//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Paradiso // by Syvvak //------------------------------// Paradiso Chapter 1 Written by Lynked Story Concept by Lynked -------------------------------------------------- "No, I'm very serious. You're much too worked up over this." Octavia laughed and called over the waiter for one more round of drinks, promptly ordering a slim glass of wine and flashing a confident smile; one that made Beauty Brass's frown lighten just a bit. As he left to fetch the drinks, Octavia flashed her grin to her friend instead. "Oh hush you, I'm in my element." La Carte Exquisite was full, as usual, but talking was no hassle; most of the eloquent ponies of upper society had the decency to keep their conversations at their own tables. Waiters hurried through the swaths of red and gold tables and carpets on their way to and from the kitchens with platters of steaming food fit for a princess. Overhead hung a delicate chandelier that shimmered in the candlelight. The ambience was serene, topped off by the sweet notes of the violinist who was lost in her music on a stage pressed against the center wall. Octavia and Beauty's booth, though, was a bit of a mess. There were the empty plates of food that told of a large meal that was waiting to be finished off by a thick creme brulee and a tall glass of wine. A few stains were splotched here and there, and Octavia had already abstractedly tossed her cloth to the tabletop. "You always get like this," Beauty remarked as she swished around her own wineglass. Octavia giggled. "Oh? Such as, excited?" "No," her friend said, passing her an oblique glance. "Cocky. Overbearing. So full of yourself." With the wave of a hoof, Octavia snorted and said, "Don't be so sardonic. I'm happy, let me have this. Join in with me! Be excited!" Beauty Brass sighed and shook her head, a light smile tugging at her lips. "Right, right. Just mind yourself, won't you? Every once and a while you do get quite the big head." The waiter returned and set the glass down before Octavia. She raised it for a quick inspection of the burgundy wine, before she took a quick sip that was followed by a content "Mmm". "I'll be sure to keep an eye on it." There was a bit of silence while the two mares sipped their two drinks down. "So then," Beauty piped up, her face alight, "it's hardly a question that I have to ask, seeing as it's almost everywhere, but..." She leaned in and passed a wry glance left and right. "A DJ? Really?" Octavia leaned back with another of her grins. "Of course. New, I know. I hardly expected it, but... as they say, things happen." A cough came from Beauty as she averted her eyes. "It's just so strange. I can't say I ever expected it either. Aren't you at all nervous? I surely would be." "Ah, but dear," Octavia said, knocking off the last of her drink, "A DJ. Honestly, I can handle her. When she leaves tomorrow night, she'll not be able to think straight, that's how well I'll handle her." Beauty Brass watched Octavia's brief crass with a grin of her own, her earlier ambitions lost in the wine she'd downed. "So long as I get my level-headed friend back when it's all said and done." "Deal." She let herself chuckle. Across the room, two red padded doors swung ajar as the waiter made his return again, this time with a large dish of burnt creme on a silver platter. Setting it down on the table he flashed them both an appreciative smile, which they promptly returned, until he slid them the bill and made his hasty retreat. Carefully, Octavia slid the slice of paper towards her, around the warm bowl of creme. The instant her gaze landed on the number, she kicked the bill away and turned to her friend. "This thing was your idea you know." Beauty gave a playful sigh. Spoon in hoof, she had begun chipping away at the caramelized dessert. "Well I will pay for it, and you the rest of the meal." "Now you listen here--" "Back to what I was saying," she interjected, slapping Octavia's spoon away from her bite of creme, "you and a DJ. I'd say that the whole of the Canterlot Music Society may be there to watch." "And a few... lesser patrons," Octavia remarked objectively. "But indeed, a duel such as this... I daresay the concert hall will finally allow me my own timeslot." Beauty and Octavia battled for a particularly sugared piece of crust, with the latter claiming victory and quickly taking it away. Beauty huffed and resigned herself to the edges. "But a music mixture such as this, I've never even heard of." "Oh don't be ridiculous." Octavia chuckled. "It's been done much too much. Have you ever heard of 'Lyra Heartstrings’?" Her friend rolled her eyes up in light thought. The occasional crunch and scrape from the other tables mixed with the violin in this brief pause. "No, I can't say I have. Why?" "It's nothing much, really," Octavia said. Though, on another bite she paused, lowering the full spoon. "Well, I suppose it's more than nothing. It's a rather ghostly piece of art called 'Background Pony’. Seems that she's recently given the right to some DJ in Manehattan to do a... 'remix' of the songs." A shiver crept through her. "You know, I think I have heard that..." Beauty, too, shuddered. "Noise. All noise." "And here you were calling me uptight." "No, I called you arrogant, and it was more of 'insisted' anyway." She leaned back and rubbed her full, slightly distended belly. "But that doesn't matter. What's her name? You know, the one you're to 'duel', as you said." Octavia rubbed her chin lightly. "I can't quite call to mind her name, though it's probably the wine. I was only just told I was signed up for this yesterday." "Or perhaps you truly have had a tad too much to drink." The cellist was content to simply roll her eyes, so Beauty sighed and inspected the bill again. "Let's be off then. I'm actually rather tired, and putting up with you isn't easy on me. I need to get you home." Chuckling, Octavia took the last bite of her dessert. "I think I'm painted as ignorant, you know. I'm a grown mare, and I know a thing or two." "I know, Octavia, I know." She took a moment to adjust her pink satin bowtie while Beauty tossed out her share of bits. Octavia's followed suit. "Right then, I do need some rest for tomorrow. Come on, I'm on the verge of collapsing." Beauty nodded, and they stood and took their leave. The triumphant grin returned to Octavia as she pushed the doors open and stepped out into the chilly autumn night. The day was fleeting, and Octavia had gotten plenty of rest. Carefully combed, her mane fell to her side, and her coat held a certain sheen to it that was sure to luster in the hall's light. Light, she thought while it was still on her mind, that would instill awe when it shone off of her freshly polished cello. With cautious hooves she let it down into its velvet case and clicked the latches. Then she passed a glance to her window, admiring the ephemeral streaks of pink and orange that blended to create a twilight violet aura across the sky. A brief moment of peace washed over her as she stared out the window of her modest home. Modestly large. Not the biggest on the block. Something of that sort. It was gone in the blink of an eye, and her trademark grin returned. Calm, smooth control would return later; for now, there was a fire in her eyes. She slung the case onto her smooth, muscled back that years of abuse from the cello had given her. In a swift spin, she found herself facing her long foyer. The hollow clicks of her hooves hit the marble with an ominous echo. Ominous for a certain somepony, anyway. Certainly, Octavia felt no ill omen in proving, once again, that she was by far one of the best musicians around. Just not too rudely, she reminded herself. Beauty Brass's words drifted through her thoughts again. Perhaps her ego did get a bit overblown at times. Not tonight, though, for there was no shame in winning a contest, especially one as easy as this. It would be fine art against a crayon scribble. Easy. Out the door she went, being sure to securely shut it behind her, before she made her way down from her porch and onto the quiet street of her noble neighborhood. The Concert Hall was thankfully but a block away, so with the little time she had on this stroll she admired the smell of October and the colorful leaves that drifted through the streets. Every so often she'd pass a pony headed there who gave her their well-wishes and courtesy thoughts, which she took with grace. She rounded the corner, breathing in the cool, calm night when her hooves locked. Ponies, maybe not even that, were lined against the wall of the eloquent, masterful building. A line was woven through its pillars that made it look like the Canterlot nightlife had decided to siege the building. "Not the crowd I had expected..." Gaze glancing over the strange array of spiked manes and vibrant colors, she trotted past them all to the huge glass doors that a bouncer--yes, a bouncer--was protecting. "Um, excuse me," she murmured as she attempted to slip past the hulking grey stallion. He held out a hoof against which she promptly slammed. "I need your ticket, miss." "Really? Really, you'll ask for my ticket when my face is printed on that poster there?" She thrust a hoof to the wall, where a poster of Octavia hung steadily. Cello against Computer, the annoying slogan blared. The bouncer's berating green eyes flicked to it, then to her, then to it again before his hoof finally fell and she was permitted entrance to the hall. Snorting to the bouncer, she slipped through the doors and into the marble atrium that, too, was full of ponies wanted to see this spectacle unfold. "Octavia!" a voice called for her. She blinked and turned to see where it had come from, though the noise echoed through the chamber so badly that the source was all but lost. The foyer was grand, with a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling and dual stairs on either side of the rotunda to allow access to the upper balconies. It seemed that most of the ponies she would lend her company had already chosen to go here, she noted, while the other rainbow splatter of Canterlot nightlife was filing in through the ground floor doors into the main hall. "Octavia, over here!" the voice called again. Ears flicking in response, she glared through the crowed like a hunter until her sight landed on a thin white mare who was waving her over to a door that was all the way to the right. As she quickly trotted to her agent, questions boiling on her tongue, she noticed the mare's pink mane was a bit disheveled, and her hoof was slow. When they were face to face, the dark lines beneath her agent's eyes became noticeable as well. "Oh... oh my, Fleur, are you quite alright? You look like you haven't slept in days." Fleur de Lis waved her hoof. "This is nothing, truly. But come, come, we must prepare you for this!" she exclaimed, as much as her soft-spoken voice would let her. A pink hoof gripped Octavia's own and yanked her to the right-hoof backstage. "Fleur, you truly look exhausted!" They shared a glance as they neared the stage entrance. "Yes, well I have been rather frantic about this... you see, you do not know who you face..." Her accent was rather pronounced tonight, Octavia noted. "What do you mean?" "DJ Pon-3, I mean. She has been set up for hours, where have you been? Your bowtie is a mess and your tail, ack! It has a leaf in it! No, no, no, non bon suite! This DJ is growing in fame, Octavia, and if she can best you, the most renown musician in Canterlot--" "Fleur, please, you're too kind," Octavia said, waving an idle hoof. "That is not my point! Ooh la-la!" she groaned, peeking out at the stage. "Should you let her win, then you will have been bested. this will look poor on your reputation, and only boost hers, and you must trust me when I say she is bon magnifique! Octavia, what have you gotten yourself into?" She blinked. "What? Me? You signed me up for this two days ago! Where were you when I tried to call?" "My phone, she is broken," Fleur admitted. "Where were you when I came to your home?" "I've been gone all week, you knew that! That was why I was so surprised when I realized you had set me for this tonight. You're telling me that you didn't do it?" Fleur peeked out at the stage, then looked down to Octavia, and then glanced around uncomfortably. "Me, I did not, no. I had assumed you had." "Well, in any case..." Octavia fell to her haunches and let down her cello case. Backstage wasn't a cozy place to be, despite being well tended and with various lounging couches and cushions. She'd much rather be on the stage, but not at the behest of... well, somepony. "There is no way for you to back out now," Fleur said, brushing down Octavia's mane one last time. The crowd outside was growing louder. "What?" the cellist stammered. "And just why not?" "She's right, you know," Beauty Brass said as she slipped through the backstage door and took a seat on a couch. "And why is that?" "Because if you back out now you'll forfeit," she said with a knowing glance. Octavia returned it with equal animosity. "I've been talking to Fleur de-Lis here over lunch. Should you choose to back out now, she, being this DJ, wins by default. What a sore shame." "Easy for you to say, you've not been set up," Octavia retorted, taking her own peek at the stage. The once easy lights were now harsh on her eyes, much unlike the dimness of backstage. A rainbow pit was just before the stage, droning away about their clubbing, while the more refined ponies of society were sitting in the high balcony, sharing polite conversation. The most notable part of the scene, though, was the huge turntable that had been stationed across the stage. As it was for musical duels, one side of the stage was for one contestant, and the other was reserved for, well, the other. It seemed that one side was a large mechanical box now, ready to boom out loud white noise from two large speakers. The whole thing was practically glowing, with the words DJ Pon3 emblazoned on the front. And on her side there was a music stand. Alone. She ducked back in. Suddenly her legs began to shake, as though they were jelly. Biting her lip she began scuffing at the floor. Beauty Brass stood and slung a foreleg over Octavia's shoulder. "Hey, it's not any different, right? Where's that bolstering mare who ate my creme brulee last night, hmm? I miss her." The crowd was suddenly shushed, and the lights obviously dimmed. Fleur poked her head out and watched the Hall conductor step onstage to say a few words. "Octavia, you must go in a moment. Do not lose this, do you understand? It does not matter how it happened, we have no control over that. Just take control of what you can." The conductor finished his all-to-brief speech, leaving an ocean of silence in his wake. "Okay, you are on first! Now go! Go go!" Fleur gave Octavia a heave, barely giving her time to snatch her cello. On stage, she felt naked. With trembling legs she made her way to her music stand and began to unpack her cello, barely catching wind of the conversation she left behind. "Why is she so..." "I do not know, but I hope it does not do something that will hurt her performance..." She swallowed dryly and looked out to the audience. The bottom didn't matter so much, but those on the balconies above seemed to scrutinize her movements no matter how small. Quickly, she set her cello up on her endpin and balanced herself on her hind legs with skill and poise that, despite her light trembling, never failed her. There was silence. Unconsciously, she had already begun to replay how such a scene was to play out. First, she would be given three minutes of solo play, before her adversary would join her for another three minutes. Then, she would drop off and allow her other to finish the last three minutes given for the solo. Then it would repeat, three or four times. Completely out of her own accord. Out of her control. She'd been pushed on stage and now that was out of hoof. Her grip on her cello's neck tightened. Then, there were hoofsteps, hollow and loud from the opposite side of the stage. Slowly, with a stiff neck, she turned to see her opponent, and her jaw slacked the instant the mystery DJ stepped on stage. Because of her shiny, spiked electric blue mane. Because of her thick, ruffled white coat. Because of her cutie mark of a musical note. Octavia's voice was lost for a moment while the two shared a glance, despite the DJ's eyes being hidden behind thick, disguising purple shades. Eventually she found her jaw could work. "Y-you... You!" "Me?" "Yes you, Vinyl Scratch!"