//------------------------------// // Cold Herbal Tea // Story: Another Track // by Owlor //------------------------------// Chapter 2. Cold Herbal Tea Mjölna felt a stab of pain in her left leg and instantly froze. She examined the sensation and compared it to the her mental map of sore spots throughout her body: Upper left shoulder, bruise, bar fight; lower right front leg, bruise, resisting arrest; left front leg, sore muscles, dragging Sapphire Shore's daily crop of fan-mail around. A small dash of panic hit her, since she didn't recognize this sting. But, when she turned around, she found nothing but another small bruise, which she could've gotten anywhere. Breathing a sigh of relief, she added this to the list. As she entered the basement studio, she nearly dropped the tea she had been tasked to get in surprise. She had to admit, as chaotic as their extended recording sessions could be, she wasn't quite prepared for this. All of the foam walls had been haphazardly turned around, forming a maze trough the massive cellar. It was easy to think of the studio as a cramped space, forgetting that the lower part of Apple Road studios both can and has hosted entire orchestras. Mistpouffer appeared to be playing hide-and-seek, poking his head around the foam-wall corners. As Mjöna entered, the producer turned a around, his enormous collar puffed up like a pair of wings, once again startling the brave warrior pony. “Have you seen Sapphire?!” he yelled and she could only emit a confused whimper in response. Full-grown dragons were both less scary and easier to deal with than angry record producers. “No? Then help me find her!” Mjölna shrugged and obediently joined Mistpouffer in searching through the newly made labyrinth. It was like the producer had opened a portal to a strange wonderland, the studio hadn't been used at full capacity for at least a couple of years and traces of old recording sessions still remained, like insects trapped in amber. Behind one of the screens they found a collection of strange musical instruments: a Melontron, a Conundrum, some kind of metal violin with an aluminium horn attached to it and various other forgotten pieces of music history that occasionally saw use by more experimental acts. Behind another screen they found what was evidently the hideaway for a sound engineer. Mjölna tried not to notice the saucy magazine filled with clothed ponies that had been forgotten on a bean-bag. Eventually, Mjölna met up and nearly collided with Mistpouffer, whose search had apparently been just as fruitless as hers. Sapphire was simply nowhere to be found. “I'm gonna check the top floor, you stay here in case she comes back!” Mistpouffer ordered. He disappeared out of the studio and Mjölna was left alone. At first she did a few half hearted attempts to restore the walls to their former place, but her sense of loyalty was running low and eventually she figured that the producer could very well clean up his own mess. Instead, she just sat down on the cold floor. It was frightfully quiet, the basement was designed to be a sonic void, completely silent unless anypony knowingly makes a sound. Once her ears got used to the emptiness, he picked up on a small hiss, a cold timid sound she wasn’t entirely sure didn't just come from her own head. The hissing became more urgent and she could finally pinpoint the source. One of the foam-covered windows had been busted up and a cool wind leaked in. And from outside, she heard a whispered voice. “psst, I'm over here,” it said. Mjölna went up to the window, brandishing the cup of tea like a weapon. “I-is it you, Sapphire?” she asked, and Sapphire responded by a melodic “mhmm”. Relieved, Mjölna let her guard down and went up to the window. “Uhm... here's your tea, ma'am,” she said and offered the cup to the mare behind the window and an elegantly decorated hoof reached down to get it. “Thank you, Mjölna” Sapphire said. “Now could you come up here for a sec?” “Sure!” Mjölna climbed up trough the window and the night hit her like a cool caress. Suddenly she understood why the picky pop diva had been so keen on getting some fresh air into the studio. Sapphire was leaning against the wall of the building, Her 20.000 bit dress parked right on the moist, dirty ground. Both her hooves was draped around the teacup and she was enjoying the heat steaming from it like nothing else really mattered. “Lovely night, isn't it?” she asked, glancing over to Mjölna. Somehow, the young mare managed to project the same air of authority as a schoolteacher scolding her for slacking off in class. “Yeah, but the producer is looking for you, he seemed quite pissed,” she said, giving her a stern gaze back. A moment of silence passed, punctuated by the chirping of a few stray crickets, hopelessly lost at the edge of the big city. “Mistpouffer?” Sapphire replied smugly. “Oh, he's always like that, I give it around.... five minutes until he snaps at me and cancel the whole project.” “I'm gonna go tell the boss,” Mjölna said with a bemused voice, crossing her hooves in a rigid gesture. “Please, can't you let me be disappeared for just a few minutes more?” Sapphire pleaded. Her weary glance was enough for Mjölna’s stern demeanour to melt. “Okay” she said obediently. “I don’t like ratting anypony out anyway.” She turned around to leave, but before she could climb down from the window, Sapphire stopped her by tugging her tail gently. “Woah girl, nopony said you had to leave!” “Is anything wrong Ma’am?” Mjölna once again looked into those pleading eyes. “Oh nothing,” Sapphire replied in a sing-song voice. “I just rarely get to small talk with anypony these days.” She put the cup down on the ground and straightened out her dress. Noticing the dirt on it, she scrounged her muzzle together, but chose to ignore this crime against fashion. “I just want one conversation that doesn't end with Mistpouffer shoving sales figures and graphs in my face or with the sound engineers muttering some nonsense about manufactured modular magic massacring the musical mood, or something like that.” She paused for just long enough to emit a brief sigh. “I got a whole list of designers to check out,” she continued to lament. “But I'm running out of time before the album has to be out and after that I have to go on one of those dreadful talk shows to promote it.” Mjölna just stared at the pop diva dumbfoundedly, this was all way outside her frame of reference, Sapphire looked sheepish as she realized how the petty annoyances of stardom didn’t exactly resonate with those not right in the middle of it. “I'm sorry about my bitching,” she added, but Mjölna just shrugged and once again left the conversation to die among the chirping sounds of the late evening crickets. 'How ironic, I hired Mjölna because of her stoic demeanour, because I wanted an assistant that didn't ask too many questions, and now when I WANT some idle conversation...' Sapphire thought. She had been told, by several ponies in fact, that she  had made a mistake hiring a pony with such a violent past, but Sapphire ignored the complaints. Turns out that she was right in the end, this was the one time she regretted hiring her and it was not because of her dodgy past. “Say...” sapphire Shores said, trying to kick start the conversation. “When you wear clothes, what do you wear?” Mjölna blushed a bit as she covered her face partially with her bangs, clearly this wasn’t a subject she was used to talking about. “A buckled skirt made out of sack-cloth and a bronze helmet.” “A helmet?!” Sapphire jerked up in surprise and nearly spilled the now lukewarm content of the teacup onto the already moist ground. “Yes,” Mjölna replied, oblivious to Sapphire’s reaction. “It goes with the war hammer. I tried to put horns in it... the helmet, not the hammer, but they fell off.” “I must admit,” Sapphire said, thoroughly amused, “I would've never figured a war hammer could be used as a fashion accessory.” “you should try it sometimes,” Mjölna replied, smiling at the perceived compliment. “I guarantee it'll strike fear in the hearts of your enemies.” “Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.” 'I dunno about fear, but it'd definitely amuse the paparazzi photographers,’ Sapphire thought to herself. Sapphire closed her eyes and let an image play trough her mind of her trotting towards a concert in her typical 20.000 bit dress, looking like a glamorous cabaret-singer from 50 years ago, save for a huge bronze mace or a hammer in her belt, trailing after her like a fender after a boat. Her expression in this fantasy, her usual self-assured look, complimented the fearsome appearance of the weapon nicely. She chuckled to herself at the idea, but dismissed it since there was probably some sort of law against ponies carrying dangerous equipment on stage, and if not, there soon would be.