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Movement I: Prestissimo agitato; Andante legatissimo
It was all happening so fast.
The one-round Canterlot Young Musicians' Competition was underway, and as the sixteenth performance went on, the four musicians backstage were sweating bullets.
Octavia Melody, a cellist, had practiced and practiced, but she was still mimicking bow movement above her cello with her forelegs. Beauty Brass was quietly blowing air into her horn, simultaneously trying to relax through exhalation (it didn't seem to be working). Parish Nandermane, who preferred to be known as Harpo, was excercizing his joints above his hooves to prepare himself for playing his violin. Frederic Horshoepin was going through the score in his mind.
The Cappricioso Quartet was very nearly ready for their performance, except one thing was missing. A pep talk.
Seeing that no one else was taking initiative, Frederic grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the props table nearest him (Canterlot University had recently done a production of The Diary of a Young Mare ) and began writing furiously. His three friends turned to stare at this scritching noise he was producing.
Finally, he completed his speech and showed the paper to the rest of the quartet. It read, in an elegant shorthoof:
Friends, do not work yourselves up over this performance. It has been simply wonderful working with the three of you, both individually and together at once. I dearly hope you realize that.
While we wait, let us not think of everything that could go wrong. Rather, let us envision ourselves performing to the best of our abilities. I feel we have earned those first place medals already, from the hard work we have completed whilst facing this task ahead of us. We may not leave this building satisfied with our performance, but we shall strive to play from our hearts. We will show them what we are!
-Frederic
The musicians beamed at each other. Harpo grabbed the paper for himself and added something of his own. In no time at all, he was finshed writing and displayed his work.
P.S.: Five years into the future, we will look back at this and say that these were the good old days. But these so-called good old days will still be named even that long into the future, I just know it. We will all remember this as a good experience and we will continue to have more just like them, will we not? I hope you are happy with yourselves, because I sure am.
~Harpo
As the performers ahead of them trotted offstage and the Cappricioso Quartet began the trek onstage, their smiles grew even wider.
"Here they are, folks! The Cappricioso Quartet, performing their own Frederic Horseshoepin's 'Quartet No. 8'!"
Anticipative applause greeted the four young musicians as they took the stage. Octavia trotted out first, grasping her bow and cello, followed by Beauty Brass, who had her French horn strapped to her chest with a versatile neckstrap. Next came Harpo, carrying a violin in front of him. Frederic brought up the rear, making a beeline for the piano. Two chairs were set up for the violinist and horn player, while a velvet bench greeted Frederic. Octavia was content to stand.
The members of the quartet glanced at each other knowingly, then Frederic nodded at Beauty Brass, who launched off into a virtuostic passage in E minor. Soon Frederic joined in with a simple accompaniment of eighth notes, while the strings chimed in with slow, expressive chords. Beauty Brass shifted once and paused, letting the strings and piano take over with the piece's main theme. It was introduced quietly, played once before Beauty Brass added a countermelody that harmonized but didn't sound quite identical.
Every once in a while, the piece would stop, and one of the musicians would nod to themselves and begin a cadenza, modulating the piece into a different key. Octavia went first with this idea, playing difficult scales and glissandos that all but dislocated her hooves. Harpo's cadenza got increasingly louder and more ferocious with each note, breaking a sweat on his forehead at the amount of double stops that effortlessly passed his bow. Beauty Brass performed an improvisation on the main theme, with trills and arpeggios that facilitated incredible lip flexibility. Frederic went last, beginning with an F major chord designed to decieve the listener before working up the piano in octaves. When he reached the top note, he performed a rapid arpeggio down and back up, finally coming to rest on a brilliant trill between the two highest notes on the keyboard. The piece paused again, longer than the other pauses, before resuming into a fast-paced coda that ended with a mighty E major chord.
Not a second passed between the last note and the moment when the audience roared in approval. The quartet stood and bowed, then left the stage.
"Ugh, I'm so nervous," groaned Beauty Brass as they left the backstage area. "Do you think they liked it?"
"Nonsense, Beauty Brass," scolded Octavia. "Of course they loved it. They wouldn't have given a standing ovation if they hadn't."
"I think she means the judges," offered Harpo.
The quartet was trying to relax and calm their nerves in a studio backstage reserved for them. They sat in four rather comfortable chairs in the center, making small talk.
"Yes, well," said Frederic, "I'm sure we did fine. In fact, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as we approached the final chord." Octavia and Harpo nodded their agreement, but Beauty Brass didn't look convinced.
"I'm still not so sure," she said. "I missed a couple notes - "
"Oh, don't go selling yourself short," reassured Octavia. "Your cadenza was brilliant, and I looked at the crowd during the beginning and noticed several full-grown stallions gaping at you as if seeing snow for the first time. You were marvelous."
"We were marvelous, if I may," added Frederic. "That performance was as good as any other, if not better." He raised both forehooves to his temples as he continued, "It was exactly how I envisioned it."
"You really think so? Because I thought - " Beauty Brass was cut off by Harpo.
"Enough, Beauty Brass. It's over, we did it, and that's all there is to it. We're only high school seniors, you know. We'll get better as we keep going."
The four musicians sat in silence for what seemed like a full hour. Harpo glanced up at the clock and discovered that only five minutes had passed.
Frederic spoke up. "Er...what are we going to do after graduation, anyway?"
"I got accepted into the Manehattan School of Music," said Octavia. "I'm majoring in cello performance with a minor in composing." She giggled before adding, "I'm going to be as good as Frederic here." The quartet shared a laugh.
"I'm going into the musical therapy field at the Baltimare Medical Institute," Harpo announced. "At least, that's my minor. I'm concentrating on harp performance." He then, for some reason, raised an eyebrow at Beauty Brass.
She smiled. "I'm going to study musical therapy with him. After all, Harpo needs someone to help him make new friends. And I'm minoring in horn performance, of course."
Three pairs of eyes turned to Frederic. He fidgeted. "Is something wrong, Frederic?" Octavia asked, sounding concerned.
He sighed. "I've been found out, I guess." He laughed nervously. "Well, you see, I...I'm going to become a public speaker."
"What?!" Octavia cried. "But - "
"Just let me explain first!" Frederic exclaimed. "I'll be lecturing about classical music, and I might perform occasionally. But for now, I have to go to Canterlot University for a major in, well, public speaking. They're going to ask me to speak about anything and everything, but I've been prepared for years now."
"Will you still perform with us?" Beauty Brass asked hopefully.
"Of course! Over the summer months, we could still compete. We'd have adequate practice time, and I still have that rather large collection of staff paper that you gave me last year, Beauty Brass." Frederic shifted and hesitated before finishing, "It just might not be the same."
"I swear, Frederic," said Octavia, "you very nearly killed me right there and then!" The four musicians laughed again.
"Well, that's the other thing, Octavia," replied Frederic. "To make up for it," he began, and then stopped. "W-would you go out to dinner with me, after the results?"
Octavia looked shocked, but before she could answer, there was a knock on the door. "Excuse me? The results of the competition are ready!"
"Speak of the devil," muttered Frederic, blushing, and sixteen hooves cantered out the door and out into the auditorium.
Movement III: Andante grazioso
"And the winners of the Canterlot Young Musicians' Competiton are...the Cappricioso Quartet!"
The crowd exploded as the quartet climbed up onstage. Frederic, Beauty Brass, Harpo, and Octavia stood proudly, front and center. Soon the crowd was on their hooves, cheering like sports fans in Las Pegasus would for a hoofball game.
Frederic gazed at the audience, very faintly smiling. Beauty Brass wore a grin from ear to ear, her face shining. Harpo looked at his hooves, blushing as if embarrassed from the attention. Tears of joy were streaming down Octavia's face.
At last the roar of the crowd died down, and the announcer, a tall stallion named Crescendo, addressed Frederic, hoofing him a microphone. "How does this feel, Frederic, to have just accomplished this at your age?"
Frederic beamed. "Well, I think I speak for all four of us when I say that we couldn't have gotten this far without our constant dedication and hard work to doing what we love." He swallowed and took a breath before continuing, "Now that the work is over, I feel like a weight's been lifted off our shoulders. It's a lot of stress to go through, especially for high school students like us, and I feel like we all handled it well." Various ponies in the crowd applauded and whistled in approval.
"Well said, Frederic," said Crescendo. Now he met eyes with Beauty Brass. "Tell me the story of how you all met, Ms. Beauty Brass."
"Oh! That's a great story, Mr. Crescendo!" exclaimed Beauty Brass excitedly, taking Frederic's microphone. "To tell the truth, it started way back in grade school, specifically when Harpo and I became friends. He was really quiet, and I was starting to worry about him around fourth grade. He never said a single word, ever! Imagine!
"Anyways, one day I decided to talk to him, so I went all up in his face and said, 'Hey.' And he just kinda stared at me, so I kept talking. 'How's life?' I asked, and he thought he could get away with just body language, so he nodded. I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me - "
" - I wasn't!" cried Harpo suddenly. The audience laughed, and even Octavia giggled a little.
" - so I handed him a pencil and paper and said, 'Write'," Beauty Brass continued. "And boy, did he ever! He started writing down bits of dialogue that he wanted to say right then and showed them to me. He told me he played the harp and the fiddle, and I told him I played the French horn and the sousaphone sometimes, and we bonded over that later. I asked him if he could talk one time and he just sorta glared at me and wrote, 'My voice sounds horrible.' I said, 'Then let's go to speech therapy!'
"And he was all like, 'No, I don't wanna!' But he actually said that part! And his voice sounded really clear and nice, and I was like, 'Your voice sounds great, man!' He kinda glared at me again, only this time he stuffed the paper and pencil in the trash and we had a great conversation and became great friends!" Beauty Brass paused. "Hey, Harpo, you wanna talk now?"
The stallion in question shrugged and said, "Sure." Beauty Brass handed him the microphone. "When we graduated to middle school, we met Frederic and Octavia, who were already well known. They were in our music class when the teacher assigned us our first project, which was to write out a piece for four musicians and then perform it. We were allowed to pick our groups, and Beauty Brass introduced me to Frederic and Octavia. I guess we were a little tense at first, but then when we had to figure out who was going to write the arrangement, we all started volunteering. Since we couldn't decided, Beauty Brass invited us over for the afternoon for a 'jam session', as she called it.
"As it turned out, Frederic was already a competent composer, and Beauty Brass had some spare staff paper, so he started writing out a quartet for horn, violin, cello, and piano. While he did that, the rest of us talked. Octavia told us about how she got her start in cello-playing, Beauty Brass shared funny stories about her summer vacation to Stalliongrad, where she met Octavia and Frederic performing at another competion, and I talked about why I didn't want to talk until fourth grade.
"When Frederic finished writing the score and parts, we rehearsed once or twice. After the second time we played, we already knew we were destined as a quartet," finished Harpo.
"How profound. Thank you, Harpo," said Crescendo. "Now we come to you, Ms. Octavia. Do you have anyone whom you wish to thank?"
The tears had stopped long ago, but Octavia's voice was still raw as she managed, "Beauty Brass, for forming our little quartet and being a great friend. Harpo, for being a great listener and smiler. Frederic, for promising to go on a date with me after this - "
"Awww, shucks," murmured Frederic, blushing deeply. Someone in the audience burst into sobs.
" - and for being our fearless leader and resident composer." Octavia paused, shedding a tear as she went on, "The ponies who ran this competition, for giving us this opportunity. And all of our parents, who encouraged us to become what we are."
The crowd applauded again. The rest of the Cappricioso Quartet was grinning wildly.
"Thank you, Octavia, and thank you, Cappricioso Quartet, for inspiring us all today." The crowd kept applauding, on their hooves once more as the quartet bowed and left the high-energy hall, relieved that it was finally over.
Movement IV: Allegretto cantabile
Five years later...
"That was wonderful, Frederic!" exclaimed Octavia as the quartet exited the restaurant. "How much was the bill? It wasn't too much, was it?"
The receipt that Frederic held out of the corner of his mouth read, "The Intuition" in large letters, above some small symbols that told Octavia that he had paid 140 bits for a meal for four.
"No, Octavia. I've got plenty more where that came from," Frederic reassured her.
Harpo and Beauty Brass trailed behind them, talking loudly, obviously drunk. Octavia and Frederic paid them no mind; they were a married couple now, after all.
"Have you got any plans for performances?" Octavia asked.
"Yes, actually," replied Frederic, grinning. "Someone was actually looking for us to perform for them after hearing that we won the Canterlot Young Musicians' Competition. She was quite enthralled."
"Who was it?" pressed Octavia.
"Would you believe it was Celestia herself?"
"What?!" Octavia shook her head in amazement. "N-no, not in a billion years!"
"Tough luck, then. It's a shame that we'll miss you at the Grand Galloping Gala this year." Frederic tsk tsk'ed softly.
Octavia stared at Frederic, eyes as wide as the dinner plates they had been eating off of. "Frederic - that's incredible! Who did you bribe?"
"I told you, the Princess said it herself," Frederic replied. "She happened to attend one of my lectures out of curiosity, and to see what all the acclaim about them was. After the lecture she came to me personally and we had a lovely chat." He flushed as he went on, "I looked like an idiot in front of her, spewing whatever came to mind. She seemed to enjoy my idiocy."
"Again, that's just incredible! Who knew..." Octavia trailed off.
Behind them, Harpo shouted almost incoherently, "I can't wait to be king of the world!"
Beauty Brass screamed just as nonsensically, "Then I get to be your queen!"
The quartet dissolved in laughter on the streets of Canterlot. The receipt fell from Frederic's mouth.
"Frederic," began Octavia, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, "I need to be philosophical."
"Go ahead," came the reply, Frederic's voice still raw from laughing.
"A lot has happened to our little quartet in the past, and there's a lot to look forward to," she said, suddenly serious. "But a lot of our time has been devoted to things other than relaxing. Harpo and Beauty Brass have just finished school, for example, and you've got a job already.
"For what it's worth, we should just have more time to relax, like we did at dinner," continued Octavia. "I wish to live in the present, I guess is what I'm trying to say."
"But aren't you?" asked Frederic, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "You are, after all, highly successful, and you're very influential. It's like you're making a statement in the moment."
"That's not what I mean at all. I mean we should think of other things besides music sometimes. We should go out on long vacations to other places in the world sometime. I've been told Roam's a nice place." Octavia shrugged, as if she hadn't a clue what she was saying.
After a minute's pause, Frederic said, "I believe you're absolutely right, Octavia. Say the word and the world will be our burrito, as they say in Ponyville!"
Octavia looked confused. "When were you in Ponyville, and who said that?"
"It doesn't matter. Hey, look! A taxi!" Frederic pointed, and sure enough, a carraige with the word "TAXI" emblazoned on it was coming down the street. "That's my cue. Your house is down this street, right? I suppose I'll be seeing you around?"
Octavia nodded her assent to both questions. "Do have fun, Frederic."
"Oh, I will, with these two in tow. Goodbye."
Octavia walked on towards home, looking back every once in a while to check if Frederic was making any progress with Beauty Brass and Harpo. No such luck.
She smiled to herself. It had been a great five years, and in the present, it still counted as the "good old days", just as Harpo had predicted.
I hope you're happy with yourself, Harpo, she thought as she opened the door to her house, because I sure am.