“All right, thank you!” Octavia shouted, her sharp tone easily overpowering both the singer and the accompanist.
The earth pony on the stage froze with her mouth still open. Then she bit her lip. “Uh, I... okay. Sure! Thank you...” She smiled awkwardly and then ran for the exit.
“She was okay,” Twilight said, almost before the poor girl was out of earshot. She winced as her voice reverberated slightly thanks to the theatre's acoustics. The main stage was a real piece of work. Marble and steel arches, cushioned seats, hardwood paneling—traditional Canterlot aesthetics combined seamlessly with modern science. Twilight loved this place, but stress had prevented her from enjoying it as of late.
“She wasn't okay. Her voice was good.” Octavia didn't look particularly thrilled. “She just seemed...”
“Inexperienced?” Twilight offered.
“Definitely not,” Octavia said, looking towards the main entrance, where another hopeful would be waiting. “She was... shy.”
“Well, Lady Nocturne is supposed to be a stoic type, so—”
“That's not it,” Octavia sighed. “Our Lady Nocturne also has to stand up to the... other lead.”
“Oh,” Twilight said.
Silence again.
“Well, I've got my notes. I'll fetch the next.” Octavia stood and took off for the entrance at a trot.
Twilight yawned as she reached for her pen and scanned down the audition list to see who was up next. Her mouth didn't close from the yawn when she read the next name. She pivoted in her seat, jaw still hanging, and looked to where Octavia was coming back, followed by a white unicorn with a cobalt blue mane.
Octavia kept a much better poker face than Twilight as she took her seat and picked up her own pen. “All right, tell us your name.”
Twilight coughed. The candidate's cutie mark alone was distinctive enough; the huge pair of blue-purple shades balanced on the white mare’s horn made it so that Octavia's question couldn't possibly not be rhetorical.
“Vinyl Scratch, at yer service.” She nodded in acknowledgment as she walked up to the edge of the stage. Even the maroon of her eyes and the way her mane fell dramatically across them seemed to pulse to a rhythm.
Took strong front-center, Twilight scribbled on her notepad. Presence. Then, as an afterthought: Nice mane.
“O-kay.” Twilight said, very professionally. Then she broke from procedure just for a moment. “And you're DJ Pony, right?”
“Yeah.” Scratch chuckled at that. “And thanks. Lotta folks pronounce the 'three.' It's irritating.”
“Oh, no problem!” Twilight giggled. “I mean, I've never actually listened to—”
“Thank you,” Octavia interrupted. “What do you have for us today, Ms. Vinyl Scratch?”
“An original. Working title 'Home.' It was right there with my resume, yeah?”
The accompanist, Wingsinger, straightened the sheet music with her left wing, then rested both forehooves and both wingtips on the keys. “Got it,” she said. “Whenever you're ready.”
Vinyl Scratch took her first breath with the erect posture of a singer, then exhaled it and let the sound dissipate. A smirk crossed her face as she took another breath, slowly this time, filling her lungs with sound waves.
Twilight leaned back, expecting a tonal riot worthy of a DJ PON3 original. What she got instead was something quite different. Vinyl didn't wait for Wingsinger to cue her in; she just closed her
eyes, tilted her head back so that her mane fell away from her face, and began her song a capella.
She stares out for the first time
At the only place she knows
The city lights all come to life
as day comes to a close
The accompanist began a simple tune that punctuated Scratch's voice but never covered her. The melody was both somber and hopeful, to match the restrained power of the voice it had been composed for.
She's dreaming of a time when
All those streets were full of friends
The songs they sang were full of hope
A song that still rings clear—
She dances to a morning song,
A song of life,
Their song that never ends...
The piano played a bouncing, syncopated interlude while Scratch hung her head, waiting. When it built to a chorus, she was already straightened and poised in perfect form for a theatrical singer. Twilight started to write a few more notes, but they trailed off into nonsensical scribbles once Scratch's voice pulled her attention.
The sweetest dream of love
The memories and hope
Dreams may end but day won't change the memories you've made
Just hold your head up high
As you walk across the sky
Gravity can't take away your home
This is your home...
Wingsinger played another brief interlude, then moved to the next verse—which Scratch didn't sing. The piano stopped abruptly as Wingsinger turned around, about to ask what was wrong. Vinyl Scratch was looking at her audience of two with a raised eyebrow.
“Something wrong?” Octavia asked. “Is that all you have?”
Twilight bit her lower lip. She wasn't even the one on the stage, but those words still felt bitingly accusatory.
“Nah,” Scratch said. “I was just wondering why you weren’t cutting me off. That's what happens in auditions, right?”
“We cut you off when we cut you off. You shouldn't assume.” It wasn't exactly a riposte, but the way Octavia didn't miss a beat had a defensive edge to it.
“A’right.” Scratch shrugged. She shrugged at a director's pronouncement. “Ready to see how I move?” She crossed her forelegs, spread her back legs, and raised her rear as if stretching. Her tail flicked, her eyelids fluttered, and she flashed a weaponized smirk.
Twilight pretended to be interested in her notes, hoping that her blush wouldn't be visible from the stage.
“No, not the dance combination,” parried Octavia. “Let's do the cold reading first.”
Scratch nodded her rémise. “Was planning to save that for last, but if you insist.”
Octavia said nothing, but she might as well have said “touché.”
Even hardened professionals sometimes fall into the trap of being worried about the act that they have to follow. After Scratch left the stage, Twilight thought she could smell the next candidate's fear. Raindance was her name, a violet pegasus with a tan mane. Twilight hated to admit it, but Raindance was right to be worried. She delivered lines with confidence and was probably the strongest dancer of the lot, but unfortunately for her, she suffered badly from being overshadowed.
Several times throughout the rest of the auditions, Twilight turned to Octavia and opened her mouth to speak. Every time, she closed her mouth again when Octavia didn't even acknowledge her gaze. When the last of the auditions was over and nopony was around to hear their discussion, Twilight pivoted in her seat to face Octavia head on.
“Interesting spread for some of the roles,” Twilight said, forcing a sunny tone. “I thought Redwood's cold-read was—”
Octavia had already set her notepad and pen aside. “Don't dance around it.”
Twilight bit her lower lip. “She was really good, though. Vinyl Scratch. I mean... it's not just that she's famous, I really liked the way she—”
Octavia shook her head. “She's trouble. A lot of trouble. But...” She took a deep breath, picked up her notepad, and flipped it shut before opening it to the first page. “We have an entire ensemble to cast, not just the two leads. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?”
Twilight looked back to her own notes. In typical Twilight Sparkle form, they were perfectly organized into neat columns... until it came to the Vinyl Scratch section, which bled into the others with scribbled nonsense and even a doodle of Scratch's jagged mane. Even Trixie's section was neat by comparison. Actually, the notes for Trixie consisted of just two words: “Damn it.”
Twilight was no seasoned director; she'd brought Octavia onboard because the young musician had experience that Twilight didn't. In fact, Twilight had only directed one play before, and that one hadn't quite gone as planned. Still, even without any kind of experience, Twilight knew a problem cast when she saw one.
As of a little while ago, this cast was led by Vinyl Scratch a.k.a. DJ PON3 a.k.a. Beatmistress V-to-the-S, whose idea of music was an aural onslaught capable of shattering windows from two blocks away, and whose idea of an audience was the roiling chaos of bodies in a darkened nightclub.
Then, just behind her, there was the Arrogant and Narcissistic Trixie Lulamoon, whose first and hopefully last visit to Ponyville had caused more property damage in a day than Rainbow Dash, Ditzy Doo, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders put together could manage in a week.
This? This wasn't a problem cast.
This was complete pandemonium waiting to happen.
An afternoon of exploring the Royal Canterlot Opera's cramped hallways, guided by an exasperated techpony, taught Twilight many useful and interesting things about the theatre. For example, she learned that the break room was to be called the “green room,” no matter what color the paint actually was. Also, she learned never to touch the curtains with any kind of mucous membrane, lest said membrane suddenly find itself full of microscopic shards of fiberglass. And, of course, there was the fact that practically half the rooms in the theatre were haunted.
Somewhere around the fourth preposterous ghost story—something about a green alicorn in the mares' dressing room who had only ever been seen by techies and directors—Twilight politely asked her guide, who was named Dropcloth, if the building had ever been inspected for toxic spores. When Dropcloth got snippy in response to that, Twilight asked if all theatre types were so superstitious. That just resulted in a quick conclusion to the tour.
Now Twilight found herself wishing she'd waited until after the tour to ask questions. She sighed as she leaned against the metal door that was the only thing standing between her and the show's first cast meeting. She could envision the room beyond quite clearly--the worn and beaten hardwood floor, the left wall made into one long mirror so that the room could be used as a dance studio, the blacked-out windows and sparse rack of stage lights so that it could be used for rehearsals, and the cheap desk-chairs that hinted at the room’s original purpose. Dropcloth had referred to it as the Workshop.
“Well excuse me!” blared a voice that was Great and Powerful enough to make Twilight's ears ring even through a sealed door. “I believe it was Trixie who was cast in the role of Miss Reverie, not you!”
Twilight let out a long, tragic sigh. She thoroughly disapproved of ghost stories, but at least the tour had been a way to keep her mind off of—
“And you call yourself an actor! Trixie has worked with ponies whose names—”
Twilight opened the door as noisily as she could manage, and walked out in front of the gathered cast like a teacher taking her place at the front of the classroom. It had taken every folding chair in the place to seat the cast of thirty, and more than a few of the actors had seen fit to set their chairs at angles, the better to chat with each other while waiting for the meeting to officially start. A hush fell as all except one of the cast acknowledged Twilight.
Trixie didn't even seem to notice her director. “... As such, I think that a lowly extra should be prepared to relinquish his seat to the star of the production!”
“I made sure there were enough seats for everyone,” Twilight said irritably.
“Good!” Trixie retorted. “Then there will be plenty of seats left for the extras!”
“So what's wrong with this one, huh?” Vinyl gestured at the empty folding chair next to her just before it was filled by the “extra” that Trixie had just displaced. Twilight recognized him—his name was Silver Whistle, and he’d been cast as Doctor White, Miss Reverie's estranged husband.
Irony wasn't exactly the word.
“That chair,” Trixie said sneeringly, “looks to be the oldest and least trustworthy in the room. And it’s in the back row.” She sat, turning her back to Scratch in the process, with her nose so high in the air that it looked like she was having to strain her neck for it.
“And?” Vinyl shot back, unfazed. “Afraid you're gonna flatten it with the Great and Powerful Flanks?”
Trixie's expression started off as one of confusion, and then she slowly opened her mouth in disbelief. Everypony else had a similar reaction, with the exception of one quiet snicker. As Trixie's incredulity turned to rage, some of the others—the smart ones—started to edge slowly away from the epicenter. One, a red-on-white mare from Ponyville, even raised a hoof in self-defense. Twilight took a step back towards the door she'd come in through, wondering if she might be needing the fire extinguisher in the hall.
Fortunately for everypony trapped inside the blast radius, diplomatic crisis was interrupted by the sound of another door being opened, much more loudly than when Twilight had entered the room. “All right!” Octavia announced dramatically, striding confidently through the room to join Twilight in front. “Thank you, everypony, for coming to this important first cast meeting.” There was a light, nervous thumping of applause against the wooden floor, a whoop from Vinyl, and one shrill whistle.
“Sorry,” Octavia corrected herself, smiling in the direction of the sharp sound. “Everyone.” From the back row, Stephan gave a nod and a two-clawed salute. Octavia took her place next to Twilight at the head of the class, and this time the “students” sat at attention, except for the one in the front row who was pouting.
“We’ll start with introductions.” Octavia stepped aside, yielding front-center to Twilight. “We are very fortunate to have the lovely and talented Twilight Sparkle as our director. Remember--while you’re in here, she is your god.” There was a distinct wolf whistle from the back row, and it wasn’t from Stephan. Twilight’s smile went from practiced to uncomfortable. Oh no. Not the blush. Not now. All the work Octavia had done to establish control, and...
“And the young lady by the door is Wingsinger!” Twilight pointed to the back of the room, and twenty-nine heads turned. The elderly white pegasus mare who had been lurking behind the cast waved sheepishly. “Wingsinger is our accompanist--she’ll be playing the piano for us at all of our musical rehearsals.” While most of the heads were still turned, Twilight took the opportunity to shrink back away from dead center in front of the crowd.
“And I’m your musical director, Octavia.” Twilight’s co-director quite obligingly crossed in front of Twilight in order to introduce herself. “This is a very music-heavy production, so if you don’t know who I am, don’t worry--you will.” This time the applause was tinged by light laughter. “And speaking of which, why don’t we have all of you introduce yourselves, starting with...”
Trixie interrupted with a thump of forehooves against the wooden floor. She pivoted, then reared to make sure everypony present--and Stephan--would see who had landed the lead. “I, Trixie Lulamoon, will be playing the leading role of Miss Reverie. I have performed in towns and cities all around the Canterlot area, and many of you know me as the Great and Powerful Tr-r-rixie!” The front row of the cast cringed, some of them scooting their chairs away from the signature light show that accompanied Trixie’s introduction.
“Yeah, we heard you the first time!” yelled Scratch. This time, everypony in the room laughed, and Stephan had to physically hold his beak shut to keep from screeching his own amusement. Even Twilight couldn’t stop herself from snickering, though she was also preparing to cast a magical barrier at a moment’s notice.
“And what are you doing at the cast meeting?” Trixie shot back. Given the state of her face, Twilight was surprised that it came out in Trixie's voice instead of in an animal snarl. “Shouldn’t you be in the shop with the other techponies? The sound booth operator does not rehearse with the cast.”
Trixie’s words were followed by maybe a beat and a half of stunned silence. Twilight thought she could actually hear jaws dropping and eyes widening.
"Oh what, does that mean it's my turn?" Vinyl Scratch took her time getting out of her chair. Once she was up on all fours, she yawned slightly and didn’t bother taking her enormous glasses off before introducing herself. “So! I’m Vinyl Scratch. Would be cool of you to call me that, ‘stead of something else.” Scattered, relieved laughter. “I’ve got the part of Lady Nocturne. So I guess miss Great and Powerful Party Tricks and I are gonna have to get reeeeal friendly.” Scratch’s smile was huge. The effect was somehow only enhanced by her partially covered face.
Trixie decidedly did not look as pleased as Scratch.
“Plenty of you know who I am just fine. Those of you who don’t, no worries, I’ll get to you.” Scratch leaned forward so that her pupils peeked out over the tops of her glasses. Twilight had a feeling she wasn’t the only one blushing any more.
There was a smattering of applause as Scratch sat again. As the thumping died down, she turned to face the griffin seated next to her. “Next. How ‘bout the big guy?”
Stephan stayed seated--he didn’t need to stand to be seen--as he waved a forelimb. “All right... I’m Stephan, the big guy. Um, I’ve never done a play before. My character’s named Vizier Reinhart, and... he’s pretty much a dick. Perfect for me.” Obligatory laughter and applause, and then Stephan looked over--more like looked down, actually--at the next in his row.
“Oh, um, right.” A red-maned head perked up from next to Stephan, the white mare barely coming up to Stephan’s shoulder. “My name’s Rose, and I’m one of the noblemares...”
Throughout the introductions, Twilight stole glances over at Octavia. Just like during auditions, Tavi’s face was utterly stony.
