Author's Note

Shockingly, this chapter is all drama and no smut.

Heresy, I know.

5. Be Efficient

My heels clicked deafeningly as I walked towards one of the side offices in the back area of the Canterlot Symphony Hall.

Much of the venerated old Hall was given over to practice rooms, small studios for recording, as well as the enormous auditorium, of course. A small portion of the building was reserved for the more mundane details of life, such as management of the property and the like.

The nicest offices, however, were used by the director of the Canterlot Philharmonic and his associated support staff.

Now it’s not that I disapprove of the role the director plays, generally speaking. I’m not a child, I understand that at the end of the day the Philharmonic must be treated as a business to a certain extent in order to preserve its existence. I don’t strictly enjoy the idea of treating a force of living art in this manner but I can appreciate it as a necessary evil.

No, my feelings on this are entirely personal because Stalling Reins is the sort of man I have very little tolerance for. That he is the director of the Canterlot Philharmonic is irrelevant, he could have been head of the society for rehoming orphaned kittens and I would still absolutely loathe the man. Regardless of my feelings on the matter, however, I still have to deal with him semiregularly.

A week ago the former first chair cellist of the Philharmonic, Boléro, had announced his retirement. I’d heard down the grapevine that the directorial staff was debating the replacement but that I was all but a shoe-in.

This was, in my opinion, a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, it was the realisation of a dream I had long held near and dear to my heart. To be put at such an august position so early in my life would be an enormous boon to my reputation, and a notable accolade in the annals of the Philharmonic's history.

On the other hand, it meant sinking another few feet deeper into the tepid and algae-ridden pool of politics that tainted this otherwise wonderful institution.

It also meant I might have to deal with Reins slightly more often than I do now, which I considered to be somewhere between quadriplegia and a stiff kick to the cunt in terms of desirable outcomes for my day.

Nevertheless, here I am, walking down this needlessly long hall to his office in my sternest most humorless attire.

His door was cracked open so I approached with unhurried but efficient steps that I was positive he could hear, and knocked briskly on the door jam twice before entering.

Stalling looked up at me from his desk, an eyebrow raised almost disinterestedly.

He was a spare and narrow man with a mulberry complexion and straight, gray-blue hair that ended an inch past his shoulders. Stalling was built like a wood switch, and although he had no real muscle to define his long frame, he had no fat either, and the whole of it gave him a willowy, androgynous look.

Had his body belonged to another person I suppose I might have considered him to be appealing in an odd, exotic kind of way, but his eyes really ruined the matter.

They were sharp, like flint; black-gray and contemptuous. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then the view through those portals would look over a darkly lit and shard-flecked wasteland of sharp rocks.

“Miss Melody,” he addressed me in a voice that I always thought was oddly sonorous for his frame. “I see you’ve come dressed for bear, or at least for bore.”

“Director Reins,” I greeted him stiffly, “as always it's a pleasure to endure your presence.” I gave him a smile that was more a barking of teeth. “You do know how I enjoy exceeding my limits, including that of my patience.”

“Sit, please, assuming that skirt bends,” Stalling gestured to the chair across from him. “We have a few matters to discuss.”

I sat and noted immediately how uncomfortable the chair was, and I immediately had no doubt that Stalling kept that chair on purpose.

His own seat had cushions, swiveled noiselessly, and could clearly recline as he moved to face me. Stalling probably thought it helped him in his dealings and I grudgingly found myself thinking that he was probably correct as I shifted in the hard, narrow seat.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Stalling said in a smooth, authoritative voice. “We both know you’re well suited to taking Boléro’s chair, and although propriety generally weights seniority more heavily, there is an argument to be made for displaying our local wunderkind.”

“You really do know how to make a girl feel like a mannequin, Director,” I said with a polite smile.

“However,” he continued as if I had not spoken, “there are some matters we need to discuss concerning your future with the Orchestra before we go further.”

A queer chill shivered down my spine at the way he spoke, and somehow I got the impression he wasn’t just talking about whether or not I would be taking first chair.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked quietly.

Stalling leaned back in his seat and fixed those dark, pitiless eyes on me, and I felt as though I were being weighed and balanced.

“I’m sure you’re aware that our continued existence is largely thanks to our many wealthy patrons,” Stalling began, his voice still infuriatingly toneless. “Those august lovers of the classical arts who keep our lights on and our paychecks steady, yes?”

“I suppose so,” I spoke slowly, partially out of a distaste for agreeing on anything, but also out of the suspicion I was being led into some kind of trap. “I fail to see your point, though.”

“You fail to see many points, Miss Melody, but you can be forgiven that for your youth,” Reins’ tone, when he had one, was never less than polite but the barbs were always there. “My point in this case is that your appointment to first chair would be…” he rolled his delicate wrist slightly in a searching gesture, “...impolitic, at current.”

“Impolitic?” I repeated the word stiffly. “Please… enlighten me.”

“May I politely suggest you withdraw your name from the chair,” Stalling said, rather than answering me. “It would save the both of us a great deal of headache.”

“Only if I may politely suggest you withdraw your head from wherever it’s currently resting,” I replied tersely, feeling my temper rise. “I am more than qualified to hold the first chair by dint of skill alone, Director,” I put as much contempt into the title as I could manage, “and with all due respect to my peers I am even more qualified compared to any other candidate.”

“I do not disagree with any particular point,” Stalling said politely.

“Then why on earth would I withdraw my name from the running?” I asked in a low, grave tone of voice.

“For the sake of the Orchestra and your own musical career, I should think,” he replied simply. “I’m afraid you’re simply too much of a rebel, Miss Melody.”

My jaw clicked as it fell open, and stood up straight as I stared in disbelief at the director.

Me? A rebel?

“I am better classically trained than any other member of this orchestra,” I hissed, barely keeping a lid on my outrage. “There is not a single woman or man among this ensemble who more strictly adheres to the spirit of the compositions we play than I!”

Stallings pitiless eyes continued to bore into me without feeling.

“How dare you,” I whispered darkly, “how dare you question me in that way.”

“Sit,” Stalling said quietly, leaning forward and gesturing to the chair I’d vacated.

I strongly considered simply giving the intolerable pedant a strong right hook and walking out of his office, but I highly doubted I would ever be welcome back on stage with a battery conviction on my record. So, rather than escalate the situation, I took a deep breath, smoothed the creases in my skirt, and sat down.

“Right now, you are skilled but young and no one looks too closely at you,” Stalling began, reclining once more. “That will change when you’re first chair, and currently you’re not what I would call ‘Ideal’ for the role.”

“And why, pray tell, is that,” I asked through gritted teeth.

For a moment, Stalling paused and seemed to examine me, and I felt curiously exposed. Then the moment passed and he spread his hands in a faintly dismissive manner.

“Our patrons are a largely… homogeneous breed of wealthy elite, I’m sure you know,” Reins started, and I gave him a conciliatory nod to show I was following. “They’re mostly old money, largely elderly, conservative, and… set in their ways.”

That shiver went down my spine again, and I realized where he was going.

“When Boléro officially put forth your name as his recommendation he happened to mention something,” Stalling fixed me with that emotionless, unpleasant look. “Something about your… choice of partners?”

I swallowed thickly.

“I hardly think that it is any business of yours who I spend my personal time with,” I said in a low, furious whisper.

“It is very much my business to consider how such a thing would reflect back upon the Orchestra,” Stalling countered with another hatefully dismissive gesture of his hand. “And this manner of scandal would raise a number of hackles.”

“Scandal?!” I barked out a laugh. “Scandals like Brassy’s affairs? Like Frederick’s gambling addiction?”

“Those are practically boons, Miss Melody,” Stalling said, and his mouth twisted into something I almost recognized as a smirk, “those old rags love to gossip about who’s fucking who and who lost their fortune where.”

“Then-!” I started but Stalling cut me off.

“But this is a different matter,” he continued. “Personally I couldn’t care less who you exchange bodily fluids with, Miss Melody, so long as it doesn’t impinge on my job,” he sat up straight and met me with that chillingly empty look. “However, If you really want this position then I propose you cut ties with Miss Dazzle.”

The bottom all but dropped out of my stomach at his words.

Cut ties with Adagio? With the woman I loved? For the sake of my career? To appease some nameless, faceless patrons who were too blinkered by tradition and prejudice to… to…

“Having our first chair in a sordid relationship with the local madam of an upscale escort service is…” Stalling rolled his wrist again in that annoying searching manner, “...not the image we strive for, you understand?” He reclined again and shrugged. “Might I suggest a more socially acceptable scandal, like cocaine?”

Had I not been so stunned I think I might have actually strangled the man then and there, but I was so shocked and appalled by the direction this conversation had taken that I found myself quite at a loss for words.

“Think on it, Miss Melody,” Stalling said after a moment of my gobsmacked staring. “You have another week before this mess comes to a head.”

And with that I was dismissed.

Not physically but I had the distinct impression I was simply no longer in Stalling’s sphere of awareness, as if now that he had ceased speaking to me I may as well have ceased to exist.

I stood and a part of me wanted to rage at him, to harm him or scream at him, but at the same time everything just felt… numb.

He hadn’t said it in so many words but the implications had been crystal clear. I could either play the game he was proposing, either by renouncing a claim to the first chair myself or by cutting ties with Adagio, or… I could withdraw from the game.

And from the Orchestra.

Not by choice but his words had implied that he would ensure that it happened.

Turning away from Stalling, I opened the door and quietly let myself out of the office, turning only to close it behind me. He did not acknowledge my leaving nor did I bid him goodbye, and just as well… I’m not certain how I would have reacted to him speaking again.

My heels clicked deafeningly as I walked back down the hall towards the side entrance of the Symphony Hall where the players entered and left, and where I had come in at. As I did I sent a quick message to Good Form letting him know I was on my way, so he could be ready to pick me up, in part for expediency and in part because I did not trust myself to speak without screaming.

My butler could tell the moment he saw me that something was dreadfully wrong but, per usual, he said nothing, only opening the side door for me and then taking his place behind the wheel.

“Where to, Miss?” Form asked in his usual perfunctory manner.

“Home,” I said in a strangled croak, “take me home.”

I leaned back in my seat as covered my face with my hands as the car rumbled to life and quietly attempted to locate the moment in time when my life had suddenly and violently began to unravel.

The engine of my car burbled quietly in the background as I glared heatedly over the headrest of the drivers seat at the back of Good Form’s bald crown.

Had I possessed any measure of magic I’m certain my gaze would have scorched a hole cleanly through the back of his head, but as I was simply a mere mortal I contented myself with a tightly worded question.

“Mister Form,” I asked in a grim voice.

“Yes, Miss?” He replied, turning slightly to regard me with one eye.

I blew out a calming breath and met his gaze

“How precisely did you manage to confuse my directions?” I asked in a thin and furious tone. “I very clearly recall telling you to take me home.”

“My apologies Miss, I seem to have gotten lost,” Form replied in his usual phlegmatic manner.

I quirked up an eyebrow. “How curious it is that you managed to get lost only to end up in the parking lot of the Record Scratch Recording Studio.”

“Quite,” Form said simply.

I waited a few more moments until it became clear that this vehicle wasn’t going anywhere with the implied order.

With the best will in the world, fuck implied.

“Take me home, Mister Form,” I said, and even I could hear the steel blade hiding in my words.

Then the car's engine shut off.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a mechanical malfunction, Miss,” Form said his tone still infuriatingly polite. “I must have mismanaged the maintenance at some point.”

“Is that so?” My words came through gritted teeth and both of my hands were gripping the leather upholstery hard enough that I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d ripped it clean off. “How could that have possibly happened?”

“I recognize my failing and will be sure to correct it in the future, Miss,” Form replied flatly.

A moment later the glass doors of the studio opened, and I sighed as the woman I called my best friend strode out to meet me. Given where I was and the timing of it all I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that somewhere between the Symphony Hall and the Studio my butler had managed to communicate my state to her which meant I was about to get a serious earful.

Well… metaphorically speaking.

I took several deep breaths and by the time I had finished calming myself down and willing myself not to take out my temper on my butler, three dull taps came knocking at the window of my car.

Sighing, I let out another breath and looked up.

Vinyl Scratch was the darling of the underground club scene and had been for almost two years. While that might not sound like an impressive amount of time that’s only if one fails to factor in the fickle nature of fame and the attentions of an audience. To remain at the top of such a competitive and lawless field requires no small amount of dedication, business savvy, and sheer, unbridled talent, and I learned long ago that Vinyl had all of that in spades.

I opened the door and stepped out of the car into Vinyl’s waiting arms, and I hugged my oldest friend back just as firmly as she hugged me.

Vinyl had changed since high school, but hadn’t we all?

While I had managed to attain a sort of average linear growth to my height, Vinyl had sprouted like a bean pole. She was a hair better than six foot and two, but rail lean and spare, with narrow shoulders, sharp features, and skin so pale it bordered on the albinic, which was all set off rather acutely by her long shock of electric blue hair that hung wildly around her face.

The woman most of Canterlot, and indeed the world, knew as DJ PON-3 was wearing knee-high white boots with far too many buckles, off-white fatigues covered in band badges, and a tee with her reversed bridged eighth notes emblazoned on it, a white winter coat to ward off the cold, and her usual trademark shades that hid her charming eyes.

“Vinyl, you’re looking well,” I said a little stiffly as I stepped back.

Her smile was slightly crooked as she looked me up and down, then raised her hands and signed a few words back to me.

‘You look like crap.’

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a gem, Scratch, thank you, a girl loves to hear that sort of thing on one of the worst days of her life.”

Vinyl’s brow furrowed and she gestured for me to follow and get out of the cold Canterlot winter day.

I nodded and followed her into the studio, which wasn’t a particularly large building, but had a well appointed lounge that I had helped her set up and furnish, and back towards the small break room which actually looked more like a kitchenette that belonged in a charming studio apartment than anything in an office.

Taking a seat at the table, I resigned myself to getting the story of today pulled out of me. For a woman who literally never spoke, Vinyl was phenomenal at extracting the truth, at least from me anyway. Admittedly that was probably due to our long association, but it was also because I trusted her.

Vinyl Scratch was, truly, my very best friend

A steaming cup of rose hip tea clinked down in front of me and I took it gratefully, lifting the warm cup to my nose and inhaling the fragrant vapors as Vinyl took a seat across from me. We sat in silence for several minutes as I sipped at the slowly cooling tea, and I was thankful that Vinyl wasn’t rushing me. I wasn’t really sure where to start and how to explain what I’d been up to for the past few weeks.

The pair of us didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together as we used to, mostly due to our respective, demanding careers. Nevertheless, no matter how much time passed we never failed to be able to sit across from one another and talk as if no time had passed at all.

I sighed as I set my cup down, still half full, and looked up at Vinyl who had doffed her shades, and her startlingly red eyes had settled on me.

‘Talk to me, Strings,’ she signed.

Strings… it was the sign she used for me, the one she gave me as my name many years ago.

To the world, my family, and the Orchestra, I was Octavia Melody, and I was ‘my Melody’ to Adagio, my lover and beloved.

But to Vinyl I would always be ‘Strings’, a young schoolgirl with a bad attitude and no friends sitting alone in the school’s band room as I played musical compositions no one my age had ever heard of, much less willingly listened to over their favorite pop and rock albums.

I told Vinyl everything, starting with my childhood teacher: Serenata. I told her about Adagio and our relationship, about the Sirens and the Last Note, and all about my sins against Boléro whose friendship I might have enjoyed for far longer if I hadn’t permitted my arrogance and petty spite to better me as it had. I told her about Boléro’s retirement and his recommendation that I take his chair.

And I told her about Stalling Reins.

In our long friendship I had very rarely had the opportunity to see Vinyl grow truly angry. She was very much my opposite, sanguine to my choleric, and as a general rule never taking anything negative that anyone said about her too personally. Grudges, bad manners, and insults seemed to simply slide off of her, something I had always been a touch envious of, if I’m being honest.

None of that serenity was on display today, however, as her brow furrowed and her red eyes flashed dangerously.

I was reminded quite suddenly of a conversation we had shared many years back, when I’d asked why she hid her marvelous eyes behind those shades of hers all the time. I wasn’t quite as proficient at reading sign language then so the explanation had taken some time but the gist of it was this:

‘People,’ she had explained to me, ‘like the idea of looking unique, but the truth is that people really hate it when you’re too different.’ She had taken off her shades and met my eyes with an intense stare, and in that brief instant I understood what she meant. ‘People don’t like my eyes, and honestly? They’re just eyes, I want to be remembered for the sounds I make, not the way I look.’

Red eyes really are quite terrifying when they’re filled with the kind of fury and rage that I saw in Vinyl’s face once I’d told her what Stalling Reins had said to me. They practically blazed with lambent heat and I felt myself instinctively leaning away from Vinyl as she took several deep breaths to calm down.

‘What the fuck is that guys problem?’ Vinyl signed after a moment, still looking furious. ‘What kind of colossal asshole-!’

That did it.

All of my fear, terror, and anger retreated as a fit of giggles overtook me at Vinyl’s furious reaction and a moment later I was leaning against the table laughing hysterically.

I couldn’t tell you what brought this fit on for the life of me, maybe it was just all of the stress trying to come out all at once through some kind of outburst. Seeing Vinyl get so outraged on my behalf had triggered a wave of some kind of desperate relief in me that made me feel… not good but at least a little better. Even a minor alleviation of the stress that Stalling had levied onto me was a relief in and of itself, though, and I was grateful.

In the end, I would always have my friends.

‘You okay, Strings?’ Vinyl signed, her eyes showing the concern that her mute voice couldn’t say aloud. ‘This is a big deal!’

“Is it?” I said with a slightly bitter laugh. “It feels so strange to say that but… is it, really?”

‘This is your dream,’ Vinyl pressed, leaning forward as she met my gaze, and I nodded at that.

“And yet,” I replied in a tone that had no small amount of melancholy to it, “I find myself wondering if I can really go back there knowing the kind of person I’m working for… knowing that…”

Vinyl grimaced but didn’t deny it. ‘Yeah, I get that, Strings, this douchebag isn’t the kind of guy I would ever be able to work for.’

“Not for love or money,” I agreed. “I feel unclean just thinking about the whole matter… is this really the organisation I dreamed of joining? It feels…”

Reaching out, Vinyl took my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, smiling silently at me as I let out a slow, uneasy breath.

“Why can’t I just make my music, Vinyl?” I sniffled, tears beginning to track down my cheeks. “Why can’t this world be… be better than this? We ought to! We’re academics, educated and talented! How is it possible that I find less judgment in the lowest streets than I do in the most educated edifices?!”

‘Educated doesn’t mean smart, Strings,’ Vinyl signed back.

“Ugh, amen to that, I suppose,” I replied bitterly, wiping at my cheeks. “We ought to know better, though… oughtn’t we?”

‘Maybe,’ Vinyl replied silently, ‘but some people just don’t care, and other people just like to be cruel.’

I thought of Stalling and his rancid personality, and the utterly blasé manner in which he suggested I tear my own heart out if I wanted to continue with the Orchestra, as if my relationship with Adagio were nothing more than a scandalous, perverted fling I was indulging in.

Just imagining his smug, punchable face made me want to strike something.

“I know what you mean,” I said finally, leaning back in my chair and finishing off my tea before it grew too cold to stomach. “So what do I do?”

‘Talk to Adagio, first of all,’ Vinyl signed and I sagged slightly, my fingers tightening around my cup. ‘All things being even she deserves to know what’s happening if you really love her.’

“I do love her,” I said back after a few moments, “I love her dearly and I know that I should tell her… but what if she takes it poorly?”

‘Is there a good way to take this kind of thing?’ Vinyl shot back and I grimaced at that before conceding the point with a nod. ‘This isn’t going to be pretty no matter how you do it, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to know, and she ought to hear it from you.’

I smiled faintly, nodding again as set my teacup back down.

“You’re right, of course… per usual,” I said with an arid smile, and Vinyl matched it with one of her own before holding out a closed fist.

Rolling my eyes, I indulged her and knocked my knuckles against hers and she mimed an explosion with her fingers as I did before grinning widely at me.

‘In the meantime, I’m gonna talk to a few folks I know,’ Vinyl got a nasty little grin on her face as she signed those words, and I raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Hey, us musicians gotta stick together, and that kind of attitude doesn’t do anyone any favors in this industry.’

“Vinyl, please don’t go overboard on this,” I pleaded, although I had to admit I was secretly more than a little vindictively pleased at the notion, “as soothing of a balm to my spite and mood as it might be, I’d rather you not bend your efforts towards toppling a venerable institution like the Philharmonic, it’s not the Orchestra’s fault that its Director is a wretched bastard of a man.”

‘Not just about that,’ Vinyl replied with a wave of her hand. ‘It’s the principle of the thing, Strings, the Philharmonic is a big deal and if this is the message they’re sending then it claps back on all of us in the business.’

Oddly, I found myself unable to argue with that. Vinyl had a far better grasp of the business side of music than I did, I was a creator of music, a performer of it, but I didn’t really embrace what I felt was the more sterile and onerous aspects of the industry as a whole. Vinyl, by contrast, had fought tooth and nail to rise up in the industry and she knew better than most how cutthroat it could be.

Even with my father’s investment and acknowledgment of her skill, Vinyl hadn’t had an easy time of it, and I admired her greatly for pursuing her dream of owning her own little recording studio. Her music was played in clubs throughout Vanhoover and Detrot and everywhere inbetween, and I was absolutely certain I’d heard at least a few of her tracks played in the Last Note itself. If she said that the behaviour of the Philharmonic was bad for the industry as a whole then I didn’t really feel I had any grounds to tell her she was wrong.

“Be careful, at least,” I leaned in and took her hand in mind. “The last thing I want is for you to get bad press and hurt your business for my sake.”

Vinyl took my hand in both of hers and smiled at me, nodding as she did, then made a shooing motion at me.

‘Go talk to your girlfriend,’ she signed quickly.

“Yes, very well, I suppose I should,” I got up, gathering what few things I’d brought in with me, and turned to leave. We were almost to the door when I stopped and turned, wrapping my arms around Vinyl again. “You’re my very best friend, Vinyl Scratch, you know that?”

Vinyl hugged me back, pulling me close, and I felt her nod before she released me and stepped back.

‘You’re the best cellist in a thousand miles, Strings,’ Vinyl signed. ‘If the Orchestra let you go that’d only mean they didn’t deserve you in the first place.’

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said dryly, but I meant every word.

I left the Record Scratch Studio feeling in significantly better spirits than when I’d arrived. Vinyl was a grounding element to my more tempestuous nature. She was calm, collected, and driven, and although she and I shared many attributes our tempers were not among them. She had the ability to see clearly where I would get myself worked up and blind myself, and I had found myself to be deeply thankful or our relationship over the years I had known her. I strongly suspect my father and mother have been equally thankful for the balancing aspect Vinyl offered me as I grew up.

As I approached the car to open the door Good Form started it up, and I slid into the back seat while fixing him with a wry, mock glare.

“I see the ‘mechanical malfunction’ has been resolved,” I said after a few seconds of silence, broken only by the healthy rumble of the engine.

“Quite so,” Form replied.

I sighed, chuckling a little as I leaned back in the seat.

“Thank you, Mister Form,” I said finally, looking up at him with a small but genuine smile. “You truly do take care of me, you know that?”

I saw his mustache twitch just slightly with the hint of a smile, and he nodded.

“Where too, Miss Melody?”

Sighing, I braced myself for the oncoming storm.

“Take me to the Last Note, Mister Form,” I said finally.

“As you say, Miss Melody.”