A Not-So-Brief Interlude

Beauty Brass opened a pair of crusted, drooping eyes. She had stayed up far too late last night, switching between scarfing down delicate salads and practicing her beloved sousaphone. She could fuzzily remember some daisy juice in there somewhere...

Groaning, she hauled her bedraggled body out of the lovely, warm bed. At least there was no alarm clock going off.

Drawing herself up, she stumbled across the gleaming floor. The sound of her hooves clacking on the polished crystal increased the slight migraine that had been slowly growing. With any luck, it would go away in time for the concert that night.

Entering the suite's kitchen, she leaned against the counter, muttering curses and softly swearing. Lettuce and flowers littered the floor, as a suspicious, cloudy liquid oozed across the table, accompanied by a few white petals and bent stems. A tower of dishes threatened to spill over the edges of the tiny sink, barely able to contain the mass of dirty salad plates. She groaned, and gingerly grasped a crumpled dishcloth with her teeth. No matter how terrible the turquoise mare felt, this was a matter of personal pride. No Brass worth their instrument would leave a mess such as this (at least, in a place that was not theirs).

As Beauty Brass swept, dusted, and washed, the thin slices of pale sunlight penetrating the high windows expanded, bathing the crystalline chambers in exquisite beams of light. This, however, was lost on the exhausted mare, her pretty hooves growing weary from scrubbing the kitchen surfaces.

Only when the kitchen was sparkling did she allow herself to rest. It was about noon, and the performance started at nine. Precious little time was left to practice the arrangements the Canterlot Quartet had spent months perfecting. She only hoped that the others had been more productive than she.

Trotting briskly into the bathroom, she did her best to ignore the tempting bed, the covers still rumpled. She was tired, but needed to get ready. She had to live up to her name; she always had to be Beauty.

Peering at herself in the mirror, she arranged her mousy brown mane, brushed her bright blue coat, and tied her pale magenta bowtie carefully around her neck. Checking that her bass clef cutie mark was clean, she tossed her head, and sashayed out of the bathroom.

Gently closing the door to her chambers behind her, she walked to Octavia's suite.

"Octavia!" she sang, knocking on the carved slab of crystal acting as a door. There was a muted squeak inside, followed by a furious rustling.

"Octavia?"

"Um...one second…I'm not quite ready yet…" Octavia murmured sleepily.

Rolling her eyes, Beauty Brass smiled. Octavia Melody: the only pony she knew that could sleep for fourteen hours. Musing on the luckiness of some ponies, her eyelids drooped, ever so slightly.

“Aaaah! Hey!” Rudely jolted out of a dream, Beauty rubbed her now painful back. Octavia, a delicate gray mare, stood in the open doorway smiling pleasantly. However, when she caught sight of Beauty’s expression, her own changed dramatically.

“Erm...sorry, Brass. Are you okay?” The equine cellist stammered. They were close friends, and tried to avoid causing grievances, major or minor. She was unsure of where opening a door stood, but didn’t want to take chances.

I’ll be fine. It’s not as if my instrument hangs off of my back or anything!” Beauty shot back. Taken aback, Octavia froze, then tossed her glossy mane and strutted down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “We should really begin practicing, although let’s be realistic…She halted, and shot a piercing glare back. “It’s not as if that will help your honking tuba.”

Forgetting her pain, Beauty scrambled to her feet, a retort already gathering. With her mouth half open, ready to deliver a stinging comeback about a certain somepony’s prowess at breaking cello strings, she suddenly stopped. Octavia’s lilac eyes danced with badly hidden laughter.

Rolling her eyes, Beauty cantered up to her friend.

“Actually, the practicing sounds like a good idea. How about you grab the instruments and I’ll find the others?” she said.

Considering the proposition, Octavia gazed at her for a second, then nodded and trotted back down the hall.

Beauty Brass had her work cut out for her. The other two rooms were empty, and the Crystal Castle was huge! Ludwig and Parish could be anywhere!

She had one way of narrowing it down. She had to consider their work ethic over grabbing a bite to eat. Suddenly sitting, she raised a hoof to her muzzle and thought.
...still thinking…
…still thinking…
…still thinking…
…Right! She had it!

They would have gone to practice. The two stallions, although often hungry, regarded performances as the only thing in life. The day of a concert would doubtless see them practicing nonstop.

Octavia came up behind her, dragging two heavy instrument cases. Handing the smaller to Beauty, she asked, “To the practice room?”

Beauty replied in the affirmative. The two musicians strode down the wide corridors, making their way to the room designated for their practicing; a room with perfect acoustics, designed to make the sound as big and beautiful as possible.

Reaching the wide, two-toned double doors of the Crystal Castle Staff Room, the two mares set down their large cases and pulled the doors open. Walking through the broad opening, they marveled at the tremendous amount of coffee machines cluttering the large room. The ponies here were on duty at all hours, it seemed.

A strain of music reached their sensitive ears. It sounded…off. Of course. It was missing two instruments, both carrying a crucial part of the melody. The ponies began unpacking their prized instruments, surreptitiously shining each part with a bowtie or strand of hair.

The doors swung shut behind them, but not before a crystal pony with a viridian blossom on a spotless white flank slipped inside, unheeded by the members of the quartet.

Octavia and Beauty began warming up, as Parish and Ludwig took a short break. Ludwig was in the middle of telling an interesting story,

“…And then the Princess, Princess Twilight, you know, the one who crashed the Gala-Oh, hello, early birds!” He snorted. “Got tired of sleeping, did you?” He glanced at Parish, and then as if on cue both burst into uproarious laughter.

Strutting into place, the mares sneered at the ponies falling off of their stools.

“At least we didn’t waste our time breaking down doors and making bad puns!” Octavia snapped. The laughter dried up.

“You heard that, did you? Ponyfeathers. I was hoping no one would notice.” Ludwig said glumly, sliding back into his seat and plunking a melancholy chord.

“Was that what it was? Oh, Ludwig! Do tell!” Beauty said with a teasing air.

“All right, all right, don’t get into a fuss. I, indeed, ‘will tell’.” And with that brief introduction, Ludwig launched into a confusing and mysterious tale. The others, instruments forgotten, leaned in to listen.

“… And so, a pony came up and repaired my door. I must say, though, that in my opinion, the color should have been different. Ruby doors with sapphire walls!” He sniffed haughtily. “Now, to practicing?...” The question was left hanging in the air as the other ponies speculated wildly about the meaning behind the mystery.

Octavia had the best idea: “Why don’t we just find this pony? You know, the one who gave Ludwig the tea.”

And with that said, they began a search of the castle.