The door strained under the stress of explosive foreboding as the thunderous claps of hooves grew steadily louder, alongside a very irritable voice. The doors shook as they burst outwards, revealing a brown stallion stomping his way out of the room, hounded by a plump little blue mare, reaching out after him a stream of apologies espousing from her mouth.
“She’s completely mental. I commend you on your ability to even put up with her for more than an hour!” he said.
“Look, just give her a second chance she’s really-“
“Not that bad? Not that controlling? She’s a stifling, stuck-up bitch that only cares about her music and nothing else! She said that my music lacks art. Lacks art! I’m going to be the next Sapphire Shores, but she-“he snorted, “-she insults my life’s work!”
“I don’t think she really meant anything by it, Royale.” the mare said. He shook his head, gnawing on his lip as he paced quickly for a moment.
“Look, I appreciate you trying to get this to work, Celestia knows I need the job but she-“ he said this while violently point his hoof back into the room from whence he had come, “-is completely impossible to work with. Find someone else to be her loyal lap-dog, because it’s not going to be me.”
He turned on his hoof and stomped to the elevator, leaving the mare slack-jawed, searching for excuses. As the doors slid shut she shook her head and looked back into the room. Sitting on her stool, one eyebrow coolly raised, was both her protégé and her nemesis. Her ashen coat and black mane pooled around her head, and a singular bow-tie was wrapped around her neck.
“Is he gone?” she said, her voice pure and simple.
“Yes. You’ve scared off another chance to make it big.” the blue mare said, her voice graveled and low. “Well done.”
“He had no talent, Brass. You and I both know we’ll need perfection if this is going to work.” The grey mare said as she flung his sample CD into a nearby litterbin. “We really need to find something better than that trash that parades around as music. Dreadful, stuff-too much bass really, no balance, and no meaning! All it calls to is the most base of bodily functions.”
“Octavia. Listen. I really do like you. I love your music, your talent-but classical music simply isn’t enough now to make it into the big leagues like you want. You have to be open to new things, new music!”
“Modern music?” Octavia said, “It’s just noise, Brass. Nothing else.”
“Well its noise that sells, Octavia.” Brass said as she crossed over to her. She placed her arm around her and stretched her hoof out. “See all of this? You could actually own it all instead of simply borrow these spaces, if we do this right. With my know how, your skill and just a little bit of luck, we’ll both be rolling in bits.”
“If my desire was simply for money-“
“I know. But don’t you want your music to be heard? To bring back ‘art’ to the entire scene?” She took a step away from the stool.
Octavia grimaced as she looked down at her hooves, finally slumping over just a little. “Yes.”
“And you can’t do that without producing an album that turns some heads.”
“Yes, of course.” Octavia said.
“So, you’ll have to compromise. I can’t make your music bigger than it already is without a brief foray into other mediums-the ponies simply don’t want it. It’s all just old pony music, from a by-gone age.” Brass said this as she walked behind Octavia, picking up some old trophies and awards.
“It is not! It is beauty, form and splendor, it is-“
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Octavia.” Beauty Brass said, putting the award down. “But what you want won’t work, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
“I guess.” Octavia said.
“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Beauty Brass said as she picked up a cloth and started to dust the awards off.
“But you bring me only the worst! No art, no soul, no passion!” Octavia said, spinning around towards her. “How can you expect me to like them?”
“I don’t expect you to like them, Octavia. I do expect you to work with them however. Creative differences are bound to happen, but you have to get over them. You have to work together.” Beauty Brass said.
“I’ll not sacrifice true art for fame.” Octavia said, closing her arms.
“Then you’ll never make it in this industry.” Brass said, putting down her towel and shaking her head. She whispered to the floor, “I didn’t think I’d have to do this.”
“What?” Octavia asked.
“I’ve been pushed to my limits. I’m going to find one more artist for you to collaborate with, Octavia. If you can’t find a way to make things work with this one, then I’m going to drop you from the label.” Brass said.
Octavia nearly fell off her stool, her mouth open and wide before her place a hoof to cover it up. “You wouldn’t!”
“I will, Octavia. I think your father would agree with me to on it.” Brass said, “Look, I think your music is amazing, I think what you got going is some of the greatest stuff I’ve ever had to the good graces to hear but it won’t mean anything if you can’t get your act together and release something good, something big! If I have to teach you a lesson the hard way then so be it.”
Octavia leaned forward to retort but simply closed her mouth, her eyes darting over the room. She turned her back away from Brass before letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, if you must.”
“Good.” Brass said as she trotted past her and towards the door.
“But Brass.” Octavia said, giving the blue pony pause to careen her neck back around the corner. “Fine me someone good.”
“I’ll find you the best.” Brass said as she closed the doors behind her. “I just hope they’re the best for you.”
-----X-----
She hummed almost silently to herself, the minute vibrations running through her body like adrenaline. Her eyes were closed, her mouth tightened in concentration. This is what she lived for. This moment right here is why she did this every night. That tiny fraction of section when everything was quiet, like rain before thunder. She opened her eyes and slammed her hoof on the big red button, cracked from years of use that had clearly labeled over it “DO NOT USE”.
Oh yeah, baby. Here we go.
The bass dropped like ten thousand pounds of TNT on this little club. Her earphones absorbed the majority of the blast, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Her eardrums burst quite a long time ago. She would have felt sorry for the ponies up in front, but they’d been here a hundred times before. The floor creaked and swooned as the vibrations rocked them to their wooden cores. Just imagine how they felt down below.
She didn’t have too though, they screamed, and yelled her name. DJ-Pon3. They cheered and moved. An ocean of bumping and grinding, of youthful abandon and cheer. By Celestia it felt good to be a God, even if just for a moment. Her lighting blue hair thrashed back and forth as she rocked out-she knew she’d have a headache by the end of the night, but she really, really didn’t care.
The night continued on much as one would expect-especially with her in the house. Music, fun, a great deal of drinking and intoxicants and at the end she stepped down from her throne of sweet, glorious beats and walked into the back.
The fluorescent lights didn’t help her now groggy mood. It was already two o’clock, why didn’t they shut down a few lights in these empty, off-white halls? She pulled back on her rose goggles-it helped, at least she thought it did.
She knocked on a door that had an off-kilter “MANAGER” scrawled across the top. There was a grunt as she stepped inside. The room was ill lit, barely revealing the stallion that sat in a gross looking chair counting money and writing on a stack of papers, smoking a cigar.
“How much for tonight?” she said.
“Not much, I’m afraid.” The stallion said, as he chewed on the end of his cigar. “I like your work, but we’re just not pulling anything other than the regulars.”
“How much?”
“Jeez, everything’s about money to you, ain’t it?”
“No, I just need something to give to my landlord. She’s pissed.” The white mare said, “Like throw me out on the streets pissed.”
“Ah. Well, here’s your cut for tonight.” He said, pushing a few coins her way. She briefly counted them before pulling off her goggles and counting again, her brow furrowing.
“26 bits!? That’s all?”
“Sorry, Pon3, that’s everything I got for ya. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said. She hung her head low as she collect the pittance given to her and walked out. She waved her hoof lazily as she returned the farewell and carried herself through the maze that was DVNO and outside. The four capital letters, wrapped in gold glittered on the side of the building, before the lights turned off and the silence of the night settled in. She started her walk home, barely paying attention to the little group of ten or so ponies that somehow failed to grasp the concept that the place had closed.
One saw her, and while Pon3 tried to avert her gaze, the little crème mare teetered her way over with alarming speed. Her breath was thick with the pungent scent of alcohol as she said, “I really…really liked your music in there, Pon3. You really know how to….kick some flank with those beats. They’re all like bwooom and bwaaah and”
“Yeah, they’re real nice.” Pon3 dryly stated.
“You’re real nice. And real pretty.” The mare said as she stumbled into her. Pon3 rolled her eyes as she nudged the mare back onto her own four hooves. The mare shook her head as she slowly raised her head and blinked, smacking her lips together. “Why don’t you and I go somewhere…it’ll be fun.”
Pon3 smirked as she said, “Sounds like, but I gotta get home.”
“Let me come with you then!” The mare said.
“Nah.” Pon3 said as she turned and walked away. “I try not to go for the drunk ones, at least if I'm not among them.”
“Oh. Okay” The mare said, as she then turned away, dejectedly. She saw another pony and sauntered over towards them. Pon3 watched for a moment for turning her gaze back to the dark path ahead of her. She was surprised she only got one suitor tonight-so often she’ll get three or four stallions dying to take her to bed, and she could always lead them on long enough to get them fighting and then just wriggle her way out.
Although, she had to admit a few of them were actually worth taking home for the night. That one dark stallion from Fillydelphia, ooh, he was really good. She wondered what his name was, searching the back of her mind for something to remember him by but all she could think of was his big arms and big, thick-
Oop. Home already. She laughed to herself as she took out her keys and went inside. She got so lost in her own thoughts sometimes. But really though, that guy’s neck though was a sight. Damn. She walked down the hall around the corner, turning to the third door on the left.
Her ear twitched though as she heard a door starting to open. She fumbled her keys, trying to get it in. No, no, no! She grabbed the next one and clumsily slipped it into the hole.
“DJ-PON3!” the screeching of the she-beast was sure to wake everyone up. How she looked forward to hearing about that in the morning, at least through tired, angry stares.
“What!?” She said, snapping her neck to the left to see the approaching mare. Her mane was tied up in a towel that had obviously spent the most of its days on the floor, her face covered in the smattering of what Pon3 could only assume was some sort of facial creme, and she was tied up in a robe that hung on her like cobwebs. The she-beast glared at her with her bloodshot eyes.
“What day is it today, Pon3?”
“Uhh, Friday?”
“Yep, the first of the month. You know what that means?”
She grit her teeth and inhaled, leaning her head against the door, slowly sliding her cheek downwards. “Rent” she mumbled.
“Say that a little louder?” the mare said.
“Rent!” Pon3 said. “I get it. I’ll have it by the end of the week.”
“You said that last month and I didn’t see a bit until halfway through!” the mare said, “I’m not running no charity here, miss.”
Pon3 got down onto her knees and said, “I swear to you by the magnificent Technicolor hair of Celestia herself, I will have that money by next Friday.”
The mare rolled her eyes and sighed as she motioned for Pon3 to get back up. “Fine, but not a day later.”
A smile cracked across the ivory pony’s face. “You got it. Ma’am.”
“But if you don’t have it by then, I’m throwing you out, for good.” The mare said before she walked away. Pon3 mocked her angry, bitchy face and waggled her hoof in the air like it was her head, bobbling it time with her words. Her landlady’s gaze snapped backwards, but Pon3 just looked to the side, whistling non-chalantly.
“What.”
“Aren’t you going to go inside?”
Pon3 clenched her eyes shut and nodded, before going into her apartment. She kept them closed until the door was safely locked behind her. She let out a sigh that had been building for the last hour, punctuating it with a shout. “Honey, I’m home!” she yelled. “Oh wait.” She mumbled.
She flicked on the lights. The entirety of the little room was a mess. On the far side near the window was the remnants of a bed, buried underneath the slain and discarded mess of clothes and papers. The walls bore hundreds of posters of bands, illuminated by a little string of paper lanterns she picked up for three bits a few years back, many signed. Pictures of her and a bluish grey stallion with a tuft of messy black hair lay scatted between the posters, alongside handwritten notes and art. She threw her bag into the corner near a trashcan that had long since been overdue to be taken out and then threw herself onto the big bean bag that lay opposite the bed. She stared up at the ceiling, also duly decorated, and sighed.
Another day, another bit was the motto she always heard. She stretched and closed her eyes, her horn glowing as she levitated a tattered old blanket over herself. If sleep was good medicine for the soul then she felt like she needed to overdose at the least to feel better.
But, that was not to be the case. There was a knocking at the door. She grumbled, turning away before the knocking happened again. She flipped onto her back, screaming internally as she stood up and walked over, flinging the door open.
“I told you I’d have your-“She said before opening her eyes to see the mare in front of her. She oozed class and beauty that crashed against the green walls flickering under the sick bleached white fluorescence of the lights.
She was all soft words and smooth vibrations as she said, “Is this a bad time?”
“Kinda? I was hoping to get some sleep.”
“I’m sorry then.” She said, shaking her head,”But I have your attention. DJ-Pon3, correct?” the mare asked.
“In the flesh.” She responded. “What’s up?”
“My name is Brass Beauty. I was at your show and I have an offer for you, if you’re willing to listen.”
“Right now? Can’t this wait til morning?” Pon3 asked.
“Perhaps, but after hearing that debacle with your landlord, I think you’ll be willing to listen.”
Pon3 looked around trying to find somepony to support her side of the argument. If only inspirational cat posters could talk. “Fine” Pon3 said, “Hit me.”
“I’m offering you 1000 bits right here, right now, if you agree to sign this contract.” Brass said, pulling out a bag and a paper. Pon3 eyed the heavy brown bag. She almost immediately grabbed it but stopped a second before her hoof wrapped around the smooth leather.
“Am I selling my soul?” she said as her hoof inched ever closer.
“No.” Brass said, laughing as the though crossed her mind, “Well…maybe.”
Pon3 took hold the bag, her eyebrow shooting upwards as she kept her eye contact with the mare but opened the bag and felt around inside. Her horn glowed as a single bit flew out from the bag and before her.
“Go on.” Pon3 said.
“I want to sign you to my record label, and get you to start recording an album right away. 2% of total sales plus another 10,000 bits upon completion of the album no matter what.”
“What?!” Pon3 spat out.
“I said-“
“No, I heard you the first time.” Pon3 said, swallowing while seeming to gaze off into the distance.
“There’s a catch though- your first album is going to be a collab with another artist whom I think can help you reach stardom.” Brass said. Pon3 reset herself before shrugging.
“Dude, cool.” Pon3 said, “Count me in.”
“But you don’t even know-“
“I don’t care dude, I’ll do anything you want for that kind of money.”
“You sure? I want-“
“Seriously, don’t care. See my eyes?”
“No, not really.” Brass said.
“Oh, right.” Pon3 pushed her goggles up. “See? Not a single buck given. I’m in.”
Brass shook her head and blinked rapidly for a second before shrugging and offering the paper. “Hope you don’t regret this, for both our sakes.” She whispered under her breath. Pon3 grabbed the quill and dashed out a scribble of a signature.
“I look forward to working with you.” Brass said as she stowed away the parchment. She pulled out a little card and passed it to Pon3. “I’ll see you at ten o’clock sharp at that address.”
“Right.” Pon3 said, still enchanted by the soft golden glow of the bits in front of her. “Wait, tomorrow?”
“Technically today, but yes.” Brass said, “Speaking of, I best be off. Much to do and so little time.”
The blue mare took off down the corridor, disappearing around the bend not a second later. Pon3 shook her head and closed the door, weighing the bag in her hands as she doubted the existence of the world for a moment. She sighed, rubbing her hoof in circles on her forehead.
“At least it’s a good dream” she said as she put the bag on the counter and collapsed once again onto her beanbag and promptly went to sleep.
Author's Note
So with my other stories I wanted to see if I could just wing it and write. While I think I did, okay, I actually sat down and wrote out the synopsis for this entire ordeal before I started writing. It actually helped a lot I think, but I'm not sure if I've grasped these characters yet. Still, here's to hoping!
Thanks for reading!
Her headphones buzzed against her skull, the loud beats pounding on her ear drums. She bobbed her head, a cocky grin spread across her muzzle as she strut down the manicured streets. She had to admit that this side of town was nice-in appearances at least. Classy, is probably the word-but if she had heard correctly there was just as many bad ponies and corruption on this side of town as down in the Wards. Still, her rose goggles and violent blue hair assaulted the clean streets and everypony at the very least gave a glance in her direction. A few stopped and watched her walk by, confused as to why and how she found her way over here.
She spun and twisted her way across the streets and intersections-at least the carriage drivers hadn’t changed and she simply danced through them, eyes almost closed. Her hooves struck the ground with every down beat, her entire frame bobbing, the bag on her back bouncing.
Pon3 opened her eyes to see the massive silver tower looming over her, its mirrored façade clean and tidy, trimmed in silver and gold. The Ponyversal Building. She walked inside, her hoofsteps echoing off the polished marble floors and through the rather empty lobby. At the end there was a little desk, complete with a receptionist typing away behind her horn framed glasses. Pon3 took off her headphones as she approached, her music still playing.
“Hey, what floor do I head to?” Pon3 said.
“Seventy-seven.” The mare said without glancing at her.
“How do you-“Pon3 started to say but just shook her head and put her phones back on and walked to the elevators. Fancy, she thought as it started to ascend, the glass behind her giving a view of the city as it zoomed upwards.
“Level Seventy-Seven: The Ponyversal Music Group Studios: Uptown Records” the elevator said in a rather pleasing voice. Pon3 didn’t notice though and just strolled in. The hall was ornate, blue and silver trimming on rather old looking set pieces. There was a single door a few feet down the hall and she strolled over and pushed it open, peeking in.
Inside she saw Beauty Brass and another pony talking by some recording music. She looked over at the clock behind them. 10:15.
“She might not show, Brass.” The grey one said.
“She’s just late. She didn’t strike me as an early bird type.” Brass said as she shuffled some papers around.
“What’s her name again? Pown Three?” the mare said.
“DJ-Pon3” Brass said, “She’s a big star in the underground scene it seems.”
“Underground?”
“You really don’t listen to much modern music, do you?”
“I tried. If I recall correctly, I got a headache from it.” Octavia said.
“Hello?” Pon3 said as she inched into the room.
“Pon3!” Brass said as she put down what she was doing and turned towards her. “Do come in.”
DJ-Pon3 closed the door behind her with a kick of her back leg and strolled over. Octavia appraised her, no-she evaluated how much of a threat this unknown chess piece would be. Her hair spoke with confidence, the deep azure dripping down her head and spilling over her neck to pink goggles that bounced with her strut. She was cocky-arrogant and overconfident and that, would get her killed in this industry. She could hear drop hats and bass lines grow distinctly louder from underneath the headphones as she approached.
“Greetings,” Octavia struggled to pronounce her name correctly,”Pon3”, but regained her smooth confidence as she continued, “My name is Octavia Melo-“
“Sup.” Pon3 said as she flicked her head upwards to her, the music stopping as she took her headphones all the way off. Octavia looked at her incredulously, before glancing at Brass as if to say, “Really?”
Brass’ glare shut down any sass she was about to get before she said, “Glad to see you made it here without any difficulties. We have a lot to go over before we get started.”
“Alright. Who’s the pony that I’m gonna have to work with?” Pon3 said, “I didn’t see anyone else on my way up.”
Octavia cleared her throat. Pon3 looked back at her, her eyebrow raised before saying “You sick?”
“What Miss Octavia is trying to say is that she will be the artist that you will be collaborating with.” Brass said.
“Oh, sorry dude. I didn’t realize. You look more like a journalist, or executive or something” Pon3
said, “No offense, my fault really.”
Octavia forced a smile. “It’s…fine”
“Cool. Where should I put my stuff?” Pon3 said, as she slumped her saddlebags onto the floor.
“Right over…” Brass started to say, but the mare had already placed her headphones back on and was pulling different items out of her bags.
“Anywhere, I guess is fine.” Octavia said, voice like shards of glass. She leaned in to Brass, “I thought you said you’d bring me the best!”
“You doubt my judgment?”
“Maybe, seeing as the others at least had some level of professionalism”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“She just won’t do!”
“How do you know?”
“Because she-“ Octavia inhaled sharply and whispered, “is you know…uncivilized.”
“Octavia” Brass said, as she lowered her brow towards her. “That’s not-“
“It’s true, it’s what it is. She-“
“Yo, ladies.” Pon-3 said, as she finished slapping her gear together, “We ready?”
Octavia blinked. Somehow, this unkempt unicorn had set up a small tower of speakers, spin table, and other accoutrement in the blink of an eye. She shook her head, as if it would somehow make them vanish, and she would see the mare still setting up.
DJ-Pon3 raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Yes? What were you expecting?”
“I-uh-“ Octavia stammered, her gaze dashing between Pon3 and Brass. Brass’ mouth turned into a little knowing smile and with a bob of her eyebrows she turned back towards Pon3. Told you she was this good.
“Don’t we need to-uh...talk about what we’re doing?”
“We’re making an album, right?” DJ-Pon3 said, “Wasn’t that the deal?” As she spoke she looked towards Brass, as if to clarify that this was the indeed the purpose of her being here. Brass nodded.
“Well, shouldn’t we discuss what kind of music we’ll be trying to make, the style, the feel? Shouldn’t we, you know, talk about that?“
“Look, I don’t care.” Pon-3 said, “I’m just here cause the bits.”
Octavia blinked at her. Those words did little to help her confidence. “So you don’t care about music at all?”
“Not what I said,” Pon-3 said, “Look, if it matters so much to you, Miss Fussybritches, I’ll work with whatever you give me. I’m flexible.”
“Fussybritches?” Octavia echoed, “Fussybritches!?”
“Not doing much to help the image there…Miss…uhh” Pon-3 said, “Sorry, what’s your name?”
Octavia’s facial expression flicked between a gape and clenched anger before she said through closed teeth, “Octavia. Octavia Melody.” Again her gaze flew straight back to her producer.
“Just, try to play nice.” Brass said, as she moved over towards the Recording Booth. She carefully tiptoed over the new wires that linked it to DJ-Pon3’s station.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Octavia said, as she shot her a glance that would break bones. Brass didn’t even spare her a glance as she took her place. Octavia pulled out her contrabass from its case, setting up. She placed the headset over her ears, and moved the microphone near her.
“Ready whenever you are.” Brass said. Pon-3 nodded, as she started to tap her foot. The bass beat began to kick through Octavia’s set. She clenched her teeth. This was not going to be a fun day.
---X---
The door strained under the stress of explosive foreboding as the thunderous claps of hooves grew steadily louder, alongside a very irritable voice. The doors shook as they burst outwards, revealing a grey mare stomping her way out of the room, hounded by a plump little blue mare, reaching out after her.
“She’s completely unprofessional. She’ll never do. This just won’t work, Brass.”
“Look, just give her a second chance she’s really-“
“She’s really what, talented?” Octavia said, “All that was was noise. It sounded terrible.” Octavia said, “She’s destroying my art, she’s-“
“Need I remind you that this is your last chance, Octavia?” Brass said, “It’s over after this.”
“I’ll just find someone else to produce for me.”
“Right, cause that worked out so well before.” Brass said.
“Ay, ladies.” Pon-3 said, as she peeked around the doorway. “There seem to be a problem?”
Brass sighed, “Just, give us a moment, please.”
“Kind of hard to do, what with all the shouting.” Pon-3 said. “What seems to be the problem?”
Octavia inhaled sharply, letting it burst out from her mouth in an exacerbated gust. “The problem is you. You have no respect, you have no-“
“Does the Misses not agree with my manners?” Pon-3 said, as she trotted towards her, her nose raised to a ridiculous level as she strained to look up at the ceiling, “Oh, I play string instruments! I’ve never had to work a day in my life! What shall I ever do if a low-class type touches my precious music?” With the last words she threw a hoof over her face, complimenting it with a fake sob.
“How dare you-“
“How dare I what, Princess, talk back to you? Not cower at your pretentiousness?” DJ Pon-3 said as she took a step towards her. Brass struggled to put her hooves between them, pushing them apart. Octavia simmered, her blood boiling. How could someone ever get this much a rise from her?
“Pon-3-“ Brass started.
“I’ve got this.” Pon-3 said with a confident, smug smile. “Looks like you’ve got no comebacks and just your anger right now. That’s good.”
“What?” Octavia said as he molars threatened to break each other.
“I don’t give a damn about whether or not you like me, Octavia.” Pon-3 said, “Hate me if you want, but I need this and from what it sounds like, so do you too. So, either you work with me or you leave. Because I’m not backing down, not from you. This prissy bullshit might work on others, but not me.”
“I-I-“
“You? Abuh buh buh?” Pon-3 said in a mocking voice, before her voice dropped to a normal range, “Look, I know I’m not the friendliest of ponies for ponies like you to get along with. I don’t think we’d ever be friends, but for this one thing, this one time, let’s make a truce.”
DJ Pon-3 offered her hoof.
“We get through this together. Then we go out separate ways.” Pon-3 said, “Deal?”
Octavia looked behind Pon-3’s shoulder at Brass who shrugged and shook her head. Octavia sighed and closed her eyes.
“Very well.” Octavia said, “But you better start to make better sounding music.”
“The problem with that track wasn’t on my side.” Pon-3 said.
“Of course it was, you-“
“Your A1 string is a bit flat.” Pon-3 said.
Octavia blinked rapidly. “No, it’s-“
“Pretty sure it is.”
“Will you stop interrupting me?”
“I’ll try.” Pon-3 said, “No promises. But seriously, that string is a bit flat. Not by much, but it was throwing the backing off a bit and I couldn’t fix it in time while keeping beat and resampling.”
“How do you know?” Octavia said, “I keep my instruments tuned constantly.”
“I’m just good. Go check it out.” Pon-3 said as they started to walk back into the studio. “I’ll hit an A1 on the synth, see if it matches.”
Octavia shook her head as she walked over. This nobody didn’t know what she was talking about. She hand tuned it herself every Saturday. Her hoof picked up the bow, and pulled across the string, a solid low note filling the air with deep vibrations. She looked up at Pon-3 who nodded and pressed a button. She…she didn’t believe it. Octavia leaned her head closer to her Contrabass, and indeed, the note was just a little bit lower. She tweaked the machine head, until they fell into perfect harmony.
Pon-3 halted the note, as a cocky expression that said, ’I told you so’ spread across her face. Octavia looked away from her. It meant little that she was right this one time. It could have been knocked once or twice and shifted it off a little bit.
Pon-3 said, “Alright, let’s start from the top again. You start playing whatever, and I’ll figure out something to go along with it.”
Octavia nodded.
“One, two, three…”
---X---
The sun’s golden rays began to fade beyond the horizon as Celestia began her daily ritual. Pon-3 had barely noticed, as she struggled to make something, anything from the music being presented to her. It wasn’t bad, hell, by all means, it was pretty good, but she couldn’t figure out what to do with it. Most music she could just feel how to improve it, but this was different.
Brass Beauty finally said over their headsets, “It’s getting late. We should probably call it for today.”
The stopped playing and silence took over the room. This was not the heated silence of anger, nor the awkward silence of tension. Instead, this was a comfortable but dizzying sort of feeling, like when one has finished a long test. Frustration and hard work dulled their thoughts and set about their minds like wool.
“Should I leave my stuff here?” DJ-Pon3 said, “I mean, is that cool?”
“Of course.” Brass said. “I’ll lock everything up, it’ll be safe here.”
Octavia was quiet as she closed the lid to her instrument. Brass led them out and into the hallway, conjuring keys and locking the door behind them. She flipped around, and immediately there was a bounce to her trot, and sparkle in her mood. “Today was a good day.”
“We didn’t get much done.” Pon-3 said.
“True.” Brass said, as she looked over at Octavia. “But you did something today.”
Pon-3 laughed, “I get it now.”
“What?” Octavia said, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
“Brass here offered a big advance.” Pon-3 said, “How many others did you go through before you came to me?”
Brass sighed, “Far too many.”
Pon-3 chuckled. Octavia looked at the ground. Why did she feel the need to stay quiet? Brass exchanged quick goodbyes and left, leaving the two mares to alone in the silver hallway. They walked to the elevators in silence, and took it down to the ground floor in the same manner.
Finally, as they exited the building and were able to fill their lungs with the fresh, slightly polluted city air. It was damp, and full of the random noise that was the metro.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Tavi.” Pon-3 said, as she began to pull her headphones on.
“Tavi?” Octavia inquired.
“Yeah. Octavia is too regal for my tastes.” DJ Pon-3 said, as she began to blast her music. “Hope you like it. See ya.”
Octavia waved her hoof farewell as she watched her stroll away through the crowd, unaware, or uncaring of the strange ponies that walked around her. Octavia clenched her teeth. Why did she have to play it so cool?
She hailed a taxi and quickly clambered aboard. She instinctively said her destination, and pulled past the white mare. She shook her head and looked up into the sky. The sooner they finished, the sooner she wouldn’t have to hear the name Tavi again.
