> Symphonics
>  by BillyColt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> What I Did for Love pt 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


What I Did For Love


Chapter 1


The feeling of playing before an entire orchestra is, at first, not an empowering one. For their first concerto a musician feels completely exposed. It’s the stage fright that every performer has to overcome.

Vinyl Scratch found herself practically bored out of her skull as she in the fifth row, listening to the musicians tuning their instruments. When Octavia finally took the stage she let out a massive sigh of relief, glad that the concert could finally begin.

The hall went silent for a few seconds, and then there was an explosion of sound from the orchestra, signaling the start of the concerto. Vinyl herself was not particularly interested, but just as she was bemoaning her boredom, Octavia put her bow to the cello. As a captive audience member, Vinyl could see clearly how skilled of a musician Octavia was. Somehow her expression managed to capture both a firey intensity and the utmost calm. Sometimes she blazed with a dazzling virtuoso display of fast, rapid passages. At others, she was quiet, subtle, making the cello sing with its pure baritone tones.

When the playing ended the ponies in the hall were so silent that the final chord could resonate. Then the hall erupted with a roaring applause. Vinyl, despite her tastes in music, found the performance so rousing that she herself leapt to her hooves, cheering with the rest of the crowd.

Octavia bowed graciously, as various patrons threw flowers upon the stage. Roses, mostly, scattered around her. Vinyl almost laughed to herself – how cliche. Through the crowd, however, Vinyl saw that Octavia had a surprised look on her face. The cellist bent down, and when she lifted her head again she had a sizeable bouquet of flowers in her mouth. At this the crowds cheered even louder. She bowed again before finally departing from the stage, letting the applause settle down. The lights went up, and the doors opened.

Vinyl was grateful for the chance to stretch her legs. As nice as the concert was, she was not the kind of pony to sit in a chair for that long, doing nothing. As soon as the lights went up, she bolted from her seat and tried desperately to get out of the hall before she could be blocked by the crowds.

This, of course, proved to be a largely futile effort, although she was more towards the front than she might have been otherwise. Her first instinct was to get out of the theatre as quickly as possible and go home, but then a bit of simple courtesy occurred to her.

Upon reaching the lobby, she turned for the stage door. There was Octavia, met by a crowd of admirers and holding flowers.

“Hey, Octavia!” Vinyl waved from behind the crowd, trying to get her attention. “Yo!”

Octavia looked up and smiled. “Hey, Vinyl! Glad you could make it!”

The unicorn pushed her way through the crowd (“hey, watch the glasses”) up front. “Hey, didn’t think I’d miss it, would you?”

“I imagined there were things you’d rather do.”

“Eh,” said Vinyl. “Nah. Nice bouquet,” she said, looking at the flowers. “Got an admirer?”

“Actually...”

“Good evening,” said a voice behind her. Vinyl turned around.

She recognized him. Light brown coat, chalk-white mane, that ever formal presentation. Frederic Horseshoepin.

“When’d you get back?” Vinyl asked.

“Just recently,” he said. “And just in time, I think.”

“Thank you for the flowers, Frederic,” Octavia said. “Really, it was such a surprise to see you here.”

“Hopefully a pleasant one,” he said, with a small smile.

Octavia laughed. “So, how was your trip?”

“You’ll have to tell us all about it,” said Vinyl. “And about that guy...”

“It’s quite a funny story,” said Frederic, giving a weak little laugh. “Might take up hiking now to keep in the habit and stay in shape. Anyway...” He looked around at the crowd and the line that was forming behind him. “I wish you a pleasant evening.” He politely bowed his head and exited the line. Vinyl adjusted her large glasses and peered after him.

“Well,” she said. “He seems to be doing better.”

“Frederic!” called Octavia. “Meet for coffee later this evening?”

Frederic stopped and looked back. “I’d be delighted.”


***


“...Suffice to say, I’m a bit more wary of sponges now,” said Frederic, to an amused chortle from Octavia.

“I guess some colorful stuff goes on outside of Canterlot,” said Octavia.

Frederic smiled. “Well, it’s a big colorful world, outside and in,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Just went to see a bit more of it.” He looked around the outdoor cafe at the Canterlot streets, never too-heavily traveled, especially at night. But this was a nice part of town, when the outdoor lights of the cafes cast a warm glow around the cool streets, making the giant city seem more cozy and personal than it usually was. “You’ve been up to the usual, I take it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I actually had a lovely opportunity to debut a brand new cello concerto.”

“Oh?” asked Frederic, taking another sip of coffee. “It’s a shame that I missed it.”

“Not really,” sighed Octavia. “It wasn’t very good.”

Frederic couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s nice to be back. Hopefully I’ll be able to find a gig.”

“I’d be happy to help,” offered Octavia. “I know of a musical theatre company that could use a rehearsal pianist next season.”

“Thank you.” Frederic nodded politely. “The time for romantic journeying is over, time to get back to the life of a musician.”

“At least you got your romantic journeying.”

Frederic gave a chuckle. “True.”

“Thanks for coming to the concert last night.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Frederic. “You were wonderful, and I’m sure Vinyl would agree.”

“Mm-hmm...” Octavia said.

“How is the mare with no taste?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s doing fine,” she said with a shrug. “Just doing her usual thing.”

Frederic set the cup of coffee down on the table. He noticed her posture slackened a little, that she was apparently uninterested in this area of discussion. “Is...” He ventured to ask. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” said Octavia. “Vinyl and I just aren’t together anymore. We decided it was best about a month ago.”

“Oh,” said Frederic, his hooves placed on the coffee mug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “We’re still friends, it just... didn’t work out the way we’d hoped.”

Frederic raised his cup and took a sip as Octavia continued to talk.

“I guess that time she cheated on me might’ve been the first sign there was something wrong. We tried ironing out. Both of us, really, but...” She shrugged and looked down with a sigh. “I guess things just don’t work out the way we hope sometimes.” She returned her gaze to him.

“Well, sounds like it wasn’t either of your faults,” he said. “You did everything you thought you could.”

“Yes,” she said. “That... isn’t always as much of a comfort as it should be.”

Frederic nodded. He didn’t say anything, but simply reflected on some of his own past misfortunes – misfortunes that he felt fairly confident in saying were not his fault at all. He was only drawn out of his thoughts by the realization that he was attempting to take a sip from an empty coffee cup.

“Well, it’s been lovely chatting with you,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get the quartet back together?”

“I think so.” Octavia smiled. “I’m sure Harpo and Brass will be elated to hear you’ve come back.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose?” asked Frederic with a self-deprecating grin. He nodded politely and stood from his seat. “Well, hopefully we’ll be seeing each other again shortly. Take care.”

He turned to leave, about to head back to his apartment and an mull over the dust the flat had accumulated. However, he was stopped.

“Frederic, there’s just one more thing,” said Octavia.

He stopped. First he turned his head to look at her. She had a moderately puzzled expression on her face, one of measured caution. He slowly turned the rest of his body to face her.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Vinyl told me, a while ago,” she said. “That you knew about her cheating on me right before you left town.”

Frederic took a breath. “That is correct.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” she said. She quickly realized that sentence might be construed to be more accusatory than she might have intended, and added: “not that I’m really complaining. She said that you suggested she tell me herself. I’m just... curious why.”

Frederic sighed and returned to his seat. The empty cup of coffee stared up at him, the dark brown ring lining the bottom.

“I didn’t think it would be right to tell you,” said Frederic.

“Why?”

“Because...” Frederic’s heart pounded in his ears. The honest answer was blaring in his mind, but to put that thought to words was harder than it seemed.

“Octavia...” he looked up at her. “I didn’t tell you everything about why I left, and what I felt. The honest truth is... I’ve been in love with you.”

Even the crickets seemed to fall mute at that. Suddenly the gentle lights of the cafe seemed to burn like the lamps in an interrogation room where they grill a foal who pulled off a massive candy caper.

“So I couldn’t tell you about Vinyl,” he said. “It would have been wrong. I’d be doing it not because I thought you should know if someone was betraying you. I’d be doing it because...” He looked down. “It would have been because I was jealous. That I thought if I could sabotage your relationship with her, that you might choose me. And if I had done that, well...” He looked back at her. “I’d be ruining your happiness for my own selfish desires. And that’s even assuming you would choose me at all. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Octavia’s facial expression had not changed since he said “I’ve been in love with you.” Frederic looked back at his coffee cup, as though desperately wishing it had refilled itself as a reward for his pained admission.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, no, it’s...” Octavia said, stopping before ‘alright.’ “I just... didn’t know you felt that way. I mean...” She leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hoof as though massaging away a terrible headache. “Just a lot to take in there...”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll just... I’ll just go now,” he finished, standing to leave. “Just... I just thought I should be honest about how I felt.” There was a pause. “Look, I don’t want this to come between us. Between our friendship.”

Octavia looked back up at him. “I understand. I just need some time to think.”

Frederic nodded and, without another word, went on his way.


***


The door to Frederic’s apartment opened slowly. Frederic lit a lamp by the doorway, illuminating the rest of the room, and looked over the home he had hurriedly left. Nopony had been there since his, and everything was exactly where he had left it, coated now in a fine layer of dust.

He made a note to himself not to breathe too deeply until he’d taken a feather-duster to the place. It was a somewhat surreal feeling, walking into a cold room you’d been before but hadn’t in a while. It was a feeling that was at once familiar and completely alien. Most of all, however, it was relieving.

The piano sat in its corner of the central room, a slightly-battered upright, untouched since his departure. He turned up the lid, which had kept the dust off of the keys, keeping them pristine.

He tapped down on a key, the bright plink of the piano springs echoing through the instrument’s chamber. The instrument could stand to be tuned, he decided.

He turned his head and looked back at the door. There was a pile of mail there, unopened. While he had remembered to pay the landlord in advance for the rent, he hadn’t remembered to ask the post office to hold the mail, and now there was going to be a lot of letters and junk for him to sort through.

The refrigerator caught his eye. It would be an unpleasant task to clean it out, but such was the necessity. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was something growing in there.

He set to work writing a to-do list:

Go through mail
Pay the rent
Get a job
Buy groceries
Tune the piano

Hopefully his friends could help him with getting a job. He had a little money he could use for the rent and groceries for now, but tuning the upright would have to wait.

He returned to his bedroom. His bedclothes were still untidy as they were when he left. It also occurred to him that he’d have to wash them. After puzzling over it for a few seconds, he decided that sleeping on the couch would be a better idea.

As he lay there, his thoughts drifted towards his... difficult conversation with Octavia. She didn’t reciprocate his feelings. That was fine. He’d accepted that, and he could deal with it. He only hoped that she didn’t think less of him for it, and that their relationship as friends and colleagues wouldn’t be hurt by it.


***


Take the sheets to the laundromat was Frederic’s first thought upon waking up. Need to add that to the to-do list.

He sat up on his couch and felt a growl escape from his stomach. Breakfast was his first priority. Then he remembered his distrust for the contents of the old refrigerator and reconsidered. Going to a diner would be a better option.

Diner first, then grocery shopping, he decided. Then I look for a job.

He retreated into his bathroom for a quick shower, heedless of the cold water.

This won’t be easy, he thought. I drop off the face of Equestria and just show up again... I hope the old pub still needs a pianist.

Frederic stepped out of the shower and promptly dried himself off with the tower. He wiped the steam-induced condensation from the mirror and looked at himself. Not different in the slightest. Sometimes it seemed the most awkward part of life was getting back to normal.

He walked to the front door of his apartment. He took one last deep breath and reached his hoof out to the door, when he heard a knock.

Curiously, he opened the door to find Octavia standing there.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she repeated. “I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I am,” he said with a polite nod of his head. “It’s...” He looked back into his abode. “Not very presentable at the moment, I admit, but I think I’ll manage. I was just going to go out to get some breakfast at the waffle house down the road. Would you...” He paused, briefly unsure. “Would you like to come with me?”

Octavia smiled. “That sounds like it would be fine.”

> Classical Crossover pt 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Classical Crossover


Chapter 1


Frederic stood like one of the Princess’s guards, watching as the customers walked in and out of the store, looking at the wares.

Frederic, as one of his many odd jobs, worked in a piano warehouse. He didn’t do a whole lot specifically – he was just there if a customer wanted some help, and he’d very occasionally play a piece to demonstrate the quality of the piano in question. Of course, he could make almost any piano sound beautiful, which suited his employers just fine.

Sometimes he’d just spend his time on the clock practicing on the pianos, which helped demonstrate the product while also keeping him in shape for his real career as a pianist. All things considered, being paid to practice piano in public was quite convenient.

It was a slow day. Very few customers came by, and those that did were mostly window-shoppers. For the most part, it left Frederic alone with his thoughts. He liked to think about the book he was currently reading, the piece he was working on, amusing little trivia assorted with it (for example, one piano piece he was working on was composed when the composer had injured his jaw and hooves and had sing the pitches to a secretary for transcription).

Unfortunately he kept being interrupted by an incessant plunking from a nearby piano. He shifted his eyes. He saw a mare, a hoof wavering over the keyboard, hesitantly tapping the keys in a crude attempt to produce a melody. Except she kept getting the melody wrong, every time she hit the note wrong she went all the way back to the beginning and started over, before inevitably making the same mistake three times in a row.

Eventually, Frederic couldn’t take it anymore. “May I help you with something, miss...?”

She was a unicorn mare, with an off-white coat and a vivid blue mane and a pair of gaudy magenta sunglasses on her head, held over her similarly magenta eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “How do I get it to play steel drums?”

Frederic was silent for a minute. “Pardon?”

“How do I get it to play the other instruments?”

Frederic blinked. “Miss? That’s a piano.”

“Well, duh,” she said. “I’m just saying, where are the other options? Like what if I want it to play–”

Frederic figured out what she was talking about. “Miss, that would be a synthesizer you’re looking for.”

The mare looked up. “Oh,” she said. “But these look cooler.”

“It’s a matter of function,” he explained. “This is a grand piano. It makes music by striking the keys with hammers. A synthesizer uses magic, so it can play other instruments.”

The mare scratched her head. “Well, why can’t it do both?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah. Magic a piano so that it can play the normal way, but also do the other instruments. Like I like it when it has those little twangy sounds. Zip zip zip! That sounds cool.”

Frederic sighed. “I would not know about which ‘twangy sounds’ you are referring to.”

The mare ignored him and went back to clumsily plunking a tune on the piano, apparently not really caring whether or not it produced twangy sounds or not.

“Hey mister, can you play?” she asked.

Frederic’s eyes narrowed. “I am a classically trained concert pianist, yes,” he said.

“Sweet,” said the mare (Frederic suspected that she did not know what that meant). “So that’s how you know so much about pianos, right?”

His eyes looked up, though his muzzle was still turned down to the piano. “Years of study,” he said, each word coming out in a dry, droll tone.

“Awesome,” she said. “You see, I’m in a little music group...” Frederic rolled his eyes. “And we’re trying to get a good group together. I’m good with the turntables, we got this guy who’s good at the guitar, and another guy who’s a total ace with the drum machine.”

“I see...”

“A drum machine is a little magic thing,” the mare explained, “it lets you come up with a beat and stuff.”

“I know what a drum machine is,” Frederic groaned.

“Alright, that’s cool,” she said. “But hey, I’ll ask the guys and see if they’d like to have you on.”

“Sure, sure,” Frederic mumbled. “Are you planning on actually buying anything?”

“Nah,” she said. “I’m broke.”

Frederic gaped at the mare as she trotted out of the shop, whistling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

***




“Who goes up to a grand piano and asks if it can do steel drums? It’s ridiculous.” Frederic relayed the story to Octavia at a quaint little outdoor cafe over mineral water and croissants. “As if I needed more evidence that the modern musical culture knew nothing about music at all.”

“Goodness,” said Octavia, though she clearly wasn’t as shocked. “You going to submit that to your ‘Complaints About Customers’ newsletter?”

“I most certainly will,” he said, munching on a piece of croissant. “And then she asked me to play in her band.” He shook his head.

“I take it you weren’t interested?”

“Not in the slightest,” he piped indignantly. “I have higher standards.”

“I don’t know,” said Octavia. “It might be a nice opportunity.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’d be learning more about music you hate,” she said. “And I’ve been hearing you talk about how you could use a little more pocket money...”

Frederic didn’t have a snappy comeback to that and simply sipped his tea.

“Hey Tavi!”

Frederic’s ears pricked up. No...

“Fancy meeting you out here,” chattered the all-too-recently-familiar voice. “Out in this fancy place...”

The mare from earlier trotted by, stopping to look at them. “And waddya know?” the crazy mare asked, her eyes falling on Frederic. “Small world, ain’t it.”

“Hi, Vinyl,” said Octavia. “This is Frederic, one of my colleagues. Frederic, this is Vinyl, my roommate.”

“You’re joking,” Frederic said immediately in near-shock.

“I know, right?” said Vinyl. “You would not believe how controlling she is. ‘No, Vinyl, you can’t put up posters in the kitchen. Seriously. So...” She looked at Frederic. “Band meets tonight over at Neon’s place,” she said.

“Beg pardon?”

“I told ‘em all about how great you are on keys,” she went on, “they’re thrilled. It’ll be a blast. Be there at seven.”

And with that she turned and sauntered off, floating a pair of headphones over her ears and leaving Frederic to sit and sputter.

“But I didn’t... what...” he said.

“Sounds fun,” Octavia intoned over her cup of tea.

***


“Vinyl? VINYL!”

“What?”

“I think I heard the doorbell.”

Vinyl removed her headphones. What the headphones were for when the entire apartment was blaring bass was anyone’s guess, but sure enough, her companion Neon Lights was right. The doorbell was ringing, followed by a pounding on the door.

She waded through piles of cups on the floor to get to the door, and upon opening it found a rather grumpy and impatient-looking pianist pony on her doorstep.

“Heya!” she said. “You made it!” She leaned inside. “HEY, EVERYONE, THAT GUY I WAS TALKING ABOUT MADE IT!”

“Rather fortunate,” said Frederic. “It was difficult finding the place, as you didn’t tell me where it was or how to get there.”

“Well, you got that solved just fine,” she said, throwing a foreleg around his neck and dragging him in. “This is where we make the music!”

“I imagine...”

Vinyl dragged her into a large room that was set up with a large turntable, another table with some fancy machine with a bunch of knobs and dials, and another little seat that was surrounded by microphones, with a guitar next to it. There were two stallions in the room, a teal one with a spiky mane at the fancy machine, and a brown one with a straw mane at the seat by the guitar.

“These are my bandmates,” she introduced, “Neon Lights and Meadow Song.”

“Yo,” said Neon Lights.

“Hey,” said Meadow Song.

“And this...” she continued, “is our fancy-shmancy magical keyboard.”

Frederic nearly balked. There it stood, a state-of-the-art magical synthesizer keyboard. Frederic was more accustomed to uprights and grands and other varieties of actual piano, but he recognized a quality magic keyboard when he saw it. And, as he looked around the relative squalor of the apartment, he wondered how in Equestria this mare had managed to afford it. No doubt this group was desperate for their next gig so they could pay the rent on time (which he suspected to be a rare occurrence).

He circled around to the side, looking at all the little buttons that changed what sounds they made. He wondered if it had steel drums.

“Hey, Freddy, right?” asked Vinyl. “Talk into this.”

Frederic found a microphone floating in front of his face. “Um, excuse me, what are you—”

“Perfect! Thank you!” said Vinyl, pulling the microphone away with her magic and replacing it with... well, Frederic reasoned it wasn’t exactly sheet music. Just... lists of chords. Like figured bass, except more watered down. She drew behind her turntable and donned her massive headphones. “Aaaaand from the top!”

Neon Lights reared back and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “A-ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”

To say that the room was awash with sound was not a fitting description. By Frederic’s recollection it was at this point he discovered that Vinyl Scratch had apparently been harboring her own personal earthquake machine.

Frederic had meant to bedazzle them with some flashy improvisation, but between Neon’s drum machine, Meadow Song’s guitar riffs, and... whatever in Tartarus Vinyl was doing, he couldn’t think straight enough to do anything but the basic chords and inversions, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to hear them.

And so Frederic Horseshoepin, a pony accustomed to three-hour piano practice sessions, shrank in horror at the realization that he was going to be in for a very long rehearsal.

> Scherzo pt 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Scherzo





Chapter 1


Frederic Horseshoepin returned to the recital hall, relieved after his trip to the bathroom. He grumbled to himself, as he was expecting something highly unpleasant.

He walked in through the stage door. He saw the grand piano propped open on one side of the stage, and on the other was the blue stallion, Harpo, wistfully plucking away at his instrument.

Frederic raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the harpist. He knew something was waiting for him. Ever so cautiously, he approached his piano. Nothing seemed particularly out of place, though he found that the lid on the keys had been shut. Fred rolled his eyes and looked over at Harpo, who was oh so innocently continuing to pluck away at the strings.

Oh you... Frederic thought as he sat down.

“Alright,” said Frederic, opening the lid on the keys, “from the top?”

Harpo nodded. Frederic, put his hooves to the keys and began to play.

Harpo and Frederic were rehearsing a piece for an upcoming concert. It was a beautiful harp and piano sonata that they had both wanted to play for quite some time. It was also not the piece that Frederic found himself playing. After about five measures, Frederic noticed that the sheet music he was rehearsing was not any kind of harp and piano sonata at all, but The Pony Pokie.

He stopped playing and glared at Harpo, who was now in fits of giggles. Frederic hated those giggles – Harpo spoke in a high-pitched tenor as it was, but when he giggled it broke into some girlish squeal.

“Harpo!” Frederic barked. The harpist merely grinned at him. Grumbling, Fred removed the page of music, revealing the correct score. He opened it to the first page and began to play.

The first movement of the sonata opened with a piano solo before segueing into a harp solo. Frederic followed along in the score, listening to Harpo as he played. He admitted, as annoying as Harpo could be, he was one of the finest musicians he knew. He smiled as he heard each pluck. And yet, something seemed a little odd – nothing sounded bad, but it just sounded strangely not like a harp. He looked over and found that the harp was sitting alone on the stage with nopony playing it, yet the music continued. He looked back in front of him to find the harpist standing at the open piano, merrily plucking away at the piano strings.

“Harpo!”

Harpo scurried back to his harp, giggling madly. Frederic grumbled – if he screwed off one more time...

Harpo sat down at the harp, took a deep breath, and began to play the solo from the beginning again. Frederic had to just watch and listen to his playing. It was as though Frederic could forgive every dumb piece of clowning Harpo did, just for that playing. He could listen to him forever.

As soon as the harp solo had finished, however, Fred heard a thump. His eyes shot open and he saw Harpo lying eagle-spread on the floor.

“Harpo?” asked Fred, but his colleague didn’t respond. “Harpo!” He got from the piano and walked over to the apparently unconscious body. “Harpo, what are you up to? ...Harpo?” He looked down. The harp player lay motionless, his breathing shallow. “Harpo, this isn’t funny!” shouted Fred, leaning down.

Then, Harpo threw his forelegs around Frederic’s neck and shot up. Frederic shook his head, trying to wrench away from Harpo’s embrace, which he eventually did, but not before Harpo had planted a big, sloppy kiss on his muzzle.

“Hey, what gives!” Frederic demanded. Harpo just beamed at him. Frederic turned around and grumbled. “I always come early and prepared, and then you start clowning around...” He looked back at Harpo, who was pretending to pout. “Don’t you have a boyfriend or something you can do that with?”

“Not yet!” Harpo piped, dropping the fake pout and hopping back up.

“Whatever,” said Frederic, “I’m going to go home. See you later.”

Harpo waved cheerfully at Fred as he gathered his book and headed for the door.

Annoying, Frederic thought, the way he treats rehearsals... One of these days he’ll mess up at a concert because he didn’t practice like he should...


***


Frederic always prided himself on his diligent practicing. He didn’t waste time clowning around or staring blankly in front of him or gulping down needless amounts of water – he opened his music and immediately set to playing. Scherzo, his pet wallaby and little assistant, thumped out the tempo.

Once he had finished the piece, he went back and revisited sections that had been giving him trouble, before playing it one final time.

He hoisted himself from his piano bench and retreated to the kitchen, feeling justified in treating himself to a cold beverage. No sooner had he opened the fridge, however, than he felt a tapping on his leg. He looked down to see Scherzo trying to get his attention.

“Hmm?” he asked. “What is it?”

Scherzo pointed to the front door.

“You want me to go out?” Frederic asked. “What for?”

Scherzo hopped off. Frederic shook his head and took a bottle of grape juice from the fridge, before turning around to find that Scherzo had returned with a music magazine that sported a photograph of an attractive mare. Frederic rolled his eyes.

“What, you want me to go get a marefriend?” he asked. The wallaby nodded eagerly. “Scherzo, I’m not interested in that.”

Scherzo paused, thinking for a minute. Then he hopped off again. About a minute later he returned, this time with a sports magazine brandishing the image of a muscular stallion.

“Scherzo!”

The wallaby promptly threw the magazine away behind him.

“I’ll be perfectly happy spending my evening at home, curled up with a nice new book,” Frederic explained. Scherzo sulked, giving a very sour expression which Frederic promptly ignored.

Frederic walked over to the bookshelf and, despite all the pouting from his wallaby, went to do exactly what he said he would. He took a comfortably thick volume down from the shelf before retreating to his comfy chair. All the while Scherzo looked back and forth from him to the door.

After about twenty minutes of Frederic enjoying his book, the little wallaby decided that those were twenty dreadfully boring minutes and began to thump his foot on the ground. Frederic’s ears pricked up, but he ignored it. Scherzo kept on with the thumping, making it grow louder and faster. Frederic continued to ignore it, but he found himself re-reading the same page over and over again without retaining more than a sentence at a time.

Frederic slammed the book shut and scowled at his pet. “I should’ve just bought a metronome. At least they don’t need to be fed.”

Scherzo was, however, not put off by this remark and merely grinned at his master. Frederic snorted and re-opened his book when he was interrupted yet again, this time by his doorbell.

“Oh, what now?” he groaned. Bemoaning his lack of willpower, he hauled himself out of the comfy chair and made his way to the door. “Yes?” he asked, opening it. “Oh, hi Harpo.”

The harpist was standing there, a few bits of paper in his mouth.

“What’s this?” asked Frederic, taking a closer look. Tickets for the opera. “The Marriage of Figaro?”

Harpo nodded, grinning.

Frederic thought for a minute. Obviously this was Harpo’s way of asking “no hard feelings?” after their less-than-ideal rehearsal.

Well, can’t stay annoyed too long, Frederic reasoned as he gingerly took the ticket. “So tomorrow night?”

Harpo nodded again.

“Well,” said Frederic. “Thanks.” He slowly shut the door and turned around. He saw the wallaby was smiling at him. “What?”

***


At times Frederic wasn’t completely sure what was and wasn’t appropriate attire for the opera. Traditionally one was supposed to wear their best, but he had known others to come in more casual attire, or no attire at all. Still, he reasoned as he looked himself over in the mirror, wearing a nice suit, being overdressed is better than being underdressed. He even wore a red bowtie.

The doorbell rang, followed by several thumps on the floor. Scherzo trying to get his attention.

“I’m coming, I’m coming...” said Frederic, approaching the door. The wallaby was waiting expectantly, looking up at him with a pleased, eager expression on his face. “I just know you’re going to be up to something mischievous while I’m out...”

He opened the door and saw Harpo standing there, smiling himself. He, too, was dressed in a suit, complete with a red bowtie just like his own.

“I see we’re a matched set,” Frederic noted.

Harpo held a hoof up and shook his head. Frederic cocked an eyebrow curiously, and watched the tie around Harpo’s neck spun like a propeller. Harpo grinned at him, as though inviting approval.

“Well, mine doesn’t do that,” said Frederic, “shall we go?”

Harpo smiled and nodded, and the two set off down the road for the opera. Frederic kept his eyes focused and ahead most of the time, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the way Harpo acted. Harpo’s gaze went every which way, and he seemed at times to skip a little, sometimes gravitating towards the street lamps as though wishing to dance on them. And at other times, Harpo just looked up at the stars in the sky, and sometimes he glanced at Frederic himself, and all the while smiling softly.

A crowd materialized as they approached the Canterlot opera house, the giant cosmopolitan theatre where all of the Canterlot elites’ musical needs were filled. Wealthy ponies in clothes fancier than his own stood around the massive fountain outside, chattering and laughing away to whittle down the time before the start of the opera.

They trotted into the entrance hall, bright and gleaming with chandelier light. Frederic nearly blinked as his eyes adjusted to the change, while the idle chatter of the wealthy socialites around him replaced the chirping crickets from earlier. One voice, however, cut out above the white noise of everypony else.

“Hey, Harpo!”

Harpo beamed and waved a hoof. Frederic saw another pony wave back at him, an earth pony with a  light lavender coat and charcoal mane.

“Hey, Find, it’s Harpo!” he said to another earth pony pony next to him, a dark orange pony with a white mane.

The two ponies approached them and greeted Harpo enthusiastically.

“Knew we’d find you here,” said the first one. “Classical guy you are. And...” He turned to Frederic. “Who’s your friend here?”

“Oh, Frederic,” said Frederic. “I take it you two are Harpo’s friends?”

“Sure are,” said the other pony. “The name’s Eventide, and this here is Rare Find.”

“Hey,” said Rare Find. “You a musician guy?”

“Yes,” said Frederic. “I’m a pianist.”

“You an opera-lover?” asked Eventide.

“Well, I admit it’s not quite my forte,” said Frederic. “Though I respect it as a form.”

“Well, I’m fond of this one,” said Eventide.

“Every time we find it’s playing, we try to get a ticket,” said Rare Find. “Got tickets for it months ago. The guy they got playing Figaro is really good.”

“Great voice,” agreed Eventide. “Cute, too.”

Frederic cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, let’s get our seats,” said Rare Find. “Nice meeting you two.”

“Bye!” said Eventide.

Harpo happily waved at them as they departed, while Frederic stood there, puzzling. The bells, however, rang, signalling the ponies to head to their seats.

“So, uh,” said Frederic as they entered the audience, “are they, y’know...”

Harpo looked at him with one of the most remarkably high eyebrows Frederic had ever seen.

“Well, gay?” Frederic finished. Harpo nodded. “I see...”

The lights dimmed, and the opera began.

It was  familiar story. There was a count. The count had a valet. The valet was to be married, but the count was after the bride-to-be, despite already having a wife. There was also a colt (played by a filly) who was in love with the countess. There was also a lawyer and another mare who were after the valet for a debt. The count was furiously jealous and angry at the colt. The valet, the bride-to-be, and the countess schemed to unravel the count’s plan and humiliate him, though they were not all on the same page. And all the way through the opera there was gorgeous music.

Occasionally, while the count was on-stage, Harpo would prod Frederic and give an exaggerated imitation of whatever look was on the count’s face. Frederic couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. And he couldn’t help but smile along with the music. It was very nice music, of course—Most Art was one of the great masters, after all.

At the end of the opera, the count knelt before the countess, begging for forgiveness. And the countess, more kind and graceful than the count, granted his request. Frederic looked at Harpo’s face. There were no silly expressions here now, as Harpo wore a serene smile, enraptured as he was with Most Art’s most beautiful music.

And the opera ended with a triumphant cadence, as all the complications were finally set straight, and everyone got a happy ending. Frederic joined in with the applause, though a little less enthusiastically than Harpo, who leapt from his seat and stomped his hooves on the floor.

And Frederic thought that he’d had a really wonderful time.

***


“Well, that was fun,” said Frederic, as they approached his apartment. “I don’t think I would’ve done that on my own initiative. Thank you.”

Harpo smiled and nodded happily. Frederic ascended the steps to his apartment and was about to enter when he stopped.

“You know...” he mused. “Maybe we should do something again sometime.”

Harpo clearly liked that. He beamed and bobbed his head up and down. Frederic almost chuckled.

“Well, good,” he said. “We’ll have to arrange something.”

And with that he went inside. It had already been dark out when he left, and the opera had lasted for four hours. Now it was pitch black inside.

He was about to reach for the light switch, but there was a click and they turned on seemingly by themselves.

“Scherzo?” asked Frederic. The wallaby hopped into sight, smiling at his owner. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

Scherzo tilted his head, still smiling.

“No, I guess not,” said Frederic, retreating into the kitchen. Scherzo hopped after him, grinning eagerly. “It was fun,” he continued. “The opera was very nice and Harpo wasn’t particularly disruptful. For some reason I always imagine him as the guy to burst out laughing in the middle of a play and not stop... that didn’t happen though...” he mumbled. “But it was nice,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, but shut it when he decided he wasn’t thirsty.

The wallaby simple stood there, still grinning mischievously at him as though expecting something.

“What?”

> What I Did For Love pt 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


What I Did For Love


Chapter 2


Grapefruit. Simple. Wholesome. Healthy. Thankfully served at the local cafe.

It was one thing he appreciated at his favorite old greasy spoon; it didn’t necessarily have to be greasy. If one so wished, one could order any number of foods that didn’t clog the arteries. In this case, grapefruit.
 
He’d always been quite used to cafes. Even moreso since his travels with Ritardando, a pony who always had waffles when he could.

So Frederic had his grapefruit, while Octavia, seated opposite him, had a bowl of oatmeal, though neither of them had touched their food or their coffee yet. Octavia slouched forward, starting and stopping at attempts to form a complete sentence.

“It’s just...” said Octavia, “I’ve done a lot of thinking on it, and, well, I really appreciate your honesty.” She took a breath. “Honest. It’s just, well...”

“Octavia,” said Frederic, “we don’t have to talk about this if it’s making you uncomf-”

“Yes we do,” Octavia blurted.

The diner turned silent as patrons turned to look at them. The pair were aware of this and went to prodding at their food in sheepish silence. Octavia mumbled something about her oatmeal having turned cold.

It’d started out well. They were going out to breakfast, and things were normal. But Octavia had gotten progressively more antsy, and Frederic had grown more withdrawn. The result was that neither of them were comfortable, and neither of them were doing anything to alleviate the other.

“It’s just...” Octavia sighed. “You just disappear for no reason. Then you come back just out of nowhere and you bring me flowers and you tell me this.”

Frederic looked down at his untouched grapefruit.

“I... I’m sorry, it’s just... it’s a lot on my mind like this...” Octavia leaned on the table, rubbing her temples with her hooves and setting her forelegs on the table in a very informal manner.

Frederic sighed. “I think I should go. I’ll just pay the check and–”

“No,” said Octavia, waving with her right hoof. “No, I’ll pay...”

“But I–”

“Frederic, I’ll handle it.”

He saw no use in trying to argue the point, and just stood up. “We’ll be getting the band back together, right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” she said. “You...” She swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “You can still play the piano, right?”

He nodded. “Well...” He paused. “Maybe I’ve atrophied a little. I’ll just go home to practice.”

Frederic left the diner, pondering what had just happened. He should have waited. He should have waited to open up to Octavia. He had enough to do just catching up and patching up with his friends, and now he’d laid this on Octavia.

Well, there was nothing that could be done about that. He’d just have to go home and practice, and see if that opera company was in need of a rehearsal pianist. He just needed a small steady job, at least until the quartet got back together and secured a gig. Then things would get back to–

“Heya!”

Frederic turned around very, very slowly. He saw the all-too-familiar face, grinning back at him with those gaudy purple glasses.

“Hello Vinyl,” he said.

“Haven’t changed a bit, eh Frederic?” she asked, nudging his chest with a hoof.

“That’d be a bit of a waste of a journey,” he mused.

“So, made a big declaration of love?” Vinyl asked. “Gonna get together with the best musician you’ve ever known?”

“No,” said Frederic. “And, if you don’t mind me being blunt, I don’t think that’s particularly any of your business.”

“My business is kinda boring,” said Vinyl, raising a hoof to her glasses and removing them. “Parties and stuff. Gets kinda samey-samey.”

“I could have told you that after one of your parties,” muttered Frederic. He remembered the blearing, skull-boring “beats” and bright lights that he swore had given him permanent eye damage.

“Well,” he said at last, “I have to get groceries and then head back to my apartment and get back to my practicing regimen.”

“Yeah, practicing,” said Vinyl. “I should do that more often.”

Frederic shot her a pained expression, before carrying on his way.

***


Being that Frederic had very little pocket change, he had a short list. Just some simple necessities - apples, bread, grape juice, cheese.

And yet it seemed to be going on for much longer than it actually was, thanks to the chattery mare that had invited herself along.

“So is that it?” she asked.

“So is what it?” asked Frederic, a few apples stuck into his basket. “Yes, I’m only getting three apples. I’m a little short on funds.”

“No, I mean with Octavia,” said Vinyl. “You’re just gonna give up and walk away?”

“If you see other options, then by all means tell me,” Frederic muttered as he looked over the banana stand. “From where I stand, it seems simple: I told her how I felt. She didn’t feel the same way. Assuming it hasn’t made our professional relationship extremely awkward, that seems to me to be all there is to it.”

“Oh, come on, you’re one of those stuffy types with the neat manes and the fancy clothes,” said Vinyl. “Got her flowers and everything. Aren’t you gonna woo her?”

Frederic looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. “I’d like to spare myself any further embarrassment.”

“Suit yourself.”

Frederic returned to browsing shelves for a preferred brand of grape juice, when a thought occurred to him. “Why,” he began, turning back to her, “are you interested in the prospect of me getting together with your ex?”

“Well, since I can’t get together with her, helping you is like doing it by proxy.”

Frederic stared flatly at her. “Seriously?”

“No,” she said. “That’d be stupid.”

He rolled his eyes and carried down the aisle, a basket hanging in his mouth.

“But seriously,” said Vinyl. “Your whole ‘unrequited’ thing really shook you up.”

“I like to think I’m over that,” said Frederic.

“Well yeah, sure, but... come on,” she said. “Don’t you have any drive to go for it?”

“Vinyl, I have a lot of things on my mind at the moment,” said Frederic, stuffing a loaf of sliced bread into his basket. “I’m trying to pick up the pieces of my life. Then maybe I’ll be comfortable with some kind of romantic pursuit. Besides, if Octavia’s not interested...”

“Oh, that’s stupid,” said Vinyl. “If they aren’t interested, you gotta make them interested. Show a little gumption.” Frederic turned around and stared at her, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I didn’t know ‘gumption’ was in your vocabulary.”

***


The piano clanked as Frederic made the same mistake for the fifth time in a row. His brow furrowed in frustration as he nearly snapped the pencil in his mouth. He leaned forward and circled the problem spot in the sheet music, but he’d already circled it four times.

He groaned, hammering out the problem spot on one hoof over and over again, trying to iron it out properly, but his mind was a flummoxed mess.

Telling Octavia had been a bad idea. He hoped, almost prayed, that it wouldn’t have an adverse effect on their professional relationship.

And the piano still needed to be tuned.

He got up and walked over to the fridge. He had a checklist taped to the door of the things he needed to do. Next on the list was to meet up with his old bandmates.

There was a knock on the front door. Frederic managed to wrench himself away from the fridge to answer it. Opening the door, he saw Harpo and Beauty Brass standing there.

Harpo’s face lit up instantly and he leapt at Frederic, throwing his forelegs around his neck. Beauty Brass gave a light chuckle.

“Octavia told us you came back,” said Brass. “Didn’t think to send a letter?”

Harpo pulled back his face, revealing a big, beaming smile.

“I presumed to make it a surprise,” said Frederic. “Any chance I can find work with you ponies again?”

“Yeah,” said Beauty Brass. “Without you we’ve kinda had to find our own gigs. Harpo and Octavia met up with two violinists and did their thing, aaaaand I’ve been doing jazz combos. Now that you’re here we can get the quartet together again.”

Frederic nodded. “Well, this is a nice surprise. I’d invite you inside, but I don’t think it’s all that presentable...” His voice trailed off, as Harpo seemed to disregard him completely and walked in regardless. “Or sure, just come on in,” he muttered with a shrug. Resigned to accept his new guests, he stepped out of the way and let Beauty Brass enter.

Somehow his cluttered-up apartment didn’t seem quite as dull with guests in the place, he realized. Still, he regretted not tidying up first.

The three went to his living room and sat around in a circle. Harpo made a point of lounging lazily on a beanbag. Beauty Brass, meanwhile, set some paperwork on the table.

“Your timing’s nice,” she said. “This is about the time when ponies are looking for entertainers to brighten up their garden parties and get-togethers and what have you. Harpo’s had his heart set on this one...” She pushed one flier towards Frederic, showing a giant pink tower surrounded by a sprawling, shining city. “The Crystal Empire.” Harpo nodded, still grinning.

“Figure the folks there have missed out on a thousand years of classical repertoire,” said Beauty Brass. “We show up early and we set the standards for performances, well, we’ll never have to worry about not having a job again.” Harpo snickered.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Frederic. “We picked anything to play?”

“I figured we’d go with Demi-Quaver’s Unorthodox Scherzando.”

Frederic peered at her. “That was the first piece we ever played.”

“We’ve played it a lot,” she said dryly. “It’s not as though there’s a whole lot of literature scored for piano, harp, souzaphone, and cello.”

“Well, I still have my old score,” said Frederic, returning the paper. “I’ll just dust that off and get to practicing.”

“Great,” said Beauty Brass. “I’ll just tell Octavia that’s settled and we’ll meet this week to rehearse.”

Frederic nodded. “Right, you do that.”

Beauty Brass was quiet for a minute. Frederic looked at her - she peered at him, as though trying to pick out an unseen blemish. “Frederic,” she said, “are you okay?”

“Uh, yes,” Frederic said, nodding. “I’m fine. Just getting settled back into Canterlot and all that.”

“Well, we’ll give you a heads up when we’re ready to start,” she said, getting up. “In the meantime, you get practicing.”

“Will do.”

***


By the end of the two-hour rehearsal, Frederic felt oddly satisfied. The nice thing about the spare room at the piano warehouse was that they had a lot of pianos to spare, and a shiny new grand piano, freshly-tuned, clear as eighty-eight bells.

The Scherzando was second nature to Frederic and, from the sounds of it, the rest of his band. It was a special piece for all of them. It was the first time they’d met. The first time Frederic had seen Octavia.

And here they were again, packing up and ready to go home. Frederic closed the lid on the keyboard while the others packed their instruments into their cases.

“Good,” said Beauty Brass. “One more rehearsal before the audition and we should have it down. The job’s as good as ours.”

Harpo stomped on the floor approvingly.

“Good,” said Octavia curtly. Her cello case made loud clicking noises as she snapped it shut. She seemed completely focused on that one task, barely heeding the others with direct eye contact. Especially not Frederic. “Just get me the details and I’ll be over there.”

“Alright,” said Beauty Brass, “how about we meet tom-”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Octavia, cutting her off. She tossed the cello case over her back and marched out the room.

The others watched the door. Harpo had a puzzled expression on his face, tilting his head in confusion, while Beauty Brass’s mouth hung open as she still sat there, mid-sentence.

“...ooorrow...” she finished. “She’s certainly in a rush. What’s gotten into her?”

Frederic didn’t say anything, but he had the distinct impression he had an idea.

> 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.