Chapter one- A Prima Vista
Canterlot School of Arts, Cadenza Performing Arts Building. 11:30 PM.
Ochre Ostinato sat at the piano for the 8th night running, and once again wished ardently that he had dropped out of high school 30 years ago to strip in Manehattan like his guidance counselor suggested.
Although, he mused, his weak back would have forced him into a tragically early retirement, and his stocky build would make for an unappealing sort of performance, it would still be preferable to sitting here and staring his imadequacies in the face. It had been over a week since he had added a single bar to this song. He was supposed to be a master by now. An illuminary artist, visionary of his time, inspiration to all. That was what he promised himself in the mirror the day he got his cutie mark, after all. He was going to be a star. At this rate, he would be lucky to manage 'appreciated in his time' by 90.
Ochre huffed a sigh, straightening his music with a light touch of magic. Even though he knew it wouldn't help, it was briefly satisfying. (Organization, he always reminded his orchestra students, assists inspiration.) Then, he straightened his back and, even though it wouldn't help, took a cleansing breath. Hearing the music again would probably help. Maybe there was a spark of energy lurking within a rest somewhere he could use. With a nod to the Beethooven painting serving as his muse, Ochre ran through his composition from the top.
Hearing it did the opposite of helping. It was... to put it simply, terrible. Clumsy. Dull. A year's worth of blood and tears, and it sucked. By the time he was halfway through, Ochre lost the will to do anything but flop head-first onto the keys.
Ochre decided he was done for the day, and finished it as he usually did.
He gave a frustrated groan towards the ground, tilting his head up as it grew into an angry yell to address the ceiling, and by association, the doodle of Celestia some pegasus stuck up there last decade.
Celestia did not answer. She kept on, as she always had, with her business. Which was eating cake and swearing in what was probably Japonyse.
"Are you ever going to share?" Ochre grumbled.
She remained unmoved.
"Dick."
The clock chimed suddenly. Midnight. Ochre rubbed a saffron hoof down his face. Of course, the last bus had drove by about half an hour ago. He'd wasted 8 hours of his life and his last chance home tonight for nothing.
It was going to be another night on his office couch.
Ochre trudged into the dark hallway. A skinny unicorn was carefully scrubbing the window. He glanced up sharply when Ochre passed, then eyed the open door to the music room. Ochre didn't pay him any mind. The only thing on his mind was his nice, soft couch.
The unicorn opened his mouth as Ochre passed, but he pulled his office door shut behind him before the kid could get a word out. If he had anything important to say, he could wave down somebody who cared.
Ochre eased himself onto his couch and let his eyes fall shut. It didn't make any difference. His office was windowless and stuffy, and fell into pitch blackness without the soft hall light to illuminate it.
As sleep gently took him, Ochre assembled a mental picture of how he was supposed to look right now. Thin, distinguished, be-suited before a rapt audience. They hung off his every breath, tensing with excitement as he paused, hooves just above the keys, to give a steely nod to his Beethooven painting.
His music, the song he was so desperately trying to compose, rang flawlessly from his instrument. It was better than he could have ever imagined, every soaring trill and shock of emotion perfect in it's place. He danced through everything he'd written, and then further. It was daring, provocative. Such raw emotion from simple chords. It was-
It was
Bitney Spurs?
Ochre Obstinato's eyes popped open. The music still danced in the air. It was still the same jangling, cruddy nonsense that blasted from the radio.
His muse had fled entirely. Chased from it's singing perch by garbage. Ochre's pulse began to pound in his ears as he stumbled off his couch and across the hall. The door practically splintered in the grip of his magic, slamming open to reveal one shaggy unicorn, window rag in mouth, perched guiltily over the piano.
The last remnants of his muse slithered quietly out Ochre's ears. His big break, the last push he needed... gone. Just like this rat was going to be, if Ochre could help it.
Ochre siezed the unicorn's ear with a pinch of magic and dragged him off the bench. The young stallion was a mess of flailing limbs. He managed to knock the bench down on his way, and scatter music over the room. It was Ochre gave his ear a shake the second the kid was on his feet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The unicorn ducked his head, addressing the ground.
"I- I'm sorry, I heard you playing and it- I was only smoothing it, I swear! I won't do it again!"
"Bitney Spurs is smoothing? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"That was... I got distracted."
Ochre paused.
"Then what were you... 'smoothing'?"
"The song you were playing before."
Something twitched in his mind.
He let go of the ear in his grasp.
"Sit down."
The unicorn flopped down where he stood.
"On the stool, you idiot! Sit down on the stool and play the song!"
The unicorn stumbled upright and onto the stool. He positioned his hooves just above the keys and paused.
"Uh- Bitney Spurs? or-"
"THE OTHER ONE."
He shrank away from Ochre and played.
It was his magnum opus, melted down and recast into something magnificent. Noteworthy, even. The fury and yearning in the compisition that had felt so cheap was made real. Ochre Ostinato stared at the stallion. He was a regular genius. But only a janitor, which meant he was yet undiscovered by musical society. Talent like this... wouldn't go unnoticed forever, especially in this school. Somebody would discover him, eventually. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Hell, he still had a few records laying around from the last prodigy. Andamento, or something like that. He ended up a millionaire. And the guy who discovered him didn't end up too bad, either. All he had to do was play at Andamento's debut, and his compositions sold like hotcakes.
Something caught Ochre's eye as the song finished. It was hard to tell, but there didn't seem to be a cutie mark on the kid's flank.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Cricket. Cricket Chirp."
"How old are you?"
Cricket fidgeted uncomfortably with his uniform shirt, hanging his head when he caught Ochre's eye.
"Sixteen. Seventeen in January."
"You don't have a cutie mark?"
"Never been good at nothing enough."
"Not even music?"
"Not enough to make a life out of it, I guess."
Ochre grinned. A story like this was going to go down in history. And Ochre had a spot saved right behind him.
"Well, Cricket, that won't be true for long."
Cricket tilted his head to just barely see Ochre's face through his bangs.
"It won't?"
"No. Cricket, you have something special in those hooves of yours. More special than anypony I've taught in my entire career. With the right teacher, you could be something great."
Cricket's eyes shone like stars.
"Would- would you be that teacher?" He whispered.
Ochre grinned wide enough to split his head.
"It would be my pleasure."
Author's Note
This is the first fic I've ever published. I'm excited to share this story with you all!
