Indie Cred, a failed DJ relives his past while working a dead end job.
Indie Cred, a failed DJ relives his past while working a dead end job. This story is written as a series of flashbacks throughout an overarching narrative. Naught words and hurt feelings abound.
This was the first fic I wrote, but I'd been too self conscious to actually do anything with it. The main character has a lot of my personality in him, and the story highlights a lot of sore spots in my past. I had no clue what I was writing when I began this journey, but found the words flowing from me like a fountain. This is not a particularly happy tale. The main reason I was so hesitant to post this is that it shows a lot about who I am inside, something I've worked very hard to keep hidden. After letting a close friend read it, I decided that I would give in and put it out there for the world to see.
Indie poured himself a drink while staring out his apartment window at the beautiful view of the brick wall of the adjoining building He smoothed his black mane, gulped down his drink, and pour a second shot while wondering to himself what his life would be like if he had a better view. “At least it would be brighter in here” he thought to himself, draining the glass again.
The green pegasus gathered up his saddle bag, filled with the music he’d chosen for the night, put on his black square glasses, and poured himself a third glass. Downing it, he grimaced slightly, and headed out the door. He didn’t bother to lock it. “Why should I?” he thought. “The only thing of value I have is in this bag”.
He walked down the back streets of Manehattan, aiming towards Equestrian Beats, a local club he regularly DJed at. Though a Pegasus, he tended to walk when he wasn’t working, as he was rarely sober enough to fly straight, let alone land.
The club was painted entirely black, save for the ceiling. It was once a beautiful plasterwork, flaked with gold, depicting ponies of all kinds in some sort of opera garb. Now it was mostly bare patched, with only a few ponies still somewhat recognizable, the gold all but gone. The theater had once been an opera house, but had been closed down due to financial problems. The owner Mr. Chance, a somewhat portly grey unicorn, had purchased it some thirty years ago, and had slowly turned it into the semi-successful club it was now.
“Hey Golden, how’s it going?” Indie called as he moved towards the stage.
“Eh, I’ve been better. This place is falling apart as fast as I fix it. It’s costing a fortune”
“Well, as long as it stays in one piece long enough for my set, we shouldn’t have any problems”
Indie moved up the stairs at the side of the stage, and opened the gate to the DJ booth. He set down his saddle bag and pulled out a single record. Placing it on the turntable, he began to adjust settings on the mixer.
“I see you had another amateur night, eh?” he called out.
“Yeah, I figure we had a few greats come out of here, maybe we’ll get another one!” Called back Golden Chance.
Though he didn’t show it, the comment cut into Indie Cred. He adjusted the mixer further, and set the needle on the record. He always prepared the booth with the same record. It was the first song he’d ever heard, an old rock tune by the Drafts. As the song began to swell, he turned down the volume, relegating it to little more than background noise. He’d heard the song so many times, he didn’t even need to be able to hear the lyrics anymore.
As he began preparing the mix he would play that night, he mouthed along with the song. “Come on baby light my fire…” He wasn’t sure why he kept playing this same song every time, especially as it tended to remind him of past events he wasn’t too fond of reliving. He supposed it had become a bit of a tradition at this point, and saw no real reason to change it.
Finally pleased with the set list, he sat down in the booth and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his saddlebag. Fumbling with the lighter, he didn’t notice Mr. Chance walk up behind him.
“Jeez kid, you started off a bit early tonight didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about? It’s already eight-thirty. If it’s late enough for the bars to be open, it’s late enough to drink.”
“The bars are always open Indie.”
“Exactly.”
Indie finally managed to get his cigarette lit, and made a note to himself to replace his lighter. He leaned back in his seat and waited for the crowd to show up, moving only to switch records or light another cigarette.
The crowd started to arrive in ones and twos at around nine-thirty. Most of these were regulars, wanting to get a drink or two in before the show started and it was nigh-impossible to get to the bar. A few of them wandered over to the booth, asking what Indie would be playing that night, or requesting a track. He wrote down a few song titles, and promised that if they weren’t played tonight, he’d get them at the next show for sure. Ten o’clock rolled around, and the crowd began to swell. It was going to be a good night for sure. He’d already counted over two hundred in attendance, well above the normal.
He walked backstage, and waited for his cue. The house lights dimmed, and a low buzz emitted from the stacks. He stepped out into the near darkness and into the booth. The house lights came on with a bright flash. The speakers began pumping out bass and the crowd roared in response.
As the beat intensified, Indie became a new pony again. He stared out into the sea of ponies, writhing with the music, the speakers pumping out sound, the lights flickering and flashing, and he felt whole.
This was what he was made for, this moment here. Everything else melted away, and he became one with the music. He read the emotions of the crowd, choosing tracks to keep them on their feet, feeding off the raw energy of the mass of ponies dancing and swaying to the beat. For a moment, he forgot about everything in his life. His past, his fears, his pain, everything was gone, replaced by the sound and the surge of the crowd.
And just like that, it was over.
Two AM came, last call was made, and the attendees began to filter out. The deep boom of the speakers was replaced by the quiet sounds of a local radio station. Indie began to pack up his collection, and lit another cigarette. At least for now, he was still there in his mind. The endorphins would wear off soon enough he knew, but for now he would enjoy the feeling. It was better than anything alcohol could ever give him.
He made his way over to the bar, and called “Hey, Mr. Chance! I’m going to head out soon!”
Mr. Chance walked over to the edge of the bar and set down a small sack filled with coins.
“Seems a little light this time.”
“Times are rough, kid. We’re not bringing in folks like we used to.”
“What are you talking about?! I had at least two hundred in here tonight! That’s better than I’ve done in months!”
“Yeah, but that’s just for your show. Other than the nights you play, we’re not getting much business. The bar barely made anything tonight either. At this rate, I’m going to have to raise the cover charge again…”
Indie tossed the bag of coins in his saddlebag and grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey off the counter.
“This makes us even.” He said, taking a swig and starting towards the door.
“I know it’s hard to admit it, but you’re not going anywhere with this, kid. Maybe you should try a gimmick or something?”
“What? Like a crazy hairstyle or some sort of ridiculous helmet? Nah, I’ll stick with what I’ve got. See ya next week?”
“If I’m still open, sure.”
Indie headed out the door back to his apartment, stopping occasionally to light another cigarette or take a swig from his bottle. By the time he’d reached his apartment, the bottle was nearly empty and he only had one smoke left.
He opened the door and fell onto his bed, trying to will the room to stop spinning. Everything rushed back. The high was over, and his life had returned.
Indie woke up to the buzzing of his alarm clock. A red 0800 flashed on the display, causing him to squint and turn away. He hit the button on the top and sat up, smoothing his matted mane as best he could. Slowly, he climbed out of bed, his head throbbing, and moved to the bathroom. After a brief cold shower, he put on his uniform, a red vest and yellow hardhat, and started towards the door. Opening his pack of cigarettes, he found it to be emptier than he had remembered it being last night. He sighed and walked out of the building, and began to walk towards the warehouse where he worked.
He didn’t mind the work too much. It was mindless labor, giving him plenty of time to think, and little to talk with the others about. Aside from the odd “Hello” or “Good morning” he tended to remain silent while he worked. His job mainly involved moving crates from one area to another, or checking inventories before they were sent out.
The sun was out in full force that morning, and again his head began to throb. The sound of carts on the cobblestones was like a jackhammer to him. The shouts of children on their way to school was like a shrill siren. Muttering to himself, he slowly made his way to his place of work, trying not to be sick.
He walked into the side entrance of Shipley’s Warehouse and Shipping Company, pulled his timecard from its slot and put it into the punch-clock. He stared at the card for a moment, realizing he had spent nearly six years working at this place. As he was wondering just where his life had gone, he heard a voice from behind.
“Another five minutes and I’d have docked your pay.”
It was Whistle Shipley, a tan earth pony with a brown mane and a crate cutie mark, and owner of Shipley’s Warehouse.
“I’m anything if reliable, Mr. Shipley” Indie said, replacing his timecard.
“Yeah, and I’m the spirit of Hearthswarming. Just don’t be late again, eh?”
Adjusting his helmet, Indie moved over to the table where the shift schedules were. He skimmed the names on the clipboards until he found his, wondering why they didn’t just place them in alphabetical order. Attaching the clipboard to his vest, he flew over to a large stack of crates.
This was his favorite part of the job, taking inventory. He didn’t have to do too much, just make sure everything was in its place. He found himself humming the Drafts tune from the other night while he worked. He could still remember the first time he’d heard it. “You know that it would be untrue… You know that I would be a liar… If I was to say to you… Girl, we couldn't get much higher…”
He was five years old, and his father was trying to teach him how to fly.
“One day, you’ll join the rest of your family as a weather pony!” His father had said. “Just like me, and my father before him, and his. You come from a long line of great weather ponies.”
Indie rolled his eyes, having heard this story a hundred times before.
“Sure, and you’re the best of all of them. You tell me this every time we practice, dad!”
“Well, sorry for being enthusiastic. Anywho, let’s get down to business!”
Mr. Cred led his son through some basic drills, stopping every few moments to correct his form or give a pointer of some sort. This went on every Saturday for as long as Indie could remember, and it was exactly the same every time. Every time but that day.
Indie was practicing his loops when he first heard the sound. A neighbor had set up a small portable record player in his lawn to listen to while he gardened. Mostly he played classical stuff, but this week he had a new record playing. It was the Drafts, and they were playing music in a way Indie had never heard before. It was so enthralling to him, he stopped paying attention to where he was flying, and managed to drop headfirst into the ground. He lay there completely motionless, his eyes closed, hearing nothing but the song and the sound of his own breath. He was hooked. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. The keyboards kept playing, the guitar crooning along. “Come on baby light my fire…”
His father ran over to him yelling his name, and began to shake him, trying to rouse him. Indie opened his eyes and looked at his father.
“Did you hear it, dad?” He whispered.
“Hear what son? All I heard was you drop out of the sky!”
“That song… It’s… Incredible.”
Indie realized he had checked the same crate three times already, and shook his head a bit to clear his mind. He signed the inventory sheet and attached it to one of the crates, then moved on to the next pile.
Indie’s love of music seemed innocent at first, but his parents soon saw that it was becoming more and more of a focus in his life. He preferred to sit in his room listening to records rather than play with the other children in the neighborhood, which worried his father to no end.
“He doesn’t get any sun anymore. He just sits there listening to that music. I swear, it’s like he doesn’t have a mind anymore when that thing starts playing.”
Relations with his parents began to rise as he continued to focus his efforts on the music. Every bit he earned went straight to the record store, and when he wasn’t working he was sitting in his room, listening. The day he skipped his flying lesson to listen to a new record was the day the tension reached a boiling point.
“I won’t have my son with his head in the clouds all day! Not unless he’s moving them anyways!” His father shouted.
“You don’t get it! This is my life! It’s all I want!”
“You’re a weather pony! Just like me and every other stallion in this family! I won’t have you throw your life away with this trash!”
His father walked over to the record player, still sounding out the song that had come to be Indie’s fallback, and stepped on it. Indie protested, but he continued to stomp until the record player was all but unrecognizable.
“I expect you to be outside for lessons next Saturday, do you understand me? And get rid of those filthy records. They’re a bad influence on you.”
Indie signed the inventory sheet for the stack he had been inspecting, and attached it to the nearest crate. He looked over the schedule he had for the day, and sighed. Another twenty inventory checks to go, and it was only nine-thirty.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Indie called to another Pegasus nearby. “I’m going to grab a pack of smokes. Need anything?”
“Nah, just don’t take too long. I don’t feel like getting chewed out because you skipped work.”
Indie walked out of the warehouse and took off his helmet. He wiped a mist of sweat off his brow and looked up at the sky. Not a cloud to be seen. He still wondered sometimes if his father was still moving clouds around, or if he’d finally retired. Knowing him, he would keep working until they made him quit.
He walked down the street to a corner store and walked inside.
“Hey Sunny, is the coffee fresh?”
A thin white Pegasus pony with a bright green mane and a smiling sun cutie mark looked up from the magazine she had been reading, looking somewhat surprised.
“Eh, it’s about an hour old I think.” She replied, after thinking for a moment.
“Good enough. I’ve got a hangover that could kill a hydra right now.”
Indie walked over to the carafe and poured himself a cup of joe, then walked back to the counter.
“Just this and a pack of menthols.”
Sunny reached up to the shelf above the counter and grabbed a pack of Lucky Smooth cigarettes, placing them on the counter.
“Eight bits, hon.”
“Eight? It was only seven last week.”
“They raised the prices again. They keep doing this, and everyone’s just going to quit smoking. Either that or they won’t pay their rent, eh?” Sunny replied, chuckling softly.
“Fine. Eight it is, but I’ll remember this Sunny. Don’t you forget it.”
“Sure, and you’ll still be back for another pack tomorrow. Don’t kid yourself Indie.”
He laughed, and walked back into the street, lighting one of the smokes. He sipped the coffee slowly, glad that his headache had subsided somewhat. His stomach still felt like it had been twisted in knots, but at least the sun wasn’t his mortal enemy anymore.
Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he started back towards work. He had made it nearly halfway there when he saw the poster. It was her. Her mane was different, and she was wearing sunglasses, but he was sure it was her. The poster read “THIS WEEKEND – DJ PON-3 PLAYING LIVE AT EQUESTRIAN BEATS!”
“Hard times my plot” He thought to himself, and he made a mental note to demand the full rate for his next show.
He stared at the poster for a few moments, shook his head again, and started back towards the warehouse. He drank as much of the coffee as he could before he got back, then threw the rest away, regretting the waste of perfectly good caffeine. He put his helmet back on and picked his clipboard up from the crate it was resting on, checking which stack would be next to inventory.
“Smoke breaks are only five minutes long, Indie” Mr. Shipley’s voice said from behind him.
“I ran out. Had to go pick up a fresh pack.”
“Hmm. Try to keep to the time limit anyways. You have wings, y’know. You could’ve flown there and back in five minutes.”
“Walking’s good for you.”
“So is doing your job.”
“Speaking of which, do you need any extras this weekend?”
“Yeah, but I thought you hung out at that club on the weekends. Something happen?”
“Nah, there’s a new box set out that I want to pick up, and I need the extra cash.”
“Fair enough. Standard show time. Don’t be late.” Mr. Shipley said, walking back to his office.
There was no way Indie was going to be at the club this weekend. Not with her there. It would be too painful for him. He knew the chances of her even noticing him were slim to none, as the club would be packed to the roof, but he wasn’t going to chance it. Even if it meant working every weekend for the rest of his life, he would avoid her.
He didn’t hate her. In fact, he still had rather strong feelings for her. They had just… grown apart. He had lost count of how many inventories he had done so far, reminiscing about lives past.
They had met at one of his shows. He’d been playing for about four years, and was gaining a bit of a reputation in the underground music world. This was back when even a bad show still had three hundred in attendance. He had just finished up a show and was packing away his albums when she walked over. A beautiful unicorn with a white coat and a long flowing blue mane.
“Hmm, a 45-adapter, eh? I take it you consider yourself a bit of a purist then?”
Indie glanced at his cutie mark, a black 45-adapter, and then at the unicorn.
“Sorta. I just prefer the way vinyl sounds, y’know?”
“Oh me too. I’m Vinyl by the way. Vinyl Scratch.”
“I like the way that sounds. Crud, that was really corny… I swear it sounded better in my head.”
Vinyl laughed and then said “Don’t worry about it. I loved your choices for the night. Mind if I take a look at your collection for a moment?”
“Go ahead. I was just packing up quick so I could grab a smoke.”
“Smoke away, I’m gonna browse.”
Vinyl began rummaging through the records, stopping every few to mutter “I gotta get that one…” or “Hey! I’ve got this one too!”
Indie leaned back in the booth chair and took a long drag on his smoke.
“Hey… It’s about time they start to lock up. Mr. Chance is probably going to kick us out soon. If you want to keep digging through my collection, how about we find an all night diner?”
Vinyl stopped her rummaging and turned to face Indie.
“Well Mr. Cred, if I’m not mistaken, you just asked me out.”
“And if I did?”
“Well, what do I get in return?”
“Other than a free dinner and the pleasure of my company, that is?”
“Well, since you put it that way, it’s a date.”
Indie heard someone yelling, but didn’t register what was being said. He snapped out of his reverie, and looked up to see a team of Pegasi hauling a crate up to a high shelf. An earth pony was guiding from the ground and yelling “CLEAR OUT OF AISLE SEVEN! CRATE ON THE MOVE!”
Indie attached the finished inventory sheet to a crate and moved to an outer aisle. Looking at his clipboard, he realized he had finished all the inventories he had for the day.
“Fantastic.” He though. “Now I’ll have to go help with the load teams.”
He set the empty clipboard back on the shift counter and stepped outside to grab another cigarette. Lighting it up, he looked at a billboard on the building across the street. It was another ad for DJ PON-3.
“How do I not notice these things sooner?” He asked himself. He groaned softly, finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out on the sidewalk, before returning to work.
“You’ve got quite the collection! I haven’t even heard of some of these.” Vinyl said, poring over the records in Indie’s saddle bag.
“Yeah, I’ve been buying up whatever I can find for years. If it fits the style for a show, I put it in the rotation, if not it just gets played at home.”
“You have more? How many?!” Vinyl exclaimed
“I dunno. Three or four hundred? Something like that anyways. I’m running out of space in my apartment honestly. It’s pretty much just my bed, and my collection these days.”
“Four hundred?! Oh my gosh! You have to let me come look sometime!”
“Hah. Okay then. I guess we have a second date already.”
“Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is just one music enthusiast learning from another.”
Indie smiled slyly. “No… This is one music enthusiast buying dinner for another, and then getting asked if said enthusiast can come back to my place.”
“Call it whatever you want. I just want to see what four hundred albums looks like in one place…” Vinyl said, a dreamy look in her eyes.
Indie hated working the lift crew. Not because it was hard work, but because he had to deal with other ponies for a while. It required close quarters with other Pegasi, yelling, and worrying about what would happen if he accidentally dropped one of the crates they were carrying. After a few hours of working lift crews, he wouldn’t mind so much though. He could get used to pretty much anything after a while, but those first few lifts always made him nervous.
“CLEAR AISLE NINE! CRATE ON THE MOVE!” Yelled the earth pony, whose name Indie could never remember. He’d only spoken to him a few times, and it was general water cooler small talk. It was always “How about that weather?” or “So, do anything interesting this weekend?” Though he recognized his grey coat and red mane, Indie realized he had never even asked the earth pony’s name. He made a mental note to find out what his name was sometime soon.
The rest of Indie’s work week passed by uneventfully. He inventoried, he lifted, he smoked, in the evenings he drank. His life had become a constant cycle of monotony, broken occasionally by the odd paying gig or workplace incident. He walked into the warehouse fifteen minutes late on Saturday, and was fully expecting to be docked an hours pay, not to mention the earful he’d get from Mr. Shipley. Instead, he found the doorway taped off, and everyone standing outside.
“What’s going on?” He asked a nearby worker.
“Brickstone… He’s…” The worker started to reply, but was cut short my his own voice.
Another worker, a Pegasus Indie regularly worked lift crew with spoke up. “One of the crates on aisle three wasn’t set properly. One of the lift crews was moving a crate and bumped it… It landed on Brickstone…”
“Which-“ Indie started to say, but quickly thought better of it. He moved away from the two he’d been speaking to and looked through the doorway. A sheet covered the body of Brickstone, blocking Indie’s view. A small breeze kicked up, moving the sheet slightly to reveal his back. A grey coat and a red mane.
Indie suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and moved away from the doorway. He sat down, leaning against the outer wall of the warehouse and tried to light a cigarette. His hooves were shaking badly, and it took a few moments to finally light it. He smoked slowly, staring into nothing, lost in thoughts. He’d barely known Brickstone, but seeing his body there shook him to the very core.
A panic set over Indie suddenly. “Was I on the lift crew that set that crate?” He thought to himself. “Did I kill that stallion?”
He was shaking so badly he dropped his smoke. He didn’t move to pick it up, instead he just stared at the ember. “Try now we can only lose… And our love becomes a funeral pyre…” He quietly sang.
Still shaking, he got up and walked back to his apartment.
“We could totally do this!” Vinyl yelled.
“I know, I know… Stop yelling already.”
“I’m sorry… I’m just excited…”
“I know you are.”
Indie leaned in and kissed her forehead. Vinyl smiled and shoved him away.
“Stop changing the subject you jerk. Are we going to do this or what?”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to Mr. Chance about it tonight. If he’s up for it, the next one will be our show.”
Vinyl smiled again. “Our show. I like the sound of that…”
“Me too hun, me too…”
Indie slowly walked up the stairs to his apartment, steadying himself against the wall. He felt his stomach churn, and bolted through the door and into the bathroom. Retching and shaking, he loosed his last meal, which was luckily just a cup of coffee and a bagel.
He flushed, and stared at his reflection in the water. He hadn’t looked himself in the eye in quite some time. Dark bags were under his eyes, and his mane was slightly matted and dull. He found himself unable to meet his own gaze for more than a moment.
What he had seen today was horrifying, but what truly scared him was how quickly it had happened. All this time he’d been living like he had all the time in the world. Suddenly, he’d realized that he had less time than he’d thought. No more. No more of this living in fear. It took the death of a co-worker for him to realize how easily he could miss his dreams altogether. He turned on the tap and stepped into the shower. He stood motionless, leaning against the wall as the warm water ran all around him.
Living in fear or not, he still couldn’t bring himself to go to PON-3’s show that night. He could only face so many demons at a time. He ran a comb through his mane, wincing as he pulled through the knotted mess on his head. Finally satisfied that he no longer looked like a total slob, he put on his glasses and stepped into his room. He moved over to his collection and began searching for an album. After a moment, he pulled a record from the shelf, removed it from the sleeve, and set it on the turntable. The keyboards began, followed by the singer calling out “You know that it would be untrue… You know that I would be a liar… If I was to say to you… Girl, we couldn't get much higher”
Indie lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the music flow through him. He closed his eyes and allowed the sound to take control.
“Best. Show. Ever.” Vinyl said, leaning back in her chair, exhausted.
“That was pretty great.”
“Great?! That was amazing! Did you see how worked up we got the crowd?!”
“I’ll admit, that dueling DJs thing you came up with was a stroke of brilliance.”
“And you doubted me…” Vinyl said, feigning a hurt tone.
“Never in my life” said Indie, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.
“We gotta think of something for next week!” Vinyl said, sitting up suddenly.
“Next week? We barely finished this show. Can’t we just enjoy the feeling of success for a little while before we go making more crazy plans?”
“Pshh… Crazy awesome more like.”
As the song ended and the turntable began to hiss, Indie sat up. He carefully put the record back in its sleeve and then replaced it on the shelf. He walked out the door and into the street again. He had to come up with something. Some way to get out of this rut he’d been in.
He turned the corner and stopped in front of the diner he’d taken her to all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t been in here since she’d left. He’d avoided pretty much everything that reminded him of her. He sat down at a booth and opened the menu, already knowing what he wanted.
“What can I getcha’ hun?” The waitress asked.
“Barley sandwich. And a coffee.”
“Alright, hun. It’ll be a few minutes.”
“Take your time.”
Indie sat in the booth, staring out the window. Ponies pulled carts down the street, walked along, laughed and joked. He felt a sorrow in himself. He began to realize how much he missed companionship of any sort. It had been so long since he’d had someone he called a friend. He had plenty of acquaintances, and more co-workers than he could count, but nobody he really talked to outside of general pleasantries.
The waitress brought his food out, winked at him, and returned to the counter to talk with the cook. Indie ate his lunch in silence, sipping slowly at the coffee. The black liquid warmed his insides and calmed him a bit more. He finished his lunch, set five bits on the table, and started out the door.
“If we keep this up, we’re bound to get noticed soon!” Vinyl said, raising the needle from the turntable and removing the record.
“If we haven’t already, that is.” Indie said, looking at a stallion in a tie with slicked back hair that had started towards them.
“Oh my gosh! That’s Colton Green!” Vinyl whispered excitedly. “And he’s coming to talk to us!”
“Shh… Don’t scare him away hon.”
“Sorry... Sorry…” Said Vinyl, still beaming.
“Well, you two have made quite a splash here, haven’t you?” Said Mr. Green. “I haven’t seen a crowd that worked up in quite a while.”
“We do our best, sir.” Said Indie.
“Well, you two are pretty good at this stuff. I’m just going to cut to the chase here, we’re looking for new talent, and after what I saw tonight… Well, let’s just say I’m not looking anymore.”
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!” Squealed Vinyl, hugging Indie’s neck. “We did it!”
“So, what do we need to do?” Indie said, still being choked somewhat by Vinyl’s hug.
“Just sign the contract, my boy.”
Indie and Vinyl looked at each other and smiled. A contract. This was what everyone in the music business was after. It was the pot at the end of the rainbow. The light at the end of the tunnel. It was a holy symbol that everything was going to work out.
Monday rolled around right on time, and Indie found himself back at work. He paused in the doorway for a moment. Everything had been cleaned up already. There wasn’t a sign anywhere that anything had happened. He glanced into the break room and noticed that a plaque had been hung on the wall. He didn’t have to read it to know what it said.
Indie was so focused on what he was going to do after work that he didn’t even notice he was working. He moved through the inventories, finishing them quickly and moving on to the next. He found that he had finished all twenty of them in less than two hours, and after putting the clipboard back, he found a lift team that needed a fourth.
He walked home quickly after work, putting away his uniform and checking his hair in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were less noticeable today. He’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep without the help of a bottle, and it showed. He walked briskly to Equestrian Beats, opening the door and calling out “Hey, Mr. Chance! You here?!”
Mr. Chance leaned out of the doorway to his office, looked around a bit, and finally noticed Indie standing near the stage.
“Indie? What are you doing here? It’s a Monday.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just here to talk business today.”
“Oh? This is a change of pace.”
“Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking, and-“
Mr. Chance cut him off mid-sentence. “We’re closing down, Indie. I told you times were getting rough.”
“But PON-3 just played here over the weekend! How are you doing that bad on money?”
Mr. Chance sighed. “This place is falling apart Indie. Other than your shows and the one last night, the place is pretty much empty all the time. I can’t afford to keep the place running anymore. This weekend is going to be the last show.”
Indie opened his mouth to speak, but found he had fallen silent.
“Look kid, nobody loves this place more than you do. I… I want you to play the last show here. It just seems fitting.”
Indie went straight to the warehouse and knocked on Mr. Shipley’s door. Mr. Shipley opened it, startled.
“Indie? You’ve been off for more than an hour, why are you still here?”
“I got some interesting news, sir. I won’t be in to work this week.”
“Oh? And why is that? Win the lottery?”
“No. Nothing like that. The club I play at is closing down for good. I’ll be playing the final show. I need time to prepare.”
“There’s no guarantee your job will still be here if you leave, Indie.”
“Well, no offense sir, but there are other jobs out there. This is my only chance for this show. I’m sure you understand” Indie said, turning to leave.
“Think about this, Indie! You’re throwing away a paying job for some hobby!”
Indie opened the door to his apartment and stared at the collection. This was it. This was his show. If this was how it was going to end, he wasn’t going to disappoint. He began poring over the collection, making small piles all over the room.
“No. No. No. This one should work…” He muttered to himself, engrossed in his planning.
Slowly, his stacks grew. The began to mix together, and others were pushed towards the walls. He laid out records in lines, switching their positions every once in a while, trying to formulate the perfect playlist.
“What do you mean you’re dropping him?!” Vinyl shouted.
Mr. Green, somewhat surprised, said “He’s just not working out… We’ve tried to make him more… palatable to audiences, but he’s just not what we’re… What they’re looking for.”
Indie sat in his chair next to Vinyl, silently staring at a crack in the plaster on the wall beside him.
“Palatable?! What does that even mean?!” Vinyl shouted, again startling Mr. Green.
“Please, calm down. Basically, he’s not crowd friendly. Indie, you’re fine onstage, but when you’re not in the booth you… How do I put this… Ponies don’t find you approachable. Your counterpart here walks around town like she owns the place, and everyone loves it. She plays along with the media. You tend to shy away.”
“So because he doesn’t like being in the spotlight all the time, you’re going to drop him?!” Vinyl screamed again.
“Vinyl, hon. It’s okay. I figured this was coming…” Indie said quietly. “This won’t affect her contract will it?”
“Well, there’s the big problem. You signed together as one act. If we drop you, we have to drop her too.”
“No. Do what you have to, just keep her on. I’d rather one of us made it than neither.”
“I’ll see what I can do…” said Mr. Green, stepping towards the door. “I’ll give you two a few minutes while I talk to legal.”
Mr. Green walked out, shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing?! You can’t just quit on me!” Vinyl said, tearing slightly.
“I’m not quitting. I’m being fired. I’m just making sure I don’t take you down with me.”
“You idiot! Stop doing this! You’re throwing everything away because you won’t just play the game!”
“Vinyl… It’s going to happen. I’d rather it happens on my terms than theirs.”
Vinyl looked away from him, and quietly said “What about my terms? Don’t I get a say?”
“What would you have me do?!” Indie shouted.
Vinyl jumped a bit, and turned to stare at him. “At least try! Every time things get hard you just give up! Just try! If you won’t do it for yourself… Then do it for me… Do it for us…” She began to sob.
“I can’t. All it will do is get you fired too. I’m not going to do that to you. I’m not going to ruin your dream so I can keep my pride.”
“Forget it then! Get out!” Vinyl yelled, tears in her eyes. “Just leave! I’m sick of this whole thing anyways…”
Indie stood up, pushed the chair back to the desk and opened the door.
“It’s for the best. I still love you.”
“Just go…” Vinyl sobbed.
Indie sat in front of the pile of records he’d chosen, staring at nothing. It was him this whole time. Everything that had gone wrong was because of him. He’d blamed his family, he’d blamed the studio, and worst of all, he’d blamed Vinyl. No more. This show was going to be his turning point. After this weekend, nothing would be the same again.
Saturday. Equestrian Beats’ final night. Indie was filled with a nervous energy as he walked to the booth. He set down his saddle bag, filled to the brim with his selections for the night. He opened the bag and began to remove and sort the records.
“A little early, eh Indie?” Called Mr. Chance.
“What are you talking about? It’s already eight-thirty!” Indie called back.
“Hah, well you don’t have to worry about not destroying the place tonight at least.”
“I’ll do my best Golden.”
Indie started setting the mixer, testing every setting twice. Everything had to be perfect tonight. He lined up the first five tracks on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “Tonight, everything is going to get better” he thought to himself.
The usual crowd showed up around nine-thirty as always, and started on their drinks. A few wandered over to the booth to ask what he would be playing that night, and to see if he’d remembered their requests from earlier.
“I’ve got everything you guys requested in my playlist. Since it’s my last show, I can’t add anything to the list if it’s not here, but you guys can take a quick look if you want”
A few of the regulars looked through the albums he had brought, and he added their requests to the playlist. After they had finished their browsing and returned to their drinks, he started up the house music. It was an old blues tune he used regularly, as it didn’t cause anyone to get too excited before the show, and he’d found it calmed his nerves.
Ten o’clock rolled around and the real crowd started to pour in. It was going to be a good night. By his rough count, there were nearly five hundred ponies here, almost the limit of the theater.
He walked backstage, and waited for his cue. The house lights dimmed, and a low buzz emitted from the stacks. He stepped out into the near darkness and into the booth. The house lights came on with a bright flash. The speakers began pumping out bass and the crowd roared in response.
Indie felt the roar of the crowd wash over him as he walked to his booth, reveling in it. The first track began, and as the sound grew, the crowd began to move with the music. Everything was perfect. A one in a million show. This was what he was made for, this moment here. Everything else melted away, and he became one with the music. He read the emotions of the crowd, choosing tracks to keep them on their feet, feeding off the raw energy of the mass of ponies dancing and swaying to the beat. He forgot about everything in his life. His past, his fears, his pain, everything was gone, replaced by the sound and the surge of the crowd. And then he saw her.
At first he thought it was a trick of the light. An illusion. But no, it was her alright. The white coat, the wild blue hair. And the smile. He could never forget that smile. It was the feature he loved most about her. He’d done everything possible just to make her smile like that. It was the one thing he looked forward to the most.
And there she was, in the middle of the crowd, just standing there, smiling at him.
The track ended, and for a moment there was silence. He quickly snapped out of it and set the next song playing, but when he looked back, she was gone. He tried to find her in the crowd, but the darkened theater was a mass of movement. She was gone. He focused on the music again, trying to get back into the rhythm.
A scream sounded out. The crowd began to panic. Ponies began to flee towards the door, and finally he saw why. One of the stacks at the back of the theater near the bar had ignited, and the flame was quickly spreading to the alcohol soaked countertop.
The flames moved rapidly through the ancient theater, and the stage curtains soon caught as well. Most of the crowd had already managed to escape, but Indie found himself trapped. He decided at that moment that this was one thing he wouldn’t give up on. The show would go on this time.
He removed the record from the turntable and placed another on in its place. The remaining speakers began pumping out sound. The music was somewhat distorted, as several of the stacks had already failed or succumbed to the flames, but it didn’t matter. He’d heard the song so many times he didn’t need the sound to hear it anymore.
The keyboards rang out, followed by the singer, belting out “You know that it would be untrue… You know that I would be a liar… If I was to say to you… Girl, we couldn't get much higher”
Indie leaned back in his chair and pulled out a cigarette, leaning over to use a small patch of flame to light it. He took a long drag on the cigarette and began to sing along. “Come on baby, light my fire… Come on baby, light my fire… Try to set the night on fire…”
The bar was a blazing inferno now. Bottles shattered, adding their volatile contents to the flames. The keyboards rang out. Even in the intense heat, Indie felt a chill come over himself as the keyboard solo broke down and the guitar came out in front. The plaster on the ceiling came down in large patches, creating dust clouds.
Nearly screaming out the lyrics with the song, he continued “The time to hesitate is through! No time to wallow in the mire! Try now we can only lose! And our love become a funeral pyre!”
The last of the speakers finally failed, and the heat became so intense he was finding it hard to breathe. He took another long drag on his cigarette and threw it into the blaze. Beams fell from the ceiling, crashing into the floor.
“Come on baby, light my fire! Come on baby, light my fire! Try to set the night on fire, yeah!” He screamed, and began to laugh. The booth had caught fire, and his records had all but melted away by now.
“You know that it would be untrue! You know that I would be a liar! If I was to say to you! Girl, we couldn't get much higher!”
He could hear the fire department trying to break through the beams that had fallen in front of the doorway now.
He continued to sing out “Come on baby, light my fire! Come on baby, light my fire! Try to set the night on fire!”
He could barely breathe now, and singing was all but impossible. Still, as he sat there in his booth, he choked out “Try to set the night on fire… Try to set the night on fire… Try to set the night on fire…”
After the fire had been put out, the emergency teams began searching through the rubble. It seemed that everyone had managed to get out except the DJ, who had been trapped in his booth, though they couldn’t seem to find a body anywhere. After ensuring it was safe enough, the allowed a few ponies in to collect any possessions that hadn’t been destroyed. Mr. Chance began searching through the remains of his office, hoping that at least some of his papers had survived.
Vinyl Scratch walked carefully over to the ruined stage, and up to the charred booth. She noticed something shiny in the rubble. A metal 45 adapter, which had been attached to Indie’s saddle bag. She swept away the detritus, and opened what was left of the bag to find a solidified puddle of melted vinyl. All that was left of his play list. She began to tear up, and found herself singing his song.
