//------------------------------// // And Since We've No Place To Go // Story: The Last-Minute Masterpiece // by Silent Whisper //------------------------------// Composing a piece of music should be relatively straightforward, she’d told herself when she first sat down, quill in hoof, cello case next to her desk for when the moment of inspiration inevitably hit her. She’d played music all her life, she’d taken classes in musical theory, and almost nopony knew Beethooven better than her. Music was her passion as much as her special talent, and nopony could take that away from her! She’d pressed the quill down on the first bar of the blank sheet of music paper. It’d been three hours at the very least, judging by the way the sunset shadows creeped against the snowdrifts outside, and the sheet of music was still blank. Nothing. She couldn’t even select a key to play in. There wasn’t a single movement by Moozart that she’d been unable to get through after the initial sight-read, and yet she had absolutely no clue how to begin the piece. Her head, usually full of half-remembered conciertos, was absolutely empty of anything in the vague realm of original. Her cello sat next to her, case still unopened, looking for all the world as though it was judging her for her lack of creative vision. Perhaps… perhaps that was the problem! Maybe she’d just needed to play, and the music would come to her effortlessly, like she’d seen Vinyl do when inspiration struck. She propped up her cello against her shoulder, closed her eyes, rested her bow lightly against the strings, and… Still nothing. How in Equestria did Vinyl create sheer masterpieces out of nowhere? She’d always looked so carefree, like the music spoke to her, but Octavia had never thought to ask exactly how she’d made it happen. She was usually too busy letting the music - or, on the rare romantic occasion, Vinyl herself - sweep her off her hooves in a frenzy of rhythm and harmonies. She played a few scales, with a vague hope that it would set alight some hidden creative ability that she’d been somehow neglecting, but even they sounded flat and lifeless. If Vinyl were here, she’d add a beat behind the sad, lonely notes, and accompany her pathetic attempts with a synthesizer that almost clashed with the hummed tones of her cello. Almost, but not quite, and in a way, the sound fit together all the better because of it. It was just like the both of them, when she thought about it. They were two very different sides of the same melodic coin, but it was their differences that made their collaborations work. Maybe she’d write a duet, but she couldn’t even seem to manage a solo. A memory flickered in the back of her mind, one she’d pushed back many a time. Thoughts of before. There had, after all, been a period in her life when she hadn’t met Vinyl yet, when she’d scoffed at the first sour notes of anything that wasn’t her type of music, her flawless lifestyle, her way. It was Octavia’s way and Octavia’s way alone, when she was single, and even when she dated the few other ponies that’d initially impressed her enough to merit the experiment. Vinyl hadn’t been anything like the ponies she’d been with before. She was different. Flawed, yet thriving in spite of it. Unbreakable, unflappable, and undeniably charming, she’d introduced Octavia to a new way of experiencing the world. It had been hard, at first, to let go of anything she’d taken for granted, but the strange, comical, and often absolutely wild experiences they’d shared had been worth far more than anything she’d left behind for good. Truth be told, Octavia hadn’t managed all that well as a solo act. She felt much more alive with Vinyl, in every way she could be. They completed each other, complemented each other, and filled in most of each other’s weak spots. That wasn’t to say that there was no Octavia without her Vinyl Scratch, or no Vinyl without her ‘Tavi,’ but without the other there’d always be a sensation of something missing. And when they were together? Why, it was something entirely beautiful and all their own. A fierce love, at times, yet peaceful. Two sides of the coin, they were a living duet and a masterpiece that nopony could ignore. She began playing, not truly paying much mind as the first few notes filled her room, but there, yes, that sounded almost like she felt when they were together, and then, there! It sounded like the first time they’d spoken, the happiest happenstance she’d ever experienced. It was by chance that Vinyl had booked the same venue for an upcoming performance, and stranger chance still that they’d managed to book the same room at the same time. The argument, embarrassingly one-sided on Octavia’s part, led to an apology over a coffee at the nearest cafe after they’d rescheduled, and it was there that they’d realized what precious little they had in common. The climbing notes - a faint memory of waking up next to Vinyl after they’d crashed on the couch, a whirlwind trip that’d gone poorly leaving nothing but a faint soreness in their legs by the morning, the sunlight’s glare waking Vinyl first- then, a note held a beat longer than expected, the moment when Octavia opened her eyes to find Vinyl watching her, shades set aside, smiling as though she’d seen the most beautiful sunrise in all of Equestria. A lower note, a few vibrating tones set to a beat that she knew Vinyl would remember - the first time she’d been to the San Fransiscolt Music Festival and they’d danced underneath the light-strung trees, full of cheap cider and half-forgotten melodies that neither needed to hum aloud for the other to hear. Building again, faster tempo but with a slight hesitation, a triplet almost out of place - when they’d decided to live together, despite Octavia having practically moved in already. Vinyl’s parents were, she recalled with a shudder against the strings, less than thrilled. It’d been the tipping point of a long-coming storm, the point where Vinyl had gone too far, being with somepony they for some reason couldn’t approve of, but Vinyl stuck by her decision, and still refused any apologies Octavia could give, and it was the one time Octavia had ever seen Vinyl truly furious. She’d do anything to keep her from feeling that way again. Then, at the height of the noise, a quiet note. Then, another. Rebuilding what was left after the storm died down. Figuring where the loose ends were, and making them work or disregarding them altogether. Coordinating to make ends meet when money was tight and their success not a guarantee (for to be an artist, one had to take risks, whether it was by following the music or creating one’s own). A sigh, a pause, then a building melody, a reprise of the beginning but with different emphasis, more feeling. They’d stuck together, because that was where they belonged. They were two separate instruments, functional on their own but better when in harmony. Octavia held her breath as she pulled her bow away from the strings, letting the sound drift away. Something like that would work. It might not be perfect, but it was personal, and Vinyl was sure to love it when she played it for her tomorrow. Wait. Something about that thought made Octavia pause in her mental celebration. Tomorrow… she’d play it again…. Oh, sweet Luna, she’d have to play it again! How was she going to remember any of that on Hearth’s Warming? She set down her cello with a bit more force than she’d usually insist on before rushing to the desk. Grabbing a piece of paper and a quill, she began to notate down what little she could recall of the beginning. Did it start with a C? G#? Her hoof ached for her bow to sound it out, but if she started playing she’d forget what she’d already played! She’d have to guess it and continue on. Already, a few pieces of it were starting to fade from her memory. No! She couldn’t let that happen! She ran through the sections one more time, and jotted them down as quickly as she could. They were a bit disjointed, but she couldn’t let herself forget them. She’d put them in the right spot later. She hummed a few bars of the next part, but it didn’t sound right. It was close, but not perfect. Octavia tried again. Still not correct. Was it the rhythm? Was there an extra note there? Maybe it was a bit higher, that part. No, no, the next bit wasn’t right. Was it louder? Even when she thought it through in her head, adding volume didn’t add the emotion she’d played. Maybe it wasn’t volume that she was supposed to add? She noted it down anyway. It was close enough, and perhaps she’d remember when she got there. Why did her eyes hurt? She tore her eyes away from the mussed-up sheets of music. When had it gotten so dark? Turning on a light, she rubbed the worst of the ache away from her eyes. She couldn’t afford to stop. Stopping meant forgetting, and she couldn’t afford to forget. Vinyl was counting on her. Oh, how did that initial melody go? Did she change key? She must’ve, but which was it? G major? She scratched out the line and continued beneath it. Was there supposed to be a rest here? Did it make sense for there to be a rest here, or should the note be held longer? For a second, Octavia wondered if she could do both at once, but after a few gestures to mimic the motions required, she deemed it impossible. At some point, she realized she’d started writing over a line she’d already written. Blearily, she reached for a fresh sheet, and her head leaned against her foreleg. It was soft, and her eyes hurt. She closed them, just for a moment, to make sure the ache went away so she could keep writing.