Vinyl sat at her turntable, listening to the sound of her dreams dying.
The ticking of Tavi’s antique grandfather clock hammered through her headphones and pounded in her ears, each mechanical click and clack punctuating every second she spent not producing anything.
Fiddling with her soundboard’s controls for the millionth time that night, she tried to ignore it. She’d have it out with Tavi tomorrow. If she couldn’t keep that awesome neon sign she’d found in Manehattan because it distracted the snobby mare during her cello practice or whatever, then Tavi could get rid of that annoying piece of junk.
Taking a deep breath, she refocused. All she needed was an idea to start with. A theme of some sort. A cool concept. An awesome bassline. Even something as small as a sound she liked.
Or she could just give up and go get a job at the Hayburger because she was a total hack who couldn’t put a good song together to save her life.
She shook her head, shoved her mane out of her face, and took another deep breath before she looked back down at the blinking lights in front of her.
All she needed to do was focus.
She just needed to produce a new track. Just one good one.
If she did that, she’d at least have something new she could put on the next album that nopony bought.
She pushed that thought out of her mind. Buck it: if she could make any kind of progress on something she was happy with, she’d hit the town and just worry about having fun tomorrow.
Maybe Tavi would want to come.
Hanging with Tavi. That gave her an idea: she could sample one of Tavi’s songs.
Basing her stuff on the work of a talented musician would probably work. In fact, why not just make her next album feature Tavi and keep herself as an uncredited collaborator. It’d probably sell great.
She shut her eyes and slid off her headphones, letting them drop to the table.
The first idea wasn’t bad. Really. It wasn’t. The improv collab they’d done at Cranky and Matilda’s wedding had been pretty great. Maybe all she needed was a bit more of that to get the creative juices flowing again.
Of course, she wouldn’t need help if she was capable of putting a decent track together.
What kind of collab? Start with something her friend had already done? Ask her for a custom piece? Maybe just have a couple jam sessions?
She tapped her hooves on the board, thinking back all the times she’d heard Tavi play, trying to feel out the right sounds. Something dark and heavy? Everything she’d done lately had been progressive or uplifting trance, so maybe—
The clock rang and Vinyl nearly jumped out of her fur, twelve thunderous gongs shattering her concentration as they declared to all of Ponyville that she’d wasted another day achieving absolutely nothing.
Snarling, she wrapped her magic around the turntable and flipped it off her sound system, wires snapping as the machinery tore free and crashed to the floor.
Her chest heaved, anger giving way to slack-jawed horror as she stared at her board and its scattered pieces. Components that had taken months of scrimping and saving to collect were shattered and bent. A few residual sparks flew off the ruined wiring that she’d painstakingly installed. All the tracks she’d produced – garbage or not – were gone.
She jammed her muzzle into her forelegs and screamed, then went limp.
She was done.
To Tartarus with her “special talent.”
Her ears twitched at the sound of hooves pounding on the stairs.
Tavi rounded the corner, descending the stairs two at a time. “What in Celestia’s name are you—” she started, but stopped, her hoofsteps slowing. “Oh my... Scratch, what happened?”
Trying to hold back the tears she felt welling in her eyes, Vinyl made an off-hoof gesture, indicating that her turntable and mixer had fallen off the table.
“I can see that much,” Tavi said.
The ticking of the clock filled the room as Tavi lapsed into expectant silence.
Vinyl barely contained a sob as she slid off the table and sat back, wiping the building tears away as she tried to avoid looking at her roommate.
Tavi’s voice softened. “Scratch?”
A small hic escaped Vinyl as she struggled to come up with some way to tell Tavi she was fine and that she could go away. Shame swelled inside her as she caught the concerned look on her friend’s face, as well as her sleep-bleared eyes and bed-ruffled mane.
“Vinyl.”
She could feel her cheeks burn as tears continued to soak her fur.
“Vinyl,” Tavi repeated, her voice firm, “Talk to me.”
“Knocked it over,” Vinyl squeaked out, her normally faint voice now barely audible.
Snorting, Tavi shook her head and sat beside her. “I walked into your setup once and it barely budged.” Stifling a yawn, she continued, “Look, I am not going anywhere until you bloody well tell me what this is all about.”
And she wouldn’t, either. Still unable to meet her roommate’s eye, Vinyl kicked one of the table’s cubbies open, revealing the stack of Times pages she’d collected over the last couple months. “Here.”
Tavi pulled the papers out, spreading them on the table where she could get just enough to light to read the dark and wrinkled print.
Vinyl shrank back, not wanting to watch.
Tavi glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow as she looked down again, shuffling through the papers. “Album sales charts?” she finally asked.
Vinyl nodded, a fresh set of tears building in her eyes. “I couldn’t even hit the bottom.”
Another few moments of silence passed as Tavi looked through the papers. Then, instead of continuing the conversation, she walked around the table and prodded the soundboard with her hoof. “Come on, Scratch. Help me get this off the floor. I remember helping you install this thing. It is obnoxiously heavy.” Tavi didn’t even wait for a response as she wedged her snout against the edge and hefted one side up.
Without room to protest, Vinyl just used telekinesis to lift the other end.
It only took a second for the two of them to get it back on the table, a fresh wave of anguish washing over Vinyl as she got a good look at the damage she’d caused. One of the turntable’s platters had actually cracked and bent the spindle, while several of the mixer’s elements had sheared off. She didn’t want to see the inside.
“You really did a number on this thing, Scratch,” Tavi said, picking up a few of the loose pieces and tossing them onto device. “I’m no expert, but I believe it’s safe to say it is quite broken.”
Vinyl didn’t say anything.
“It occurs to me that you haven’t asked me to listen to any of your mixes in a while,” Tavi said.
Vinyl stayed silent.
“I haven’t seen you running off to many jobs as of late,” she continued.
Vinyl didn’t move.
“Thinking about it, you also haven’t tried to drag me out on a cider run or the like in weeks either,” she added.
Vinyl looked at the floor.
“You know, I really do think your machine is broken,” she concluded.
“Doesn’t matter, ‘m done,” Vinyl somehow managed without a hic or sob, her chest squeezing her heart even as the words left her. “No more music.”
“Bollocks, Scratch.” Tavi ignored Vinyl’s glare. “While I’m quite sure you think you’re serious, I know you aren’t. I’ve watched you work. I’ve seen you sit up all night because you just had to finish some new track. I’ve been to your shows. You love music, and you’d shrivel up and die if you stopped making it.”
Vinyl took the easiest out and just shrugged again.
“Why haven’t you told me about any of this? Aren’t I your friend, Scratch? Have I not come to you with my share of troubles?”
The nod Vinyl answered with was almost impossible to see.
“Then why haven’t you talked to me, you stupid git?” Tavi snapped, the intensity taking Vinyl by surprise.
Vinyl looked away as the answers ran through her head. Because she didn’t want to admit that she was having trouble. Because she was ashamed she couldn’t break the top hundred chart in the Manehattan Times. Because she felt like an untalented hack. Because...
Tavi wrapped her forelegs around Vinyl, cutting through her thoughts. “You really are an idiot.”
“I…” she started, but couldn’t finish, the tears finally bursting out of her. Her body shook as she buried her face in Tavi’s coat.
Tavi just held her as the seconds ticked by.
“My album barely sold,” Vinyl managed between sobs. “I can’t produce nothing anymore. I just… I’m… I...”
Tavi leaned back a little, pressing a hoof against Vinyl’s muzzle. “Who’d have thought that Equestria’s sickest – that the right word, right? I’m pretty sure it is – DJ in all of Equestria could be so sensitive.”
Vinyl almost choked as she tried to sniffle and laugh at the same time.
“Except for me, I suppose. It’s a big part of why I like her.” The muzzle pressure increased as Tavi pushed back and broke the hug, taking a good look at her tear-stained eyes. “I know it isn’t easy, but you can’t let things like that get to you.”
“I’m ‘sposed to be good,” Vinyl protested, shaking her head. “Music’s my talent.”
“Being good doesn’t mean you’re destined for fame and fortune,” Tavi said, holding her gaze.
Vinyl’s breath caught as she shook her head.
“For every Sapphire Shores and Countess Coloratura, there are plenty of ponies who will never be featured on a Manehattan billboard.” Tavi sighed. “I certainly never will, and there are days where that fact eats at me. Where I start thinking of myself as an untalented amateur, where I want to throw my cello out the window, give up, and go work on a rock farm. But I push through them.”
“Princess Celestia invited you to play at the Gala,” Vinyl said, managing to keep her voice steady.
“Scratch. I was a glorified background element. While I appreciated the opportunity and consider it an honor, I doubt a single pony there even knew my name.” She nudged Vinyl with a hoof. “Besides, it is not as if I’m the only pony in this room who has performed for a princess.”
It had never occurred to her before, but she was right. It wasn’t like ponies had been knocking down their door to see the cellist who’d played for Princess Celestia. “Only ‘cause Pinkie’s a friend of mine.”
“And because she likes your music as well, no?”
Unable to think of a counter, Vinyl bit her lip and nodded.
“Vinyl. You love music, and there are ponies who love your music. That needs to be enough. Otherwise you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
Tavi shrugged. “If fame is all you really want, it might be better for you to quit.”
That pulled an unhappy laugh out of Vinyl. Hearing Tavi tell her to quit made her stomach turn. When she’d said it, it’d just been her being mad and frustrated. When Tavi said it, it felt real. “This sucks.”
“It does,” Tavi agreed. She smacked Vinyl’s leg with her tail before she continued, “That’s why we have friends, though. So we can talk to them instead of bottling everything up and letting it eat away at us until we do something stupid.” Turning away, Tavi fell silent for a long moment. “Would it help if I told you that I liked your album?”
“Huh?” Vinyl asked, looking up.
“I know I tease you about your choice of genre, Vinyl, but I really do like your work.” She offered a lopsided smile as she turned back. “Which, I suppose, could be the problem. You created magitronic music that a notoriously snobby cellist – born and raised on the classics – likes. That is a rather narrow audience.”
Vinyl snorted, finally cracking a smile. “A little.” Wiping away the last of the tears in her eyes, she added, “Thank you.”
“No sense thanking me for the truth. I had meant to tell you after I finally listened to it, but…” she trailed off. “Well, I just figured I’d never hear the end of it. I suppose that might have been a preferable alternative to all this, though.”
“Maybe,” Vinyl admitted, taking a deep breath. Tavi liked the album. Somepony besides Vinyl liked it. Maybe she was a hack, maybe she was untalented, maybe she hadn't busted the sales charts open, but somepony else definitely liked her album.
Maybe that really was enough.
The clock chimed.
“Tavi?”
“Yes?”
“Wanna collab again?”
