Melodious Desideratum

by Desideratium


Miraculous Magic Juice

“Hey, Vinyl?”

You and Vinyl Scratch are standing outside the concert hall, huddling together for warmth, for snow has begun to fall thickly from the darkened sky, making white powder layer the streets.

Despite the high ceiling and open space in the hall, you had begun to feel confined, so you made an exit. Surprisingly, Vinyl followed you after a minute, maybe to get away from the drama between the orchestra members. You appreciate her company, and added body heat.

“Yeah?” Both of you are shivering, but you’re far too tired to summon a heating spell.

“Earlier today, a bottle of sparkling cider showed up at my door. The stallion said it was from a grey mare, and the name on the note . . . it was from . . .”

“Octavia? Yeah, Riffs mentioned that.”

“But why’d she do it? I thought she hated my guts.”

“Riffs made her. He thought you should have a welcoming gift, and an opportunity to meet Octavia. Turns out, the latter didn’t work out so well.”

You say nothing. All you can do is mutely brush some snow off Vinyl’s back. She playfully nudges you with her shoulder, and for the first time, you return the gesture.

Canterlot looks beautiful covered by a layer of snow. With a stretch of imagination, the houses lining the road could be made of gingerbread. The cobble streets become gumdrops and lampposts are candy canes.

You shake your head. The minor hallucinations have started, highlighting your slow descent into madness. Probably only temporary, though.

You hear a slight noise behind you, and turn to see Symphony standing in the next to the building, holding open one of the glass doors. “Are you two okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

Symphony cautiously steps out into the downfall, snowflakes coating her mane almost immediately. “Do you want to . . . come inside?”

You look at Vinyl, whose trembling has increased in magnitude. “Yeah. We should probably get out of the cold. Vinyl?”

“What? Oh, y-yeah.” An accidental stutter because of chattering teeth. You’re surprised that you’ve managed to keep your speech level thus far.

Symphony leads you inside. You’re instantly assaulted by a warm wall of air, putting into perspective how cold you actually were. Beside you, Vinyl moans in bliss. “That’s better.”

Symphony grins. “Come on, the orchestra should be here soon.”

You follow her, trying to keep your eyes off her steadily swaying flank.

Feeling slightly more confident in your magical ability, you cause the auditorium door to swing open before Symphony gets to it. Surprised, she turns around to see you screwing up your face in concentration. Concern flashes across her face. “Are you sure you’re up to playing?”

You take a deep breath as you let go of the door. “Uh . . . yeah.”

The skeptical look tells you that she isn’t buying it. “Well, you look pretty pale. Is there anything I can do for you?” She steps aside to let Vinyl pass.

“Well . . . weird question, but do you have any fruit on hoof?” If you can get a little sugar into your bloodstream, your magical reservoirs should be bolstered a bit. Not by much, but better than nothing.

“Sure. Let me check the concessions stand.”

Symphony trots across the room to a secluded snack bar tucked into an out-of-the-way corner, where a sleepy-looking pony is beginning to set up her wares. You’re close enough to hear the violinist exchange words with the mare.

“Hey, Cluster!” she says, a little louder than normal, leading you to believe that the mare at the stand is hard of hearing.

“What?” Upon hearing her voice, you realize that Cluster is an elderly mare. “Oh! Symphony! How good it is to see you, dearie.”

“Just so you know, Cluster,” Symphony appears to be holding in laughter. “There’s no event here tonight, so you can pack up and go home.”

“Really? Oh, ponyfeathers. I’m more scatterbrained than a cross-eyed pegasus. Thank you, Symphony.”

“That’s all right.”

“Well, now. Who’s that handsome young stallion over there?”

Your stomach jolts. She’s referring to you. Symphony grins and beckons to you. As you make your way over, you hear your name as Symphony introduces you. “. . . and he’s our new pianist.”

You try to plaster a winning smile on your face. Up close, Cluster is a pale pink unicorn with a green mane that’s greying around the edges. Perched on her nose is a pair of tiny, half-moon glasses, framing a pair of squinty eyes.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you. It’s always nice to see new faces around here. Somepony to keep me in line, if you know what I’m saying.” Cluster winks at you. You glance almost imperceptibly at Symphony, alarm in your eyes.

“Oh . . . well, um.”

Cluster and Symphony both chuckle at you. “Anyway, dear.” Cluster looks back at Symphony. “What can I do you for?”

“Actually, I just wanted to pick up an apple or something.”

“For yourself?”

“Um, no actually,” you correct. “Me.”

“Feeling a little drained, lad?” Cluster surveys you knowingly. “I know the look.”

“Well, yeah.” You’re surprised that Cluster recognized your symptoms, and correctly diagnosed your magical fatigue. But then again, you can’t be the only unicorn to experience this emptiness.

“Then you don’t want a regular old chunk of fruit. In order to get back on you hooves again—metaphorically of course—you’ll need something a little more potent.” Cluster winks again. You’re not sure if you should be flattered, or intimidated. “I’ve got something here. A rejuvenating beverage.” Cluster opens a small refrigerator behind the counter and withdraws a plastic cup with a lid filled with thick maroon liquid. From a dispenser next to Symphony’s hoof, Cluster levitates a straw over and pierces the designated hole in the plastic. “First one’s free. For a trial run.” She slides the cup over the counter, into your waiting hooves.

You eye the inspissated substance. “What’s in it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that, darling.” Another wink. “Trade secret, you know. Go on, try it!”

Somewhat hesitantly, you raise the straw to your lips and absorb a mouthful of dense, strawberry flavored liquid. As it slides down your throat, warmth spreads across your body. A tingly shiver shoots up your back and neck, causing your hair to stand on end visibly. The electric pulse gathers at your horn, inadvertently activating it—bright white light shoots out in a ray, illuminating the room. And strangely, you can hear the faint tingling of chimes.

“Whoo, boy!” Cluster crows gleefully. “You didn’t tell me how empty your tank was!”

You can’t respond; your lungs are attempting to inflate after that dramatic assault. After a moment of wheezing, you get out: “Why . . . does that . . . change . . . anything?”

“Well, normally, the magic juice just gives you a little jolt, not a complete system restart. Only when you’re really drained will it take over your horn like that.”

You take a few more deep breaths. “So, I’m full now?”
“Try for yourself!”

You look down at the cup in front of you. Your horn lights again—this time at your own accord—and envelopes the liquid inside. In a bright flash, the reddish beverage is now violently cobalt. Taking advantage of your newfound capability, you levitate the lid off the cup and lift it to your face to take another swig. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”