//------------------------------// // Who's Crying Now? // Story: The Spice of Life // by Alun Aleriksson //------------------------------// Ch. 10 – Who’s Crying Now? Octavia didn’t bother to keep up with her hyperactive companion. She found Vinyl outside her apartment building, sitting down and breathing heavily. “Have a nice jog?” she teased. The huge purple glasses turned towards her. “Shut up and open up. We’ve got work to do.” “As you command,” Octavia exaggerated a bow before retrieving her key. “Though you could try being more patient. Things will seem to happen faster if you don’t expect them to happen as fast.” “Uh, you know that didn’t make any sense at all, right?” Vinyl replied as she trotted ahead to the elevator and mashed the button with a hoof. Octavia sighed dramatically. “I suppose it was too much to hope that there was some iota of sense left in you from earlier.” “Yup!” Octavia took two aspirin when they finally entered her apartment. -XXX- With a better understanding of the purpose behind their song, composing went a lot smoother for the two musicians. Vinyl proved to be quite adept at designing transitions that didn’t look great on the score but worked out when they were played. Somehow. Octavia was simply grateful that not all of them required blowing out the listener’s ear drums. They had decided, appropriately, to incorporate a sense of freedom as the basis of the song. It adequately captured the sense of dreaming, nighttime, and swing all in one. Starting with the pre-written introduction, the piece moved into powerful resonant chords dotted with staccato piano notes. This was the background for the “dreamscape.” “Now we use a heavy beat here, right?” “No.” “What about here?” “No, Vinyl.” “Well we’re gonna have to pick it up at some point, Tavi! If I’m flying in a dream I wanna be going fast!” “Yes, I quite agree,” Octavia said, surprising herself. She regarded her hoofwritten notes. “Hmm… I think I have an idea. How about this…?” Her modernistic counterpart gave her scribbles a once-over. It was a bold statement; Octavia didn't know if they could even pull it off. “Oh, yeah, that could work.” -XXX- “Vinyl… Vinyl Scratch!” For the second time, Octavia found herself attempting to rouse a certain unicorn from her couch. “Ugh, you didn’t even have anything to drink last night!” She kicked the stubborn piece of furniture for good measure. The passed-out prone pony remained so. “Very well. I suppose shall have to go and get breakfast at the cafe on my own,” A rush of air and a thumping of hooves was all the warning Octavia got before she was knocked back rather forcefully by the unicorn now bouncing in her doorway. “I heard food. Did you say food? Are we gonna get food?” “You do know what manners are, correct?” Octavia grumbled from her position on her floor. “Boring,” Vinyl answered confidently. Sighing, Octavia slowly stood. “You will get food if you behave.” Her companion’s expression wilted just slightly. “Okay,” She walked out the door with her back straight and her nose slightly raised. “Like this?” she said in a crude imitation of Octavia’s own voice. The original preemptively took two more aspirin. -XXX- Vinyl chatted about nothing the entire way to Latte’s cafe, and Octavia faked her interest. If Vinyl wanted to play posh pony, she would go along with it, if only to see how long it would take her to get bored. She kept it up, though, at least until the pair reached their destination. Cream and Sugar were enjoying the sunshine outside, playing some sort of board game. Vinyl hesitated, so Octavia took the lead. “Hello, Miss Octavia,” the two greeted in unison. “Good morning Cream, Sugar. I don’t believe you’ve met my friend. This is Vinyl.” "Hello, Miss Vinyl," the children chorused. "Miss Vinyl" took a few steps back, and hid behind the first thing she could find, which happened to be Octavia. "They're not ninjas. Or spiders." The cellist said under her breath. "No, even worse: I think they might be robots!" Vinyl whispered back. Octavia rolled her eyes and entered the store proper, not bothering to respond verbally, no matter how appropriate the comparison was. Vinyl followed cautiously, keeping an eye trained on the twins. “Octavia!” Latte brightened at the sight of her friend. “How are you? I haven’t seen you around for a while.” “I’m well, Latte; thank you. I’ve been busy lately,” Octavia was briefly interrupted by her companion smacking into her rump. The impact was thankfully enough to divert Vinyl’s attention away from the cyborgs watching her. “As it turns out, being fired is a full-time job.” Latte tittered. “Is this your DJ friend?” "Yes, this is Vinyl Scratch. Vinyl, this is Latte. She owns the cafe." “Oh, hi. Are you aware that there are robots outside your cafe?” The DJ gestured toward the window. “Er, what?” “Vinyl,” Octavia said sharply. “Hm?” "Do you remember what we talked about before?" Vinyl immediately did her best to put on airs, which essentially meant standing straighter and using a fake accent. “Indeed,” she said in her best snob voice. "Good. You can pick out what you want." As her companion perused her options, Octavia turned back to the barista. “I apologize. She’s… eccentric.” Latte watched Vinyl with a curious expression. “It’s alright. What was she saying about robots?” “You don’t want to know,” came the quick reassurance. Rule number 231 of polite conversation, Octavia remembered: never insult the other party’s foals, not even if they deserved it. Rule number one, of course, was to never say anything meaningful. “So how has business been, Latte?” The conversation smoothly continued with a predictable, simple example of high-class small talk. “Good, actually. I’ve been seeing new faces everyday, which means word is getting around about this place.” “Hey Tavi!” Vinyl interjected. “What’s a…” she attempted to sound out the name of the pastry. “Coo-gin a-man?” Octavia sighed. “Do you want to take this one?” she directed at her friend. “Gladly!” Latte replied. “That’s one of our newer items, pronounced ‘queen amahn,’ though I know it’s spelled funny. It’s essentially a layered butter cake with caramelized sugar baked into it. If you liked those Cloudsdale croissants, Octavia, you’ll love this. It’s light and sweet with some crunch to it.” A businessmare through-and-through, Latte knew just what to say to sell her product. “That does sound delightful. One with my coffee, please? What about you, Vinyl?” “Um… that one!” She pointed to a cinnamon roll, piled high with icing. “Very well. Any coffee?” Octavia prompted. “Do I look like the type of mare that needs coffee?” Octavia repressed a frightened shudder. “No,” she said, almost thankfully. Vinyl hyped up on any drug was a creature not fit for even the imagination. Unfortunately, the follow-up question still managed to chill Octavia’s blood. “Got any energy drinks?” -XXX- "How did you eat that?" The pair was walking to the concert hall after their breakfast. Latte didn't stock any brand of energy drink, so Vinyl had opted for a soda. "Um... With my mouth?" Octavia scowled, but otherwise did not let the response affect her. "No, I mean how can your body possibly ingest, let alone process, that much sugar?" “Same way I process alcohol, I guess: tolerance!” “It doesn’t work like that,” Octavia deadpanned. “How do you know?” Vinyl shot back. “You’ve never had a tolerance for anything!” Before she had time to think about it, a jab escaped the earth pony’s mouth: “Except annoying unicorns, apparently,” The pair froze, and Octavia whipped a hoof up to her muzzle. Rule number four: do not insult your conversation partner! She knew better than to say something like that! Vinyl, of course, had no knowledge of rule number four, and therefore could not quite understand Octavia’s mortification. Petty insults were a staple of her interactions, after all. Her sudden laughter was a surprise to her companion. Octavia frowned, searching for an explanation. By all rights, Vinyl should be furious with her. Then again, she supposed, Vinyl was by no rights a pony of high class. “Tavi,” she said, still gasping for breath. “Did… did you just use a comeback? Oh, I didn’t think you had it in you!” She broke into a fresh round of giggles. “I… fail to see how this is so funny,” This only prompted more laughter. “But that’s… that’s why it’s so funny! You’re so serious, you don’t even know when you’ve made a joke!” Octavia pondered that while her friend rolled on the ground. Was there such thing as being too serious? This wasn’t the first time Vinyl had mentioned it. But the accepted rules of conversation clearly stated... And then Octavia understood: it wasn’t a new style of music she was looking for, but a new way of thinking. Canterlot had been trapped by its own rules and customs for so long that it had forgotten that there were other cultures in Equestria. Cultures like Vinyl’s nightlife, which incorporated freedom and honesty as opposed to rigidity and flattery. Were there even others she didn’t know about? This would need to be studied, observed... ‘No,’ she caught herself. ‘No more redundant rules and regulations. I’m on a path to freedom now. Mine and the city’s.’ She felt better just thinking about it. -XXX- “But actually, it’s not so much the criticism from bar patrons I’m worried about,” Octavia was saying as the duo returned to their impromptu base of operations at their adopted concert hall. “I would much rather catch the eye of the-” “Princess,” Vinyl interjected. “Well, them too, I suppose, but what I was going to say was the-” “Princess,” Vinyl repeated. “You know, it is rather rude of you to keep interrup- Oh! Princess Luna!” Octavia sunk into a practiced bow. “What are you doing here? If you don’t mind me asking, that is?” Luna did not answer her; her eyes were trained on the concert hall. “It’s a shame,” she said softly. “To see such a building reduced to naught but a shadow of its former glory.” ‘She can see it, too.’ Octavia thought to herself. ‘She can see what it once was.’ Her thoughts were cut off by a shouted exclamation. "Hey! Maybe you can help us rebuild it!" Vinyl said. Luna replied with a sad smile. "I'm afraid not, my dear under-appreciated unicorn. What purpose would that serve?" "To show those phinlatines who's boss!" To be honest, Octavia was more impressed by how her friend managed to pronounce that word differently every time she used it than anything else. "But they still wouldn't support you," Luna reasoned back. "It would be an empty victory." Vinyl mumbled something about where she would shove an empty victory if she could, but backed down for the moment. She was getting calmer, Octavia thought. Maturing. "As for your question, Miss Melody, I am here checking up on your progress. How goes the songwriting?" Octavia started, but answered quickly. "Very well, your highness. We're almost finished with the piece." "Excellent!" The princess of the night crowed. "You will have no qualms, then, about performing it tomorrow for a small dinner I'm hosting in the castle?" Numbly, dumbly, slowly, Octavia forced herself to nod. There was no way to refuse a princess, but she had no idea how Syncopation was going to take this at once exciting and terrible news. He did have a part to play, after all. Vinyl, on the other hoof, jumped up and down with eagerness. "Aw yeah, we are so ready to stick it to those snooty snobs! Right, Tavi? Uh... Tavi?" “We… we’ll have to notify our third member…” Octavia said slowly, still in a state of mild shock. “Practice… revise…” “Have no fear, charming little charcoal cellist! I have already informed your third party of my intent, and he assured me there was no way you would not be ready!” Somehow, this did nothing to calm Octavia’s nerves. -XXX- Twenty-four hours later, Octavia was officially on the verge of a panic attack. "No, that's not quite right... We need to... Move this part here, and..." She frantically scratched at the parchment, perfecting the music that would make or break her career. "...There! Oh, who am I kidding: this is all going to go wrong," "Octavia," Syncopation yawned. "You need to calm down, or it will all go wrong. You've been working on this for two days straight; it'll be fine." "But what if it's not?" Octavia's voice was steadily rising. “Then what do you expect to lose, hmm?” “Oh, don’t say it like that,” Octavia moaned. “I don’t want to think about it like that.” “That’s what it’s come to, unfortunately. Why deny it?” The next words were just above a whisper: “Nothing to lose means you have nothing to give. I refuse to believe that I have absolutely nothing left.” Syncopation looked as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. “That’s… you’re right, Octavia. Even so, we can’t back out just because we’re afraid of what we might lose.” Octavia reluctantly nodded. “You make it sound like music is a lost lover you’re rediscovering,” she observed. “Isn’t it?” Vinyl could stopper her emotion no longer. “I love you guys!” she sobbed, pulling both of her best friends into a hasty, yet heartfelt hug. “We love you too, Vinyl,” Octavia reassured the distraught unicorn. “We love you too.” -XXX- After a walk to the castle that felt much longer than it was, the trio found their way to the correct dinner room with the aid of a few professionally indifferent guards. Vinyl huddled close to Octavia as they were escorted. “What now, Vinyl?” the cellist whispered. “More robots?” “Of course not, silly; they don’t let robots join the guard,” “Well, at least you’re-” “Just be careful. They’ve been merged with the hive mind.” “... Are you actually a conspiracy theorist, or just crazy?” That was a reasonable inquiry, right? “No way! I’ve seen ponies that were conspiracy theorists! Poor souls have been completely brainwashed, left to spread rumors and false information about their own fellow ponies. Can you believe it?” “More and more each day,” Octavia muttered. She heard Syncopation sniggering softly behind her. “‘Sides, the C.T. are out to get me because they know I know the truth!” Octavia hung her head in defeat. The guards halted in front of a modestly carved wooden door with a sharp click. “Lunar Dining Hall,” one of them announced as the other swung the door open. The Hall had been recently renovated to reflect better its name. Deep blue and purple banners hung at regular intervals, softening the already muted light. The tables were darkened wood, with shining silver plates and utensils. The contrast was very appealing. Most impressive and beautiful, though, was the ceiling. The supporting arches disappeared into darkness, and twinkling motes of light resembled stars in the seemingly infinite background. They shifted slightly together, as if in a mild breeze. The sight was calm and serene, and did wonders for Octavia’s frayed nerves. She and her crew slowly made their way to the stage at the far end of the hall. There was a piano and music stands already set up for their performance. “Come on, then,” she said to her compatriots. “Let’s make this night perfect.” Syncopation exhaled and shook his head. "You’re still not getting it, Octavia: it doesn't have to be perfect; that's the point. If you believe in your music, and you put the feeling in that I know you can, they will feel it too.” He set down his trumpet case and popped the latches. “You just have to give them a show they’re willing to see.” Octavia set herself up to Syncopation’s right, just in front of the piano Vinyl was currently appraising. “Thank you. I… I needed that,” “Salutations, musicians!” The group turned towards their exuberant hostess as she cantered up to their stage. “I trust you are ready for tonight’s festivities?” “As ever, Princess Luna,” Syncopation replied, inclining his head into a bow. “Do we have an itinerary?” The princess turned to business in an instant. “For the dinner, you need only to provide ambiance. I shall of course allow you to take a break for refreshments. When dessert is served, I shall draw the party’s attention to you, and you will begin your prepared performance. Is this to your liking?” Two of the three nodded assent. Vinyl grumbled something incoherent, but quailed under Octavia’s harsh glare. “Excellent!” Luna continued as if she had not noticed Vinyl’s discomfort. “Please enjoy yourselves, then; I can not wait to hear what you have come up with!” With a wink, she turned and sauntered off. “Hey, Tavi?” “What is it, Vinyl?” “What’s ‘ambiance’?” -XXX- The night progressed as smoothly as it could. Octavia wasn’t fooled, though; the last two major social events she had played at had started this way, and ended with her flat on her stomach, wondering where the night had gone wrong. Hopefully she could at least stay upright this time. She used the background playing time to scope out her audience. She identified figures such as Fancy Pants and Night Light right away; they were both prominent members of the Canterlot Advisory Council. Surprisingly, she didn’t see ponies like Upper Crust or Jet Set. Princess Luna had either been very smart or very stupid to avoid inviting much of Canterlot’s unicorn elite. Speaking of which, she didn’t see very many unicorns at all. Canterlot’s population in the last census was nearly 60 percent unicorns. The crowd she saw in the dining hall was less than half that. The distribution looked to be about even between the three tribes. Most of the guests weren’t even wearing clothes, as was the unicorn custom in Canterlot. Why would Luna host a party in the castle where clothes were optional? This was not the social norm… Although, to be fair, neither were they. This entire dinner seemed to defy everything Canterlot thought a gathering should consist of. Maybe that was the point: it was a perfect setting to introduce new thought to a group of open-minded ponies. This might become interesting, Octavia concluded. A tinny ringing distracted her; Luna was tapping her fork on her glass. This was it, then: the dessert course. “Attention, everypony!” the navy Princess called. “Your attention, please!” Octavia was impressed by how fast the chatter ceased. Normally partygoers had more important things than the hostess on their minds. Pushing the thought from her brain, she focused on Princess Luna’s announcement. “I wish to thank you all for joining me on this loveliest of evenings,” she started. “It means a great deal to see such support for the newly refurbished Lunar Dining Hall! I hope to host many more events within these walls in the future, but for now, I’d like to bring your attention to the stage, where a trio of capable musicians stands ready to entertain you!" The horde of heads turned in their direction, and Octavia’s apprehension flooded back. “Um… hello,” she began nervously, after a nod from Syncopation confirmed her as the speaker for the group. “First off, I need to thank Princess Luna for providing us with this opportunity…” she paused for a quiet round of appreciative applause, and then continued. “Many of you know me as a famous classical musician, whether it be solo performances or my work with the Symphony. When I was a filly, it inspired feeling in me, and I wished to recreate it for myself and others around me.” The rapt expressions on the faces of the dinner guests encouraged her, and she pressed on confidently. “Lately, though, most concerts have lost that sense of feeling, of wonder. Ponies think that if something has worked for them in the past, it will continue to work for them. I have recently found that this philosophy is wrong. “So tonight, I would like to bring back that feeling, and instill once more into my audience an appreciation for what music truly is. The pieces we have prepared are of a different sort than what you are probably used to, and certainly different than what I am used to. I invite you all to cast aside your assumptions and preconceptions, and enjoy this entirely new style, which we like to call: ‘swing.’” Her speech was met with polite applause, which Octavia took as a good sign. She carefully set her bow in her case and prepped her cello for the first song they had rehearsed. Taking a glance at her companions, she counted off: “A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three...” Plucked strings formed the base of the number; low, short notes arranged into a haphazard beat. Vinyl joined her next, the high piano notes contrasting beautifully. Syncopation jumped in when he felt it was right, smoothly inserting his improvised part into the established melody. He ran up and down his scales in spotty eighth notes held together by a slur or two. As they played, Octavia noticed that the crowd they were performing for had become deathly quiet; not even the clink of silverware interrupted the music. That was either very good or very bad. She desperately hoped it was the former. When she plucked her last string, though, the audience retained their silence. She heard maybe one or two clear their throats before she decided to continue. She hadn’t had to duck any projectiles, so they were already doing better than their last gig. Their next piece was more upbeat: Octavia found it more of a challenge to keep up with the short, quick notes her companions were able to produce. She didn’t have her bow to aid her, after all. She kept her part simple, with strategic rests followed by tasteful support. Syncopation opted show off his technical side with complicated runs and rapid transitions, Vinyl surprisingly right behind him. They traded the solo part between them effortlessly; it seemed they knew how many bars each was going to take for their “turn.” None of their parts were explicitly written. They ended on what Syncopation called a "jazz chord," which to Octavia meant: "these three notes are close enough to a relative minor that no one will complain, but you can definitely hear the difference." Vinyl thought it was the coolest thing ever. Still the audience held their applause, and Octavia began to grow worried. Were they doing something wrong? Did they not like it? Should she continue? Could she continue? Talking would get her mind off of it, right? Besides, their flagship composition deserved some sort of introduction. She shifted uncomfortably and worked up her courage to address those present: “Before we perform our last piece, I want to put it in some form of context. “When I left the Symphony, I was working on a new cello solo I had hoped to present and perform someday. My aim was to reestablish some of the culture I thought had been missing from our recent performances; I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about. “Anyway, my director gave me two leads to help me with my little crusade, and I ended up following them to a ‘techno’ disc jockey and a homeless old bum.” She finally got a reaction in the form of sparse chuckles. “Yes, I was dubious as well. And yet, they stayed by me, helping even when I didn’t want it, and they are the musicians you see before you. “Together we completed my work, and we’d like to perform the result for you. This is: ‘Luna’s Dreamscape,’ and we hope you enjoy.” The first part was low, calm, and sonorous. Octavia thought about a sinking sunset giving way to the evening's first stars as a reference for what she wanted to portray. She translated that image to her music, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her. The music notes dropped into a lower register as her mental sun disappeared below the horizon. The last vestiges of color faded along with her last deep note. Vinyl struck up an incessant plinking rhythm as a transition, and Octavia saw her night sky awaken: stars and constellations popped into existence on an ebony canvas; Syncopation's trumpet set the moon on its nightly path. Octavia's solo had been sketched as a series of chords and ideas. She imagined a spread of dusty galaxies swirling with color moving, interacting, even colliding. She poured the sensations of wonder and freedom into her style, using dramatic changes in pitch connected by short, quick runs. She did not open her eyes, did not even acknowledge that there were others in the room. There was only her music, and it filled her entire being, her existence. In a way, she became the music, and thought that this must have been what Syncopation had been trying to show her all along. Vinyl's rhythm turned into a driving beat in a lower octave, and Octavia shifted gears to match her. Syncopation painted a dream with his trumpet; the uplifting melody raised spirits, and even induced a feeling of phantom weightlessness. And then it all broke down: Octavia set her bow down and reverted back to her plucking technique. The other two played random sporadic notes whose only relationship was that they were in the same key. No pony was following anypony else, and the three kept a loose beat between them as a sense of time. The dreamlike flight turned to a hazy, incomprehensible confusion. Syncopation started an upward run, the signal to move to the last part of the song. As he reached the crux, Vinyl and Octavia caught up with him, sounding triumphant major chords in a bell tone style. Octavia’s cello defined the downbeats, while the trumpet and piano filled in between. Finally Octavia strummed her last note with her accomplices, and the chord rang through the acoustically designed dining hall. Their audience sat in what she perceived to be shocked silence, before enthusiastic clicking and clopping came from the head of the table: Luna was leaning against the wood, clapping her hooves for all she was worth. “Splendid! Uncanny! Wondrous!” Her voice sounded both impossibly loud and quietly muted in the emptiness of the rest of the room. “Thank you, Princess,” Octavia croaked. She was still waiting on the public’s reaction. “Fillies and Gentlecolts, Miss Melody and her Marvelous Musicians!” Luna proclaimed, still clapping. She got a few to clop slowly along with her. The others were sporting either slack jaws or wide eyes. Both, in several cases. Octavia didn’t know what to make of it. Eventually, small talk and chatter returned as the guests went back to their dessert. One or two glanced back at the stage, but that was it. Syncopation was the first to comment: “I’ll be honest here, that was the most ambiguous reaction I’ve ever gotten in all my years of playing. I’m not sure what to think,” “Nor I,” Octavia agreed as she began to pack up. Now that the music had ended, she felt hollow. She nestled her cello in its case in a trance, unaware of their vivacious visitor until she was almost upon them. “Commendations on performing so admirably!” Princess Luna’s voice was a thunderclap to Octavia’s unprepared ears. “And thank you. Really. That was, without doubt, the best artistic representation of the night I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing! I am glad to have it dedicated to what I love.” “Your words give us more credit than earned, Princess. I'm sure that-" "Ever," "We-" "EVER," the princess insisted. "I'll not have you belittling your own work, especially not something as magnificent as what you've created, Miss Melody." "I-" something in the back of Octavia's mind reminded her that she was arguing with an extremely powerful, immortal being, and she decided to leave it be. "Thank you, Princess. For everything." "Nay, 'twas my pleasure! Now if you'll excuse me, there are some ponies with whom I desperately need to converse." The trio bowed their heads in farewell before returning to their instruments. Octavia shouldered her case, while Syncopation tucked his under a wing. “Any ideas?” The old pegasus asked, to which Octavia solemnly shook her head.