//------------------------------// // DJ Pon-3 // Story: The Life and Death of a DJ // by Syn3rgy //------------------------------// It’s the early morning, and I’m sitting opposite from Octavia. She’s sipping at a cup of coffee and looking out the window reflectively. By Celestia, I adore that filly. Ever since the end of last semester, a time when Octavia’s old roommate had left and she moved in with me, we’d just gotten closer. Octavia was an interesting pony, to say the least. Growing up in a rich family, she had had things pretty good. Her mother was a defense attorney, and her father was a decorated soldier. Knowing that Octavia wouldn’t be suitable for war, her mother tried to make a lawyer out of her. Octavia, however, wanted to become a great musician. At first- and I found this rather funny -she started playing the electric guitar. When her parents found out about this however they were appalled and made her to stop. Feeling as though she had nowhere else to turn, she took up her mother’s offer and started becoming a lawyer. Mere weeks after Octavia had been forced to stop playing, she and her family had gone to an orchestral performance in Fourhoof. I remember the night when Octavia had told me about her life story; she had gone into so much detail about that performance. She seemed convinced that that had been the big turning point in her life. She explained to me that at the end of the show a lone cellist played for the audience. The noise struck a chord in her heart, and she almost instantaneously longed to play the instrument. After much bribing on her behalf, her parents eventually got her a teacher. She told me that from then on, she’d only gotten better and better. Eventually, seeing their child’s acceleration as a cellist, her parents decided to pay for her education at Manehattan's Musical Academy. The rest was history. “Vinyl?” Octavia asked suddenly, turning away from the window to look at me. “What are you planning on doing for your summative?” “I don’t know, maybe throw a gig at Hoofbeat?” That was a rave club in downtown Manehatten. “And you?” “I’m torn between the Golden Dome and the Masquerade.” Those were orchestral houses. “I think you’ll bring the roof down at either,” I admitted. “You think?” She blushed. “I know. I have a feeling that either place would love to have you.” Still blushing, Octavia hoofed me lightly on the shoulder. “Well just listen to you, miss flatterer. You’re too kind.” I laughed jovially. “I’m just being truthful. I’ve heard you play; you’re really good.” A warm silence descended between the two of us; one which Octavia eventually broke. “Don’t DJ’s need stage names?” “I guess so.” I puckered my lips thoughtfully. “I never really thought I’d need one.” “Well you do; how about Dat Rava?” “Dat Rava? Now where in the name of Celestia did you come up with that?” Really, where? “I don’t know, it sounded cool,” Octavia replied, looking wounded. “It sounds like I’m a griffon,” I exclaimed. “Well then. Since it seems like you’re brimming with ideas, do you have any better names?” she asked crossley. “Imcoolerthenoctavia; yes, I like that one. What do you think Octy?” I smiled mischievously at my friend. “I think I should hit you, that’s what. How about Imnothingincomparisontooctavia.” “Meh… too long,” I said, denying her the satisfaction of taking the bait. Scowling, she raised a hoof to hit me. A voice from a few paces away made her stop. "Is this what you fillies get up to when I’m not around: physical combat?” Yawning, Orrick stumbled over to our table. “How in the name of Gadania do you two get up so early?” “Magic,” I replied sarcastically. Quickly, I changed the topic: “Octavia and I are trying to decide on a stage name for me. Do you have any ideas?” Orrick shrugged. “No, but I do have some advice. Before I tell you that however; are we talking about the final summative assignment? The one you need to complete to graduate?” “Yes,” I replied. “Sure. If I were to give you my two bits of advice I’d tell ya to draw on past and present experiences. A stage name should represent you; the trials and tribulations that you as a musician had experience and are experiencing right now.” I took this advice to heart and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. What in my past did I struggle through? Almost immediately, Dawn and Bale came to mind. I clearly recall the name of our band and the pain I felt as it was forcefully broken apart. “So you remember something then?” Orrick asked; I must have been showing the telltale signs of recollection across my face. “Yes,” I said slowly. “I used to be part of this band. Up-3. One of our members was hit by Wingrot though, so we had to break up.” “Up-3, what does it stand for?” Orrick questioned. “Us ponies three.” I sighed deeply. Emotions and memories began floating to the surface; I fought to suppress them. “Interesting,” Orrick said pointedly, unfazed, neutral; if only he knew how painful it was for me to remember. “Try coming up with a name based off the word then. That way you’ll be something of a prodigy; a living symbol that will immortalize all that your old band worked for.” I nodded slowly; it was a good idea. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Octy?” I turned to her. “Yes, Vinyl?” “Do you have a pen?” “I think I do.” She reached into her saddlebag and after a bit of rummaging, pulled out one. “Perfect!” I said, taking it from her with my magic. Floating the receipt from our breakfast, I used the back of it to jot down some notes. To start I wrote down the band name- and then what it stood for. Sticking my tongue out in concentration I started jotting down alternatives. After a bit I had a small list. Looking up I took note that Orrick had sat down and ordered a coffee. “Alright, I have some ideas. Can I bounce them off you guys?” “Sure!” They both said in unity. “Ok. U-pon3, Down-3, Pownie, Pon-3 and Rep-2. Which one sits well? Personally, I’m leaning towards U-pon3. My reasoning; it could stand for once upon a time there were 3, or ‘you pony’.” “Hmm, I sorta like Pownie,” Orrick admitted. “I think its smart how you fit in the short form of pownage. Your beats do pown.” “I don’t know...” Octavia mentioned. “Pon-3 sounds the best to me. DJ Pon-3. I like how you kept the spirit of the three band members; you, Dawn, and Bale- that were their names, right?” I nodded, biting my lip. “I like how you took the pronunciation of ‘three’, and turned it into a ‘y’ sound… ‘pony’. It’s like you’re representing the three of you as one entity.” I let her words soak in; she did have a point. After a few minutes of pondering I’d decided. “Pon-3 it is then. DJ Pon-3.” As the cage rose and the audience came into view, I was struck both by a nervous apprehension and an electric excitement. The reality that this was my audience was almost too hard for me to believe. I’d made the phone calls, done the paperwork, and now I’d be able to perform. I’d only just started using my turntable, though I had to admit, it was a bloody fun device to mess with. The night before I’d thrown together a setlist, a collection of my favorite dance trance and rave songs to mix for Hoofbeats midnight showdown; I was as ready as I’d ever be. “Fillies and Gentlecolts!” the amplified prerecorded message blared from the story high speakers that hung from the ceiling. “Are you ready to rave?” The audience erupted in a flurry of hoots and hollers. I couldn’t help but smile. “This. Is. DJ Pon-3!” As the metal cage continued to rise above the floor and the porthole I’d come up from closed shut, the crowd roared again. After another minute or so a clanking noise told me that I had reached the ceiling. Down below the audience started filling in the floor beneath me. There was an upwards of one thousand, or so the manager of the club claimed; if I hadn’t been so elated I would have probably been terrified. I took a few seconds to survey the crowd; my crowd. I would give them a night they wouldn’t forget. Allowing myself to be immersed in the moment I brought my hoof down to the power button. Let’s do this. I started up the mixer, uploading the first track into the system. As the first hit of bass exploded from the speakers, the cage lit up in a flurry of color. To the beat, it pulsed a deep satin blue. Moving my hooves deftly across a turntable I sped things up. My heartbeat began matching the tempo of the song. I kept increasing the pace till it was almost unbearable, and then I stopped. In that second of silence, everything seemed to be suspended, time slowed and then stopped all together. I felt a feeling unlike I’d ever experienced, a tingling sensation; my heart swelled with courage. It was in that second that I understood my calling, like Octavia did when she heard the cellist. I knew this was where I belonged; on a podium, suspended above a packed dance hall, armed with a mixer and set of super sized speakers. When the beat came back, it arrived in the form of wailing synths that must have shook the very foundation of Hoofbeats. The crowd exploded into energetic moment. Glowsticks cut creases of neon light across the air above the raving ponies’ heads, and sporadic dancing spread like a wildfire till the whole room was moving. I could feel the immense heat bellowing off the audience below, I could hear their excited shouting; I could smell the sweat. Continuing now, I mixed things up a bit, throwing songs together to make my own mash up. I didn’t falter, I didn’t slip; I was flawless. As the cage began to burn red, I closed my eyes. I could see my own colors behind my eyelids. A shape began to form, a shape that stirred memories and brought a feeling of total rightness. Like the sun goddess herself, the shape of a mare began to appear. I was lying back at my dorm, too excited to fall asleep, too drained to move. Exhaustion buffeted me from all sides; a sort of lethargy had descended across my body. Sighing, I was only slightly perturbed by the fact that I never fully formed the shape of my mother. It wasn’t a matter of ending the song- no -I kept an almost constant assault for three hours straight, it was a matter of missing something- a key element that I couldn’t quite grasp; it irked me. A sharp knock on the door made me sit up. I could tell from how the wood was struck that Orrick was on the other side. Smiling to myself, I uttered a weak ‘be right there’ before getting up with a groan and cantering over. As I swung the door open, Orrick stepped back and nodded curtly. “I hoped you were still awake,” He said. “I’ve got something for you. May I come in?” “Absolutely, Orrick, you don’t have to ask,” I exclaimed; this made him grin. “Thank you.” I stepped out of the way and he stooped in, just clearing the door frame's width and height. The academy had been built by ponies, for ponies, so Orrick’s size was not accommodated for. I was practically full grown, almost a mare, and still I only measured up to be about half his size. An interesting fact that I found out however, was that due to his hollow bones, he weighed about the same as a large pegasi. In his one talon, he held a small parcel. I eyed it curiously. “So, what is it?” Another cheeky smile. “Hold your horses pony. When you open it, you’re sure to find out.” I rolled my eyes. “I guess I will.” I sat down on my bed; Orrick followed suit. Once we were comfortably sitting, he spoke: “I was at the rave; you were amazing.” He turned to look at me. “I mean, I knew you would do good, but not that good! How long have you been practicing with the mixer?” “About two weeks, why?” He whistled. “By Gadanias tail feathers you’ve got talent. Promise me this, Vinyl: never stop DJing.” I blushed, and it appeared pronounced and visible; no thanks to my cream colored coat. “I promise,” I swore. “But you didn’t have to make me; I’m not going to stop. When I was up in that cage I had this epiphany. I felt a buzzing in my chest. Everything felt so… right. Do you know what I mean?” Orrick nodded understandingly. “Absolutely. You’ve found your calling; plain and simple. I’m happy for you.” Something in the way he spoke made me want to hug him; and I did just that. For a split second he was taken off guard, but then he embraced me back enthusiastically. Pressed so close to his chest, I could feel his heat and hear the reassuring thud of his heart. I snuggled in closer to his body, smiling contently. He brought his head down to rest on my shoulder. I knew I could have pulled away, but the lethargy had returned and I had no intentions to get back up. And then he did something and it was my turn to be taken off guard; he brought his beak down and began to preen me. Sure, I didn’t have any feathers, but the sensation itself on my mane and fur was unbelievably relaxing. At first the strokes were hesitant, measured, however as I continued to allow his actions, he got down to business. At each tingling stroke a wave of elated shivering wracked my body. I found myself slipping further and further into bliss. Thoughts began to enter my mind, ones that I only half dismissed. I knew preening was a more sensual action, Dawn told me all about it, but the way Orrick was stroking me now seemed to be a simple friendly gesture. His path started going down the side of my back. Ok, so maybe not so neutral. Half of me wanted to allow him to continue, I did like him, more then I’d admit, but something that I chalked up to fatigue disallowed me to return any sort of compassionate gesture; I felt rather worthless. A peck at my tail jolted me back to the reality present. I tried mumbling a retort, but my voice was muffled by his feathers. However, as if deciphering my murmur he stopped his descent and brought his beak back up to my neck, pecking me once in a kiss before pulling away. A stray hair from my mane was caught in his beak; I brought a hoof up and brushed it away. “Orrick, I don’t know…” I began. “Vinyl, I really, really like you.” It was as if he hadn’t even heard me. I blushed hopelessly. It was obvious he had feelings for me, and in all truth, I like him too. So then why in the name of Luna was I hesitating? I had a half notion. “Orrick I, I like you too… but it’s hard.” “Hard? Is it because I’m a griffon?” His shoulders sagged in pre-empt defeat. “No, no, definitely not,” I quickly replied; I couldn’t stand seeing him so distraught. I’d be shot dead before I judged him for his specie. “It’s not your fault… it’s mine.” He looked into my eyes and I returned the gaze. I could tell how badly he wanted me. “It’s yours?” he questioned. “Yes, I’m just, I’m…” my voice drawled of as I lost my train of speech; Orrick kissed me again. I fell back on the bed and he lay on top of me; as expected he felt unnaturally light. Again I fought to prevent myself from just surrendering to him; I was getting almost unbearably heated. I wanted him, but… “Do you remember two weeks back, when we had worked together to find myself a DJ name?” He nodded and grinded against my flank. “Well, I mentioned my old band… Up-3.” “Yes, I remember that,” He admitted, stopping momentarily. I could feel that the pace of his heart had increased. “Well, what I didn’t tell you was that I was engaged to one of the band members.” Orrick stopped dead and rolled off of me. “You were engaged?! Does that mean you? Oh, oh, I’m so sorry I…” I brought a hoof to his beak. “I’m not married,” I reassured. As hard as it was going to be to recall, I’d have to. Like creeping death I felt a weight descend on my chest; something far heavier than Orrick. I sat up and took a deep breath. “I was engaged to the one who contracted Wing Rot,” I started. “The day before he’d been diagnosed, he proposed to me; I was so ready. We loved each other dearly… in the end though, not even that could save him.” My eyes began to burn. Sensing the change in my mood, Orrick brought a talon to my disheveled mane and stroked it reassuringly, coaxing me to continue. “He died, and after the funeral his brother decided to break up the band. He left to Stallionshire; a small settlement on the outskirts of town. After that I went back to my old job of busking.” Tears were streaming down my face now, and Orrick hugged me. “Ever since Dawn died I’ve been unable to make the kind of music I used to. And in all truth, it’s only gotten worse; I can hardly play the drums anymore! It’s like all those years of practicing, busking, and learning were for nothing. It’s a marvel that I got the turntable from you two, or I might have been expelled from the academy. Thank Celestia we’ve finished all the hooves on stuff already.” Orrick pulled away from me and smiled warmly. “But the past is the past; you should use it to make you stronger.” If I hadn’t been so distraught, I would have laughed; that’s what I always used to say. “Well I’ve failed then,” I said, casting my eyes down to the covers. “I’ve only gotten weaker.” “But you haven’t, Vinyl you…” “Please, you can’t help me,” I whispered. “Trust me when I say I love you, Orrick, but I don’t think I can do another relationship, not now, maybe not ever.” Now it was Orrick’s turn to cast his eyes downwards. When he rose again he was smiling reassuringly, but it seemed forced and fake. I could tell how badly he was hurting inside, and that only solidified my claims. I wouldn’t allow myself to bring him down to my filthy level of defeat. At the rate things were going I was still probably falling downhill; there was no way I’d take him with me. “I’m sorry, Orrick, but I can’t, I just can’t.” His smile shattered and he got up. “I understand, Vinyl.” He started walking towards the door. “I’d best be going. Goodnight.” “Wait!” I shouted to his back, but he had already made it out, slamming the door shut behind him. I had a horrid flashback to the day Bale walked out, and I hoped dearly that I hadn’t lost yet another friend. Brushing away the straggler tears that still hung from my fur, I looked around the room. My gaze slid to the parcel he had left at the base of the bed. In the heat of things I had forgotten all about it. Screwing up my face I picked it up with a bout of magic and carefully unwrapped it. A card fell out. Putting the box aside I read its contents. The photograph on the front cover was sepia and trimmed with gold. It showed a mare looking over the edge of a cliff at the setting sun. In the sun, a single word was pronounced in black. ‘Believe’ The word spoke in volumes to me. I doubted even Orrick would know how profound it was. My whole life had been established around belief. Belief in myself, belief in a future free of my shaky upbringing, belief- more recently- in becoming a renowned musician. A few fresh tears slid out from my eyes; maybe it had been wrong of me to turn down the griffon so quickly. I felt horrid. To get my mind off of my darker reveries, I opened up the card. Inside, a small message had been scribbled in a shaky talon-writing that was oh-so-familiar. Dear Dj Pownie, I thought it was due time that I gave you this. It’s something I used to own... and now it’s yours. A little gift from me to you. Call me crazy, but the thing I’m giving you has somehow helped me become a better griffon, both musically and personally. Orrick. PS: No, it’s not going to turn you into a griffon (though I wouldn’t complain, ha). Even though I was burning in the fallout of sadness, I couldn’t help but smile. This was definitely Orrick’s writing; he was always there to get a laugh out of me. And yet in return, all I did was devastate him. Gently placing the card down on my mattress I moved on to the box itself. Opening it up I pulled out a pair of… goggles? They were round, and tinted purple. I hadn’t seen Orrick wear them before, but from the way the leather adjuster around the back was worn, I could tell they’d been with him for a while. Intrigued, I put them on. To my surprise they fit snugly, but even more so, with these strange glasses on all I could see was pitch blackness. Taking them off I walked over to my mixer and sat down. Once I was comfortable I slid the goggles on again and started the system up; uploading a random song. I waited a second before putting my hooves down on a turntable. When I touched the surface, color blazed behind the goggles; more vibrant and more solid than I’d ever seen. The glowing neon descended on the mixer, lighting it up so that I could only concentrate on the device in front of me. What the…? I began to play, speeding up the pace and mashing together two songs that before tonight, I would have never thought sounded good together. The thing is they sounded amazing; better even than what I was making before. With a shiver I stopped playing and shut the mixer off. Sliding the goggles off my face I looked up at the ceiling. My mind was reeling with wonder and excitement. “Thank you, Orrick, thank you so much,” I said, expressing my gratitude. I began to cry again, partially out of sadness, but also because I was happy as well. Like a martyr on her last mission, I had only one option left; I’d become a DJ, I’d rock the world.