Equestria was... unique, to say the least.
Of course, every world has something that made them stand out from their kin. This one, in particular, struck a chord in my heart.
Music.
Equestria is a heaven for music.
Ponies danced at sudden musical numbers, sang along at unplanned bursts of symphonies, and joined for improvised lyrics. Her Highness Twilight Sparkle told me that it was the ambient magic around, but I don't care. I don't need to care if it means I can randomly perform in front of an audience without a license. I don't need to care if it means Haydn wouldn't be the only one to perform literal miracles with music!
And these ponies, oh, ponies of Ponyville. Sang their heart out, they did. They spoke with utmost confidence without any trace of malice, without the misdirection and manipulation one would usually find in conversations.
"Hey, Ludwig!"
Ah, speak of the devil. "Good morning, Lyra. What's the occasion?"
The mint unicorn trotted next to me, her lyre floating in her magic. "Nothing. Just wanted to hang out, y' know?"
I raised an eyebrow. "... And?"
She grinned. "And maybe you can teach me the piano again?"
Such enthusiasm. I gave her a smile and a chuckle. "But of course, Miss, but not until noon, I'm afraid. I'm rather enjoying the morning breeze."
"Well, I can stick around and show you around the park. It's where I usually perform. Oh! Do you want me to—"
As Lyra stopped dead in her tracks, I followed suit and looked back at her worryingly. "Is anything wrong?"
If her frown was anything to go by, something was. When she didn't answer, I turned around and followed her gaze.
There, in the distance, was a grey mare with beautiful and bold black mane, sitting under the tree, looking down at her hooves as if mourning a dead man. Or pony.
"A friend of yours?" I asked Lyra.
"That's Octavia," she answered, "she's supposed to be in Canterlot now. There's going to be a competition between her ensemble and some other from... Prench, I think? It's in two days."
I frowned. "Octavia? I recall Mozart mentioning that name a couple of times. She's a cellist if I'm not mistaken."
Lyra finally moved again, this time toward the sullen mare. "Yes, she is. I should talk to her."
As we neared the tree, just before Octavia noticed our presence, Lyra's frown turned upside down, and her demeanor went from deeply concerned to annoyingly enthusiastic. "Hey, 'Tavi!" she shouted.
I flinched as my hearing aid rang and raped my ear. I didn't complain, though, and watched from the sidelines as Octavia glanced up, not even startled, and smiled.
"Good morning, Lyra," she answered and, just like that, her smile vanished.
Lyra's smile followed suit into the abyss. Sitting next to Octavia, she put a comforting hoof to her shoulder. "Is something wrong? Why are you here? I thought you're going on another one of those competitions?"
She sighed. "Well, until yesterday, I was. Now I'm just trying to accept that—" she choked a tear "—t-that my career is as good as gone now."
"What!? Why? 'Tavi, are you sick or something?"
"Well, no. Our pianist is. His chariot crashed, and he broke a hoof. Without him, we won't be able to compete and, when our competitor knows, they'll humiliate us in front of the Canterlot Elite." She sighed and continued, "Everypony knows that spells 'career end' in bold letters."
Well now, that's just wrong. Equestria is supposed to be a land of paradise! It's supposed to be a land where creatures alike sing and be happy together, not a place where competitions send you to a self-imposed exile out of Vienna!
"You're probably overthinking, 'Tavi. Have you talked with Vinyl yet?"
"Of course I have. She's the reason I'm here right now."
"Whatever your reason is, ma'am," I interrupted, and both pairs of eyes were on me. "Your story intrigued me. I may be able to help you."
She glanced up and noticed me for the first time. "Oh, pardon me, Sir, I didn't notice you earlier. And to your offer, I'm afraid I have to—"
"You're Octavia Melody, yes? Do you, by chance, know someone by the name of Mozart?"
She cocked her head. "Why, yes, I do. But—" her eyes bulged "—oh. Oh! You must be Beethoven!" She stood up and straightened up her tie. "Yes, Mozart is an acquaintance of mine. He spoke many things about you, Mr. Beethoven."
I smiled. "Only good things, I hope."
"Indeed, he spoke fondly of you."
My smile grew wider. "Now that you know who I am, Miss Octavia, would you reconsider my offer to help?"
Her frown returned, this time with curiosity instead of remorse, and said, "And what would this offer be, dear sir?"
"I'd call it a 'Professional Musician's Move'"