Twilight looked around the club with a wide-eyed wonder. The lights were still being set, and the floor lay completely empty. And up on the stage, DJ PON-3, or, as she had recently come to know, Vinyl Scratch, was setting up her “rig”.
It was pretty impressive how much the white unicorn could hold at once. Preamps, cables, synthesizers, three effects racks, at least twenty cables and four large speaker stacks revolved around her in a convoluted choreography that hypnotized and amazed, all without the mare seeming to break a sweat or stop for one instant the rhythms that danced through her hooves.
In the few hours she had gotten to know Vinyl, Twilight had learned a few things. Vinyl never stopped dancing, whether it was a single hoof tapping out subtle polyrhythmic figures against a cushion on the train or an all-out shuffle through the busy sidewalks of Manehattan. Vinyl was a great conversationalist. She could go on for hours about anything at all, eager to offer what she knew and learn more in an instant, asking pointed and intelligent questions about the few things Twilight knew more about, and offering a fresh viewpoint on many of Twilight’s current studies. Hours had passed by in a delightful blur of the latest magical theories, set to the compelling beat of the engine’s pistons and Vinyl’s tapping hooves. It was a delightful, new experience. Much as she loved her friends, she couldn’t have these kinds of in-depth discussions with her. After half an hour, Rarity would lose track of what was what and hurriedly excuse herself to something else. Pinkie would eventually lose interest, Applejack and Rainbow Dash would stop her before she even started her “egghead talk”, and Fluttershy would sit and wait silently for her to be done before admitting nervously that she “didn’t really understand magic that well, sorry.” It was nice, having a friendly talk about tangential matrices and proper timing arrays on the household spells of Mayflower the Efficient.
And it was nice getting to know the mare behind the shades, a new side to the DJ. At Shining’s wedding, DJ PON-3 had come across as a talented and almost militantly professional performer. She kept a neutral grin and even voice throughout the rehearsal, changing whatever she was requested, making careful, polite suggestions on performance technique and ways to overcome stage fright, while somehow remaining aloof and untouchable. When Twilight had seen her on the train car, she had her reservations about taking the unoccupied seat beside her. It had been the risk with the greatest payoff since going to Ponyville.
When they got their luggage and left the steamy platform, Vinyl had offered a VIP backstage to her gig, and Twilight had happily agreed. Of course, on the way to the club, Vinyl had given her a tour of the “scene” in downtown Manehattan, complete with her colorful commentary and odd jargon. They stopped for amazing Istallion food at a dingy hole-in-the wall with dim lights and amazing service. Words flowed between them as generously as their wine, a dusky house red that went down smooth and potent. Vinyl spoke volumes with her expressive magenta eyes as she told hilarious stories of life in the music business, her hooves gesticulating wildly to accompany the madcap misadventures. Many details escaped her, and some of the situations described made no sense to her whatsoever, but Twilight for once was content to listen. She was alright with being confused tonight, she was alright with feeling uneducated for once. It finally hit her while Vinyl was halfway through a tangent about skinny-dipping with Sapphire Shores on her first big tour. Twilight felt comfortable around Vinyl. She had known her for less than a full day, and she already felt as though she could trust the musician with her deepest secrets.
As ponies filled the dance floor, Twilight stayed close to the stage, her eyes riveted on the performer. Vinyl had receded, allowing PON-3 to have prominence. In front of the crowd, she had adopted a predatory, griffonic energy, prowling voiceless across the stage to deafening roars. She looked right at Twilight, laserlights glinting off her shades, and gave her an easy grin and the little twist of her neck that meant she was winking. Her horn lit, and without any warning, the music started.
It was unlike any other music Twilight had ever heard. The chords flowed smoothly and naturally, yet defied any harmonic system she knew. Zebric influence showed in the melody, but the arpeggiated countermelodies interplayed in a unique tonality, some mode of melodic minor. She shook her head and stopped trying. Twilight was out of her depth, and for once she was glad for it. With the music so foreign, she couldn’t distract from it with analysis. The beat was addicting, crawling under her skin and enticing her to dance, unmindful of the crowd around her, of their judgmental eyes. And the music grew in intensity, filling her with an enjoyable tension, her eyes on the unicorn above her, on the feral grin and agressive movements, the mixing board and flashing lights. Finally, when her mind could take no more of the pulsating, layered madness in her ears, there were eight beats of total silence... and the music ROARED.
Twilight screamed with it, because of it, for it... and there was no doubt in her mind that the pony onstage had changed her in the six hours they had spent together, had thrown her world askew, had stolen away her heart with her effortless charm endless wit. Twilight was out of her depth, and she had never been so glad of it.