Since you’ve been onstage, the audience has doubled in size.
Where the ponies came from, you have no idea. Motion is slightly blurred, and everything seems to be moving at double-time. You have no idea how you managed to stumble off the stage and into Vinyl’s waiting hooves. She practically has to catch you to keep you from falling over.
“Hey, bro. You okay?”
You rub your face with the hoof that isn’t clutching Vinyl’s shoulder. “Yeah. Sure.” You’re magic-drained again. The effort that you’d exerted to play the piano put you right back to square one with a splitting migraine. You’ve effectively negated the feeble attempt at recovery time earlier.
“You don’t look okay.”
“Trust me, I’ll be fine. Just a little . . .” You search for the right word. “Overexerted,” you decide after a minute.
“Cool. Anyway, I think you made the team.”
You say nothing. A crowd of applicants is quietly streaming out the doors, disappointment present in on their faces in varying degrees. Apparently a verdict has already been decided, and they don’t want to stick around to confirm it.
The grey mare from before is gone.
But who are all these other ponies?
There are at least two dozen of them, filling up the front rows. Eerily silent. Royal Riff and Symphony are standing, talking intently to a lavender mare with an elaborately curled blonde mane. She seems to be disagreeing with them over something—probably having to do with you.
“Who’s that?” you ask Vinyl.
Vinyl shrugs. “I don’t know a name. I’m pretty sure she’s in with the orchestra, though.” She nudges you. “C’mon, let’s go say hi.”
Vinyl steers you in their direction, keeping a firm hold around your shoulders. Still a little lightheaded, you don’t complain about being led around like a foal. You affix your gaze on the ground; it can’t give you motion sickness. The only movement you can see is the rhythmic stride of your hooves, and Vinyl’s. Good.
A loud voice makes you look up, cringing.
“He has no experience in this business whatsoever! I’m not about to just let him sabotage our entire production! I don’t care how good he is!”
“Please, Lyrica,” says a voice emanating from Royal Riff’s direction. “We can call it a trial period. If he is any danger to our reputation, I promise I won’t hesitate to release him.”
“He really isn’t the type to go against the grain,” Symphony adds. “I can assure you he’ll follow directions just fine, and . . .” She shoots you a quick wink. “We do need a pianist, after all.”
Lyrica notices you, but tries to pretend that you’re still at the other side of the room. You can tell by a barely-perceptible flick of her eyes in your direction. “I’m not convinced. Royal Riff, you know that we do not hire amateurs. I simply cannot go against our century-long protocol.”
“Yes . . .” Royal Riff admits.
Symphony lays the trump card. “Well, what would Frederic have had us do?”
“You can’t guilt me into accepting him . . .” Lyrica jabs an accusing hoof at you. Dropping the charade of obliviousness to your existence.
“Problem?” says Vinyl innocently and Royal Riff shoots her a look that clearly says “Shut up.”
“A sensitive subject or not, we still lack a key part of our orchestra,” Royal Riff says. “And this stallion is the finest player to show up. Vinyl tracked him down solely for this.”
“And did you see anypony else in the trials who could hold a candle to him?” adds Symphony. “It may be too soon to say, but I personally think that he’s a better performer than Frederic.”
“Okay! Fine!” Lyrica holds up a hoof in defeat. “For now, I will allow him to take a place in our roster, but expulsion is automatic if anything goes amiss. Royal Riff, make sure things do not go amiss, will you?”
“Of course, Lyrica.”
With a flip of her tail, Lyrica turns to leave, sending a strong scent of cinnamon in your direction. As she struts up the aisle, both Royal Riff and Symphony stare after her, venom in their eyes.
“Hate her,” Vinyl says cheerfully, once Lyrica is out of earshot.
“Who was that?” you ask quietly. Their argument has done no favors to the discomfort in your cranium.
Royal Riff attempts an encouraging smile. “That was Lyrica. She’s our charming conductor.”
“A real piece of work,” Symphony grumbles. “Who does she think she is, waltzing in and telling us to do better? Shooting you down before she’s even had the chance to hear you out.”
“What?” says Vinyl, indignant. “She didn’t even hear him?”
“She walked in about a minute ago. Caught about the last six notes of the performance.”
Vinyl looks to be aching to spout a number of unwholesome titles for Lyrica, but is stopped by a sharp nudge from you. It’d be best to keep the conversation somewhat civilized.
“Lyrica assumed her position only days before Frederic’s death,” says Royal Riff. “He was the only one who had some manner of control over us . . . and without him she’s quickly become a dictator.”
“No exaggeration,” Symphony adds. She and Royal Riff share a knowing look.
“But!” Royal Riff suddenly smiles. “Water under the bridge, I suppose! We should be offering our congratulations to you! You’ve successfully secured your position on the team!”
You say nothing. Now that the conversation has steered away from uncertain waters, your focus has slipped from Royal Riff to the audience. Now that the stage is empty, most of the ponies have vacated their seats. A small crowd is slowly filtering through the doors. Individuals send covert admiring looks back at you, but not discreet enough to escape your notice. You lock eyes with several ponies for a few moments before they look away, embarrassed at being caught.
Symphony catches you looking. “Apparently, your performance could be heard all the way from outside, and needless to say, it attracted quite a few passersby.”
“Right . . .” you mutter.
“For Celestia’s sake!” says Vinyl exasperatedly. “Stop being so modest! You’re good, deal with it!”
“Thanks, Vinyl.”
Royal Riff clears his throat. “Well, now that that’s over with, I suppose we should get you started.”
Your heart jumps. “Already?”
“Rehearsal begins in an hour and a half. I’d like to show you around before the rest of the orchestra arrives. Actually . . .” He glances nervously at Symphony for some reason. “I was hoping Octavia would be here to offer the tour.”
“I saw her earlier,” says Vinyl. “I think she left right before you finished playing.”
The grey mare. Of course.
“Unusual for her,” Royal Riff remarks. “She usually shows up early to warm up. Symphony? Would you go to her apartment and fetch her for us?”
“No need, Royal Riff. I’m already here.”
****
And we're back! Technical difficulties arose, ensued, and were overcome. Back on track now.