“Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Sir Fancy Pants? Coffee? Tea?” the nervous student aide called from beyond the multitude of various packets being shuffled like cards in front of him. “You can have my cucumber sandwich if you’d like.”
“I appreciate the offer—” Fancy lightly nudged the offerings aside to steal a glance at the young mare’s nametag. “—Miss Starflitter, but that won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly fine, I assure you.” He slapped on the most pacifying smile he could muster, but it did little to settle the poor filly’s nerves.
“Well, I am sure Headmistress Pennywhistle will be back soon," Starflitter repeated for the umpteenth time. At this point, it was sounding more like a prayer than a promise. She clip-clopped her hooves on the office’s front desk while trying desperately to not look directly at Fancy.
“Don’t worry, Miss Flitter. My visit was unexpected, so I expected to wait a little longer than usual.”
“Y-yes sir, Sir Fancy Pants, Sir. She should be here any minute now.” Starflitter forced an awkward laugh at Fancy’s attempt at humor while casting another glance at the clock. “Any minute now.”
Fancy had grown accustomed to his mere presence intimidating other ponies, but it did little to stem his frustration with his name striking fear into the hearts of strangers. How Princess Celestia had dealt with it since time immemorial was beyond him. At least he’d built a rapport with the regular office, Under Scribble, but she’d gone with Headmistress Pennywhistle for the morning’s emergency meeting. He imagined they were all discussing the same thing weighing upon his mind. Instead of joining their discussion, he was stuck here trying his best to not give Starflitter a panic attack.
Sneaking a glance at his pocket watch, it was ten minutes past the time Fancy had allotted himself for a meeting that hadn’t even started. The rest of the items on his agenda were far less pressing, save the other fire that started earlier this morning. He reluctantly scratched “Meet Fleur about de Lune” off his itinerary. With that done and his other options exhausted, his eyes began wandering around the room once again to take in the tale told in pictures.
Once upon a time, Princess Celestia had led her School for Gifted Unicorns herself, a fact reflected by the familiar royal castle's choice of purple walls and pristine marble flooring. After its daily administration had become too much to juggle alongside her other duties, she relegated its daily function to personally appointed headmasters and headmistresses. Their portraits lined the walls, ranging from the hundred-years-old oil paintings to the more recent photographs.
Fancy’s eyes bounced from one picture to the next, each one framed in the exact same way. A former head of the school stood as tall and proud as they could next to their immortal leader while Princess Celestia draped her left wing across their backs. There were slight differences in artistic style and photographic quality over the generations, but the alicorn remained a ubiquitous, unchanging presence. It was amazing, if not a little unnerving, seeing that Elysian smile shining with eternal serenity.
His attention turned back to Under Scribble’s desk, where the student Starflitter was doing her best to look busy with what little there was at the desk. Under Scribble kept her clutter to a minimum which left the poor aid with very little to do outside of fiddling with her sparkling silver mane. There were a few personal photos of her husband and son, the largest being the three of them together during the little one’s magic kindergarten graduation ceremony.
The familial warmth on display gave Fancy a twinge of nostalgia from a better time long ago. His mother covered the walls of their home with sprawling collages of memories. She was never one for albums you could shut away.
Not wanting to take that trip down memory lane, he tore his eyes away from the photos, accidentally meeting Starflitters gaze. The student froze on the spot, locking herself in a silent staring contest with him. Not wanting to apply any more pressure to the situation, he decided a little tried and true diplomacy was in order. He wondered what he could do to break the ice. His cutie mark burned as his canceled appointment came to mind.
“Ms. Starflitter, are you by chance friends with Fleur?”
“Fleur? Like Fleur de Lis?” Starflitter asked quickly while brushing her mane out of her face. “I mean, of course you know her. I’ve seen you pictured together at those important parties and things and stuff. Silly Star.” She smacked the sides of her head with her hooves.
Fancy cleared his throat, pushing past the mare’s self-deprecation. “So, are you friends?”
“Oh?” Starflitter perked back to attention. “Oh! Oh no, no, no. I’d never—I mean she’d never be friends with me.”
“I wouldn’t rule that out. She’s far more approachable than you might think, barring a few of her eccentricities.”
She shook her head. “N-no, what I meant is we’ve never really met ever. I didn't have a class with her. I just turned fifteen."
“Oh, my apologies. It’s sometimes difficult to tell who Fleur’s contemporaries are. Happy belated big fifteen by the way,” he added while lightly clopping his hooves together.
Starflitted scratched the back of her head while nodding a quick thank you for reaching marehood.“I-I don’t know what ‘contemporaries’ means, but I’m still a student.”
“I know, she is as well.”
“What? Isn’t Fleur de Lis a magic kindergarten teacher?”
An image of Fleur trying to lead a classroom of students before becoming the biggest kid in class flashed through Fancy’s head. He couldn’t help but laugh. “I think the insurance premiums would be a little too high for that.”
"But this morning..." Starflitter trailed off into confused mumbles which was not an uncommon occurrence when Fleur came up in conversation.
"In fairness, I did mention eccentric," he reminded her, bringing her back from the edge of the Fleur-y abyss. "Fleur is a research student here, and not much older than you. She was in the same graduating class as her DJ friend. I believe they’re doing research here together.”
“DJ?” The young mare’s eyes sparkled with recognition. “You mean DJ Pon-3! But wait. Isn’t Vinyl Scratch like twenty-one or something?”
“If so, then that would make her about a year older than Fleur.”
The aid’s jaw hit the desk. “Fleur de Lis is twenty years old?”
“And one-quarter,” Fancy added sing-songingly, happy to see the mare’s walls starting to come down.
“B-but how? Her legs are like… va-voosh! And she’s so vhmm-hmm-hmm!” The student waved her hooves around in long and curvy patterns to whatever the sounds were, but Fancy could guess their meaning.
“I suppose you do have a point, but I have proof.” Fancy fished out his coat wallet and flipped to one of the few pictures he kept in the card sleeves. She leaned up from her desk, curiosity winning out over her previous nervousness to see what he had. “Be warned, this is not one of my finer moments, but Fleur insisted on capturing it for the sake of posterity.”
Starflitter took the picture in her magic as her cheeks filled with a barely stifled snicker. The ever-elegant Fleur de Lis flashed with poise and beauty next to a disgruntled Fancy Pants covered horn to hoof in frosting. Next to them was Princess Celestia, caught somewhere between laughing at Fancy’s expense and mourning the loss of the cake.
“Fleur had just gotten her acceptance letter from the school’s research program and I wanted to do something special to celebrate. It happened to coincide with her eighteenth birthday and my scheduled tea time with the princess, so we figured we’d surprise her,” Fancy said, pointing at the still-lit numbers 1 and 8 candles on top of his head. His hoof then shifted over to the horrified maid in the background covering her mouth with a hoof. “Unfortunately, the poor mare here tripped over herself at the big surprise and I wound up wearing the cake. Fleur quickly found a camera before the maid got back with a towel and preserved this moment for posterity.”
Mission Accomplished. Fancy smiled at the young mare’s giggles and he slipped the photo back into his coat wallet. Nothing was better at putting others at ease than The Cakening. While he hadn’t enjoyed it much in the moment, the picture was perfect to help others take him off of their pedestals. With his mission accomplished he turned away to retake his seat.
“Wow! I had no idea you were Fleur’s dad.”
Fancy was glad he was turned away so she didn’t see him wince. “Not exactly. I suppose you could say I’m more of a caretaker or guardian of sorts,” he corrected. “Though I can see why ponies make that mistake. I’ve simply been rather close to her family for years.”
Even though she didn’t see it, Starflitter could still feel the unease seeping through his words. The gears were already turning in the other unicorn’s head, a commonly unfortunate double-edge to the photo. Fleur had never grown out of her penchant for skinship, going from adorable as a filly to teetering on the edge of social acceptability for a mare her age. It almost always led down a particularly uncomfortable line of questioning.
“So what are her parents like?”
“Her mother is a fairly renowned pastry chef from Prance, Éclair de Lune. She runs her own bakery bistro here in Canterlot. Have you ever been to Pâte de Lune?” he asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
“Maybe with some friends once. I dunno. I usually go to The Gifted Grinds across the street for the student discount.” Fancy Pants nodded along, respecting her choice of store.
“A fine establishment, that one. Nothing like a little coffee to help reach enlightenment. Still, if you haven’t, you should treat yourself to a Prench pastry from the little slice of Pance right here in Canterlot. They have the best crêpes in Equestria.”
“I love crêpes!”
“All the more reason to go then.” Fancy Pants beamed a smile. He always loved to drum up potential business for the Éclair. He could talk about Prance or the lovely mare all day. Sensing he had stayed quiet for a little too long, he was about to shift gears when she interrupted with another question.
“So, what about her dad?”
“Yes. Her father…” Fancy grabbed for his monocle and polishing cloth. He breathed a few times on the lens, steaming it up and wiping it again and again to ensure it was good and clear. As the silence dragged on, the mare’s ears pinned back as her face fell.
“Umm… Sir Fancy Pants?” she asked again as fear crept back into her eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Starflitter, but I’ve suddenly found myself quite parched. Would you mind getting me some tea? Jasmine if you have it.”
The mare’s smile strained as she dutifully stood up to brew the beverage. “R-right away, Sir!”
“Please take as much time as you need,” he added as warmly as he could while silently hoping she’d take even longer.
Ten more minutes and a passable cup of jasmine later, his wait was finally interrupted by a click of the office door. He stood up to greet the Headmistress, only to be met with an unexpected friendly face.
“Oh, Fancy! Fancy meeting you here.” Despite using the same tired pun every time they met, the stallion’s cheesy, self-satisfied, fang-filled grin never failed to infect Fancy with a genuine smile of his own.
“Ah, Steeplechase. I am surprised to see you up and about so early.” Fancy offered a hoofshake to the bookish nocturne, which Steeplechase accepted briefly before pulling it back to yawn. “What brings you to the school today?”
“I imagine it’s the same thing that brought you here, Fancy.”
“Yes, but hopefully we can get it all sorted out. Last night was nothing more than an accident.”
“Last night?” Steeplechase cocked his head. “I’m just trying to get a grip on whatever got everypony going full gallop this morning. Tavi’s too tired from getting back a couple of hours ago, so they sent me instead of Woody.”
“Well, I think you’ll find out shortly,” Fancy whispered as the door to the office began to open.
Headmistress Pennywhistle quickly cantered in, her nose buried in various papers and letters floating around her head. The usually calm and collected leader was sweating in her blazer, completely unaware of her guests. She still had the wherewithal to kick a hind leg out to catch the door for her administration assistant, Under Scribble, lagging behind her. The older office pony wordlessly took her seat, her eyes locked onto Fancy Pants while the Headmistress continued their conversation.
“—and I just can’t deal with any more of these complaints! If anypony besides Mister Steeplechase shows up, tell them that we are considering our next action carefully and send them away. We need to get this situation sorted out as quickly as possible.”
“Actually, Penny, he’s already here,” Scribble remarked with a little smirk. “And he’s brought a friend.”
“Oh! I’m sorr—Fancy Pants!” The bookish unicorn nearly jumped out of her fur at the sight of the unexpected visitor. She barely kept a magical grip on her reading material. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“It’s always a pleasure, Miss Pennywhistle,” he replied cordially. “And before you ask, I’m here to help diffuse the situation rather than complicate it further.”
“Thank Celestia.” The headmistress let out a small sigh of relief as she adjusted her thick rimmed glasses. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, though I’m not sure what can be done at this point. And thank you for coming, Mister Steeplechase.”
Steeplechase offered a polite bow. “It’s nice to see you again too, Headmistress. I’m going to take a guess and say it’s not going to stay that way for long if you’re just as frazzled as Woody.”
“Yes. You’d better come with me before anypony else shows up.” Pennywhistle quickly escorted the pair of stallions to her office and shut the door behind them.
Despite the tension lingering in the air, the headmistress’s office was as welcoming as Fancy remembered with pictures of her family and school events scattered alongside knick-knacks and mementos. The easy-going flow was broken by the numerous professional credentials and magic degrees dominating the wall behind her chair. As for her lovely mahogany desk, he could barely see the top of it from under the disorganized mass of scattered papers and letters. He recognized many of the formal letterheads and noble pony signatures at a glance.
“Let me start by assuring you I hold nothing against Miss Scratch,” Fancy said.
“You’d be the first I’ve seen this morning,” the exhausted mare remarked. “I’ve spoken to more movers and shakers of this city than I can wave a wand at.”
For a moment, Steeplechase mouthed a silent question to himself until he put two and two together before he sank his face into his hooves. “Okay. What did she do this time?”
“For a renowned purveyor of the written word, I’d hoped you’d have made it a habit to read the newspaper.” Fancy Pants passed the day’s Canterhorn Courier. It took all of two seconds for Steeplechase to balk at the headline before diving into it himself.
“‘The Vinyl Screech?’” Steeplechase pointed to the phrase on the paper. “And here I thought I needed to grease the stacks in the library again. Was it the nightmare of a noise I heard last night?”
“Yes,” Pennywhistle said as she shuffled a stack of letters. “I hadn’t even gotten to the campus before I was being accosted by nearly every big donor to our school screaming their heads off about it.”
“Last night was an unfortunate accident caused by Fleur de Lis, but for one reason or another, the buck was passed solely onto Miss Scratch,” Fancy Pants clarified.
“Regardless of whose fault it was, the fact of the matter is that this office has been inundated with letters complaining about Miss Scratch.” Pennywhistle whipped several of the letters on her desk up into the air, swirling them in a maelstrom of papers before they landed in a neat pile in front of her. “Disorderly conduct, destruction of property, disturbance of the peace…”
“What actions were you planning on taking against her?” Fancy Pants asked, cutting directly to the matter at hoof.
The Headmistress sighed as she laid her hooves on the mass of letters. “Officially speaking for Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorn, our general stance on external matters like this is to not take one. We aren’t here to act like we’re a student’s parent, especially not when they’re an adult. For more serious matters, the Royal Guard is usually involved long before we are, so we defer to their discretion.”
“Well there you go, right?” Steeplechase waved the issues off with a hoof. “This is all bark and no bite. Just let this blow over like eating a bad fruitcake.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Look at these names: Lofty Heights, Sand Dollar, Moneypenny, Coltair, Upper Crust, Bucksaplenty. Frankly, I was honestly surprised to see you weren’t among them, Fancy Pants.”
Fancy Pants said nothing, only silently urging the headmistress to continue.
“The issue here is that many of these ponies are donors. Very important and very high profile donors. Donors with a lot of power that are critical to our school’s continued operation.”
Steeplechase whistled at the list impressed. “They sure did get organized fast.”
Fancy Pants picked up a few letters to skim. “If it’s Miss Upper Crust leading the charge, then it’s unfortunately no surprise. The mare is driven when she gets a goal in mind, and it seems she wants nothing more than to use the power of the nobility to punish Miss Scratch for the accident last night.”
Steeplechase nodded. Putting the paper down, he perused the letters himself as he flipped through each letter. “I get that, but it hasn’t even been half a day since the festival, right? Isn’t this, I don’t know, a bit much way too quickly?”
“Do you recall the last Grand Galloping Gala with Lady Velvet’s daughter and her friends from Ponyville?”
“My face sure does.” Steeplechase rubbed his chin where Octavia had made her opinion of that night abundantly clear.
“It had barely been an hour after that animals stampede through the ballroom, and Prince Blueblood was already leading an entourage to ban Princess Celestia’s protégé from the city. She had to cancel afternoon court the next day after hearing the same complaint all morning. I hadn’t seen her highness that angry in years.”
Steeplechase grimaced. “Yeesh. And they thought keeping her highness’ star student away would help anything?”
“Likely not, but I believe the outrage itself was the point. If all of my years in these circles have taught me anything, my friend, it is that nobles with an excess of power and time will find a way to spend it, wisely or otherwise.”
“And as far as power is concerned, we can’t throw our weight around just because the school is named after her,” the headmaster interjected. “The princess’s personal financing covers the everyday costs of running the school itself, but the donors cover things like financial aid programs and scholarships. If we lose our backers, there are many promising candidates outside of Canterlot that won’t be able to afford studying here.”
“If it’s nothing too sensitive, why is Miss Scratch attending CSGU in the first place?” Fancy asked. “ESPA Membership is far less expensive and they can still award certain credentials. Perhaps she could simply transfer her studies over there?”
“While I’m certain they’d be interested considering they’re part of the reason she is able to be one of our research students, such a change would be impossible. Miss Scratch is delving into incredibly sensitive crystalline harmonics under the guidance of Arpeggio Melody that should not be performed outside of a controlled lab,” Pennywhistle answered. “Specifically, she is seeking acoustic information storage methods for efficient repackaging and instant recollection from magical instruments.”
Fancy Pants hummed sagely while nodding in reply.
“In laymare’s terms, she wants to be able to cram a bunch more sound into her crystals to use for her music, and my father-in-law’s helping her out,” Steeplechase clarified with a knowing wink.
“I see.” Fancy frowned at his snarky simplification, but was thankful for it since the headmaster lost him at the word harmonic. “And why couldn’t she do that under your guidance?”
“Magical experimental stuff is Arpeggio’s bread and butter and he barely understands what Vinyl is doing half the time.” The nocturne flashed a fang-filled grin. “And the same goes for her, which makes it a lot of fun. I’d be both completely lost and nothing that could help her when things go bad. And trust me, when things go bad, they go real bad. Magical insurance bad.”
The costly euphemism was not lost on Fancy Pants. There was a reason every wall of the school was lined with protection wards. From foals experiencing uncontrollable magical surges to volatile spellcrafting experiments, the school was a powder keg of unstable magical power. The entire city block might’ve been blown off the face of Equestria five times over by now.
“So she can’t go to the ESPA to continue her work, but the other donors are threatening to pull funding if something isn’t done about Miss Scratch.” Fancy tapped his chin while trying to square the circle in his head, but he was drawing a blank.
Steeplechase frowned. “I hope you're not going to try expelling her just because they’ve got you by the bits.”
“No.” The Headmistress clicked her hooves together apprehensively while digging for her words. The time she was taking to answer didn’t evoke much confidence from the stallions sitting on the other side of the desk. Finally her ears pinned back as she averted her gaze. “Not exactly…”
The morning’s cake wasn’t sitting well in Vinyl’s stomach, though any breakfast would be doing backflips with her nerves completely shot. The skin crawled under her fur. Her legs were little more than numb, brittle stilts. The world around her was distant, muddled, and cold to the touch. Her dissociation was the glue keeping Vinyl together. She wasn’t there, which meant she didn’t have to acknowledge the argument unraveling behind her.
“What do you mean they’re pulling her funding?” Fleur yelled.
“I said they were considering it, but there’s not much else to consider in this situation,” Arpeggio replied.
While the professor maintained his hallmark stoicism, Fleur was taking the news about as well as a box of firecrackers near a pyromancer. She looked ready to charge the next noble like a raging minotaur.
“But it wasn’t even her fault!” Fleur cried as she stamped the ground in frustration. Not wanting to buck their professor in the face, she settled on unleashing her anger on an extra piece of foam board into the wall.
Arpeggio’s eyes narrowed as he straightened his bowtie. While he could certainly understand her anger and sympathize, he was still their teacher. Fleur’s flaring temper fizzled slightly under his stern, commanding presence. Years of working with the difficult ponies—his daughter included—had taught him how to somewhat tame a wild mare’s temper—his wife excluded.
“Be that as it may, it is this institution's decision. Vinyl will be cut and barred from receiving any further financial aid from the school.”
“Which means what for somepony living off of financial aid? If she has to choose between going to school and eating, how is that any different from getting expelled?” Fleur’s muzzle scrunched in absolute disgust, almost folding in on itself with irritation. She threw in a bitter nicker for good measure.
“Language, Miss de Lis!” He leveled a stern glare on her student, but the fury burning behind her eyes refused to waver. “I’m not endorsing their decision, but understand that it was either this or risk losing their backing entirely. Vinyl should still have the ESPA’s funding. I am sure Octavia will see to that.”
“I can’t believe a bunch of musicians have more backbone than frikin’ battlemages! Just because a few prissy, pissy nobles couldn’t take a little noise, you’re throwing Vinyl under a chariot for my mistake!”
Seeking refuge from the chaos behind her, Vinyl picked her tuning fork up by hoof and carefully tapped the side of the crystal she was working with. When the world was too much, she always found solace in her work. She focused on the thrum, letting the pitch take her far away from the stress. It reverberated with just the right note for the experiment, bright and peaceful.
A shill shriek ripped Vinyl back into reality. Fleur had descended into a steam of intelligible curses to the heavens. “You know what? Why don’t I just buck every single one of their fat heads into next Tuesday? At least then they’d have something real to be upset about!”
“I would’ve hoped that even in your anger, you’d have enough presence of mind to realize that even the mention of violence would only exacerbate the situation. Not that I’d expect you to follow through with it, but even a verbal threat only helps their case.”
Why couldn’t they just stop arguing already? Rich ponies already had it out for her, and last night just gave them a good excuse. The last thing Vinyl wanted was for the only ponies that actually cared about her to be bickering over a lost cause. She wished more than anything that she could drown out their arguments completely with her trusty headphones, but tuning crystals for her sensitive spellweaving required one’s full attention and mental clarity.
Vinyl just needed to focus. Focus was good. Focus, focus, focus. It was just her and the crystal. She could do this. No reason to look back. Behind her was far out of her hooves. No helping what had happened. She was DJ Pon-3. DJ Pon-3 just needed to work harder now. Maybe cut some more corners, skip a few more meals, pick up a few more gigs at Cantrips. If it got desperate, it’d be painful, but she could pawn her equipment. The StarWhirler had to be worth—nothing with the hole in the front.
The DJ buried her head in her hooves. She could repair it. She’d patched up damage like it before. The trouble was scrounging up the money to afford fixing it in the first place! Even if she did sell it as-is, superficial damage was still damage, no matter how well it still worked. It’d probably sell for little more than parts. It wouldn’t be enough, not by a mile.
Vinyl could feel her head splitting from the stress. She rubbed her temples, trying to get it under control. She needed to focus. She was DJ Pon-3. DJ Pon-3 was strong. She was confident. She could pull herself forward by her reins. She wasn’t going to ask for hoof-outs. She could make it on her own.
“You all just buckled the moment somepony threatened to take their precious bits away. What kind of message does that send?” Fleur plastered a stupid, dimwitted grin across her face with a mockingly high filly voice, “‘Remember kids, bullies always win!’ or ‘You can do anything if you put your mind to it. But if not, hey, selling out always works, right?’”
Vinyl’s ears began to ring.
“May I remind you that there are many talented students that lack your good fortune, Miss de Lis. They also depend on those donations to study here just as much as Vinyl,” he rebutted pragmatically. The calmness of his voice was only betrayed by the fire in his eyes. “If the situation becomes untenable, you must do what is required for the sake of the whole.”
They rang louder and louder.
“Oh no. Don’t give me those ‘needs of the many’ horseapples!” Fleur spat in reply. “I played Stellar Comms in that half-baked, sci-fi audio drama!”
And louder still.
“Then what would you have me do, Miss de Lis? Pick favorites among the students?”
Vinyl couldn’t even hear herself think anymore.
“You pick all of them, especially your favorites. You fight for your friends until you can’t fight anymore, and then you keep on going after that! Do you know why? Because you love them!”
Trust me. She’s not worth it.
“Would you shut up already!” Vinyl’s voice cracked with shattered fury. “Just stop fighting! Who gives a flying feather about any of it, anyway? They never did about me!”
The ringing pierced her skull at a deafening decibel. Vinyl nearly toppled over from the pressure, catching herself on the table before she fell all the way down.
“Why… everypony in this town does... has always have it out for me? I don’t have to… need their dirty two-bits... ” Vinyl sputtered trying to form words and thoughts. She still had so much more to say. So much say. So anger. Much say.
“Miss Scratch! Get away from there, now!” the muffled shadow of a voice yelled from a mile away.
Two Fleurs screamed something in unison, but Vinyl couldn’t hear them. The pair charged at her, melding in and out of their bodies as they ran through the tunneling void. The world began to swirl back into alignment as Vinyl felt her back press into a plush wall and a pair of forelegs tightly wrapped around her.
And then, Vinyl blinked.
“I’m sorry Vinyl! I promise, It’s going to be okay. I didn’t…” Fleur’s words failed her as she just pulled her confused friend closer.
Vinyl found herself gasping for air as her muscles ached from a marathon she hadn’t run. The deafening ring was gone, replaced with the familiar chiming of a destabilized attunement crystal. Looking towards her work station, the professor was hastily casting an arsenal of purges and purifying spells while a sinister black and purple miasma oozed into a small pool running from the bottom of her pristine crystal. She silently stared at what she’d done as Arpeggio fixed her mess.
“Miss Scratch!” The two friends went rigid from the force of Arpeggio’s voice. He coughed and wheezed trying to catch his breath after his flurry of spells. “What is the first principle of Cacophony’s Primer?”
“T-that sound and magic are intrinsically linked,” Vinyl recited from memory.
“And that the two flow and meet together to make music from what?”
“The soul.”
“Meaning that you never. Ever. Work with sound magic with unstable emotions!” His drilling caught up with him and he burst into a coughing fit.
“But I wasn’t even casting anything. I was just checking its tuning.”
“Using a highly sensitive magical implement!” he corrected, producing the tuning fork she had been working with, or rather what was left of it.
The once enchanted silver was little more now tarnished black stick of warped and dripping metal. He flicked what remained of the fork with his hoof, causing it to warble in a deep, unnatural, tone. The shaking grew stronger and more distorted until it couldn’t withstand the disharmony any longer and shattered into a thousand wet, smokey pieces. The solid liquid drifted upwards as it burned into nothingness.
Vinyl groaned, tilting her head back until she smacked it against the wall.
“You’re lucky that it wasn’t an actual cacophony rune! You could’ve been hurt, or worse, caused a dissonance cascade! If we hadn’t been here, you might’ve—”
“Professor, please,” Fleur begged as she clung to her friend. “Please…”
Arpeggio’s tirade died on his lips. He sighed, shedding all the tension pent up in his body. “You might’ve been more sound of mind without our bickering.” The stallion dusted off his tweed button up and fixed his bowtie once more. “The important thing is that you’re unharmed, Miss Scratch. But with all of our emotions riding high, we probably should call it a day.”
Fleur nodded for the both of them. Vinyl was too busy looking up at the ceiling.
“There are two weeks left in the fall semester. Your grant was already processed to pay for school access during the holiday season, so you still have time,” Arpeggio remarked as he exited the lab. “I’ll keep my ears to the ground for any changes, but those ponies were adamant. They wouldn’t even let me consider bringing you on as a teaching assistant. I’ve done all I can, and for what it’s worth, I am sorry it wasn’t enough.”
The click of the lab door cut the last threads holding Vinyl together and she collapsed. Fleur quickly pulled her friend closer before she fell all the way, holding her tight as she gently lowered them both to the floor.
“Don’t worry, I gotcha, Vinyl,” Fleur reassured. She pushed Vinyl’s shades on her face, letting them maintain the last shred of dignity the DJ was still clinging to. “It’s going to be okay. Right now, it’s just us and the soundproofing.”