Scherzo
Chapter 1
Frederic Horseshoepin returned to the recital hall, relieved after his trip to the bathroom. He grumbled to himself, as he was expecting something highly unpleasant.
He walked in through the stage door. He saw the grand piano propped open on one side of the stage, and on the other was the blue stallion, Harpo, wistfully plucking away at his instrument.
Frederic raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the harpist. He knew something was waiting for him. Ever so cautiously, he approached his piano. Nothing seemed particularly out of place, though he found that the lid on the keys had been shut. Fred rolled his eyes and looked over at Harpo, who was oh so innocently continuing to pluck away at the strings.
Oh you... Frederic thought as he sat down.
“Alright,” said Frederic, opening the lid on the keys, “from the top?”
Harpo nodded. Frederic, put his hooves to the keys and began to play.
Harpo and Frederic were rehearsing a piece for an upcoming concert. It was a beautiful harp and piano sonata that they had both wanted to play for quite some time. It was also not the piece that Frederic found himself playing. After about five measures, Frederic noticed that the sheet music he was rehearsing was not any kind of harp and piano sonata at all, but The Pony Pokie.
He stopped playing and glared at Harpo, who was now in fits of giggles. Frederic hated those giggles – Harpo spoke in a high-pitched tenor as it was, but when he giggled it broke into some girlish squeal.
“Harpo!” Frederic barked. The harpist merely grinned at him. Grumbling, Fred removed the page of music, revealing the correct score. He opened it to the first page and began to play.
The first movement of the sonata opened with a piano solo before segueing into a harp solo. Frederic followed along in the score, listening to Harpo as he played. He admitted, as annoying as Harpo could be, he was one of the finest musicians he knew. He smiled as he heard each pluck. And yet, something seemed a little odd – nothing sounded bad, but it just sounded strangely not like a harp. He looked over and found that the harp was sitting alone on the stage with nopony playing it, yet the music continued. He looked back in front of him to find the harpist standing at the open piano, merrily plucking away at the piano strings.
“Harpo!”
Harpo scurried back to his harp, giggling madly. Frederic grumbled – if he screwed off one more time...
Harpo sat down at the harp, took a deep breath, and began to play the solo from the beginning again. Frederic had to just watch and listen to his playing. It was as though Frederic could forgive every dumb piece of clowning Harpo did, just for that playing. He could listen to him forever.
As soon as the harp solo had finished, however, Fred heard a thump. His eyes shot open and he saw Harpo lying eagle-spread on the floor.
“Harpo?” asked Fred, but his colleague didn’t respond. “Harpo!” He got from the piano and walked over to the apparently unconscious body. “Harpo, what are you up to? ...Harpo?” He looked down. The harp player lay motionless, his breathing shallow. “Harpo, this isn’t funny!” shouted Fred, leaning down.
Then, Harpo threw his forelegs around Frederic’s neck and shot up. Frederic shook his head, trying to wrench away from Harpo’s embrace, which he eventually did, but not before Harpo had planted a big, sloppy kiss on his muzzle.
“Hey, what gives!” Frederic demanded. Harpo just beamed at him. Frederic turned around and grumbled. “I always come early and prepared, and then you start clowning around...” He looked back at Harpo, who was pretending to pout. “Don’t you have a boyfriend or something you can do that with?”
“Not yet!” Harpo piped, dropping the fake pout and hopping back up.
“Whatever,” said Frederic, “I’m going to go home. See you later.”
Harpo waved cheerfully at Fred as he gathered his book and headed for the door.
Annoying, Frederic thought, the way he treats rehearsals... One of these days he’ll mess up at a concert because he didn’t practice like he should...
***
Frederic always prided himself on his diligent practicing. He didn’t waste time clowning around or staring blankly in front of him or gulping down needless amounts of water – he opened his music and immediately set to playing. Scherzo, his pet wallaby and little assistant, thumped out the tempo.
Once he had finished the piece, he went back and revisited sections that had been giving him trouble, before playing it one final time.
He hoisted himself from his piano bench and retreated to the kitchen, feeling justified in treating himself to a cold beverage. No sooner had he opened the fridge, however, than he felt a tapping on his leg. He looked down to see Scherzo trying to get his attention.
“Hmm?” he asked. “What is it?”
Scherzo pointed to the front door.
“You want me to go out?” Frederic asked. “What for?”
Scherzo hopped off. Frederic shook his head and took a bottle of grape juice from the fridge, before turning around to find that Scherzo had returned with a music magazine that sported a photograph of an attractive mare. Frederic rolled his eyes.
“What, you want me to go get a marefriend?” he asked. The wallaby nodded eagerly. “Scherzo, I’m not interested in that.”
Scherzo paused, thinking for a minute. Then he hopped off again. About a minute later he returned, this time with a sports magazine brandishing the image of a muscular stallion.
“Scherzo!”
The wallaby promptly threw the magazine away behind him.
“I’ll be perfectly happy spending my evening at home, curled up with a nice new book,” Frederic explained. Scherzo sulked, giving a very sour expression which Frederic promptly ignored.
Frederic walked over to the bookshelf and, despite all the pouting from his wallaby, went to do exactly what he said he would. He took a comfortably thick volume down from the shelf before retreating to his comfy chair. All the while Scherzo looked back and forth from him to the door.
After about twenty minutes of Frederic enjoying his book, the little wallaby decided that those were twenty dreadfully boring minutes and began to thump his foot on the ground. Frederic’s ears pricked up, but he ignored it. Scherzo kept on with the thumping, making it grow louder and faster. Frederic continued to ignore it, but he found himself re-reading the same page over and over again without retaining more than a sentence at a time.
Frederic slammed the book shut and scowled at his pet. “I should’ve just bought a metronome. At least they don’t need to be fed.”
Scherzo was, however, not put off by this remark and merely grinned at his master. Frederic snorted and re-opened his book when he was interrupted yet again, this time by his doorbell.
“Oh, what now?” he groaned. Bemoaning his lack of willpower, he hauled himself out of the comfy chair and made his way to the door. “Yes?” he asked, opening it. “Oh, hi Harpo.”
The harpist was standing there, a few bits of paper in his mouth.
“What’s this?” asked Frederic, taking a closer look. Tickets for the opera. “The Marriage of Figaro?”
Harpo nodded, grinning.
Frederic thought for a minute. Obviously this was Harpo’s way of asking “no hard feelings?” after their less-than-ideal rehearsal.
Well, can’t stay annoyed too long, Frederic reasoned as he gingerly took the ticket. “So tomorrow night?”
Harpo nodded again.
“Well,” said Frederic. “Thanks.” He slowly shut the door and turned around. He saw the wallaby was smiling at him. “What?”
***
At times Frederic wasn’t completely sure what was and wasn’t appropriate attire for the opera. Traditionally one was supposed to wear their best, but he had known others to come in more casual attire, or no attire at all. Still, he reasoned as he looked himself over in the mirror, wearing a nice suit, being overdressed is better than being underdressed. He even wore a red bowtie.
The doorbell rang, followed by several thumps on the floor. Scherzo trying to get his attention.
“I’m coming, I’m coming...” said Frederic, approaching the door. The wallaby was waiting expectantly, looking up at him with a pleased, eager expression on his face. “I just know you’re going to be up to something mischievous while I’m out...”
He opened the door and saw Harpo standing there, smiling himself. He, too, was dressed in a suit, complete with a red bowtie just like his own.
“I see we’re a matched set,” Frederic noted.
Harpo held a hoof up and shook his head. Frederic cocked an eyebrow curiously, and watched the tie around Harpo’s neck spun like a propeller. Harpo grinned at him, as though inviting approval.
“Well, mine doesn’t do that,” said Frederic, “shall we go?”
Harpo smiled and nodded, and the two set off down the road for the opera. Frederic kept his eyes focused and ahead most of the time, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the way Harpo acted. Harpo’s gaze went every which way, and he seemed at times to skip a little, sometimes gravitating towards the street lamps as though wishing to dance on them. And at other times, Harpo just looked up at the stars in the sky, and sometimes he glanced at Frederic himself, and all the while smiling softly.
A crowd materialized as they approached the Canterlot opera house, the giant cosmopolitan theatre where all of the Canterlot elites’ musical needs were filled. Wealthy ponies in clothes fancier than his own stood around the massive fountain outside, chattering and laughing away to whittle down the time before the start of the opera.
They trotted into the entrance hall, bright and gleaming with chandelier light. Frederic nearly blinked as his eyes adjusted to the change, while the idle chatter of the wealthy socialites around him replaced the chirping crickets from earlier. One voice, however, cut out above the white noise of everypony else.
“Hey, Harpo!”
Harpo beamed and waved a hoof. Frederic saw another pony wave back at him, an earth pony with a light lavender coat and charcoal mane.
“Hey, Find, it’s Harpo!” he said to another earth pony pony next to him, a dark orange pony with a white mane.
The two ponies approached them and greeted Harpo enthusiastically.
“Knew we’d find you here,” said the first one. “Classical guy you are. And...” He turned to Frederic. “Who’s your friend here?”
“Oh, Frederic,” said Frederic. “I take it you two are Harpo’s friends?”
“Sure are,” said the other pony. “The name’s Eventide, and this here is Rare Find.”
“Hey,” said Rare Find. “You a musician guy?”
“Yes,” said Frederic. “I’m a pianist.”
“You an opera-lover?” asked Eventide.
“Well, I admit it’s not quite my forte,” said Frederic. “Though I respect it as a form.”
“Well, I’m fond of this one,” said Eventide.
“Every time we find it’s playing, we try to get a ticket,” said Rare Find. “Got tickets for it months ago. The guy they got playing Figaro is really good.”
“Great voice,” agreed Eventide. “Cute, too.”
Frederic cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, let’s get our seats,” said Rare Find. “Nice meeting you two.”
“Bye!” said Eventide.
Harpo happily waved at them as they departed, while Frederic stood there, puzzling. The bells, however, rang, signalling the ponies to head to their seats.
“So, uh,” said Frederic as they entered the audience, “are they, y’know...”
Harpo looked at him with one of the most remarkably high eyebrows Frederic had ever seen.
“Well, gay?” Frederic finished. Harpo nodded. “I see...”
The lights dimmed, and the opera began.
It was familiar story. There was a count. The count had a valet. The valet was to be married, but the count was after the bride-to-be, despite already having a wife. There was also a colt (played by a filly) who was in love with the countess. There was also a lawyer and another mare who were after the valet for a debt. The count was furiously jealous and angry at the colt. The valet, the bride-to-be, and the countess schemed to unravel the count’s plan and humiliate him, though they were not all on the same page. And all the way through the opera there was gorgeous music.
Occasionally, while the count was on-stage, Harpo would prod Frederic and give an exaggerated imitation of whatever look was on the count’s face. Frederic couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. And he couldn’t help but smile along with the music. It was very nice music, of course—Most Art was one of the great masters, after all.
At the end of the opera, the count knelt before the countess, begging for forgiveness. And the countess, more kind and graceful than the count, granted his request. Frederic looked at Harpo’s face. There were no silly expressions here now, as Harpo wore a serene smile, enraptured as he was with Most Art’s most beautiful music.
And the opera ended with a triumphant cadence, as all the complications were finally set straight, and everyone got a happy ending. Frederic joined in with the applause, though a little less enthusiastically than Harpo, who leapt from his seat and stomped his hooves on the floor.
And Frederic thought that he’d had a really wonderful time.
***
“Well, that was fun,” said Frederic, as they approached his apartment. “I don’t think I would’ve done that on my own initiative. Thank you.”
Harpo smiled and nodded happily. Frederic ascended the steps to his apartment and was about to enter when he stopped.
“You know...” he mused. “Maybe we should do something again sometime.”
Harpo clearly liked that. He beamed and bobbed his head up and down. Frederic almost chuckled.
“Well, good,” he said. “We’ll have to arrange something.”
And with that he went inside. It had already been dark out when he left, and the opera had lasted for four hours. Now it was pitch black inside.
He was about to reach for the light switch, but there was a click and they turned on seemingly by themselves.
“Scherzo?” asked Frederic. The wallaby hopped into sight, smiling at his owner. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
Scherzo tilted his head, still smiling.
“No, I guess not,” said Frederic, retreating into the kitchen. Scherzo hopped after him, grinning eagerly. “It was fun,” he continued. “The opera was very nice and Harpo wasn’t particularly disruptful. For some reason I always imagine him as the guy to burst out laughing in the middle of a play and not stop... that didn’t happen though...” he mumbled. “But it was nice,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, but shut it when he decided he wasn’t thirsty.
The wallaby simple stood there, still grinning mischievously at him as though expecting something.
“What?”