"Whenever you're ready."
Lyra took a deep breath.
How long have you been sitting here just breathing? It's getting weird. No one needs this much air. DO SOMETHING ALREADY.
Lyra shook the negative thoughts from her head.
Focus. We've been training our whole lives for a chance like this. This moment is everything.
Everything to whom?
"Miss Heartstrings?"
Lyra blinked and shook her head again. She looked across the well-polished stage and focused on three filled seats out of three thousand seats.
Well, three thousand, two hundred and twelve seats. But who was counting?
Lyra. Lyra was counting.
"I'm sorry," Lyra said to the three figures, barely visible beyond the stage lights. "I'm, uh... not ready."
"If you're not prepared for this, then we can—"
"NO!" Lyra slipped from her stool and almost dropped her lyre. She regained control and sat upright. "I mean... I just needed a moment to clear my head is all. I still want this."
Do you?
Lyra cleared her throat. She didn't need her throat to play a string instrument, but she cleared it all the same. Her horn lit like a golden sunrise as she magically plucked the first few chords in what, she hoped, would be an impressive auditioning piece.
"The Symphony?"
"That's right."
Lyra's father gave a short hum. It was neither in approval nor disappointment; simply acknowledgement. At least, that how it would sound to anyone of a lower class.
"It's a good hoof in the door!" Lyra said, defending herself. "Anypony would kill for this audition! It's still an esteemed group that—"
"That is not," Lyra's father countered as he turned a page in his newspaper, "the Royal Canterlot Orchestra. We've been over this, darling."
"Really, now, you should be aiming higher." Lyra's mother entered both the room and conversation while floating two glasses of tall, bubbling drink. Lyra's father lifted one with his own magic and brought it to rest on the ornate end table beside him. Her mother sat in a luxurious armchair, matching the one of her husband, and took a sip from her glass so small that one would wonder if she were trying to taste the drink's very atoms.
"Mom, you can't just start in the Orchestra, you have to—"
"Mother, darling," corrected the maternal figure. "Honestly, the years we've spent trying to teach you respect..."
"Not nearly as long as the music lessons going to waste," added Lyra's father.
Lyra stood aghast for several seconds. "What is with you two?!" she finally said. Both parents only gave her the briefest of glances of consideration. "You had me identifying notes by sound since I could speak! Learning instruments since I could walk! I've gone to every school that you—"
"You've gone to every school we could manage with your reputation for..." Lyra's mother's nose scrunched as much as it could without wrinkling her face. "Brawling."
Lyra's father flipped another page in his newspaper. "Your mother is right, darling," he added. "You started in the very best schools Canterlot has to offer, but by graduation it was all we could do to find you quality education while keeping your... passions out of public eye."
"Sorry if I embarrassed you," said Lyra through grit teeth. The muscles in her legs tensed. "At least somepony in this family isn't so concerned with the opinions of stuffy bureaucrats to get their hooves dirty!"
"Dirty hooves do not play in the Orchestra," replied Lyra's father. He gave the paper a stretch to smooth a few wrinkles. " 'Stuffy bureaucrats' do."
Lyra seethed. She reared up and stamped the ground as hard as she could. "I AM THE BEST LYRIST THIS CITY HAS EVEN SEEN!" She gave a hard point at herself. "I CAME OUT TOP OF EVERY CLASS! WON EVERY COMPETITION!"
"Not that there is much competition," said Lyra's mother with another minuscule sip.
"And what is THAT supposed to mean?!"
"The lyre is such an antiquated instrument, darling," said Lyra's father. He finally took a sip of his own drink. "Very few schools still teach it, and there hasn't been a place for one on the Orchestra in decades. Honestly, your choice has really limited you."
"My—?" Lyra shook her head and stamped again. "I got my cutie mark playing the lyre! You really think destiny is a choice?!"
"You should have tried harder on something more practical," Lyra's father said simply. "Maybe something like the cello."
"Oh, the Hooffens raised the most lovely cellist," said Lyra's mother.
"Oh, she is lovely," replied Lyra's father.
Lyra snarled, screamed, and bucked the lamp nearest to her. It shattered on impact, but Lyra's parents made no noise or motion acknowledging the act. Lyra stamped out of the home without additional words.
"Marewell?" called Lyra's mother. "Can you come clean this up, and bring up another lamp from the cellar?"
Repeat the harmony, Lyra thought to herself. Just once, don't do it on loop like last time. Don't forget the key change coming up.
The notes from Lyra's lyre echoed throughout the auditorium. Its soft, delicate tone betrayed the fiery, anxious pony strumming it.
Forte, FORTE, Lyra thought as the volume of the piece increased. But not TOO forte!
One of the three judges coughed.
Oh, I'm sorry, is that not FORTE enough for you, you big-shot piece of—
An extremely forte explosion blasted through one of the orchestra's walls; one of the judges yelped in surprise. Debris barely separated from the wall before Lyra had a defensive shield around the four of them. As soon as the dust settled, she dropped the shield and stared at the wreckage.
"There's Melody!" a voice from the gaping hole said. "Secure her!"
Two of the judges ran to the exit on the opposite wall as five ponies in masks barreled into the auditorium. The remaining judge stood on her two hind legs and brushed her long hair back, her poise like a coiled snake.
"Look out!" Lyra shouted on instinct. Two of the masked ponies closed in on the judge, but with impossible speed she gave two punches to the first, spun him to absorb a blow from the second, then whirled around to bring a leg down on top of both of them. Impressive display though it was, a third pony slammed into her from a blindside, sending her flying toward the stage. She caught hold of a railing to the orchestra pit mid-air and flipped herself onto the stage near to Lyra, landing only a meter or two away.
"Get out of here!" the judge commanded. Without the stage lights blinding her, Lyra could now see the judge was a grey mare with a dark mane, and violet, determined eyes.
"And leave you here with that?!" asked Lyra as she pointed to four more masked ponies dashing into the auditorium. "You don't stand a chance!"
The mare dropped a masked pony as he leapt onto the stage. "I stand a better chance if I'm not babysitting a civilian!" she shouted back.
Lyra grit her teeth hard enough for a tooth to crack.
One of the masked ponies rushed by Lyra. "Out of the way, horn-head!" His momentum stopped and he flew backwards. After landing he looked up and saw Lyra standing on her hind legs, heaving. He couldn't be sure if he saw steam coming from her nose or not.
"Seriously, get out of here!"
Lyra turned and socked one of the ponies giving the grey mare trouble. More ponies clambered onto the stage. Rather than gun straight for them, they were now cautiously circling the two mares. Lyra and the grey mare centered themselves in the circle, backs to one another.
"Anything that happens now is your fault," the mare said to Lyra.
"They're here for you," Lyra shot back. She shook some numbness from a front hoof. "You're lucky I don't feed you to these guys for bombing my audition."
Before the grey mare could respond, one of the masked ponies emitted a war cry and the lot of them closed in on the two mares. Lyra gave a far more intimidating snarl as she walloped the closest pony in front of her, then served the same dish to another just behind him.
The other mare moved like fluid. When one pony swung at her, she deflected and slid down his foreleg. Catching him by the shoulders, she spun and toppled him into the orchestra pit while at the same time pinning another's leg to the ground with her own. As two more dove at her, she jumped high, coming down hard on both of their heads for a three-pony pileup.
"Are you fighting or dancing?!" Lyra asked. She took a hard hit to the face and returned the blow with double force. The grey mare said nothing as she ducked and weaved heavy-hitting blows from another opponent before sliding behind him and giving a sharp blow behind one of his knees.
Two more came for Lyra. She gave one a hard buck, but the other jumped on top of her an pinned her to the ground.
"Stay out of this, horn-head!" the pinning pony said gruffly. "This doesn't concern you!"
Lyra's eyes dilated to pin-pricks as she screamed and launched her attacker from her back. The pony hit the ground hard, and in the split second he raised his head to get up it connected with Lyra's punch, followed immediately by the floor. He did not try to get up again.
Lyra turned to see the grey mare tangoing with one final assailant; her hind legs were wrapped around his neck. Her body curled, and the trapped pony spun to the ground. The mare used another of her hop-and-drop attacks square on the pony's face, and his body also refused to continue the fight. Breathing heavily, Lyra looked around for anyone else wanting a piece of her, but only saw two ponies hobbling back through the massive hole from which they came.
The grey mare swatted at her ear before reaching down to drag a body. "This is Agent Melody," she said to seemingly no one. "Our intel was accurate. They are getting bolder. Roughly a dozen attackers, ten incapacitated." She tossed the body she was dragging into the orchestra pit. "Send authorities and medical personnel. No, only minor injuries, and—" She looked over at Lyra. "...Some civilian involvement."
"Wait, wait, wait, hold up," said Lyra, a front hoof bouncing. "Who are you talking to? And are you saying you expected this to happen?"
The mare held a hoof to her ear and looked away from Lyra. She nodded a few times. "Understood. Melody out." She casually walked over to another body and dragged it toward the pit.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Lyra trotted over to the mare. "Answer me!"
As the mare tossed another body into the pit, she gave Lyra a look with cool regard. "Can you do a containment spell on the orchestra pit?"
"What?"
The mare motioned to the pit. Lyra looked over and saw one of the bodies stirring.
"Police are on the way to arrest these ponies. I don't want any more getting away. Can you do a containment spell or not?"
"Uh... sure." Lyra's horn lit and a golden bubble formed over the orchestra pit.
"You have an impressive radius on your spells for a blue-blood musician," the mare said matter-of-factly. "Yet you used no magic during the fight. Why is that?"
Lyra bristled, then relaxed and shrugged. "I can't say I really know any offensive spells," she offered.
The mare made her way to another unconscious pony. "No offensive spells, yet you don't seem to be inexperienced in a fight."
"Well, yeah," Lyra said as she watched the mare drag the body like it was an everyday chore. "The unicorns at school didn't know how to fight. To them it was uncooth. You throw down with some earth ponies though..."
"I see. Drop, please." Lyra's bubble opened at the top, and the mare tossed her latest body in. The bubble closed back up after it. "It seems you still learned some defensive spells, at the very least."
"What can I say," said Lyra, "sometimes you bite off more than you can chew."
"And you have impressive instincts."
"Uh... thanks."
The mare circled Lyra, inspecting her from every angle.
"Definitely raw, untamed even, but there's definitely potential..."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What is this? What are you on about? Am I supposed to be flattered or insulted?"
"I think there's room for refinement. With your style, probably a minotaur for hand-to-hand training."
"What-to-what now?"
The mare stopped circling Lyra and addressed her directly. "Miss Heartstrings, I represent an agency that could use a burgeoning talent like your own. I daresay it would be a waste of an opportunity on my part to not at least bring it to your attention."
Lyra looked over to where she sat for the audition. The stool flew to who-knows-where, and her lyre lay crumpled without a single string still strung. "What do you know about wasted opportunities?" Lyra said softly.
"Miss Heartstrings," the mare said, bringing Lyra's attention back forward. "My name is Octavia Melody. I represent an organization called Ponies Protecting Ponies. These ponies here," she said, waving toward the pit, "are terrorists looking to upset the delicate balance of this nation. What I'm asking of you is not small. It's an abandonment of any current dream that you have. Of your home. Your friends and family. But in return you become a part of something greater. You become something greater. And Equestria becomes a better place for having you in it."
Lyra closed her eyes and waved a hoof. "Let me get this straight," she began. She placed her hoof on her nose in thought. "You want me to end my career as a musician just as it's getting started, stop talking to my parents, and possibly move to another town entirely, all so that I can learn how to punch bad guys a little harder?"
"In so many words, I suppose."
Lyra laughed. She laughed sarcastically, then genuinely, then out of spite, in that order. She took a deep breath.
"Sounds peachy. Sign me up."