Octavia entered her room and gently lowered her cello case to the floor. She crossed the room to her desk and, with a slight smile, began to copy over the notes she had made on the back of restaurant napkins and receipts onto proper score paper. It had truly been, she thought, a magnificent night.
The concert had been incredible, of course, and she’d been so inspired that she’d made great progress on a new composition at the café. It had been an unusually good venue in which to work; the patrons were quiet, and the staff even moreso, to the point where it was only Octavia’s unusually-keen hearing that let her know when the staff was coming to refill her tea or check if she needed anything else. After the café had been a concert that she’d been looking forward to, a private recital for a half-dozen Courtiers who were all music aficionados to one degree or another. It was a treat to perform for them, as she could tell they could really listen to how she performed, and could appreciate her on a level that many of the other Courtiers couldn’t. Finally, to complete the night, she’d made it up to Luna’s balcony and had performed, as usual, while Luna set the night sky and then raised the sun. It was always a joy to play for her.
What a perfect night, she thought, her quill scratching over the staff notepaper. I really should make more of a point to attend more concerts around the city. She blinked as an idea struck her. Perhaps even put together something of a club… if I went with a few other musicians, open-minded like myself, we could discuss the music later and understand it on an even deeper level. Or, not even musicians, but just music fans – such as Paperweight – could also provide an interesting perspective, and I’m sure they would enjoy it as well.
She looked up eventually and saw that she’d spent over an hour transcribing her notes. Smiling ruefully, she got up and stretched. She would need to sleep soon, if she hoped to be able to perform that night. One of the themes from her new work could work well, she thought, for that night’s sunset/moon-raising ceremony, but only if she was fresh enough to play it well. So she’d get ready for bed; a nice, long shower, some good music, and then she’d go to sleep, and hopefully dream of more incredible sounds. She always slept well after composing well, and she hoped--
Her thoughts were interrupted when her hoof scuffed over a note that somepony had slipped under her door. She frowned, wondering why the note hadn’t been sent through the mail or the castle messenger service. If this is some political note, I’m throwing it out, she thought. There had been a few attempts to recruit her for some political scheme, mostly of the ‘please tell Luna about my motion’ variety, but she had rebuffed all such attempts. Her job was to play music; she would not sully it by once again making herself a tool of the nobles.
It wasn’t from a noble, though. It was from Paperweight.
”Octavia-- found out about an awesome private concert in the city this morning! The address is on the ticket, and it’s at 9. The musician’s one of Thrash’s rivals; she’s almost as good as he is, which is still really good! I got a pair of tickets, and I figured you’d want one, so here it is! I think you’ll really, really enjoy it. Hope to see you there! Paperweight.”
“Hmm.” Octavia examined the note and attached ticket and thought. She was starting to feel tired, but she didn’t want to just blow Paperweight off. And since this concert was from one of Thrash’s rivals, not Thrash himself, she might be good. Besides, Octavia could hold off on sleep for an hour or two and still be fine. She’d just wake up a bit later, that was all. She’d still be able to play for Luna.
Making up her mind, Octavia nodded, then strode out of her room.
It was, like most ‘private concerts’, in somepony’s house. Octavia had never been to this neighborhood, but it seemed nice enough. The houses were decent-sized, well-kept, and brightly painted. It was a pleasant place to walk at nine in the morning.
Octavia smiled as she found the house that was indicated on the ticket. It was one of the more modest houses on the block, and looked newly built. Once inside, she dropped her saddlebag by a pile of a few others near the door, then found her way to the sitting room, which had several seats set out. There were also a couple speakers and other devices that she’d learned were standard in metal shows. She’d never heard of a private metal concert before, but she supposed times were changing –
“Octavia! I’m glad you made it!”
Octavia turned to see Paperweight stepping out of a side room. “Of course,” said Octavia. “I value your recommendations… and I enjoy attending concerts with you.” She nodded. “Congratulations on getting tickets; this show seems exclusive. How did you do it?”
Paperweight’s grin was bright and sunny. “You’ll love this one,” she said. “I promise.”
The phrase gave Octavia pause for a moment, although she couldn’t think of why. Did somepony say it before? And why didn’t she answer my question? Well, I suppose she might be embarrassed about how she got them… maybe somepony didn’t want them and dumped them on her… if that’s the case, I shouldn’t prod. But still… “Anyway,” she said, “I didn’t see a sign at the door indicating who was performing. Who is the artist?”
Paperweight looked blank for a moment before shrugging. “Somepony great! Somepony that you’ll love!”
“…yes, but who?” said Octavia. She didn’t often get annoyed by Paperweight’s… flightiness… but she was being unusually ditzy. “Have I heard of her before?”
“Sure!”
Octavia changed topics. “I wasn’t aware that there were concerts of this nature at this hour… I had thought they were mostly conducted at night. But it is nine in the morning. Why is this one so early?”
Paperweight shrugged again.
Octavia frowned, starting to wonder if something was amiss. Paperweight could be silly, but she was usually more responsive than this. She began to tug her friend to the side of the room, away from the speakers and other gear. “Are you alright? I—“
“Hey!” Paperweight twisted away from Octavia. “Where are you going? The show’s about to start!”
“I’m not leaving, Paperweight, I’d just like to talk to you.”
“But… but, no, we should stay here!” Paperweight grabbed Octavia’s leg and tried to hold her. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do, but you’re not acting normal.” She frowned. “And… it’s almost nine. Where are the other attendees? Are we the only ones?”
“You got that right!”
Octavia spun, and saw Thrash Metail walking out from the back. “You!”
“Yep! Can’t keep a good pony down.” Thrash spun his guitar, grinning malevolently. “But Paperweight’s right, Octy. You’ll love this music. I promise.”
Octavia realized that she hadn’t told Paperweight about how Thrash achieved his meteoric success. Still, her letter had specifically said that it was a rival of Thrash’s, not Thrash himself. “You said it wasn’t him!” snapped Octavia at Paperweight, too angry for a moment to think properly. “You lied to me, and—“
Paperweight turned to her, face showing a blankly happy grin. “We’re gonna hear some awesome music!” she said, as if Octavia hadn’t spoken.
Octavia put it together. “Oh. Oh, oh no…” she looked between Thrash and Paperweight quickly. “He got to you, he used you to get me here, and…”
“Got it in one!” Thrash chuckled. “See, I knew you’d come around to my music if you just heard more of it. But you didn’t seem to want to come to my shows, and it’s not like I could do what I do on a recording, right?”
“You had no right!” snapped Octavia. “She did not agree to any of this, she is completely uninvolved.”
“Yeah, but look at her. She doesn’t mind it.” Thrash grinned. “In a few minutes, you won’t either.”
Octavia looked around. She was several feet away from Thrash, and the speakers were angled to blast between them – she couldn’t close the distance without getting closer to them, and getting hit with more of Thrash’s powers. But she was even further from the doors to the room. Running for it wasn’t going to work. Besides, she couldn’t just leave Paperweight behind.
So she just glowered at Thrash. “What do you want?”
“I want to play you some music, Tavi.”
“That isn’t my name,” growled Octavia.
Paperweight nudged her. “Hey! Don’t be mean to him! He went to a lot of trouble to set this up!”
Octavia didn’t respond to that.
Thrash smirked and continued. “Whatever. I want to play you a few of my newest pieces. I’m sure, by the end, you’ll have completely changed your mind about me!”
“Yeah! And then you can tell Luna and all the nobles about how great he is!” urged Paperweight.
“Never,” hissed Octavia. “There’s no point to this, Thrash. You’ve had me under your spell before. It didn’t last.”
“It’ll last long enough,” said Thrash, floating his guitar in front of him. “Besides, last time, I didn’t know how tough you were. This time, I’m going all out.”
“It won’t matter! I don’t recommend artists unless I can explain why they merit it, and your music falls apart the moment anypony tries to understand it!” She scowled at him. “Even if I wanted to, I could never promote you to the Court. Besides, I don’t work for fools. If I came in like a zombie and began mindlessly repeating that they should listen to you, that would just cause the nobles and Princess Luna to wonder what happened to me, and if you were to blame.”
For a moment, Octavia thought she saw something spark in Thrash’s eyes – some indication that he knew his plan wouldn’t work. But then it was gone. “I’ll figure that out later. First step is showing you, Tavi, the error of your ways.’
Octavia put her front hooves to her hears, but then Paperweight tackled her. “No! You need to listen!” She dragged Octavia’s front hooves away, leaving her ears undefended.
“Get off me!” Octavia was strong, stronger than most other ponies that she knew of. It came from being an earth pony who carried around an instrument that weighed more than she did most of the time. But Paperweight was amped up on Thrash’s music and was fighting Octavia as if her life depended on it. Try as she might, Octavia couldn’t yank her limbs away from her friend.
While the two wrestled, Thrash grinned, and then began to play.
Octavia tried to brace herself, but it was no use.
A torrent of sound blasted forth from the speakers, smashing into the struggling mares and sending Octavia far, far away.
The drums pounded, filling the air with a slowly building energy. Thrash’s guitar weaved between the drumbeats, tying them together and extirpating any moments of silence between them. Musically, it was terrible – endless buildup, no variation, no shading, no themes, not even any melody. But magically, Octavia couldn’t help but feel the energy filling her mind. Making her want to get up and dance… dance forever, before Thrash and his guitar.
“THIS!” roared Thrash Metail, “Is what I’m talking about!”
This isn’t real! Octavia thought, desperately. This isn’t real, none of this is real. It’s all fake, magic and noise, nothing’s real in it! I have to fight it!
But Thrash was good at magic, if nothing else, and Octavia found it increasingly hard to hold on even to her own thoughts. She kept falling, feeling herself being subsumed by the music, only pulling away at the last instant, and each time falling a little further, taking longer to break her mind away from his twisted enchantments.
Usually, when she was listening to something that she didn’t want to hear, she was able to distract herself by thinking of other, better music that she had heard or played before. She tried that now, recalling symphonies and concertos that she had played and loved, but to no effect. Thrash’s music was so different from what she remembered that she couldn’t focus on both at once, and the sheer volume of his music made it impossible for her to retreat entirely inside her own head and ignore him entirely. Whenever she tried, a smash of the drums or a screech from his guitar swept aside any classical themes and returned her attention to Thrash’s metal.
She began trying to drag herself closer to Thrash, but Paperweight was on her back, and between her excess weight and the strength of the music, she wasn’t able to approach the musician. She remained stuck, paralyzed, helpless to stop Metail from continuing to pour music and magic through the speakers as powerfully as he could.
“It’s an illusion,” she whispered, feeling her body tensing more and more, noting her own yearning to have Thrash keep playing forever. “It’s just lies…”
But they were quite convincing lies. The comments of the nobility when manipulating each other, the fast-talk of conponies, the patter of showmares, they were nothing compared to this. Octavia wanted to believe that it was divine, brilliant music. The drums and guitar sounded so incredibly good that she needed it to be true. Even knowing what she knew, she could feel herself yearning to cast aside all conscious thought and just… wallow in it, like Paperweight and all of Thrash’s other fans were doing. Just let it wash over her and consume her, and render her another euphoric zombie.
Octavia managed to raise herself up off the floor, despite Paperweight’s half-restraint, half-hug. She brought up one hoof, then slammed it to the ground, hoping that a flash of pain – or a burst of noise – could help to disrupt Thrash’s illusion. But it was of no use. The pain and the noise both felt distant, as if they came from very far away, certainly not noticeable enough to distract her from Thrash’s power.
Thrash grinned. “Give it up, Tavi. You can’t even stand. Just give in.”
Octavia didn’t dignify that with a response. “Paperweight,” she hissed, unable to speak louder thanks to the music, “Get off of me.”
Paperweight didn’t even seem to hear her. She appeared to be humming something from Thrash’s work.
“Paperweight, please…” hissed Octavia.
Something in her voice seemed to disrupt Paperweight out of her trance. She blinked. “Huh?”
Thrash frowned, then blasted another few notes with his guitar. Whatever Octavia had been about to say to Paperweight was drowned out in the noise, and by the time she could speak again, Paperweight was humming merrily.
And so Octavia lay there, immobile, as Thrash continued to play.
It felt like hours had passed.
The room was windowless, so Octavia couldn’t track time by the progression of the sun. There weren’t any clocks, either, and Octavia wasn’t wearing a watch. But it felt like some great length of time had elapsed. If nothing else, she had rarely been this weary, and that included the times after her longest and most difficult performances, the ones where she had virtually collapsed upon completion. Thrash’s music wasn’t just energizing to listen to, it was enervating to resist.
Octavia was weakening. She knew that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything but Thrash’s twisted music, to distract herself, or to fight it off and explain to herself why it wasn’t any good. It was becoming increasingly difficult, for that matter, to think.
Thrash still looked fresh, though. He looked like he could stand there and play all day. Of course, managed Octavia, in a flash of sardonic annoyance. It’s not even real music, no effort is required… can’t imagine any real musician would still be going after so long with this kind of music… not even Crescendo…
The thought of Crescendo struck a chord with her, though she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t even think of what that mare’s works sounded like, at this point. ‘Better than this,’ that was about all she had. Beyond that, she might as well have never heard them…
That’s not true. I don’t forget performances… my memory’s not perfect, but good music, I remember it. She craned her head up with substantial effort, looking at Thrash, who had sat down and was drinking something as he used his magic to drive his guitar. I know what Crescendo’s music sounds like. I just need to think of it. Think…
Thrash did something moderately tricky with his drums, having the sticks move from one to the other to make an effect that, for another musician, could have led to something interesting. That did seem vaguely familiar. Octavia let her body drop to the ground, temporarily giving up the effort to move, and directed all her energy towards thinking of why.
Yes. Crescendo played something similar, in her concert… Octavia managed to dredge up the memory. Crescendo had done this drum solo near the end of her concert, but of course she’d done much more. She’d had a melodic line with the guitar that seemed to almost skip off the drums, bouncing into a more and more intricate melody that had actually been quite brilliant to listen to.
Octavia smiled slightly, able to ‘hear’ the melodic line, as if superimposed over Thrash’s banging and screeching. Thrash’s music was completely incompatible with the classical music that Octavia had tried to distract herself with earlier, but there were elements that sounded almost similar to what Crescendo had played. And analyzing music, finding similar themes between different works, was a substantial part of what Octavia did. She could hear, in Metail’s music, a pale, inept reflection of Crescendo’s.
If he’d been good, if his music was distinctively his own, Octavia wasn’t sure what she would have done. But such was not the case. A mediocre musician, a sad imitation of his peers, and the music of those peers – or at least, the one peer that Octavia was familiar with it – could be heard, in some diminished form, in every note.
Metail played, but Octavia heard Crescendo, and after a few minutes, she began to get up.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Thrash staring at her. Crescendo, there, she’d have some kind of melodic bridge… yes, a bridge, maybe with a harmonic line descending, for contrast… The music played through her head, the crashing coming from the speakers important only as a source of ‘inspiration,’ if one could call it that.
“Get down!” yelled Thrash, beginning to play faster, more loudly.
Octavia froze, the increased volume helping to batter through the music in her head. No… no, this isn’t the real tune. There’d be a melodic bridge, a descending harmonic line…
She began, slowly, to take a step towards Thrash. Unfortunately, this put her more in line with the speakers, but that couldn’t be helped. Ten more steps, and she’d be past them, and then the only thing between her and Thrash would be his guitar.
Thrash continued to play more loudly, practically banging on his drums. Octavia felt herself slowing, unable to get past the almost tangible wall of sound battering at her body and mind. She scowled at Thrash, who at last seemed appropriately nervous. Want to… throttle him… but I can’t get there…
They stayed in stalemate for five minutes, Octavia unable to progress, Thrash unable to drive her back. And now, Octavia observed, he was in fact starting to sweat. He couldn’t handle this kind of speed or volume for long. Pathetic…
But she couldn’t handle this for much longer either. Already, the louder music was beginning to drive into her head. It was growing harder to focus on Crescendo, on good metal, instead of Thrash’s noise. It was as if she was listening to a record which was starting to fall apart.
Sweating, Octavia raised a hoof, but couldn’t advance and could only set it back down. Thrash smiled, a desperate grin. The wall of sound kept pushing Octavia back.
What… what would go here? Gotta keep thinking of good music, of what good music would sound like instead of this. There’d be a few chords, something sung in a high pitch – upper D – and then a crash or something, to end the line, that’s one way metal does cadences…
A crash.
Octavia could make a crash.
When she picked up the chair, it wasn’t with conscious thought anymore. Octavia had devoted untold hours into producing the perfect sounds on any stage. She had long since trained her body such that, when she wanted a sound, she didn’t need to think about exactly how to articulate it. She just wanted, and her body moved.
What she wanted was a smash – something to punctuate the end of Metail’s latest verse, since he wasn’t going to do it himself. And her body reacted in the way it knew. Whatever the cost, perform the correct sound. That was all there was to do.
She heard, rather than saw, herself bending over and picking up the chair next to her. And she heard Thrash cry out ‘no!’ as she flung it directly into the nearest speaker.
The resulting destruction was certainly a suitable ‘crash.’
Thrash stared at her for a moment, then turned and ran.
Octavia sprang after him, growling savagely. His music was done, now, he wasn’t playing, and she was free. “I will crush you!” she roared, as she sprinted across the sitting room. “There won’t be enough of you left to bury!”
Thrash fled the room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Octavia ran right up to it, spun, and bucked the door off its hinges. She smiled as she heard the crash beneath her hooves, imagining how Thrash must be feeling. “There’s no use—“ she began to call.
She saw Paperweight.
The page looked like she had no idea what was going on. She looked kind of woozy, actually, but then again, she’d spent some unknown length of time having her mind melted by Thrash Metail. But she was on the ground, looking confused and horrified and vaguely sick.
“Octavia?” she whispered. “Where am I?”
Octavia glanced over her shoulder to see Thrash sprinting for the end of the hallway. She paused for a moment, torn between getting revenge on Thrash and seeing what she could do for Paperweight. If he gets away, he could hurt others. And he hurt me; he has to pay for that. I need to—
“Octavia?” whimpered Paperweight. “Please, help me… I don’t feel good…”
Octavia shut her eyes, forcing herself to focus. Her career, and more than that, had been saved by her friends before. She couldn’t accept that gift of theirs, then abandon one of her own friends. It would be dishonest. Besides… she didn’t want Paperweight to be hurt. They were friends, and friends looked out for each other. And she didn’t know if Paperweight might suffer more negative effects from Thrash’s music, or if he might have conducted her, while she was under his spell, to do anything crazy as a final act if she came out of it. She needed Octavia’s help.
Thrash wasn’t worth abandoning her for.
So she approached Paperweight, pausing to smash Thrash’s other speaker on the way. “Paperweight. We need to get out of here. Can you stand?”
Paperweight tried, but her legs didn’t seem able to support her. Octavia wondered how long she’d been stuck listening to his music. Had she slept at all? Probably not, Octavia decided.
“I—“ Paperweight began.
“It’s okay. I’ll carry you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Paperweight, not seeming to know what she was apologizing for. “I… did I do something wrong? You looked so angry…”
“It wasn’t your fault. We’ll talk about it later.”
“I…” Paperweight tried to stand again, but fell over. Octavia caught her, then helped her climb onto Octavia’s back. “Hey, wait… ponies will laugh.”
“So?” Octavia straightened. Paperweight weighed about the same as her cello and case, so she wasn’t hard to lift. “Are you worried that it would cause you or Viceroy Night Light political embarrassment?”
“No, but I mean… won’t you look silly?”
“I care about how I sound. How I look, unless it embarrasses Princess Luna, is immaterial… and from what I know of her, she would far rather I help you in this way than let you suffer for the sake of ‘propriety.’ It doesn’t matter to me.” She began to walk out of the room. “Do you want me to take you to your quarters?”
Paperweight’s stomach rumbled. “Er… I think what I need most now is a hot meal…”
“Then we’ll get food somewhere.” Octavia tried to put as much happiness into her voice as she could, though she was still mostly just furious at Thrash. “Don’t worry. We’ll find somewhere.”
Paperweight had seemed out of it, but a liberal application of donuts and hot chocolate at Doughtnut Joe’s perked her back up. By her third donut, she was giggling and eating with gusto.
Octavia smiled slightly. She hadn’t ordered anything, as nothing in the bakery met her rigorous dietary standards, but she was pleased to see Paperweight enjoying the food. “Can I ask you some questions? About what happened?”
Paperweight nodded. “I really don’t remember much, though… it was like, one minute, I’m looking at Thrash in the cantina, and then the next, I’m with you in his house.”
So that was the ‘other place in the city’ Thrash had mentioned a few nights ago. Octavia looked at the clock in the bakery, which showed that it was half past eleven. Thrash had held Octavia captive for over two hours. No wonder I’m so tired… and Paperweight too… “When did you go to the cantina?”
“Let’s see… I’d just finished working at Viceroy Night Light’s dinner. So maybe eleven at night? I went pretty much straight there… I think I was there before midnight.”
“And he probably played at you for most of that time, since it would have worn off otherwise.” Octavia shook his head. “He’s got dedication, but he channels it in all the wrong ways.”
“Did I do something bad?” Paperweight asked. She slowly put the donut she was eating down. “Because I don’t get why you were there, unless I told you to go there or you wanted to rescue me…”
“Thrash brainwashes ponies with magic that he puts in his music,” Octavia said. “Usually, he just does it to make them think it’s good – I transcribed some of it, and it’s mediocre at best, but because of his spells ponies love it. But he made you write me a letter to get me to come to his house. He knew I would never willingly go to any of his concerts again, not after I confronted him and told him that I knew how his music really worked, but he also knew that I would trust you and would go to an address that you told me to go to.” She took the note out of her saddlebag, which she had retrieved before leaving Thrash’s house. “This note.”
Paperweight looked at it. “This is my hoofwriting, but I don’t remember writing it…” She let her head sink down. “I’m sorry, Octavia.”
“Don’t be. If anypony is to blame – besides Thrash – it is myself.” Octavia frowned. “I knew what Thrash was doing, but when I heard he canceled all his upcoming concerts, I had thought he had learned his lesson… that he would stop using his Euphoria spells, or at least start advertising that was what he was doing. I didn’t think he would do this, and so I didn’t warn you.”
“Yeah, but I still wrote you that note. If what you’re saying is true… and I guess it is; I can’t remember a single thing from last night, even though I know he played for me for hours… I let him brainwash me. And… and I guess you were able to fight it off, and I wasn’t.” The page frowned. “Are you sure you’re not mad? I heard you have really, really high standards for that kind of thing…”
“I have learned the difference between high standards and unrealistic ones.” Octavia looked away, debating what to say next. Eventually, the truth won out. “There was a time… a time perhaps not long ago, that I would have reacted as you just said. I would have castigated myself, for falling under Thrash’s spell for any length of time, and you, for the same. But I have learned… I would be wrong to think that.” She shook her head. “You are a good friend in ways too numerous to list. You treat your friendships as seriously as you do your official duties, and I know how seriously you take those. I would be in the wrong if I judged that to be unimportant, if I judged you to be irredeemably fallen, because you were used as a pawn by a powerful magician.”
Paperweight grinned. “Thanks… you really know just what to say.”
Octavia smiled slightly in response.
“So… what now?” asked Paperweight.
“When do you next have official duties?”
“I need to check the page roster by one… that’s when I go on duty next.”
Octavia checked the clock. “We should make statements to the Guards. Thrash has to have broken the law with that last stunt of his. He should be found and arrested. I also need to write a letter to Notes on Notes, and any other music publications in the city… you would probably know better than I which publications exist that discuss metal music. I want to make very sure that everypony knows about him, so he cannot catch any other ponies unaware.”
Paperweight nodded. “Okay. And then what?”
“After that… sleep, I would think, at least for myself. I play for Luna tonight, and I need to be ready. You should sleep too, unless you have duties precluding that. We can talk more later tonight.”
“Maybe we can go to a real concert, without a crazy musician.”
“That would be fun,” agreed Octavia. “Or… if you want, I’m composing a new work. I rarely do this, but I’d be interested in getting feedback from you. I know how comprehensive your musical knowledge is—“
“Yes!” said Paperweight, all apparent exhaustion gone. “Yes, yes, yes! Thanks!”
Octavia couldn’t help but smile at that. “Perfect. It will be nice to return to real music… leave Metail’s forgotten, in the trash, where it belongs.”
Thrash Metail nervously peered out from his hideout, then slammed the door shut.
“This is terrible!” he hissed. “Now what? They’ll go to the Guards, and both of them are real big politically, so I can’t even bribe the Guards to let this go!” Octavia was Luna’s personal composer, and the other one, Paperweight, she worked for some bigshot named Lights Out or something. They’d come after him.
“I’ve gotta get out of town. Now, before they get roadblocks set up. Just… go to Manehattan or Las Pegasus or something. Somewhere they don’t know me.”
And give up? The thought flitted across his mind. I wanted to rule the musical world. That was why I did everything I did to get to this point. I leave now, I can’t ever come back…
“I don’t have any choice! Octavia’ll probably get Luna to sic her Night Guards on me! Even if she doesn’t, I’ll never get a venue again! Everrypony listens to her! She won’t let anypony hire me to play at their club or concert hall! And without that, my records won’t sell, and…”
So marginalize her. I can do that. A frontal assault didn’t work, but what if I come at her the other way?
Thrash frowned. What did that even mean?
She gains credibility because the Court backs her. Convert the Court first.
“Chicken and the egg problem, then,” muttered Thrash. “I need her to get the Court. They won’t listen to somepony like me otherwise. Bunch of old geezers; not like they know what modern music is.”
There’s other ways to get them to listen to me besides asking first.
The inklings of an idea began forming in Thrash’s head – but it was a bad idea, one he clamped down on almost before it formed. “No way,” he muttered. “That’s insane. They’d send me to jail for sure. Either I leave, or I find some other way.”
But the thought remained, sitting in his head. He could get everything he ever wanted, and with those kind of rewards, wasn’t a little risk acceptable?
Thrash groaned and flung himself on the cheap bed. I want to be known as the best musician in the world… I need to be known as the best musician anywhere. Is that so much? That’s what every single musician wants, Octavia and all the others, I just found a shortcut, but it’s not like they wouldn’t use it too. If I offered to sell them what I could do, all those fancy-schmancy artists would be tripping over themselves to get it.
His leg brushed his guitar, and he began to play it, his gaze hardening. And I’ll do it too. This is just a small setback. I’ll figure something out. Like…
Okay, first, it might be best to just face the music with the Guards. Octavia had no proof of what he’d done, after all. And he’d be able to move more freely if he wasn’t a fugitive. He could take an annoying interview and a few Guards trying to interrogate him. They’d let him go in the end.
So do that, clear suspicion from himself, and then…
The nobles…
He knew it was a risky idea, but it just would not go away.