“So have you heard?” Gallus asked.
It was during lunch break when he said these words to a group of ponies who sat by a table. One of them looked up. “About what?”
“You know about Ocellus?” The griffon asked slyly, placing his tray on the table. “Ya know, the one that played at the school dance not too long ago?”
“Oh yeah!” One of the teenage fillies said. “The Beatle? Of course, we know her.”
“By that tone, I take it you liked the songs she sang?”
“Well duh,” another teen said, rolling his eyes, “they were a lot of fun. Why?”
“Right, I’ll get to the point,” Gallus rubbed his claws together. “Did you know that she’s going to be playing a new song?” This caught everypony at that table’s attention. “It’s true.” He continued. “She’s going to be playing at a recital at Octavia’s place at one on Saturday. And from what I’ve heard, it might be the best one yet.”
“Okay, so why should we care?” One of the teens questioned. “She can play great, so what’s in it for us?”
“Well, I’d figure that it would be a great motivator,” Gallus replied, “that the more show up to hear her play, the more she would want to. And the more she would want to, the more likely she would be persuaded in doing a concert.”
“She’s gonna do a concert?”
“If, that is, she is given enough reason to. She’s been working on a dozen more songs as we speak. However, I don’t think she’ll be able to play those new songs unless this one goes well, as well as a demand from the whole school. And who knows? Perhaps the rest of the town would like to hear her play too?” He ended with a smug smile.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to at least go see.” One of the teens commented. “If it’s played by The Beatle, then I think we should tell our friends about it?” The others agreed.
“Yes,” Gallus said, “do spread the word.”
‘Well this is certainly a no show.’ Dawn Lemon thought.
Except for one pony who came into the gallery to ask where the bathroom was, there wasn’t anyone that came to the opening of his latest exhibition. His paintings hung up on the walls with no one to look at them. All the while, the speakers overhead played the soundtrack of Horseshoepin’s nocturnes on loop, Dawn counting that this was the fifth time it had started over again. Despite waiting for someone to come in to at least give his latest creations a look, it was depressing in a way that almost no one has shown up.
‘I might as well not have bothered to put up a show in the first place.’
Dawn paced around the gallery, his mind questioning what exactly had gone wrong. He posted flyers that he was hosting an exhibition. He sent invitations, even told a few ponies of what he was doing. Yet, no one came. He stopped at the door and looked outside. He noticed on the clock tower that it was almost one in the afternoon.
‘There’s no one to stop you from going to that recital, you know?’ he told himself. ‘After all, you’d help the Changeling making up songs with Pull. And you did piece together some cracking tunes with her. It would seem heartless to not at least go over there and say hello.’
Another thought came to him when he glanced over at the empty gallery. ‘But I leave now, would there be anyone that would be coming in? For I know, maybe they’re running late and if they find that nopony is here… Then again, you have been waiting here for hours now. Something tells me that it’s unlikely that anyone else would come, even if I stepped out.’
He paused.
“You know what?” he said aloud to himself. “Sod this, I’m going to the recital.”
‘At least the girl would have an audience that she invited.’ He thought as he trotted out the door and headed towards Octavia’s home.
‘Please be there. Please be there. Please be there.’ Pull McCart was galloping through the streets towards the microscopic station at the edge of town. Due to waking up much later than expected, the old stallion was going as fast as he could in hopes that he wouldn’t miss the train back home. By the time he got there, however, he found the station was empty. So, out of breath, he went up to the ticket booth to the stallion who was reading a newspaper behind the glass.
“Pardon… me…” Pull managed to say, “When is… Train… to Balti…mare?”
The stallion in the ticket booth looked up. “I got word through the wire that it’s running late. If anything, you’re early.”
“Good…” Pull said, taking in another breath. “When-”
“From what I can tell, it should be by three. So I think you got plenty of time.”
‘Fantastic,’ the old stallion thought, annoyed. “But what am I to do until then?”
He shrugged. “Go watch a movie, read a book, visit the market. It’s none of my concern.”
Pull huffed, taking a few steps away, taking a glance both ways of the iron track. His hunches sank to the floor. In his mind, this delay is going to play havoc on not only his schedule, but he knew that by the time the train did arrive, he’s going to get home very late in the evening. Most likely he’ll have a family to answer to for being so late.
‘Goddess… I can’t keep doing this.’ He thought to himself. ‘Sure, this job has always been stable but is this really worth it? Always constantly away from the family, the wife especially. Always going door, to door, to door only to get little results… What am I doing with me life?
‘I mean if you look at it… I don’t think I’ve done much of anything worth important. Am I making a difference to anyone? At all? If anything, with the exception of being here, there’s not much I could say to justify this job, isn’t there? At least I finally managed to meet up with Dawn again. At least I did have fun for once, making up those songs and that girl helping us…’
He glanced over at the clock. ‘It’s almost one. Maybe there’s still time to go over to that recital and see what comes about with our song… Although I doubt that it would do any good, but for that Ocellus… You at least owe her that, Pull. Just to be there. She believes that what you and Dawn did was worth something and…’
Getting up, he adjusted his tie and picked up his briefcase. He has time. And he has a recital to attend.
For Octavia, it wasn’t that recitals were ever a no-show. Quite the opposite. Given the number of her students, the seats are usually full of parents, family and the occasional friend. For the most part, recitals were a small affair in the back yard of her and her roommate’s house where there were some snacks and lemonade were provided. All the while, she would be at the piano trying to match the tempo and rhythm of her students playing.
This, she had expected.
It was also awkward but important for her students too, especially getting used to playing their instrument to a crowd. Although necessary, there were the expected incidents where her students would forget a note here or play a few wrong ones there. However, she has been proud of her students for continuing on regardless, that even with the most lifeless, boring, ear-piercing playing, it was always received with some small applause.
This too is expected.
What she did not except, however, was the sheer numbers for this particular recital. From what she and Ocellus could gather, word had gotten around at the School of Friendship that she was going to perform a brand-new song from The Beatle. Given how much the students have certainly enjoyed her playing at the school dance, a good chunk of them were curious as to what this new song was going to sound like. “Or maybe,” Ocellus said, “Gallus told them that I was going to perform my ‘magnum opus,’ whatever that means.”
Regardless of the reason, Octavia was quite surprised the by sheer numbers of this recital. There were so many, that it overflowed out from the backyard and surrounded the house. Many of them were bored to tears as they have arrived early to listen to one student after another play their pieces in such a dry, by the number’s way. However, when it came to Ocellus to take her turn, there was a lively mummer from the crowd.
“H-Hello everyone,” she began, clutching her guitar, “my name is Ocellus… or The Beatle if you may, and I’m going to play for you-”
“One moment, Ocellus,” Octavia stopped her, “I have a surprise for you before you start.” She got up from the piano, quickly went over to the back doors of the house, and one by one, there were more musicians carrying strings, a harp, a windchime, a cymbal, xylophone, and a few wind and brass instruments. An entire orchestra walked out and tried to find a spot in the crowded assembly. “Mares and Gentlecolts, this final piece will be performed with the aid of the Canterlot Philharmonic. I don’t normally ask for their help at a recital, but I think that this time I would have to make a special case for what you are about to hear.
“Now Ocellus, would you do your introduction again?”
She nodded, clearing her throat, she looked over at the waiting multitude, at her parents who took shade underneath a tree, her friends that were eager to hear the song again in its full glory, the students that came out here just to see her, and– she froze. Ocellus didn’t notice at first, but by a pair of bushes, she spotted Dawn Lemon, waiting. As well as Pull McCart who quietly said, “Pardon me,” when he cut through the crowd over to where Dawn was.
“Ocellus?” Octavia asked, snapping her back into reality.
“Oh! Right,” she cleared her throat to the chuckles of the crowd. “My name is Ocellus, also known as The Beatle to some of you, and I’ll be playing for you the song called Yesterday, composed by Dawn Lemon and Pull McCart… who just so happens to be here right now.”
There was a mummer from all of them before she added:
“To you guys, for helping me with these songs, I want to simply say thank you for giving me the chance to work with you two.”
Looking down at her guitar, she began plucking a few chords in a tempo similar to a waltz, but as she began, the orchestra behind her started too.
The string started as a light, misty sound, something mysterious among her waltzing tempo. The harp and the piano joined in too with the rhythm along with a windchime. Then from her piano, Octavia cued her in to start singing. From there, Ocellus looked over to the crowd, her eyes going around to her parents, her friends, and then over to the creators of what she was singing.
As packed as that backyard was, everyone within earshot was underneath that spell that the Changeling was casting. It was melancholic but not sad. Simple in melody but made richly complex by the strings of the orchestra. To their ears, it was filled with a heartbreaking longing and yet, it was fulfillable. Tragic in its lyrics, but it never once sad. If anything, this short song was as if it was catharsis incarnate. Almost like the feeling after one was given enough time and room from a good cry.
For Ocellus, while she did look between those that she valued, her attention was still on McCart and Lemon with their reaction. She saw them look around at the crowd and saw in them, enjoyment. Nopony was getting up to leave. Nopony was bored. They were listening. For both ancient stallions, that for once in their lives, their music was being heard. It was being paid reverence from the crowd to be listening to something sacred. Something that they made. Pull covered his mouth in disbelief, while Dawn was trying (and failing) not to cry.
Meanwhile, the Changeling was blindsided over the fact while she was singing, Smolder was blushing while Gallus was smirking at her. She frowned. “Stop it.” She whispered during the song’s climax. “I don’t think she’s singing about me. She just said she didn’t write it.”
“No?” Gallus questioned. “Kinda funny that she still lends a helping hoof in making it though. You gotta admit, if this isn’t a big enough display of love and affection for you, I don’t know what is.”
“I don’t think this is a love song, sounds a little too heartbroken for that.”
“True,” Gallus whispered back, “you didn’t break hers, did you?”
While Smolder stared daggers at him, as much as she hates to even think about… Did he have a point? For the dragoness, the idea that maybe her friend secretly likes her is still unlikely but… then again, she doesn’t know that for sure. As far as any of them know about Ocellus, she never has gone on a date, never mentioned who she found cute, or even spoken about finding a special someone. So how influenced by Ocellus the songs she was singing were? And is she singing what she’s thinking and feeling about?
Ocellus finished her song with the quiet, elegant and grace that the song deserved as her guitar and her teacher’s piano lead it to the end of it. This was followed by loud cheering applause, especially coming from the students in the area. Even a chant started up from them with the cry of “Beatle! Beatle! Beatle!” Before Ocellus could do anything, she was pulled aside from her music teacher and taken inside the cottage.
“There’s somepony I’d like you to meet.” She said.
Through the doors among the black cases of the orchestra was a stallion that Ocellus has never seen before. A white unicorn in a suit, a monocle, and a smile. “So, you’re The Beatle that she’s talking about.” He began, offering his hoof for her to shake.
Ocellus took it. “And who are you?”
“Fancy Pants.” He told her. “I’m a patron for your music teacher, you see. In particular, for the Canterlot Philharmonic. I must say, that song of yours was brilliant.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. But it’s not mine.”
This made him raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Then who’s song did you sing?”
“The composers are here actually; do you want to meet them?”
Fancy said he wouldn’t mind. Ocellus went back outside and came back in a minute later with the old stallions. “Sir, I’d like you to meet Dawn Lemon and Pull McCart.”
“A pleasure.” He shook their hooves. “If anything, this is really good that I’m able to meet all of you today. You three may not know it, but you’ve helped solve a problem that I currently have.”
“What’s that?” Pull inquired.
“Well you see, recently a radio station has gone out of business, so I bought it. However, up until now, I haven’t decided as to what sort of music it will be playing over the air. It wasn’t until Octavia who convinced me to lend the orchestra over to her and to listen to the works of a new song. I confess I was rather skeptical at first, borrowing the philharmonic for one song at a recital. However, given how high of a quality that song it was, I see an opportunity.”
“Afraid we don’t know where you’re going with this,” Dawn said.
“Well, I’ve decided that I want to put up music that is neither pop nor classical, but something in between yet, avant-garde enough to be its own thing. Something experimental, but fun. Something old, but new. Something that anyone can listen to where it would be popular for the masses but sophisticated enough that the elite wouldn’t be ashamed for liking. Fortunately, I have found the very music I was looking for.”
“You mean,” Ocellus asked, “you want to put Yesterday on the radio?”
“As a start,” Fancy nodded. “Tell me, do any of you have any more songs?”
Pull said that they have some, that although they’re written down, none of them are properly recorded.
“In that case,” Fancy told them, “I advise you to do so. In fact, if you can record that song I’ve heard, I want to buy the rights for it. And maybe, get you all to sign a contract as well if any of you are interested.”
“Contract?” Dawn blinked.
“But hold on.” Pull interjected. “None of us are professional musicians. I mean we still have jobs outside of this.”
“Maybe I can take care of that,” Fancy said, his horn glowing and taking out a checkbook and a pen. “Just from what I’ve heard, and since I am the first to do this in regards to your composition…” He wrote in an amount, tore the check out from the book and levitated it over to Ocellus, “This is how much I think that song is worth.”
Ocellus gasped.
Pull and Dawn leaned their heads over to see what she was looking at. Their eyes widened. Pull grabbed the check, his jaw dropped.
“Blimey,” Dawn gave a low whistle.
“Is that the right number of zeros?” Pull asked.
Ocellus counted and told him that it was.
“And that’s only the start,” Fancy told them. “If you count for royalties and such. Of course, there’s still of the matter of a contract to be drawn up and the music to be recorded. But I think I could lend a helping hoof on my end. Now I don’t know if there’s any sort of difficulties between the three of you, but I do hope we would come together for some sort of deal.”
“Fifty million…” Pull muttered, looking over to Dawn, “Even with us getting an equal share, that’s more than enough for all kinds of things.”
“Well obviously. A share for you, me, Mango, Forge’s son, and Ocellus.” He patted her on the shoulder. “She should get a share too.”
“So that leaves ten million each.”
Ocellus stepped away. “Hold on, I said I don’t want the mo-”
“You can use that money for tours and things.” Pull pointed out. “Think about it, even with ten million, there’s much you can do with it. Rent theaters, hire musicians, get new instruments. Whatever you need. Maybe it doesn’t have to go to you, but maybe you can use it for shows and such.”
“He’s right,” Dawn nodded. “And that’s more than enough to get the other songs recorded and such. Not to mention set up for concerts and such. And all of this from one song! If we can do the rest, why, we’d be set for life.”
“So…?” Fancy inquired. “Is that a yes?”
“More than a yes,” Pull said, walking towards the front door. “Where’s the nearest telegraph building?”
“It’s near the Town Hall.” Ocellus told him. “Why?”
“I’m going to go over there, and wire first to the family that I have a new job. And a second to my boss to say something I wanted to say for a long time.”
“What’s that?”
He stopped at the front door, looked back over to them and smiled. “I quit!”