Today was turning out to be a good day. The sky was clear of any clouds, yet the sun did not burn down with the sweltering heat of midsummer. I barely felt a breeze going through my fur and mane, cooling me down just enough that the task of carrying my instrument down the mountain turned into a reasonable task. I do not often leave the city to practise, but sometimes I want to practise in ways that others are not supposed to hear.
When I reached the mountain's base, I trotted some distance further, quickly enough covering half a league or so. Looking around, I saw Canterlot above me to the west and forests to my North and South. My immediate area was simple grassland, stretching east. A few minutes' search later I stood on a large rock that was flat enough for my purposes. I had just unpacked my instrument when I heard it. The creak of a cart, close enough that it could be no accident. I turned towards the sound.
Of all ponies, it was her. I found my jaw stiffening involuntarily as she waved in my direction.
“Oi. How's it hanging?”
I did not grace her with a reply, instead staring as the mare unloaded what appeared to be one of her tables. The sort she used for her day job, if it could even be called one. I certainly would never describe the noise she created as anything but precisely that: noise.
“You followed me.” I stated more than I queried while giving her a cold stare. She only nodded happily, aggravating me further. I wanted to know, “Why?”
“Well, duh. I heard about that stuffy guy in the Royal Orchestra giving out a challenge and knew you'd rise up to it. I just followed you the first time when I saw you come down here. This time, I'm here with some of my gear to help you!” She magically pushed the cart to the side, continuing with setting up the table. She was sickeningly enthusiastic.
“Has it occurred to you that I may not want any help?” That got her attention. I saw an eyebrow rise.
She tilted her head before responding. “You serious there, Tavi? You don't think you might need to practice duelling another pony?”
That made a disturbing amount of sense. I had not properly battled another musician in a long time, and it had never been anything quite so serious. Then she grinned with confidence and raised those purple glasses to give me a wink with her sickeningly beautiful eyes, overshadowing pink sapphires in their intensity. She knew exactly how right she was, and it was positively infuriating. Yet, I managed to keep calm, at least outwardly.
“I suppose you might be right, Vinyl Scratch,” I answered her. “The Royal Orchestra does take only the very best, after all.”
She grinned happily in return, “I knew I’d convince you. Lemme just set the table up and we can go at it. Want any special rules?”
I shook my head. No rules beyond the standard. The first to fall unconscious by any means lost. Direct assault was not permitted. Death had no place in a proper musicians’ duel.
My preparations for what was to come amounted to activating the enchantments in my instrument and bow. They were standard for a musician of my capability, preventing any fraying of strings or warping of wood. Cello and bow would both keep working for as long as I needed them.
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Oh yeah, Octy wouldn’t know what hit her. I knew already that I’d make her sweat a little, and I had just the right stuff with me to make that happen. The table was set up quickly enough and testing it didn’t take long, either. Well, it wouldn’t have taken long, but I stretched it out because, hey! It's more dramatic! Duels are supposed to be dramatic, alright?
I heard her ask something, sounded like why I hadn’t brought any boxes. I just stuck my tongue out at her. This baby didn’t need any! It was pure magic in that way. So anyways, one or two quick bass-drops later I knew that I could crank the table up to eleven no problem if I wanted to. You see, I had it modified. Most everything using electronics only went up to ten as its loudest. Well, my table goes a notch further and louder. All the way up to eleven. Just have to pour enough magic into it, and that’s easy-peasy.
So once everything was set and I’m ready to go, I lit my horn. I put on a smooth beat to begin with, mostly as background noise. Start things slow and all that, raise the difficulty later. While the beat was ongoing, I began nodding my head to it and smiled at Octy, challenging her to start her thing too.
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That cocky grin. Did she think herself better than I, Octavia Melody? Well, if she wanted to get a rise out of me, let her. I would show her what it meant to provoke this Cellist.
The first piece I began to play was an excerpt from a Moozart piece, an excellent introduction. It was followed by short excerpts from Bathooven and Tchaitrotsky’s works. Faster, a little more aggressive, all in all only a few minute’s work, however. I barely felt the wind pick up a little when I began the Bathooven piece. Strangely, the beat Vinyl had chosen flowed well with all three melodies.
Still, these done, the ‘Dee Jay’ needed her chance. I slowed my play to a supporting melody for the time being, slow and deliberate. Then she addressed me suddenly, I subsequently almost missing a note.
“Ey, Tavi! Well done with that stuff. I’m almost falling asleep here!” How could such a perfectly tuned voice belong to such a brutish pony? I’d never understand it. Regardless, I did not let her taunt affect me and continued my work.
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Bo-ring!
Octy wanted to play silly pre-recorded stuff? Ain’t my thing, not today. Usually, sure, I’d play whatever was popular. Lots of wubstep, these days. Remixing stuff from well-known guys, not much of my own. Didn’t have the reach yet, I guess.
Anyways, that wasn’t for this day. And not for fighting times. My horn glowed again, and out from under the table came four vinyls, already out of their packaging. The Real Good stuff, with capital letters. The Greats, doing Celestia’s work. Draft Ponk, Crësto, van Ponen, just as examples. ‘Course, now you’re thinking, Vinyl, why bring those out? That’s not original material!. It’s not. What I do with it was gonna be. ‘Cause, ya know, I ain’t called Vinyl Scratch for no reason.
Each of the black plates went onto its turntable. For a moment or two I let them all play just to see if everything was good. A quick peek towards Octy made me grin. She was grimacing hard. Sure, the records were all kinds of dissonant played like that.
I flared my magic and the turntables shimmered light blue. I controlled the beat now. I could feel the hairs of my mane crackle with the static.
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I could only stare when Vinyl began her part. I saw her moving the records in - to me - random motions. But the sound that the speakers delivered was nothing of the sort. Yes, the scratching certainly was audible, but as she worked the collective sounds were outright harmonious.
I completely forgot playing the supporting melody. Not that it would have mattered. Terrible though her taste in music may be, what she created with the contents of those records I can only admire.
After a time, I managed to steel myself again, and resumed playing my backing tune. To be quite honest, I had hoped that she would, like me, play something previously recorded. One of her standard remixes. Alas, it was not so, and thus I had to ‘up the ante’ as it were when my turn came.
Soon enough it did, and I began to play my own pieces besides simply improvising. Whatever, for lack of a better word, felt right even as the wind picked up further, moving my mane. I would not lose against this mare, though proper conduct dictated a slow build-up to the crescendo when both musicians would give their everything. It was yet some time until then.
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Octy’s second try sounded much more natural than when she just ripped off those long-dead composers. Sure, their music was great, but they weren’t good for a good duel. Something about original stuff containing more of the player’s essence or whatever. Philosophical mumbo-jumbo, but eh. If it works, it works.
And for Octy, it worked. I could actually feel the music drifting through the air. The wind picked up pretty hard. Half a minute in it tugged visibly at my mane and, as Octy kept playing, dark clouds formed above us. That moment I knew she was getting serious. The cool air made me shiver for a moment before I resumed my own part - while Octy was still playing, mind you. I accompanied her piece for now.
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Vinyl was no slouch when it came to performing, that much I’d known even before then. After all, what other mare could keep a party going for as long as she did regularly? She had endurance, and with it my envy. Though I would never admit such a thing. Regardless, it was now that we had begun to play our own music that the gloves had come off. I knew her to be capable. She surely was aware of my own prowess.
But then came a pause in our play, for just a moment. The winds summoned by my music had stilled, though the static around Vinyl was still there. Her mane certainly looked the part. Still, the break was a needed preparation for what came next. I quickly took a sip of water and saw Vinyl drink from a juice box. We both put our refreshments to the side. I raised my bow to its strings and took a deep breath.
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The first note struck like lightning. The sudden gust of wind that accompanied it threw me off-balance and I almost went down for a moment. The music was pretty calm at the beginning and the winds weakened accordingly, only for Octy to speed up again just a little later. The weather went back to not quite being a proper storm, with lightning strikes getting more common by the minute. All the thunder I should’ve heard was overwhelmed by the Cello. Her play was fast-paced, louder than it had any right to be.
It was beautiful. Fantastic, wonderful music, unlike anything I’d ever heard her playing before. She blew all my expectations away in just a few notes and continued to do so as the sounds became almost reverent, magical and pure.
Then she opened her mouth and began to sing.
It was not the sort of voice I had expected from her. It sounded a lot like Contralto, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out which specific type. Anyway: it was powerful, and it echoed through the valley. I was pretty damn sure that even the ponies all the way up there in Canterlot could hear her loud and clear.
She sang of her youth and the many troubles she’d had, how she persevered and found her love for music, how she gained her cutie mark. She sang of how she travelled through Equestria to improve herself, how she left and visited the Gryphons to reveal the secrets of the great bards, how she challenged a wandering Deer for his knowledge and how she learned from a Zebra tribe their musical magics. She sang of the lonely journey back home, of the trials and tribulations that being a wandering artist brought with it, and of her ambition to join the greatest of orchestras. She sang of how I was but another obstacle towards this goal, how I was as much a threat to her as an ant was to a Manticore.
The ground was shaking for a while after and the winds took a long time to calm. I was floored, breathing hard, sweat matted my fur. Octy was sneering, practically laughing and cocksure of herself. Getting up after this was an intense effort. My entire body was shivering and aching, but she oh so generously waited for me to get up again. She was watching the whole time.
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Now back up and balanced once more, Vinyl took a deep breath and flared her magic. The black plates in front of her lit up in preparation.
It was a powerful sort of music, but very unlike what I had played. Where my music conjured winds, brought storms and shook the earth, Vinyl’s unique kind of playing calmed the world down once again, yet let small arcs of lightning flare about her person. I saw that night had fallen as the storm clouds dispersed, the light of moon and stars bathing not just the ground but her and myself as well.
The records and the magic guiding them moved at speeds unfathomable for me, a fast and exhilarating beat that seemed to banish all that was dark and unsettling from the valley. The moon appeared to brighten, far beyond what light the Princess usually permitted it to send downwards. What shadows there were became more contrasted and it finally felt as if it shined as bright as Celestia’s sun, yet much gentler and sweeter.
She did not sing. The music alone carried enough of a message, though unclear and abstract. It surely changed depending on the listener, how they interpreted it. I did not hear words of debauchery, nor of anarchy: her music carried its beat of life and living, words of joy, bliss and excitement instead of loneliness and tragedy. The sound was not content with merely being heard, however, but wanted to reach. And reach me it did, touching me in a way I had indeed not felt in a very long time.
In fact, without realising it I’d let go of my instrument and fallen onto my rear. Despite the minor discomfort I found myself chuckling, almost even laughing. I had underestimated this mare severely, truly a challenge worthy of my skills. I was having so much more fun than I’d originally thought I would.
Finally, I stood once more, picking up the cello as well. Vinyl likewise stood at the ready, having stopped her play to wait for my recovery. Once I was ready and resumed playing so did she. We’d both finished with our warm-up. The true duel could begin.
And so the cello and the turntable battled. Classic against contemporary. Bow against cartridge. Two warriors met at the fields of glory, two musicians played until the end and only one would succeed. In ancient times, such a duel might well have gone to the death. Not in modernity, however.
As the blades of mighty swordsponies would quickly become blurred in battle until they were scarcely distinguishable from each other, the magnificent performance of our two instruments mixed up and felt like it became one. Soon enough, our creations worked together in to my ears perfect harmony, completing each other. Neither overshadowed the other, nor did we even try. To me it truly felt like music worthy of gods in those moments.
And indeed, it might not look like a duel at all to a casual observer. At times, one of us willingly stepped down, silencing and toning herself to the background, permitting the other to take the lead. The loud and magnificent music played by Vinyl would all so suddenly decelerate until it was but barely audible - yet essential - and merely accompanying me in a glorious solo, only for us to just as suddenly switch places as the turntable would grow louder again and I toned my cello down in turn.
On one single occasion, we both stopped entirely, and there was only silence for what felt like ages, broken irregularly by dramatic and rather appropriate thunder or shaking of the ground. And then, for the first time since the duel had begun, Vinyl Scratch broke her silence and sang: her voice was frighteningly brilliant and clear. Higher than my own, surely, in what I wanted to call mezzo-soprano, but she varied herself too much. Her singing wasn’t rigid enough to be put into one of these categories.
Nevertheless, it was no less powerful than my own voice, and she sang of glory, of victory and wealth, silently at first, but quickly picking up. I felt compelled to join and indeed did so moments later, about sacrifice and pain, yet also challenges to overcome and living in the moment. The bow found itself on my cello once more, slowly adding to the performance yet with the turntable’s beats not far behind.
Both instruments began silent, but we did not slowly bring them back to the loudest we could. Instead, we pushed them there immediately, at one moment serene and calm, at the next boisterous and louder than Tartarus.
Both our instruments and we quickly approached the crescendo, and as if to mimic us, nature itself joined in. True, it had not been silent at all during this duel, thunder and lightning contributing drama and gentle shuddering of the earth doing its part. Yet now the earth shook and split, torn asunder by the powers at work and spilling forth clouds of fumes with great power, red-hot magma glowing in the depths and casting the battleground in bright red.
Wind billowed our manes, guiding a storm across the surrounding fields as funnels of strong whirlwinds descended downwards. Even so, the moon shone brightly, allowing the earth to bask in its gentle light through many holes in the clouds, changing place ever so often. All these elements worked together, whether deliberately or not, to conjure a show of light and sound that surely was beyond anything of recent history upon the land and the sky.
… And it was over, almost too quick to fathom. Our music had not faded out quickly: both the playing and the singing had ended abruptly, at their greatest apex. Aside from the occasional thunder in the distance, the valley was silent once more. I was bowing to an unseen audience and so could not see what pose Vinyl had struck. The moments passed, and I tried to raise my head, see her condition, if she was still conscious. I- …
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Bam.
Down she went. Out like a light after putting all she had into this positively awesome performance.
It didn’t go quick, mind you. She bent slowly, like if somepony hit the button to make a tape go at half speed. When she did hit the ground, I didn’t hear the slightest bit, even now that the weather and everything was calm again.
I trotted over at a leisurely speed, with all the time in the world. I was tuckered out too, after all. Heavy breathing, sweaty coat, the works. By the time I’d reached her, she was breathing normally, sleeping. I didn’t think twice, hauled her big flank onto my back, cello and bow on top of her. Then I cleaned my stuff up and put it back into the cart. Octy’s instrument went back there too, and the bow. No space for her, so she stayed on my back while I trudged along the path back up to Canterlot.
Funny business, that. She’s a sleep-talker. Went on about a certain somepony being abhorrently gorgeous and brilliantly terrible and stuff like that. I heard my name once or twice too, so I decided to have a word or two with her about that stuff once she was back in the waking world. She didn’t look bad or anything, after all. Bit stuffy maybe, or a little arrogant. But pretty alright, all in all.
Yeah. I totally was gonna talk with her.
Author's Note
Finally wrote a fic accompanying that image. About time.
One-shot, for the time being.
Also, Octavia totally has the hots for Vinyl.
