Have you ever gone for something you thought would be so stupid and unattainable, and it ending up changing your life forever? A collab deal with someone as famous as DJ-Pon3 was just that, but I wouldn’t give up. The day I got the letter from my manager, I nearly completely ruined the contract with my shaky hoofwriting. We wanted to arrange the collab to be an orchestral backing to his new electronic sound. And so with a week of persuading and an iron determination, I ended up sitting nervously in Svengallop’s office, his decor not going past a rug and a trophy rack. A square office for a square pony. The manager himself quickly marched into his office, slamming the door shut with his back hoof and, walking right over to the other side of his desk in his plain dark office chair, he looked over to me on the other side of his desk, scanning me up and down he lifted up some papers and began to read the top.

“Octavian Melody, cellist.” He started in his upper-crust Canterlot accent, scanning along the contract paper sitting on his side of the desk.“You are here to collaborate with my client Record Scratch, yes?” I felt my chest tighten, this was really happening. I was sitting in a meeting with Record Scratch’s manager arranging a collaboration on his new album.

“Correct Mr. Gallop, did you get the demo I sent you?” I asked, shuffling my hooves under the chair, trying to give myself something to spend all of the excess nervous pumping through my body on.

Sven looked at me for a few seconds, looking like a tiger ready to pounce and crush my dreams in a single sentence. Yet, he got up from his chair and walked over to a small buffet he had against the wall, a record player sitting on the bench next to a small bar he had for ponies obviously more important than some wannabe looking for a collab with one of his star clients. “This little track, correct?” He flicked a small switch on the player, my demo already being in the player. I noticed a small bin next to the buffet, gulping as I saw a pile of broken up records overflowing from it. Returning to his chair and leaning back, he threw his rear hooves onto his side of the desk. “I am not going to lie, you are very talented… but don’t get complacent; so were they,” he added, gesturing to the bin.

He quickly dropped his hooves from the table, leaning forward and looking right into my eyes. “Wanna know why they ended up in the bin? Every single one of those so called ‘potential artists’ wanting to work with my artists?” He asked, getting right into my face.

“Umm, no?” I asked, using every last bit of courage not to shrink away from his obvious challenge.

“One word, kid: personality. You want your name to shine? You gotta shine with it, music is cute and all, but these days there are hundreds of ponies that can play like they know what they are doing. But talent doesn’t sell, so show me what makes you different from the fifty members of the orchestra that came in today to be able to collab with my star and send their name into the stars.”

I leaned forward, putting my hooves onto his desk and leaning forward. “Personality huh?”

He leaned forward as well, getting very close to my face and narrowing his eyes as my track still softly played in the background. “Show me what you got.” He leaned back, smirking as he waited for me to make my response.

I leaned back as well, taking the prompt. “Well if you are expecting me to tell you how much I just love music and how I am so dedicated to this art. How I took ballet from a young age and made Mummy and Daddy buy me all the things I needed to be the best I can be, for starters you can fuck off.”

Svengallop went to open his mouth and interject, but I quickly shot him a look before he could answer. “Don’t! You dare interrupt me while I tell you shit you don’t care about! I glared, making his face turn quickly to shock, followed by a look of pleasant surprise.

“Yeah, I grew up in some low class family on the cusp of Canterlot. Earth Pony racism and all that jazz, wanted to prove my dickhead parents that I didn’t need a horn or anything special.” I decided to tone it down from here, seeing the interest on his face as I kept going. “I’m quirky, different. I’m not like other ponies… I… I want to help other ponies, but it’s complex. I don’t feel like I need fame or adoration to do that.

“I am tame and I listen and I do what I need to do to get things done. No less. I don’t delve too hard into the realm of alcohol and I’m still a virgin… being a string player does that. But yeah… I got dirt, baggage whatever you wanna call it. I worked damn hard to be where I am am and if you think for one second that you, or some other bureaucratic are gonna fuck with my pathway that I bled to carve, you better watch out. And if think that I will ever give up, you’re dead wrong, Gallop.”

Svengallop took a second. He looked me up then down, curiosity all over his face, stroking his chin carefully from the other side of the desk. Something took over me, I don’t know what it was. Nerves? Adrenaline? I couldn’t tell you. I got up from my seat and plucked the record from the player, stopping the demo in its tracks and putting it in it’s slip. “Let me do you a favour, Gallop.” I snapped it in half and threw it in front of him.

He looked down at the folded slip, the cracked record inside. “Why?” he asked, picking it up slowly.

“It’s about personality, isn’t it? You don’t need that stupid thing, you’ve heard what you need to hear.” I plucked the record out of his hooves and threw it into the bin, walking to the door. “I’ll be checking my mailbox.” I opened the door, looking back at the stunned stallion. “See ya later Sven, nice chat.” I shut the door to his office, crumpling to the floor and shaking uncontrollably as I crawled my way down the empty hallway.

I sat there on my couch in my little apartment for I don’t know how long… I can tell you I wasn’t able to do much. I vaguely remember reaching for some peppermint tea, then after I found it, I ended up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket listening to some music and sipping it. If someone had dared to show up, I think they may have actually been scared for my health. But… I just didn’t know what to do, everything was on autopilot. The last thing I expected was a knock on the door. Yet through my shaky haze of complete and total system shutdown, I barely managed to hear the frantic knocking threatening to bust my door down.

Lazily getting up and trudging over to the door, I swung it open, my manager looking up in horror at greeting my current half-self. I must have looked shocking because he actually took steps backward at the sight of me. “What the fuck have you done to yourself?”

“Nice to see you too, String Puller…” I grumbled, turning around and walking back inside. We both headed to the kitchen, where I threw on the kettle and found the lemon peppermint teabags I have specifically for our little meetings. “Now, please. Just get it out the way, Svengallop wants somepony else, I didn’t get the gig. I don’t give a shit, I already figured that, just give me plan B or whatever.”

String Puller gave me a very professional look and shook her head, leaning against the counter, “There is no plan B this time, Octavian…”

I looked up in fear, not believing what had come out of her mouth. If I was shaky before, I was a wreck this time. “Wh-what do you mean… You’re giving up? Wha…. there has gotta be something! For real? What the fu-”

“Octavian!” She shouted over my panic attack, bringing me back to earth slightly. I didn’t even realise my iron grip on the countertop and hooves looking like they were about to give way.

“Firstly, sit down, because I am actually scared for your mental health right now. Sit down and I’ll get you some water.” She has always been really to-the-point, but that’s what I like about her. She just has this no bullshit approach to how she handles her clients that really reassures me. She tells it like it is, I appreciate that.

I stumbled my way to the couch and waited for her, shaking like a foal on caffeine. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally came back from the kitchen and put the glass of water on the coffee table.

“Now, will you let me finish?” She folded her hooves and sat on the lounge chair, her proper pose seeming more appropriate for a corporate meeting than my cheap apartment. I nodded my head rapidly, clutching the water and trying my best not to spill it as I downed the drink in one go.

“There is no plan B because you don’t need one… Svengallop contacted me.”

I hate it when she pauses for dramatic effect… I swear she does it just to piss me off. At least she isn’t a square all the time though.

“You’re in.”

Author's Note

This is... a pilot. Small, experimental and ready for criticism! I am super keen to start this, it is like nothing I have ever written before and kind of signifies a new way or writing for me. I am kind of over writing sappy puppy love stories (for the time being, not that there is anything wrong with writing a bit of fluff). I am keen to get into some nitty gritty stuff with a lot more conflict and a lot more gay fun stuff! I hope you can stick around.

-Milo