Melodious Desideratum

by Desideratium


Offending a Celebrity

Heavily laden with groceries, you magically unlock the door to your apartment and push it inward. As you trudge inside, you send out another magic probe to locate the light switch and flip it on. The cheap electric lights spring to life, aside from one dead bulb near the bathroom. You hastily scrawl down a note in the back of your mind to replace it, and dump your bags onto the counter
Even though you list had only required apples, milk, and paper, you had splurged and bought a few “luxuries”. Namely, a bar of milk chocolate, a wall clock, two books of sheet music, and a lime green lava lamp. The lamp had caught your eye while window shopping, and some unknown force inside your head made you buy it.
Your consciousness splits off once again as you unpack your bags and begin sorting them into their correct places. You leave the groceries to do their thing, and manually carry the new lava lamp over to your end table. You plug the cord into a wall socket and green light illuminates from a bulb at the base. Globules of green, jellylike substance begin to slowly bob up and down.
You smile. Definitely worth the bits.
You affix your new clock to the wall above the piano, inadvertently noticing that it’s about four o’clock. Two and a half more hours until work.
You work at the Maison de Lune, an upper-class restaurant. Mostly serving tourists and the occasional perfectionist fashionista. As a member of the wait staff, you don’t have to be on location until later in the evening.
Your eyes affix on your piano, and Vinyl’s proposition comes back to you in a rush.
Playing for the Royal Canterlot Orchestra.
You once again sit on your old piano bench, the cracking leather comfortable on you backside. Your faithful horn glows with warm luminosity, hinting at the massive power you possess inside. A delicate layer of grey magic settles onto the age-worn keyboard, feeling the familiar shapes and contours of the black and white keys.
And you begin to play.
Your music is empowering. A triumphant lead part vastly overpowers an uncertain undertone in minor key. It seems like the two sides are battling, exchanging blows as they each vie for verses. One will take the spotlight, while the other fades into the background, then comes back in a fury. Major overwhelms minor, and the piece comes to a finale of epic proportions. The final chord rings out, bringing the whole piece to a satisfying and chilling end, and slowly fades into an echo.
Intense, tangible silence settles over the apartment.
You’re breathing hard and your eyes are tightly squeezed shut. “I’ll do it,” you say to your unexpected visitor.
“Well, good. ‘Cause it would leave me pretty screwed if you didn’t.”
Vinyl Scratch is framed in the doorway, electric blue mane blowing impressively in the winter wind. She’s taken her hood off completely, so you can now fully appreciate her features.
The DJ is beautiful in her own way. Her mane is unkempt and wild, coloured two shades of blue: one eye-wateringly bright, and the other considerably darker. Her coat is pure, flawless white, adorned only by her cutie mark: a pair of bridged eighth notes. Her face is almost completely obscured by her signature violet shades, except for her mouth, which is smirking knowingly at you.
“You aren’t exactly invited to barge into my house,” you say wearily. You’re annoyed at the DJ’s complete disregard for your privacy, but you’re also thankful that she’s here now, because you might not have been able to talk yourself into tracking her down to give her the news— you would’ve psyched yourself out before even making it out the front door.
Vinyl trots across the room, closing the door behind her with turquoise magic. “Broski, what I just heard you do . . . doors can’t hold back talent like that. I was sent here to make sure you agree to at least give it a shot . . .” She plops down on your couch. “And it looks like my work here is done!”
“Yeah. I’ll come with you.”
“Wow, that was easy.” Vinyl looked surprised. “She said . . . er, he said—“ Vinyl corrected herself. “—that you’d take some serious convincing.”
Right. Eiffel. Still on your list of ponies to kill.
“But, it turns out, I walk into the building and you’re throwing yourself all over me!”
You cough awkwardly, making the DJ laugh. Eager to change the subject, you seize something mundane to work with. “So . . . when are we leaving?”
Vinyl is still giggling. “Tomorrow. Early. Train station at seven.”
“Okay, good. Now, would you mind getting out of my house?”
Vinyl put on an exaggerated offended face. “That’s not cool, bro. Shutting me down like that. I just set you up with the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you, and you’re just kicking me out? You might just hurt my feel-goods.”
Vinyl’s the type of pony you would try to avoid at all costs. The loud, obnoxious, party-all-night, high-on-life kind of ponies. But even though she’s completely insane, you find yourself smiling at her little jokes.
“Sorry, Vinyl,” you reply, grudgingly grinning.
“We’re cool. Do you have anything for an Equestria-famous DJ to drink?”
“Nothing alcoholic.”
“No problem. I don’t usually drink, anyway. Messes with the creative juices. Do I look like an alcoholic to you? I don’t really like what you’re suggesting, tough guy.”
The frizzy mane. Jumpy movements. The sheer amount of parties the mare attends. “Um . . .”
“Never mind. Don’t answer that. Forget it, I’m good.”
“So, now what?”
“Nothing. I’m just forcing my presence on you. Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“All right! All right! I can take a hint! You’re completely smitten by my stunning good looks, and you feel like a tongue-tied fool in my presence! Well, I will depart, leaving you to fantasize wildly about me!” Vinyl springs up from the couch.
“Wait! Um . . . what?”
“Just messing with you, friend. And now . . .” Vinyl trots over to the door, swinging it open violently with her magic. She jumps through the doorway. “I go!”