> Neon Notes
>  by Aethraspex
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Noted Neon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vinyl Scratch plugged herself in.

Occasions to plug in were few and far between, so nopony ever got used to the feeling. It was like rushing through all of time and space, and yet staying completely still. Then, when you opened your eyes, everything was different. Neon streaks of information flowed around you and suddenly you had no body. You had a presence... one that could manipulate the world around you with simple thought power. It was exhilarating, different, and easy to see why some ponies got so irretrievably lost in this cybernetic paradise. But this is not your story, this is Vinyl Scratch’s.

Vinyl Scratch plugged herself in. It was no surprise that this mare had gone through the procedures. Her career as a DJ had been quite successful, so she had the money. She had the lifestyle too, always pushing the boundaries of ponydom. She even looked the part. But to herself, she hated the place.

A scowl crossed her lips as she surveyed the line of colour swirling around her. Her first visit here had been awe-inspiring. A whole new world with all-new rules to experiment and play in. She could have done anything then, but she had held back.

Why? As she calmly watched the data rush past her she thought that she could have been happy. She could have lived on the data streams with not a care in the world. She could have been anypony, done anything in this world. It was a world where she belonged, and in turn a world that belonged to her. But ponies were waiting for her in reality. One pony in particular.

Before she could suppress it, the memory came rushing back to her head. She had been just a filly, barely realising how vast the electronic world around her was. Upon the encouragement of her parents, she had been playing in a park in Canterlot. She heard a sound coming from behind a tree and went to investigate. The most beautiful music in the world was right there, resonating from the hooves of a boring grey earth pony. Vinyl had teased her at first, but then she had asked her to play it again.

Again and again she had heard that music. It saturated her life, throughout the schoolyards and the streets of Canterlot. It hummed in her new Ponyville home and put the beat into her step on her travels. It even echoed in her nightclubs, like a maestro directing the lasers and dancing bodies. But that had been so long ago.

Vinyl reached a mental tendril into her memory lacuna and began to rummage around. She discarded file after file. Too fast, too jumpy, too shallow she told herself, but she didn’t know what she was saying. She never had. Her talent was making ponies dance, giving them a beat and a bass line that made their hooves move. A certain power and the piercing depth had forever eluded her. It was like grasping at mist, yet no unicorn magic could ever get a tangible hold.

So she had listened. And when she was listening all else became silence.

Octavia was as serious as her colours suggested. Dark and grey and featureless, except for those deep purple eyes. She had never looked at Scratch and nodded, just as Scratch was always bobbing her head to a beat. She hardly smiled and talk was short. But when she placed her bow to her cello, all her heart was laid bare for the world to see. It was no wonder, Scratch thought, that she’d protect such warmth under an exterior so cold and hard.

And Scratch had listened, and whenever she listened she became both happy and sad. Every stroke was a stroke of brilliance. Every note set her heart on fire. It hurt. She watched her colourless hooves wave back and forth, teasing the music from the taut strings. Vinyl’s discs could produce limitless notes and rhythm but none would compare.

And yet those discs were all she had. Her life spun around those turntables. She tried so hard to make them sing to her. Even with their melodies burned into her brain she could barely scratch the surface. Within the heart of a frantic dance her own heart beat slowly. Behind deep purple shades she watched with cool detachment. This was what she was good at, but it was somehow never good enough.

Her response? Dig deeper. That was when she approached the circuit.

The circuit was not something new. Vinyl had heard of it in whispers in places where noise fought with noise. A young colt would have let the drumming drown out his words and the liquor drown out his thoughts. Vinyl would save those words by the end of the night, one way or another.

Next was the procedure. Lying in the dark while mysterious magics worked their way through her quivering body. She wasn’t afraid of the procedure, but she was afraid of being afraid. Then it was done before she knew it’d began and Vinyl trotted away poorer and enriched.

I’ve told you the next part. After that, Scratch wanted to share.

Scratch always though she owned nothing. Everything she had was everything she gave. She gave the circuit to Octavia. A world of possibility, extending endlessly through every dimension. This was her power and her depth. Deep purple lines of music echoed forever and everywhere.

And slowly Octavia began to lose her grip. Then she began to fade away. I love it, she’d say, whirling among a string of thought. Vinyl would brag and reach out for the next new secret the circuit had to provide. Now, there was no point.

Vinyl’s ruby eyes analysed that world. A streak of ideas spun past with the faintest purple glimmer. She moved through the system, coming to a place long abandoned. There was a cold, hard husk there, its contents scattered to electric winds.

There was nothing. Not a note of sadness, nor a chord of joy. Just a cold, hard empty, shell.

Tcharclopsky’s overture, Vinyl felt, was appropriate. It was going to be her biggest show yet, for an audience of one.

I hope you’re listening, Tavi.

And then the music began to play.