“But now that ponies will actually want to listen to your music, it could be a good idea!”
Octavia decided to walk away from that comment, but not without an annoyed remark of her own. “You truly are a master of back-hooved compliments, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
The pair stopped in front of a familiar facade: The Dreamscape’s front door. What drew their attention, though, was the rather conspicuous cardboard package on the steps. It was a good size, enough to hold at least a breadbox, and had two holes cut in the side. It was wrapped up with twine and ribbon, and had a small tag attached to the top.
Vinyl immediately backed away from it, using Octavia as cover.
The gray mare frowned at her. “Really?”
“Hey, it only takes one stupid prank for you to be wary of any box with holes in it,” she defended.
Having never been the target of any such prank, Octavia boldly trotted up to the box and read the short message on the tag.
Miss Melody, Remember that you, above anypony else, have the power to make your own wishes a reality. Sincerely yours, Luna
Now more than a little curious, Octavia pried open the lid of the box with ease, and peeked inside. She gaped at the contents, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Nestled on a midnight blue pillow, sleeping softly, was the cutest puppy she had ever seen.
Author's Note
It is finally done. Onward!
Ch. 4- Keep on Runnin’
The small pavilion would definitely not have been Octavia’s first choice. She doubted it would have been her second, or even third choice either, but it would do as a temporary meeting place for the trio. The dusty floors and cracking paint steered other ponies away from the building, and scant trees isolated it from the rest of the park.
Isolated. Even thinking the word made her queasy. She had never as felt cut off from the world as she did now, and it frightened her. She used to be a part of society; albeit, one she disliked, but even fake social interactions were better than none. Although, looking at her present company, she realized she valued quality over quantity, at least. Vinyl and Syncopation may be a little bit different than the ponies she was used to, yet Octavia still enjoyed being with them. To a point, of course.
Strangely enough, the current discussion was not about music. Vinyl and Syncopation were busy swapping stories while Octavia listened pensively. She still had no idea what to do next, and it bothered her that her companions did not share a sense of urgency. When she brought it up, however, she was quickly shot down.
“Shouldn’t we be discussing what we’re going to do next?”
“You got a plan?” Syncopation asked.
“Well, no, but—“
“Then why worry? Canterlot ain’t goin’ nowhere, and music ain’t somethin’ you can rush.”
“But we still need to think of something to do!” Octavia persisted.
“Fine. The way I see it, we need to give the city somethin’ new, somethin’ enjoyable to listen to that’s also enjoyable to play, you follow?”
Octavia nodded, not sure where he might be going with this.
“Problem is, I already tried that. You ever hear of swing?”
Vinyl shook her head with Octavia.
“Exactly. And if two reasonably knowledgeable musicians don’t know what it is, what does that tell you about how successful we were?”
There was no need for an answer; Octavia and Vinyl just looked at each other, until Vinyl noticed something.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
Syncopation blinked, then sighed. “Me and Coda,” he explained. “We were messin’ around with our instruments and fell into a weird eighth note rhythm. We liked the way it felt, so we played with it until we understood how it was supposed to sound. Well, I shouldn’t say ‘supposed to,’ since we were makin’ stuff up. But it felt, I dunno, natural I guess, like it was the way our instruments wanted to play the notes. We called it swooping, or swinging the eighth notes.”
“So what happened?” Vinyl asked.
“We got to a rehearsal for the orchestra we were a part of early, and started playing back and forth. Our director came in and told us we were playing incorrectly, and that if we wanted to keep our positions we should start playing the music the way it was written. Coda just nodded, but I had to open my mouth.”
Octavia covered her tiny gasp with a hoof, and Vinyl pressed the conversation.
“What’d you tell him?”
“That there was no correct way to play the music: it was open to interpretation,” he paused for a second, and then continued. “You can guess I wasn’t part of the orchestra for much longer, so I left, and Coda stayed. I don’t know if he ever played swing again.”
“Yeah, Sync! Stick it to the man!” Vinyl held out her hoof for a bump, and did not receive one. Syncopation instead turned to Octavia.
“So there you have it. I stood for a change, and ended up on the streets. I tried to keep playing, but who would pay attention to me? So I eventually quit. Haven’t kept a job since.”
“I’m sorry,” Octavia’s voice was just above a whisper.
“Ah, don’t apologize. If we pull this off, it’ll be worth more than anything you could say to me. Unfortunately, as far as plans go, that puts us back at square one.”
“Not quite…” Octavia amended. Syncopation raised his eyebrows at her.
“You could teach us to swing,”
-XXX-
“No, no, stop, Octavia, stop,”
The three were back at Octavia’s flat, with some hastily scratched down rhythms and notes designed to teach a DJ and cellist how to play a completely different style of music than what they were used to.
“What?” Octavia was just a tad frustrated with her instructor.
Syncopation flared his wings defensively. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re playing the notes beautifully, but you’re still not getting that swing element,”
“Yeah, swing it, Tavi!” Vinyl cheered, earning her a glare from the gray mare.
“I don’t understand; I’m playing the notes just like you said: the eighth notes behave like dotted-eighth-sixteenth notes.”
“Yes, but that’s just the problem: I don’t want you to play it exactly like it’s written. It…ah, how do I put this? It’s more like a feel than a style,” Dubious looks told him he wasn’t getting his point across. “Um, kind of like, a rubato slur, but don’t actually slur it, oh, that doesn’t help.”
Octavia listened to his rant with her forelegs crossed, and Vinyl’s mouth was slightly open in bored confusion.
“Oh! How about this? Think of it like this: doo-bah doo-bah doo-bah doo-bah… you don’t get it, do you?”
“No. How is that different than rubato eighth notes?”
“You have to feel it more than play it. May I?” He held out his hooves for the cello balanced on Octavia’s body. She internally debated for a moment before passing it to him. He drew the bow across the strings a few times, then looked at the rhythms he had written down. He moved the bow in time with the eighth notes, putting just a little more emphasis on the first one of each pair, but stopped and shook his head.
“This isn’t working. Do you absolutely need the bow to play?”
“Well, I suppose not, but—hey! I needed that!” Syncopation had tossed her bow away; it landed behind the couch.
“You just said you didn’t,” Syncopation corrected. “Let’s try this.” He rested the cello against himself and used a hoof to pluck a single string, over and over, falling into the eighth note rhythm again, this time swaying his body to the beat. His accents, now unrestricted by the bow, were smoother, and like he said, felt different. He played the straight eighths for a few bars before free styling, still using the single note.
Vinyl couldn’t hold back her laughs. “I told you it was a giant guitar!” Her good humor persevered through the smack on the back of her head she received as a response.
Syncopation handed the instrument off to Octavia. “Your turn. Feel the beat, don’t just play it.”
So Octavia felt the beat. She swayed her body, bobbed her head, and accented the eighth notes appropriately. She even closed her eyes for a second, until she heard Vinyl’s snickering.
“What now?” She turned to Syncopation, who was also holding back a smile.
“Nothing! You’re starting to get it, I think,”
“That was priceless, Tavi!” Vinyl was practically cackling now. “You shoulda seen yourself!” She wobbled her head in a crude imitation of Octavia’s motion.
A fierce red heat flared across Octavia’s cheeks. “It’s not like I usually do that when I’m playing,”
“Well, it’s not like you usually try to learn an entirely new style of music, either,” Syncopation consoled her. “Try it again, but loosen up; this is a very relaxed style. Focus on the feel, and the sway will come naturally.”
Octavia nodded and regarded the sheet music once more. She took a breath to relax herself, and began playing. The eighth notes flowed into each other as she did her best to “swoop” them, and tried to stay relaxed at the same time. She fell into a one-note rhythm, as Syncopation had, but she couldn’t get it to sound as smooth as he had, and she couldn’t slur the notes without her bow. Her accents still sounded stiff and traditional.
Finally, she stopped her plucking. “I can’t do it,”
Ever the drama queen, Vinyl prostrated herself before the cellist. “No, Tavi! You can’t give up; think of the foals! Think of Canterlot! Think of…me!”
Octavia was not impressed. “I’m a classical musician. If I can’t swing, I can’t swing.”
“Ha! You forget; I was part of an orchestra, too. Tell me, Octavia,” Syncopation looked at the other pieces scattered about the room. “What chair did you hold in the Royal Symphony?”
“Well, I was first chair cellist. I suppose Fermata would be now, though.”
“First chair in the Royal Symphony and you can’t put feeling into your music? Canterlot’s worse off than I thought,”
Octavia bristled. “I’ll have you know I was released because I put feeling into the music!”
“Were you now? Show me,” The pegasus leafed through sheets of music until he found one he recognized. “Beethoofen’s Seventh? I remember this one. Here, play it for me.”
So Octavia did. She started playing soft and slow, and added the crescendo where Coda had stopped her the last time she had played it. Syncopation followed along, exaggerating a conductor’s movements to the tempo, almost as if he was dancing.
After a little while, Syncopation signaled her to stop. “So, what did you feel?”
Octavia thought for a bit, but found she understood what her mentor meant. “The movement is a kind of happiness, but its reserved, almost like it’s…forbidden, or something like that.”
“That kind of feeling after two minutes and you tell me you can’t swing?” Syncopation shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t about sleep? ‘Cause that’s what I felt,” Vinyl opened her mouth in a huge yawn, drawing it out as long as possible.
“Your appreciation of the fine arts is nothing short of astounding, Vinyl,” Octavia commented.
Vinyl gave a little bow, ignoring the sarcasm. “Thank you, Miss Tavi,” she said in a fake Canterlot accent. “I do so love a good musical performance.” Octavia rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself. What was this DJ doing to her?
“Do you two need some alone time, or are we going to keep practicing?”
-XXX-
An hour later, Octavia had relaxed into a beat that resembled swing, which was good enough for Syncopation, as he told her that they’d “work on it.” He then turned to the unicorn occupying the floor.
“Hope you got all that; you’re up next,”
“Yeah, sure. Unlike Miss Priss over there, I got no problem relaxin,’”
“’Miss Priss’?” Octavia raised her eyebrows.
“And what instrument do you play, if I may?”
“Bass cannon, of course,” Vinyl grinned.
The other musicians deadpanned. “That doesn’t count,” Syncopation explained. “Unless your electronics can imitate a swing beat, they’re useless to us. Anything else you can play?”
“Ugh, fine. I did originally get my cutie mark playing the piano,”
“Perfect! That gives us a good mix of instruments. I don’t suppose you have one lying around, though, do you?”
“Uh, no.”
Syncopation shrugged. “A minor setback. I’m sure we can find an old keyboard or something you can use to practice on. We’ll look for that tomorrow, though: it’s gettin’ on to nighttime.”
Octavia looked out her window, surprised at how much time had passed.
“Why don’t we meet at the pavilion tomorrow morning,” Syncopation suggested. “We can try some of the older concert halls; one might have an abandoned piano, or maybe just a space we can use. I can also bring my instrument, and if we find somewhere, maybe we can even jam a little bit.” His voice was even, but Octavia sensed genuine excitement in his demeanor.
“That sounds like a plan. Though, could we start the search closer to here? I don’t mean to sound selfish, but it would be a bit of a hassle to carry my cello to the Outer District and back,” Octavia said, then realized something. “Syncopation, what instrument do you actually play? I don’t remember you telling us.”
“Trumpet,” the pegasus replied. “So, yeah, just a little lighter than a cello. Which means closer to here would be a good choice. I personally know some halls that went out of business because the only place the Royal Symphony and Orchestra started playing at was Carneighgie Hall.”
Octavia lowered her eyes. The prestigious concert hall had been the only one deemed “suitable for a performance” for almost a year. She couldn’t imagine how many stages in Canterlot had closed down, or were no longer operating.
Syncopation noticed her discomfort. “Hey it’s not that bad. I know, that probably sounds weird, coming from me, but…” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll get through it. We just gotta keep goin, keep runnin.’ But let’s save that for tomorrow.”
Octavia began packing up her instrument; retrieving the thrown bow and placing it carefully back in its cradle beside her cello. She nodded at Syncopation as she did so, thankful that she had a course set and a plan in motion. Things were looking up, it seemed.
Suddenly a pair of alabaster forelegs enclosed her torso. “See you tomorrow, Tavi!”
Octavia was in no position to return the gesture, so she awkwardly patted one of the legs she could reach. “Yes, Vinyl, I will see you tomorrow,” The unicorn released her, satisfied, and followed Syncopation out the door.
Octavia watched them go, then closed the door and chuckled to herself. An outcast cellist, a hyperactive DJ, and a lonely old orchestra member were going to save Canterlot with a forgotten style of music. The sheer incredulity of her predicament was almost overwhelming.
She couldn’t wait to tell Latte all about it.
Author's Note
Sorry for taking so long to update a shorter chapter; I didn't really know what to do with it. Next one will be better, promise. So, enjoy, or tell me what you didn't like, and all that jazz