“Oh please, all of you are still getting ready?” Rarity asked as she emerged from Carousel Boutique’s back room. She made a beeline for the front door and clutched the knob, a rear hoof tapping against the floor. “I thought everypony would be dressed half an hour ago! Our coach awaits!”
“Umm, could you…?” Fluttershy said. “Eep.”
“Aw, don’t pop nothin’, sugarcube. I just finished my chores. ’Sides, we’ll make it in plenty o’ time,” Applejack said. She tugged her hat this way and that before snapping a nod at her reflection.
Rarity’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “A lady. Doesn’t. Pop. I’m merely a bit—” she circled a hoof in the air “—flustered, as we simply mustn’t arrive late! The ushers won’t seat anypony after the curtain rises.”
“Uh, could somepony please…?” Fluttershy squeaked.
“No prob,” Rainbow Dash said, her forelegs crossed and her nose turned up. “I’ll zip ahead and make ’em hold off a minute. It’d look bad for them if they started before I got there, bein’ a celebrity and all.”
“Did somepony say ‘celebrate’?” Pinkie chimed in from her nonstop bouncing orbit of the showroom’s periphery. “Just give the word, and I’ll whip up a party like you’ve never seen, with cake, balloons, streamers, and pin the tail on the pony, or on the dragon! We’ve never done a dragon! Oh, that would be cool—no offense, Spike—but now that it’s in my head, it’s my most favoritest thing in the world, and—”
Rarity held Pinkie’s head in the viselike grip of her magic and stared her down. “The concert hall will provide a reception afterward,” Rarity said through clenched teeth. She leaned in even closer. “And it will be low key. Low. Key.”
“Okie dokie, low key!”
Rarity shook her head and sighed, but she couldn’t keep a smile from creeping into place. Something about all this just felt right.
“Please, if you don’t mind…” Fluttershy said. “That is, if you have the time…”
“Is that everypony now?” Rarity scanned the room quickly and frowned. Somepony was missing. “Where did Twilight Sparkle go?”
“Oh, she scheduled the coach to get here at six-thirty sharp,” Spike answered, brushing some lint off his tuxedo jacket. He hooked his thumbs into the lapels and puffed his chest out. “She’s been sitting in it ever since it arrived.”
Rarity glanced at the clock—ten minutes until seven. A frosty jolt shot up her spine. “Ten minutes until showtime! Out, out, everypony out!” she shouted, waving her hoof toward the door.
“Actually,” came Fluttershy’s voice from behind Rarity. And from considerably closer to the floor. “I need a little help. W-with my makeup. Or not… It’s okay. I can just go without…”
“Nonsense, Fluttershy, but in the coach, now, now!” Rarity jumped behind her and shoved her out the door. “I’ll do it on the way!”
“All aboard, y’all!” cried Applejack as she helped the last of the passengers up and through the narrow door into the carriage.
Big McIntosh groaned from his spot in the corner, wedged onto the end of a bench meant to hold only half as many ponies. “Aw, AJ, why you gotta drag me to this?” He gritted his teeth and tugged at his bow tie. “Not the kind o’ collar I’m used to wearin’.”
“Look, Rarity got these tickets as a gift for her help at the theater in Manehattan. It’s an honor to go, and you could use a bit o’ culture anyhow, you bumpkin,” Applejack said with narrowed eyes. Big Mac only sighed and shook his head.
Rarity pursed her lips while working on Fluttershy’s makeup. Maybe dragging him along wasn’t the best choice, but Applejack wanted him to come, and at least she could count on him to keep quiet. Pinkie, on the other hoof…
“These seats are right next to the royal box!” Twilight said as she examined her ticket. “I’ll get to see Princess Celestia!”
“Yes, yes,” Rarity said, fiddling with Fluttershy’s sleeve, “but we must look our best. Dresses adjusted, hats straight, shoes polished, everypony?” She felt like a mother hen trying to gather her chicks together, but fortunately she had a captive audience at the moment. Six eager faces nodded back at her. And one continued to stare out the window. “Excellent.”
“Sun’s still out,” Big Mac muttered. “Could’ve got another two hours’ work done.”
After a short ride to the earthwork amphitheater just outside Ponyville, the group disembarked from their coach with only moments to spare. The usher gave their tickets a perfunctory glance, then rushed them along to their seats without any of the meaningless small talk Big Mac would have expected. He’d hung back at the end of the line, and his gamble paid off—he got the aisle seat, in case the opportunity for a strategic exit came up.
He slouched sideways in his seat and propped his chin on a hoof, the waves of conversation washing over him and threatening to lull him to sleep. Glancing down the row, he saw that Twilight had of course taken the seat against the princesses’ box, with only a low divider between them. She leaned over it and waved furiously, and Celestia responded with a staid “yes, I see you, now please sit down and act your age” nod. And with a sheepish smile, Twilight settled back into her chair.
Big Mac had to chuckle. At least that was good for a laugh, and he might have to take entertainment wherever he could get it.
“Well, this is most unusual,” Rarity said with a frown. “Already ten past the hour, and they still haven’t begun! I do hope that nothing is amiss.” She stood and scanned over all the entrances. “These performances are always so lovely, and I’d hate to miss an opportunity this rare. They hardly ever play outside one of the large cities!”
She tut-tutted amid her other friends’ shrugs, and Big Mac found himself looking forward to the prospect of a quiet evening at home. A nice pot of coffee on the hearth, maybe a block of birch wood and a whittling knife, or better yet, the latest edition of the Farmers’ Almanac. Yeah, just another short trip back—
Mayor Mare strolled out on stage and cleared her throat, dulling the ebb and flow of voices. “There’s been a slight delay in the arrival of some of the performers, but we will begin momentarily,” she said. “Thank you, everypony, for your patience, and shortly the Canterlot Philharmonic will be ready to begin.”
Big Mac stifled a yawn and rolled his eyes. Fine. What would another thirty minutes matter when the evening was already in the outhouse anyway? He craned his neck right and left to see if he recognized any faces in the crowd as ones who might provide the company that misery loves. But no. Just the fancy types.
Before long, he could hear instruments tuning up behind the curtain. He wasn’t completely out of his element here—he knew a few basics. Some fiddles—er, violins—plucked and bowed, then a few trumpets, a flute or two, drums, and… he’d pretty much hit his limit. But he hadn’t heard quite that variety of sound before, not all together, anyway. They put on a nice light show that might keep him interested for a little while. He reckoned about twenty minutes.
The noise gradually faded away, and everything blended back into the orange sunset. And out of the intense quiet, a single instrument sounded, the one that always made him think of a duck, though… he’d never really looked at it before. It made a nice, rich brown-looking noise, like aged hickory. Soon enough, all the other instruments joined in, and… the curtain shimmered—he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
The curtain drew open, and an old stallion strode in from the right side and took his place at the podium without introduction. He immediately waved his hooves, and the orchestra started into… Big Mac didn’t know what. But the colors. Gold and red and blue and—he flipped through his program to see. An overture by Hoofgang Amadeus Mozart. The name rang a bell, he guessed, but the colors!
A low, bass brown, a high, tinny silver, all spilling off the stage. He’d seen… well, when he sang with the Ponytones, they made a nice blend of shades, but nothing like this.
And too soon, it stopped. The crowd burst into applause, but Big Mac couldn’t do any more than gape. Different instruments, blending into new combinations all the time, and lighting up the stage with changing patterns. The audience had quieted down before he could get in a couple of stomps.
The conductor bowed deeply. “Thank you, mares and gentlestallions. I am Maestro, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the first stop on our traveling concert series. We always enjoy the opportunity to bring the music to the ponies. We have a diverse program for you, as well as a special treat after the second intermission. Please sit back and allow us to take you on a journey. For our next piece, we will perform the famous Third Brandin’ Burg Concerto by Johann Sebastian Buck.”
This one sounded more intimate, with a smaller number of mostly strings and higher brass instruments. It took a… regal tone, white veined with grey, like marble, then filling in the brown of fine furnishings and the sky blue of broad landscape paintings. Big Mac closed his eyes and weaved the colors into his mental picture. As the music switched to a slow tempo, he whipped up royal-purple robes, swishing and twirling in courtly dance, green palace gardens outside the windows, multicolored flashes of songbirds in the trees…
Before he knew it, applause rang out again, and he looked up at the stage. The orchestra dispersed and milled about, some of the performers greeting ponies on the floor below.
Rarity sidled past him, mumbling something about powdering her nose, and everypony else stood to stretch their legs. But Big Mac just sat there. Was this what he’d been missing? Twilight probably had a ton of records at the library, and he’d never even known.
He’d listened to country music with Applejack, and of course singing, but nothing this complex, with so much texture. He’d let the lyrics organize the colors into scenes for him, but these built their own, note by note.
All around Big Mac, ponies wandered this way and that, and then here came Rarity back from the mares’ room or wherever she’d gone. She wriggled by him, then tapped Twilight on the shoulder and pointed at him. What did she want?
Whatever she’d said got passed down the line—Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie started giggling, and Applejack shot them a glare and swatted them. Spike just shook his head. Maybe he was on Big Mac’s side. Of what, who knew? And why had he agreed to come here with a bunch of mares?
The ushers came down the aisles again and urged everypony back to their seats, and a quiet attention settled over everything.
In the renewed silence, Maestro took his place at center stage again. “For our middle section,” he said, “we will perform the Sixth Symphony of Ludwig van Beethoofen. Nicknamed the Pastoral, it evokes scenes from rural life and nature. We hope you will enjoy it.”
Now, Big Mac could see potential there. If he’d gotten that much out of a fancy palace scene, how much more would some nice country music speak to him? They had plenty of fiddles, but he didn’t see a guitar anywhere.
No matter. He closed his eyes, and… it wasn’t what he expected, but still. He could see it: green hillsides, tilled earth, chattering streams, and windblown grass, stretching out around him. The music slowed, and it changed to grazing land and fluffy white sheep. Faster again, a harvest celebration. Everypony cheering for a well-stocked barn and swinging around in the old dances Granny Smith used to do. Finally, a storm, with the rolling thunder and cracks of lightning, bringing life-giving rain.
This was his world. The farm he loved, the work that gave him meaning, somehow made into sound. And then it ended. He didn’t open his eyes until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Why, Big McIntosh, I rather think you’re enjoying yourself!” Rarity grinned and cocked her head. “Aren’t you glad you chose to attend?”
“I didn’t exactly choose to, Miss Rarity,” he said with a squint toward Applejack, “but I gotta say, it ain’t what I expected. I’m havin’ a good time, so thank you kindly for the invite.”
Rarity held a hoof to her chest. “You’re very welcome, dear. What do you think so far?”
“So many instruments I never heard before.” He jutted his chin toward the stage. “I didn’t figure on so much color.”
Rarity glanced around at the crowd. “Oh, all the lovely outfits? Surely you’ve seen as much around my boutique before.”
“No, Miss Rarity, up over the stage, while they played.”
She turned to have a look, but no way she’d see it now, not while the orchestra was on break. She just shrugged, and with the ushers making their rounds again, she went back to her chair. Nothing, though. Everypony had quieted down, but… Oh. Here came Princess Celestia and Princess Luna back to their seats. Right, about time for sunset. And moonrise. With them seated again, the conductor took his place on stage.
Even with Maestro commanding everypony’s attention, an excited chatter roamed around the crowd. What had them all so worked up? Everypony was looking in different directions, so no way to tell. Big Mac leafed through his program again, and—yeah, the “special treat.” A few more pieces listed there, but he didn’t recognize any of them or the name of the soloist listed below them.
Maestro leaned toward the crowd, his eyes sparkling. “For our final section,” he said, breaking into a grin, “we will perform some special music for strings, featuring our own very versatile Octavia Melody. She will play the featured cello part in Tchaikhoofsky’s Rococo Variations, lead a suite for strings by Gustav Horst on viola, and play the solo part in Sam-Mule Barber’s Violin Concerto. We have enjoyed Ms. Melody’s talents ever since she was accepted into the Royal Canterlot Conservatory at the age of seven, and in her time with us, she has mastered all of the string instruments. We have no doubt she will soon conquer the rest.”
He extended a hoof to his right, and Octavia strolled on stage with a slight shake of her head and a faint blush to her cheeks. “And so, ladies and gentlestallions, I give you Octavia Melody!”
More applause sounded as she took her seat out front, by the conductor. Closing her eyes, she leaned an ear toward her instrument and plucked a couple of strings, then nodded. And… color. Big Mac had waited for the color, but none came. Not that he noticed, anyway.
Just gray and black. Nothing spectacular about gray and black, but his eyes never wandered from it. Charcoal mane, plain gray coat. She mostly kept her eyes shut, but when she occasionally peeked at Maestro’s waving baton, he might have seen a flash of purple. Always that faint smile, and her hooves, working with the instrument, not against it.
Black and gray, but so elegant. The way she wore her mane long, the way she brushed her forelock over—he stared forever. She swayed back and forth in her chair, playing from memory, feeling, living the music, and he could have sworn the orchestra stopped and started a few times, but he didn’t—
And then the colors hit him. Streaming from the strings, her right hoof drawing them out and her left adding the ripples. It hadn’t even occurred to Big Mac to listen, but now that he did, it grew loud and… ended.
Applause. She stood and bowed.
Big Mac swallowed against the dryness in his throat and paged through the program again. Still two more to go. He needed to hear this time. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rarity glance at him with a sly grin on her face.
At least nopony else was looking, and the next piece had started anyway. A fun little dance tune with bright summer clothes and golden hay bales. Next, on to blue. Other colors swirled on top, but the blue flowed underneath it all like a stream. Then Octavia picked up her violin and played a soaring line, rich in tan and turquoise to match its Arabian flavor. Finally, another dance, and then—hidden inside it, an old folk song he remembered hearing a couple of aunts and uncles sing when he was young, all green and deep red, like holly.
Too short, much too short, but he managed to join in with the applause. A quick look, and Rarity still had that smirk. Big Mac pursed his lips, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. What was she up to anyway?
No matter. More music and more color. Every hue, radiating outward, but he latched onto that most amazing gray-on-gray at the center of it all. He floated on it, lost, for a few seconds or an hour or a day or—
Everypony stood, and Big Mac staggered to his hooves. He stomped along with the crowd and earned a few odd looks from well-to-do ponies for his sharp whistling. He didn’t care. That’s how music worked, right? Put everything into it, and let the ponies who heard get it back out. He saw his singing that way, and no reason for cheering to be any different.
Murmuring started up in the crowd again, and ponies filed toward the exits. But Big Mac sank back into his chair. He vaguely heard Pinkie chattering about something, and then in her characteristic trill: “Somepony’s smitten, love-bug-bitten!”
No, he—
Perfect. At least Applejack shushed her and jabbed her in the ribs, but Spike was making gagging sounds, and now here came Rarity.
Perfect.
Rarity eased into the aisle beside his seat and crouched down low, but she wore a gentle smile and spoke softly. “Would you like to meet her?”
Black and gray and… “Um… I uh…” Thank goodness he already had naturally red cheeks.
“Our tickets include an invitation to the reception afterward,” Rarity said, touching him lightly on the shoulder. She waited for a moment, then cocked her head toward the stage. “Would you like to meet her?” she repeated.
He opened his mouth and stared back at her. A fancy reception? No way he’d fit in at one of those. No, no, he should just wait by the carriage and—
Rarity hooked a foreleg around his and tugged him out of his seat. “Come with me.” He didn’t resist. “We’ll enjoy some nice refreshments, and then we’ll get in line to—”
“Oh yeah, party time!” Pinkie said.
Rarity gritted her teeth. “Low. Key,” she said through her clenched jaw.
Most of the group had fanned out to sample the canapes, drinks, and conversation, but Rainbow Dash stayed by Fluttershy to pull her out from behind a curtain or potted plant or wherever she hid when somepony complimented her dress. And Rarity kept nudging Big Mac along the greeting line.
Big Mac scanned the room and wished he knew more ponies here, but nothing to do except stare straight ahead and take a few steps every minute or so. Rarity, though… she waved at every other pony who passed by and called them all by name.
And the closer he got to the front of the line, the more he wondered why Rarity wanted to help him, or if she just couldn’t resist meddling. First his baby sister on Hearts and Hooves day two years ago, and now this.
The orchestra members mingled with the crowd, and word after word he didn’t understand floated at him. Scherzo, double stop, coda. And still closer he got to the ponies he guessed were important enough to make everypony else wait for. Maestro, then a couple others he hadn’t noticed during the concert, and finally… Octavia.
He broke into a sweat. What could he say? He knew enough about singing, but everypony in line sounded like they could teach a music class. “I like your hair?” Yeah, real smooth. Might as well just grunt and save her the trouble.
Big Mac shook Maestro’s hoof, and the other few, whoever they were. While Rarity greeted them and made some small talk, he just nodded and smiled. Shake hooves. Nod. Smile. And then—
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” Octavia answered. Her voice, at once red, but richer, darker. Something as simple as “red” wouldn’t fit the bill—he needed one of those fancy words Rarity might use, like carmine, or scarlet, or—
Burgundy. It felt warm just to say the word in his head. A little bit refined, a little bit exotic, and soft like a blanket. As much at home in an expensive restaurant as in a small-town market.
“Um…” Big Mac looked back at Rarity, who hadn’t finished saying whatever she wanted to Maestro. “Um…”
“Did you enjoy the performance?”
“Yes’m.” Why was it so hot in here? And finally Rarity circled around him and put a hoof on his shoulder.
“Octavia,” Rarity said with a flick of her hoof. “A pleasure, dear. I’m glad to see you getting along so nicely.”
“Rarity! I haven’t seen you in ages!” Octavia seized Rarity’s hoof with both of her own and gave it a vigorous shake. “I still love that dress you made me for my recital a few years back, but I’ve grown a smidge since then. Do you think I could bring it by and get it lengthened?”
“Of course! Come by tomorrow before you get back on the road. I’ll have it done in no time.”
“Thank you. And who’s your friend?” Octavia asked, leaning forward.
“I-I’m… Mac. Big Mac. McIntosh, that is. Big McIntosh.” Wow. Real smooth.
“That’s quite a long name,” she answered with a chuckle.
“Yeah, um…” Not just the heat, but that stupid bow tie felt like it would choke him. “I just wanted to say, ma’am, that what you did tonight was amazin’. Never seen or heard anything like it. You sure know how to put on a color show.”
She wrinkled her brow and opened her mouth to say something, but then shook her head and looked to Rarity, who only shrugged. “He said something like that during an intermission,” Rarity replied. “I assumed there was a reflection…”
“No,” Big Mac said, “from the instruments, ripples o’ color floatin’ up and gatherin’ above the stage, like clouds.”
Octavia and Rarity glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.
“You mean y’all couldn’t see it?” he said. Plain as day, and even more visible in the dark. Right there, too, Octavia’s burgundy voice and Rarity’s silvery blue. Well… they probably couldn’t. He hadn’t thought about that in years, but he remembered being told he was different. Shame, seemed like half the point of the show.
“No, dear,” Rarity answered, “but if it adds to your enjoyment, then who are we to argue?” And then a throat pointedly cleared behind them, and Rarity’s eyes shot wide open. “Oh, we’re holding up the line. Nice to see you again, Octavia. Let me congratulate you on a fine performance, and stop by my shop whenever.”
“Thank you,” Octavia replied as Rarity hustled him off, but she was looking at him. His knees nearly buckled.
Alone at a small table, Big Mac watched Rarity try to dislodge Twilight from her conversation with Princess Celestia and round up everypony else to go. She’d probably have better luck getting Applejack to help. That mare’d never lost a stray in her life. Anyway, he might as well start heading that way.
He felt a light touch on his shoulder. “Big McIntosh, wasn’t it?” Octavia said.
Once his heart had started beating again, he moved on to the next problem: his voice. “Uh, um, yes’m,” he said with a jerky nod. “But folks call me Big Mac.”
“I found your comments interesting, about the colors. Do you mind telling me more?” She took the seat next to him and propped her cheek on a hoof.
“Yes’m, I—”
Her hoof shot up, and she bowed her head. “Please. Do I look old enough to be a ‘ma’am’? Just call me Octavia.”
“Yes, ma’am, Octavia, ma’am.” She laughed out loud, and he rubbed a hoof on the back of his neck. “See, the music makes me feel a certain way. It brings images to mind, and with a group this big, I got all the color I need to paint it. Like that there Horst one—in the second bit, it sounded like the creek that runs across my farm. I could pick out the blue from above the stage and imagine it as the water. A lot of other stuff was happenin’ over top of it, but that blue kept goin’ under it all.”
“Interesting,” she said. “It’s called an ostinato, and that’s the whole point of it. Impressive that you instinctively saw that.”
“And that symphony. I could see my farm, plain as standing there. The golden wheat, the white sheep, green grass, brown earth… It made me feel right at home. I never heard the like before, and really, Octavia, ma’am, it was powerful good.”
She leaned so far forward in her seat that he thought she might fall out. But she didn’t say anything. “I also thought,” he said, “it was a bit odd—between the last two things you played, a couple strings on your instrument changed color. They went from brown to a kind o’ dark green.”
Octavia gaped and held a hoof to her chest. “I… changed the tuning. We call it scordatura. You tune a string differently to alter the timbre.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You make it play with a different sound quality than it normally does.”
“Ah.” That made sense.
“The music didn’t call for it, and it’s tough to do on the fly, but I just thought it fit better. You seem to have a feel for these things.” She signaled a waiter to bring her a glass of punch, then squinted at him. “You’re a very interesting stallion, Big Mac. Do you play any instruments?”
“I…” He almost said it. But no. He wouldn’t tell just anyone. Mentioning the Ponytones would be enough. “I sing with a quartet. Well, quintet now. Still gettin’ used to that. And thank you, ma’a—” She’d forced a scowl over her face. All except the smile. “I mean, Octavia.”
“Listen, I’ve got to grab a little dinner before I do a short practice and get to bed. But I’d love to talk some more.” Octavia pointed her muzzle toward Rarity. “I have to go into town tomorrow to drop off my dress. Could I meet you for lunch?”
“Oh. Um… uh… yeah. I’d like that.” Suddenly, getting his chores done seemed less important.
“Great! I’ll see you around eleven?” She waited until he nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. “It was good to meet you, Big Mac.”
“Likewise, ma’a—Octavia.”
He’d kept everypony waiting.
Big Mac ran a hoof down his muzzle and shook his head as he walked out of the amphitheater. Having a mare hold things up, he could understand, but…
Every last one of them wore a funny grin. All except Spike, who just kicked a foot at the dirt, but the rest looked a little too satisfied with themselves.
“See, dear, that wasn’t so difficult,” Rarity said.
“Aw, y’all were watchin’?” he groaned. A bunch of big smiles answered him. So he just climbed into the carriage, jammed himself back in his corner seat, and prepared for the worst. But… either Rarity had told them to go easy on him, or they’d all lost their second wind this late in the evening. Didn’t matter. At least he had a peaceful ride back.
Even after they’d all disembarked at Carousel Boutique and gone their separate ways, he still faced a long walk home with Applejack. While she’d look out for him in public, she could be right vicious when she got him alone. But she followed along behind him and kept quiet.
Good thing, because he couldn’t wipe that smile off his face. And from the few glimpses he caught in the moonlight, she couldn’t, either.
So much for "next week". Regardless, I look forward to reading the rest of this, and congrats on the EqD feature.
Maybe she needed to rewrite or something else happened?
5069860
Don't go by the original creation date. It's weekly from when It actually became publicly visible. Chapter 2 will be posted on October 5.
5070041 Ah. Not exactly something visible to us. I assumed it was undiscovered until now.then again, since the author sends it in to EqD before it gets featured, I suppose that people knowing about it wouldn't make much of a difference. Anyway, still looking forward to the rest.
5070053
Yeah, FiMFiction's dates can be unreliable. The "Last Modified" one doesn't appear to work sometimes. I uploaded the first chapter to check formatting a while ago and didn't even submit to EqD until this month. I don't submit it to FiMFic moderation until I know EqD isn't going to request any more changes, and I just heard back yesterday. Sorry to be misleading! I've changed the A/N to reflect this.
Synesthesia huh? Certainly an interesting premise, with a promising start and - well, if it's by you that's usually a good indication that I'm in for something special.
5070463
I appreciate the vote of confidence, and I hope this story ends up justifying it!
An incredible start so far! Beautiful description and lovely references to musicians. I certainly look forward for chapters to come~! ^w^
That was a fascinating bit of characterization for Mac. The reactions of all the girls were fairly fun, too.
Off to an interesting start already! I'm wondering though, is AJ smiling for Mac, or did something else happen back there? I'm thinking the former but who knows~
Edit: pre season 3? One would think Twi could join the princesses in the booth otherwise...
This tickles the part of my brain that simply loved studying music in college something fierce. I've heard about folks who experience sound in additional ways, color being the most common, but I've never seen it used in prose before.
Wish I could remember the word for it.
Still, music was one of the degrees I was working towards in college, I was probably going to end up with either a composing or analysis emphasis, but the reason I studied music was because of how wonderfully powerful it is. From the pictures it paints, to the emotions it evokes, to the passions it can inspire - it's simply a marvelous treat.
Definitely going to be following this story, but I do have one very small complaint.
The comparison of classical to modern - you seem to be implying that modern music's more simplified arrangements make it a bit less in the kind of colors someone with synesthesia (I remembered the word) would see.
That's not really the case as it's not just a pure translation of sound bleeding into a secondary sense, but a way that their brains see the structure of music. And while classical and other large ensemble pieces and genres might provide for a greater number of building blocks, it's the quality of the writing and playing that give the colors their vibrancy and depth.
With the one kid who had it in my music theory classes he always described it as the intervals and keys as making the color rather than the timbre of the instrument.
Still, that is a very small beef with the story for me to have, and I only felt compelled to write about it because I liked everything else so much!
Very good start, and I look forward to more.
The sad tag makes me feel like they're doomed from the onset though. But like a achingly depressing bit of music being a thing of beauty, so too can a heartbreaking love story.
5071799
I actually started writing this story nearly three years ago and abandoned it for a while. This is a relic from that time, but one that I decided to leave in place without trying to finagle an explanation. Perhaps Luna and Celestia get a separate box because they're visiting dignitaries, perhaps because the concert was set up before Twilight's ascension, perhaps because Twilight declined the honor... I didn't want to wedge something in there that felt like an after-the-fact explanation, though. I could have left it as pre-S3, but I did decide to edit it to include canon of Twilight being a princess and having her own castle. So, that's a long way of saying I don't really have an answer there, other than maybe only the two big cheeses get the full treatment (Cadance isn't there, after all).
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I did have to extrapolate on how Big Mac would experience synesthesia (it does explicitly get identified as that in the next chapter). I kept falling into the temptation of having the colors flow from the piece's subject matter and having to rewrite so that it was the pure sound (though the full sound of an orchestra would provide enough color for him to reorganize as he liked). It's interesting that chords and intervals might be more of a driver than tone or timbre for that individual, but I wonder whether that's always the case. And timbre is kind of an interval, too, as it includes harmonics and overtones, but maybe the effect there is too subtle. There's also somewhat of a difficulty in relating perceptions. In my case, I'm colorblind, so I can describe how red looks to me, but we'll never ultimately know what the other sees, since there's no common frame of reference. I doubt synesthetics would be that extreme, though, since they see the same colors and hear the same sounds—there's some bleed-over, but not a fundamental difference in perceiving the components. Very interesting stuff!
*clap clap clap* First chapter hooked me in and want to see the development between and Big Mac and Octavia and other characters interactions.
Can't wait to read the second chapter!
5071900 It's definitely not the only way hearing based synesthesia is felt, I've even read about folks who experience sounds as tactile textures, but hearing sound as colors is one of the more common forms of the thing.
And you're definitely right that it's possible he's experiencing it differently, I've just never heard of someone having that sounds=colors thing kick in for all noises, which is part of the reason why I would guess timbre doesn't matter as much - otherwise their synesthesia would kick in for all noises, musical or not, like you've got for Big Mac.
The thing I found that was interesting is that it's not the noise that's triggering that secondary sense, but the act of perceiving the noise as music that appears to turn it on.
Another common form of synesthesia sees numbers as colors. This makes a massive amount of sense when you factor in that it's the same parts of our brains that are firing off when we do math as when we do music. Math and music are fundamentally linked that way.
That's why people who are brilliant at one tend to be at least decent at the other. It makes me wonder if that's why Mac's got his "fancy mathematics".
I've never seen a fic cover synesthesia before. Big Mac's a marvelous candidate, and I love what you've done with his internal voice. Good nod to the mane six in the first part, as well.
Really looking forward to where you go with this. In your journal, you mentioned that this story has had a particular impact on you, and I'm excited and frightened to find out exactly why.
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Some of that material is presented in the next chapter, as Big Mac's now got several ponies interested in the topic. When I researched synesthesia to write this, I didn't see any descriptions of what about the sound triggered the effect, so I played it as tone and timbre. I figure that with all the background noise that always goes on, Big Mac just filters that out, since it'd be the baseline for him. He doesn't really notice the effect unless it's a concentrated sound, and even then he only remarks on ones that interest him. So he'll talk about music in terms of colors, and in a few instances, he'll identify characters' voices by their color.
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Thanks all for the enthusiasm! I'm a little surprised at the low reader turnout, but I suspect people don't go for shipping pairs that aren't their OTP or pass over things without flashy cover art, but still, this was less than I expected. But this is why I wrote the whole thing in advance! Regardless of what kind of reception it gets, it'll all get posted.
5076116 That makes for a very interesting point of view he would have for life in general and would explain his quietness - wants a less distracting world.
It also means things like factories, arguments, and train rides - really any loud, chaotic noise - would all be extremely interesting things from his perspective because of the colors they'd paint the world with.
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Simple Explanation expanding the Princesses box seats from two to three is a bit tricky but doable expanding it to ten just really can't be done. So Twilight sits with her fellow princesses or her friends and picked friends.
Back at Fleet carriage services with Twilight ,Spike giggled "gosh Big Mac sure looked silly after the show"
"I know a real silly Dragon who has a crus...."
"FOREVER!"
"Excuse me your carriage has some damage to the left side, Fleet policy . I can't take a return until the paper works done first"
Princess Twilight I need you to fill out these forms and deposit them with claims in room 86 down the hall to the left.
"Looks like your're going to be doin a late , late nighter, I'll be at Raritys when you're done"
The life of a Royal cubical hamster
Looks like a keeper. MORE!
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It is a rather low turnout isn't it? I think it might be the cover art - as silly as it is, I find that people do tend to judge stories quite harshly based on that. A story with a pencil sketch as it's cover like yours simply won't get as much attention as something with far worse writing but a snazzy piece of cover art.
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Too bad I didn't get to reading this until today. I have been wanting to see more of Octavia and Mac since Keeping it Simple, and it didn't really sink in that that's what this was when I filed it away a few days ago. And it's pre-written! I couldn't be more eager to see the rest!
Yowza! Symphonies, synesthesia, Octavia, big Mac? Call me sold! Totally looking forward to Reading the rest of this!
One of my brothers, Siegfried, sees sound. It's a real trait; his brain is wired differently, and so he sees sound and, conversely, he can hear sights. I don't pretend to understand it, but it's apparently genetic, as we've had cases of it in our family at least once every other generation going back to the 16th century. Anyways, good story. I hope to see more of it.
Just watched that interview you did with nekonyancer earlier today, and then I realized, "Hey, doesn't he have a chaptered story out right now?"
Being a music person myself, this is very entertaining so far. I'm fairly certain I've seen the concept touched on before somewhere, but nowhere near the degree in which this focuses on it (synesthesia, that is). Regardless, you've got me hooked. Well done.
*Alondro chokes on his soda* Oh I can't pass this up!
And here I thought only Rarity wanted to get some scale.
*Alondro falls off his seat laughing*
Hmm... now this is an interesting thought:
How would someone with synesthesia perceive the music of the Sirens?
Could they detect the hidden motives within? Could they see the corruption in the notes?
Now there's a unique plot for a story!
First of all, why haven't I seen this story before???
Secondly, I loved the names you picked for your composers! Sam-Mule Barber!!!
Thirdly, you mean there's an actual condition where people can see music? Sounds like one of those Internet things, like lucid dreaming and creating "tulpas."
Fourthly, Mactavia (pardon my language) FTW!!! I've never heard or even though of that ship before, but that could make it all the more rewarding.
And fifthly, I "grok" this story something fierce. Thirty-eight years ago, my sister and I were poor little rural white trash kids with no indoor bathroom or hot-and-cold running water and we heated with a wood stove. But we began that year purchasing classical records from Publishers Central Bureau (under the Murray Hill label) so we could enjoy the sounds created by the world's greatest composers (on one of those little plastic record players). Although I no longer have a record player (my sister does) and those records are inaccessible to me now, I still love classical music, the music someone like me supposedly has no business liking. I can't read music, play an instrument, or discuss or understand the architecture of a piece; I can only listen and appreciate it being "pretty." But I am ever so grateful to have done this in my life and one of the greatest benefits of the Internet is to have virtually unlimited access to the concert repertoire. Your portrayal of Big Macintosh in this story touches me very deeply. Thank you. (I'm also older than most bronies, btw.)
Well, on to the next chapter!
Love the idea, and I am going to enjoy this a lot, yes I am. Did you get the color idea from Heores, or was it just some random thought?
This will be the second fic I've read involving synesthesia, the first being SS&E's The Things Tavi Says. I think this will also prove interesting.
Synesthesia eh? Now there's an idea, let's see where this goes.