The Court Musician of Equestria

Chapters

The Pony Everypony Knows
Crescendo and Metail
Musician and Fraud
Iron Mare
Private Concert
My Little World
Musicians of Canterlot
Metail Went Down to Canterlot
Wrapping Up

The Pony Everypony Knows

It was six fifteen in the morning, and Octavia Philharmonica was ready for the sun to rise.

The Court Musician of the Night Court of Equestria had already set up and tuned her cello by the time Princess Luna trotted out onto the balcony. Octavia leaned her instrument back on its stand and quickly bowed “Princess. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Octavia.” Luna’s voice sounded content, albeit faintly tired. Her steps too, in fact, were a trifle slower than they usually were. Even her breathing, a little deeper than normal, sounded weary. “Are you ready?” she asked, skipping the usual pleasantries.

Octavia showed no sign that she’d noticed any of the indications that Luna was more tired than she usually was. She just said, “Yes. On your mark,” as she rose from her bow and prepared herself.

The cellist heard, more than saw or felt, Luna begin to gather her magic. As the faint, buzzing hum reached her ears, she began to play. It was just a few notes at first, as Luna continued to charge up her spell, but once the alicorn began to grasp the sun – once the hum of her horn shifted just slightly, just enough to let Octavia know that Luna was now casting the kind of magic that only she could perform – the music expanded. It grew, deepened, and widened, until it was an ocean of sound spilling off the edge of the balcony, into space, and down to the gardens far below.

The music was slow and peaceful, as if dreamlike, but there was an undercurrent of strength to it – an undercurrent at about the same pitch as the hum of Luna’s horn, bringing that sound into the music to enrich its timbre. The melody slowly wandered about, but it was sure of where it was going; though its motions seemed calm and tranquil, they were not going to be moved by anything in the nation. This was not the exhausted collapse of somepony worked to total exhaustion, but the relaxation due a victor who, having triumphed in her tasks, was able to set aside her strength and select for herself a suitable time and place to indulge in relaxation.

The hum of Luna’s magic changed again as Luna wrested the sun up into its place. As the sun rose, so did the pitch of her horn, and so did the music that Octavia played. The music was still calm, almost languid, but it took on an air of reminiscence, reflection on the last task to be performed. It was going well and would go well; the music was sure and resolute, representing a pony who was capable of any sort of job and would be able to complete this one without trouble. There was only one harmonic line – the music was too calm and simple for a truly complex harmony – but it stayed near the melody, helping where needed, further deepening the rich and soothing sound.

Finally, the sun was up. Luna’s horn faded into silence, and after a moment, so did Octavia’s performance. Her last notes were a few bright ones, soft but clear, traveling up into the air. Now it was truly all done, they seemed to say. Now it was time to rest and take pleasure in the success of one’s triumphs.

Octavia opened her eyes to see that it was morning. That meant that her job was completed. “By your leave, princess,” she said, formally asking permission to exit the balcony. Normally, she preferred to stay for a few moments to speak with Luna, but this morning, she figured that the princess probably just wanted to go to bed.

“Wait a moment,” said Luna. She was staring up at the sky, as if lost in thought. Eventually, she turned to her musician. “That was lovely, Octavia. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Octavia was too well trained to smile at the surge of pride that comment sent through her, but she felt it nonetheless.

“That was just what I wanted,” said Luna, continuing on. She began to walk back across the balcony, gesturing for Octavia to follow her. “You have demonstrated a remarkable ability to sense my mood and adapt your music to it,” she added. “Is that one of the other subjects you studied?”

“Not explicitly. But music is considered by many to be the ‘language of emotions’. I think the two are closely related. As I learned to listen closely to music, to analyze and understand it, I also learned to hear the sounds of a happy, or sad, or… or tired mood.” Octavia paused, wondering how much detail was appropriate. “If a pony’s gait is slower than usual, or they are breathing more heavily, or their voice sounds less energetic, I can hear it.”

“Indeed,” said Luna. “The two are closely linked. I know of few better ways to induce a change in emotion than with a well-placed song.” She smiled, a twinkling grin in the early-morning light. “A bright piece can liven up even the saddest of rooms, a sad one can bring down the highest joys.” She chuckled. “And a peaceful one can ease the deepest weariness. Octavia, I think I would like to hear that piece some more. Please make a recording within the week.”

“Of course,” she said, having to work a bit harder to avoid smiling like a school foal who had just gotten a gold star. Luna only asked for recordings of her best performances, so it was a treat to find out that she’d played at that level. “The same length, or expanded?”

“Both,” said Luna. “Thank you.” They had reached the door between the balcony of the rest of the castle. “I will be retiring to my quarters now. Have a good day, Octavia.”

“Have a good rest, princess,” said Octavia, bowing once again.

When she rose, the princess was gone. Octavia finally smiled, looking out over the sides of the balcony and into the fields in the distance. Yes, today was certainly looking like it would be a great day. She was still feeling energetic, so before she went to sleep for the day she could spend an hour or two composing, or working on her own private project. Maybe a cup of tea first, for drinking while she sat in a park and listened to the half of the city that worked by day waking up and getting ready. She could even spend some time browsing the music stores to see if there were any new recordings she wanted to listen to. The day was, in short, full of promise; nothing could stop her from entering the castle and getting on with--

“Miss?”

Octavia turned to see a pegasus Royal Guard who was flying overhead on patrol.

“Miss, I think you forgot your instrument.” He pointed at Octavia’s cello, sitting forlornly at the edge of the balcony.

Octavia blushed slightly. Well, maybe one thing.

*
My little pony, My little pony
Ahh ahh ahh ahhh...
My little pony
Friendship never meant that much to me
My little pony
But you're all here and now I can see
Stormy weather; Lots to share
A musical bond; With love and care
Teaching laughter; It's an easy feat,
And magic makes it all complete!
You have my little ponies
How'd I ever make so many true friends?
*

“Good morning, Octavia!”

“Good morning, Paperweight,” said the cellist. “How are you?”

“Doing great!”

Paperweight was a young unicorn page who worked for Viceroy Night Light, one of the most powerful ponies in the Court after Luna Herself. Despite this relatively lofty appointment for a pony of her age and rank, though, she hadn’t let any of it go to her head. She was an exuberant and eager unicorn who could often be found, when she wasn’t carrying out Night Light’s orders, snacking in one of the castle cafes or running about trying to put together a pick-up hoofball game with other off-duty castle servants.

Octavia had met her very shortly after her appointment to her position as Court Musician, when she’d performed for a charity ball that Night Light, his wife Twilight Velvet, and popular playpony Fancy Pants had hosted. Paperweight had been one of the liaisons between the staff and the hosts, and had helped Octavia and the other musicians get their equipment and other gear set up on stage. After the concert, Paperweight had approached Octavia and asked for her hoofograph. “That was awesome!” she had said.

Octavia had paused for a moment. “If I might ask, what did you like about it?” That question usually helped her determine if the pony was trying to suck up to her (in which case the answer would be vague and meaningless), or if the pony understood music and was making a genuine compliment (in which case the answer would go into technique or theory).

Paperweight, though, had given an unusual answer. “I… uh… well, I don’t know much about music theory. But I really liked how it sounded. It was almost like Paganeighni’s Variations in the second part there, with that thing you did where the string was going up and down really really fast, and I love that technique. And the third section sounded almost like the end of the Rachmaneinov Concerto the Canterlot Orchestra was just playing last week, but you made it sound like it ‘fit’ together more… and I think that last part sounded a little like Liprance’s third sonata with all the different sounds in different groups…”

Octavia had raised an eyebrow. Paperweight didn’t seem to know any music vocabulary or theory, but she had a good enough ear to identify Octavia’s influences and homages. Furthermore, the Liprance work was obscure. “You have a good ear… and you’re familiar with a lot of music.”

“Well, I can’t play, but I like to listen to music a lot. It makes everything seem more alive, you know? Like, if you’re just eating hay or something, it’s all boring and blah, but if you’re eating hay and you’ve got Flight of the Pegasi playing behind you, it’s totally epic! Like, it’s this big battle between you and the hay and you’re going to fight it until you’ve eaten it all up!” She waved her front hooves about. “Or, if you’re trying to go to sleep and there’s a really good lullaby playing, it’s like there’s this powerful stream just carrying you off to dreamland!”

Octavia had been unable to hold back her smile. “I can see you enjoy music quite a bit.”

“I do! Which is why I really liked your stuff tonight .So – hoofograph? Please?”

Octavia had given it to her. Since then, the two had met on average twice a week, bumping into each other in cafes or the hallways. Paperweight wasn’t the sort of pony that Octavia usually befriended – the vast majority of her friends were fellow musicians, most with similar, serious temperments as hers (Lyra Heartstrings excepted) – but the unicorn was easy to like, and Octavia found that she enjoyed discussing the latest concerts and performances with an outsider to the profession who nonetheless knew enough to make intelligent comments about what she heard.

Now she explained that she had the day free, and more than that. “I saw the Princess’s secretary after I finished my work for the rising of the sun, and she told me that I don’t need to play this evening or tomorrow morning.” That probably meant that Luna was away, although for security reasons, Octavia of course was not privy to her exact schedule. “And I have no other concerts scheduled for two days.”

“You should go on a vacation!”

“Two days is not a long time for a vacation,” said Octavia, dryly. “But I think, with two days and a night to myself, I would like to explore the Canterlot music scene some more. There is much music that has been released recently that I haven’t yet had the chance to peruse.”

Paperweight thought for a moment, scrunching up her forehead as she did so. “Really? Didn’t think too much was going on with classical music right now. It’s the off season, and everypony’s on vacation.” She paused. “Aw, did I miss something?”

“Regarding classical music, no, you are correct, but I want to expand my horizons.” Octavia thought for a moment, trying to find the right way to put her thoughts into words. “My job, as Court Musician, is to perform and provide the music that Luna wishes to hear. While she likes classical music and my work in general, she may on occasion wish to hear something else, or she may wish me to play at an event where classical music is considered inferior to some other type of piece. Like a…”

“A pokey?”

“Yes. Like a pokey, or something of that nature. In such a case, it would be best if I were familiar with such music… so that I could play one if the need arose. Furthermore, what I hear in a pokey or a crystalcore work might give me further ideas for my own compositions.”

Paperweight grinned brightly. “Really? Well, in that case, I have a great idea!” She opened up her saddlebag and tugged out a ticket. “I swapped nights off with another of the pages this week – I’m going to a big concert tonight. We should go together!”

“Who is playing?”

“Thrash Metail,” she said. “You’ve heard of him, right? He’s totally setting the music world on fire! Every concert’s sold out, and everypony in the music scene is talking about him! He's the pony everypony knows! Or at least, every musician pony anyway.”

“Him?” Octavia frowned. “I’ve heard of him… he’s that metal musician that’s been in the papers recently.” She hadn’t read the articles, but she did recognize the name. “I do want to expand my horizons, but I’m not sure there’s much useful in that direction…”

Metail, from what Octavia knew, was a player of the metal genre. To her, it was mostly a mess of jangled screeches that more closely resembled noise than anything genuinely musical, although apparently it was gaining popularity. When she’d tried to describe it formally, the best she’d been able to come up with was that it was all big flashy discordant sounds held together by a wire-thin thread of a melody, which in turn was little more than an excuse to get from one crash of drums to the next. Octavia had nothing against the style or its practitioners, but it wasn’t for her.

“Aw, come on!” said Paperweight. “Metail’s the best there is in the genre. Maybe he’ll play something even you’ll like. Besides, what else is out there tonight?”

“A new dance club opened up on South Cherry Lane,” said Octavia. “There’s also a crystalphone soloist playing tapiran dances at Baron Poker’s house, and a traditional folk song session is going on at the Canterlot History Museum. I was thinking of going to one of those, or buying some new records and listening to them at home.” She paused. “If this Thrash has records, then I—“

Paperweight adopted a pleading look. “But it’s totally different live! Like, I’ve got his records too, but they’re just not the same as when he’s blasting away on stage to a crowd of thousands! Besides, I’m sure you’ve heard folksongs and tapiran stuff before. Thrash metal will be totally new, and it’ll blow your mind! You'll love it, I promise.” She winked.

Octavia paused. It had been a while since she’d been to a concert with a friend. “I’ll think about it,” she promised. “Perhaps we could meet again at around five this evening? I’ll let you know then what I plan to do.”

“Awesome! See you right here!”

Paperweight hadn’t been kidding, Octavia learned, about Metail being the new hot name in Canterlot music.

Octavia’s plan was to journey into town, sit in a park for a half hour to listen to the city come alive, and then track down her favorite record store and make some purchases before returning to the castle and her nice, warm bed. To have some reading material for the park, Octavia found a newspaper stand and bought that week’s edition of ‘Notes on Notes,’ an independent paper which reviewed local concerts. Maybe, she thought, she would see an update on one of her friends, or learn about some traveling group that she wanted to see.

In addition to the blurbs about upcoming events, there was a section of reviews. One of them caught Octavia’s eye solely due to its length; while it was only a little larger than the others, the author was Concise Quip, whom generally was one of the more succinct writers on the paper’s staff. Her reviews, for good or ill, could reliably be counted on to be between half and three-fourths the length of the standard review size. But not this time. Something in Thrash Metail’s latest release, ‘Fury of the Horn,’ had caused her to pen a longer column than normal.

“…to say that the work is energetic is an understatement. It assaults the listener, knocking her down with a wave of power and fury. But it doesn’t just bury them under an avalanche of notes as a lesser artist might, but instead grabs them by the ear and drags them, kicking and screaming if need be, into an endless torrent of sound. I felt pulled from one extreme to the other, each jump more exhilarating than the last, until I was standing and screaming with the rest of the audience. I plan to attend all of Metail’s future concerts, and I am confident in predicting that he will soon be one of the best known musicians in Canterlot...”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. Quip was hard to please; if Metail had evoked that reaction from her, then he clearly did have some skill. Although it could have just been a fluke; perhaps Quip was the only critic that liked Metail. It wouldn’t be the first time one critic had stood alone against all the others.

So Octavia glanced at the bottom of the review. This was where the other authors could write brief, one-sentence comments stating if they agreed with it or disagreed with the text. Of the five that had done so, two said they hadn’t seen Metail yet, and three had… and all three agreed with Quip.

Those four can barely agree on what day it is. He must really be something else.

Octavia nodded to herself. If he was this good, Octavia had a duty to hear him perform. Besides, now she was intrigued.

Octavia returned home with a new haul of records, and listened to a delightful tapiran waltz before falling asleep. She woke later, twenty minutes before her meeting with Paperweight, and had time to quickly wash and put on her bow tie before making her way to the café.

She arrived exactly on schedule, and almost bumped into her friend. “Well?” asked Paperweight, smiling brightly. “Are you gonna come with me?”

Octavia nodded. “I have decided it might be useful to—“

“Yay!” Paperweight literally jumped into the air. “This’ll be great! I – hey, wait. What’s that?” She pointed at Octavia’s bow tie.

“My formal attire. This is a concert,” said Octavia.

Paperweight blinked. “Yeah… this isn’t that kind of concert. We’ll have to dress up, but not like that.”

“I don’t really have other…”

“No prob. I’ve got spares.” Paperweight flipped open her saddlebag and showed Octavia the contents. They seemed to consist largely of black, form-fitting clothing, chains, and jewelry requiring piercings in various uncomfortable places.

Octavia gave Paperweight a flat look. “No.”

“Wait! The piercing stuff is all clip-on, no real piercing needed, and—“

“No.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that proper attire is essential for attending a concert? It helps put the mind in the right place, right?”

“By proper attire, I meant dresses, hats, formal horseshoes.”

Paperweight smiled. “Well, this is ‘proper attire’ for this kind of concert. Come on, you can’t tell me you’ll be ashamed or something.”

“No, but I am a Court employee now. What I do reflects on the government, and Luna specifically for hiring me. If I wind up in the tabloids wearing a ridiculous costume, I make her look bad.”

Paperweight crossed her front legs. “Do you really think Luna would have a bad reaction to you dressing up like this on your own time, as part of a study into a new genre of music which, as you’ve said a few times, is important to your work?”

Octavia tried to think of Luna’s reaction. ‘Hysterical laughter’ did seem to be a better fit than ‘anger.’ Luna wasn’t so petty as to be upset because one of her employees was seen in a stupid costume. And she couldn’t deny that she did believe that dressing appropriately to a concert really did enhance the experience, so if this was ‘appropriate’ clothing for a thrash metal performance…

“Alright. I will wear those… things, but I will change at the concert itself. I won’t walk through town looking like an escaped convict.”

Paperweight giggled. “No problem, Oh, you won’t regret this, Octavia. You’ll love it!”

Octavia nodded. I hope you’re right…

The venue was the Bouncing Bird, one of the largest clubs in town. It was also, the bouncer said, completely sold out.

“One ticket ain’t enough for two little ponies,” he said. He looked big and burly, capable of holding off a dozen ponies with a single leg. “Sorry.”

“But she’s a real good friend!” said Paperweight. “Come on! Please?”

“Nope.”

Octavia hadn’t wanted to reveal herself officially, but she wouldn’t be able to get in otherwise. “Is your club actually full, or do you still have a few tickets for important guests?” Most clubs in town left a few seats free in case the club owner or a big spender showed up at the last minute.

The bouncer shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve got some VIP seats. You some Very Important Pony?”

Octavia sighed to herself before speaking. “My name is Octavia Philharmonica. I am the Court Musician of the Night Court of Equestria.”

It was common for Canterlot venues to allow the Court Musician a seat into any concert. After all, the Court Musician had Luna’s ear on matters of music, so any musician would be mad to turn away that pony from listening to one of their shows. Similarly, the venue that had found and hosted such a talented pony might itself receive some credit. Octavia was therefore able to get into a lot of performances that she hadn’t been able to before her appointment, including ones that were ostensibly ‘sold out.’

The bouncer considered this. “Wait here,” he instructed, before darting into the club and shutting the door behind him.

Paperweight grinned. “Way to show him!”

“Let’s just hope I qualify as Very Important,” said Octavia.

The bouncer returned in a few minutes. “Front-row spots, both of you,” he said. He passed them both VIP badges. “Show these to the stallions inside; they’ll get you to the right place.”

Paperweight’s mouth dropped. Her ticket would have put her way in the back. “Awesome!”

“Plus, Metail wants you to have this.” The bouncer passed Octavia a card. “If you like his music and want to talk to him, you can find him tomorrow at this address.”

Paperweight stared at Octavia. “He gave you his address?”

Octavia blushed. “For business—“

“Alright, alright. Come on. Show’s about to start.” The bouncer waved them in. “Just don’t forget to sign a waiver by the stage.”

Octavia paused as the bouncer went back outside. “Waiver?”

“Yeah,” said Paperweight. “They use magic in some of the sets – I think for lights and stuff, and to mess with the acoustics. So they need to make sure everypony’s okay with that. Plus, they don’t want to get sued for somepony dancing too hard and throwing out their back or something.”

“Is this dangerous?”

“Hey, I’ve been to, like, ten of these, and I’m still alive. Worst that’ll happen to us is we get tired out from too much fun.” Paperweight grinned.

After changing, the two approached the stage and took the forms. Octavia read through the waiver as best she could in the dim lighting. It seemed fine, as far as she could tell, so she signed it. Then again, she was still distracted by how ridiculous she looked and sounded – skintight black clothing around her legs and barrel, chains clinking everywhere, and a clip-on eyebrow piercing. “I have to say,” she managed, “I hope the music justifies the outfit. I feel ridiculous”

“You’ll love it, I promise,” said Paperweight. “And thanks for coming out with me.”

Octavia smiled at that, and tapped her hoof lightly. “It’s nice to have a friend who shares my passion.”

Before Paperweight could respond, the lights dimmed, and Metail appeared on the stage in a burst of smoke. He was a tall unicorn, with a fiery red coat (now covered in the same black fabric that every other pony in the room wore, but poking through around the face) and mane, and a conductor’s baton cutie mark painted on his clothes near his flank. He shook slightly where he stood, as if overflowing with energy. Two drums appeared, one on other side of him, and a jet-black guitar floated up in front of him. Octavia nodded; Metail looked ready to give a powerful performance.

Metail grinned, horn glowing as he manipulated the guitar. “Are you ready?” he roared. He had a deep, rich voice.

“YEAH!” the crowd cried.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” screamed Metail. “I SAID: ARE! YOU! READY!”

“YEEEEAH!”

Octavia winced. The noise was already hurting her extremely sensitive ears.

“NOW!” roared Metail. “I WAS GONNA START WITH MY NEW SINGLE, BUT… THAT WAS ALREADY RELEASED A FEW DAYS AGO, AND I THINK LOYAL FANS DESERVE SOMETHING FRESH! AM I RIGHT?”

“YEAH!”

“SO! MY VERY LATEST PIECE! AND LET ME TELL YOU – YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE IT!” The crowd roared. “I PROMISE!”

And he began. His horn glowed, and his magic began plucking the guitar strings in sharp, powerful bursts, while he played the two drums with his left and right front hooves and screamed lyrics at the crowd. The music was in time, but that was about all Octavia could say at it – the drums and voice were unpitched, and the guitar’s notes could barely support the weight of all the percussion blasting from the stage.

And yet… there was something weirdly energizing about the piece. It seemed to take hold of Octavia, pumping her up with excitement even though she didn’t like the music. When Metail tensed in preparation for another epic drum slam, she did too; when he relaxed slightly, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. But the drums kept going for longer periods of time, and the respites for less and less, until he was just blasting on the drums, building up more energy beyond any reasonable limit.

Octavia felt herself begin to wiggle around. She couldn’t take any more tension. He had to stop soon, she thought, or she didn’t know what would happen to her. She noticed, faintly, that the whole crowd seemed like this; Paperweight was literally trembling in her seat, and even the bouncers seemed to be twitching back and forth. But she couldn’t focus on this. Her whole universe was the unending, incessant drums, the drums that kept going and going and going with no release or escape. The guitar line raced around the drums, ensured that no tension could dissipate to either lower or higher pitches, the voice filled in whatever holes were left, and the drums just kept on going.

And then, with one mighty crash, Metail played a chord so perfect, so divinely beautiful, that all the tension blasted out of the drums, pulling the audience along with it in a joyous frenzy.

Octavia didn’t even notice when she leapt to her hooves with the others, screaming her head off and cheering.

“YEAH!” she roared, in unison with the others.

“ALRIGHT!” yelled Metail, not stopping the guitar or drums for a moment. “SECOND VERSE! LET’S KEEP IT UP!”

And so he continued, blasting chord after chord to the adulation of the crowd.

Crescendo and Metail

What day is it?

Octavia groaned as a bird warbled somewhere nearby. Her head throbbed like somepony had been hitting baseballs at her, and her throat was sore. She needed a hot bath, she thought dimly. A hot bath, a cool towel on her forehead, and something for the pounding in her head. It was like a timpanist had set up a performance just inside her skull.

She flopped over and inched her eyes open, then immediately shut them as sunlight streamed in and proceeded to set fire to her brain. Muttering something inarticulate, she groped for the sheets and tugged them over her face, safely burrowing under cover of darkness and blankets. She wished the day were cloudy. Or that Luna had canceled daytime for some reason.

Come on… she grumbled to herself. I am the Court Musician. I’m not some foal who is reluctant to rise for school. I always rise promptly. I will get up in five… four…

It actually took closer to a count of twenty, but Octavia did manage to force herself to sit up and open her eyes. Blinking a few times until they adjusted to the light, she managed to take stock of her situation.

She was in her quarters in the castle. Judging from the position of the sun in her window, it was just past two in the afternoon. Octavia got up and stumbled through her bedroom to her living room/work area/vestibule, and saw a very small pile of mail on the floor by her front door. It was probably the day after the concert, she concluded, or she would have had more mail. Good. She had felt so weird upon awakening that she wouldn’t have been surprised to realize that multiple days had passed.

Flipping through the letters, she was relieved to see that she hadn’t missed anything urgent. There were just the usual requests for concerts from nobles and other ponies in the Court; a soiree that Fancy Pants was hosting, a tea party for Duchess Posey, that kind of thing. Octavia put those in a pile and carried them to her desk; she’d need to sort out the concerts she could perform at from the ones during which she already had prior appointments. Of course, since Luna was supposed to be back in the city that day, Octavia would also be playing at the setting of the sun/rising of the moon that night, and the reverse the next day, but the first of those wasn’t for several hours. She had time to get ready.

Turning back to her bedroom, she noticed a small card on her dresser. Confused – the castle cleaning staff was not in the habit of leaving notes, and nopony else was allowed into her quarters – she opened it and began to read.

“Octavia: Thanks for coming out to my show. Hope you had as much fun as you looked like you were having. If all Court ponies can rave like you, I want more of them in my audience.” Octavia couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though she was a bit nervous as to what ‘raving’ meant – the whole night was something of a blur. “You seemed out of it at the end, so your friend and I helped you get home. Don’t worry, we got all the piercings and black clothes off of you first, and your friend got you lucid enough to talk to those guys at the castle gate without them thinking you were drunk or something. She said she’d get you to your room and leave this note for you.

“Anyway, I’d like to talk with you later today. Hope I’m not too bold in saying that I impressed you, and I know that you recommend ponies you’re impressed with for concerts and auditions in the Court. Don’t worry about calling ahead; I’m available all day, at the address on the back of this note. Talk to you soon, Thrash Metail.”

Octavia smiled as memories from the prior night returned, triggered by Thrash’s name. The yelling, the screaming, the impromptu dancing… Octavia had never been to a concert like it. She sank onto a sofa, lost in memory. There had been such music… the drums, guitar, and voice, all blending together into a perfect sound…

Another bird warbled, and Octavia realized with a start that forty minutes had passed while she mused about Metail’s concert. Blushing slightly, she got to her hooves and made her way to her desk. She got absorbed in music all the time, of course, it was part of being so sensitive to it, but there was still something different about Metail’s work. When she thought of that music, it wasn’t with an intellectual appreciation for what he was doing. She wasn’t picking apart the melodic and harmonic lines to marvel at how well they came together, or admiring the skill needed to play a particularly virtuosic passage. She was just thinking of the sounds, recalling how they had crashed through her head, and letting herself get swept away in their torrent.

Her gaze drifted back to the note, and she nodded. Metail had said she could just drop by, and she had over four hours before she was due to play for Luna that night. His hotel wasn’t even that far from Canterlot Castle. She could easily go and see him… talk about music… maybe even convince him to play something else for her.

Yes, she thought. That would definitely be a good idea.

“Are you going to see Thrash?”

Octavia turned and smiled at Paperweight. “I wasn't aware you were on a first-name basis with him.”

Paperweight giggled. She was dressed in a sharp black-and-white dress, looking like an energetic and peppy butler. “He likes his fans to call him that. Says he feels stuffy whenever somepony calls him Mr. Metail.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Octavia nodded. “But yes, I am going to see him. He told me that he was interested in playing for the Court.” She held back a chuckle at seeing Paperweight’s grin grow and grow, spreading over her face like her birthday had come over. “Nothing is certain yet,” she cautioned, “But I do hope to broach the subject with him.”

“Good luck!” said Paperweight. “It’d be so amazing if Thrash could play in the Grand Ballroom or something…”

“Perhaps one day,” said Octavia. “By the way, thank you for helping me home last night.”

“Hey, what are friends for? No prob,” she said.

Octavia looked over Paperweight. “I take it that the Viceroy is hosting a party tonight?”

“A dinner. He’s having a few business associates over for salad and pasta; they’re talking about building this big new dam in Latigo. It’s a really big deal – if it goes through, it’ll be one of the biggest dams in Equestria.” She grinned. “This is going to be my first ultra-formal dinner! I’m so excited! I mean, I’m only going to be standing by the Viceroy in case he needs me to run a message to the kitchen, but still!” Her eyes sparkled.

“Good luck,” said Octavia. “Please tell me how it goes.”

“You too!” Paperweight grinned. “Still, though, I wish I could be with you when you see Thrash. He’ll really show them, huh? Playing for the Court and everything!”

“Them?”

“His critics,” Paperweight said. “A lot of the other metal artists don’t like him or his stuff… like, they won’t even go to his shows.”

“Why not?” asked Octavia.

Paperweight shrugged. “Maybe they’re jealous?”

“I would hope they aren’t so petty.” Octavia frowned. While there are a couple nobles who might be willing to take a chance on metal, before recommending him, I need to learn why his critics don’t like him… it’s possible I missed something, due to my unfamiliarity with the genre. I love his music, but I can’t honestly advocate for him unless I know that he truly is the pinnacle of that field. “I don’t suppose you know any of those critics?”

“Well… Crescendo wrote a big letter to Notes on Notes the other day, complaining that they’re covering him too much and not focusing on the ‘good’ artists. Like herself, I guess.”

Octavia nodded. She still had some time, so…

“By any chance, do you know where I can find her?”

The Marvellous Manestro was a medium-sized club on the western edge of Canterlot. It wasn’t as big or as fancy as the Bouncing Bird, but it was still a respectable venue. Crescendo, Paperweight had said, would be playing there for the next few days.

“Still setting up,” said a pony at the door, when Octavia approached. “Concert’s not for an hour.”

“I was hoping to speak with Crescendo before the show. Of course, if she’s busy, I can leave a message and return another time,” said Octavia.

“Uh…” The pony blinked. It didn’t seem like Crescendo got a lot of ponies stopping by to leave messages. “Sure. Who’s the message from?”

“Octavia Philharmonica. Court Musician.”

The pony stared for a moment. “…wait here for a minute, please.”

He disappeared inside for a few minutes. When he came back, his expression was unreadable. “She’ll see you now.”

“Thank you."

Octavia entered the club and began looking around. It was easy to find Crescendo; she was a pegasus with a purple-and-black striped mane, an electric green coat, unusually long wings, and a guitar with a lightning bolt shooting out of it for a cutie mark. She was directing a group of roadies and other technicians to get equipment set up.

“I want the speakers,” she said, in a brisk, Brismane accented-voice, “At perfect thirty-degree intervals around the hall. Mount them with the one-foot brackets. And get me a bass cannon just in front of the stage, aiming at that back window there. Okay?”

“Got it,” said a roadie, as they began to scamper off.

“Perfect.” Crescendo began to smirk. “This is going to be wild…”

Octavia cleared her throat. “Miss Crescendo?”

Crescendo turned. “Just Crescendo… Octavia, right?” She frowned. “What’s the Court Musician doing way out here?”

“I was hoping to talk with you. I see you are busy now, so if you could tell me when you’re available, I would be happy to return later.”

“Talk about what?”

“I want to talk with you about Thrash Metail,” she said.

“That hack? What’s he done now?” Crescnedo paused. “And why do you care? You don’t play that style.”

“No, but I do make recommendations to nobles in the castle for concerts that I cannot perform in. Some of the nobles may be interested in a metal musician, and—“

“And you’re choosing him.” Her gaze was flat. “Seriously? Him?”

“Why don’t you like him?”

“Well, maybe it’s because he’s an incompetent hack who knows exactly one okay song and couldn’t write a new verse or a melodic line if you threatened to sic the Tyrant Sun on him.” Crescendo shook her head. “Nopony who knows anything about music likes him. When he went away a year ago, I thought he’d finally realized that he couldn’t handle it… but then he came back, and now he’s got a legion of idiot fans. ”

Octavia flushed. “I beg your pardon, but I attended his last concert, and I am one of those fans.

Crescendo stared for a moment. “You?”

“Yes.” Octavia struggled to control her temper. “Perhaps he has improved since he ‘went away’ a year ago.”

“I listened to his latest record. Same old stuff.” She turned away. “Look – sorry to be rude, but you don’t know anything about the genre. You recommend him, you’ll be doing a disservice to real metal artists. And I know you probably think we’re all screeching and thumping, but—“

Before Octavia knew what she was doing, she had grabbed Crescendo and spun her around. “Please do not tell me what I think.”

They locked eyes for a moment.

“I attended his show because I wanted to broaden my own horizons. Because I wanted to hear what I had been assured was a fantastic new sound. Because I learn whatever I could from him. And because some nobles in the castle may wish to hear metal, and I would be negligent in my duties if I knew nothing about it.” She took a breath. “It is true that it is not my genre, but I do not dismiss it as mere noise.”

The two stared for a moment longer before Crescendo blushed. “Alright. Sorry. My bad. It’s just… Metail is the worst of what metal has to offer. And yet he’s the one everypony loves. It’s insane.”

“Why do you dislike him?” Octavia said.

“Like I said. He’s just not good – limited repertoire, mediocre technique, completely clueless about what his audience wants -- but he touts himself like he’s the greatest thing ever. And he was always looking for a shortcut to fame, instead of getting good the old fashion way. Didn’t practice much.” She sighed. “But you’re in charge of music recommendations for the castle?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“And right now, he’s your metal artist of choice?”

“I know of none better.”

“Then here.” She opened a folder and took out a couple of tickets. “Promise me you’ll come to my show before actually recommending him. I don’t claim to be the best, but I know I’m better than him, and maybe I can show you what metal’s really about.”

Octavia took the tickets and put them in her saddlebag. “I promise.”

Thrash Metail’s address was one of Canterlot’s ritziest long-term hotels. Located just a block or so from the castle, the Platinum Pony was the accommodation of choice for visiting diplomats and government officials, celebrities, and even the occasional foreign head of state. Octavia had given two performances in the hotel’s ballroom in the past, but she had never stayed there, or visited one of their guests. Thrash must be even more popular than I thought, she mused, To be able to afford this…

Octavia made her way to Thrash’s room and took a moment to straighten her bow tie before knocking. After all, she was there for business, not pleasure. Metail was interested in playing for the Court, and Octavia could make it happen, but to do that, she’d need to find out more about him. Their talk would hopefully be pleasant… and would ideally involve some beautiful music… but it was still a business interview. And Octavia would look her best, to uphold the decorum and honor of the Court.

It wasn’t just a question of skill. Octavia of course loved his music, though she now knew some disagreed, and she would investigate those claims fully. But there was more to playing for the Court than just being good anyway. She had the responsibility to shield the Court from the musicians who could play skillfully but who ripped off their clients, or who auditioned well but grew lazy once they had a contract locked in, or who only cared for playing for the Court so that they could manipulate nobles into voting their way. So she would evaluate Metail, and while she did hope that he would prove worthy, she would still conduct her examination with all the rigor and scrutiny needed to ensure that she could honestly recommend that he perform for the nobility of the Night Court.

It was time. She knocked sharply on the door. A pony within called, “It’s open!” and Octavia walked into the room of Canterlot’s newest music star.

Thrash was sitting back on the bed, idly strumming his black guitar while he rapped at a drum with his telekinesis. He glanced up, then smiled and rose. “Octavia. Hey.”

“Mr. Metail. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Call me Thrash.” He chuckled. “And come in. Please.”

Metail had a smug look, but Octavia couldn’t fault him for that. He seemed good at what he did; pride was perfectly valid. “Beer?” he asked.

“No thank you,” said Octavia.

Metail shrugged and sat down across from Octavia. “So, what’s up?”

“First, I wanted to tell you that I was impressed by your performance last night,” said Octavia. “While I freely admit I know little of your genre, what I heard was fantastic.”

“Thanks,” said Metail, with the easy grace of a performer who received many compliments. “Glad I could impress such a notable musician as yourself.”

“You mentioned in your note that you were interested in Court performances.”

Metail nodded. “Yeah, I kind of want to get into the castle roster, you know? It’s one thing playing for big crowds, but I guess I want to get up there.” He grinned. “And I know you have some influence in that regard.”

“I do,” said Octavia. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you particularly interested in playing for them? Knowing that would help me determine whom best to recommend you for.”

Metail chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well… no,” said a confused Octavia.

“I mean, you did the same thing, right?” Metail asked. “So I figured you’d already know the reasons.”

“But my reasons would not apply to you.”

Metail frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I want to play for the most discerning audience I can. The nobles of the Night Court are generally very well versed in the kind of music I play. They can appreciate it. Many of them are even themselves trained in an instrument. And Luna especially… she has listened to tens of thousands of years of music. Hers is the best ear I could ever hope to reach. To impress her, to perform in such a way that I can move even her… that was always my dream. But they aren’t familiar with your kind of music. Your current audiences, the critics and aficionados that you play for now, are likely better able to appreciate what it is that you do, and to enjoy it in the way that you mean for it to be enjoyed, than a noble of the Night Court who has never heard a metal song in her life.”

“But you enjoyed it,” said Metail.

“I am continually striving to expand my musical horizons,” said Octavia. “And I am… unusually sensitive to music. It is part of my special talent. But if what you want is an audience that can understand and deeply appreciate your music, I don’t think playing for the Court is the right option, at least for now. In a few years, if metal becomes more mainstream…”

Metail waved that off. “Well, yeah. Guess that’s not quite it then, my bad. But I bet I could do better playing for them than these crowds. Nobles have more money, they make their musicians famous, you know? Nothing wrong with that.”

Octavia took a moment to answer. “Actually, if what you want is to be well-compensated and famous, you would probably do better by remaining where you are. From what I understand, you are one of the most popular musicians in the city right now. You make enough money to be able to afford… well, this room, to begin with. Were I to start recommending you to nobles, many of them would request that you stop performing for venues such as the one you played at last night, as they would see that as tarnishing your – and by extension, their – reputation. Your income would almost certainly decrease. Additionally, as there aren’t that many nobles who would be willing to take a chance on your genre, you would be looking at a fairly restricted pool of clients, at least at first.”

Metail paused, and Octavia frowned. Metail seemed smart enough to realize that his reasons didn’t make sense. Was there some other reason he wanted to perform for the Court that he wasn’t telling her?

“Okay,” said Metail at last, “Why start small? What if my first noble concerts were for some of the bigshots in the Court? They could, I dunno, issue a decree or something that the other nobles should consider me. That takes care of the client pool. And then if they promote me to the public…”

“Such a decree is unlikely,” said Octavia, dryly. “Besides, most of the higher nobles prefer classical music, or works from their respective provinces. The only concerts I could honestly recommend you for would be for nobles whom have more progressive tastes. I know of a few young viscounts and baronets who are interested in such things, and I believe Baron Mounty Max enjoys more modern works—“

“Honestly?” Metail frowned. “I thought you said you liked my music. What would be dishonest about you recommending it to… oh, say, Luna?”

“Because I don’t think she would like it,” said Octavia, a bit surprised by the question. “My job is to provide the music that the Court wishes to listen to, to the best of my ability. I can’t just tell them to hire the artists that I like personally… each performance must be tailored to their own preferences.” She paused, looking at Metail skeptically. Hadn’t Crescendo said that Metail didn’t put much thought into his audiences and their wants? “Or don’t you think that a musician must take his or her clients into account before performing?”

“Of course I do,” said Metail, quickly. He smiled winningly. “It’s just, if those bigshots heard my music, they’d love it. I promise. And you want that, right? You think my work’s good enough to be worthy of that kind of fame?”

“Yes,” began Octavia.

“Well,” said Metail, trotting over to Octavia. “How about this: you tell the high-ranking nobles about this great new artist, but just… don't say I’m metal. Just say that I’m awesome and I deserve to be given a chance. I’ll show up and wow them. Problem solved!”

Octavia had to take a moment to compose herself before answering. “Are you asking me to lie for you?”

“No, not ‘lie,’ just… don't say everything.” Metail’s smile was big and broad. “You think I’m awesome, so just say that I’m great, and don’t tell them anything else about me. Like, it’s a big surprise, right? They’ll listen to you, and—“

“They listen to me,” said Octavia, quietly, “Because I am honest. I am not going to mislead them, even if I would not technically have to state any lies.”

She stood up, glaring at him. “Furthermore. If you are capable of such duplicity now, how am I to know that you would not be dishonest again later? The Courtiers and Princess Luna rely on me, knowing that I will advocate for musicians who are not only skilled, but who can be trusted. Who will not attempt to abuse their position for their own gain.” She scowled. “If you care so little for your audience that you would deceive them into listening to you, I cannot help but think that pleasing the ears of the nobles is not your true goal but that you have some baser purpose – especially as you have given me no sensible answer as to why you would like to play for them.”

The cellist shut her eyes briefly, regretting what she was about to say, but knowing that there was no other honest alternative. “You are an incredible musician, and I consider myself fortunate to have heard your work, but I cannot in good conscience recommend you to the Court. Goodbye.” And she turned for the door.

“What?!” Metail flinched like he’d been slapped. “You mean you’re not going to advocate for me?”

“No.”

“But you – you’ve heard my music! You know how good I am! You can’t do that!”

Octavia frowned. Had Metail never dealt with criticism before? He looked stunned that Octavia was actually refusing to help him. “I can and I will.”

“Well, what if I get really famous anyway? You’ll look bad then, for not noticing me sooner!” Metail snapped, a look of triumph on his face. “In fact, what if ponies find out that you knew about me but didn’t say anything? You’ll look bad!”

Octavia didn’t react to the implied threat, besides to say, “I suppose that is possible.”

Metail looked stunned. Octavia only shook her head. "I do not respond to threats," she said. She turned on her hoof and began to walk out the door.

“Wait!” Metail ran in front of her. He was sweating, Octavia noted, as if stunned. “I – okay, look, I’m sorry. I panicked. Please forgive me.” He bowed his head.

“I do, but—“

“I have a new song!” he said, hurriedly. “It’s more classical in style. Kind of a… fusion between the two genres. See, I was considering this problem, how to get my music into a more refined area, you know?” He gestured at his guitar. “Let me play it for you. Please.”

“In a hotel?”

“Room’s soundproofed, don’t worry. Please?” he begged.

Octavia paused. She wasn’t going to recommend him, so she didn’t want to waste either of their time, but…

I admit it – I want to hear it. I want to hear his music.

She battled it out with herself for several seconds, but her interest in music won out. She sat down again. “I should caution you that I doubt this will change my mind.”

Metail waved this off. “You’ll love this – I promise,” he said, and he started to play.

And it was as if all of Octavia’s objections, her newfound dislike for Metail, everything, was just washed away in an ocean of sound, a blast of drums and a furious guitar that blasted through everything in their path…

It was later. How much later, Octavia didn’t know. The sun was still up, but that was about all she knew.

“Fantastic,” she murmured. “So beautiful…”

She’d fallen on the ground at some point, unable to keep her balance on the chair under the torrent of notes. She blinked weakly up at Metail. “Why’d you stop?”

“I’d hate for you to miss your appointment with Luna,” said Metail. “Especially since you’re going to tell her how great I am.”

“I am?” she managed.

“Yes.” He helped her up. “After all, wasn’t that the best music you ever heard?”

“Uh huh…”

“And it’s your job to tell Luna and all the higher nobles about good music, right?”

Octavia nodded.

“So you’ll tell them about me.” He grinned and helped her to his door.

“But I don’t know what to say,” managed Octavia. “I don’t understand…”

“Just say I’m great. They can take it from there. Don't worry your pretty little head about trying to understand it, okay?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. They’ll love me. I promise.”

When she was gone, he flopped back on his bed and sighed. “Close one,” he muttered. “She’s a tough cookie, that’s for sure. But… in the end, they all love me.”

He grinned. “Every last one of them.”

Octavia hurried home, needing to beat the sun to the horizon so that she could play for Luna.

Her head was pounding again. She felt oddly weak. What was going on? His music was so beautiful, but… why was she so strangely reluctant to recommend him? She should be shouting his praises to the rooftops. Wasn’t that the honest thing to do?

But she kept feeling like she was forgetting something. Not just Crescendo’s complaints, but something else. Had he said something she didn’t like? But even if he had, how could any faux pas of that nature compare to such glorious music? Surely that kind of music made everything else irrelevant.

But that was the other thing. She kept thinking of how to talk about the music to Luna, how to beg the Princess to consider having him play for her, but she couldn’t even think of what to say. His music was gorgeous, yes, clearly musicians like Crescendo were just jealous… but what made it gorgeous? She tried to figure out what to say to Luna, and drew a blank each time. There were drums, and guitar, and… and…

What’s wrong with me? This is supposed to be my job! Am I so incompetent that I can’t describe his music? Am I such a novice that all I can say is that it ‘sounds good?’

And yes, he’d told her not to try to think about his music too hard, but that wasn’t who she was. She couldn’t do that. (And wouldn’t she normally be furious at such a comment? But why wasn’t she?)

I don’t know what to do or say, I’m letting down Metail and Luna and I’m screwing up and—

She paused. She was familiar with such thoughts… she’d had them before. Thoughts of horrific inadequacy, of being a worthless failure. They were wrong then, and they were wrong now.

She took a deep breath. “I am Octavia Philharmonica,” she stated. “I am Luna’s musician. She, who knows more of music than any other pony in Equestria, who has heard a million songs and innumerable musicians, has decided that I merit such a post. She believes in me.” Her eyes narrowed. “My friends believe in me. And I believe in myself too. I know how good I am. I know that I alone played the Symphony for Moon and Sun, that my technique, skill, and knowledge of music is beyond compare. I am good at what I do. I will figure this out.”

She nodded sharply. “If Metail’s music is good, I will find a way to describe it. I will dissect it and present it to Luna, her nobles and ministers, and all Equestria in such a way that they will all listen to him. I will do my duty in supporting a great new artist in this nation.

“And… and if there is somehow something wrong with it, or Metail, I will find that out too. I will find that out and I will do what I can to block Metail from playing for the nobles and the princess. I will do my duty in protecting the Court from bad or immoral musicians.”

She gazed at the castle with new resolution, and quickened her steps. Sunset approached, and she had an obligation to play for Luna.

And, as always, Octavia would not let her Princess down.

Musician and Fraud

“Good evening, princess.”

“Good evening.” Princess Luna’s voice definitely had more of a spark to it than when Octavia had spoken to her last. “How are you tonight, Octavia?”

“Well.” Octavia rose from her bow. “Did you have a good trip?”

“A productive one, in any event,” said Luna, smiling wryly. “But I did have the chance to visit a few old friends, ones whom I have not seen in many years… so yes, I suppose it was a good trip.” She inclined her head slightly at the horizon. “Ready?”

“On your mark.”

Luna’s horn glowed, and again she took care of her nightly task. The sun descended, and after a brief moment of utter darkness, the stars and the moon rose and spread across the night sky. Through it all, Octavia played, a tune that started out soft and calm but grew in power until it was strong and mighty as a swiftly-flowing river, a melody that welcomed the night and the power that dwelt within it.

‘This,’ the music seemed to whisper, ‘Is the domain of Luna Equestris, ruler of Equestria. These lights above us, shining over the entire world, are the representation of her power and ability. Behold.’
The moon settled into its proper place, and Octavia finished with a perfect authentic cadence to complete the work on a solid, strong finish. She glanced up at the stars briefly, then bowed again.

“Thank you,” said Luna. “Your music was superb.”

“You are welcome.”

“It sounded… resolute,” said Luna, taking a moment to examine the constellations. As she did so, she frowned slightly, and then gestured slightly with her horn. A few stars exchanged positions. “I don’t suppose you have anything special planned for tonight?”

“Not exactly,” said Octavia. She wondered what exactly to say, not wanting to get Luna’s hopes up in case Metail’s work did prove to have some flaw. “I plan to analyze a certain work, is all. It has given me some difficulty, but I feel it is my duty to see it through.”

“Hmm.” Luna looked at the night sky again, then nodded, apparently satisfied.
Then I won’t keep you any longer. Best wishes, Octavia.”

“Thank you, princess. Until dawn.”

Octavia packed up her instrument and began to trot off the balcony. Seeing the princess, seeing her manipulate the night sky as she did, only furthered her drive to figure Metail out. The princess was an artist, one who worked on the largest canvas imaginable and pushed herself to create the most beautiful images conceivable. Octavia could scarcely do less.

She would go back to her quarters without delay, and she would study Metail’s work. She would analyze that music, despite her unfamiliarity with the genre, until she could understand it and determine why she loved it so much. She would evaluate if Metail was good enough to merit her recommending his work to ponies high and low, to everypony who would be willing to take a chance on his genre. She would, in short, see to it that Equestria, Canterlot, and Luna Herself had access to the best music they could have. For she was the Court Musician of Equestria, and that was her responsibility.

Flush with determination, Octavia entered her room and locked the door. Resolving not to leave her room until she’d solved the problem, she took out a few sheets of paper and her quill. It was time.

Nothing would stop her now.

Three hours later, Octavia had to concede that she may have underestimated the difficulty of the analysis.

She stared, blearily, at a sheet of paper, almost as empty as when she had removed it from her desk. A few words were scribbled on it, all struck out – ‘amazing’, ‘epic’, ‘divine.’ There were a few nouns as well, along the lines of ‘drums’ and ‘guitar.’ Not one substantive thought lay among them.

Octavia stretched, but it didn’t much help. None of her usual tricks to get her out of a rut or improve her focus – getting up and pacing for a few minutes, drinking a cup of fine tea, playing a short prelude, listening to a short piece – had worked. Every time she tried to think about Metail’s work, every single time she tried to break it apart, she found herself lost in it all over again. Her mind would touch on a particularly beautiful chord or stunning drum solo, and she would be helpless to resist reliving the concert and luxuriating in the gorgeous sounds. And when she came back to herself, ten or twenty minutes later, she knew no more than when she’d started.

The cellist scowled and shoved the paper away, spilling it onto the floor. “This is absurd,” she muttered. “I can’t think about the music for five seconds without getting lost in it. Something’s not right.”

She began to pace again. As she walked, she passed her cello. She had considered trying to solve the problem by transcribing Metail’s work and playing it herself – after all, if she could play his music, she would have to know how it actually worked – but she couldn’t focus on it for that purpose anymore than she could for actual analysis. She’d tried, picking up her bow and everything, and then when she managed to stop fantasizing about his private concert for her, she’d found that she’d just been tapping her bow on the table in time to the music. That was no good.

“Maybe he’s playing again tonight,” she said to herself. “I could go and listen to him with fresh ears.” That often helped her when she had a sticky piece to analyze. But she wasn’t sure it would work in this case. If she went, she knew she’d find it irresistible to get sucked back in to that sweet, sweet sound he was capable of producing. She’d wind up a screaming member of the audience again, and while it would undoubtedly be exquisite – while part of her yearned to throw out her stupid paper and quills and dash off right that minute for precisely that purpose – it wouldn’t help her do her job. Besides, for all she knew, he didn’t have a concert scheduled for that night.

“I could listen to one of his records,” she continued. Paperweight, she remembered, had told her that his recorded music tended to be weaker than his live shows. While Octavia didn’t normally seek out sub-par music, if she could hear some of his pieces that weren’t so… alluring… that could help her to dissect even his best ones. Besides, she would need to be familiar with his full opus if she was going to recommend him to the Court.

The problem there was that it was nighttime. Octavia wasn’t likely to find an open record shop. The castle library was open, and they had a music section, but she doubted they had metal. In fact, hadn’t Viscount Blueblood pitched a fit when somepony had accidentally left a ‘pony pokey’ record lying around? He’d yelled that the music was ‘commoner filth’ and ‘unfit for noble ears’ and such. Given that he hadn’t yet collapsed of apoplexy, it was safe to assume that the castle library didn’t hold anything less ‘noble’ than the classical works and folk songs that most of the nobles enjoyed.

If shops and the library were out, that didn’t leave much. Most of Octavia’s musician friends were, like her, classical aficionados. The only one she could think of that might have one of Metail’s records was Lyra, and she was hours away in Ponyville.

Octavia blinked as a thought occurred to her. Why restrict herself to just musician friends?

Octavia checked the page roster and found that Night Light had requisitioned an extra helper to assist in getting a big dining hall set up. She made her way to the hall accordingly.

“I want the table set in the Latigo style.” Octavia heard Viceroy Night Light’s brisk, commanding voice as she approached the room. “Forty places. Any questions?”

“No sir!” said three ponies. Octavia noted that Paperweight, as usual, was the peppiest pony in the room.

“Very good. Once you’re done, wait here until I get back with further instructions.” Night Light trotted further back into the room, and then out the back door.

One of the pages that wasn’t Paperweight groaned theatrically. “Forty places… bet you half of them aren’t used.”

“Yeah,” said the other page that Octavia didn’t know. “And Night Light’s crazy picky too. Everything’s gotta be just right, from the napkin folds to the distance between the dessert fork and the tea plate.” She sighed. “We’ll have to do each one a few times, trust me.”

“Not if we get them perfect on the first try!” chirped Paperweight. “Hey, I know – let’s make a game of it! I’ll bet you both three jangles I can do more of them than you!”

Octavia smiled at that and settled down to wait. She was anxious to return to her own work, but she wouldn’t dream of interrupting Paperweight’s job. Not only would such be unfair to Night Light, but Paperweight herself wouldn’t like it. As hyper as she could be, she worked hard to do a good job with whatever Night Light gave her. Therefore, Octavia would do the right thing and would wait for Paperweight to finish before asking for her help.

Indeed, she heard the sounds of Paperweight trotting all over the room, setting up glasses and forks and plates with clinks. “Hurry up, girls!” she laughed, as she dashed across the room again. “I’m beating both of you two-to-one!”

“You’re just too good at this,” drawled the page who had complained about Night Light’s pickiness. “We don’t stand a chance.”

“Hey, don’t be like that! I’ll bet you could catch up real fast!”

Needless to say, Paperweight won. “Yippee!” she said, as Octavia heard the other two digging jangles out of their bags. “Better luck next time!”

“Next time? Think she’ll keep letting us pay her a few jangles to do our work?” Octavia heard one of the lazy pages whisper to the other.

Annoyed at that, Octavia went to the door and knocked briskly. “I—“

“Oh, Viceroy!” said one of the losing pages, hurrying towards the door. “We just finished! In fact—“ But then she got the door open and saw Octavia. Her face fell, probably due to the mare’s irritated glare. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Octavia Philharmonica,” said the cellist. “Paperweight, do you have a moment?”

Paperweight grinned. “For a friend? Always! Did’ya hear the awesome job we did with the table?”

Octavia examined it. “It’s not really my forte, but it does look well-appointed.” There had to be at least twenty different items at each seat – plates, cups, silverware, and a few that Octavia couldn’t name. “Although… it appears a few napkins here have the napkins folded counterclockwise, unlike the rest.”

Paperweight blinked. “Whoops. Didn’t even notice that. Still, I can get it fixed in a jiffy! Just you watch!”

Octavia did so. Paperweight worked with quick efficiency, putting her restless energy to use getting the napkins sorted. The other two pages watched, neither making a move to help, even though Octavia would bet a substantial sum that it had been one of them who had messed up the napkins in the first place. Octavia found herself secretly wishing Night Light would come back in to see their lassitude, though he remained absent.

“There!” said Paperweight, once done. “What’s up, Octavia?”

“I was hoping to borrow a record or two from your collection.”

“Sure, help yourself.” Paperweight dug around in a small saddlebag that she’d stowed in a corner of the dining room, then tossed Octavia a key. “Anything in particular?” Her eyes widened. “Such as… say… that pony who had that awesome concert a couple days ago?”

Octavia was a bit relieved that Paperweight hadn’t named the artist. “Precisely. Thank you. I’ll let you get back to your work now.”

“Okay, see you later!”

Octavia heard the two other pages begin to whisper and gossip to each other as she left. She paused and glanced at the table again, then swung by them.

“When I was outside,” she said, in a conversational tone, “I heard what sounded like silver clattering on stone tile. It was like somepony had dropped an item of silverware on the floor. But I don’t see any set aside for washing…” She let her voice trail off. “I don’t suppose one of you two used that dirty utensil to set a place?”

One of the pages, the one who had complained about the Viceroy’s pickiness, blushed.

“I would advise that you replace it,” said Octavia, conversationally.

“Well,” said the page, “See, we only brought exactly enough silverware and stuff…”

“The castle dishwasher room should have plenty more,” said Octavia. “Unless you seriously plan to ask the Viceroy or one of his guests to eat with it?”

The page’s protest died in her throat, and she left to begin the long trek through the castle. Octavia waved goodbye to Paperweight, then left as well.

Back in her quarters, Octavia put one of Metail’s newer records on her record player and began to play it.

As with his live music, there was guitar, and drum, and voice on top of it. In fact, it heavily reminded Octavia of his live stuff, and she had to force herself to stay in the present instead of fantasizing about the concert or his private recital for her. But it was, in fact, different, and it didn’t seem to have that weird allure that his other performances did.

That said, Octavia still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She just couldn’t grasp what Metail was doing. Instruments came in and out at weird times, the melodic lines wandered all over the place, and in a few places she heard what she would have called wrong notes, if a musician of Metail’s caliber would allow wrong notes into a studio recording.

She played the record twice, keenly aware by the end that the night was already more than half over. The first time, she listened all the way through; the second, she broke the music into several portions. But whiles she could focus on the music, she still couldn’t grasp what was going on.

It’s like there’s no structure… but that can’t be. I wouldn’t fall in love with nonsensical music. What am I missing?

On her third play through, Octavia decided to solve the problem with brute force. She took a ream of staff paper, marked the first line of the first page with clefs and a time signature, and began to transcribe the music as she played it in very short bursts. This would be slow, painfully so, but it would also let Octavia look at and ‘hear’ large portions of it all at once. If there was a structure to it, she’d be able to tease it out from that.

Another two hours passed as Octavia transcribed the record. By that point, she yearned for something melodic and classical, but she forced herself to stay on target. The only sounds came from her record player, which brought her the screeching of guitar and drum, and her quill, which scratched across the page. It was painful, but by promising herself that she would listen to something nice when it was all over, Octavia was able to move through it.

By the time four in the morning rolled around, Octavia had a completed transcription. She looked at it, frowning as she rifled through it. She even played a few bars on her cello, tapping her foot to simulate drums.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “This… this isn’t good.”

“Okay,” said an exhausted Octavia, sitting at her desk because she was worried about falling asleep if she lay down. “What do I know? The recorded music is terrible, the recorded music is similar to the live music, and the live music is gorgeous.” She let her head thump onto the table. “This can’t be possible.”

The music made no sense. Metail had a few sequences he could play well, and another hoofful that he could mostly get through, and he just kept repeating them. The drums got in the way of the guitar and didn’t have any interesting rhythms; they were basically large metronomes except when Metail devoted himself to a solo. And his voice added little. It wasn’t bad, not exactly, but it certainly wasn’t at the level Octavia would have predicted.

“He’s a mediocre musician. Why do I love his music so much?” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Maybe I just got swayed by the crowd… no, I loved his private recital for me too. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s just…”

She paused, thinking.

It was a fact that Metail’s music, live, wowed Octavia, and recorded, failed to impress her. And Paperweight had even said that his live shows were a lot better than his recorded stuff. There was another thing too… Crescendo. One of Metail’s few critics. Hadn’t she implied that she hadn’t been to his live performances since he returned from his hiatus, but had only heard his records? Was that why she could evaluate his music correctly, instead of being bowled over like Octavia was?

“But he plays the same music at his live shows that he records,” said Octavia. “Half these records say ‘as heard live’ on them. What else could be different about the shows? The energy of the crowd? His presence? The effects? The light spells? The…”

Her eyes narrowed.

Hadn’t she signed a waiver about those spells?

“I don’t believe this,” she hissed.

She had hurried through Canterlot, finding the few clubs that were still open in the wee hours and demanding to see any sort of legal papers that they made their patrons sign. Most clubs didn’t even have such notices, the few that did were very general. “Don’t sue us if you hurt yourself dancing,” that kind of thing.

But two of the clubs she visited had hosted Metail, and both still had copy of the waivers he brought with him. Octavia had taken those underneath a street light, not bothering to return to her quarters in the castle. The air was chilly, but she was warm anyway; what she read produced such a white-hot anger that she would likely have been ignorant of a sudden blizzard. All she could focus on was the papers in front of her.

“The signer agrees,” she read through clenched teeth, “To allow the artist to cast limited-duration evocation spells in the venue, and to waive all recourse of lawsuit should the signer be affected by such spells…”

She had read this before, at the concert, but hadn’t thought too hard about it. Now she understood what that meant.

Thrash Metail was casting spells on his audience.

He was casting spells, and sure, it might be legal thanks to that waiver, but he was giving the impression that he was some great musician when it was all smoke and mirrors and unicorn powers. He was lying to his audience, the public, and the entire music community. And he had lied to Octavia, using his fake, gimcrack music, and tried to get her to tout him to the Court and Luna… so that he could try to deceive them too.

Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself trotting briskly towards Metail’s hotel. She was going to give that pony a piece of her mind.

“Yo,” called Metail, from inside his luxurious quarters. “Busy now. Come back tomorrow, whoever you are.”

Octavia glared at the door and raised one hoof to slam it again. She would knock the door off its hinges if she had to, but she was going to talk to Thrash Metail.

After several slams, the last of which began to splinter the door, Metail finally yelled that he was coming. A minute later, he opened up, clad in an expensive silken robe. “Octavia? What are –“

Octavia pushed her way inside, slammed the door behind her, and pointed a hoof at him. “Magic. That’s what it is. You’re using magic to make yourself sound better.”

Metail’s face went almost white. “I… come on, Octavia, really? You know that’s not—“

“I’ve listened to your records. I’ve transcribed them. I probably know your repertoire better than you, at this point.” Octavia took a deep breath. “You lied to the whole world, and you asked me to lie for you. When I wouldn’t, you cast your spell on me to trick me into doing it”

“You can’t prove that,” said Metail, quickly.

“I certainly can. All I need to do is play your music, without using spells, and show the world how mediocre it is. The only explanation for your surge of popularity is that you are utilizing magical assistance.”

The two stared at each other for a moment before Metail, apparently having decided that Octavia wasn’t going to throw him out his window, smirked. “Why do you care? What’s it to you if I’m making ponies happy with a spell instead of a symphony?”

“Had you advertised yourself honestly, I would have no issue with you. It’s not my business if other ponies obtain happiness through means of some happiness spell—“

“Euphoria,” corrected Metail.

“Fine. Euphoria spell. If that was how you labeled your shows, that would be another matter entirely.” She glowered. “But you call yourself a true musician. Half of Canterlot thinks you have incredible technique, that your popularity and fame are due to your musical talent. None of it is true. You want the prestige and popularity that comes with being a master of your craft, but rather than obtain that mastery, you cheat, use a spell, and lie about it.”

Metail shrugged. “Music, spell, who cares? You think any of those ponies would care if they found out it was due to a spell?”

“I care,” snapped Octavia. “And I would imagine that true fans of the genre you have ostensibly mastered care. They spend money and time to see a virtuoso musician. You defraud them. You shame yourself and your craft.”

“So… what, you came here to whine?” Metail’s smirk had returned. “You can’t call the Guards on me. I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“I suppose that, technically, the waivers will cover you in that regard,” growled Octavia. “And I can’t directly prove that you cast magic on me during our private talk.”

“So there’s no problem, then.” Metail chuckled and stretched; his guitar was a foot or so behind him, resting on top of its case. “Unless you came back for another concert? I—“

Octavia crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. “If you touch that guitar,” she whispered, “I will make you very sorry.”

Metail gulped.

“You are correct that I cannot have charges brought against you. But I will never recommend you to the Court, and I shall let every Courtier who cares to listen know that you know nothing of music. Additionally, I will make it known in the city what you are doing. Any future audiences you obtain will want you for what you can really do, not what you can fake.”

Metail’s mouth dropped. “You – you can’t do that!”

“Watch me.”

“You’ll ruin me!”

“I should let the citizens of Canterlot subsidize your lies instead?”

“I played for you!” insisted Metail. “You have to like my music. You have to!”

“Have you never dealt with a real critic before?”

Metail looked angry, and Octavia wondered if there was something she still wasn’t seeing. He sounded like he felt he was… entitled… to her support. Surely even he couldn’t be that deluded, though. “I’ll pay you,” he said at last. “Fifty percent of my ticket sales.”

“No.”

“Come on, that’s gotta be more than what Luna pays you!”

Octavia didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I’ll play for you, then!” His voice had recovered something of its former confidence. “As long as you want. I’ve got another place in the city; we can go there and I’ll serenade you day and night!”

Octavia felt a part of herself beg her to say ‘yes.’ She felt her mouth opening, and clamped it shut before she said anything idiotic. “No,” she managed, through gritted teeth, once she had herself under control. “I love music. Not… your cheap simulacrum thereof.”

“You still love it,” said Metail. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“Part of me does,” conceded Octavia, after a long moment. “It doesn’t count. I will not lie. Especially not for something like this.”

She turned on her hoof and left, slamming the door behind her.

“How did the analysis go?” Luna asked.

Octavia considered the question as she checked over her cello. “I studied the work,” she said, at last. “It… wasn't what I thought it was. It wasn’t good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Luna. She glanced up at the sky, but seemed content to let the night last a moment longer. “You mentioned that this was from a new genre… will you listen to other music from that genre?”

“Yes.” Octavia nodded. “I am planning on listening to another noted artist in the genre later today, in fact.”

“Good.” Luna seemed a bit pleased by that. “Well, shall we?”

Yes, thought Octavia. She’d go see Crescendo’s show, even though her study of Metail’s work was over. She had two main reasons, besides keeping the promise she’d made to the pegasus. First, now that she knew Metail was a fraud, she wanted to hear real metal music. After all, many ponies seemed to like it. Surely, then, there was something to it. If there were new, interesting sounds, Octavia wanted to discover them.

And second…

Octavia had a feeling that she hadn’t seen the last of Thrash Metail. She knew this was ridiculous, that she’d soundly thrashed Thrash and that his only smart move was to abandon his career or flee the city, but she hadn’t gotten that vibe from him. He’d be back, she guessed.

And if she was to continue to oppose him, him and his all-consuming Euphoria spells, she had a feeling she’d need to know a lot more about his ostensible genre than she did.

“Impossible!” growled Thrash. “She was supposed to love me! They all do!”

He had canceled his press conference for that morning. He was pacing furiously in his hotel room, horn crackling and popping with anger.

“Every one of them!” He shook his head. “I got sold a bill of goods. She doesn’t even have magic and she fought back… what if a unicorn saw it coming?” He shook his head, his mane cascading about. “I should just book it somewhere far away…”

But he couldn’t leave. He wasn’t done yet. Wasn’t he supposed to be the best? The one that nopony could resist, that all would love? Wasn’t that what he had put so much of all he had into achieving?

He glanced at his guitar, then went over to it and began to play. As he did, the tension seemed to leave him. He calmed slightly and lay back on the couch in his room.

“Alright, hang on. Don’t lose my cool. She’s tough, sure. Probably got special power-ups from Luna or whatever.” Metail snorted, playing another few bars. “No matter. I just gotta be more thorough. Hit her harder. But she won’t come to another live show…”

He worked out the problem, playing the guitar as he did so. Everything seemed so much simpler when he played. It was a good instrument, he thought. Worth all that he’d paid for it.

“Got it,” he said at last. “I can catch her ear again. And this time, she won’t stand a chance.”

He grinned. “And then… the Court. They’ll all love me, the rulers and leaders of Equestria down to the lowliest servant.” He finished his improvised work, firing off a cadence and thrust the guitar aside. “I promise.”

Iron Mare

Octavia looked down at her ticket, then through the venue’s windows, and wondered if she had perhaps been a bit rash in promising to attend this show.

The Marvelous Manestro was decked out in black and red. Chains hung from the rafters, and paint stylized to look like blood was all over the walls. The lights were low and seemed to pulse in time with a drumbeat that was coming from somewhere. It was, quite possibly, the strangest setting for a musical performance that Octavia had ever seen.

But a promise was a promise, and Octavia wouldn’t break hers. Reminding herself that there might be something to the music that justified all the silliness, she approached the bouncer and showed him her ticket. “Hello.”

The bouncer grunted as he looked down. “Okay. Go in.”

“I couldn’t find my seat listed on the ticket—“

The bouncer barked a short laugh. “Standing only, filly. Just pick a spot.”

“…oh.”

Octavia made her way inside and passed several groups of ponies. Many of the ponies had apparently dyed their coats and manes red and black, and of those, a substantial percentage had odd geometric shapes painted on their sides. Almost all the ponies had chains, and about half were pierced in places that Octavia hadn’t even thought you could get pierced. One stuck out her tongue to lick a hors d’oeuvre, and Octavia realized with a bolt of shock that she had somehow forked it. That’s probably just a really weird magic spell. I’m sure it’s easily reversible. She gulped. I’m sure they don’t do that to random ponies who walk into these things…

Unnerved, and acutely aware that she didn’t fit in – she hadn’t brought the clothes or chains this time, guessing that she would feel silly enough without them – she wished that Paperweight was there. That mare would know what was going on, and could help Octavia acclimate. But Paperweight was busy all that evening with her page duties, helping with some big event Night Light was hosting, to the point where she’d only been able to chirp a quick ‘hello!’ to Octavia that day as she scampered off to prepare. So Octavia was on her own.

Maybe it was just as well. Octavia needed to figure out how to tell her about Thrash in the best way, before her friend wasted any more money on a spell and a two-note gimmick. The cellist was usually relatively blunt, but she understood that simply proclaiming that Thrash’s music was objectively terrible and Paperweight had simply been brainwashed into liking it would be more likely to induce panic than reflection. She would need enough time to be able to take her through it slowly and help her understand what was going on.

She had time, though. Octavia had checked, and Thrash had canceled his concerts for the next few days, citing sudden illness. She had that long, then, to figure out how to notify both Paperweight and the city at large of his fraud. In the meantime, she had a concert to listen to.

The cellist made her way through the room, which was empty of furniture except for the stage at the front. She wound up near the stage, watching the roadies perform last-minute equipment checks. She looked at the speakers and bass cannon with a critical eye. It was unheard of for a classical concert to require this much amplification; she wondered if this was a good sign or a bad one.

“Hey!”

Octavia turned to see Crescendo threading her way through the crowd. She had been dyed red, yellow, and white – flame colors, Octavia thought. “Hey!” she screamed, over the crowd. “You made it!” She seemed impressed.

Octavia nodded. “I said I would,” she said, though she doubted that Crescendo could possibly hear her over all the chatter in the room.

Crescendo approached her, shaking wings and bumping hooves with fans on the way, and then gave Octavia an enthusiastic slap on the back. “Guess you were serious about broadening your horizons.”

“I am.”

“Well, since it’s your first real metal concert – Metail’s junk doesn’t count -- I thought I’d give you a special treat. I’ll be performing a bunch of metal classics, give you a good introduction to the genre.”

“Thank you.” Octavia looked around at the other ponies. “Are these outfits… normal for this type of performance?”

“Of course! Which actually reminds me – you need yours.” Crescendo grinned and began to sweep Octavia to one side. “Let’s get you changed.”

“What – but—“ began the cellist.

“Hey, if I came to one of your fancy shows without a dress, I’m sure you’d be all upset, right? Turnabout’s fair play.” They had reached a side door, and two costume artists appeared out of it and proceeded to lead Octavia into a changing room.

Octavia protested, but it was no use.

The best spot in the house, according to Crescendo, was right in the center of the room. Octavia went there immediately after the costume ponies let her go. The last thing she wanted to hear was that they’d forgotten something.

The cellist looked at her tail and mane, now dyed the same gray as her coat and treated with something that stiffened them. The costume ponies had assured her that it washed right out, but she couldn’t help worrying that they were wrong. Octavia didn’t consider herself vain, but she liked how her mane and tail were long and flowing, and didn’t want that ruined. At least the other major costume change – a fake cutie mark of a black metal bar – could just be pealed off later.

I resolved to judge this concert fairly. If Crescendo wants to claim that this… outfit… matters, I will take her at her word, she told herself. She forced herself to stop worrying, and to prepare to focus on the music. That was why she was there, after all.

“ATTENTION EVERYPONY!” screamed an announcer over the speakers.

The crowd roared in response.

“GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO CRESCENDO!”

Smoke blasted onto the stage, and Crescendo walked through it with her guitar hefted up in her left wing. “ARE YOU READY?” she screamed.

“YEAH!”

“LET’S DO IT!” Crescendo blasted a few chords from her guitar, making Octavia wince. “Now, before we begin, I’d like to point out that we have a very special guest tonight!”

Uh oh, thought Octavia.

“The Court Musician of Equestria, performer for Princess Luna Herself, is with us!” The guitarist pointed directly at Octavia, who shifted uncomfortably. “Please, welcome Octavia Philharmonica!”

There were claps, and a fair amount of jeers from ponies who presumably disliked Octavia’s style of music. Octavia didn’t show a reaction, though she groaned internally. A Court pony, the Court Musician, dressed as she was? This will be in every tabloid tomorrow…

“NOW!” yelled Crescendo. She trotted over to her drum kit, spinning her guitar around as she did so. “In honor of our guest, who I understand lacks familiarity with our genre, I thought we could begin by covering one of the very first classics -- and I even had her dressed for the occasion!"

Wait, what?

"Fillies! Gentlecolts! Brace yourselves for the one, the original… IRON MARE!” The crowd burst into applause.

Iron mare? Like the athletic competition? wondered Octavia.

But she didn’t have time to think of much else. Crescendo stepped on one of the drum kit’s pedals, and the music began.

The first sounds Octavia heard were the steady drumbeats as Crescendo pulsed the bass drum pedal. They were slow, low, and grew louder as they continued, like something large and heavy was stepping closer. Octavia repressed a slight shudder; it was an ominous sound.

Crescendo drew one wing across her guitar, creating a blast of distortion that made Octavia wince. All the speakers surrounded her, so the distortion hit her from all sides and made her feel trapped, almost frozen. Crescendo grinned and yelled,

Behold IRON MARE!

She continued playing bursts of distortion at regular intervals. Octavia felt uncomfortable. The music sounded weird. She wasn’t even sure it could be called music, as it was just noise set on top of a drum. But the rhythm was so steady and sure, and held so precisely, that it only seemed to accentuate the weirdness. It didn’t feel like pure chaos or noise, but chaos and noise tightly controlled and regulated by some higher mind. That made it feel even more ominous, somehow.

I don't understand, she thought. This isn’t melodic, but she’s still able to get me to feel this strongly…

Finally, Crescendo began to play pitched notes, letting loose a riff that rose for a bar, hovered there, and then descended back to just above where it began. And then she played a second riff… identical to the first. As was the third, and so on. If it were a classical performance, Octavia would have called it lazy (and likely left during the first intermission). But she didn’t think that was it. Crescendo was going for some effect.

The riff doesn’t change, she thought. Her eyes widened slightly. There’s no motion, no movement. It feels… trapped…

Finally, with a quick set of blasts from her drum set, Crescendo began to sing.

Has she lost her mind?
Can she see or is she blind?
Can she walk at all?
Or if she moves, will she fall?

Move? Octavia supposed she could – this wasn’t like Thrash’s performance, which had used magic to mess up her mind – but that wouldn’t be going along with the spirit of the music. The repetitive riff, the omnipresent and perfectly timed drums, even the speakers arranged in a circle around her that hit her with sound from all sides, all made for a claustrophobic and almost paralyzing sound. Even the other ponies in the room, though they were dancing and clapping and cheering, moved strictly in time with the music. Like they couldn’t break free from it either.

”Is she live or dead?
Has she thoughts within her head?
We’ll just pass her there.
Why should we even care?

Crescendo finally switched to a different theme on her guitar, something fast and blatantly energetic, tantalizingly so – but only for a few, short bars. In just a few seconds, she was back to the same paralyzing riff. Octavia felt herself tensing under the strain.

She was turned to steel
In a great magical field!
When, to save us all
From her star she took a fall!

Another energetic part began, this one even stronger.

Nobody wants her! She just stares at the world!

The music rose up in pitch a few times, as if it was finally going to take off and carry them all away – but Crescendo just kept resetting it, now playing this riff again and again.

Planning her vengeance, that she soon will unfurl!

Crescendo had been right. This music was in a different league than Thrash’s. His was mindless, unthinking euphoria. This… this was smart. It was doing a brilliant job of racheting up tension, of using a guitar and drums and even speakers to evoke precisely the right sounds and emotions. Octavia was impressed. And aching to move.

The main theme resumed. Crescendo continued:

NOW! The time is near
For Iron Mare to spread fear!
VENGEANCE! From the grave!
Slays the ponies she once saved!

Nopony wants her! They just turned their heads!
Nobody helps her! Now she has her REVENGE!

She grinned, holding the last syllable, then brought the melodic line down and sped it up with a quick burst of notes, and…

And she let loose.

She burst into a guitar solo, channeling all the tension and power she’d built up over the past few minutes and using it to power one of the most energetic and forceful performances Octavia had heard in quite some time. It ripped away from her, blasting into the crowd and sending most of them into screaming glee.

For a moment, it was like they were free. The crowd danced with wild abandon, urged on by Crescendo’s guitar solo. They weren’t brainlessly led forward, as with Thrash, but were instead shown the way. The music laid out a path that was forceful, driven, and glorious in its own way, and they moved down it with gusto. Even Octavia – who, as a habit long since ingrained, did not make noise at concerts -- was not annoyed by this. It just seemed to fit the music perfectly.

All too soon, it ended. The original riff returned, but it was more strained now – clearly just a temporary resumption of constraint. It would, Octavia could hear, surely be gone soon. This was like a last sop to Iron Mare’s persecutors, those who had mocked her when she couldn’t move and could only flee when she rose again.

Horseshoes full of lead
Fills her victims full of dread!
Running as fast as they can –
Iron Mare LIVES AGAIN!

And then the energetic part began again, even longer, stronger, and greater than before. Octavia was rocked back on her hooves, slightly, from the power of the music. It was incredible.

Crescendo finished with one final blast from her guitar. “IRON MARE!” she yelled.

The crowd cheered, and Octavia thought to herself, That was… wonderful music.

It was a good thing, Octavia thought, as she waited to speak to Crescendo outside the club, That I came to this concert.

She had enjoyed the music, twenty songs in all. Crescendo had not only played the songs, but had given a one or two sentence description of why each one was important before playing it – which ones led to different ‘schools’ of playing, which ones were more famous, which ones were unfortunately neglected. By the end, Octavia felt like she’d gotten a brief lesson in the history of the genre. She still liked classical music more – metal just didn’t call to her in the same way that classical did – but it was good music nonetheless.

And, she thought to herself, I like the story of the Iron Mare song. I’m sure that’s based on some legend or other… if I could compose something about it, I think that would be good. She could already hear motifs and themes beginning to take form in her head. The strong, driving beat of the drums, if she could mimic that in the lower reaches of her cello, or write it as an ensemble piece…

She heard hoofsteps approaching, and turned to see Crescendo exit out of the club. “That was lovely,” she said.

Crescendo laughed. “That’s not usually how ponies describe my performances, but thanks. Glad you enjoyed.” She smirked. “Better than Thrash, right?”

“Much.” Octavia frowned at the memory, but then shook her head slightly to clear it. Good music energized her; she didn’t want to depress or anger herself by thinking of the fraud. “I don’t suppose you could give me a list of other notable musicians in your genre.”

“What, thinking of becoming a convert?”

“It’s not the sort of music I play,” admitted Octavia. “And I don’t see that changing. But to be good at what I do, I need to be familiar with music of all sorts… not just classical. Your concert showed me that there is much more… depth to your genre than what I was familiar with. As such, I would like to learn, and hear, more.”

Crescendo thought for a moment. “Sure, why not? I’ll see who’s playing soon, get you some names. But you gotta promise me something.”

“What?”

“I bet you hate when some upper-class twit who doesn’t know anything about music begins acting like he’s an expert – ‘cause he wants to look cultured, or he’s dumb enough to think he is – and starts talking about good music and bad music and making idiotic comments, right? Don’t be the twit.” She held up a wing to forestall Octavia’s objection. “I appreciate your interest, honest. Ain’t often we get someone with your pedigree here. But you’ve been to all of one real concert. I find out you start acting like some metal guru, telling the Court who’s good at it and who isn’t or how it ‘really’ works, I’m flying into the castle and kicking your flank myself.”

Octavia paused, then nodded her head. “Of course. I won’t make recommendations on this – or any other – genre until I have a deep understanding of it, as I do with classical music. To do otherwise would be unfair to the music and to those who listen to my advice.”

“Glad we’re clear on that.” Crescendo grinned. “Well, see you later. I’ve gotta rest up, another gig tomorrow. Those names'll be in your mailbox in a day or two, kay? Peace.”

She turned and went back into the club, and Octavia began to walk back towards the center of the city. She gave a small sigh of contentment. It had been a good evening, albeit an unusual one for her. And she did feel inspired, especially regarding Iron Mare.

I should make it more of a priority to visit genres outside my own. This is just one of the first I have considered… I should continue expanding the breadth of my musical knowledge. Imagine what other sounds there are, wonderful works of music, just waiting for me to come across them.

She began to trot home, then changed her mind and made her way for a quiet café that she knew was nearby. She felt so good that she simply had to sit down and compose something immediately, if only hurriedly and on the back of a restaurant napkin. Life was beautiful, and she was going to write some beautiful music in its honor.

“Good work tonight,” said Night Light. He nodded briskly at his pages. “There’s nothing else, so I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Paperweight began to file out with the rest of them, looking forward to getting out of her butler uniform and taking a hot, bubbly bath. Granted, thanks to some unfortunate oversight the standard castle toiletries did not include bubble formula, but she had planned ahead and bought her own. She would take her bath last, so there wouldn’t be anypony else in line, and she’d bring her duckie and –

“Oh, Paperweight .One moment.”

Huh? But despite her confusion, she briskly turned and bowed as the other pages filed past her. “Sir?”

“Thank you for being so quick on your hooves regarding the cushion… incident,” said Night Light. “I appreciate that sort of effort.”

“Oh! No problem, sir!”

Night Light had been hosting an elaborate dinner for several foreign diplomats. Paperweight and Night Light’s other pages had spent the whole day getting the finest of everything readied for use; some of the diplomats, it was known, were extremely fussy, and it wouldn’t do to offend them with sub-par furniture or utensils. And one of the more impressive of the many impressive furnishings was the set of cushions in the lounge for the after-dinner coffee/tea/dessert segment of the meal. A product of Fancy Furnishings Inc. in Cavalleria, the cushions had been stitched by hoof by professional elite artists over a three-month period. They all had a life-like portrait of some famous political pony on the front, and each boasted a thread count thought by most to only be theoretically possible. They were, Night Light had said, some of the finest cushions to be had.

And so, of course, one of the first things the delegate from Caballeria had said was, “I’m so sorry I’m late. I was talking to my niece, and she was just about to invest a great deal of money in Fancy Furnishings – you know, that Cavallerian company? I had to talk her out of it.”

“Er… why?” Night Light had asked.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? They’re under investigation for fraud! Counterfeiting goods, falsified thread counts, signing fake artist names to the products… it’s a total mess. The papers should have all the details tomorrow.” She shook her head. “But I talked her out of it, and I haven’t bought any of their products in the last six months. Can you imagine how humiliating it would be to have bought one of their knock-offs?”

Thus had followed the Great Castle Cushion Hunt, in which Night Light had dispatched his pages to go search out ten high-quality matching cushions that were not from Fancy Furnishings. Most of the other pages hadn’t known where to look and had just checked the linen closets and storage rooms in that part of the castle, few of which had fancy cushions, and none of which had ten of them that all matched. Paperweight, though, had come up with the idea of sprinting to the ‘diplomat housing’ part of the castle. They would need to have good furnishings there, she reasoned, for the diplomat’s rooms, and they would probably all match, if only to make things easier on the cleaning staff. So she and a couple other pages ran off and got the cushions, ran back and swapped them for the Fancy Furnishings ones, and thereby saved the meal (and, Paperweight liked to think, Diplomacy).

“You work hard and effectively,” Night Light said to Paperweight. “Keep it up, and you will go very far.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Feeling like she was walking on air, Paperweight almost skipped back to the page barracks. She’d gotten to see a new part of the castle, been able to spend a lot of her work time running around (and even wound up racing a couple of the other pages who also liked having fun), and done so well that Viceroy Night Light had complimented her. The night was still young, yet it was practically perfect already.

Paperweight reached the barracks and entered, heading over to her bunk. One of the castle mailmares was there, handing out letters. “Bellemane?”

“Here.” It was the page that Octavia had sent running for another spoon the other day. She scowled at Paperweight before going to take the letter. “Thanks,” she managed.

“Next, uh, Paperweight? You here?”

“Here!” Paperweight grinned, wondering if it was a letter – or better yet, a package – from home. Her Mom sent her the best chocolate chip cookies. “I’m here!”

“Here you go.” The mailmare passed Paperweight a letter with vaguely familiar hoofwriting. “Alright, next…”

Paperweight sat on her bunk to read it. The envelope was addressed to her, and in the spot for a return address was…

“Thrash?” she whispered, almost unable to believe it. But there it was. If postage was insufficient, the mail was to return to one ‘Thrash Metail,’ staying at the Platinum Pony. And the name was written just like the hoofograph she’d gotten from Thrash at one of his signings. It was him.

Wide-eyed, she dove onto her bunk and used her telekinesis to open the letter:

Dear Paperweight. Hey, it’s Thrash. Glad you made it out to my concert a few nights ago – from what I saw, you were the most enthusiastic one there! It’s great to perform for fans that really appreciate what you do, and it’s fans like you who make that possible. So I wanted to thank you for your support.

Paperweight realized that her mouth was open. “Thrash noticed me!” she whispered. “I must be an even more awesome partier than I thought!”

Now, I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive for writing you this letter. Your friend Octavia and I met up last night, and we got off to kind of a rocky start. I was hoping to make it up to her. I had this great idea – kind of a surprise concert thing, since I know she likes my music. But I wanted to talk to you first, since you probably know what she likes better than I do. Plus, I figured, maybe you’d want to help me set it up. How’s that sound?

“Perfect!” said Paperweight, before realizing that she was speaking aloud.

“Huh?” asked Bellemane. “What’s with you?”

Paperweight floated her the letter. “Look at what I got!”

“A letter from… from Thrash Metail? The metal star?” Bellemane sounded incredulous.

“Yeah!” Paperweight returned to the letter. If you want to help, I’ll be at the Canterlot Cantina by the town square tonight – I like to go there to think, sometimes. We’ll talk it over. Just remember – it’s supposed to be a surprise, so don’t tell Octavia yet. Yours, Thrash.

“How’d you get a letter from him?” complained Bellemane. “You buy a ticket to some really expensive show?”

“I took Octavia Philharmonica to one of his concerts!” Paperweight began hurrying around, unable to keep still. “And now he wants to meet me! I just need to bathe first and get a new outfit, and then I can meet him! In a Cantina! Maybe we’ll have midnight snacks together!”

“What?!” Bellemane stared. “Let me get this straight – Night Light already likes you best, you’re friends with Luna’s personal musician, and now some celebrity wants to eat with you?!”

“I know!” Paperweight let loose a squee of pure joy. “Wish me luck!” She hugged Bellemane fiercely, then ran off.

It seemed like only moments before Paperweight arrived at the Cantina. Thrash was out of costume, but he was holding his black guitar, and his fiery red coat and mane were distinctive anyway. “Thrash!” she squealed as she dashed over to his table. “It’s Paperweight! Hi!”

“Glad you could make it, babe.” Thrash grinned. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?”

“Something awesome. Cantina band agreed to let me play a song or two.” He grinned. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

Paperweight’s eyes widened. “Can’t wait!”

She watched as Thrash walked over to the stage, where the band was indeed just finishing up their set. He hopped on, and grinned at the crowd. “I’ll just jump right into this one, ‘kay?”

“Hey, who are you?” asked one patron.

Thrash only chuckled, then began to play, and Paperweight felt herself get absorbed into the music like she always did.

“I love it…” she whispered, and then she didn’t say anything. She just smiled goofily as she sat in her seat.

It had been ten minutes, and the cantina staff and guests were all under Thrash's spell.

“Alright!” he said, hopping off the stage as he continued to play his guitar. The cantina crowd would be like all his other audiences: they would remember nothing besides that they had heard some wonderful music and had to get more of it. But Paperweight would require some different instructions.

“Paperweight!” he crooned as he blasted her with a chord. “How ya feelin’?”

She grinned at him.

“Alright. Now, here’s the thing. Octavia doesn’t like my music.”

She looked honestly puzzled at that, though she was still in a euphoric daze from the music. “But why?”

“Well, she’s classical, doesn’t get metal… not her fault, but I think we both agree, she’d be a lot happier if she liked it, right?”

“Your music’s great. Of course she should like it.”

“Just what I was thinking! And I bet you want to help with that, right? Because she’s your friend.”

As Paperweight nodded eagerly, Thrash surveyed the crowd. They were all still zombies. Good. He'd been nervous for some reason before this stunt; it had seemed dangerous taking on a venue that wasn't a closed off club full of those who already liked metal... but that idea, that it was risky, had been silly. Of course he could handle a random cantina. Of course he could even do it with just guitar, without drums or voice to back it up -- it hadn’t been that hard. He could even focus on talking while he let his magic play the guitar for him. With his skill and instrument, he could do anything. He could master any challenge.

Octavia would be no different.

“So!” said Thrash. “Here’s what you’re going to do…”

Author's Note

Looks like Octavia's first real metal concert went well. Hooray! And Paperweight's doing alright too, except for the whole being brainwashed bit. And Thrash seems to be getting somewhere with his revenge scheme too.

So, fun fact -- originally, Octavia was going to wind up involved with the Iron Mare rendition. My idea was that there'd be a sort of raised stand thing in the center of the club with a hidden conveyor belt. Octavia would be standing on the stand during the concert (having no idea what was coming, and somewhat immobile due to the repetitive, 'trapped' sections of the piece), until it got to the energetic parts. Then the belt would turn on at the same speed as the music. Octavia would have to gallop in place, so her hoofbeats would fall in time with the music and would act as sort of a second drum (in this rendition, her costume would have included loud horseshoes for this purpose). Visually, the crowd would also get to see an actual 'iron mare' appearing pony charging 'at' them, which I think would be really neat. The song would then end with the belt speeding up and throwing Octavia into the crowd, which would body-surf her (again, having no idea this was coming) to the stage.

I thought it was cool, but Octavia would never enjoy that -- she would hate the thought of performing without rehearsing, and would likely make small mistakes in her hoof rhythm just from shock and surprise, which would make the music sound bad and irritate her further. She wouldn't be nearly as good with Crescendo after the show either, were she mad about that. So I cut that part.

Paperweight continues to be a joy to write for. I liked the thought of her end-of-work goal being a fun bubble bath with a duckie. And perhaps meeting a metal god, if things work out that way.

Private Concert

Octavia entered her room and gently lowered her cello case to the floor. She crossed the room to her desk and, with a slight smile, began to copy over the notes she had made on the back of restaurant napkins and receipts onto proper score paper. It had truly been, she thought, a magnificent night.

The concert had been incredible, of course, and she’d been so inspired that she’d made great progress on a new composition at the café. It had been an unusually good venue in which to work; the patrons were quiet, and the staff even moreso, to the point where it was only Octavia’s unusually-keen hearing that let her know when the staff was coming to refill her tea or check if she needed anything else. After the café had been a concert that she’d been looking forward to, a private recital for a half-dozen Courtiers who were all music aficionados to one degree or another. It was a treat to perform for them, as she could tell they could really listen to how she performed, and could appreciate her on a level that many of the other Courtiers couldn’t. Finally, to complete the night, she’d made it up to Luna’s balcony and had performed, as usual, while Luna set the night sky and then raised the sun. It was always a joy to play for her.

What a perfect night, she thought, her quill scratching over the staff notepaper. I really should make more of a point to attend more concerts around the city. She blinked as an idea struck her. Perhaps even put together something of a club… if I went with a few other musicians, open-minded like myself, we could discuss the music later and understand it on an even deeper level. Or, not even musicians, but just music fans – such as Paperweight – could also provide an interesting perspective, and I’m sure they would enjoy it as well.

She looked up eventually and saw that she’d spent over an hour transcribing her notes. Smiling ruefully, she got up and stretched. She would need to sleep soon, if she hoped to be able to perform that night. One of the themes from her new work could work well, she thought, for that night’s sunset/moon-raising ceremony, but only if she was fresh enough to play it well. So she’d get ready for bed; a nice, long shower, some good music, and then she’d go to sleep, and hopefully dream of more incredible sounds. She always slept well after composing well, and she hoped--

Her thoughts were interrupted when her hoof scuffed over a note that somepony had slipped under her door. She frowned, wondering why the note hadn’t been sent through the mail or the castle messenger service. If this is some political note, I’m throwing it out, she thought. There had been a few attempts to recruit her for some political scheme, mostly of the ‘please tell Luna about my motion’ variety, but she had rebuffed all such attempts. Her job was to play music; she would not sully it by once again making herself a tool of the nobles.

It wasn’t from a noble, though. It was from Paperweight.

”Octavia-- found out about an awesome private concert in the city this morning! The address is on the ticket, and it’s at 9. The musician’s one of Thrash’s rivals; she’s almost as good as he is, which is still really good! I got a pair of tickets, and I figured you’d want one, so here it is! I think you’ll really, really enjoy it. Hope to see you there! Paperweight.”

“Hmm.” Octavia examined the note and attached ticket and thought. She was starting to feel tired, but she didn’t want to just blow Paperweight off. And since this concert was from one of Thrash’s rivals, not Thrash himself, she might be good. Besides, Octavia could hold off on sleep for an hour or two and still be fine. She’d just wake up a bit later, that was all. She’d still be able to play for Luna.

Making up her mind, Octavia nodded, then strode out of her room.

It was, like most ‘private concerts’, in somepony’s house. Octavia had never been to this neighborhood, but it seemed nice enough. The houses were decent-sized, well-kept, and brightly painted. It was a pleasant place to walk at nine in the morning.

Octavia smiled as she found the house that was indicated on the ticket. It was one of the more modest houses on the block, and looked newly built. Once inside, she dropped her saddlebag by a pile of a few others near the door, then found her way to the sitting room, which had several seats set out. There were also a couple speakers and other devices that she’d learned were standard in metal shows. She’d never heard of a private metal concert before, but she supposed times were changing –

“Octavia! I’m glad you made it!”

Octavia turned to see Paperweight stepping out of a side room. “Of course,” said Octavia. “I value your recommendations… and I enjoy attending concerts with you.” She nodded. “Congratulations on getting tickets; this show seems exclusive. How did you do it?”

Paperweight’s grin was bright and sunny. “You’ll love this one,” she said. “I promise.”

The phrase gave Octavia pause for a moment, although she couldn’t think of why. Did somepony say it before? And why didn’t she answer my question? Well, I suppose she might be embarrassed about how she got them… maybe somepony didn’t want them and dumped them on her… if that’s the case, I shouldn’t prod. But still… “Anyway,” she said, “I didn’t see a sign at the door indicating who was performing. Who is the artist?”

Paperweight looked blank for a moment before shrugging. “Somepony great! Somepony that you’ll love!”

“…yes, but who?” said Octavia. She didn’t often get annoyed by Paperweight’s… flightiness… but she was being unusually ditzy. “Have I heard of her before?”

“Sure!”

Octavia changed topics. “I wasn’t aware that there were concerts of this nature at this hour… I had thought they were mostly conducted at night. But it is nine in the morning. Why is this one so early?”

Paperweight shrugged again.

Octavia frowned, starting to wonder if something was amiss. Paperweight could be silly, but she was usually more responsive than this. She began to tug her friend to the side of the room, away from the speakers and other gear. “Are you alright? I—“

“Hey!” Paperweight twisted away from Octavia. “Where are you going? The show’s about to start!”

“I’m not leaving, Paperweight, I’d just like to talk to you.”

“But… but, no, we should stay here!” Paperweight grabbed Octavia’s leg and tried to hold her. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but you’re not acting normal.” She frowned. “And… it’s almost nine. Where are the other attendees? Are we the only ones?”

“You got that right!”

Octavia spun, and saw Thrash Metail walking out from the back. “You!”

“Yep! Can’t keep a good pony down.” Thrash spun his guitar, grinning malevolently. “But Paperweight’s right, Octy. You’ll love this music. I promise.”

Octavia realized that she hadn’t told Paperweight about how Thrash achieved his meteoric success. Still, her letter had specifically said that it was a rival of Thrash’s, not Thrash himself. “You said it wasn’t him!” snapped Octavia at Paperweight, too angry for a moment to think properly. “You lied to me, and—“

Paperweight turned to her, face showing a blankly happy grin. “We’re gonna hear some awesome music!” she said, as if Octavia hadn’t spoken.

Octavia put it together. “Oh. Oh, oh no…” she looked between Thrash and Paperweight quickly. “He got to you, he used you to get me here, and…”

“Got it in one!” Thrash chuckled. “See, I knew you’d come around to my music if you just heard more of it. But you didn’t seem to want to come to my shows, and it’s not like I could do what I do on a recording, right?”

“You had no right!” snapped Octavia. “She did not agree to any of this, she is completely uninvolved.”

“Yeah, but look at her. She doesn’t mind it.” Thrash grinned. “In a few minutes, you won’t either.”

Octavia looked around. She was several feet away from Thrash, and the speakers were angled to blast between them – she couldn’t close the distance without getting closer to them, and getting hit with more of Thrash’s powers. But she was even further from the doors to the room. Running for it wasn’t going to work. Besides, she couldn’t just leave Paperweight behind.

So she just glowered at Thrash. “What do you want?”

“I want to play you some music, Tavi.”

“That isn’t my name,” growled Octavia.

Paperweight nudged her. “Hey! Don’t be mean to him! He went to a lot of trouble to set this up!”

Octavia didn’t respond to that.

Thrash smirked and continued. “Whatever. I want to play you a few of my newest pieces. I’m sure, by the end, you’ll have completely changed your mind about me!”

“Yeah! And then you can tell Luna and all the nobles about how great he is!” urged Paperweight.

“Never,” hissed Octavia. “There’s no point to this, Thrash. You’ve had me under your spell before. It didn’t last.”

“It’ll last long enough,” said Thrash, floating his guitar in front of him. “Besides, last time, I didn’t know how tough you were. This time, I’m going all out.”

“It won’t matter! I don’t recommend artists unless I can explain why they merit it, and your music falls apart the moment anypony tries to understand it!” She scowled at him. “Even if I wanted to, I could never promote you to the Court. Besides, I don’t work for fools. If I came in like a zombie and began mindlessly repeating that they should listen to you, that would just cause the nobles and Princess Luna to wonder what happened to me, and if you were to blame.”

For a moment, Octavia thought she saw something spark in Thrash’s eyes – some indication that he knew his plan wouldn’t work. But then it was gone. “I’ll figure that out later. First step is showing you, Tavi, the error of your ways.’

Octavia put her front hooves to her hears, but then Paperweight tackled her. “No! You need to listen!” She dragged Octavia’s front hooves away, leaving her ears undefended.

“Get off me!” Octavia was strong, stronger than most other ponies that she knew of. It came from being an earth pony who carried around an instrument that weighed more than she did most of the time. But Paperweight was amped up on Thrash’s music and was fighting Octavia as if her life depended on it. Try as she might, Octavia couldn’t yank her limbs away from her friend.

While the two wrestled, Thrash grinned, and then began to play.

Octavia tried to brace herself, but it was no use.

A torrent of sound blasted forth from the speakers, smashing into the struggling mares and sending Octavia far, far away.

The drums pounded, filling the air with a slowly building energy. Thrash’s guitar weaved between the drumbeats, tying them together and extirpating any moments of silence between them. Musically, it was terrible – endless buildup, no variation, no shading, no themes, not even any melody. But magically, Octavia couldn’t help but feel the energy filling her mind. Making her want to get up and dance… dance forever, before Thrash and his guitar.

“THIS!” roared Thrash Metail, “Is what I’m talking about!”

This isn’t real! Octavia thought, desperately. This isn’t real, none of this is real. It’s all fake, magic and noise, nothing’s real in it! I have to fight it!

But Thrash was good at magic, if nothing else, and Octavia found it increasingly hard to hold on even to her own thoughts. She kept falling, feeling herself being subsumed by the music, only pulling away at the last instant, and each time falling a little further, taking longer to break her mind away from his twisted enchantments.

Usually, when she was listening to something that she didn’t want to hear, she was able to distract herself by thinking of other, better music that she had heard or played before. She tried that now, recalling symphonies and concertos that she had played and loved, but to no effect. Thrash’s music was so different from what she remembered that she couldn’t focus on both at once, and the sheer volume of his music made it impossible for her to retreat entirely inside her own head and ignore him entirely. Whenever she tried, a smash of the drums or a screech from his guitar swept aside any classical themes and returned her attention to Thrash’s metal.

She began trying to drag herself closer to Thrash, but Paperweight was on her back, and between her excess weight and the strength of the music, she wasn’t able to approach the musician. She remained stuck, paralyzed, helpless to stop Metail from continuing to pour music and magic through the speakers as powerfully as he could.

“It’s an illusion,” she whispered, feeling her body tensing more and more, noting her own yearning to have Thrash keep playing forever. “It’s just lies…”

But they were quite convincing lies. The comments of the nobility when manipulating each other, the fast-talk of conponies, the patter of showmares, they were nothing compared to this. Octavia wanted to believe that it was divine, brilliant music. The drums and guitar sounded so incredibly good that she needed it to be true. Even knowing what she knew, she could feel herself yearning to cast aside all conscious thought and just… wallow in it, like Paperweight and all of Thrash’s other fans were doing. Just let it wash over her and consume her, and render her another euphoric zombie.

Octavia managed to raise herself up off the floor, despite Paperweight’s half-restraint, half-hug. She brought up one hoof, then slammed it to the ground, hoping that a flash of pain – or a burst of noise – could help to disrupt Thrash’s illusion. But it was of no use. The pain and the noise both felt distant, as if they came from very far away, certainly not noticeable enough to distract her from Thrash’s power.

Thrash grinned. “Give it up, Tavi. You can’t even stand. Just give in.”

Octavia didn’t dignify that with a response. “Paperweight,” she hissed, unable to speak louder thanks to the music, “Get off of me.”

Paperweight didn’t even seem to hear her. She appeared to be humming something from Thrash’s work.

“Paperweight, please…” hissed Octavia.

Something in her voice seemed to disrupt Paperweight out of her trance. She blinked. “Huh?”

Thrash frowned, then blasted another few notes with his guitar. Whatever Octavia had been about to say to Paperweight was drowned out in the noise, and by the time she could speak again, Paperweight was humming merrily.

And so Octavia lay there, immobile, as Thrash continued to play.

It felt like hours had passed.

The room was windowless, so Octavia couldn’t track time by the progression of the sun. There weren’t any clocks, either, and Octavia wasn’t wearing a watch. But it felt like some great length of time had elapsed. If nothing else, she had rarely been this weary, and that included the times after her longest and most difficult performances, the ones where she had virtually collapsed upon completion. Thrash’s music wasn’t just energizing to listen to, it was enervating to resist.

Octavia was weakening. She knew that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything but Thrash’s twisted music, to distract herself, or to fight it off and explain to herself why it wasn’t any good. It was becoming increasingly difficult, for that matter, to think.

Thrash still looked fresh, though. He looked like he could stand there and play all day. Of course, managed Octavia, in a flash of sardonic annoyance. It’s not even real music, no effort is required… can’t imagine any real musician would still be going after so long with this kind of music… not even Crescendo…

The thought of Crescendo struck a chord with her, though she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t even think of what that mare’s works sounded like, at this point. ‘Better than this,’ that was about all she had. Beyond that, she might as well have never heard them…

That’s not true. I don’t forget performances… my memory’s not perfect, but good music, I remember it. She craned her head up with substantial effort, looking at Thrash, who had sat down and was drinking something as he used his magic to drive his guitar. I know what Crescendo’s music sounds like. I just need to think of it. Think…

Thrash did something moderately tricky with his drums, having the sticks move from one to the other to make an effect that, for another musician, could have led to something interesting. That did seem vaguely familiar. Octavia let her body drop to the ground, temporarily giving up the effort to move, and directed all her energy towards thinking of why.

Yes. Crescendo played something similar, in her concert… Octavia managed to dredge up the memory. Crescendo had done this drum solo near the end of her concert, but of course she’d done much more. She’d had a melodic line with the guitar that seemed to almost skip off the drums, bouncing into a more and more intricate melody that had actually been quite brilliant to listen to.

Octavia smiled slightly, able to ‘hear’ the melodic line, as if superimposed over Thrash’s banging and screeching. Thrash’s music was completely incompatible with the classical music that Octavia had tried to distract herself with earlier, but there were elements that sounded almost similar to what Crescendo had played. And analyzing music, finding similar themes between different works, was a substantial part of what Octavia did. She could hear, in Metail’s music, a pale, inept reflection of Crescendo’s.

If he’d been good, if his music was distinctively his own, Octavia wasn’t sure what she would have done. But such was not the case. A mediocre musician, a sad imitation of his peers, and the music of those peers – or at least, the one peer that Octavia was familiar with it – could be heard, in some diminished form, in every note.

Metail played, but Octavia heard Crescendo, and after a few minutes, she began to get up.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Thrash staring at her. Crescendo, there, she’d have some kind of melodic bridge… yes, a bridge, maybe with a harmonic line descending, for contrast… The music played through her head, the crashing coming from the speakers important only as a source of ‘inspiration,’ if one could call it that.

“Get down!” yelled Thrash, beginning to play faster, more loudly.

Octavia froze, the increased volume helping to batter through the music in her head. No… no, this isn’t the real tune. There’d be a melodic bridge, a descending harmonic line…

She began, slowly, to take a step towards Thrash. Unfortunately, this put her more in line with the speakers, but that couldn’t be helped. Ten more steps, and she’d be past them, and then the only thing between her and Thrash would be his guitar.

Thrash continued to play more loudly, practically banging on his drums. Octavia felt herself slowing, unable to get past the almost tangible wall of sound battering at her body and mind. She scowled at Thrash, who at last seemed appropriately nervous. Want to… throttle him… but I can’t get there…

They stayed in stalemate for five minutes, Octavia unable to progress, Thrash unable to drive her back. And now, Octavia observed, he was in fact starting to sweat. He couldn’t handle this kind of speed or volume for long. Pathetic…

But she couldn’t handle this for much longer either. Already, the louder music was beginning to drive into her head. It was growing harder to focus on Crescendo, on good metal, instead of Thrash’s noise. It was as if she was listening to a record which was starting to fall apart.

Sweating, Octavia raised a hoof, but couldn’t advance and could only set it back down. Thrash smiled, a desperate grin. The wall of sound kept pushing Octavia back.

What… what would go here? Gotta keep thinking of good music, of what good music would sound like instead of this. There’d be a few chords, something sung in a high pitch – upper D – and then a crash or something, to end the line, that’s one way metal does cadences…

A crash.

Octavia could make a crash.

When she picked up the chair, it wasn’t with conscious thought anymore. Octavia had devoted untold hours into producing the perfect sounds on any stage. She had long since trained her body such that, when she wanted a sound, she didn’t need to think about exactly how to articulate it. She just wanted, and her body moved.

What she wanted was a smash – something to punctuate the end of Metail’s latest verse, since he wasn’t going to do it himself. And her body reacted in the way it knew. Whatever the cost, perform the correct sound. That was all there was to do.

She heard, rather than saw, herself bending over and picking up the chair next to her. And she heard Thrash cry out ‘no!’ as she flung it directly into the nearest speaker.

The resulting destruction was certainly a suitable ‘crash.’

Thrash stared at her for a moment, then turned and ran.

Octavia sprang after him, growling savagely. His music was done, now, he wasn’t playing, and she was free. “I will crush you!” she roared, as she sprinted across the sitting room. “There won’t be enough of you left to bury!”

Thrash fled the room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Octavia ran right up to it, spun, and bucked the door off its hinges. She smiled as she heard the crash beneath her hooves, imagining how Thrash must be feeling. “There’s no use—“ she began to call.

She saw Paperweight.

The page looked like she had no idea what was going on. She looked kind of woozy, actually, but then again, she’d spent some unknown length of time having her mind melted by Thrash Metail. But she was on the ground, looking confused and horrified and vaguely sick.

“Octavia?” she whispered. “Where am I?”

Octavia glanced over her shoulder to see Thrash sprinting for the end of the hallway. She paused for a moment, torn between getting revenge on Thrash and seeing what she could do for Paperweight. If he gets away, he could hurt others. And he hurt me; he has to pay for that. I need to—

“Octavia?” whimpered Paperweight. “Please, help me… I don’t feel good…”

Octavia shut her eyes, forcing herself to focus. Her career, and more than that, had been saved by her friends before. She couldn’t accept that gift of theirs, then abandon one of her own friends. It would be dishonest. Besides… she didn’t want Paperweight to be hurt. They were friends, and friends looked out for each other. And she didn’t know if Paperweight might suffer more negative effects from Thrash’s music, or if he might have conducted her, while she was under his spell, to do anything crazy as a final act if she came out of it. She needed Octavia’s help.

Thrash wasn’t worth abandoning her for.

So she approached Paperweight, pausing to smash Thrash’s other speaker on the way. “Paperweight. We need to get out of here. Can you stand?”

Paperweight tried, but her legs didn’t seem able to support her. Octavia wondered how long she’d been stuck listening to his music. Had she slept at all? Probably not, Octavia decided.

“I—“ Paperweight began.

“It’s okay. I’ll carry you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Paperweight, not seeming to know what she was apologizing for. “I… did I do something wrong? You looked so angry…”

“It wasn’t your fault. We’ll talk about it later.”

“I…” Paperweight tried to stand again, but fell over. Octavia caught her, then helped her climb onto Octavia’s back. “Hey, wait… ponies will laugh.”

“So?” Octavia straightened. Paperweight weighed about the same as her cello and case, so she wasn’t hard to lift. “Are you worried that it would cause you or Viceroy Night Light political embarrassment?”

“No, but I mean… won’t you look silly?”

“I care about how I sound. How I look, unless it embarrasses Princess Luna, is immaterial… and from what I know of her, she would far rather I help you in this way than let you suffer for the sake of ‘propriety.’ It doesn’t matter to me.” She began to walk out of the room. “Do you want me to take you to your quarters?”

Paperweight’s stomach rumbled. “Er… I think what I need most now is a hot meal…”

“Then we’ll get food somewhere.” Octavia tried to put as much happiness into her voice as she could, though she was still mostly just furious at Thrash. “Don’t worry. We’ll find somewhere.”

Paperweight had seemed out of it, but a liberal application of donuts and hot chocolate at Doughtnut Joe’s perked her back up. By her third donut, she was giggling and eating with gusto.

Octavia smiled slightly. She hadn’t ordered anything, as nothing in the bakery met her rigorous dietary standards, but she was pleased to see Paperweight enjoying the food. “Can I ask you some questions? About what happened?”

Paperweight nodded. “I really don’t remember much, though… it was like, one minute, I’m looking at Thrash in the cantina, and then the next, I’m with you in his house.”

So that was the ‘other place in the city’ Thrash had mentioned a few nights ago. Octavia looked at the clock in the bakery, which showed that it was half past eleven. Thrash had held Octavia captive for over two hours. No wonder I’m so tired… and Paperweight too… “When did you go to the cantina?”

“Let’s see… I’d just finished working at Viceroy Night Light’s dinner. So maybe eleven at night? I went pretty much straight there… I think I was there before midnight.”

“And he probably played at you for most of that time, since it would have worn off otherwise.” Octavia shook his head. “He’s got dedication, but he channels it in all the wrong ways.”

“Did I do something bad?” Paperweight asked. She slowly put the donut she was eating down. “Because I don’t get why you were there, unless I told you to go there or you wanted to rescue me…”

“Thrash brainwashes ponies with magic that he puts in his music,” Octavia said. “Usually, he just does it to make them think it’s good – I transcribed some of it, and it’s mediocre at best, but because of his spells ponies love it. But he made you write me a letter to get me to come to his house. He knew I would never willingly go to any of his concerts again, not after I confronted him and told him that I knew how his music really worked, but he also knew that I would trust you and would go to an address that you told me to go to.” She took the note out of her saddlebag, which she had retrieved before leaving Thrash’s house. “This note.”

Paperweight looked at it. “This is my hoofwriting, but I don’t remember writing it…” She let her head sink down. “I’m sorry, Octavia.”

“Don’t be. If anypony is to blame – besides Thrash – it is myself.” Octavia frowned. “I knew what Thrash was doing, but when I heard he canceled all his upcoming concerts, I had thought he had learned his lesson… that he would stop using his Euphoria spells, or at least start advertising that was what he was doing. I didn’t think he would do this, and so I didn’t warn you.”

“Yeah, but I still wrote you that note. If what you’re saying is true… and I guess it is; I can’t remember a single thing from last night, even though I know he played for me for hours… I let him brainwash me. And… and I guess you were able to fight it off, and I wasn’t.” The page frowned. “Are you sure you’re not mad? I heard you have really, really high standards for that kind of thing…”

“I have learned the difference between high standards and unrealistic ones.” Octavia looked away, debating what to say next. Eventually, the truth won out. “There was a time… a time perhaps not long ago, that I would have reacted as you just said. I would have castigated myself, for falling under Thrash’s spell for any length of time, and you, for the same. But I have learned… I would be wrong to think that.” She shook her head. “You are a good friend in ways too numerous to list. You treat your friendships as seriously as you do your official duties, and I know how seriously you take those. I would be in the wrong if I judged that to be unimportant, if I judged you to be irredeemably fallen, because you were used as a pawn by a powerful magician.”

Paperweight grinned. “Thanks… you really know just what to say.”

Octavia smiled slightly in response.

“So… what now?” asked Paperweight.

“When do you next have official duties?”

“I need to check the page roster by one… that’s when I go on duty next.”

Octavia checked the clock. “We should make statements to the Guards. Thrash has to have broken the law with that last stunt of his. He should be found and arrested. I also need to write a letter to Notes on Notes, and any other music publications in the city… you would probably know better than I which publications exist that discuss metal music. I want to make very sure that everypony knows about him, so he cannot catch any other ponies unaware.”

Paperweight nodded. “Okay. And then what?”

“After that… sleep, I would think, at least for myself. I play for Luna tonight, and I need to be ready. You should sleep too, unless you have duties precluding that. We can talk more later tonight.”

“Maybe we can go to a real concert, without a crazy musician.”

“That would be fun,” agreed Octavia. “Or… if you want, I’m composing a new work. I rarely do this, but I’d be interested in getting feedback from you. I know how comprehensive your musical knowledge is—“

“Yes!” said Paperweight, all apparent exhaustion gone. “Yes, yes, yes! Thanks!”

Octavia couldn’t help but smile at that. “Perfect. It will be nice to return to real music… leave Metail’s forgotten, in the trash, where it belongs.”

Thrash Metail nervously peered out from his hideout, then slammed the door shut.

“This is terrible!” he hissed. “Now what? They’ll go to the Guards, and both of them are real big politically, so I can’t even bribe the Guards to let this go!” Octavia was Luna’s personal composer, and the other one, Paperweight, she worked for some bigshot named Lights Out or something. They’d come after him.

“I’ve gotta get out of town. Now, before they get roadblocks set up. Just… go to Manehattan or Las Pegasus or something. Somewhere they don’t know me.”

And give up? The thought flitted across his mind. I wanted to rule the musical world. That was why I did everything I did to get to this point. I leave now, I can’t ever come back…

“I don’t have any choice! Octavia’ll probably get Luna to sic her Night Guards on me! Even if she doesn’t, I’ll never get a venue again! Everrypony listens to her! She won’t let anypony hire me to play at their club or concert hall! And without that, my records won’t sell, and…”

So marginalize her. I can do that. A frontal assault didn’t work, but what if I come at her the other way?

Thrash frowned. What did that even mean?

She gains credibility because the Court backs her. Convert the Court first.

“Chicken and the egg problem, then,” muttered Thrash. “I need her to get the Court. They won’t listen to somepony like me otherwise. Bunch of old geezers; not like they know what modern music is.”

There’s other ways to get them to listen to me besides asking first.

The inklings of an idea began forming in Thrash’s head – but it was a bad idea, one he clamped down on almost before it formed. “No way,” he muttered. “That’s insane. They’d send me to jail for sure. Either I leave, or I find some other way.”

But the thought remained, sitting in his head. He could get everything he ever wanted, and with those kind of rewards, wasn’t a little risk acceptable?

Thrash groaned and flung himself on the cheap bed. I want to be known as the best musician in the world… I need to be known as the best musician anywhere. Is that so much? That’s what every single musician wants, Octavia and all the others, I just found a shortcut, but it’s not like they wouldn’t use it too. If I offered to sell them what I could do, all those fancy-schmancy artists would be tripping over themselves to get it.

His leg brushed his guitar, and he began to play it, his gaze hardening. And I’ll do it too. This is just a small setback. I’ll figure something out. Like…

Okay, first, it might be best to just face the music with the Guards. Octavia had no proof of what he’d done, after all. And he’d be able to move more freely if he wasn’t a fugitive. He could take an annoying interview and a few Guards trying to interrogate him. They’d let him go in the end.

So do that, clear suspicion from himself, and then…

The nobles…

He knew it was a risky idea, but it just would not go away.

Author's Note

Thrash doesn't give up easy, does he? He just doubles down and goes even higher.

I debated having Octavia, in a rage, almost attack Paperweight, but I decided to be unusually nice to those two. Given what's going to be coming up, they deserve it.

We're starting to get near the climax, with Thrash's most risky, dramatic scheme about to get unleashed. I would estimate we have three to four or so more chapters, and at least two more metal songs. One of them you've heard of, one you probably haven't, unless you played a certain video game franchise. Which you should. For it is awesome.

My Little World

“This journalist is a jerk!” complained Paperweight. “You oughta give him a piece of your mind.”

Octavia glanced at the paper, looking at it over her morning – and therefore, pre-bedtime – meal of oatmeal and fruit. “What happened?”

A few days had passed since Thrash had attacked them. Both Octavia and Paperweight had gone to the Guards and given full statements, and the Guards had promised that they would look into the matter. Since then, there had been no sound from Thrash, and Octavia had allowed herself to hope that the metal musician had either been arrested, or had gotten the hint and given up for good. She’d certainly been able to fill her time without him; she’d recorded the music that Luna had asked for, and was making great progress on her ‘Iron Mare’ style composition. She had also picked up a concert request from Vicereine Wallflower; the pony liked very subtle, understated music, and even Octavia had to practice a bit more than usual to be able to produce the required shading. It would be much easier for her if Thrash had just surrendered and gone home.

But it was not to be. “Thrash vindicated!” read the article in Notes on Notes. “Despite a persistent harassment campaign from the city’s musical elites, rising star Thrash Metail remains unbowed and undaunted. With even the city Guards, no friend of his, forced to concede that these latest allegations against him are baseless, Thrash is once again free to perform the music that the ponies of Canterlot just can’t get enough of!”

Paperweight snatched the paper back. “This is so unfair! They say that you’re just jealous of his success, and that you hate all music that isn’t three hundred years old and written by old dead ponies with white wigs, and—“

“I don’t care what they say about me. Those who hear my music will know the truth about me. Those who don’t, I can’t waste my time worrying about them.” Octavia sighed. “They have a point. I wish it were otherwise, but we had no evidence against Thrash. Just our word.”

“Yeah, but your word’s supposed to be really good,” said Paperweight, crossing her forelegs.

“The Guards can’t take that into consideration. And… maybe this will be a wake-up call, to help get him off of his current course. With the Guards watching him now, I don’t think even he would be foolish enough to use his Euphoria magic. Honestly, if he stops attacking us, and stops pretending to be somepony he isn’t, I don’t really care if he goes to jail or not. I just want it to be done with. So I don’t need to think about him anymore.”

“Well… alright, what do you want to think about?” chirped Paperweight.

Octavia couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “My current composition… my upcoming performances… and my newfound resolution to see more concerts in the city.” Her eyes sparkled; she had made a discovery earlier that night that she wanted to share with her friend. “Are you on duty tonight?”

“Uh… I think I’m scheduled for it, but I haven’t taken any vacation yet. I’m sure the Viceroy would let me take a night off if I cleared it with him in advance. Why?”

“Did you know that Frederick Horseshoepin is giving a special performance this evening?”

Paperweight’s eyes widened. “But… I thought he was doing his big foreign tour?”

“He is, but he’s moving through Equestria on his way to Zaldia. He got in to Canterlot last night; he’s leaving again in a couple of days. He was going to take the time off, but one of the nobles prevailed on him to give a concert with some of his most notable works. It’s small, invitation only, and it will mostly be an audience of nobles… but, thanks to my position, I am entitled to a complimentary ticket or two. If you want…”

Paperweight’s grin almost split her face in half. “I – I could go to a Frederick Horseshoepin concert? His concerts sell out months in advance!”

“If you’re available,” said Octavia, smiling teasingly.

“Sure! I’ll clear it with the Viceroy.” Paperweight looked like she was struggling to avoid bouncing up and down in glee. “Oh wow! Thank you so much, Octavia! I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you!”

“Just promise me we can discuss the music later,” said Octavia. She finished her food and rose to bus her dishes. “I find your insights interesting. You know such a wide breadth of music—“

Paperweight blushed. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

They continued to talk as they made their way up to Octavia’s quarters. Octavia opened the door and looked at the few pieces of mail under it. “If you’re willing to wait a few moments while I make sure I don’t have any urgent mail, I can look up the venue address for Frederick’s concert.”

“Sure, sure… hey, you’re on a first name basis with him?”

“We performed together… last year, I believe. He’s a very kind pony,” said Octavia, flipping through her mail. “We performed a concerto for piano and cello, and a suite for—“

She froze, staring at one of the letters.

“What? What is it?” Paperweight asked.

“That arrogant, conceited…” hissed Octavia. She slammed the letter against the wall. “It’s Thrash.”

Paperweight gasped. “What? What does he want now?”

“I’m tempted to burn it and never find out,” said Octavia. But she took a few deep breaths. “…no. The last time he wanted me and couldn’t contact me, he attacked you.”

“Wait,” interjected Paperweight. “I mean, uh, I’m tough. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It’s fine.” Octavia tore open the letter and glanced at the first few lines. “He wants to meet and talk. Public place, full view of the Guards, so I know he can’t use his magic on me…” She scowled and looked away. “I want to be done with him.”

“Don’t go,” said Paperweight.

“I don’t plan to.” She shook her head. “I do not respond to threats. I will take this to the Guards and make it known that Thrash is harassing me. This must stop.”

“Yeah!” Paperweight nodded her head. “He’s just a bad pony. It’s ridiculous that he’s asking you to talk to him, after everything he did!”

Octavia nodded.

“Did he even say what he wants to talk about?”

Octavia glanced back at the letter. “Yes.” She began to read. “’You’ve beaten me twice now. I’m starting to think you might be right; that the way I’m doing this isn’t going to work. I want to talk with you about that. If what I’m doing isn’t working, if it’s just going to get me arrested and won’t help me improve, I don’t want to do it. But I don’t know any other way…” She stared. “Does he expect me to believe that he’s never heard of ‘practicing?’”

But something in the letter seemed to catch in her mind. There was a time, she thought, When I was also corrupt. When I also thought I had found a shortcut, and set aside my morals for the sake of my music. I was saved because of my friends… because they saved me even when I didn’t think I was worth saving. Does Thrash have friends?

She frowned, and shook her head. That didn’t matter. Thrash had done much worse than she ever had. Octavia had never lied about her ability, and she’d never cast a spell on anypony to brainwash them. The similarities were only superficial.

But as the Court Musician, as one who influences music and its practitioners in this city, if there’s a chance to rescue a musician… and wouldn’t it be shameful, if I let others help me, go to all that trouble and risk to save me, and then turn around and let others suffer, and do nothing for them?

“Hey,” said Paperweight. “Are you okay? You look kind of out of it.”

“I’m fine,” said Octavia. “I’m just thinking…”

She looked at the letter again. She knew the chances of him being sincere were remote. But if there was even a chance, and she failed to take it…

“Besides,” she mused. “I know he can’t control me now. I know how to fight off his music. He couldn’t beat me with two mounted speakers; he can’t do it with just his guitar, in an open, noisy environment… with a hundred others to worry about besides.”

“Are you going?” asked a confused Paperweight.

“I don’t know,” said Octavia.

Paperweight peered over Octavia’s shoulder to read the note closer. “Do you think he’s serious? About wanting to be… not evil?”

“I don’t know.”

Paperweight thought for a moment. “Well, if you do go, I’m coming with.”

Octavia opened her mouth to object.

“Hey, we’re friends, right? Like I’m going to let you deal with this nutjob on your own. You’d insist on going if you thought I was going to see him alone, right?”

“Well, yes…” Octavia trailed off, then smiled. “I’d be honored if you accompanied me.”

In an hour, Paperweight and Octavia entered the crowded bookshop that Thrash had specified.

Thrash was waiting for them in the music section, guitar strapped to his back but in its case. He put down the score he was leafing through when Octavia approached. “Hey.”

“What do you want, Thrash?” asked Octavia.

Thrash smirked. “You’re real businesslike, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.” Octavia took out the letter from her saddlebag. “If you’re serious about wanting to change your ways, I might be able to help you. But if you just want to brag, or threaten, I have no time for you.”

“Hey, hold on!” Thrash put up a hoof to ward off Octavia’s criticisms. “Look. Before that. I need to know – how are you doing it?”

“What?”

“Fighting it!” Thrash gestured at his guitar. His voice had begun to sound genuinely nervous. “You don’t understand. Nopony’s supposed to be able to fight it. How are you different?”

Octavia frowned. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because – look. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” His body language, Octavia thought, was strange; he seemed to almost be cringing away from the guitar on his back. “I just know it isn’t working. Are you using some spell of your own? A true-hearing spell? Earplugs?”

“Nothing like that.” Octavia frowned. “Thrash. I have trained in music for almost the entirety of my life. I have spent thousands of hours studying and analyzing music. Yours cannot bear analysis, and I am able to hear understand that at such a level that the superficial magic has no effect on me. That’s all there is to it.”

“But that’s not enough!” Octavia stared; Thrash was starting to sweat. The guitarist continued: “I know there’s more to it. I’ve dealt with classical musicians before. None of them were like you!”

“All I can tell you is what I know,” said Octavia. “But if you truly cared about music, you’d be able to hear it for yourself too. You would hear what I can hear; that your music is mediocre noise, papered over with your magic. There’s no secret involved.”

Thrash seemed even more nervous at that. One hoof rose and stroked the guitar a few times, as if Thrash was considering picking up the case and hitting Octavia with it. But he lowered his hoof, the action seeming to calm him. “Fine, whatever. Guess you’re just real strong.”

“I suppose.”

“Well, then let me ask you this – why’d you say you’d oppose me?” Thrash scowled. “So you don’t like my music. So you think it sucks. Who cares? I don’t like classical stuff; you don’t see me calling you out.”

“It isn’t that your music is not to my tastes. It is that you lie about it.” Octavia shook her head. “I am the Court Musician. I consider it part of my job to make sure that the music – in the Court, in this city, insofar as I can manage it, in the country – is good, and honest, and true. Those who like music are—“

“So? It’s not your problem! You and your stupid audience doesn’t even like metal!” snapped Thrash. “You could have just left me alone!”

“First of all, I’ve no opposition to that genre, only bad performances within it,” said Octavia. “And second, it doesn’t matter. What you do disgraces metal music, which means it disgraces music in general. As far as I am able, I will not permit that.”

The two stared at each other. Thrash brushed his guitar case again, but again let it remain resting on his back. “Disgrace? How’s that?”

“You present mediocre music as virtuosic brilliance. You lie. You put no effort—“

“Hey!” Now Thrash sounded genuinely angry. “Don’t you dare say that! I’ve put in plenty of effort.”

“Do you honestly expect—“ Octavia paused, forcing herself to lower her voice. She represented Luna; she couldn’t be getting into shouting matches in public. “Do you expect me to believe that you practice frequently?”

“I put the effort in… in advance,” said Thrash. “But I worked very hard. I promise.”

Octavia frowned, trying to figure out what that meant. “…you mean, when you learned the Euphoria spell.”

“When I got that ability, yeah. Took me a year to get that.” Thrash stuck out a hoof. “And it wasn’t just pretty little exercises in some nice heated practice room. I had to go on a whole big journey. You don’t know what I went through, what I had to do. I had to make sacrifices. Do things you’d never understand…”

Octavia thought. “I see. You did something you regret, something you’re ashamed of. And now you can’t bear to get off of your current course, because it would mean it was all for nothing.”

“Did I say ashamed?” snapped Thrash. “No way. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve ever done.”

“Given some of the things I’ve seen you do, that’s a problem,” said Octavia.

Thrash shook his head. “Look, what do you want from me? I want the exact same thing you do; to get to the top of the profession. I tried it your way, with… with practicing, and stuff… and it didn’t work. If my way, which is just as hard and taxing as anything you do, works for me, that should be good enough. Not like I’d expect you to understand—“

“Understand what? Wanting to take a shortcut, cut corners, in order to progress in our profession?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that, but—“

“I can understand it.” Octavia took a breath. “I—“

She heard a pony move slightly besides her, and remembered with a start that Paperweight was still there – silent, like the trained page she was, but still present. She hesitated. She had never told Paperweight this; it had never come up. It wasn’t like it was a secret, but still, if Paperweight knew, she might disdain her, and—

Stop it. I don’t lie. If Paperweight changes her opinion of me because of this, it is her right… although I hope she won’t. She’s a good friend. I’m sure she won’t. And I—

“Yeah?” sneered Thrash. “How? How can you understand?”

Octavia shut her eyes. “I made the same decision, once.”

Thrash said nothing for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“I was a virtuoso-level cellist, but I could not get the venues I desired.” Octavia opened her eyes and caught Thrash’s gaze. “I was unwilling to wait and take the usual routes, beginning in school auditoriums, parks, and mid-tier weddings, slowly gaining more and more prestigious postings, eventually playing before the nobles regularly after… oh, ten, perhaps five years of effort. A rich, powerful pony told me that, if I did him some political favors, helped him obtain the services of some other ponies, he could get me what I wanted. Performers in the grandest halls, before the grandest audiences.”

Octavia paused for a moment before continuing – she still hated to think on this, but she had to keep going. “It was the worst decision I ever made. Make no mistake, the things I was asked to do were evil. In the end, I was stopped by a friend, before I could do permanent harm. I will forever be grateful to her for that… and for her subsequent help, in saving me from the consequences of my own folly, and rescuing me from the grip of that other pony. I could not have redeemed myself and risen to where I am without her aid. But yes, Thrash, I know plenty about the temptation to cheat to become an accomplished musician.”

Thrash was staring at her with an odd mix of dread, guilt, and… a shadow of hope? “Is there a point to this stupid story?” he managed.

“Two, actually. The first is, I know how hard it is to resist that sort of temptation. And I know that, just because a pony has fallen into corruption does not mean they are irrevocably wicked. If you… if you turn from your path, abandon your attempts to use magic to brainwash your audiences, and begin seriously trying to become a skilled musician, I will help you if I can. I am not a metal musician, but I can assist you in finding teachers, a physical trainer, obtaining scores… whatever you need. If you are willing to make a sincere effort, then I can help.”

“And the second point?”

“I realize now that my friend was right to save me from myself. But I also understand that she was absolutely right to stop me from doing harm. If you continue on your path… I will stop you. Whatever it takes.” Octavia’s eyes flashed. “I keep my word now. You may rely on that promise.”

Thrash stared at her, and for a moment, Octavia thought she saw something in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something. He backed up a step, as if trying to stall for time, and –

And he tripped and fell on his rump, his guitar case bouncing against his head. He winced, and when he opened his eyes, the moment was gone.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it. You tell a pretty good tale; you shoulda been a bard,” said Thrash.

“Thrash—“

“Seriously, I’ll think about it!” Thrash began to trot off. “No worries, I’ll even let you know before I schedule any other concerts. See you, Tavi.”

Octavia didn’t even bother correcting how he pronounced her name. She just sighed and watched him go. She wanted to go to sleep.

But there was something else she had to do first. “Paperweight?”

“Yes?” said the page.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you earlier, about what I did—“

“Why would you?” asked Paperweight. “I haven’t told you every bad thing I did either. Ugh, can you imagine how awful that conversation would be?”

“I… I should have told you, though. You see, I—“

Paperweight moved in front of her. “Hey, wait a minute. Whatever it was that you did, you wouldn’t do it now, right?”

“No—“

“And the pony you were going to do it to, she forgave you?”

“Yes—“

“Then I don’t need to know.” Paperweight smiled. “You’re a really good friend, Octavia. You’ve really looked out for me, and I trust you. You don’t need to tell me about it if you don’t want to.”

Octavia blushed slightly. “I…”

“Of course, this also means I don’t need to tell you about things like the time I ate all the ice cream in the castle.”

“I – wait, all of it?”

Paperweight grinned. “Well, not by myself. Somepony bet me it couldn’t be done, so I put together a big team of a bunch of pages and cleaning staff, and we listed all the kitchens and made a big strategy plan, and…” She chuckled at Octavia’s expression. “Feeling better?”

“You always know just what to say.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?”

“…was that ice cream story real?”

“Oh, maybe…”

Back in the castle, Paperweight said goodbye to Octavia, then began to trot off to Viceroy Night Light’s quarters.

First, she had to put in for time off that night. That way, she could go to the concert with Octavia. As long as nothing big was scheduled that night, she’d be able to take it off, so she just had to hope Viceroy Night Light hadn’t set anything big up for that night. After that, she had another thought, but she really had to take care of this first.

Paperweight entered Night Light’s office and saw Bellemane sitting at the desk. “Hi Bellemane! Filling in for the secretary?”

“Yeah, he was sick or something, so Night Light drafted me,” grumbled Bellemane. “I had plans, too. What do you want?”

“Oh, I just need to fill out a request to take a night off,” said Paperweight. “Octavia has an extra ticket to a Frederick Horseshoepin concert, and she said I could have it!” She let out a small ‘squee.’ “Do you have the paperwork?”

“Sure, here.” Bellemane slid a form over to her. “Wow, that sounds like a big concert.”

“It’s huge!”

Bellemane looked away. Paperweight thought she was scowling, but she dismissed that thought – she couldn’t conceive of Bellemane as being anything other than happy for her. “There’s nothing big going on tonight, right?”

“… let me check.” Bellemane flipped through the scheduling book. “Nope, nothing tonight. You’re in the clear.”

Paperweight filled out the form. “I’ll just wait for him to check in for the day, and…“

“I can give it to him. I’m here anyway,” said Bellemane.

“Really? Thanks! You’re the best.” Paperweight grinned. “I gotta go. See you later!” she scampered off.

Bellemane watched her go, then thought for a few moments. It’s not fair that she’s so favored. I do all the work that’s asked of me, but she makes me look bad by always going the extra mile, and somehow she gets all the big friends… it took me a year to get this posting, she got hers right out of the gate, and she’s friends with Luna’s musician and a famous metal star and… it’s not fair.

She tossed the request form into Night Light’s ‘in’ box. Instead of giving it to him now, like Paperweight had expected, Night Light would get it later that night… after Paperweight was already hours late for her shift. It would be judged to be Paperweight’s own fault, of course, for waiting so long to submit the request that a simple misfiling had prevented Night Light from getting it in time, and she could hardly protest that Bellemane had screwed up, when Paperweight was technically supposed to be the one who submitted it anyway. Paperweight would no longer be the golden mare, and maybe Bellemane or one of the others could move towards her spot.

“Now that I think about it,” she muttered, “There is, in fact, a really big meeting tonight… oh well. I’m sure the Viceroy won’t mind if you completely miss it.” She smirked, then returned to her work.

Paperweight entered the library, thinking with uncharacteristic seriousness.

She was good at noticing little details – in fact, it was her special talent. So she’d noticed a few things about Thrash. Whenever he’d seemed nervous, he’d calmed down after stroking or touching his guitar case. That was odd. And when he’d talked about his spell, he hadn’t said that he’d learned any magic (even though that was the language Octavia had used), but that he’d ‘gotten’ it.

Is it his guitar? Is that what’s letting him do what he’s doing? Is it ‘giving’ him his magic?

She didn’t want to tell Octavia her suspicions until she confirmed things; otherwise, she’d just worry her friend, and that would be a mean thing to do. But she was reasonably good at research; again, her talent for noticing details helped. So she’d just hit the books for a bit before bed. She wasn’t a musician at all, and she was aware that she was somewhat useless in any sort of music battle against Thrash, but she wanted to help. And this was something she could do, to make the life of her friend a little easier – and wasn’t that what was really important, anyway?

“Hi!” she chirped to the librarian. “I want to look up a magic guitar! Can you help me?”

“She’s nuts,” muttered Thrash. “She’s completely nuts. What can I do about that?”

I can’t give up now. Not after all I did. What does Octavia know?

“She can stop me. She—“

Talking to her was a mistake. What did I want to hear? Some way to beat her? No… I was just being a coward. Hoping she could be talked around, or that she’d show me why this wouldn’t work and give me an excuse not to do it. But there wasn’t any point. My plan is solid. I can beat her, and the way there is through the nobles.

“But what if she’s with them when I try?” Thrash muttered. “I can’t get through that thick skull of hers!”

Thrash found himself in a random club. Some band he didn’t know was playing; the crowd seemed to like it, which just deepened his scowl. He knew they’d never dance like that for him, if he didn’t use magic.

I went through all that to get this spell – and more! I practiced. I did things Octavia’s way. I practiced loads, I worked really hard, but never got anywhere. Nopony listened to me. Like she’d understand that.

Thrash nodded, glancing out into the club. No, he’d never gotten anywhere. Eventually, he’d had to admit it. But he wanted to be the best. He wanted to ascend and be known as a great music star, and he wouldn’t let anything stop him. He’d had to look for alternative routes. Couldn’t she see that?

It’d had taken a month of book study, of reading ancient legends in dusty tomes, and a year of journeying around the country to track down something that could help him. And, of course, when he returned, he found that nopony had waited for him. They’d all moved on. He’d returned triumphant, only to find that his family acted like he… like he abandoned them, or something. As if it would have been better if he’d locked himself in a room for a year to practice scales!

I gave up all that. My family, friends, marefriend, they all moved on. They all forgot me. Now Octavia wants me to give up the one thing I got in exchange? She has no right! I’ll do it my way, I’ll win, and I’ll take the Canterlot music world by storm!

The guitar, of course, was what he’d gotten in exchange. It was said to be one of the most powerful magical artifacts of its era, able to overcome the defenses of even the most able and skilled mages. It had been the perfect instrument for him, though it had cost so much to retrieve it. Supposedly, he should have been able to use it to take over anypony. Octavia was… different somehow, yes. Stronger. But he trusted in his instrument. If he used it right, if he figured it out, he could beat her. He had to beat her.

Still, she was frightfully strong, she’d beaten him at his best…

No. My new plan will take care of that. She’s only one mare; I can control an army. I can win by force of numbers. And without her in my way, nopony else will dare raise a hoof against me.

“Hey!”

Thrash turned to see the pony with the microphone pointing at him.

“Looks like we’ve got a celebrity! Hey, Thrash! Want to give us a riff or two?”

Thrash looked around. The crowd had about fifty ponies in it. Throw in four bouncers, a bartender, a couple miscellaneous staff, the other band… and the Guards. Four Guards were in the crowd. Probably off-duty; at least, he hoped they weren’t allowed to party like that while on-duty. But still, they were Guards. That meant they were tough.

If I can’t beat them, I’ve got no hope against Octavia. But still he tensed. He didn’t need to do this. He could leave. Bury the accursed guitar, get a real one, and…

“Come on, Thrash. Thought you’re the best in town?” called out the pony with the microphone.

Thrash scowled. “Yeah. I am. And I’ll show you.”

He got up on the stage. Forget it. This’ll be my test. If I can take these idiots, I can take the city. If not… back exit’s there, unguarded. Alright. Let’s go!

He took out his guitar, brought it up, smiled, and began.

”Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh…

He began to cast his spell as he played, letting the magic flow through the guitar and into the room. His horn glowed brightly, but nopony cared; even the Guards were going to be more focused on his guitar than his horn, at least at first.

He began to sing, feeling unusually moved.

”My little world!

And he jammed away, summoning his drums and rapping away at them, and using his guitar to drive it. He grinned, then began to sing, pouring all his frustrations – with Octavia, and all the others who were in his way – into his music. Even his guitar receded in prominence as he sang.

”My sight. My sound.
My struggle – for shared ground.
It’s safe, to say, they’ll try to take from me.
I’m just another colt for them to break down!

”Steeped in denial, the daily grind.
Dream of a world for ME and my kind.
It’s safe, in the, alternate reality—
So stick your standards where the sun doesn’t shi-i-i-ine!”

He began to sing more aggressively, focusing more on his words than on magic for the first time in a long time. He was tired, tired of mares like Octavia who just criticized, who got in his way and made his sacrifices meaningless. He was done with them, done listening to them. He’d just run them over if he had to.

”They’re for themselves, it doesn’t matter what they say!
Promise the world, then take it from you anyway!
They’ll break you down, making your vision fade away!
It’s time to go! GET OUTTA MY SPACE!”

And now he began to pour on the magic. He grinned, feeling the crowd falling under his spell. This was how it should be. This was how it had to be.

”Welcome to a world where the air I breathe is mine.
Nothing to overwhelm me and nothing to cloud my mind.
Be anycolt, do anything I’d ever want to try.
Time doesn’t exist here: my name will never die!
My little world… my little world… my little world… my little world…”

The crowd was clapping and cheering. Thrash grinned as his guitar hummed under his hooves. Why had he ever been afraid of Octavia, anyway? He still had more than enough power to deal with all those who got in his way.

”Explain the reasons? Explain the rhymes?
That’s not required, it’s out of mind.
It’s safe to try, no need to justify
Just follow me here at the end of the LINE!

”They’re for themselves, so they don’t matter anyway!
Promise the world, then take it back another day!
And break me down, making my vision fade away!
I’m done with them, so get off of my case!”

The Guards, too, were tapping their hooves and bouncing their heads to his beat. Thrash grinned. This guitar really was unstoppable. He cranked up the energy again, wanting to make sure they were entirely under his control:

”Welcome to a world where the air I breathe is mine.
Nothing to overwhelm me and nothing to cloud my mind.
Be anycolt do anything I’d ever want to try.
Time doesn’t exist here…
Slip into a world where the air I breathe is mine.
Nothing to overwhelm and nothing to cloud my mind.
But come with me into it and you know what you will find.
The greatest music in the world: it will never die!
My little world… my little world… my little world… my little world…”

He went into an extended solo, walking about the stage, continuing to play. He felt like he was in the groove, syncing perfectly with the audience. Certainly they were all clapping and cheering in perfect unison. Audience, band, bouncers, Guards… all of them. Could even a freak like Octavia fight this?

”My little world… my little world… my little world—
They’re for themselves, it doesn’t matter what they say!
It’s time to go! GET OUTTA MY WAY!”

He leapt off the stage and was caught by the crowd, which bore him around the room. He grinned, letting the crowd carry him. Now this was how the world should work!

”Welcome to a world where the air I breathe is mine.
Nothing to overwhelm me and nothing to cloud my mind.
Be anycolt, do anything I’d ever want to try.
Time doesn’t exist here…
Slip into a world where the air I breathe is mine.
Nothing to overwhelm and nothing to cloud my mind.
But come with me into it and you know what you will find.
The greatest music in the world: it will never die!”

He screamed, and the crowd screamed with him. They were ready to go take on the city for him. He laughed in exultation, and the guitar seemed to laugh with him. All was right with the world at last.

“You!” he yelled at a Guard. “Know of any big concerts tonight? Important ones, lot of nobles?”

“Uh…” He spoke slowly, as if from a distance, but did speak nonetheless. “Frederick Horseshoepin… famous pianist… nobles, Courtiers, important ponies…”

“Then that’s the plan! We’ll go to the venue, deal with Freddy, and then, when the nobles show up…” Thrash grinned. “We will give them a show they will never forget!”

Author's Note

Looks like Tavi and Thrash are both headed to the same place. The final battle between them will take place... soon!

Next time: we learn more about the history of Thrash's guitar and why it's so unusually powerful, Paperweight deals with Bellemane's machinations, and Octavia and Thrash prepare for their final battle. Thrash has his army of zombies on his side... Octavia has Paperweight, if she's available, and maybe Crescendo if she's feeling nice. Then again, Octavia's a great cellist, and Thrash is a hack with a magic instrument. Who shall be the victor?

Musicians of Canterlot

Octavia stepped out onto the streets of Canterlot and stretched. This, she thought, Is going to be a good evening.

Bitzet Theatre, the venue that Frederick Horseshoepin was performing at that night, was one of the most prestigious small concert halls in the city. Seating was limited to one hundred and fifty ponies, and if you weren’t a noble, or else very well known in the fine-arts scene, you couldn’t get in. Its fame was justified; only the best of the best performed in Bitzet Theatre, and Octavia had never heard of them having a bad show. Even Octavia, who had attended innumerable concerts, was always excited to attend one of their performances.

She sat in the café just across the street from Bitzet, sipping a cup of tea and waiting for Paperweight to arrive. The page had sent her a message saying that she was really sorry but she couldn’t meet her for tea before the show, as she was tied up in a research project. She had promised, though, to arrive on time for the actual show. Octavia had been a bit worried at first, since Bitzet was famous in never allowing late arrivals – there had been a small incident about a year ago, when a Duchess of the Night Court had arrived five minutes late and been barred entry – but she had pushed those worries aside. Paperweight was punctual, as was necessary for a page in the Court, and she would arrive on time.

Behind her, she heard the other patrons in the café begin to murmur excitedly. “What’s she doing here?” one pony asked. “Who is she?”

“… complete lack of class,” said another.

“Honestly, the sort they let in these days. This place use to have standards.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. She didn’t know who had just arrived, but she didn’t much care either. She wanted to relax herself, and prepare to enjoy what she knew would be hours of spectacular music. She had no time for gossip.

But the next voice was familiar. “Yo, waiter! Can I get some service here?”

Crescendo?!

Octavia turned and watched the metal musician arguing with a waiter. Crescendo hadn’t made any effort to dress up; her purple-and-black mane dangled loosely around her head and neck, and her electric green coat was a bit tangled, like she’d been working all day and had gone out for a show without cleaning up. She couldn't have looked more out of place if she’d tried.

The waiter was looking quite nervous. “Er… of course… yes, ah, there’s a seat right over there, back by the—“

“What, sticking me in the back where nopony can see me?”

Octavia put some bits on the table to pay for her tea and hurried over. “Crescendo, what are you doing?”

“Octavia?” Crescendo blinked. “What’s it look like? Just getting something to snack on before my protest, but I’ve been waiting for five minutes trying to get served.”

“Protest?” Octavia had a sinking feeling. She clearly doesn’t come here often, so the only reason she’d be here is if she’s protesting something in the area… if she tries to disrupt Frederick’s concert, I am going to have words with her.

“Yeah. See, whatever you tried to do, it obviously didn’t work. Now it’s my turn.”

“Turn for what?” asked an exasperated Octavia.

“Thrashing Thrash. I’m done with him, and his insane claims and his—“

Octavia stared. “Thrash Metail? What’s he done now?”

“What, you didn’t hear? I thought you were all about being the ‘guardian of music’ in this city or something—“

“Tell me,” said Octavia, through gritted teeth, “What he is doing.”

“Starting his comeback tour, Octavia.” Crescendo chuckled, though there was obvious anger in it. “It starts tonight.”

Octavia, not wanting the discussion to be overheard by the café’s patrons, led Crescendo outside. “Thrash has canceled all of his upcoming concerts. I checked.”

“Not anymore, he hasn’t. It’s all over the metal circuit. He’s playing tonight.”

“What? But – where?” I have to go there, alert his audience as to what he is doing. I can’t believe this…

“Some place called the Bitzet Theatre.”

Octavia stared, then let out a sigh of relief. She’s wrong, then. “That can’t be right. Not only is Bitzet Theatre a classical venue, but they have a different concert booked tonight. I have tickets for it. Thrash cannot be playing there.”

“Well, the metal scene thinks he is. This street’s going to start getting some pretty interesting ponies showing up soon.”

If a bunch of metal fans show up on this street, with chains and forked tongues, half the nobles in the city will die from apoplectic shock. “They can’t get in. The concert is sold out – and it’s not even his concert! The only way he could be performing is if he somehow took over the theatre, and…”

And, knowing what I know of his powers and his ambition, that wouldn’t actually be out of the realm of possibility. The realm of sanity, yes, but he might be crazy enough…

Crescendo shrugged. “All I know is the rumor. Hey, I hope it’s false too. I’m tired of that mediocrity stealing my audiences and driving down the metal in the city. He’s got knockoff artists now, ponies who are imitating him, and think that puts them at the pinnacle of the genre! I can’t even get good bookings, ‘cause his crazy fanponies are popular now, so they’re the only ones who can get the good venues! So yeah, hope it’s false, but I don’t think it is.” She took a flier out of her saddlebag. “He’s got ads and everything.”

Octavia looked at the flier. It was a stylized drawing of Thrash, and it announced that he was performing that night at Bitzet Theatre. “Why wasn’t this in the papers?”

“How should I know? Just saw a whole stack under the door of the club I was at earlier.”

Octavia frowned. “This was distributed to the metal venues, but not the papers… so the nobles who show up won’t know about it.” She blinked. “He doesn’t want the nobles to know he’s playing there tonight.”

“Well, I can’t imagine they’d waste their precious time on a ‘metal’ concert if they knew.”

“So it isn’t just the venue. He wants Frederick’s audience.” Octavia groaned. “And half the Court will be there. Frederick led the Canterlot Symphonic piano section for ten years. Everypony who likes classical music wants to hear him.”

“He’s nuts if he thinks the Court will like him. But it will still give him a boost he doesn’t deserve, and—“

“He probably plans to cheat, like he always does,” said Octavia.

“… cheat?”

“I’ve discovered how he’s attracted such large audiences.” Octavia explained about the Euphoria spell.

“No way,” said Crescendo, at the end. “That cheating mule!”

“He may cheat, but he’s still very powerful. And now he’s going after the nobles in the Court. But we can’t contact the Guards to stop him, because he hasn’t done anything yet.” Octavia put a hoof to her forehead. “I don’t believe this.”

Crescendo paused. “Well… it’d be really stupid to try to attack the Court with magic, right? Maybe he’ll try putting on a real show?”

“It’s possible, but—“

“Octavia! Octavia!”

The two musicians turned to see Paperweight running up, a book balanced carefully on her head.

“Octavia! I found out what Thrash is doing!” she squeaked. “Look!” She floated the book over to the stunned cellist.

Octavia opened the book, Magical Instruments of the Modern Pony Era, to a bookmarked page. “What do you mean?”

“It’s his guitar! The Guitar of the Sirens! It’s all written there!”

“Guitar of the what-now?” asked Crescendo.

Paperweight’s gaze shifted to the other mare, and she froze. “Ohmygosh. You’re Crescendo! I loved your Mare on Fire album! And—“

“Paperweight. Focus,” said Octavia. She looked at the book. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

“It starts at the paragraph on the left page. It’s all there!”

Octavia looked down and began to read.

”As a final point, we turn to the curious case of the Guitar of the Sirens. Like the other instruments discussed in this chapter, it was probably created to serve as a weapon. It is unclear, though, whether it was intended to harm those who listened to it or those who performed with it. We present all available evidence, and leave it as an exercise to the reader to determine which tale seems most probable.

“Shortly after then-Princess Celestia’s attack and defeat of King Sombra, despot of the Crystal Kingdom, she issued a proclamation throughout Equestria. She announced, essentially, that it was long past time for wandering monsters, foreign enemies, and wild beasts to be held accountable for harming Equestrian citizens. Therefore, she would root out and destroy all those who sought to hurt ponies, and she would be as ‘just’ in these efforts as she had been when she destroyed Sombra. Be they a rogue griffin force, an angry Ursa Major, or the mysterious beasts and monsters of the infamous Everfree Forest, none would be spared from Celestia’s wrath. After this, Celestia declared, ponies would truly be safe.

“The sirens of the Everfree heard the announcement and grew worried. After all, it was widely rumored that they had lured ponies to their deaths with their magical voices, and they knew that they had little hope of resisting Celestia if she decided to make an example of them. To placate the sun princess, the sirens worked together to craft a singular artifact of immense magical power, and then sent it to her with an envoy as a special gift. If they could provide for her a weapon to keep her ponies safe, they thought, she might spare them out of gratitude.

“The gift was presented to Corona in one of the last meetings of the Day Court before that body was disbanded. Records of that meeting are scant, but what remains describes a truly fearsome instrument. The Guitar of the Sirens, a guitar crafted of solid gold, was said to have the power of a hundred sirens imbued into each string. Any musician who played that instrument could sway a crowd of thousands, turning them into mindless drones that would feel and do whatever the guitarist wanted. This, the siren envoy said, made it a truly useful weapon. Whether an enemy was one large monster or an entire army, a single trained musician could quell them all.

“Corona accepted the gift, and allowed the siren envoy to leave with her thanks. She gave the Guitar her blessing and used her own magic to bolster the instrument before presenting it to a famous musician in the Court, Scare Chord, and sending him out as her champion. For a month, he battled monsters and quelled uprisings in her name, but his behavior grew steadily more erratic, until finally he vanished. He reappeared a week later, at the head of an army of monsters, announcing that he was going to storm Canterlot, overthrow the alicorns, and rule the nation in their place. He was, he claimed, invincible, thanks to the Guitar, and he saw no reason why he should languish as a mere servant when he could rule a nation.

“Corona dispersed his army and threw Scare Chord in gaol. She gave the Guitar to another musician, Trebellini, and sent her out to do Scare Chord’s work. But in a short while, she was also overwhelmed by delusions of grandeur, and she attempted to set up her own kingdom in what is now Stalliongrad. She too was defeated, and the Guitar passed on, but Corona could not find a pony to wield the instrument who would remain loyal for more than a month. In the end, she could find no string players at all; they opted to desert the Court and run away rather than risk being tasked with playing the Guitar of the Sirens. In the end, she cursed the Guitar, striking it with such a strong blast of lightning that she blackened and tarnished its golden body, before sealing it away and declaring sirens to be the enemy of Equestria. Only her imprisonment in the sun spared the sirens of the Everfree from destruction.

“What happened to the Guitar after that is not known, though a few collectors have claimed to have recovered the artifact – none, of course, willing to produce it for inspection, but all quite vehement that they truly possessed a guitar of blackened gold with the power to enchant the minds of thousands. Perhaps more interestingly, it is also unclear why, exactly, those who played the Guitar were corrupted. Some argue that Corona’s blessing in some way altered the Guitar, infusing it with her paranoia and greed. Others contend that the sirens crafted the Guitar that way in an attempt to destroy Corona’s musicians and weaken her power, perhaps as part of a collaboration with Princess Luna, or just to destroy the Equestrian musicians who were most resistant to their alluring music. And still others blame the instrument itself, crafted of gold found in an ancient vein in the Everfree Forest, wild gold which may have had a will of its own.

It is perhaps fortunate that this instrument has not been seen in a millennia…”

Octavia looked up. “So that’s what Thrash found.”

Crescendo raised an eyebrow. “Sounds kind of wild to me. Isn’t Thrash’s special talent conducting? Maybe this is just some spell he knows.”

“He might know the spell, but he’s been acting recklessly,” said Octavia. “If he was smart enough to get this far, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack me in his house, or to try playing for the nobles with his level of ability. His magic and his degeneration both fit.”

“We should get the Guards!” said Paperweight. “They can stop him, and help him…”

Octavia was already shaking her head. “It is not illegal to own the Guitar, and we have no new evidence against him. We can’t prove that he’s going to attack the nobles, even if we know it’s true.”

“The city seriously has no defense against this?” said Crescendo. “We’ve got the Tyrant Sun hanging over our heads, we’re supposed to all be on alert, and the Guards can’t handle one metalhead nutjob?”

“Eventually, yes, they can. Thrash is collapsing, and even if he stabilizes, somepony will notice the nobles acting unusually. In time, an investigation will be launched that Thrash cannot stop, and he will be arrested.” Octavia shut her eyes. “But that could take days, maybe weeks. He could do a lot of harm in the intervening time. Even if the Euphoria spell itself has no long-term ill-effects, which I doubt, he’ll have complete control of them. What if he forgets to tell his minions to feed themselves?”

“So what’s the plan, then?” asked Crescendo. “Because if it involves beating him over the head, I’m up for that.”

“We would be arrested, and he would perform unhindered,” said Octavia. “That won’t work.”

“Then what?”

Octavia sighed. “I’ll challenge him.”

“…come again?” Crescendo blinked.

“My student Lyra battled sirens once before. She was able to counteract their magic by performing on her lyre; by deflecting and altering their music, she defeated their magic as well. If that Guitar was crafted by the sirens, it probably can be fought in the same way. He’s arrogant enough now that, if I propose a musical duel between us before the nobles, he’ll probably accept. Then I can counter his music with my own.”

“And then what?” asked Paperweight. “I mean, you can’t just follow him around and play at all his concerts.”

“I don’t know.” Octavia shrugged. “But I need to stop him, now, before he does something to the nobles. I’ll figure the rest out later.”

Crescendo frowned. She looked almost angry to Octavia, although the cellist wasn’t sure why. “Uh, Octavia, you’re assuming you’ll win this challenge.”

“He’s incompetent. My music has been praised by Luna Herself.” Octavia allowed a touch of pride to enter her voice. “He can’t hope to beat me.”

“If you’re challenging him, he gets to set the rules. That means he’ll make it a metal competition, and you don’t know how to play that.” Crescendo narrowed her eyes. “And if you tell me you’re a metal expert from hearing one real concert, I’m going to beat Thrash by picking you up and using you as a club. I don’t care what Luna says, you know nothing about this kind of music, and lame as he is, he’s still better than you.”

Octavia glared. “I fought him off before.”

“How?” demanded Crescendo.

“I was able to ignore his music—“

“Great, except if you’re trying to perform alongside him, you can’t do that. You’ll need to listen to what he’s doing to make sure your music matches it. If you screw up, you’ll be his too.”

“In which case Luna will notice when I don’t turn up to play at sunrise, or when I turn up completely insane, and she’ll shut him down,” said Octavia. “Solving the problem.”

“Or,” snapped Crescendo, “If the book is right that the Guitar really has a will of its own because it was made with freaky magic gold, maybe it decides that it’d rather be in your hooves than his. Maybe it convinces him to let you hold it for a while, and it possesses you. Then we have a musician who actually knows what she’s doing playing that thing. What then?”

The trio were silent for a moment.

“But we have to be able to stop it!” said Paperweight, at last. “It’s… it’s evil! And – and Octavia, you’re an incredible musician! You have to be able to win!” She looked at Octavia with big, pleading eyes. “You can beat him, right?”

Octavia shut her eyes for a moment. She tried, as best she could, to look past her pride. Crescendo was right; if she battled Metail and lost, bad things could happen. But surrendering to him wasn’t an option either, not unless she had no chance of victory. Could she win?

If it were classical, or any other genre, there’d be no question. But Crescendo is right. He’s got an advantage in metal. Although… the nobles won’t like that, and he can’t play for them if they all get up and leave once they find out what his genre is. He’ll need to at least start out classical before transitioning to metal. That should give me an advantage, but even then, if it’s just me…

“Octavia?” asked Paperweight. “Octavia, can you win?”

By myself, I don’t know. And it has to be me; I’m the Court Musician, I make sure the music in this city is honest and good, nopony else has this job…

But hadn’t she been looking for other ponies to help her out with music she couldn’t play? Wasn’t that part of why she’d gotten involved in metal to begin with?

After all, it wasn’t about her. It was about the music. That was what really mattered.

Octavia opened her eyes and stood straight. “I,” she said, quietly, “Am the Court Musician of Equestria. If I can be beaten by a magic trinket, I don’t deserve my title. I will play, and I will win.”

“You have absolutely no—“ began Crescendo.

“And,” continued Octavia, “Part of being the Court Musician means knowing when there’s something I can’t play on my own. The reason I began studying metal artists was in case I needed to recommend such an artist for the Court; as I am unskilled with that genre, I wished to know who I could call on.” She looked at Crescendo. “Answer honestly: how good are you?”

“Er – what?” asked Crescendo.

“In your field. I enjoy your music, but as you’ve said, I know little about metal. Are you skilled?”

“Yeah.” Crescendo smirked. “Seriously? I’m good. In terms of technique, I’m one of the best in the city.”

“Then I’d like you to perform with me. Thrash can’t object to that; I’m sure he uses backing drummers of his own, on occasion. If you can drive the music with your drums, I can handle the melodic parts.”

Crescendo blinked. “You… want to perform with me.”

“You know metal better than I. You can help me keep up with whatever structural gimmicks he unleashes.”

“Won’t your noble buddies think it’s, I dunno, uncouth or something, to play with me?”

“I suspect they’d rather I be uncouth than they be possessed by Thrash and his Guitar,” said Octavia. “Even if they aren’t, I’m not going to do the wrong thing, for the sake of political expediency. I learned my lesson about that.”

“And, you think you can block his music from affecting me too?”

“I believe so. My friend Lyra was able to block three sirens at once from affecting several other ponies, and as good as she is, she has never surpassed me. If I play at my best, I can do it.”

Crescendo slowly nodded. “Well… alright. Yeah. I can do that.” She smiled. “You’re alright. Really thought you’d be all, ‘no, classical is superior, I’m not dealing with metal junk.’”

“I try not to dismiss any genre as ‘junk,’” said Octavia. “And I appreciate you taking a chance on me as well.”

Paperweight grinned. “This is gonna be awesome! You two’ll kick his flank from here to Stalliongrad!”

“I can get my drums and be back here in fifteen minutes,” said Crescendo. “When’s the concert start?”

“About twenty-five minutes.”

“And where’s your cello?”

Octavia paused.

“…back at the castle.”

Paperweight skidded into the castle at a full run, nearly knocking over somepony. “Sorry!” she called. “Emergency!”

Octavia could have made the run, but she’d have arrived completely winded, and wouldn’t have been able to perform. Crescendo was fast enough, but couldn’t get into the castle. As such, it fell to Paperweight to retrieve Octavia’s cello and save the day.

Octavia said she would stall Thrash for as long as she can, but she doesn’t think he’ll wait long. I’ve gotta hurry!

She blasted up the stairs, dodging around the various ponies who got into her way. She had to reach Octavia’s quarters and get the musician’s cello, then hurry it all the way back to Bitzet Theatre. Once she did, Octavia – with Crescendo assisting – could beat Thrash. And maybe they could even dispel his magic on any pony he’d already brainwashed, and that pony could tell the Guards and Thrash could be stopped. But it could only happen if Paperweight did her job well and got the cello.

I just wanted to go to a concert, and now I’m helping to save the city. I don’t—

“Paperweight!”

Night Light?!

Paperweight tried to stop, but tripped and went tumbling into a pile of laundry that one of the castle maids had left out. Shaking a towel off of her head, she quickly bowed. “Viceroy, sir! Hi! I—“

“You’re late for your shift,” said Night Light. He didn’t look friendly, or even stern. He looked – and sounded – quite angry. “By… a few hours. What have you been doing?”

Paperweight took a moment to process that. “Oh, but, but I had tonight off! I filed the paperwork and everything!”

“I never got it,” said Night Light.

“But I know I filed it, I gave it to Bellemane and, and she promised she’d give it to you and I don’t know how it could have gotten lost—“

“Be that as it may, no such paperwork crossed my desk.” Night Light paused. “It’s your first time, and you are normally a very good worker. I won’t hold your lateness against you – but in the future, you must make sure that any requests for time off are appropriately filed, preferably several days in advance.”

“Uh, yes sir!” Paperweight bowed again. “By your leave—“

“Now come along. I need you to run a message to Vicereine Wallflower, that I won’t be available to meet with her tonight and—“

Paperweight blanched. “Uh – um – sir, I’m really, really sorry but I can’t. I have somewhere I really need to be, and if it was any other day I would but I can’t tonight, and—“

Night Light stared. “Are you… refusing?”

“It’s an emergency, and I have to be somewhere else to help save everything, and—“

“What sort of emergency requires a page of the Night Court?” asked a mystified Night Light.

Paperweight opened her mouth to explain, realized that any explanation would sound completely insane, and shut it again. “Er…”

The two stared at each other for several seconds, Paperweight visibly twitching with nervousness. Night Light eventually said, “I am aware of how much your job means to you. I have seen how hard you work, and that you never shirk your responsibilities.”

Paperweight wasn’t sure if she was supposed to respond to that.

“I do try to trust my subordinates, particularly when they have an exemplary record, as you do. Certainly, I’ve never known you to be dishonest, or to lie to evade your duties.” Night Light hesitated again. “Very well. I will trust you, and release you from your duties tonight—“

“Thank you!” said a visibly grateful Paperweight.

“I expect a full report tomorrow on the nature of this ‘emergency.’ I trust that it will demonstrate the… urgent nature of your errand.”

Paperweight bobbed her head. “Yes, sir! Of course sir!”

Night Light gestured vaguely down the hallway, dismissing her. “Then attend to your emergency.”

Paperweight tore off down the hallway in a rush. I’m glad my boss is so understanding… oh, but I need to hurry even more now, that probably took a full minute!

She narrowed her eyes and began charging up the stairs all the faster.

“Thrash.”

Thrash Metail didn’t turn around. He just sighed as one of his groupies continued to massage his hooves. “Wow, mare, you really know how to give a good hoof massage. You should do it fulltime—“

Octavia spun Thrash around, sending the mindless groupie sprawling. “Thrash. This is insane.”

“Octavia! So glad you could make my bigtime debut. I am going to rock those noble’s worlds.” He grinned. “Let me guess, you’re going to threaten to tell all the nobles about me and get them to run away, right? Good luck. These old fogies are so stubborn—“

“No,” said Octavia. “I’m threatening to show them all how mediocre you really are. Unless you back down, I’m going to go on stage with you.”

“I’ll throw you off,” said Thrash.

“And look to all the world like you’re scared of me?”

Thrash narrowed his eyes. “…what exactly are you proposing?”

“We’ll play at the same time for the first piece.” Octavia gestured at the door leading to the stage. “The nobles will pick the winner, and that pony, or their proxy, plays for the rest of the concert.”

“No way. The theatre’s mine. Got the board and the original musician for tonight dancing to my tune—“

“I thought you wanted to be the best in the world.” Octavia grinned, but there was a lot of tooth in it. “How can you be the best if you can’t beat me?”

“I can get you some other time. No need to risk—“

“This is the only time I’ll be at one of your shows, Thrash. You pass up this opportunity, you’ll never see me again. And ponies will know.” She chuckled. “The great Thrash Metail, who entered Canterlot and conquered its music scene, but could never beat Octavia Philharmonica. Who turned down her challenge—“

“Turned down? Who said anything about turning down?” Thrash laughed and hopped up to his hooves. One hoof reached over to the neighboring table, where his guitar rested, and stroked the instrument a few times. “Bring it.”

“Fine. My team against you.”

“Team? The great Philharmonica needs help?”

Octavia shrugged. “Just one pony, but still. If you’re scared—“

“Scared? No way. Bring a dozen ponies if you’ve got ‘em; bring the Canterlot Symphonic. They’ll all be under my spell soon enough.”

Octavia and Thrash glared at each other for a few moments. Thrash broke the silence first. “I am going to take this city by storm, Tavi. They’ll all love me. I promise.”

“Not,” said Octavia, “If I have anything to say about it.”

Thrash peered out from behind the curtain. “Almost full. Where’s your strings, Tavi?”

“That isn’t my name,” growled Octavia.

Crescendo, standing by Octavia, looked nervous. “Octavia, I’m not sure I can beat him by myself—“

“Paperweight will be here. She jokes a lot, but she’s extremely reliable. She’ll work as hard as she has to so that she’s here on time.”

“Hope so.”

“I—“

“Octavia!” Paperweight burst into the backstage area, cello case attached to her back. She dashed past a startled Thrash and a few of his groupies, skidding to a halt in front of the cellist. “I brought your cello! I--“ she broke off into what sounded like a painful gasp. Sweat was streaming down her body, and her mane was in total disarray. She’d clearly run all the way across the city.

Octavia carefully took the cello from Paperweight. “In time too.Thank you, Paperweight.”

Paperweight grinned, then collapsed, panting. “Never… run so fast…”

Octavia helped Paperweight up. “You should leave now. If we fail, you can alert the Guards—“

“No way! I trust you. I’m going to see this through – and I know you’ve still got those tickets.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” chirped Paperweight.

Crescendo chuckled. “It’s nice to have fans, isn’t it? Real ones, not zombie ones?”

Thrash rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“Yes.” Octavia helped Crescendo to the hall connecting the backstage area with the seating area. “Your seat is in the front row, dead center. Um, the others may object to your… appearance--”

“Bah, I can look silly in support of you. I don't mind.” Paperweight giggled. “Good luck!” She grinned, then trotted off – more slowly than usual, but still with a spring in her step.

Octavia smiled at her friend, then turned back to Crescendo. “Whenever he’s ready. Let’s do this.”

“Yeah.” Crescendo grinned. “Let’s.”

“…Frederick Horseshoepin will not be playing tonight due to illness. In his place, we have quite a treat,” the theatre announcer recited.

The nobles began to murmur, most of them unhappy. Frederick was a rare treat, one they were unhappy of being deprived of.

“Anypony important out there?” murmured Crescendo.

“Half the Court,” said Octavia. “High ranked members too. Duchess Posey, Archduchess Nobility, Duke Sands…”

Her recitation was interrupted by the announcer. “This first piece will be a trio, with Court Musician Octavia Philharmonica…”

Octavia took a deep breath. Here I go. She stepped out onto the stage.

The nobles were there – and the critics, the richest ponies in the city, and the elite among the arts crowd. They stared at her in confusion, not knowing what was going on. Octavia had no response for them. She just began to set up her cello.

“Crescendo…”

Crescendo walked out. She at least seemed to have some idea of what was expected in the venue, opting not to hoot and holler like at her metal show. Still, Octavia could practically feel the confusion and irritation from the audience.

“And Thrash Metail!”

Thrash leapt out on stage. “Hello Canterlot!”

“What is the meaning of this!” yelled out one of the nobles. “We were expecting Frederick Horseshoepin!”

“Freddy’s sick,” said Thrash. “But don’t worry. We can fill in.”

Octavia scowled at him. Thrash grinned. “Alright, alright. Let’s begin.”

He unslung his guitar and summoned his drums. “Shall we?”

Octavia took one last look at the nobles, who were now depending on her, even if they didn’t know it. “Yes.”

Thrash’s horn glowed, and he began to play.

Author's Note

Next time: Octavia battles Metail, a guy with a fiddle of (black) gold, for the soul of the city.

I hope y'all can guess what song we're going to be using. :-)

I love the idea of the Guitar that could have been corrupted in one (or more) of three completely different ways. That's one evil guitar. (Originally, it was a shapeshifting instrument that could become whatever the bearer was good at, but I thought that would be confusing. So now it's just a guitar).

And go Paperweight! She's just a page, but she can be awesome when she needs to be.

Metail Went Down to Canterlot

“You know,” said Thrash, conversationally, as he strummed a few notes, “Even before I got this guitar, there was one tough song I learned to play real well.”

“Then play it,” snapped Octavia.

Thrash grinned. “You got it, mare.”

He began with four sharp strikes on his drums, and then was racing off on his guitar. It was a high-pitched and energetic melody, something that ran along at a breakneck pace and seemed to take pleasure in its reckless speed. Thrash smirked as he went through a difficult sequence, evidently expecting to run circles around Octavia. Can you catch me? his gaze asked.

Skilled as she was, Octavia was frozen for a moment when Thrash began to play. The speed of the piece had surprised her, and Thrash’s magic made things harder too. His notes still sounded glorious, and it made her want to just set her bow down and listen to him forever. But Octavia had a strong enough mind to force herself to begin to play – something just as fast, energetic, and forceful, transcribed a few octavies down to suit her instrument. The real music bolstered the cellist and helped keep her from falling into a trance. Thrash’s magic was still incredibly strong, but Octavia had spent her whole life learning to love music. It had an effect on her stronger than any siren spell.

As her own music filled her ears and Thrash’s magic receded, Octavia began striking back with additional sequences of her own. Thrash’s music was fast, and she had to mentally shift it to lower octaves to work out a response on her cello, but it wasn’t otherwise difficult and she could meet the challenge. She weaved her own melodic line, varying the notes quickly and moving with all the strength and energy she could muster. She couldn’t provide her own percussion, but Crescendo was doing a fine job, playing the drums in a simple, steady beat that gave Octavia’s music more power and force. All together, Octavia was able to push back at Thrash – his music and his magic alike -- as they zipped over the strings.

Thrash brought the piece up into the highest reaches of the guitar before plunging it back down again, but Octavia followed and even began to anticipate his maneuvers. She allowed herself a smirk as she glanced at him. He shrugged, as if to say, ‘I’ll get you next verse,’ and then let his drums take over and his guitar almost drop out. Octavia let her cello fade too, waiting to see what he would do next.

Thrash began to sing:

”Oh, Metail went up to Canterlot,
Looking for a city to steal!
He was in a bind, lot on his mind,
And was itchin’ to make a deal!”

Octavia scowled. He was barely even playing his guitar at this point; he was mostly just praising himself in song. Was he really that confident of his victory? Why? He knows I can resist his spells. Does he have something else in reserve?

”Now, he came across some old nag—“

(Octavia was angered enough to miss a note; she winced, and Thrash’s smirk grew even wider.)

”Sawing on a cello and playing it hot!
So Metail hopped up on her stage
And yelled: ‘Tavi, let me tell you what!”

Octavia and Thrash played a short, sharp sequence, Thrash higher than Octavia but otherwise in perfect synchrony. Octavia smirked at Thrash as she put a little trill on the end to make her section sound even faster; Thrash failed to match it. If he stays like this, I’ve got him. I—

”You probably didn’t even know it,
But I’m a virtuoso too.
And if you care to take a dare
I’ll just make a bet with you!
Now, you’re not a bad musician, Tavi
But give Metail his due:
I’d bet my guitar of black gold against your ‘soul’
I think I’ll better you.”

Soul? Octavia narrowed her eyes. Her mind was beginning to wander; the string melody was so simple that Crescendo was doing most of the work on her side. He probably means he’ll brainwash me if I lose. That’s not an option.

Crescendo began: ”The mare said—“

Octavia stopped her with a glance, then spoke in her stead. ”My name’s Octavia.
And you will get your wish.
I’ll take your bet, which you’ll regret—
Since I’m the best there is!”

Thrash narrowed his eyes and launched into another sequence, this one not just fast but virtuosic. Octavia gritted her teeth and followed.

The melody raced from mid-range to high notes and back down again; it doubled back and forth, as if attempting to throw the musicians off. Thrash was still leading, hooves whipping across the guitar in a blur. Octavia felt the magic pulling at her consciousness, and felt her body and mind wanting to sink down and listen to it, but her own music still helped her fight it back. She did her best to follow the melody in lower octaves, adding twists and turns of her own, but she couldn't deny that she was starting to fall behind Thrash. She winced as she missed two notes, causing her section to ‘skip’ slightly in an audible blip.

Seeming to sense that she needed help, Crescendo began to sing:

”Octavia, rosen up that bow
And play your cello hard.
Metail’s loose in Canterlot
And he holds all the cards!
Now, if you win you get his guitar
Made of blackened gold!
But if you lose, he gets the city’s soul-oul-oul-oul!”

Crescendo stopped just shy of the beat, adding a syncopation effect that Metail wasn't fast enough to exploit. Octavia seized it and began to play a rapid sequence up her cello, and for the first time, Thrash was following her. Octavia played as quickly as she could, whipping the melody up and down, and struggling to stay ahead of Metail. She glanced at him; his lips were pursed and he was scowling down at his guitar. Getting ahead of you… knew you couldn’t--

Thrash brought down his guitar’s notes to match Octavia’s, then moved them back up in an attempt to seize the melody. Octavia tried to hold on to it, and keep it in the lower pitches where she had an advantage, but his horn flared in a burst of magic, and she was struck by an intense longing to bow down and let his notes wash over her. She fought it off in seconds, but he’d already brought the melody back up. He grinned, let the guitar drop off again, and began to patter:

”Metail opened up his case and said ‘I’ll start this show.’
See the fire jetting from his hooves as he rosens up that bow!”

His horn glowed, and sparks and smoke appeared to leap from his bow; he’d clearly brought his pyrotechnics.

”He rubbed his hooves across the strings and made a wicked hiss!
And then his bandmates, they all joined in, and it sounded JUST LIKE THIS!”

His horn glowed again, and one of the curtains behind the stage pulled itself back. Out marched about a dozen of Thrash’s minions, each holding an instrument – drums, violins, even a fiddle. And they began to play.

Octavia’s eyes widened slightly.

Of course. The odds would be in favor of some of his thralls having musical training. After all, he probably got most of them at metal concerts. If he gave them a score before, they could probably learn a simple melody in time. Now they’ll play for him, fill in the gaps he can’t hit, and I have to get through them before I can deal with Thrash, since they can help cover for his weaknesses… I’m in trouble.

The thralls reinforced Thrash, playing a strong, swift set of melodies in the lowest audible pitches. It warped and curled around itself, a musical fog that tried to lure the ear in and not let it leave again. Their music moved just as quickly as Metail’s, strengthening Thrash’s side and driving Octavia out. She played as hard as she could, trying to weave a melody between all the thralls and Metail, but there were so many of them and they were moving so fast that, skilled as she was, even she was having trouble breaking into the music.

She felt herself beginning to slow down as she grew increasingly unable to penetrate the mass of notes. The dark tune was blasting at her, growing stronger and more ominous as Octavia weakened, and as her own cello faltered Thrash’s magic seemed to be gaining power as well. Behind her, she could hear Crescendo beginning to lose the beat; she was clearly as affected by it as Octavia. The cellist narrowed her eyes and tried her best to focus on her own fading notes. I have to keep it together… there’s got to be some weakness, this isn’t how ensembles work for a reason, I have to be good enough to figure out the flaw…

Thrash’s melody continued to increase in power and fury, until it was almost lashing across the stage at Octavia and Crescendo. It was like a storm now, a torrent of sound that threatened to drive Octavia down and silence her entirely. Octavia’s music weakened again; she couldn’t breech the wall of sound the thralls had put up, and the most she could perform was little, superfluous notes which didn’t add much at all to the piece. Not only could she not come up with another strategy, but it was becoming hard to think at all. Thrash’s music beckoned to her, reaching out beyond the simple lines of his thralls and welcoming her to join them, trying to knock out the last of her mental defenses.

I have to do something! she thought. But I can’t get through. No matter what I try, I can’t get through. Maybe I’m not good enough…

No, I have to be good enough. I am the Court Musician. I am one of the greatest musicians in the world. Luna didn’t hire me, Lyra didn’t save me… I didn’t work so hard to save myself… to lose to a mediocrity with a magic guitar, or his band. They believe in me, and I believe in myself. If I try hard enough, I know I can do this.

She had shut her eyes by this point, letting her body play her cello as best she could while she tried to listen to all the thralls and maintain her own sanity. She took a breath to steady herself. Think. He’s not that good in general, even if he knows this song. His thralls probably aren’t that good either; they don’t look like trained musicians. There’s probably at least one that’s weaker, and…

And she heard it.

Octavia had trained her ears relentlessly since deciding to become a musician. She could pick out a single instrument in an orchestra and focus entirely on it, tuning out the rest. It was an invaluable skill for leading groups, since it allowed her to locate the sources of errors or subpar playing even in a large ensemble. Even with Thrash’s magic, he couldn’t overpower her hearing entirely; she was far too strong for that. And now Octavia’s hearing was letting her know the problem with Thrash’s band. She could hear it as if it was the only instrument sounding: one of his players, on the fiddle, was weaker than the rest. She was playing very quickly, but the spell that forced her to do as Thrash wanted wasn’t enough to let her play perfectly. She was making occasional errors… and her part wasn’t all that hard either, aside from the speed. She was the weak point.

Octavia picked out that player’s tune and began to imitate it on her cello. This didn’t let her affect the music, since she was just copying one of Thrash’s themes, but at least she was able to play something. Her music isn’t hard to beat, but I do need to go faster than her. I have to speed up and--

“Octavia,” hissed Crescendo. She sounded exhausted. “I can’t keep this up much longer, his magic’s too strong. If you can’t play more—“

“Thirty seconds,” murmured Octavia, working out the problem in her head.

“What?”

“I need thirty seconds.”

“…I'll try.”

Octavia increased the complexity of the theme, filling out the nooks and crannies that the fiddle player wasn’t quite reaching, while staying clear of the notes from the other thralls and Thrash. This required her to go even faster while weaving around the fiddler in a very small pitch range, and even Octavia wasn’t fully comfortable playing at these speeds in such a constrained environment. She would have to rely on Crescendo’s beats if she continued, so that they could stabilize her and make sure she didn’t start losing the time. But she had no other option, and she would have to trust that Crescendo could keep it up. Come on… no choice, I have to move forward… now!

Her bow blazed along her cello as she began to run circles around the fiddler. Though only one part of Thrash’s medley, Octavia’s cello drew attention to it, raising it up in prominence above the others in the group and even Thrash himself… and also highlighted the player’s lack of skill, at least in comparison to the Court Musician. Octavia blinked sweat out of her eyes, trusting entirely on Crescendo to keep time for her, since she was now moving too fast to do it herself. She just focused on wrapping her own melodic line around the other musician’s, as tightly as a knot, adding a complexity and richness to it that Thrash and his minions couldn’t hope to match.

Thrash snapped something at the fiddler, who began to speed up, but now she was missing her notes. She clearly wasn’t used to playing at this speed, and thanks to Thrash’s magic she was too addled to adapt in a sensible manner. And there was something else too, a vague, scratching sound, barely audible over the sound of the music.

Octavia cocked an ear, and despite the exhaustion that was starting to overtake her – between the breakneck speed and the magic, she had rarely had a more exhausting performance – she felt a surge of hope. I know that sound. Oh, Thrash, you idiot. That instrument’s not in good repair. If I keep going for a few more seconds… She smiled. There was tooth in it. Got you.

“Octavia…” whispered Crescendo.

“Five seconds.”

She kept playing, as did all the others, and then—

The fiddle player’s leftmost string snapped.

The player squeaked, the shock of her instrument breaking apparently breaking some of her mental fog a bit. She kept trying to play, but she was flailing now, and she wasn’t in a condition to deal with being one string down. Thrash glared at Octavia with a gaze of pure hate before snapping at the fiddle player, “Just sit down!”

But the band was in disarray, and Octavia grinned. Perfect.

She called out, ”If you’re all done, I have to say, you have some skill there, Thrash:
But you might as well give up now; I’m putting you in the trash!”

She began to play, starting in the hole that the fiddle player’s absence left. The cellist played in that section for several bars before raising the melody as high as it would go, taking advantage of the momentum to overwhelm the other players in Thrash’s band. She was back in control now, her music alleviating Thrash’s magic, and she could hear every detail of him and his band. A bunch of simple melodies stacked together; impressive in combination but none of them especially skilled. Yes, it was a wall of sound… but she could hear the cracks in that wall, now. And she had the space to charge up and drive right through them.

Crescendo seemed to be recovering too, banging more complex rhythms on the drums behind the cellist. Octavia let her music blast forward, driven by the drums, running around the thralls in Thrash’s band. Crescendo’s power seemed to flow through her, and it was clear the thralls couldn’t keep up. The real musicians were winning. The conpony and his brainwashed minions were on the ropes.

Octavia grinned. Now that she was in control, she could bring the melody back to something the nobles would know and like. The tune sounded vaguely like a popular Latigo formal dance, so she worked in a more overt melody from that dance. One of Thrash’s violinists was playing something similar, but Octavia easily maneuvered around him.

And Crescendo – no doubt bolstered by Octavia’s deflection of Thrash’s magic -- began to sing:

”Perfect glowing crystals, Latigo dance…”

Octavia played the Latigo waltz for a bit, then switched a rapid, jumpy sequence reminiscent of a Xenophon folk song. Her bow was a blur. Thrash was trying to reorder his musicians, but they didn’t stand a chance.

”Xenophon trot and wine from Prance…

Octavia saw two more of the band stop on whispered orders from Thrash, and a third simply collapsed, seemingly exhausted beyond the ability of Thrash’s magic to sustain her. She just kept playing, a soaring melody that overwhelmed Thrash’s ominous work, and was far more appealing to the ear.

”Ponies in the parlor, picking up hay…”

Thrash’s eyes were bulging, but he didn’t seem able to do anything but just play his guitar all the harder. It wasn’t enough. Octavia rattled off another bright, shining melody, which seemed to mock Thrash’s darker works. Music could be beautiful, it said, so why was Thrash wasting his time with music that could only confound?

”Cellist beats the fiddler, Octavia, neigh!”

Octavia almost did before catching herself. The music streamed forth from her cello, and Crescendo rattled off increasingly intricate rhythms that Octavia heard and worked into her melodies. Meanwhile, another of Thrash’s players had an instrument failure when he tried to hit his drum too hard and broke through the skin, and two more had stopped playing. His band had essentially collapsed. The few melodies the remaining musicians played, Octavia just worked into her own music, and made them much, much better.

This continued for almost a full minute, Octavia losing herself in the performance and playing a long, glorious paean to the music of Equestria. It incorporated popular folk themes, famous classical themes, even two strains that Octavia had composed for other performances. She went from one to the next rapidly, a whirlwind tour of the nation’s music. Meanwhile, Thrash could only play the one song, and even that wound up sublimated by Octavia’s performance. Octavia grinned. She was playing amazingly – and winning, besides.

Eventually, it ended. Octavia began to decrease in volume, forcing Thrash down as well. He tried to take advantage of the quieter period to take the melody back, but he didn’t have the music theory knowledge to make that adjustment while sounding good in the presence of the cellist's music. All he could do was just start playing louder, and it sounded so dissonant and bad compared with what Octavia was playing that he was forced to back off.

Octavia said,

”You might as well stop now, Thrash,
As we know that you’ve been beat
Just lay your golden guitar down
On the ground all nice and neat.
And Metail, I know you thought you were some kind of music whiz
But like I told you once before: I’M the best there is!”

And she was off again, playing a brilliant series of themes that wandered all over the nation. Crescendo began to sing as well, as Thrash – now alone, his band silenced from lack of energy or shattered instruments – tried and failed to keep up.

”Perfect glowing crystals, Latigo dance!
Xenophon trot and wine from Prance!
Ponies in the parlor, picking up hay!
Cellist beats the fiddler, Octavia, NEIGH!”

Octavia cut loose, playing a long, extended instrumental section, with all the virtuosity she was able to muster. Thrash tried to break in here and there, but he couldn’t; Octavia was one mare and not a band, but she was of such skill that she could form her own wall of music quite effectively. It kept Thrash out, negated his magic… and produced a cavalcade of beautiful sounds for the nobles in the audience to enjoy.

Two minutes passed, then three. The music continued, washing over the players and the nobles alike. Thrash was starting to tremble under the strain; he’d clearly never played so hard. Octavia, though, had recovered her poise. Her bow flashed over the strings, but the rest of her body was still as a statue; she looked like she could play forever.

But there was no need for that.

Thrash stabbed at a note, missed, and struck two other strings by mistake. The resulting chord was jarring and harsh, like a foal who was plucking at an instrument for the first time. Eyes wide with rage, he tried to recover, but his hooves were shaking now – from anger or strain, Octavia couldn’t tell – and he missed more and more notes.

By the conclusion, it was truly no contest. Octavia finished with an elegant take on a Canterlot dance, finishing exactly on the beat with a glorious cadence. Thrash staggered in, a mess of jumbled notes pouring from his guitar, more noise than music by that point. He wasn’t even in time with Crescendo’s drums, and he’d long since been forced to stop playing his own. There was no comparison with Octavia’s music. The only clear sound from his guitar was a fizzling noise, like a spell was being extinguished. Thrash didn't even seem to notice this as he tried in vain to scratch out a few more notes from his guitar. It was several seconds before he stopped.

The two looked at each other, and then, scowling, Thrash lowered his guitar. He seemed to know it was useless.

Octavia had won.

“Don’t think this is over.”

Octavia turned. She had been looking at the nobles, most of whom seemed very confused by what they had just heard. They’d like the last part, when Octavia had taken over, but the first half of the piece… well, Octavia couldn’t blame them for not understanding it.

Metail looked exhausted. He was panting for breath, and seemed to have trouble standing. Nonetheless, he managed to raise a hoof and point at Octavia. “I’ll be back… get a better band, real musicians…”

Octavia said nothing.

“I’ll find a way to beat you. I don’t quit, and—“

“Hey,” managed one of the band members. “What’s going on?”

“I thought we were in the club.”

“Where are we?”

“What?” Thrash turned to his thralls. “What do you mean…”

“Siren magic,” said Octavia, “Can be countered by real music. The magic you used to brainwash your band and the others, and that you tried to use to control all the nobles in this room, was blocked by Crescendo and I. Its effects are gone. I wouldn’t expect any of your minions to still be under your control.”

Thrash’s face went white.

“I suppose,” said Octavia, “That you didn’t get a waiver this time?”

“Uh…”

“And I think we can assume you did not ask the nobles first, before attempting to enslave them to your music?”

Thrash looked at the minions, who were starting to look at him with real anger. Then he looked at the back of the stage, towards the exits and escape routes, where ponies were beginning to pour out – his other minions, the ones he hadn’t put in his band. Some of them were Guards, and they seemed particularly focused on him as they approached. And he looked at the nobles, who were staring at him with newfound hostility.

Thrash sighed in defeat and slumped his shoulders. When the Guards put hoofcuffs on him, he didn’t resist.

There was obviously no point to it.

Author's Note

This chapter was really hard to write. But it's done! Huzzah!

I was surprised, when I researched 'Devil Goes Down To Georgia', to find that the four seemingly-nonsensical lyrics in the chorus are apparently references to various folk songs that Johnny presumably played before the devil. That's why Octavia is playing music relating to the various things Crescendo says. (And it seems like Crescendo knows a little more about classical/folk music than she let on, as she was able to identify Xenophon and Latigo music fairly quickly. Hmm...)

Lot of changes from the original draft:

Octavia's overpowering of the band initially involved some sort of destructive act. I toyed with her snapping her bow (and having Paperweight run to get her another, while she played pizzicato in the meantime) and snapping a string on her cello to get a sharp, loud noise that the brainwashed band couldn't react to (but Octavia and Crescendo could, thereby allowing them to take the lead position and leave the band behind). But I didn't like those, mostly because I feel that willingly damaging her own instrument should maybe be saved for something bigger. That's the kind of thing that only really works once, on a narrative level.
I toyed with having Octavia need to restring her bow during the performance, but she'd have had to keep playing as well to avoid being brainwashed, and I think playing pizzicato with one hoof while tearing out hair from her tail and restringing a bow with the other is pushing it even for Tavi. So that got cut.
Paperweight was originally more involved; she ran backstage and messed around with the curtains, eventually dropping one on top of the band and muffling them (thereby allowing Octavia to take Thrash head on). But I thought that would be anti-climatic. It's Octavia's time to shine, after all.
The chapter originally ended with Octavia punching Thrash out after he tried to run or took a hostage, but I decided that he's not that crazy. Besides, not all problems can be solved with violence, right?
The duel originally ended with Thrash's guitar breaking -- in one draft, just the strings snapped, in another, it literally disintegrated upon losing. But I felt it'd be good to keep it around in case someone else wants to use it, so I had him just lose normally instead.

Oh, one more thing. I was originally going to link to the actual metal version of 'Devil Goes Down to Georgia', but... I don't like it. It starts good, but it goes on for way too long. That works in the video game Guitar Hero 3, but not so much just listening to it. So I picked the original instead.

Wrapping Up

A quartet of Royal Guards dragged Thrash Metail away in chains. A few moments later, another unicorn Guard encased the Guitar of the Sirens in a magical bubble and floated it out the door, presumably so it could be locked up safely. And then Octavia found herself staring at a crowd of very confused nobles.

“I say,” said one, “What’s going on? Where’s Frederick?”

“Frederick Horseshoepin,” began Octavia, “Was incapacitated by Thrash Metail, the musician who was just arrested. Thrash wished to use his magical guitar to enthrall everypony here to acquire more fame for himself. Fortunately, his magic could be blocked by real music, which is why he failed.”

“Enthrall?” said another noble. “That’s absurd!”

Octavia nodded at the Guards who had been drafted into Thrash’s band of zombies. “Those Guards can confirm this.”

“Yeah,” said one Guard, blushing. “Heard his music, and then it was like I couldn’t do anything but what he wanted…”

The Guards and other former thralls spoke to the nobles while Octavia took a few moments to recover. She felt exhausted, like she’d just run a marathon. She hadn’t played like that since the Symphony for Moon and Sun after almost being brainwashed by a group of hired thugs. Just once, I’d like to play something epic without my career or soul on the line, she thought. It would make things a lot easier.

“Well,” a noble was saying, “Why didn’t you say anything, Octavia?”

“If I had told you that Thrash was going to turn you into a zombie with an ancient siren artifact, would you have believed me and left?” Octavia asked.

“Er… no… we’d probably just have had the theatre manager throw you off the stage…”

“In which case I would have been unable to stop Thrash. That is why I could not just tell you.”

The nobles still seemed unhappy, but Octavia mustered up the strength to play a few pieces of her own that they seemed to like, which seemed to calm them. After about fifteen minutes, Frederick rushed out onto the stage and began his own performance. "I practiced for this," he told the nobles, "And I won't be stopped for long by some twerp with a guitar. Thank you Octavia, but I can take it from here." The cellist was able to walk backstage and collapse at last.

Crescendo chuckled quietly as she packed up her drums. “Tired, Tavi? You know, metal shows, we play like that all night.”

“Without the attempted mind-control, I would assume,” said Octavia.

“Alright, point, but still. You can’t be that tired yet. Night’s still young!”

Octavia managed a smile and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Right now, I’d just like to listen to Frederick’s music. But… after that, I think it would be nice if we met somewhere later to discuss—“

“Octavia!” Paperweight scampered backstage, a million-star smile on her face. “That was so amazing!” She jumped all about, seemingly having recovered all her energy during the performance. “You totally thrashed Thrash!”

“Paperweight, shhh,” said Octavia, though she was also smiling brightly, “There’s a concert going on right over there.”

“I know, but… that was just too awesome not to shout about!” Paperweight turned to Crescendo. “And you were totally cool too! That was some amazing drumming technique!”

Crescendo couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thanks. Nice to have a fan who can really listen.”

Paperweight looked from one musician to the other. “What happens now?”

“For now, I’d like to just listen to Frederick's concert,” repeated Octavia. “Paperweight, your ticket should still be valid. And Crescendo, I know that this sort of music does not appeal to you, but if you want to stay I am confident that we can find you a seat.”

Crescendo shrugged. “Not really… like you said, it’s not my thing. But I do want to meet later. Here, how’s this – I’ll take care of the press, and you just listen to the music, okay? After all that’s done, we’ll grab a snack or something.”

“Press?” asked Paperweight.

“Even without all the saving-the-city stuff, Luna’s musician just dueled the most popular musician in town in front of about a hundred Courtiers,” said Crescendo. “Trust me, the newspapers are going to be all over this.”

Octavia sighed. “Yes… and I don’t want them following me around all night. I would be grateful if you would handle that, Crescendo.”

“No sweat.” Crescendo tossed her a salute, then flew towards the back exit.

Octavia managed to get up, shaking her head a bit as she did so. She really wanted a nap. Still, there was beautiful music to be heard. She looked at Paperweight. “Shall we?”

Paperweight smiled. “Sure!”

They walked out to listen to beautiful classical music.

“You’re certain?” Night Light said.

Bellemane nodded and endeavored to keep the glee out of her voice. “I don’t know why she told you that she had an emergency, but she did tell me earlier that she had concert tickets for tonight and she wouldn’t miss the show for anything.” She allowed a bit of doubt to creep into her voice. “I suppose it’s possible that I got the date wrong…”

Night Light looked to one side, his gaze visibly darkening. “I have grown used to deceit in Courtiers, but I refuse to allow it in my pages.”

Bellemane could not explain why she thought, for a moment, that Night Light seemed to be referring to her and not the absent Paperweight. But she just said, “I could go and check. The concert should be almost over.”

“I have business in that part of town anyway. I’d like to examine this for myself.” He paused for a moment. “You come too. My business will require somepony to take minutes.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Bellemane smiled to herself as she left the castle with Night Light and opened a carriage door for him. Yes, once Paperweight was gone, then she would take her place as Night Light’s new top page. She was already almost there. And then she could continue to move up, gain more influence, maybe get a clerking position at some point, and then…

Her thoughts were interrupted when Night Light ordered the carriage to stop. They had reached the Bitzet Theatre, but the Viceroy’s attention was focused on a small crowd outside of it. “What’s going on?” he asked the carriage puller.

The pony frowned. “Judging from all the cameras, some kind of press conference, sir. Would you like me to let you out here?”

“Yes, thank you.” Night Light disembarked, gesturing for Bellemane to do the same. The page followed him, frowning. What’s going on? Well, if Paperweight is here, then Octavia probably is too. Maybe it’s an impromptu interview.

The cameras flashed, and Bellemane saw that Octavia Philharmonica was speaking at the top of the steps leading to the Bitzet Theatre. Beside her was a pegasus with a bright green coat and a purple-and-black striped mane, a couple of Royal Guards, and…

Paperweight?!

“Octavia!” a reporter was yelling. “Was Thrash Metail really going to take over the city?”

“I don’t think he would have gotten that far,” Octavia responded. “But he did intend to enthrall all of the nobles and Courtiers that were at the audience.”

Night Light’s eyes widened slightly. “What?” he breathed.

A reporter asked, “How powerful was Thrash? Was he a real danger to the city and its ponies?”

“He was already controlling about one hundred ponies, including several Royal Guards. He was dangerous, yes.”

“And you beat him on your own?”

“No.” Octavia nodded at Crescendo. “Assisting me with the music was Crescendo, another musician in Canterlot. I could not have defeated Thrash without her aid.”

Crescendo grinned. “Right back at ya, Tavi.”

Octavia frowned. “Octavia. Please.”

“Alright. Right back at ya, Octavia.”

Bellemane let out a breath. It was okay. Paperweight wasn’t involved in whatever this was, and—

“I was also assisted by Paperweight.” Octavia gestured at the page, who seemed a bit surprised by all the attention being focused on her.

“Excuse me,” called out one tall pony. “I’m Major Minor, from Notes On Notes. I’ve heard of you and Crescendo, but never this… Paperweight. What instrument does she play? What genre?”

“Paperweight,” said Octavia, before the page could speak, “Isn’t a musician. She is a page who works in Canterlot Castle. When we learned what Thrash planned to do, Paperweight ran back to the castle, obtained my cello, and brought it back here without damaging it, in about twenty-five minutes.” Octavia gestured to the distant castle, a silent indication of how fast Paperweight had been forced to move to traverse the required distance. “Had she been even a minute late, we would not have been able to stand against Thrash, and he even now would have enthralled many nobles of the Court. Her assistance was indispensible.”

Paperweight blushed and waved at the cameras. “Um… happy to help?” She seemed to brighten a little. “I mean, when I joined the Court as a page I said I’d be willing to help the Court however I can, and stopping a mean pony from making a bunch of Court ponies zombies seemed like a really important way to to do that, and, and…”

Bellemane’s throat suddenly felt very dry. She glanced up at Night Light, only to see him glaring down at her.

“Er…” she began.

“To us,” said Octavia, raising her mug of tea.

“I’ll drink to that!” Crescendo clinked her glass of wine against the mug. “Go us!”

“Yay!” said Paperweight.

The press conference was over. The trio had retreated to a quiet café. The maitre-d’ had not wanted to seat Crescendo, but Octavia had convinced him otherwise. As it turned out, she could be very persuasive when she had a mind to be.

“You’re alright,” said Crescendo, nudging Octavia. “Thought you’d be one of those stuck-up classical folks who hates playing any sort of modern genres, but you really did good tonight. Awesome performance.”

“As I told you before, I’ve no objection to metal, or any other genre,” said Octavia. “Although, speaking of genres … you recognized the Latigo and Xenophon themes that I played very quickly. I don’t think those are part of the standard metal repertoire.” She paused for a moment. “Where did you learn them?”

Crescendo almost choked on her wine. “Uh.”

“Also, your drum technique… now that I think about it, in the last part of the piece, when I had wrested control from Thrash, you stopped playing pure rhythms. You worked in some classical drum segments that went well with what I was playing.” Octavia smiled. “You’ve had classical training, haven’t you?”

Paperweight grinned. “You figured that out just from how she played her drums?”

“I have very good ears,” said Octavia.

Crescendo blushed. “I… yeah. I studied classical for a while. But it just never clicked, you know?”

Octavia nodded.

“I was out one day and I heard this rock musician in a park, and he wasn’t even that good, but it just… moved me. In a way classical never did. So I played that instead. Teachers and friends didn’t like it, but whatever. I’ve gotta be true to the music I feel.”

“As do I,” said Octavia. “As do all real musicians.” She paused. “Your genre is not my own. But I appreciate your ability, and I enjoy hearing you play.”

“Same to you. Maybe… maybe I’ll even get some of your records. See what else you can do.” Crescendo chuckled. “Got anything loud and powerful?”

“Yes.”

Paperweight grinned. “Ooh! If you two play together again, can I listen?”

“I don’t think we—“ began Octavia, but Crescendo waved her off. “What?”

“Just thinking. That song we played tonight, that wasn’t classical or metal. It was something in between. And it sounded great, especially once Thrash collapsed.” Crescendo smiled. “Just throwing this out there, but what if we – and a few other musicians, all different genres – had a couple jam sessions? See what happens when some great players in different areas work together.”

“I have a job; I can’t join a new band.“ said Octavia.

“Not a full-time thing. Maybe one night a week, or two nights a month or something, we reserve a space and just play around. And if we get something real good, we put on a show.” Crescendo laughed. “Weren’t you telling me you wanted to look for new music for your Court buddies? What if you could show them something in some new mashup style?”

Octavia thought about the possibilities. She would be able to play music with Crescendo, and also with other musicians who were masters in all kinds of music she was unfamiliar with. They would be able to hear each other, delight in novel sounds, and combine what they could do into something truly splendid. “That… that sounds like a splendid idea, Crescendo. We should come up with some names and begin asking if others are interested.”

“Awesome. We’ll set the Canterlot music scene on fire!”

Paperweight opened her mouth, and Octavia nodded. “And you, of course, may come to any of our ‘jam’ sessions that you wish, Paperweight.”

“Awesome!” Paperweight grinned as a platter of hay fries arrived, and she began chowing down. “Hey, Octavia?”

“Yes?”

“You know how you said I’m really good at analyzing music and I know a lot about a lot of pieces?”

“… yes?”

Paperweight smiled winningly. “Notes On Notes is looking for new ponies to send out music reviews a few times a month, and, uh… if I applied, do you think you could write me a recommendation? I was thinking, one of the parts of your job that sounds really cool is you can help recommend great musicians and bring them to the notice of patrons and Courtiers, and even if I can’t do that, if I hear a really neat concert, I’d love to tell everypony about it!”

Octavia nodded. “Hmm. I’d like you to write me a sample review or two first, to make sure it matches Notes on Notes' style—“

“Of course!”

“But if they’re anything like the sophisticated commentary I’ve heard you give about all kinds of pieces, I’m certain they’ll be fine. I would be proud to recommend you to that newspaper, or any other.”

Paperweight didn’t say anything, but her smile spoke for her.

Octavia left Crescendo and Paperweight shortly after the second platter of hay fries (which Paperweight seemed able to consume in endless quantities) arrived. Though tired, she did want to take care of one more piece of business before sunrise.

She signed in as a visitor to Foalsome Prison to see the newest inmate. Once in the room, she set down her cello and looked through the viewing pane as Thrash Metail was led in.

“Here to gloat?” he snapped when he saw her.

“No,” she said.

“Want to offer mercy again?”

“That is no longer in my control.” Octavia’s voice was low. “You attempted to enthrall a hundred Courtiers. In addition to all the ponies you did take control of, what you tried at the theatre is arguably high treason. They won’t release you from those charges just because I ask them to.”

“Well, you could tell them it was the Guitar’s fault.”

“I will tell the Guards everything I know about the Guitar, but they have specialists who can examine its enchantments more precisely. Even if I were willing to lie – which I am not – it would not help you.”

Thrash looked annoyed. “Why are you here, then?”

“I wanted to know if any of your previous discography has survived. If so, I would like to know the names of your records.”

Thrash stared. “Why?”

“Because I want to know what you sounded like before you were corrupted.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you actually care about music at all, even slightly, you’ll want the world to remember you for your real works – however bad they are – rather than your magic-laden lies.”

They locked eyes for a moment before Thrash turned away. “Never sold,” he said. “Nopony bought them. Stores returned them to me… and I burned them.”

“Why?”

“They were no good. They didn’t make me a rock star. No point in keeping them.”

Octavia bowed her head slightly. After a moment, she rose. “I apologize for wasting your time.”

“You think you’re so much better than me?” Thrash snapped. “We both worked hard, Tavi. And you know it. Who cares if you spent your time memorizing intervals and I spent mine spelunking for a magic artifact? I put sweat in too. I—“

“It’s not about the sweat,” said Octavia. “Not exactly. It’s about the music. It’s about practicing so much that you can practically see the chords. It’s about playing until your hooves bleed so that you can feel the music in every part of your body. It’s about immersing yourself in sound and welcoming it into your life until you understand it on such a deep level that you can appreciate every shade and nuance in a performance. Above all, it's about a love of music. I have that. Crescendo and Paperweight have that. You do not.” She frowned. “You want fame. I understand that. But you don’t care about music in the slightest. You’d have been an actor or a politician if you thought it was an easier way to become a star. Music is too pure to be a tool for something else, Thrash. If it wasn’t me, another pony would have beaten you. Just as every other owner of that Guitar was defeated in the end. You cannot be a great musician with glamours and mirages… no matter how much effort they take.”

Thrash looked angry. “I worked hard!” he repeated.

“Yes – to be famous. And you achieved that. Tomorrow, your arrest photo will be in every paper. Congratulations.” Octavia turned on her hoof and began to trot away. “I wish things had been different.”

“This isn’t over,” snapped Thrash. “Believe me. I’ll get out of here. I’ll be back.”

“Perhaps.” Octavia’s voice was as firm and unyielding as a stone wall. “If you do, I will defeat you again.”

She ignored his angry retort and left.

Bellemane sat in the little room, forbidden to leave or do anything else by order of Viceroy Night Light, and hoped that she would be let off with ‘just’ being fired.

Night Light had been furious, almost too much so to speak. He’d managed to communicate that it was abominable that she would lie and sabotage Paperweight as she had, and that he would need time to come up with an appropriate punishment. Her only clue as to her fate had been him hinting that the Equestrian embassy to the griffin kingdoms needed more clerical staff. She hoped fervently it didn’t come to that, but she didn’t know of any way to stop it.

I screwed up, she thought. And now the most powerful pony in Equestria, bar Luna, hates me. This night could not get any worse.

The door opened, and Paperweight walked in.

“What do you want?” snapped Bellemane.

Paperweight looked sad. “Why did you lie to Night Light?” she asked. “I never did anything to you, Bellemane.”

“He favored you.”

“He just liked that I worked hard. I would have helped you work harder too. He could have liked both of us… or all of his pages.”

Bellemane looked away. “I asked you what you want.”

“I was talking to Night Light. Since I’m the one you tried to hurt, he thought I should have some say in your punishment. He was really angry… he was talking about having you barred from ever working in the castle again, or having you sent to the griffin kingdoms, or making you work for Viscount Blueblood.”

Bellemane gagged. She’d heard stories about Blueblood, about how he berated his pages for his own screw-ups and made them perform humiliating tasks to placate his vast ego. He’d made one search through three hundred white shirts to find the single one that best matched his coat for a dance. “Which is it?”

“Well… I said I didn’t want you really badly punished. I mean, I’ve done bad stuff too, and I’m glad other ponies forgave me when I did. So he asked what I had in mind.” She smiled. “I came up with an idea he liked, actually. You’re on probation.”

“Just probation?” Bellemane was stunned. The punishment seemed much too light.

“For three months. To see if you can become a better page and pony. And get this – I’ll be the one to mentor you!”

“…what?!”

Paperweight grinned. “After what I did tonight, Night Light said that he’d be happy to have a literal hero as his head page, so he gave me the spot. That means I’m in charge of his other pages when he’s not around! And I’m especially in charge of you.” She trotted over to Bellemane, smiling brightly. “I’m going to make you into the hardest-working and best page in the castle! It will be a lot of work, but we’ll train – well, I’ll train you – every spare moment if I have to! And then, if he thinks you’re good enough after three months, he’ll let you keep working for him instead of passing you to Viscount Blueblood.”

“Goodie,” managed Bellemane. Now I’m her subordinate?!

Paperweight frowned. “Hey. I’m stopping you from getting stuck working with Blueblood or sent abroad. I think—“

“Right, right, I get it.” Bellemane sighed. This was her punishment, and she would have to accept it, or risk suffering the penalty that Night Light had originally planned for her. “Alright. Thank you for this opportunity. And… I’m sorry.” She bowed, kneeling somewhat close to the ground in apology.

“I forgive you.” Paperweight resumed her happy expression. “Now – let’s start training right away! First of all, that bow’s all wrong. You need to go lower, and incline your head, like this…”

Octavia stepped out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh pre-dawn air.

She had beaten Thrash, saved the day, possibly helped to start a new music movement in the city, and was aiding one of her good friends to share her knowledge and love of music with the world. All in all, it was a grand night’s work.

She began to play on her cello, deciding to warm up a bit before Luna arrived. She chose a strong and bright tune, one that spoke of victory, and triumph over evil. She played a few notes, and there it was, rushing out of her cello and into the night air.

The cellist stared at the beautiful night sky as she played. Little minor themes cropped up in the music, but the main theme rushed over them, heedless of any stumbling blocks or obstacles in its path. It was righteous and pure and able, and it could not be stopped by anything fake (she played a fast trill that sounded much harder than it was to play) or halfhearted (she played the skeleton of what might have been a credible alternate theme) or evil (she played a sharp blast that seemed designed to trip up the main theme). No, her melody just moved on its way, confident in its victory, and glorious in its beauty. It was not afraid of evil. It did not even deign to notice evil. Nothing bad mattered, and only the good and remained.

She finished with a perfect authentic cadence and swept her bow up at the sky, smiling to herself. Perfect, she thought. I wish I’d waited for Luna now, I think she would have liked that—

“That was lovely, Octavia.”

Octavia turned to see the Princess. Oh. Right. She’s one of the few ponies who can sneak up on me.

Luna looked merry. “I understand you had quite an adventure this evening.”

“Yes,” said Octavia.

The cellist wondered if Luna would say anything else, asking her to elaborate on what had happened or perhaps chastising her for taking such a risk without calling the Guards. But Luna just smiled. “Well done,” she said.

Octavia couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you.”

“Now.” Luna turned to the sky. “I arrived in the middle of the piece you were just playing, and I think I want to hear the beginning.”

“Of course.” Octavia readied herself. “On your mark.”

Luna’s horn glowed, and as the heavens moved above her, Octavia played.

Author's Note

That's all, folks!

As usual, a few things got cut. Details on those below:

There was originally a minor character, Baron McNitpick, whose job was to whine at the concert about how Octavia wasn't following the program. This was dumb, so I cut it.
There was a section on what to do with the cursed Guitar (which mentioned in particular that Fisher wanted it for military usage, and had offered to stop complaining about Octavia's government position if she made it available for that purpose). This didn't have much to do with anything, so I cut it. Assume it's locked up with wherever the other cursed stuff is. (An original draft had the guitar destroyed, but I cut that in case someone else wants to use it in a story).
There was an epilogue where Octavia wrote about all of this to Lyra. The joke was that Vinyl would be nearby, eavesdropping, and would hear about this guitar that could apparently cause an instant-rave. She of course loved the idea of an instrument that could make even a serious pony like Octavia start dancing and rocking out. And then the letter ended with, "We of course will analyze the Guitar, then seal it away forever so it can never be played again," which caused Vinyl to become horrified and beg Lyra to save it. I cut it because there's no point to it unless I add in wacky hijinks with Vinyl and Lyra trying to save what they think is the Guitar of Instant Raves, and I didn't want to do that.