//------------------------------// // 22) She's Got A Way // Story: Music Makes The Heart // by TheVulpineHero1 //------------------------------// -She's Got A Way- (Billy Joel) Octavia was still awake when the hands of the clock hit seven that morning. She couldn't sleep, and hadn't. The same had not been true of Vinyl, who had fallen into slumber so deep it was like a coma, only the occasional flick of her tail suggesting she was alive at all. She slept curled into herself, as tiny as possible, like a frightened child. The room still smelled of apples from the night before. Slowly, Octavia let out her breath (which she hadn't even realised she'd been holding) in a great, exhausted sigh. She'd spent most of the night trying to think of a way out of her predicament; when it had been to no avail, she'd moved to watching the hands of the clock move, hoping beyond hope that some wise, unconscious part of her brain would suddenly pop up with the right answer. It hadn't happened. Shortly after half past eight, the unicorn awoke, snapping upright like a coiled spring. She saw Octavia, blinked, and passed her gaze across the rest of the room, not recognising it. The whirring of her mind was almost palpable. “Relax. You're in my bedroom. I'd have cleaned it, but I wasn't expecting to bring you back,” Octavia said, and her voice sounded as it always did. The banality, the sheer mundaneness of it, was comforting. “…I was going to say something about the carpet. But you don't sound like you're up for the comedy routine,” Vinyl murmured, and Octavia wondered what tiny inflection the unicorn had heard that she hadn't. “Let's get breakfast. Then we need to talk.” The kitchen was chilly when they went downstairs, and Octavia wasted no time in putting the kettle on for tea and coffee, whilst Vinyl rummaged through the cupboards in search of cereal and milk. Then they sat facing each other, silent, waiting for each other's permission to begin. “You never answered me last night.” The unicorn lowered her gaze a little. “Didn't know how to phrase it.” “I don't mind how you phrase it, Vinyl. I'll work it out. I'll ask again: what do you think I should do?” Octavia asked, her voice gentle. Vinyl took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but a spark of magic shot across her horn. The bowls rattled as the entire table fought to escape the ground, listing slightly on one side; furiously, the unicorn slammed her hooves down and forced it back to the floor. She paused, took another breath and said, in a wretched, defeated voice: “You should go to Canterlot.” “I thought that was what you'd say. Vi, I-” “No! No, Tavi. Listen. How long have you known me? Maybe a month, right? Feels longer, but that's all it is. Just a month. Your career's gotta last you your whole life. You can't go throwing it away for… for some relationship that's barely old enough to be a fling yet!” Vinyl spat, and her hatred for the herself for saying it was written in every muscle of her face. “Be smart, Tavi. Nopony could blame you for doing it. It's just how it works out sometimes.” “Vinyl. Thank you for being honest, but I can always go to Filly or Manehattan-” Octavia began. “And what? There's hundreds of musicians in Manehattan, Tavi, and most of them are so hard-up they'd kill for a slice of bread. You're good, but you think you can stand out and have your talent recognised in that crowd? What about Filly, huh? You'd be the youngest musician in their orchestra by about ten years. What're you going to do when they all start retiring and the place starts to die on its hooves? You deserve better, Tavi.” Octavia frowned. “Why? It's not like the extra money would make me happier. I've got no use for fame, either. I'd much rather-” The table rattled dangerously again, and Vinyl forced it down once more. “Besides,” she said, almost desperately, “who says you'd be leaving me behind? I mean, I'd have to face my mom sooner or later. I'd rather do it with you there, so I'd come along too-” “Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said, soft, and firm, and full of smoke. Finally, the unicorn met her eye. In Vinyl's gaze, Octavia saw not sadness, nor anger, but fear; fear that she would actually agree, fear of what would happen if she did. “I am not. Going. To Canterlot.” Once more the table struggled to leave the ground, but Octavia pushed it gently, irresistibly to the floor. “A career is a career. But it's not my life, and I won't sacrifice the way I feel to better it. I could be rich, famous and unhappy, or I could stay away from Canterlot. I have chosen the latter.” “But… What are you going to do, then?” Vinyl asked, confused and relieved in equal measure. Octavia let the question ring in her mind. Something was shifting; that wise, unconscious part of her was finally waking up. It was the part that gambled and won every time. It was the part that spoke in treble clefs and staccatos, that whispered in her ear when she played. It acted on impulse, and let itself be kissed in dusty rooms full of instruments. All she had to do was trust it. “…I'm going to go and see your manager. No doubt she has a few suggestions, and I have a few questions to ask her,” Octavia replied finally. She hadn't known she had questions, but now she'd said it, she had quite a lot of them. “You want me to come with?” the unicorn asked. “No. Call it intuition, but I think she'd rather I came alone. Easier to size me up, I suppose. All I want you to do is be here when I get back,” the earth pony said. “Now, where are my sunglasses? I should be wearing them.” “…I trust you, Tavi. Whatever you end up doing, I support it,” Vinyl said, her voice finally returning to an approximation of her normal tone. “Be careful. Emi's clever.” Octavia returned, violet glasses perched on her nose. “Yes, yes. It'll be fine. Could you brush your teeth before I get back? I want to kiss you, and your breath smells of alcohol. Oh, and feel free to use the shower. I'm going now. Wish me luck!” When the door slammed, Vinyl sighed. Barely nine 'o clock in the morning, and already she was exhausted. The thought that they were relying on luck wasn't comforting in the slightest. But then, the ball was out of her court. Alone in an empty house, it was much harder to trust that everything would be fine. Eventually, she shrugged, and went to brush her teeth. The address on the business card led to a small cottage a little way outside of town. Ponyville was only a small village, so it didn't have much in the way of hotels. You could hire a cottage for an evening, but there were only a few, so it was never guaranteed you'd have a spot unless you arranged it well in advance. “Oh, you're very early. I wasn't expecting you to have reached a decision so soon. Please, come in,” Emi said when she opened the door. The interior of the cottage was much as Octavia had predicted it would be: cautiously neutral, with a few carefully placed pictures and statuettes to give it a rustic feel. In the middle of the room was a desk, on which stacks of paper had carefully been arranged; it was there that Emi seated herself. “Are you sure you don't want to spend a little more time thinking about things? Only idiots rush decisions,” Emi said, with the same mix of cheerful abrasiveness she'd had the night before. Octavia smiled politely, and reminded herself: think like Vinyl. “Actually, I haven't made my decision. I was actually hoping to get your take on things. As someone who knows the industry very well, I'm sure your advice would be very helpful.” “Clever girl. Always good to seek an expert opinion. Of course, in this case, the expert opinion would be 'follow the money', so Canterlot's your best bet.” “Sadly, I have already decided for personal reasons that Canterlot would not be the ideal solution, but I appreciate your input. May I ask you a few more questions?” she asked, as innocuously as she knew how. Emi considered for a second, as if weighing the costs and benefits of the action. She shrugged. “I don't see why not.” “Thank you,” Octavia replied. “Well, then. My first question is, quite simply: why are you in Ponyville?” Emi's smile did not change. “To deliver the news to you and Vinyl, of course.” Octavia's smile became chilly. “Miss Emi, I don't believe that at all. There was no reason why you, a busy mare in the music industry with many employees, would have to deliver the news personally. In fact, you had every reason to avoid doing so, seeing as Vinyl makes you drink every time. In addition, you immediately went back to working after you'd told us, so it wasn't as though you didn't have better things to do. Moreover, I happen to know that these cottages need to be booked at least three weeks in advance. You were planning your visit long before I and Vinyl even set out.” “Well, I don't see what all this suspicion is for. Even if I was in Ponyville for any other reason, it would be my business, wouldn't it?” Emi replied. “That it would,” Octavia conceded. “My next question is: how did you predict when the Ponyville music hall would go bust? To say it would go bust is nothing special, but to give it the specific timeframe of six weeks would require you to have seen the company's balance sheet. That information is public, but it takes time to request it from the authorities. Time, and a proactive effort. Even if you used your, shall we say, 'connections' to get that information quickly, it isn't the sort of thing you simply stumble across. And I very much doubt you have time to personally look at the finances of every little music hall in the country, especially ones in little villages like this one.” Emi's smile faded. “What, exactly, are you trying to imply?” “I'm implying nothing. But do you know what I think? I think you have an interest in our music hall, and have done for a while now. I think your real reason for being here is to take a good, long look at it. I think, Miss Emi, that you're interested in buying it out,” Octavia continued. Emi's smile returned, but it was a little more sly, a little self-satisfied. “And why, Octavia, would I want to do that?” “Why not? After all, music halls are expensive to construct, what with having to design around the acoustics. Why not simply pick one up, at greatly reduced prices, when it goes bust? You can renovate it for your own purposes afterwards. Our Maestro has been there for years, and he's always run it the same way; the fact it took so long to go bust, despite his efforts, indicates that a smarter pony could make some profit.” “Very good, Octavia,” Emi said quietly. “You know, I had some ponies watch you two as you went around the country, and their reports were always the same: you were the pony that stood back and let Vinyl do all the talking. Even when I met you yesterday, you were quite content to look on as we talked, not really contributing anything. I took you for one of those quite, airheaded ponies who can play an instrument and not much else. I'm pleased to see that isn't the case.” “Yes, I admit that I sat back and watched as Vinyl did the talking for us. But how do you think I learned how to do this?” Octavia asked delicately. “One of those ponies who observes quietly, then puts what they've learned into action… Good to know,” Emi said, her smile growing wider. “Now, I'll be asking you a question. Where, Octavia, is the real money in the music business?” “Not in the orchestras?” “Correct. The real money is in the singers. A good orchestra performance will attract, perhaps, two hundred ponies. Those two hundred ponies will see it as a rare cultural experience, a once-in-a-while treat. That's for an entire orchestra. Get yourself one good star – just the one – and you can attract thousands of screaming fans, who'll buy merchandise, follow them around the country, worship the ground they walk on. If you set up three concerts in a week, those thousand fans will be at all three of them,” Emi explained, standing up. “Second question. Why am I telling you this?” “Because it relates to your plans for the music hall?” Octavia asked. “Precisely. That music hall is an investment, Octavia. Even the best singers struggle without instruments to back them up. I want that music hall to be a place where I can collect the best of the best in one place, ready to give my stars the support they need. I want it to be a place where I can have tracks recorded without farming it out to private establishments – and those music hall acoustics will help with that. Lastly, I want it to be a place where I can train the next generation of talented musicians, so I always have an edge on the competition,” Emi finished. “That is why I'm here in Ponyville.” Octavia frowned. “I see.” “And now that I've told you, you can leave. I answered your questions. I don't see how it'll help you make your mind up, but there it is,” the mare said, returning to her old cheerful voice. “Unless… You have something else you'd like to say?” It was a challenge. There was no denying it. If she said just the right words, in just the right way, she could make something amazing happen. But she was talking to one of the biggest names in the business, with uncountable faceless employees behind her; if she got this wrong, there was a chance that life as a musician would be made very, very difficult for her. It might be safer to simply walk away. "I'm better," Vinyl shrugged, and put down her magazine. It was a statement, not an opinion. "I look forward to beating you." "My apologies, but you'll be waiting a while," Octavia glared. Octavia was not in the habit of turning down a challenge. She threw back her shoulders, raised her head, looked Emi in the eye, and said, very clearly and firmly: “Hire me.” “Better and better,” the mare murmured, her smile growing ever wider. “What do you have to offer my company?” “Everything,” she said. “If you're aiming to run it as a school, you'll need a manager. For that, you'll need somepony local, who can deal with difficult ponies diplomatically, who knows the premises and who knows how to play music. All those are qualities I possess. Furthermore, I feel your first step will be to recruit promising musicians in the area, most of whom I'm well-acquainted with. And, as I'm sure you'll agree, I'm hardly a pony who should be taken lightly on the intellectual front.” “Straight to the point. You really did pick up a few things from Vinyl. Well, well. Given your performance today, I think I can certainly find a place for you on my payroll. Now, as for the issue of wages. Will the same wage you had at the Ponyville music hall suffice?” “With all the new responsibilities? I think not. I think I'd be looking at Fillydelphia's offer for my services, at the very least,” Octavia sniffed. “That's a fairly big increase you're talking about. Given that I know your priority is to stay in Ponyville, and this post is the only real way to achieve that, I think I can get you for a little bit less,” Emi said, standing up. “But I might be persuaded to stretch to it, with a condition or two.” She narrowed her eyes. “Which is?” “I'll be needing a good cellist to support the vocalists. At present, your duties would be limited to management of the premises and employees themselves. If you were to sign a contract with me to act as an in-house musician as well, I could certainly match Filly's offer.” “Done,” Octavia said. “I wouldn't be satisfied just managing and not playing, anyway.” “Wonderful. I'll have the contracts sent along by the end of the day. I'm looking forward to working with you, Octavia,” Emi said, and held out a hoof to shake. “I'm sure. Next time we meet, we really must have a drink together. I understand it's traditional among your employees.” Vinyl started as the door burst open. She'd looked through Octavia's bookshelves and had selected, at random, The Diaries Of Sam Mule Pepys for some early morning reading. “How'd it go?” she asked, as Octavia all-but-skipped towards her. “Fantastic. Couldn't have gone better. The contracts will be along. You were very helpful,” Octavia said. “Wait. Contracts? What? How was I helpful?” Vinyl asked, blinking. “You're always helpful. Well, most of the time,” she said, and drew the unicorn into a long, lingering kiss. “Good, you brushed your teeth. Did you shower?” “Uh, no?” Vinyl replied, very confused and somewhat out of breath. “Well, come on then. I'm sure there'll be enough hot water for two.” “Wait. Are you serious?” Vinyl asked, one ear flat. “Yes. Strictly for hygienic reasons, of course. Once we're done with the admin this evening I intend to take you out for dinner, and I could use an extra pair of hooves to make sure my mane is clean,” she teased. “Phew. I was getting worried we were moving too fast there,” Vinyl said. “Don't worry. We don't have to rush, Vinyl. I'm not going anywhere,” Octavia replied, with her very brightest smile. “We have all the time in the world.”