Strings Attatchedby ChickenscratchChaptersEtudeModulationCadenzaEtudeWhen I first met her, everything changed. Not in a sudden kind of way that someone can notice right away, but in a slow way where you would have to look back on it years later to see the difference. Now that I think about it, it started a long time before I met her. It started when I first discovered the joy of music. ***** I was very young at the time, perhaps five or six years of age. My father was a musical pony from the start, and he was always doing something with his instruments. He was a pianist first, and everything else came later. My father could play any kind of music you could dream of. Jazz, classical, you name it, he could do it. Naturally, he taught me piano as well. I collected a quick talent for the instrument and longed to be as good as my father. My mother was not a musical individual. We lived in the heart of Manehattin, and my mother held a job as a bartender in an out of the way little place called Oats and Whey. It was a sleepy sort of bar that served Germane cuisine and barley beers. I had only been once or twice with my mother, and the only thing I could really remember was the smell of barley and the sound of a piano playing against the ambience of mild conversation. My father would play there sometimes when the normal pianist was out. Naturally I was very proud of my father, and he was the topic of nearly every conversation I would have on the school grounds. I looked up to him more than anything else. I knew I wanted to be a musician just like him, but my cutie mark was not there. My classmates questioned my talents frequently and often, and I began to question them myself. If I really had been destined for music, my mark would have appeared a long time ago. I came to my father about it, crying. “Scratchy,” he said softly, nuzzling my tear streaked face. “Don’t you worry about it, baby. It takes time for these kinds of things.” I was embarrassed about crying, but began to sob even more. “But I know it’s my talent,” I replied. “I’m so sure father.” He smiled and lifted me onto his back. “Don’t let it get to you, baby. You’ll get it when the time is right.” I loved my father dearly, and trusted him in the matter. That was the last time I came to him about it. I was not the most vocal character, and would usually flock to the grand piano with my sorrows. Something about those stark ebony and ivory keys drew me to them, and I poured my emotions into the music that spilled from its strings. The piano was almost a part of me, and its tones brought more comfort to me than the words of ponies ever could. Sometimes my father would play duets with me, and sometimes he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to me, as long as I got to play. The piano was the source of my comfort, and my solitude. Often times when I returned home, my father would be sitting in his study, eyes concentrated on the music that would be playing from his phonograph. I learned not to disturb him in these state very quickly. The one time I had tried to speak with him during this time, he had slowly turned to me and said, “Scratchy, do you know what I’m doing?” His voice was kind and soft, but I could still sense some irritation. “No,” I said. “I’m going on a journey.” “A journey, father?” I was confused. It looked like he was sitting in his study with music on. He smiled warmly. “In here,” he said, pointing a hoof at his head. “In my mind, Scratchy.” I was still puzzled. “But you aren’t going anywhere.” My father seemed tired of my questions and closed his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Don’t you have some homework to be doing?” I left him alone after that. I suppose the most important part of my childhood was our trip to Canterlot to visit my cousins. “Vinyl,” my mother called from the kitchen. I trotted in loyally, finding her sitting at the counter with a small shot of alcoholic cider. I never did mind her drinking, and accepted it was just something every pony did from time to time. “We’re going to be taking a visit to Canterlot for one of your cousins’ graduation from high school.” She took a sip of her cider. “We’ll be leaving next week and staying with your uncle Sweet Tart.” Uncle Sweet Tart was unknown to me at the time, and the concept of meeting new relatives excited me almost as much as visiting Canterlot did. I had my bags packed that very night, and spent the week in jittering anticipation. When the day of the trip came, the whole family packed onto the train Canterlot bound early in the morning and set off. I had never been on a train before, and felt fit to burst with excitement as I watched Equestria whip by outside of my window. It was almost like a dream, the way I was seeing things. I wondered if this was what my father saw when he took his journeys and asked him. “Sometimes,” he said with a laugh, patting my head. I couldn’t imagine what other kinds of journeys he could take, but I didn’t ask .I sat transfixed beside my window until our trip had ended. When we stepped off the train at Canterlot Station, I could have recognized my uncle right off, even if he had covered himself with robes and worn sunglasses. His coat was a shocking pink hue the likes of which I had never seen. His blue mane was styled in the most ridiculous curls I had ever seen on a pony, save for some of the more expensive filly dolls. His eyes were a strange shade of magenta, and on his flank was a cutie mark of some assortment of taffy. He ran up to my mother and nearly knocked her over in his excitement. “Berry!” he cried loudly. “So good to see you!” I shielded my ears. “Hey Tarts,” she returned, hugging him tightly. As I looked on, I could see their relations clearly, my mother’s creamy strawberry coat and minty greet mane beginning to look more and more like candy when paired with my uncle’s. My mother, named Berry Mixer, was from a long line of brightly colored connectionists centered mostly in the Manehattin area. Sweet Tart had moved to Canterlot to start his own candy shop. My uncle looked over me with great interest. “So this is little Vinyl Scratch you’ve been writing to me about!” I puffed out my chest at being called little. “She’s got ma’s mane, that’s for sure!” he said, ruffling my hair. “A fine filly you’ve got there, sis.” Sweet Tart turned to my father and did a small bow. “Good to see you again, Record Scratch. Pleasure to have you with us.” My father smiled in the mild way he always did. He said nothing in return. We made our way through Canterlot slowly. I gripped my suitcase tightly in my mouth as we walked. The city was almost overwhelming to me. The height of the spiraling towers that surrounded me made me dizzy trying to gaze to their metallic tops that pierced the skies with statues and other things of artistic merit. The white stone walls that surrounded the cobblestone streets were adorned with pictorial signs and sophisticated shop advertisements. All around me were cafes and bakeries that completely overwhelmed my senses with the smells of pastries and coffee. Even more impressive than the architecture was the ponies. Everywhere I turned there were mares clad to their snouts in frilled, fluffed up dresses and bonnets, and the stallions escorting them were just as impressive, sporting long tailed tuxedoes and bowler caps. In my awe of them my jaw had dropped, and my suitcase clattered to the ground, the lid popping and my possessions spilling out onto the streets. When I realized my fumble I was sent scrambling, trying to gather everything with my hooves. My magic still wasn’t strong enough to do me any good, and I snapped at things with my teeth to try to catch them. Suddenly a hoof came down on the comic books in front of me, and I looked up to see a pale blue pegasus smiling down at me. She had a tie wrapped expertly around her neck and white buttoned cuffs on her hooves. “Here, let me help you,” she said quietly, picking up the comic book gently in her teeth and setting it in my suitcase. The two of us quickly collected my belongings. I noticed her eyeing some of my piano music and grinning. “Are you a musician?” she asked, eyes remaining on the page. “Yes ma’am,” I answered, pulling my suitcase close. She set my music back in the case as my parents approached. “That’s some advanced music for a filly your age,” she said quietly. I suddenly noticed her saddle bags and my jaw dropped. She followed my gaze and giggled. “I play saxophone in the Royal Orchestra,” she explained, tapping her instrument case. “I’m late for rehearsal now. You keep playing music and maybe you can play with me some day. Ciao.” She trotted off down the street and my parents came to me. “Vinyl I told you to stay with us-” “-had us worried sick-” I was deaf to their words as I stared wide eyed at the pegasus mare as she disappeared into the streets of Canterlot. Now, more than ever, I felt a calling to music. When we arrived at Uncle Tart’s house my first unpleasant encounter with my cousins ensued. They were two colts: one a soon-to-be graduate of Canterlot High and one in the third grade. The oldest was named Bubble Spark and the youngest Bitter Blitz. Both proved to live up to their names. Bubble Spark studied magical defense spells and was going to work for the Royal Guard. The few times I spoke with him he was nice enough, but it was his brother I most hated. Sweet Tart was a unicorn through and through, so when I saw Bitter Blitz was a pegasus I quickly guessed that the missus was as well. Bitter Blitz was in the Junior Speedsters program, and talked about nothing but flying. Even his cutie mark was a compliment to his speed; his flank was adorned with a hair of blue glittering wings. The moment Bitter Blitz laid eyes on me, I could see a judgmental smirk creep across his face. “Fillies don’t like Action Colt comics,” he said condescendingly. He had spotted my Kabuki Warrior suitcase. “Yeah they do,” I replied. “I do.” “Oh really? Where was the battle of Ironhoof held?” I didn’t have that issue yet. I said I didn’t know. “Typical,” he snorted, “for a filly.” I was reaching back to clock him in the snout when my father withdrew me to another room. “Scratchy,” he said gently. “Please behave yourself. We’re company.” “He was making fun of me,” I protested. My father frowned. “I’ll have a word with Sweet Tart about it…put your things in the guest room.” Soft spoken as ever. My father left. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs and into the guest room. There was a medium mattress in one of the corners and a sleeping bag on the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where I was sleeping. I pulled my music out and spread it out across the floor. I remembered what the pegasus mare had said to me on the way here and frowned. She had said it was advanced for someone my age, but it didn’t seem so difficult to me. I ran over the notes in my head, humming the tune quietly. It wasn’t simple, but it wasn’t complex either. I took the music in me mouth and went to Sweet Tart. “Where’s your piano?” I asked. “Sorry kid, we haven’t got a piano,” he said, ruffling my mane. I felt a stone drop in my stomach. All at once I wanted to return home and went to my father with the request. “We haven’t even been here an hour, Scratchy,” he said gently. I sighed. “I want the piano.” My father looked at me with a strange grin. “Is that the only reason you want to go home?” I didn’t answer. I was too embarrassed to admit the truth. My father laughed quietly. “How about this,” he said, “There are going to be some floats at Bubble Spark’s school tonight, and I know some of them will have music. Would you like to go?” It was no Royal Orchestra, but it was music. I said I would. I waited in anxious anticipation for the evening to arrive. I had only been to a few musical events in my life so far, and I couldn’t wait to attend one in Canterlot. When it came time to leave, my father boosted me up onto his back and we set out into the town. Uncle Sweet Tart was accompanying us on the way to the school. Bubble Spark was on the cricket ream, and Sweet Tart was going to watch the game. He told me that his son’s cricket team was the best in all of Canterlot, and that they had been all over Equestria in tournaments. “Now that he’s graduating, this’ll be his very last game before joining the Royal Guard,” he said, smiling. Even though Bubble Spark hadn’t followed his father’s career, it was obvious that Sweet Tart was incredibly proud of his son. It always showed in the way he spoke about him, with the excited tone in his voice and look of happiness on his face. I wondered if my father would speak that way about me. We arrived at the school quickly enough, only to find the evening’s festivities had already begun. Sweet Tart left us then to catch the remainder of his son’s cricket game. I clung tightly to my father as we nosed our way through the crowd. I could hear music over the crowd. I stopped suddenly, my ears perking. This music was different from anything I had ever heard. It was loud, for a first. Not in volume, but in style. I stood up, placing my hooves on my father’s head as I craned my neck to see the float that was letting out this strange, exciting music. Upon the large, flashy platform were several unicorn colts, every one dressed in outlandish outfits. The one singing was the most outlandish of them all; a white colt with shocking blue hair. He sang loudly and heavily, and I felt my chest swelling with joy. This new kind of music was incredible to me. It gave me a feeling unlike any other in my heart, and suddenly I knew this was what I was meant for. This was my destiny. And in that moment, my cutie mark appeared. ModulationBefore I knew it, I was caught up in a whole new world of music. There were so many things to hear, so many things to play. I had never been happier than I was then. My father supported me in the beginning. Of course he had been excited that his filly held talent in music. Although he didn’t show it, I knew he was happy. My mother was proud too. She told me over and over again how she had known from the beginning that I was going to be a musical mare. My return to school was the biggest success for me. If I had been popular before because of my father’s status, I was even more so now that I had my cutie mark. Like the rest of the children, I got a chance to showcase my talents. My teacher, Mr. Huckleberry, told me at the end of the week I could do a special performance for everyone. It was my first concert. I’ll never forget the feeling I had that morning, lugging my music folders to school. I had arranged the order of the songs I wanted to play perfectly, and practiced them over and over through the week. When I sat down at the piano, I felt like I was going to pass out. It was an exhilarating feeling, and I was nervous even before my hooves touched the keys. However, this time I knew, everything would be perfect. Music was what I was meant to do. I played that first note, and from then after I was trapped in my own consciousness, pouring my heart and soul into the keys, wanting everyone I knew to hear how beautiful music could really be. And they did. By the time I reached secondary school, I had begun to change. I still listened to classical music and the artists that my father loved, but I started to slowly immerse myself in more modern music. Rock and roll. Punk. I became fascinated with guitars and drums, and soon I began to save my money for more instruments. My first guitar was my prized possession in that time. It had taken months and months of saving and doing jobs for ponies around the neighborhood to pay for the instrument, and when it was finally mine I treated it like my own child. It was acoustic- the wood finish was beautiful, and it had small flowers with birds flittering about them painted across the bottom. I played that guitar like there was nothing else in the world that mattered, and there wasn’t. Music was a part of me now, and I would never let it go. High school was a great turning point for me. Everypony finally knew who they were and what they were meant to be, and they wanted to showcase it to everyone they knew. I joined the school band as an auxiliary percussionist. I worked through the whole section, mastering every instrument I could. It was then that I got my hooves on my first drum set. Even though it belonged to the school, I loved that thing dearly. I started taking percussion lessons after school. I’ll never forget my teacher. She was a sort of middle aged unicorn, but she knew everything there was about music. Her name was Note Runner, though no pony dared call her anything besides Ms. Runner. She was strict and unforgiving, but it only made her a better teacher. Lots of the ponies in the band hated her, but to me she was one of the greatest mares I had ever known. Note Runner helped me to learn the works of more instruments than I could even keep track of. To this day I’d still like to thank her for all she’s done for me, but she has long since disappeared. Over the years, as I had become more and more immersed in modern music, my father slowly stopped supporting me. It was very clear that his interests lied in more classical types of music, while mine had extended to more modern terms. Electronic music was now settling in, and I was all about it. My father of course believed that music made with machines would never be as good as a pony playing. He would often remark on how it wasn’t ‘real music’ and things of the like. That was the point that I realized I had begun to rather dislike him. Soon I was itching to leave for college. I knew where I wanted to be: The Royal Canterlot School of Music. It was only the very best music school in all of Equestria, and I knew from the start that I needed to go. I did all I could in high school so that I could be accepted. When the time came to send the applications, I thought I would die from how anxious I was. Every day I spent pacing in the front room, peeping out the front window to see if the mail mare was here with the post. Every time she arrived I would burst out the door and take the mail from her hooves. When the return letter finally arrived I couldn’t bring myself to open it. When I saw it in the pile of letters I remember dropping the whole stack right out on the front porch, my knees wobbling. The mail mare helped me pick up the letters clumsily, and she set them inside the doorway as I stood quivering, looking at the return address on the envelope. “Something wrong?” she asked, landing on my porch. “Can you…? Oh I couldn’t ask that of you!” “Miss Scratch?” The peagsus was very polite for a mail mare. “Could you read this letter for me?” My voice shook when I asked the question. “Oh! Umm…sure.” The mare took the envelope in her hoof and gently tore the top open with her teeth. “Be careful…don’t tear the letter! Oh I’m sorry, what does it say?” I had to sit down to hide my quivering. I think the mail mare could tell, and she patted my shoulder with her wing. She extracted the letter and read it. I think she read it over more than one time, because I grew so nervous that my teeth began to jitter, and I ended up chomping at my hoof. “Miss Vinyl Scratch,” she said, looking up with a huge grin, “don’t you worry about a thing. You’re accepted to The Royal Canterlot School of Music.” I screamed like a little filly and threw my hooves around her in the heat of the moment. She hugged me back, a little awkwardly, but still shared my excitement. “I’M ACCEPTED!” I screamed, causing the mail mare to cringe. She handed me the letter, and I read it over and over again. When my parents arrived home I sputtered and spewed the good news to them. Both of them were incredibly excited for me, and we had a party that night. I remember my mother sneaking me some alcohol while my father wasn’t looking. I was going to miss her when I left. When I boarded the train for Canterlot, I remembered the first time I had been there, when I had gotten my cutie mark. I took care to sit by the window, and clutched my bags close as I watched the landscapes outside roll by. I finally knew what my father had meant when he said he was going on a journey. It was what he saw when he heard his music, and the places his mind took him as he played. I knew that now, and I slowly leaned my head on the glass and fell asleep. Life at Canterlot Music School was everything I had imagined it to be. The campus was absolutely beautiful, and the buildings looked like they were something out of a fairy tale. All of the students were incredibly talented, and I valued my time with each and every one of them. The pony I shared my dorm with played mainly brass instruments; trumpets, trombones, tubas, the whole works. Her name was Golden Glissando. Golden Glissando and I became very close, and she attempted to teach me the euphonium, at which I failed miserably, much to her entertainment. However, the day that changed everything was brought exclusively by her, when she invited me to a performance at the Royal Canterlot Orchestra. It was a late spring day, and class was letting out. I stumbled from music theory, weary eyed. We had gone over the modes again in class, and I was still struggling to understand. “How did it go again?” I asked Golden Glissando, tapping my head. “Ionian…phrygian-” “Dorian comes after Ionian, Vinyl,” she interrupted, showing me her notes page. “I don’t know why you’re having such a difficult time remembering these.” “They’re all weird I guess,” I muttered, scanning her notes with a sigh. “Yeah. Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she started, sliding her notes into her saddle bag, “I’ve got tickets to the Royal Orchestra, do you want to come?” My heart skipped. “Did you even need to ask?” I replied excitedly. “Of course I do! How did you even get them?” “A friend,” she replied simply. “It’s not important. The concert is this evening at seven. Meet me outside the hall at six thirty?” “I’ll be there!” “Alright, see you then. I’ve got lessons in a few, catch you later!” With that, Golden Glissando galloped off to the dorms to fetch her instruments. Before I knew it, the clock stuck six, and I was still trying to finish the last of my homework for the day. It would take me a good deal of time to get to the hall, and I’d be late if I didn’t leave soon. After brushing my unkempt mane as best I could and managing to put on a collar and tie I was out the door and into the streets. Canterlot on a weekday evening was busy, and the streets were congested with ponies returning home from work. I fought through the crowds to make my way towards the concert hall, which was on the other side of town from the university. I heard the bell ringing for the half hour mark and began to panic. I was going to be late! I pushed my way into a back alley, which I skidded through and emerged on a different street, galloping between carts and taxis in the roadway. When I finally reached the hall it was ten till seven, and Golden Glissando was still standing on the stairs, tapping a hoof impatiently. “Sorry,” I started as I approached her, panting. “Traffic.” “I figured that would happen,” she said, giggling. I cocked my head, confused. Why was she laughing? We would miss the concert if we didn’t hurry. “Come on then, let’s get inside before it starts,” I said anxiously, trotting up the stairwell. “Oh, about that.” I twirled around, looking at my friend, who was still giggling. “It actually starts at seven thirty. I knew you would be late somehow or other, so I gave you an earlier time.” “You what?” I asked, a little angry. “I could have finished my homework!” “And missed the concert?” I blushed, looking away. Golden Glissando smiled, trotting up to me. “I know how you are. Besides, you got here at exactly the right time.” The bells began to ring overhead, and I counted the gongs. It was seven. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Glissy.” “Any time, Vinyl.” We entered the grand hall and gaped in awe. The entire place was full of dressed up ponies, but more impressive than that was the building itself. The intricate patterns on the red carpeting continued up the carved marble pillars and onto the ceiling, where magnificent chandeliers hung, lit in dazzling light. The staircases were gigantic, and there were ushers on every corner. Golden Glissando showed our tickets to one of them, and we were shown to the hall. In the concert hall were row upon row of red velveted chairs with beautiful wood finish on the arm rests and backings. I eagerly chose a seat in the front, much to my friend’s discontent. We settled in quickly before the entire hall was fit to burst. I watched all the musicians make their way onto the stage and begin warming up their instruments. Golden Glissando made a remark on how small the trombone section was while I gawked at the five bassoon players that had seated themselves towards the back. “That’s more bassoons than I’ve seen in my entire life,” I told her. “More bassoons than trombones,” was her disgruntled reply. The conductor appeared on the stage, and there was great applause. He did not speak, only bowed, and took his place on the stand. Using his magic, he raised the baton. The instruments were raised, and upon the downbeat the hall was filled with incredible music, the likes of which I had never heard. My jaw dropped and I looked to Golden Glissando, who looked about to cry. “Can you hear that french horn line?” she whispered to me. “I didn’t even know they could reach that high of an octave.” “Me neither.” I knew nothing about french horns, but went along with it anyways. Slowly my eyes closed, and I felt myself slipping off into a dreamlike state as I listened to the incredible music being produced from the orchestra. My mind wandered, and I began to go on a journey, like my father had. The pathways in my mind twisted and turned, and when the music was over I opened my eyes with more reluctance than I did in the mornings when I woke up. “Did you fall asleep?” I heard Golden Glissando ask over the thundering applause. “I was thinking,” came my reply. The conductor turned, and raised his hoof for the attention of the audience. “For this next piece, I’d like you to welcome a special guest to the hall tonight; the winner of our strings soloist contest, miss Octavia Strings!” There was loud applause as a creamy gray earth pony appeared on the stage, clutching a cello tightly to her side. I watched her approach the conductor and shake hooves with him, then turn to the audience and take a bow. She said nothing, but took her seat beside the conductor’s stand and set up her cello, exhaling deeply. I watched her, completely entranced. She was the most beautiful mare I had ever seen. “Wow,” I muttered, “she’s incredible.” “She hasn’t even played anything yet,” my friend whispered. “Mhmm.” I leaned onto my hooves, watching her intently. The conductor raised his baton, looking over at Octavia. The earth pony nodded to him, and raised her bow to the strings of her instrument. The sound that came afterwards was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, and I knew from that moment that she was something special. CadenzaOctavia finished her outstanding solo and the crowd went wild. Everyone stood up and stomped their hooves on the ground with great excitement for her. I don’t know if any of them applauded louder than I did. Probably not. As she was walking off the stage we made eye contact for just a moment, and I waved at her. She did not wave back, but nodded slightly and disappeared. “She was incredible, wasn’t she?” Golden Glissando asked, taking her seat again. “I want to meet her.” “Pardon?” My friend looked at me strangely. “You want to meet Octavia?” “I don’t know why,” I stuttered, squirming back into my seat. “She seems like she would be an interesting mare to know. I mean we’re both musicians, right?” The rest of the concert passed slowly. Octavia did not appear on the stage again, much to my disappointment. She had been incredibly talented. All I wanted was to talk to her. By the time the performance was over, it had grown late into the night, and my eyes were beginning to droop. In my drowsiness I forgot all about meeting Octavia, and returned to my dorm and fell asleep. When I awoke the next morning I suddenly remembered what I had wanted to do, and was very upset with myself the rest of the day. “Are you still upset, Vinyl?” Golden Glissando shut the door to our room behind her. “Maybe.” “Don’t get yourself so down, you’ll probably get another chance.” I rolled over in my bed, clutching the novel I was reading close to my chest. “Vinyl, haven’t you started your paper yet?” “No, mom.” “Come to the library with me, we’ll work on it together. You can’t sit in here reading all day.” I reluctantly rolled out of bed and walked to the library with my friend. Most everyone was at lunch, so the library was fairly empty. I helped Golden Glissando find her books for her paper, but got little work done myself. I checked out one or two books before heading back to the room. “You know,” Golden Glissando started, climbing into the top bunk of our bed, “you could just go to another concert if it mattered that much.” “Hm?” “I think that mare is in the junior symphony, I’m not sure though.” I heard my roommate drop onto the mattress and throw her blankets about. “You should check the roster at the hall.” “Why, are you gunna take a nap?” No reply. I left the room. I wandered the campus for a while, talking to a few of my peers about little things. By the time it reached one in the evening, new classes were starting, and the campus cleared. I think the strings classes were going on, I’m not sure. I found myself ambling away from the campus and into the streets of Canterlot. I had brought my saddlebags with me, and was relieved to find a few bits in them. I soon found myself in a café and ordered a pastry for lunch. As I stood by the counter I noticed a small colt eyeing my cutie mark. “Good evening,” I said, looking down at him. He returned my gaze, surprised. “Hullo.” There was a small period of silence. “Do you play music?” “Yeah, you could say that. I’m going to the music college downtown.” “That’s where I’m going to go.” I looked at the colt in surprise. “You play?” I asked. “Flute.” I was about to say something to him when my name was called and a tray placed on the counter. I took it with my magic, and as I walked away said, “Good luck kid. I’ll see you out there.” I took a seat by the window and ate slowly, watching the ponies of the city meander by. Soon enough I was back in the streets. Golden Glissando would be asleep for a while yet, and I soon found myself at the concert hall. I lingered outside for a moment before entering. There was a single receptionist loitering about at the desks, and upon my entry she looked up idly. “What’s up?” she asked, leaning over the counter. “Oh! Um…” I wavered a moment, slightly embarrassed. “Actually I was going to check something. Do you have a roster for the junior symphony?” “In one of the programs I think. One sec.” The receptionist disappeared into a back room, and returned with a small packet. I flipped through it quickly, and scanned through the cello section. “Hmm, Strings…Strings…” I muttered, scanning the row of names on the paper. “Ah, there she is! Octavia Strings!” I grinned, closing the program. “Find what you needed?” the receptionist asked, taking back the program. “Yeah. Are you selling tickets for that concert?” The receptionist looked surprised. “Yes, but it’s tomorrow night,” she said, settling down in her chair. “That’s awful last minute.” “I can deal with that. How much?” Soon my bits were spent, and I left the hall with a ticket in my bag. The sun was beginning to sink, and I made my way back to the campus. Upon entering the dorm I found that Golden Glissando had cleaned it. Often when she was stressed she would end up cleaning out our room completely. “You were out late,” she said, dropping a stack of books on my bed. “I was busy.” “You were going to miss your evening class.” “Oh! I almost forgot! Thanks,” I said, grabbing my book from the bed. “Thanks for cleaning up, by the way.” The night of the concert came up quickly, and I hurried to get ready. Fortunately, Golden Glissando was out, and I could leave without any trouble. I found myself at the hall an hour early. “Go on into the auditorium when you’re ready,” the usher said, taking my ticket. “You can sit wherever you like, Miss.” I entered the large room to find the musicians set up on the stage, tuning. I quickly spotted Octavia, who was seated at the end of one of the rows. She was talking to the pony beside her as she played. I made my way to the front row and sat as close to her as I could. Octavia glanced towards me momentarily, but returned her attention to her instrument. She did not look back at me again. The concert was wonderful, and the applause at the end thundered through the hall. As the audience cleared out I remained in my seat, waiting to get a chance to talk to Octavia. Ponies left rather quickly, but when I was finally able to get up she was gone. I reluctantly returned to the front desk, tapping the counter. The receptionist that had served me before appeared. “Can I get a ticket to the next junior concert?” I asked shyly. She raised her eyebrow. “Sure thing.” This was the beginning of a long strain of concerts. I attended every single one, each time sitting as close as I could to Octavia. After the third or fourth time she began to notice me, and looked over once or twice during her concerts. I never got a chance to speak with her. Another concert was ending. I listened to the applause ring out across the hall. Slowly it died down and everyone left. I approached the stage eagerly as the last musicians exited, hopeful that perhaps she would wait for me. She did not. I climbed awkwardly onto the stage to find it empty. I looked out over the audience seats. There wasn’t a soul left in the hall, and I could see everything. Even without anypony there, the great mass of seats was already a little overwhelming. It was unnerving to imagine them filled with ponies, all listening to every noise you made. I walked slowly towards the piano. It was very large and looked to be in better condition than when it had even been bought. I placed a hoof on one of the keys, and the sound rang through the hall. In a moment I was seated on the bench, pouring into the keys. I hadn’t played a piano like this since I had been home in Manehattin. It was beautiful. Quite suddenly, the sound of strings could be heard behind me, and soon I was playing a gorgeous duet with a cello. It was unlike anything I had done before, and it sounded incredible. I struck the last notes and let them ring out in chorus with the cello. I removed my hooves from the keys, sighing. “You are a very talented pianist.” I turned, and my heart stopped. Standing there, clutching a cello to her side, was Octavia.
EtudeWhen I first met her, everything changed. Not in a sudden kind of way that someone can notice right away, but in a slow way where you would have to look back on it years later to see the difference. Now that I think about it, it started a long time before I met her. It started when I first discovered the joy of music. ***** I was very young at the time, perhaps five or six years of age. My father was a musical pony from the start, and he was always doing something with his instruments. He was a pianist first, and everything else came later. My father could play any kind of music you could dream of. Jazz, classical, you name it, he could do it. Naturally, he taught me piano as well. I collected a quick talent for the instrument and longed to be as good as my father. My mother was not a musical individual. We lived in the heart of Manehattin, and my mother held a job as a bartender in an out of the way little place called Oats and Whey. It was a sleepy sort of bar that served Germane cuisine and barley beers. I had only been once or twice with my mother, and the only thing I could really remember was the smell of barley and the sound of a piano playing against the ambience of mild conversation. My father would play there sometimes when the normal pianist was out. Naturally I was very proud of my father, and he was the topic of nearly every conversation I would have on the school grounds. I looked up to him more than anything else. I knew I wanted to be a musician just like him, but my cutie mark was not there. My classmates questioned my talents frequently and often, and I began to question them myself. If I really had been destined for music, my mark would have appeared a long time ago. I came to my father about it, crying. “Scratchy,” he said softly, nuzzling my tear streaked face. “Don’t you worry about it, baby. It takes time for these kinds of things.” I was embarrassed about crying, but began to sob even more. “But I know it’s my talent,” I replied. “I’m so sure father.” He smiled and lifted me onto his back. “Don’t let it get to you, baby. You’ll get it when the time is right.” I loved my father dearly, and trusted him in the matter. That was the last time I came to him about it. I was not the most vocal character, and would usually flock to the grand piano with my sorrows. Something about those stark ebony and ivory keys drew me to them, and I poured my emotions into the music that spilled from its strings. The piano was almost a part of me, and its tones brought more comfort to me than the words of ponies ever could. Sometimes my father would play duets with me, and sometimes he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to me, as long as I got to play. The piano was the source of my comfort, and my solitude. Often times when I returned home, my father would be sitting in his study, eyes concentrated on the music that would be playing from his phonograph. I learned not to disturb him in these state very quickly. The one time I had tried to speak with him during this time, he had slowly turned to me and said, “Scratchy, do you know what I’m doing?” His voice was kind and soft, but I could still sense some irritation. “No,” I said. “I’m going on a journey.” “A journey, father?” I was confused. It looked like he was sitting in his study with music on. He smiled warmly. “In here,” he said, pointing a hoof at his head. “In my mind, Scratchy.” I was still puzzled. “But you aren’t going anywhere.” My father seemed tired of my questions and closed his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Don’t you have some homework to be doing?” I left him alone after that. I suppose the most important part of my childhood was our trip to Canterlot to visit my cousins. “Vinyl,” my mother called from the kitchen. I trotted in loyally, finding her sitting at the counter with a small shot of alcoholic cider. I never did mind her drinking, and accepted it was just something every pony did from time to time. “We’re going to be taking a visit to Canterlot for one of your cousins’ graduation from high school.” She took a sip of her cider. “We’ll be leaving next week and staying with your uncle Sweet Tart.” Uncle Sweet Tart was unknown to me at the time, and the concept of meeting new relatives excited me almost as much as visiting Canterlot did. I had my bags packed that very night, and spent the week in jittering anticipation. When the day of the trip came, the whole family packed onto the train Canterlot bound early in the morning and set off. I had never been on a train before, and felt fit to burst with excitement as I watched Equestria whip by outside of my window. It was almost like a dream, the way I was seeing things. I wondered if this was what my father saw when he took his journeys and asked him. “Sometimes,” he said with a laugh, patting my head. I couldn’t imagine what other kinds of journeys he could take, but I didn’t ask .I sat transfixed beside my window until our trip had ended. When we stepped off the train at Canterlot Station, I could have recognized my uncle right off, even if he had covered himself with robes and worn sunglasses. His coat was a shocking pink hue the likes of which I had never seen. His blue mane was styled in the most ridiculous curls I had ever seen on a pony, save for some of the more expensive filly dolls. His eyes were a strange shade of magenta, and on his flank was a cutie mark of some assortment of taffy. He ran up to my mother and nearly knocked her over in his excitement. “Berry!” he cried loudly. “So good to see you!” I shielded my ears. “Hey Tarts,” she returned, hugging him tightly. As I looked on, I could see their relations clearly, my mother’s creamy strawberry coat and minty greet mane beginning to look more and more like candy when paired with my uncle’s. My mother, named Berry Mixer, was from a long line of brightly colored connectionists centered mostly in the Manehattin area. Sweet Tart had moved to Canterlot to start his own candy shop. My uncle looked over me with great interest. “So this is little Vinyl Scratch you’ve been writing to me about!” I puffed out my chest at being called little. “She’s got ma’s mane, that’s for sure!” he said, ruffling my hair. “A fine filly you’ve got there, sis.” Sweet Tart turned to my father and did a small bow. “Good to see you again, Record Scratch. Pleasure to have you with us.” My father smiled in the mild way he always did. He said nothing in return. We made our way through Canterlot slowly. I gripped my suitcase tightly in my mouth as we walked. The city was almost overwhelming to me. The height of the spiraling towers that surrounded me made me dizzy trying to gaze to their metallic tops that pierced the skies with statues and other things of artistic merit. The white stone walls that surrounded the cobblestone streets were adorned with pictorial signs and sophisticated shop advertisements. All around me were cafes and bakeries that completely overwhelmed my senses with the smells of pastries and coffee. Even more impressive than the architecture was the ponies. Everywhere I turned there were mares clad to their snouts in frilled, fluffed up dresses and bonnets, and the stallions escorting them were just as impressive, sporting long tailed tuxedoes and bowler caps. In my awe of them my jaw had dropped, and my suitcase clattered to the ground, the lid popping and my possessions spilling out onto the streets. When I realized my fumble I was sent scrambling, trying to gather everything with my hooves. My magic still wasn’t strong enough to do me any good, and I snapped at things with my teeth to try to catch them. Suddenly a hoof came down on the comic books in front of me, and I looked up to see a pale blue pegasus smiling down at me. She had a tie wrapped expertly around her neck and white buttoned cuffs on her hooves. “Here, let me help you,” she said quietly, picking up the comic book gently in her teeth and setting it in my suitcase. The two of us quickly collected my belongings. I noticed her eyeing some of my piano music and grinning. “Are you a musician?” she asked, eyes remaining on the page. “Yes ma’am,” I answered, pulling my suitcase close. She set my music back in the case as my parents approached. “That’s some advanced music for a filly your age,” she said quietly. I suddenly noticed her saddle bags and my jaw dropped. She followed my gaze and giggled. “I play saxophone in the Royal Orchestra,” she explained, tapping her instrument case. “I’m late for rehearsal now. You keep playing music and maybe you can play with me some day. Ciao.” She trotted off down the street and my parents came to me. “Vinyl I told you to stay with us-” “-had us worried sick-” I was deaf to their words as I stared wide eyed at the pegasus mare as she disappeared into the streets of Canterlot. Now, more than ever, I felt a calling to music. When we arrived at Uncle Tart’s house my first unpleasant encounter with my cousins ensued. They were two colts: one a soon-to-be graduate of Canterlot High and one in the third grade. The oldest was named Bubble Spark and the youngest Bitter Blitz. Both proved to live up to their names. Bubble Spark studied magical defense spells and was going to work for the Royal Guard. The few times I spoke with him he was nice enough, but it was his brother I most hated. Sweet Tart was a unicorn through and through, so when I saw Bitter Blitz was a pegasus I quickly guessed that the missus was as well. Bitter Blitz was in the Junior Speedsters program, and talked about nothing but flying. Even his cutie mark was a compliment to his speed; his flank was adorned with a hair of blue glittering wings. The moment Bitter Blitz laid eyes on me, I could see a judgmental smirk creep across his face. “Fillies don’t like Action Colt comics,” he said condescendingly. He had spotted my Kabuki Warrior suitcase. “Yeah they do,” I replied. “I do.” “Oh really? Where was the battle of Ironhoof held?” I didn’t have that issue yet. I said I didn’t know. “Typical,” he snorted, “for a filly.” I was reaching back to clock him in the snout when my father withdrew me to another room. “Scratchy,” he said gently. “Please behave yourself. We’re company.” “He was making fun of me,” I protested. My father frowned. “I’ll have a word with Sweet Tart about it…put your things in the guest room.” Soft spoken as ever. My father left. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs and into the guest room. There was a medium mattress in one of the corners and a sleeping bag on the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where I was sleeping. I pulled my music out and spread it out across the floor. I remembered what the pegasus mare had said to me on the way here and frowned. She had said it was advanced for someone my age, but it didn’t seem so difficult to me. I ran over the notes in my head, humming the tune quietly. It wasn’t simple, but it wasn’t complex either. I took the music in me mouth and went to Sweet Tart. “Where’s your piano?” I asked. “Sorry kid, we haven’t got a piano,” he said, ruffling my mane. I felt a stone drop in my stomach. All at once I wanted to return home and went to my father with the request. “We haven’t even been here an hour, Scratchy,” he said gently. I sighed. “I want the piano.” My father looked at me with a strange grin. “Is that the only reason you want to go home?” I didn’t answer. I was too embarrassed to admit the truth. My father laughed quietly. “How about this,” he said, “There are going to be some floats at Bubble Spark’s school tonight, and I know some of them will have music. Would you like to go?” It was no Royal Orchestra, but it was music. I said I would. I waited in anxious anticipation for the evening to arrive. I had only been to a few musical events in my life so far, and I couldn’t wait to attend one in Canterlot. When it came time to leave, my father boosted me up onto his back and we set out into the town. Uncle Sweet Tart was accompanying us on the way to the school. Bubble Spark was on the cricket ream, and Sweet Tart was going to watch the game. He told me that his son’s cricket team was the best in all of Canterlot, and that they had been all over Equestria in tournaments. “Now that he’s graduating, this’ll be his very last game before joining the Royal Guard,” he said, smiling. Even though Bubble Spark hadn’t followed his father’s career, it was obvious that Sweet Tart was incredibly proud of his son. It always showed in the way he spoke about him, with the excited tone in his voice and look of happiness on his face. I wondered if my father would speak that way about me. We arrived at the school quickly enough, only to find the evening’s festivities had already begun. Sweet Tart left us then to catch the remainder of his son’s cricket game. I clung tightly to my father as we nosed our way through the crowd. I could hear music over the crowd. I stopped suddenly, my ears perking. This music was different from anything I had ever heard. It was loud, for a first. Not in volume, but in style. I stood up, placing my hooves on my father’s head as I craned my neck to see the float that was letting out this strange, exciting music. Upon the large, flashy platform were several unicorn colts, every one dressed in outlandish outfits. The one singing was the most outlandish of them all; a white colt with shocking blue hair. He sang loudly and heavily, and I felt my chest swelling with joy. This new kind of music was incredible to me. It gave me a feeling unlike any other in my heart, and suddenly I knew this was what I was meant for. This was my destiny. And in that moment, my cutie mark appeared.
ModulationBefore I knew it, I was caught up in a whole new world of music. There were so many things to hear, so many things to play. I had never been happier than I was then. My father supported me in the beginning. Of course he had been excited that his filly held talent in music. Although he didn’t show it, I knew he was happy. My mother was proud too. She told me over and over again how she had known from the beginning that I was going to be a musical mare. My return to school was the biggest success for me. If I had been popular before because of my father’s status, I was even more so now that I had my cutie mark. Like the rest of the children, I got a chance to showcase my talents. My teacher, Mr. Huckleberry, told me at the end of the week I could do a special performance for everyone. It was my first concert. I’ll never forget the feeling I had that morning, lugging my music folders to school. I had arranged the order of the songs I wanted to play perfectly, and practiced them over and over through the week. When I sat down at the piano, I felt like I was going to pass out. It was an exhilarating feeling, and I was nervous even before my hooves touched the keys. However, this time I knew, everything would be perfect. Music was what I was meant to do. I played that first note, and from then after I was trapped in my own consciousness, pouring my heart and soul into the keys, wanting everyone I knew to hear how beautiful music could really be. And they did. By the time I reached secondary school, I had begun to change. I still listened to classical music and the artists that my father loved, but I started to slowly immerse myself in more modern music. Rock and roll. Punk. I became fascinated with guitars and drums, and soon I began to save my money for more instruments. My first guitar was my prized possession in that time. It had taken months and months of saving and doing jobs for ponies around the neighborhood to pay for the instrument, and when it was finally mine I treated it like my own child. It was acoustic- the wood finish was beautiful, and it had small flowers with birds flittering about them painted across the bottom. I played that guitar like there was nothing else in the world that mattered, and there wasn’t. Music was a part of me now, and I would never let it go. High school was a great turning point for me. Everypony finally knew who they were and what they were meant to be, and they wanted to showcase it to everyone they knew. I joined the school band as an auxiliary percussionist. I worked through the whole section, mastering every instrument I could. It was then that I got my hooves on my first drum set. Even though it belonged to the school, I loved that thing dearly. I started taking percussion lessons after school. I’ll never forget my teacher. She was a sort of middle aged unicorn, but she knew everything there was about music. Her name was Note Runner, though no pony dared call her anything besides Ms. Runner. She was strict and unforgiving, but it only made her a better teacher. Lots of the ponies in the band hated her, but to me she was one of the greatest mares I had ever known. Note Runner helped me to learn the works of more instruments than I could even keep track of. To this day I’d still like to thank her for all she’s done for me, but she has long since disappeared. Over the years, as I had become more and more immersed in modern music, my father slowly stopped supporting me. It was very clear that his interests lied in more classical types of music, while mine had extended to more modern terms. Electronic music was now settling in, and I was all about it. My father of course believed that music made with machines would never be as good as a pony playing. He would often remark on how it wasn’t ‘real music’ and things of the like. That was the point that I realized I had begun to rather dislike him. Soon I was itching to leave for college. I knew where I wanted to be: The Royal Canterlot School of Music. It was only the very best music school in all of Equestria, and I knew from the start that I needed to go. I did all I could in high school so that I could be accepted. When the time came to send the applications, I thought I would die from how anxious I was. Every day I spent pacing in the front room, peeping out the front window to see if the mail mare was here with the post. Every time she arrived I would burst out the door and take the mail from her hooves. When the return letter finally arrived I couldn’t bring myself to open it. When I saw it in the pile of letters I remember dropping the whole stack right out on the front porch, my knees wobbling. The mail mare helped me pick up the letters clumsily, and she set them inside the doorway as I stood quivering, looking at the return address on the envelope. “Something wrong?” she asked, landing on my porch. “Can you…? Oh I couldn’t ask that of you!” “Miss Scratch?” The peagsus was very polite for a mail mare. “Could you read this letter for me?” My voice shook when I asked the question. “Oh! Umm…sure.” The mare took the envelope in her hoof and gently tore the top open with her teeth. “Be careful…don’t tear the letter! Oh I’m sorry, what does it say?” I had to sit down to hide my quivering. I think the mail mare could tell, and she patted my shoulder with her wing. She extracted the letter and read it. I think she read it over more than one time, because I grew so nervous that my teeth began to jitter, and I ended up chomping at my hoof. “Miss Vinyl Scratch,” she said, looking up with a huge grin, “don’t you worry about a thing. You’re accepted to The Royal Canterlot School of Music.” I screamed like a little filly and threw my hooves around her in the heat of the moment. She hugged me back, a little awkwardly, but still shared my excitement. “I’M ACCEPTED!” I screamed, causing the mail mare to cringe. She handed me the letter, and I read it over and over again. When my parents arrived home I sputtered and spewed the good news to them. Both of them were incredibly excited for me, and we had a party that night. I remember my mother sneaking me some alcohol while my father wasn’t looking. I was going to miss her when I left. When I boarded the train for Canterlot, I remembered the first time I had been there, when I had gotten my cutie mark. I took care to sit by the window, and clutched my bags close as I watched the landscapes outside roll by. I finally knew what my father had meant when he said he was going on a journey. It was what he saw when he heard his music, and the places his mind took him as he played. I knew that now, and I slowly leaned my head on the glass and fell asleep. Life at Canterlot Music School was everything I had imagined it to be. The campus was absolutely beautiful, and the buildings looked like they were something out of a fairy tale. All of the students were incredibly talented, and I valued my time with each and every one of them. The pony I shared my dorm with played mainly brass instruments; trumpets, trombones, tubas, the whole works. Her name was Golden Glissando. Golden Glissando and I became very close, and she attempted to teach me the euphonium, at which I failed miserably, much to her entertainment. However, the day that changed everything was brought exclusively by her, when she invited me to a performance at the Royal Canterlot Orchestra. It was a late spring day, and class was letting out. I stumbled from music theory, weary eyed. We had gone over the modes again in class, and I was still struggling to understand. “How did it go again?” I asked Golden Glissando, tapping my head. “Ionian…phrygian-” “Dorian comes after Ionian, Vinyl,” she interrupted, showing me her notes page. “I don’t know why you’re having such a difficult time remembering these.” “They’re all weird I guess,” I muttered, scanning her notes with a sigh. “Yeah. Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she started, sliding her notes into her saddle bag, “I’ve got tickets to the Royal Orchestra, do you want to come?” My heart skipped. “Did you even need to ask?” I replied excitedly. “Of course I do! How did you even get them?” “A friend,” she replied simply. “It’s not important. The concert is this evening at seven. Meet me outside the hall at six thirty?” “I’ll be there!” “Alright, see you then. I’ve got lessons in a few, catch you later!” With that, Golden Glissando galloped off to the dorms to fetch her instruments. Before I knew it, the clock stuck six, and I was still trying to finish the last of my homework for the day. It would take me a good deal of time to get to the hall, and I’d be late if I didn’t leave soon. After brushing my unkempt mane as best I could and managing to put on a collar and tie I was out the door and into the streets. Canterlot on a weekday evening was busy, and the streets were congested with ponies returning home from work. I fought through the crowds to make my way towards the concert hall, which was on the other side of town from the university. I heard the bell ringing for the half hour mark and began to panic. I was going to be late! I pushed my way into a back alley, which I skidded through and emerged on a different street, galloping between carts and taxis in the roadway. When I finally reached the hall it was ten till seven, and Golden Glissando was still standing on the stairs, tapping a hoof impatiently. “Sorry,” I started as I approached her, panting. “Traffic.” “I figured that would happen,” she said, giggling. I cocked my head, confused. Why was she laughing? We would miss the concert if we didn’t hurry. “Come on then, let’s get inside before it starts,” I said anxiously, trotting up the stairwell. “Oh, about that.” I twirled around, looking at my friend, who was still giggling. “It actually starts at seven thirty. I knew you would be late somehow or other, so I gave you an earlier time.” “You what?” I asked, a little angry. “I could have finished my homework!” “And missed the concert?” I blushed, looking away. Golden Glissando smiled, trotting up to me. “I know how you are. Besides, you got here at exactly the right time.” The bells began to ring overhead, and I counted the gongs. It was seven. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Glissy.” “Any time, Vinyl.” We entered the grand hall and gaped in awe. The entire place was full of dressed up ponies, but more impressive than that was the building itself. The intricate patterns on the red carpeting continued up the carved marble pillars and onto the ceiling, where magnificent chandeliers hung, lit in dazzling light. The staircases were gigantic, and there were ushers on every corner. Golden Glissando showed our tickets to one of them, and we were shown to the hall. In the concert hall were row upon row of red velveted chairs with beautiful wood finish on the arm rests and backings. I eagerly chose a seat in the front, much to my friend’s discontent. We settled in quickly before the entire hall was fit to burst. I watched all the musicians make their way onto the stage and begin warming up their instruments. Golden Glissando made a remark on how small the trombone section was while I gawked at the five bassoon players that had seated themselves towards the back. “That’s more bassoons than I’ve seen in my entire life,” I told her. “More bassoons than trombones,” was her disgruntled reply. The conductor appeared on the stage, and there was great applause. He did not speak, only bowed, and took his place on the stand. Using his magic, he raised the baton. The instruments were raised, and upon the downbeat the hall was filled with incredible music, the likes of which I had never heard. My jaw dropped and I looked to Golden Glissando, who looked about to cry. “Can you hear that french horn line?” she whispered to me. “I didn’t even know they could reach that high of an octave.” “Me neither.” I knew nothing about french horns, but went along with it anyways. Slowly my eyes closed, and I felt myself slipping off into a dreamlike state as I listened to the incredible music being produced from the orchestra. My mind wandered, and I began to go on a journey, like my father had. The pathways in my mind twisted and turned, and when the music was over I opened my eyes with more reluctance than I did in the mornings when I woke up. “Did you fall asleep?” I heard Golden Glissando ask over the thundering applause. “I was thinking,” came my reply. The conductor turned, and raised his hoof for the attention of the audience. “For this next piece, I’d like you to welcome a special guest to the hall tonight; the winner of our strings soloist contest, miss Octavia Strings!” There was loud applause as a creamy gray earth pony appeared on the stage, clutching a cello tightly to her side. I watched her approach the conductor and shake hooves with him, then turn to the audience and take a bow. She said nothing, but took her seat beside the conductor’s stand and set up her cello, exhaling deeply. I watched her, completely entranced. She was the most beautiful mare I had ever seen. “Wow,” I muttered, “she’s incredible.” “She hasn’t even played anything yet,” my friend whispered. “Mhmm.” I leaned onto my hooves, watching her intently. The conductor raised his baton, looking over at Octavia. The earth pony nodded to him, and raised her bow to the strings of her instrument. The sound that came afterwards was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, and I knew from that moment that she was something special.
CadenzaOctavia finished her outstanding solo and the crowd went wild. Everyone stood up and stomped their hooves on the ground with great excitement for her. I don’t know if any of them applauded louder than I did. Probably not. As she was walking off the stage we made eye contact for just a moment, and I waved at her. She did not wave back, but nodded slightly and disappeared. “She was incredible, wasn’t she?” Golden Glissando asked, taking her seat again. “I want to meet her.” “Pardon?” My friend looked at me strangely. “You want to meet Octavia?” “I don’t know why,” I stuttered, squirming back into my seat. “She seems like she would be an interesting mare to know. I mean we’re both musicians, right?” The rest of the concert passed slowly. Octavia did not appear on the stage again, much to my disappointment. She had been incredibly talented. All I wanted was to talk to her. By the time the performance was over, it had grown late into the night, and my eyes were beginning to droop. In my drowsiness I forgot all about meeting Octavia, and returned to my dorm and fell asleep. When I awoke the next morning I suddenly remembered what I had wanted to do, and was very upset with myself the rest of the day. “Are you still upset, Vinyl?” Golden Glissando shut the door to our room behind her. “Maybe.” “Don’t get yourself so down, you’ll probably get another chance.” I rolled over in my bed, clutching the novel I was reading close to my chest. “Vinyl, haven’t you started your paper yet?” “No, mom.” “Come to the library with me, we’ll work on it together. You can’t sit in here reading all day.” I reluctantly rolled out of bed and walked to the library with my friend. Most everyone was at lunch, so the library was fairly empty. I helped Golden Glissando find her books for her paper, but got little work done myself. I checked out one or two books before heading back to the room. “You know,” Golden Glissando started, climbing into the top bunk of our bed, “you could just go to another concert if it mattered that much.” “Hm?” “I think that mare is in the junior symphony, I’m not sure though.” I heard my roommate drop onto the mattress and throw her blankets about. “You should check the roster at the hall.” “Why, are you gunna take a nap?” No reply. I left the room. I wandered the campus for a while, talking to a few of my peers about little things. By the time it reached one in the evening, new classes were starting, and the campus cleared. I think the strings classes were going on, I’m not sure. I found myself ambling away from the campus and into the streets of Canterlot. I had brought my saddlebags with me, and was relieved to find a few bits in them. I soon found myself in a café and ordered a pastry for lunch. As I stood by the counter I noticed a small colt eyeing my cutie mark. “Good evening,” I said, looking down at him. He returned my gaze, surprised. “Hullo.” There was a small period of silence. “Do you play music?” “Yeah, you could say that. I’m going to the music college downtown.” “That’s where I’m going to go.” I looked at the colt in surprise. “You play?” I asked. “Flute.” I was about to say something to him when my name was called and a tray placed on the counter. I took it with my magic, and as I walked away said, “Good luck kid. I’ll see you out there.” I took a seat by the window and ate slowly, watching the ponies of the city meander by. Soon enough I was back in the streets. Golden Glissando would be asleep for a while yet, and I soon found myself at the concert hall. I lingered outside for a moment before entering. There was a single receptionist loitering about at the desks, and upon my entry she looked up idly. “What’s up?” she asked, leaning over the counter. “Oh! Um…” I wavered a moment, slightly embarrassed. “Actually I was going to check something. Do you have a roster for the junior symphony?” “In one of the programs I think. One sec.” The receptionist disappeared into a back room, and returned with a small packet. I flipped through it quickly, and scanned through the cello section. “Hmm, Strings…Strings…” I muttered, scanning the row of names on the paper. “Ah, there she is! Octavia Strings!” I grinned, closing the program. “Find what you needed?” the receptionist asked, taking back the program. “Yeah. Are you selling tickets for that concert?” The receptionist looked surprised. “Yes, but it’s tomorrow night,” she said, settling down in her chair. “That’s awful last minute.” “I can deal with that. How much?” Soon my bits were spent, and I left the hall with a ticket in my bag. The sun was beginning to sink, and I made my way back to the campus. Upon entering the dorm I found that Golden Glissando had cleaned it. Often when she was stressed she would end up cleaning out our room completely. “You were out late,” she said, dropping a stack of books on my bed. “I was busy.” “You were going to miss your evening class.” “Oh! I almost forgot! Thanks,” I said, grabbing my book from the bed. “Thanks for cleaning up, by the way.” The night of the concert came up quickly, and I hurried to get ready. Fortunately, Golden Glissando was out, and I could leave without any trouble. I found myself at the hall an hour early. “Go on into the auditorium when you’re ready,” the usher said, taking my ticket. “You can sit wherever you like, Miss.” I entered the large room to find the musicians set up on the stage, tuning. I quickly spotted Octavia, who was seated at the end of one of the rows. She was talking to the pony beside her as she played. I made my way to the front row and sat as close to her as I could. Octavia glanced towards me momentarily, but returned her attention to her instrument. She did not look back at me again. The concert was wonderful, and the applause at the end thundered through the hall. As the audience cleared out I remained in my seat, waiting to get a chance to talk to Octavia. Ponies left rather quickly, but when I was finally able to get up she was gone. I reluctantly returned to the front desk, tapping the counter. The receptionist that had served me before appeared. “Can I get a ticket to the next junior concert?” I asked shyly. She raised her eyebrow. “Sure thing.” This was the beginning of a long strain of concerts. I attended every single one, each time sitting as close as I could to Octavia. After the third or fourth time she began to notice me, and looked over once or twice during her concerts. I never got a chance to speak with her. Another concert was ending. I listened to the applause ring out across the hall. Slowly it died down and everyone left. I approached the stage eagerly as the last musicians exited, hopeful that perhaps she would wait for me. She did not. I climbed awkwardly onto the stage to find it empty. I looked out over the audience seats. There wasn’t a soul left in the hall, and I could see everything. Even without anypony there, the great mass of seats was already a little overwhelming. It was unnerving to imagine them filled with ponies, all listening to every noise you made. I walked slowly towards the piano. It was very large and looked to be in better condition than when it had even been bought. I placed a hoof on one of the keys, and the sound rang through the hall. In a moment I was seated on the bench, pouring into the keys. I hadn’t played a piano like this since I had been home in Manehattin. It was beautiful. Quite suddenly, the sound of strings could be heard behind me, and soon I was playing a gorgeous duet with a cello. It was unlike anything I had done before, and it sounded incredible. I struck the last notes and let them ring out in chorus with the cello. I removed my hooves from the keys, sighing. “You are a very talented pianist.” I turned, and my heart stopped. Standing there, clutching a cello to her side, was Octavia.
