//------------------------------// // 20) Perpetuum Mobile // Story: Music Makes The Heart // by TheVulpineHero1 //------------------------------// -Perpetuum Mobile- (Penguin Cafe Orchestra) By the time the train arrived in Canterlot, it was already apparent that they were due for a sudden shower; despite the cloudless sky, the streets were full of well-bred ponies carrying umbrellas. Soon enough it began to rain in fat, cold drops that slapped noisily against the ground, and everypony who wasn't a resident of the city – Vinyl and Octavia amongst them – scattered wordlessly in search of awnings to hide under. The colours of the city streets slowly became muted by the rainfall, blending into a seamless field of gray. Vinyl didn't speak as they hurried from ye olde shoppe to ye olde shoppe, her jaw set firm in obvious discomfort. No amount of authentic old time candy and novelty postcards could cheer her up; behind the glasses, Octavia was sure, lay a truly thunderous scowl that would only disappear when they reached the safety of the hotel. She ignored it for the moment; however unhappy Vinyl may or may not have been, letting the luggage get soaked was not the way to cheer her up. After twenty minutes of ducking and diving, they finally reached the hotel, a two-storey building of red brick with a well-maintained but deliberately unappetising garden. It had a sign outside proclaiming that it offered 'bed and, indeed, breakfast!', as if this was a spectacular thing that nopony had ever thought of doing before, and a big brass knocker appropriated from a castle somewhere nailed to the door. “Wondered why 'quaint' appeared ten times in the brochure,” Vinyl grunted, once they'd been comfortably installed in a room which seemed to have carpets for curtains and a knit scarf for the carpet. She examined a framed picture of the owner's cat with palpable distaste. “Oh, it's not that bad. It has character, at least,” Octavia replied, throwing her things on the bed closest to the window. Vinyl snorted. “Serial killers have character. This place is just a fire hazard.” “And you're just grumpy because you have history with this city. What time is the audition scheduled for?” “Eight in the morning, tomorrow,” Vinyl replied flatly, and threw herself down upon her bed, thoroughly ignoring the fact that it was barely mid-afternoon. “So I gotta get up early to boot. Just gotta love this city.” Octavia sat down next to her, and shook out her mane. “Well, in that case, try to find us a train back home for about ten. That should be more than enough time to get everything done.” “You don't wanna stick around for the day and see the sights?” the unicorn asked, her ears flicking lazily to attention. “Well, I'm not going to let you sit in this hotel room by yourself all day, Vi,” she explained gently. “Braid, please.” “You don't have to hurry out of here just because I don't like it.” “Well, it isn't as though I have any particular reason for wanting to look around Canterlot. I've seen the castle before, and apart from that there's not much here that isn't in Manehattan. Besides, I'm getting a little homesick.” “Liar. We've not even been gone a week,” the unicorn retorted. “…Thanks, though. Sorry. I just don't like being in this city.” “Really? I hadn't noticed,” Octavia teased. “Is there anything I should know about the orchestra here?” “Fact or opinion?” “Both, if you have them.” “On a purely technical level, they're pretty good, but not amazing. The Fillydelphia orchestra used to be better than them in terms of skill, before they started losing their most experienced members. Thing is, Canterlot's where the market's at. Classical is big here, and they're the official court musicians, so economically they're better off. That means they can do things a lot of smaller orchestras can't do, since they have more of a loss cushion if it falls through,” Vinyl explained, her voice flat and analytical. “Because they can afford to do crazy stuff from time to time, they ended up more as performers than technicians. They're flashy.” “I see,” Octavia nodded. “You certainly know the industry.” “Duh. I'm in the industry. Those were the facts, give or take. As for opinions…” Vinyl said, before hesitating. “Don't take this the wrong way, but honestly, if you weren't set on getting back into the Ponyville orchestra, I'd tell you to go join Canterlot. They're always looking for the next big thing, and when it comes to cellists, you are the next big thing.” “I'm afraid that's out of the question. Canterlot's too far to commute, so I'd have to get a house here. Considering how you've reacted to the place thus far, that's not really an option.” Vinyl paused for a second before saying, in a voice that was far too serious: “What if we weren't in a relationship?” “Then we'd be friends, and I'd still want to see you regularly,” Octavia replied, a touch sharply. “You can leave that line of thinking well alone, Vinyl Scratch. I won't have you sacrificing what we've got for my career prospects.” “Right. My bad,” Vinyl murmured. “I wouldn't worry about them rejecting you. Their management has an eye for talent. They just suck at nurturing it. Since they're pretty much the A-list when it comes to orchestras in this country, a lot of their musicians get complacent and stop improving, and the higher ups don't do much about it.” Octavia sighed. She didn't feel comforted by Vinyl's response, but the unicorn's bad mood had worn off on her, as had the rain; she really had no desire for a protracted discussion about it. What she did have a desire for was lunch, and not the tea and scones that seemed to have been advertised in every shop they'd gone past. “Shall we have pizza for lunch?” she asked. “Pizza? We're staying in a town famous for fancy bakeries and high-class restaurants, and you want to order pizza? You have no idea how attractive I find that. Sign me up for green peppers and pineapple,” Vinyl replied, finally cracking a grin. Octavia smiled. It was easier to cheer Vinyl up than she'd thought it would be. Now she just had to go wandering the streets of Canterlot to find a pizzeria. “Aha. You must be misses Octavia and Vinyl. Please, come this way,” the receptionist said in a smooth voice, gliding her way effortlessly across polished marble floors. “We've heard some very interesting things about you through the grapevine.” “What you mean is, you've got flunkies working in Filly and Manehattan,” Vinyl grouched. The early wakeup had not been kind to her, and she'd spent the journey from the hotel to the music hall casting her eyes around in suspicion, as if expecting somepony to lurch around the corner and confront her at any time. The receptionist gave them a very polite, very fake laugh. “You make it sound as though Manehattan and Filly haven't got – ahem – 'flunkies' working for us. We often take bets on who they are. My money is on Hoofgang and Shoebert, personally.” Vinyl narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Nice that you're so upfront about it. I guess it's not like you can't outbid them if you hear about somepony you want.” Octavia trailed along behind them as they walked, trying her best to keep her mind full of music rather than politics. She had all the time in the world to puzzle out what was going on in the music business, but less than five minutes to her audition, and she thought it wiser to think in staccatos and allegros than about inter-orchestral backstabbing. They were led to a hall which was perhaps the largest Octavia had ever seen, and which had plainly been designed with acoustics in mind. Like everything else in building, every surface had been meticulously polished, and the wooden floors were more like bronze mirrors in their lustre. “How do you like the room? It can house several hundred ponies, and we had the floor especially made for dancers,” the receptionist told her in glowing tones. “We hold several dedicated dance events a month–” “Yeah, right. Even the most well-polished dancefloor has scuffs on it. Take it from a professional DJ – nopony dances here,” Vinyl retorted. “They could if they wanted to,” the receptionist sniffed. “Obviously they don't. I get that you're paid to deliver the sales pitch, but stick to the facts,” the DJ said coolly. The receptionist shot her a look full of venom, and pointed Octavia to the stage. “The directors will be watching from the balcony seats. You may begin in your own time, miss Octavia. As for you, miss Vinyl, please take a seat and be quiet.” “If I thought her performances were bad enough to talk through, I wouldn't be her manager,” she said, but took a seat anyway. Octavia got out her instrument, cast her eyes respectfully to the balcony seats (she could see nopony waiting there), and began her performance with a flowing, classical refrain that had always put her in the mind of rivers. From there, she simply built, gradually shifting her pace and timbre until the piece was more akin to a lively pastoral jig, the sound of a bustling riverside village; soon, traces of jazz were creeping in, turning the piece into something more urbane, more townlike. She ended with a regal flourish, fitting for hall she was playing in. As she played, she kept her eyes set on her audience, fixed on the purple glint of Vinyl's glasses. When she had taken her bow, a round of applause (carefully measured and neutral) sounded from somewhere above her. The receptionist had disappeared, evidently slipping out of the room in the middle of the performance. Vinyl gave no indication that she knew the piece had ended save for adjusting her glasses, but wore a strangely satisfied smile. “I did well?” Octavia asked her. “It was pretty good. Could have stood to be ten or twenty minutes longer,” Vinyl replied, smoky as always. “In other words, an encore?” The DJ didn't reply, but didn't correct her, either. After a few minutes had passed, the receptionist bustled back in, announcing her presence with a cough. Vinyl coughed back pointedly, and earned herself another sour look for her trouble. “The directors wish to see you. Both of you. This way, please.” She escorted them primly to the entrance of the balcony, before turning on her heel and leaving without a word. Octavia permitted herself a roll of the eyes before going ahead, pushing through the curtains and into the most prestigious seats in the hall. There, to her great surprise, she found only one pony: a stallion with a vaguely raffish mane and a gold earring hanging from one ear. “A-ha! It seems, I must congratulate you on a very fine performance. Very versatile,” he enthused. The way he spoke seemed somewhat odd to her; there was something strange about the way he paced his words. “Your receptionist said directors. Plural, Clopin. Where's the rest of them?” the DJ asked, bringing up the rear. She spoke with a certain grudging familiarity. “I am trusted with the responsibility of speaking for those of us who cannot be here today. As you say, though, that number is somewhat disappointing. It has been a long time, Vinyl Scratch,” he replied, drawing out the 'ch'. “I did not expect to see you in this city again.” Vinyl lowered her glasses and scowled. “Believe me, that's an expectation I tried to live up to. What's the verdict?” “Guilty, of course. I kid. Your friend certainly lives up to her reputation. Perhaps a little more than that. We don't have many good cellists nowadays; the youngsters, they live by the violins and the guitar,” he said mournfully, before turning to Octavia and giving her a glowing smile. “For such a talented and beautiful lady, I believe we can make a generous offer.” “Aha. Well, yes. Um. You should probably make it to my talented and beautiful manager. She knows more about the business aspect of these things than I do,” Octavia replied, with a certain amount of discomfort. This was a long way from what she had expected. “Speaking of,” Clopin said, still with the same smile, “I ran into Mizz Nickel Scratch the other day, at one of Lord Twopenny's soirées. Rumour in town has it that you are seeking a reunion, yes?” “No,” the unicorn replied, her voice dangerously level. “Get on with the offer.” “But she is your mother, no? It would be simplicity itself to-” “Mr. Clopin, I am afraid we simply don't have time to discuss this. Due to various circumstances, we booked an early train back to Ponyville. We'll be out of the city before noon. I hate to be rude, but please can we stick to the business at hoof?” Octavia cut in smoothly. Vinyl gave her a grateful nod. “A shame,” Clopin sighed. “I had hoped for a chance to guide you around the city. It is our policy at Canterlot to get to know our potential new stars. Oh well. I assume that you are reporting things to Madame Emi, correct? In that case, please inform her that our offer is whatever the next highest offer is...plus, shall we say, half again.” “Got it. Come on, Tavi. Train to catch and all,” the DJ said, still somewhat sharply. “Oh, right. It's been a pleasure talking to you,” Octavia nodded towards the stallion, before following in Vinyl's hurried footsteps. “Slow down, Vi. I can hardly keep up. I have an instrument to carry, you know.” The unicorn slowed, although she didn't entirely stop until she was well out of the building. Octavia felt her hair being played with, in a way that suggested her friend was far too aggravated to bother with the intricacies of braiding. “Sorry,” Vinyl started, before taking a deep breath. “Didn't think that jerk would be handling the audition.” “Is he that bad? How do you know him, anyway?” “I used to live here before my mom ripped me off. He used to be into punk rock, so we got along. Decent guy, but that's what makes him a jerk. Doesn't know when to quit 'helping',” she snorted. “I can't believe he flirted with you.” “Why not? You don't seem to have any trouble doing it, when you want to,” Octavia remarked lightly, before taking a gentler tone. “Let's go home, Vi. We've done everything we needed to do.” “Yeah. We have. Now that we've got the offers, my manager will look at them and let the right information trickle down to the right ponies. Your maestro will be begging to have you back,” the unicorn said finally, satisfied that her plan was in motion. “Let's get out of this city.” Octavia nodded. In her heart of hearts, she was somewhat sad to have this time end; she'd had fun travelling around the country by train, staying at hotels and enjoying her partner's company. Some of the most enjoyable times in recent memory had been spent in a cosy berth, listening to Vinyl read magazines and occasionally having stupid arguments about sleeping arrangements. However, there always came a time where one needed to go home. While travelling, she thought as they picked their way through the Canterlot streets, they had built a relationship. But when they got home, they could begin building a life.