With a dull thud that echoed through the empty room before her, Vinyl opened the door and walked solemnly into the room. Her tired hooves lazily brushed against the wooden floor as she strode in, with her pink and grey-striped headphones hanging around her neck.
Vinyl cast a look about the room: boring grey tapestry emblazoned the walls around her, except for a wooden window that looked out onto the gardens of Canterlot. Furniture in the room was scarce, and the room only had an orange beanbag chair in a corner that spilled its contents onto the floor, through a hoof-sized hole.
She let out a sigh and let her eyes drift to the work-area at the other side of the room. A wooden table, and a simple wooden chair stood in front of the window. An ancient radio rested on the table, and it was terribly worn.
Vinyl’s horn glowed a brilliant neon-blue and she telekinetically lifted the headphones off of her neck, and laid them down on the table as the sound of metal and plastic against wood sounded off. Another sigh, and Vinyl inched forward at an even slower pace than before.
Vinyl's magic wrapped around the chair and pulled it out as she sat down. Her horn flared up again, and she turned the knob on the old and stained radio sitting on the table in front of her. The radio sputtered on with the screeching of static as the sound of classical music filtered through the radio's speaker that was peppered with holes.
White moonlight with a tinge of silver-blue bathed the room through the window as Vinyl relaxed her body and wiped her eyes with a fore-hoof. Vinyl's horn flared with brilliant blue light again as she lowered the volume on the radio, and lifted out paper onto the table. She smiled as she lifted out a quill and an inkstand, dipping the quill in the ink and wrote:
Dear Octavia,
As I write this letter I feel rather foolish and more than one shade of stupid, but if I do not write it, then the moment will fade into oblivion and I will deprive you, and everypony else in the world from knowing that it ever existed.
Is it important? No, not at all, though in my mind it doesn't have to. Importance is something that is chosen by each mind and dealt with according to their own manifestations of morality and ethics that the singular mind has, and not by the collective of what we base our community on.
Listen to me. I've picked up on your speech patterns, but that's not a bad thing. I've known you for a long time, and I feel that you are the one that's best suited to listen to me since you are the one that understands me the most. Others think I'm just a DJ that works over-time any-time I can, but they don't understand the reason behind it.
I still remember that time both of us bathed together in a pool in haywaii. That was awesome! And I got to see who you really were. The true sole of your inner being if you will. You, Octavia, are a true musician. You thrive for your music, for the perfection in your work that is unprecedented in many others. That is what we have in common. The thrive for the perfect moment, for perfection, and for the music that speaks to our souls.
Music, and more specifically mine, doesn't always have a purpose. I'm not bad-mouthing my own music, or yours. I'm just saying that it doesn't always serve the purpose we want others to see, since everypony gives everything their own interpretation. The true meaning is sometimes lost to them, but not to you and me. We share something special. A bond of perfection. Sure, we have been called neurotic in the past and that may be true, but at least we thrive for something rather than just standing still and letting the world wash over us.
The metaphors are biting loudly today, huh?
Vinyl let out a giggle thick with joy and sadness intermixed as she lifted her head, and looked out across the gardens outside her window. The wind rustled the few remaining leaves on the dying trees as Vinyl turned her attention back to her letter.
I ramble, again. Don't be discouraged, Octavia. I just can't seem to get my head on straight when I write this letter, but what excellent works haven't been created under duress? Too many, but that's not the point.
Today I finally managed it. I saw perfection. It wasn't a friendly stallion, I get enough of those. Nor was it my music, neither was it the atmosphere of today's concert. No, it was a bird. A simple creature that we take for granted in our world, and not just any bird.
A phoenix.
The light seemed to pour off of his body and descend on the crowd as he sat perched on a light-post that bathed the attendants in golden light. Along with the orange light that came off of the bird it created a magical atmosphere beyond what any neon-light is able to.
Time stopped for a moment as I watched the bird just sit there. He didn't move, he didn't fly away, nor did he pay any attention to me. When I looked at the bird, I thought of you, of all the times we have spent together, and all the things we have done. I thought of the sound of my music throbbing in the air, and the subtle undertones of it.
The symmetry of that bird was almost freaky, but even the patterns looking like tribal markings seemed to radiate perfection in its truest form I have ever seen. A bird may seem as nothing to you, but to me, and that's specifically this bird, it signifies perfection beyond what I have seen before.
Once, there was a time when I wanted to quit. When I wanted to just give up and retire to a much calmer life, but not any-more. If a bird can manage perfection, and manage to captivate my attention for a moment in time that seemed to last forever, then I can do it as well.
Perfection is not beyond me any-more. I can still manage to make that perfect music piece, that singular song that captivates the audience beyond what a simple bass-song is able to. Music on the lines of what the great geniuses of our profession have created.
I am not beyond that.
Finally, after all my rambling I hope that this letter finds you well, and that you understand me better as a pony and a dear friend.
XOXO, V.
P.S: Bring the yellow headphones I sent to you to the next concert; I'm not going soft on you yet.
Vinyl's magic wrapped around the letter and she pushed it into an envelope addressed to Octavia as the room darkened. She looked outside as the moon had vanished behind the cloud-cover of night, but a light streaked across the sky. Her eyes widened, and her muzzle turned into the largest smile Vinyl managed as a shape of orange and red streaked across the sky.
“A perfect moment,” Vinyl said to herself as she closed her eyes and breathed slowly, bathing herself in the light.
(A/N : I have to thank my always useful pre-reader:Mikaelssen who makes this work of fan-fiction readable.)
