Symphonics

by BillyColt

What I Did For Love pt 3

Chapter 3

Frederic had marked the calendar with the audition date in bright red, circled so that he would not only remember the date, but remember how important it was. This was to be his chance to get back to his career and reaffirm his professional relationship with his colleagues.

He kept one eye on the clock and the other on the piano keys as he practiced. The sheet music itself was tucked safely away in a folder, as Frederic had already committed it to memory after a brief refresher.

The timer rang and he closed the lid on the piano, finished with his early practice. Slinging a pack over his back, he stepped out of the door and into the bustling city of Canterlot, ready to meet the day.

He took a deep sniff, smiling and taking in the clean air. He strolled down the road up to his usual greasy spoon, eager to help himself to a grapefruit and a—

“Hiya Freddy!”

A chat with Vinyl Scratch, apparently. She trotted up next to him. “How ya doin’? Octavia says you’re all getting ready for a big gig.”

“Yes, she’s right,” he said, making an effort to keep his teeth from clenching together. “The Unorthodox Scherzando, by—”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me what it is,” said Vinyl, casually waving a hoof. “I’m sure I’ll forget the title before this conversation’s done.”

“Fair enough,” Frederic muttered, quickly stepping to the side to avoid a pushy pedestrian. Vinyl, however, seemed nonplussed as a pair of unicorns brisked past her.

“Y’know, she seemed kinda… tense,” she said thoughtfully. “Guess it’s a high-stakes gig or something.”

“I suppose it is,” sighed Frederic. “I’m afraid it’s my fault.”

“How ya figure?” Vinyl tilted her head.

“My absence has no doubt disrupted the group’s plans considerably, and, well… I’m concerned about my relationship with Octavia.” He caught Vinyl’s dubious expression. “Professionally speaking,” he added hastily.

“Well, we can talk about it some more over waffles,” said Vinyl.

“I don’t want any waffles,” said Frederic.

“Woah,” said Vinyl, walking in front of him and raising a hoof to stop him. “Woah woah woah! How can you not like waffles?”

“Too much fat and sugar,” said Frederic, narrowing his eyes. This was not a conversation he wanted to have at this time of the morning. “And not enough fiber.”

Vinyl stared at him for a moment as though she was waiting for him to say something. Eventually, she actually responded. “That’s why they’re good.”

Frederic opened his mouth to say something, but Vinyl grabbed him and practically dragged him down the sidewalk. Frederic voiced incoherent yelps of protest, but Vinyl didn’t seem to notice. Maybe she’s part deaf from all that noise she surrounds herself with, he thought.

By the time Frederic had finished that thought, Vinyl had dragged them into the greasy spoon and plunked them down at a corner booth. Frederic blinked. The restaurant had a yellow tint to it that he’d never noticed before, but all of a sudden he found it very annoying.

“Waffles, waffles, waffles…” Vinyl muttered, burying hers face in the menu.

Frederic forced himself not to roll his eyes as he turned over to the fresh fruits section of the menu. “Healthy Eats,” as it was put in a quaint little box on the menu, as though squished there by the umpteen varieties of things loaded with gluten. He then made a note to himself to look up what gluten was one of these days.

“Howdy,” said a waitress, walking up to their table. “May I take your order?”

“I’ll have a tall glass of OJ and the Deluxe Waffle Combo!” said Vinyl.

Frederic sighed and looked at the waitress. She was a young unicorn, probably taking this as a side job to pay her way through college. They met glances and seemed to wordlessly exchange: ‘How do you put up with this every day?’ ‘Oh, I just grit my teeth and bury my contempt for my fellow pony in a journal.’ ‘I see.’

At least, that’s what he imagined.

“And you, sir?” asked the waitress.

Frederic closed the menu. “I’ll have a grapefruit and a glass of water.”

“I’ll have your orders soon,” she said, taking their menus and walking away.

“That’s all you’re having?” asked Vinyl, tilting her head. “Breakfast is, like, the most important meal of the day.”

“All the more reason to eat healthy,” Frederic said, wondering why he was having this conversation at all.

Vinyl sat quietly for a moment, her face going blank. Frederic raised a perplexed eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she said, snapping out of it. “I just had a flashback to dating Octavia.”

“…I see.”

“Anywho,” said Vinyl, sitting up and tossing her mane—it was so loaded with hair gel that it didn’t move at all. “Sure your piano hasn’t rotted in your absence?”

“It hasn’t,” said Frederic, his eyes flitting over to the clock. “I practiced whenever I could. I mean, I was traveling with a musician.”

“Uh-huh,” said Vinyl. She leaned back, almost sinking into the vinyl covering of her seat. Her face instantly fell flat as though she’d gotten suddenly bored. “How long are they gonna take with the food?”

“I don’t know…” said Frederic. Given my patience for this conversation, too long.

“Speaking of Octavia…”

We just finished speaking of Octavia…

“How are you two?”

Frederic looked up at her. She looked back at him casually, her head hanging off to the side as though she were about to take a nap, or lounge in front of a fan.

“‘Us two,’” Frederic said, his right hoof almost autonomously reaching for the napkin holder, “are not a ‘thing,’ to use your terminology.” Irritated, he noticed that Vinyl’s expression didn’t change. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” asked Vinyl, still practically motionless.

“You’re looking at me like that.” Frederic put the napkin at his side.

“Sorry,” said Vinyl, not actually doing anything.

Frederic looked up, hoping for the waitress to arrive. Not because he thought it would end this conversation, but because he hoped it would at least distract him for a few seconds.

“So I’m guessing that what you’re really saying is ‘no, not going very well,’” said Vinyl. She stretched her forelegs and looked up at the ceiling. “I saw her the other day. She seemed tense.”

Frederic looked at her and snorted. “I think things could certainly be better,” he half-mumbled. “We have an important audition coming up and, well…”

Vinyl looked back at him, her expression betraying a sense of piqued interest. “Wellll?” she asked. “You’re leaving me hanging.”

“I’m…” Frederic took a deep breath. Why is this conversation happening it should not be happening. “Concerned that telling Octavia about my… feelings might have driven a wedge between us.”

“Your orders!” said the waitress. Balanced on her back was a tray. How it was balanced, Frederic had no idea; on one side was a modest grapefruit, cut into two halves. On the other, two colossal waffles, a plateful of eggs, a chunk of hash browns, and a tub of butter. Frederic looked at the plate, then at the waitress, and imagined her saying, ‘I’m collecting my thoughts into a book. Then I’ll have it published and everypony will praise its caustic wit, thinking that they themselves aren’t part of what I’m mocking.’ ‘Am I excepted?’ ‘What do you think?’ ‘I see… I'll just have to strive for self-improvement.’

“You alright there?” asked Vinyl. Frederic was snapped out of his imaginary conversation to see Vinyl, her plates in front of her, and a pitcher of maple syrup hovering in the air above, slowly tipping. The syrup seemed to Frederic to cascade, smothering the waffles.

“I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at you,” said Frederic.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said dryly. “Anywho, what, you’re worried you creeped her out?”

“That’s a possibility…” said Frederic, squirming uncomfortably. He looked down at his grapefruit. How refreshing it seemed to him, so simple, so pure, so unlikely to kill him before the age of forty. “At the moment, I just want to be able to work with her without there being… unnecessary friction.”

“Well, if you want my suggestion,” said Vinyl, floating a forkful of waffle. Frederic looked at the thing, soaked in syrup like a sponge and slathered in butter, and felt a pit form in his stomach. Vinyl didn’t seem to notice, as she continued, “just be honest with Octavia and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Being honest with Octavia is what started this mess in the first place,” said Frederic. “If I hadn’t made a big confession to her like a pony in a cheesy play this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Dude, I dated her. I know a few things about her,” said Vinyl, stuffing the forkful of waffle in her mouth. “And Octavia doesn’t have a problem with a pony for being honest.”

“So you’re suggesting that I…” Frederic waved a hoof in front of him as though trying to illustrate something. Unfortunately, the thought in his head was so infuriatingly vague that gesticulation failed him. “Just… be honest with her? About what?”

“Oh, tell her you’re concerned about your professional relationship and that junk,” said Vinyl. “And then once you’ve got all that fixed up you can go on and ask her out on a date.”

“I’m not going to ask Octavia out on a date, Vinyl,” said Frederic, firmly grabbing a packet of sugar. He gritted his teeth as he tore it open with his teeth and sprinkled the contents onto a half-slice of grapefruit.

Vinyl looked up at him and stared idly at him, resting her chin on her hoof. Frederic tried to ignore it, but after a few seconds of her eyes boring into his skull, he looked back up at her.

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“You’re confusing,” she said.

“And you’re alien,” said Frederic. “I’m not asking her out on a date. That would not help our professional relationship. Besides, she doesn’t even like stallions.”

“How do you know?” asked Vinyl. Frederic opened his mouth and, failing an answer, shut it again. “See? You don’t know!”

“Do you know?”

“No,” said Vinyl. “Why would I ask her that?”

“Point taken,” said Frederic, returning to his grapefruit.

***

Frederic arrived at the Canterlot Coffee House five minutes before their scheduled meeting time. He found Beauty Brass was already seated in the corner and was going over some sheets of paper with a pencil in her mouth.

The Canterlot Coffee House had a subdued atmosphere, with lots of brown colors, tables spaced out far apart from each other, and mildly dim lights hanging from the ceiling. One of the larger tables was congregated by a group of smiling young ponies who Frederic suspected were part of some school theatre department.

Frederic walked over to Beauty Brass’s table, taking a seat across from her. “Taking notes?” he asked.

Brass set her pencil down on the table. “I’m going over the music. Once everypony else is here we’ll go over them.”

Frederic eyed the clock as the minute hand ticked its way to three-and-a-half minutes before the hour. Wryly, he began to count down: “Three… two… one…”

The bell at the door rang. Frederic and Beauty Brass looked up and saw Harpo standing in the doorway, looking very pleased with himself.

“Do you think he plans it?” asked Frederic quietly.

“I think it’s just magic coincidence,” said Beauty Brass. “Like my cousin who thinks that the princesses keep arranging for her horseshoes to be next to the door she isn’t using at any given time.”

“My cousin just thought Luna was purposefully making him dream he was in his underwear in public,” said Frederic.

“Think she might have?”

Frederic paused and thought about that for a moment. “It is possible…”

The Brighte Eyes Coffee Shoppe was the band’s coffee place of choice. The atmosphere was nice and relaxed, but not so relaxed that it started to feel lazy. It gave a feeling of warm familiarity that did wonders to calm Frederic’s nerves when he returned from his trip.

Harpo mosied on over to the table, sitting down next to Frederic. He looked up and peered at the board behind the barrista at the counter, his eyes scanning the menu.

“In any case,” said Frederic, “I worked on the piece this morning. I can confidently say I have it committed to memory.”

“Hmm…” said Beauty Brass, looking down at the music. “Don’t get too confident about that. There are still some problem places, so bring your score.”

Harpo prodded Frederic’s shoulder and nodded over towards the counter.

“What?” asked Frederic. “You want to get coffee?”

Harpo nodded, then looked at the others and stood up.

“Sure, that’s good with me,” said Beauty Brass. “Could you get me a vanilla latte?”

Harpo nodded and looked at Frederic.

Frederic simply shrugged. “Decaf for me,” he said. Harpo stared at him like he’d asked for a cup of vomit. “What? I’m awake enough that I don’t need it.” He fidgeted nervously.

Harpo shrugged his shoulders listlessly and headed for the counter, but Frederic reached for his coin purse.

“Actually…” said Frederic, fiddling with the contents of his coin purse. “Could you get me a croissant, too?”

Harpo nodded and marched off to the counter.

Beauty Brass took out another sheet of paper before resuming her talk with Frederic. “We’ve got a lot of competition for this gig,” she said. “They’re also auditioning a bunch of ponies in Manehattan. I think every musician in Equestria wants a shot at this.”

“Where is this, again?” asked Frederic. “The Crystal…”

“Empire,” she explained.

“Right,” said Beauty Brass. “It just… showed up earlier this year.”

Frederic raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“It just… appeared one day. Apparently a thousand years ago it vanished. And now it’s back and it’s joined with Equestria.”

Frederic blinked. “I see…” He took a minute to think about that. “Wait a minute… I could swear that this was a musical I played for once…”

“This is an important gig,” said Beauty Brass. “This is the first real public event that the Crystal Empire is having, and it’s one of the first times that there will be major Equestrian artists performing. We need to be at our best if we want to have a shot at it.”

Frederic thought on it. “They’ve really been gone for a thousand years?” he asked.

“That’s right,” said Beauty Brass. “There was an evil tyrant who made it disappear before the Princesses put him down. And now it’s back. And now we’re trying to get hired for it.”

Frederic nodded. Harpo returned with their coffee (his own was a very large cardboard cylinder) and resumed his seat. “I’m just thinking…” said Frederic. “That’s a thousand years of musical developments they’ve missed. Most Art, Brahmas, Beat-Hoofin’... many of them might not have heard their music.”

Beauty Brass sat up a bit. “I didn’t think of that,” she said.

The door to the coffee house opened. Octavia walked in, her hoofsteps clonking loudly against the floor, and flopped into a seat at the table, next to Beauty Brass. “Sorry I’m late…” she said. “I just… had a really rough night.”

There was a pause as the other three exchanged glances.

“Also the dry cleaner got flooded. Not getting back…” Octavia breathed a little. “My neckties are all in polka dots.”

Frederic and Harpo exchanged a concerned glance before looking back at her.

Octavia sulked forward, a foreleg on the table propping up her head. The other three looked at each other, before Harpo nudged his giant coffee cup in Octavia’s direction. Octavia straightened up. “Thanks,” she said.

“Well,” said Frederic, “I’m sure you could borrow…” Octavia looked at him. “...One of ours,” he finished, mumbling.

“Well,” said Beauty Brass, “now that we’re all here…” She nudged the papers towards the center of the table. “I’d like to talk about the music.” She cleared her throat. “We’re not all together on the ritardando here,” she said. “We have to listen to each other. Cello has the melody, so we should follow Octavia.”

“Right, right,” said Octavia, nodding and rubbing her head. She took a sip of coffee, an act that Harpo watched intently.

“Also, Frederic,” said Beauty Brass, “what tempo are you practicing at?”

“For the first movement?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Frederic shrugged. “I was going at 120, like we’ve been doing in rehearsal.”

“The sheet music says 132,” said Octavia, taking another sip of coffee. “You don’t think the judges are going to be interested in that detail, do you?”

“Probably not,” said Beauty Brass, curiously peering at the music as though she were suspicious of it. “Still, I’d like to try it at that tempo,” said Beauty Brass. “If we can make it, I think that’d help our chances. If we can’t, well, we’ll keep it at 120.”

“I guess we’ll see at rehearsal tonight,” said Frederic, before taking a bite out of his croissant.

“Think you could try taking it at 132 at home first?” asked Beauty Brass.

Frederic nodded. Octavia looked over at Beauty Brass. “You seem… really intense on this.”

“Well,” said Beauty Brass, “Frederic was just explaining the stakes here.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Frederic awkwardly swallowed his mouthful of croissant and cleared his throat.

“Well, it just seems to me like this will be their first major exposure to the last millenium of music,” said Frederic. “And we want to do the best job we can of making sure that they get a good first impression. I mean, imagine if their first impression of music were…”

There was a dull rumble from outside. The four ponies turned to look out the window and saw a teenage stallion wearing a baggy saddle, a backwards cap, and a boombox by his head, blaring something that Frederic vaguely recognized, he believed, as “phat beats.” They watched him in stark silence as he passed by the window. Harpo shuddered.

“Wh… what time is our rehearsal tonight?” asked Octavia, slightly shaken.

“Seven PM tonight,” said Beauty Brass. “I’ve got a room reserved at Pickled Ivories.”

“Alright,” confirmed Octavia, nodding listlessly. She looked down at the giant coffee cup and pushed it back to Harpo, who quickly started drinking from it.

“Anyway, I have to go,” said Beauty Brass, getting up. “I’m overdue to grease my horn and that’s never a pleasant process.” Harpo made a face. “Yeah, I know. Nice meeting with all of you again. We haven’t had coffee in a while. Hopefully we can do it again later when we’re not under as much stress.”

Harpo nodded and followed her out, taking his massive cup of coffee with him. Frederic and Octavia sat at the table. Octavia was still holding her head, not looking at him.

“Are you okay?” asked Frederic, cautious.

“Oh, no, I’m… I’m fine,” said Octavia. Her hoof went in small, idle circles in the air. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Octavia looked at him with her eyelids lowered. Frederic couldn’t tell if she was suspicious, irritated, or just about to fall asleep. “Not really,” she said.

Frederic sat there, his hooves around his mug of coffee. His eyes flicked down to the cup of coffee, to Octavia, to the clock on the wall, to another nearby table. He wasn’t sure what he should do; ask another question? Offer a platitude? Shut up and leave?

“Not…” Octavia said, haltingly. She seemed to relent slightly, easing her shoulders forward over the table and looking down. “Just not right now.”

Frederic looked over at the clock. Over at a nearby table, a group of ponies burst into a loud laugh, causing him to jump slightly and breaking his train of thought. He snorted at their rudeness, before he looked back at Octavia. She, obviously, was not in the best mood, and he had no idea how to address her. He needed to make sure that she’d be there for the rehearsal at her best. And it would also be good for him if he could be sure she wasn’t mad at him.

“If this is about what I said when I came back—” Frederic started.

Octavia looked up at him sharply. “What?” she asked. “Well… I just have a lot on my mind. If… I have to be honest, I’ll admit it didn’t help.”

Frederic nodded. “I understand that. But I’m worried.”

She raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I…” Frederic took a deep breath. This was embarrassing. Vinyl’s words whispered in his mind: Oh, tell her you’re concerned about your professional relationship and that junk. “I just really don’t want it to hurt our friendship. Or our professional relationship.” Great. I’m taking advice from Vinyl Scratch of all ponies. “If what I did and said put… if it upset you, I’m sorry. I just want to be sure that it won’t cause a problem when we rehearse together. Or perform together.”

He took a deep breath and looked down into his cup of coffee. Then he glanced up at Octavia, who regarded him with a calm expression. At least, he hoped it was calm.

“No,” said Octavia. “It’s okay. I’m…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t fair to you to act that way at the diner. After inviting you out. I…”

“It was unprofessional of me,” said Frederic, “to leave, unannounced, then to suddenly return, and then to tell you…”

“Professionalism? With your personal life?” said Octavia, the faintest glimmer of a smile at her mouth. “I don’t know why, I’ve just always found that funny. You’re always all about being ‘professional.’”

Frederic slouched a little. “Well…”

“I’m sorry,” said Octavia, waving a hoof. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I,” stammered Frederic, “I guess it is kind of silly.” He straightened his back. “But I take this seriously.”

“I know,” said Octavia, “and again, I’m sorry.”

“So…” Frederic said, clearing his throat. “Seven o’clock rehearsal?”

Octavia nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Frederic let out a sigh of relief. “Good. See you there,” he said, standing up from the table. “Take care.”

“You too,” said Octavia.

With only a courteous nod, Frederic turned and left the coffee shop and walked right on down the street.

***

Pickled Ivories was perhaps the dumbest name that Frederic could think of for a piano warehouse, but it would have to do. The entire store had a black-and-white layout scheme, because it was oh so clever to give it a snazzy piano motif. Frederic wasn’t much of a judge of aesthetics, but he found it disorienting. On top of that, it was a setting that was more designed according to a sense of “snazziness,” as opposed to decent acoustics. Rather than having hard, painted surfaces, they had a lot of carpets and cloth on the walls. Frederic suspected that whoever owned the placed didn’t know much about sound.

“Brass?” asked Frederic. “I think you’re playing a little too loud.”

“Gotcha,” said Beauty Brass.

Twenty minutes into the rehearsal and they were ironing out their problem spots. It was about as much as Frederic expected, and went about as well. There wasn’t anything that required them to completely re-learn the material, but there were some rather annoying spots that kept rearing their heads.

“I don’t think this needs to be so legato,” said Beauty Brass, nodding at Octavia. “It’s a funny piece, it can afford to be a little more, well, bouncy. I think some sections could stand to be a bit more staccato?”

“Right, yes,” said Octavia. “I have that marked, I just… somehow forgot.”

“Back from measure 141?” asked Frederic, flipping through the pages on his stand. “And Harpo, remember not to let the strings vibrate for too long.”

Harpo nodded. Despite his usual behavior, when the rehearsals got to their most important parts, all his silliness evaporated. Now he wasn’t funny at all.

“Ready,” said Beauty Brass.

They played. It really wasn’t Beauty Brass’s fault, Frederic reasoned. Generally it wasn’t a problem that she had big lungs, and besides, brass instruments were powerful.

Maybe that’s part of the joke, thought Frederic. Unorthodox Scherzando, indeed.

They continued their rehearsal for two hours, stopping and starting and correcting and making notes about what they had to be absolutely sure went right for the audition. When everything was done, Frederic covered up the facility’s piano, as the others packed up and traded final notes.

“Remember, audition’s in four days at the Canterlot Academy Music Department,” said Beauty Brass, to which Harpo nodded emphatically. She looked around. “Thankfully, they have better acoustics than this place.”

As they left, Octavia slowly hefted her case into a wagon. Frederic stopped on the way out. “Are you all right with that?” he asked. “Don’t need any help?”

“No, thank you,” said Octavia.

Frederic stopped for a moment and nodded politely. “Very well. Have a good evening,” he said, before turning to the door. Just as he reached it, however, Octavia spoke again.

“Frederic, wait,” she said.

He stopped, his ears pricked. He turned around and watched her. As the pause grew more awkward, he found himself wishing she would just speak.

“How was my recital last week?” she asked.

“Your recital?” asked Frederic. He couldn’t imagine why she would ask that. “It was a great recital. It was something I was very happy to come home to.”

Octavia eyed him. Frederic wondered if she was suspicious of what he had just said, but she just took the handle of her wagon and began to pull.

“Did you read the papers?” she asked, passing him.

“The papers?” asked Frederic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the music reviews,” Octavia sighed. “They were… not the most charitable. ‘Miss Octavia no doubt has a keen ear for repertoire, but she sags in what should otherwise be a virtuoso performance. It feels almost as though she’s bored to be here, like the recital is a chore.’” She looked back at him. “That’s what the review said.”

“Well… you’ll have to forgive me,” said Frederic, not completely sure what to say. “I wouldn’t have seen that. I haven’t renewed my Canterlot Times subscription yet.”

“Well,” said Octavia, “what did you think about the recital?” she asked. Before Frederic could so much as open his mouth, she added, “be honest.”

Frederic paused for a moment. “Honest?” asked Frederic. “Maybe the critic is absolutely right. Maybe he’s completely wrong. I wouldn’t have noticed. I came back after a long departure, and when I came to see the recital, I came as a friend. Not as a critic, barely even as a professional musician. All I wanted was to hear you play. I don’t have… ‘feedback’ or criticism. Not for that recital.”

Octavia regarded him for a moment, then sighed and turned to the door. “Well, thanks.”

“Though if you want criticism,” said Frederic, “about tonight’s rehearsal?”

She slowly looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

Frederic smiled lightly. “Your legato passages are fine. You know the parts, and your dynamic contrasts are strong. But I think in the staccato sections you have a tendency to tense up and you either fall behind the beat, or you rush to try to compensate. You hit the staccatos too hard, I think. And sometimes I don’t think you’re listening to the rest of us, like you’re mainly focused with your own playing rather than how it fits in with the group.” He walked past her and held the door open. “Now, how about me?”

“You?” asked Octavia in surprise.

“Yes, me,” he said with a nod and a smile. “What was wrong with my playing tonight?” As she passed him, watching him with a curious expression, he added, “I’ve been out of practice. While I was gone I was able to play at most twice a week on dirty, untuned uprights in saloons. I can’t have been at my best.”

She snorted a little, drawing a hoof up to her nose. “Well…” She chuckled, setting her hoof down. “I suppoe if you have to know what you could have done better on…” She paused her speech, smiling as she walked. “You rely too much on the damper pedal,” she said, turning her head as Frederic followed her. “And your dynamics seem to get louder when you have to play faster. Your balance isn’t always the best on chords, and sometimes you’ll play one note before the others.”

“Oh, dear,” said Frederic, tapping his chin with his hoof. “It’s worse than I thought. I guess it’s time for me to get out The Egg Timer again.”

“The what?” asked Octavia.

“It’s a little piano exercise I’ve devised,” said Frederic. “I set an egg in a pot of water on the stove, and I play the piece. It’s an extremely complicated and difficult one, or so I’m told by a fellow pianist. After I’m done with the piece, I see how the egg is. If it’s soft-boiled, then I can be confident that I performing acceptably. If it’s medium-boiled, then I understand I have to add another hour or two to my practice routine.”

“And then what happens if the egg is hard-boiled?” asked Octavia.

Frederic stopped, and his face turned to the gravest expression of shock. “Well, then,” said he, “should it come to that, I must lock the doors and close the windows, and confine myself to a full, solid day of strenuous piano exercise.”

Octavia chuckled. “Do you really?”

“Well,” said Frederic, shrugging slightly, “it’s never come to that.”

“Of course not,” said Octavia, rolling her eyes.

The streets of Canterlot bustled. A young couple sat on a bench chatting about something. There were big searchlights shooting up into the sky several streets away, likely for an event at some store. An earth pony sat beneath a streetlight, improvising a tune on an alto saxophone. Octavia tossed the saxophonist a bit, and Frederic found himself regretting for a moment that he had never studied jazz in university.

They came to a crosswalk. Octavia would cross the road, while Frederic would take a right turn and continue down the sidewalk.

Before Octavia stepped from the sidewalk, she stopped and turned back to face him. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Coffee at the usual time?” asked Frederic.

“Of course,” she said.

“Very well,” he said, nodding. “Good night.”

“And Frederic?” she asked.

“Yes?” he asked. He held his breath without noticing.

“Thank you,” she said. Her smile was warm, and her posture relaxed. “For being honest.”

Frederic nodded. “Don’t mention it.” He paused. “Was that what was troubling you earlier?”

Octavia shuffled her hooves. “Well, that was part of it,” she said. She looked at him as he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll talk about it later. For now we need to focus on the audition.”

“Understood,” said Frederic, as he turned to leave. “Have a good evening.” Then he stopped himself. “And Octavia?”

She stopped and turned around. They faced each other for a moment, not saying anything, until she answered, “yes?”

“Don’t worry too much about what that review said,” said Frederic. “If you’re happy with the effort you put in and… with what you feel you got out of it, then that’s what really matters.” He added, “And if the audience is paying for it, well then…”

Octavia chuckled. “Thanks, Frederic. Have a good evening.” And with that she turned and crossed the street.

Frederic watched her for a moment, and then set down the sidewalk away from her.

Comments

[doorcf]

YES IT IS BACK

[Ekevoo]

said Octavia, rolling her eyes.” < rogue punctuation

I really like how you're not afraid to spew music jargon, I don't understand a thing, but the context and characterization are rich enough to make me feel like I'm not really losing what matters.

I don't really understand Vinyl here, but Octy I do. She's more important.

[BillyColt]

4705129 Heh. If I can't win on the romance, win on the music cred!

I have a musical background myself, so I figure this is an appropriate place to indulge - the authenticity may help to differentiate this from other Octavia stories.

Also, helps for building characters to sort of portray them in their environment, that is to say, their day-to-day music lives.

[KnoxEmerald]

It's always so refreshing to find that you've updated this story. Great work, as usual!

[Scherzando]

You have no idea how happy I am that this has updated again

[-Brutus]

I so hope everything will work out for fred

[steel soul]

Love this story

[WubsAndCellos]

Omega fic but sadly discontinued