Syncopation

by Terrasora


The Game

Octavia stared at the glass in front of her. Vinyl’s mystery cocktail was a murky green. A rather strange color considering that none of the drinks used to make it were green.

I think it’s smoking.

Harpo was holding up his own glass, inspecting it against the light of a nearby lantern.

“So, Tavi, Harpo, are you ready to play?”

Octavia sighed slightly. “I don’t know about this.”

Vinyl gave a sigh of her own, in a far more exasperated manner. “C’mon Octy! It’s just a way to clear the air between us, get us to trust each other.” She turned to the composer. “You’re game, aren’t you Harpo?”

Harpo was hardly able to open his mouth before Vinyl interrupted.

“See, totally cool with it! You don’t want to disappoint the poor stallion, do you?”

The cellist absentmindedly twirled her glass.

This would be a great opportunity to establish trust between us. And Fancy Pants did say to trust Vinyl Scratch.

A disbelieving snort sounded in Octavia’s mind. I doubt that Fancy Pants had this in mind.

That’s a given. But what’s the worst that can happen? At most, I’d have to confess to filly-fooling. And that’s hardly a source of embarrassment.

Not an embarrassment to me or Harpo, but what about the rest of Canterlot? Can I trust Miss Scratch to keep a secret?

Of cour—

Vinyl Scratch clapped her hooves in front of Octavia’s face, snapping the cellist out of her stupor. “Hello, Equestria to Octy. Are you gonna play, or what?”

Octavia stared into the shades covering Vinyl’s eyes, seeing only a purple-tinged reflection of herself. “Okay, I’ll play.”

The DJ jumped up, grinning widely and clapping her hooves.

“But,” continued Octavia, “nothing leaves this room.” She gave Harpo a pointed glare for good measure. “Right?”

Vinyl looked horror-struck. “Tavi, I am shocked that you would think such a thing. What kind of pony breaks the Truth, Dare, or Drink code?” The DJ placed one hoof over her heart, raised the other, and began to recite The Code. “‘All answering of Truths and doing of Dares and drinking of Drinks stay within the game. Unless they’re really funny and you have them recorded. Then they go on HayTube.’”

Octavia groaned and sank into her seat. I immediately regret this decision.

***

Three fully grown ponies, two of which were well-known among the Canterlot Elite for their talents, sat in a rough circle. Vinyl had insisted that they sit on the floor while playing.

“Okay then, who’s going first?” asked Vinyl.

Octavia and Harpo glanced at each other.

The cellist spoke first. “We were under the impression that you would start.”

Vinyl looked shocked. “Me? What fun would that be? The best part of Truth, Dare, or Drink is going ‘Oooooo’ after somepony asks a question. One of you two has to start.”

The classical musicians shared another look, not quite understanding the DJ’s thought process.

But then again, who does? thought the more cynical side of Octavia.

“Well,” Harpo said hesitantly, “if it’s all the same to you, then I’ll start.”

Vinyl nodded, her trademark grin widening the slightest bit.

Harpo paused for a moment, unsure of how to start. “Okay… So,” he began to turn to Octavia, met the grey mare’s eyes, and decided to preserve his health by continuing to turn, “Vinyl!”

The DJ grinned expectantly.

“Um… Truth or Dare?” asked Harpo.

“Let’s start off with Truth.”

“Okay… So… How,” the composer scratched his head with a hoof, “Um… How was your day?”

Harpo was a rather awkward pony.

Vinyl facehoofed. “Harpo, that’s not a Truth, Dare, or Drink question. That’s small talk. We do NOT make small talk in Truth, Dare, or Drink!”

The stallion decided to go on the defensive. “Well, I don’t exactly have much experience with this game!”

Octavia smiled slightly. I’m rather enjoying this.

Vinyl held up a hoof. “Okay, composer-colt, point taken. Here, Tavi and I will show you how it’s done.”

I may have spoken too soon.

Vinyl turned to the cellist. “Truth or Dare?”

Octavia was desperately trying to find a way out. “Wouldn’t this technically be the first question? I thought that you didn’t want to be the first one to ask something.”

But Vinyl waved a dismissive hoof. “Nope, Harpo asked a question. A really bad question, but still a question. So Octy, Truth or Dare?”

Caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hoof, Octavia already knew what Vinyl would ask if the cellist said ‘Truth’. She even knew how to answer that particular question. And yet, I can’t bring myself to say Truth.

But if Octavia replied with ‘Dare’… she shuddered slightly at the thought.

Vinyl was reaching out, prepared to clap her hooves in front of Octavia’s face. Partly to bring the grey mare back to reality, partly because it was fun.

Unfortunately, Octavia’s eyes refocused, glancing at the white hooves slowly inching towards her face.

“T-Truth, Miss Scratch,” Octavia slightly stammered. “And please don’t poke me. It would be rather strange if you did.”

Vinyl’s hooves whipped back to her side. “I wasn’t gonna poke you! Just snap you back to reality. And another thing, haven’t I already told you to call me ‘Vinyl,’ like a Celestillion times?!”

“That’s not a real number,” said Harpo.

“That’s beside the point!” The DJ turned back to Octavia. “Okay, I have a question.”

Here it comes, thought Octavia.

“Why the hay do you call me ‘Miss Scratch’?”

The cellist blinked. Right, was not expecting that question. Not that I’m complaining.

“Why do I call you Miss Scratch?” Octavia repeated the question. “Well, to be polite I suppose.”

Vinyl shook her head. “It’s not polite if it annoys the living Tartarus out of me, now is it? I want another answer.”

Octavia thought for a few moments. “I don’t know you well enough to call you by your first name.”

"But I’ve asked you to call me by my first name!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I actually know you.”

Vinyl began to argue, but thought better of it. I’m not gonna be able to get through to her. The DJ laid down on the carpet.
“Okay, then let’s change that. Now it’s your turn to ask me a question.”

This mare has simultaneously the simplest and most ingenious mindset, thought Harpo if there’s a problem then ‘change that.’ He looked between Octavia and Vinyl. I wish I had a bag of popcorn.

Octavia, meanwhile, had taken the time to come up with a question. “So, Truth or Dare?” she asked the DJ.

“Truth.”

“In that case, tell us about your cutie mark. You seem to be infatuated with your status as a DJ but your cutie mark is not a record or a speaker or anything of the sort.”

Vinyl smiled slightly. “Well, yeah. Producing or DJ-ing isn’t my special talent.” She shifted a bit, allowing the other two to more fully see the bridged eighth notes on her flank. “The way I figure, my talent’s in making music in general. Not just dubtrot or techno, but being able to get songs out of my head and onto paper.”

Harpo nodded appreciatively. He could sympathize with a fellow composer.

“But that’s not all,” continued Vinyl. “The eighth notes are backwards, facing the left instead of the right. That kinda confused me for a little bit.” Vinyl chuckled a little. “Isn’t it weird? I mean, it’s my cutie mark, which is basically supposed to be me in a nutshell, and I had no clue what it meant. Anyway, I kept on writing music and for a little bit I thought composing was the most boring fucking thing.”

Octavia flinched slightly at the cuss word, but did not interrupt Vinyl’s thoughts.

Not that an interruption would have done much to stop the DJ. “Now what the hell was I supposed to do? Practicing my special talent made me wish that I was back in school! And I hated school; I already knew that I would drop out at my first chance. Anyway, I ended up getting so frustrated that I tried to give up composing altogether. So I wrote the most awful thing that I could, with no key and with double-sharps and with big-ass intervals between notes and I threw in the most annoying repeating noise in the basses.” She wiped a tear away, although Octavia couldn’t tell whether she was actually crying or not. “That was my first dubtrot song. It was so beautiful.

“But anyway, I found out that my talent was in writing the boring things that snobby ponies listen to,” Vinyl grimaced at the thought, “and in completely turning music on its head and making the gloriousness that is dubtrot. So yeah, that’s what my cutie mark means,” she concluded sheepishly.

Octavia and Harpo nodded, taking in the new information. Harpo raised his hoof as though he was a still student

“So Vinyl, you dropped out of school?”

“Sorry Harpo, can’t answer that. It’s not your turn.” Vinyl grinned widely. “Actually, it’s my turn. And I’ve got a question for you,” she said to Harpo.

“Really? Excuse me while I contain my excitement,” deadpanned the composer.

Vinyl simply smiled. “Truth or Dare?”

“Well, since everypony else seems to be choosing Truth, I choose…” Harpo pretended to think for a moment. “Truth.”

“Okay, so Fancy Pants said that you and Octy drink. What’s your worst drinking story?”

“Oh, dear…” Harpo was seriously considering downing the mystery cocktail.

Octavia, on the other hoof, always found the stallion’s drunken stories amusing. “Go ahead Harpo, you have hundreds of these stories and you can’t even remember the very worst ones.”

“Oh please, it’s not like you have a higher tolerance than I do!” replied Harpo hotly.

“That’s a blatant lie and we both know it.”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point.” Harpo sighed and ran a hoof through his mane. “Alright then, since I’d rather not drink whatever poison Vinyl has concocted—”

“It’s only legally a poison,” muttered Vinyl.

“—I suppose that I’ll tell a story. Actually, I don’t even think that you’ve heard this one, Octavia.”

The cellist arched an eyebrow and subconsciously picked up her glass. She had grown used to hearing these stories while relaxing, normally accompanied by Harpo and a glass of alcohol.

Harpo noticed this but decided against saying anything. “Right, so this one is relatively recent. About two or three months ago, I believe. I was at Lyra’s party, whatever her reason for throwing it was.”

Lyra, thought Octavia, that was the unicorn’s name.

“Most of the class was there,” continued Harpo, “minus you Octavia. As I recall, there was a documentary on Louis Hoofstrong playing that evening.”

Vinyl took a moment to make fun of Octavia. “You missed out on a party to watch a documentary?”

Octavia turned slightly pink. “It was a very interesting documentary!”

Harpo smirked. “One that you had already watched. Three times.”

The grey mare’s face continued to redden. “That didn’t make it any less interesting. Just… shut up and tell your story!”

“Well, as I was saying, Octavia wasn’t there, but nearly everypony else was. There was one mare in particular that I was paying special attention to, although you won’t get her name out of me without another turn.”

Octavia thought back. Harpo had a tendency for crushes, constantly asking the cellist for advice on understanding mares, secretly dedicating pieces to the object of his affection, and then having his “love” fizzle out a few weeks later. Two or three months ago would have been… “Beauty Brass, right?”

Harpo blanched slightly but attempted to cover himself. “Maybe. I’m not saying that it was or it wasn’t.”

The two mares shared a look.

The lone male, realizing he was now in hostile territory, cleared his throat. “But let’s say that it was. I spent a good amount of the party trying to speak to her and failing horribly either through my own fault and because, as we all know, the universe hates me. I gave up eventually, opting instead to speak with Lyra and Frederick Horseshoepin, who’s a pianist in our class,” he added for Vinyl’s benefit.

“Anyway, the party eventually wound down. There were only about ten ponies left, Frederick, Lyra, Beauty, and myself among them. By that point I was completely and utterly wasted and had managed to confess my crush to Lyra and Frederick. They were about as sober as I was and encouraged me to pursue my crush. So I did. Or attempted to at least. I remember getting up to walk over to Beauty Brass, falling two or three times on my way there. Possibly four times… Okay, no more than five which is rather good considering that I had to walk about twenty feet.

When I finally got to Beauty I tried to tell her exactly how I felt. The way I remember it, my confession was worthy of a Nobel Prize and any mare who heard it would immediately drop everything to be with me. And I actually did get a kiss out of it. But it turns out that I wasn’t kissing Beauty Brass, I actually wasn’t anywhere near her.

I was making out with Bon Bon, who had also become rather inebriated.”

Octavia burst out laughing. “Oh, Harpo… that… how?” Octavia’s inarticulate speech was overwhelmed by another fit of laughter.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Vinyl. “You were making out with the mare who runs that sweets shop? How’d she get there?”

“Bon Bon is Lyra’s fillyfriend. And Lyra is rather… protective of her. So when Lyra saw me making out with her fillyfriend she was furious. She picked me up with her magic, pulled me towards her and then bucked me away again. Repeatedly. Lyra is surprisingly strong.” Harpo rubbed his lower back, remembering the pain.

Vinyl giggled slightly. “Okay Harpo, that counts as an embarrassing drunk story. Good job.”

Octavia nodded, small bursts of laughter still coming out. Her stomach slightly hurt and, noting that there was a glass in her hoof, decided that drinking was a good way to settle it. Octavia, paying no attention to what was in her glass, raised it to her lips and drank.

Bad idea.

The alcohol started pleasantly enough, feeling like any other drink as it sped down the grey mare’s throat. She calmly put the glass back on the table and looked up at the other two ponies. She was met by two wide grins.

“What?”

Both ponies pointed at the glass. Octavia glanced down, noting that about half of the cocktail had disappeared.

“Oh, fu-AAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAH!”

Harpo and Vinyl jumped at Octavia’s sudden outburst.

“Vinyl!” shouted the cellist. “What the hell is in this Discordian drink?!”

“Oh my gosh, you called me Vinyl!” Vinyl opened her hooves.“This calls for a hug.”

“Not until you tell me if I have to go to a poison center!”

“Okay, so that’s a maybe on the hug.”

Octavia clutched her head. “Dear Celestia, it felt like my brain was being hammered by a lemon wrapped in a gold brick.”

Vinyl picked up her own drink and studied it. “Hmmmm… I must’ve mixed it wrong. Anyway, I don’t think you’ll have to go to a hospital or anything. Maybe… On another note, how much would your cello get me if I sold it?”

“That’s not funny,” replied Octavia.

“Hey, I’ve gotta prepare for every situation.”

Harpo held up a hoof, noticing that Octavia had a murderous gleam in her eye, a look that he was all too familiar with. “Shall we get back to the game? I believe that it’s my turn.”

Vinyl nodded. Octavia looked like she was going to argue, but relented.

“Wonderful,” said Harpo, rubbing his hooves together. “Octavia! Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll choose…” Octavia thought for a moment. Harpo will be asking the question. What would Harpo ask me? Something embarrassing no doubt, possibly some kind of story. The cellist’s eyes widened. Oh, he wouldn’t ask that would he?

Octavia glanced at Harpo but could interpret nothing beyond the composer’s slight smile.

He would. Without hesitation.

“I choose Dare, Harpo.”

Vinyl gave a low, “Oooooooo.”

Harpo leaned forward, a glint in his eyes. “In that case, Octavia. I want you to finish all of the drinks,” he lightly tapped the table carrying Vinyl’s cocktails, “on this table.”

The DJ reared back, softly clapping her hooves and letting out another “Ooooooo.”

Octavia grimaced. “I’d rather choose Drink.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” shouted Vinyl. “You can’t chicken out of this. New rule! If you choose Drink then you have to drain everpony’s drink, not just your own.”

“You can’t change the rules like that!”

“Sorry Tavi, those are the house rules. And by the way, dropping out of the game means that you have to drink all the drinks, refill them, and then drink them all again.”

“… You are pure evil.”

***

The game of Truth, Dare, or Drink had devolved into the game of Drink. After Harpo’s Dare, Octavia dared Harpo to do the same. The composer was able to finish the drinks and, in a very slurred voice, dared Vinyl to drink three glasses. The DJ did so easily and, forgoing the question of “Truth or Dare,” bet that Harpo wouldn’t be able to finish two more glasses.

He couldn’t, somehow managing to pass out while still drinking. The mares were able to wake Harpo by splashing water on his face, but he was only conscious long enough to decide that the couch was more comfortable than the floor.

He was now softly snoring on that couch, a dribble of drool clinging to his muzzle.

Only about twenty minutes had passed since they first started their game.

Vinyl and Octavia sat on the floor, the pleasant haze of alcohol settling in their minds.

“Sooooo,” said Vinyl, “Truth or Dare?”

“Vinyl, I think that it’s safe to say that that game is over.”

“Yeah, I figured… Truth or Dare?”

Octavia sighed. “Truth, I suppose.”

“So, you’re a fillyfooler, right?”

Ah, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten Harpo’s slip up. “Yes, Vinyl.”

“Thought so. Harpo’s not very good at keeping secrets, is he?”

“No he is not.”

A few moments passed in comfortable silence.

“Sooooo,” said Octavia, slightly mimicking Vinyl, “Truth or Dare?”

“I thought the game was over.”

“It is. Truth or Dare?”

Vinyl smiled. “Truth.”

“Can I trust you to keep it a secret?”

“Of course, Tavi. What kind of pony would I be if I couldn’t keep a friend’s secret?”

Harpo chose that moment to give a particularly loud snore.

Both of the mares giggled.

Another bout of silence.

“Truth or Dare?” asked Vinyl.

Octavia thought for a moment. “Dare.”

“Ooooooo,” was Vinyl’s response. “Right, then I dare you to kiss me.”

“Pardon me?”

“C’mon, it’s not a game of Truth, Dare, or Drink until somepony gets a kissing dare. What’s wrong, are you chicken?” Vinyl turned to the cellist, puckering her lips and making an obnoxious kissing sound.

Octavia hesitated for a moment, feeling the alcohol slightly clouding her mind. She leaned in towards the DJ.

In all honesty, Vinyl had meant it as a joke; a way to tease the cellist. Not that I’m against it, she is pretty cute. The unicorn closed her eyes slightly, feeling Octavia get closer and closer.

“Drink,” said the cellist, moments before their lips made contact. Vinyl was actually able to feel Octavia’s breath as she spoke the single word.

The DJ opened her eyes, her lips still comically puckered.

Octavia was leaning back, a fresh drink in her hoof and a smirk on her face. She drank the cocktail, shivering as the alcohol settled in her stomach. The grey mare had grown used to drinking that particular poison.

“Octy,” said Vinyl. “You are the biggest tease in the history of teases. I don’t think I can trust you anymore.”

“Whatever, Vinyl.”

“No, I’m being serious!” The rapidly widening grin on the DJ’s face said otherwise. “I’m offended. I may have to swear a vendetta on you. You know what, I will!”

Octavia watched with an amused expression as Vinyl dramatically pointed a hoof at her. “One day, you’re going to want to kiss me. You’re going to want to kiss me so badly because you’ll have realized how incredibly awesome I am. And I’ll let you. And then you’ll want to kiss me even more than that. And I’ll let you. BUT there will come a time, years from now when this is just a hazy memory, when you’ll look up at me with longing and shout ‘Kiss me!’ and I’ll look down and whisper, ‘Drink.’ This is my vendetta.”

The grey mare placed a hoof to her chin, considering something. She stared at the ground, looking like a living version of ‘The Thinker.’ She held that pose for a full minute, then looked up at Vinyl with a gleam in her eyes.

“Shut up, Vinyl.”

***

Fancy Pants escorted his wife out of the party. He had come here directly after his meeting with Hoity Toity, maneuvering through the crowd of well-to-do Canterlotians with smiles and jokes aplenty.

Fleur de Lis had never seen him so upset. Her husband did not make numerous jokes and laugh boisterously, her could normally be found serenely walking from pony to pony, having actual conversations rather than smiling, clapping somepony on the back and moving on.

Something had clearly annoyed him.

The mask came off as soon as husband and wife had entered their carriage. Fancy Pants placed his head on the window, relishing in the glass’s coldness.

“Hoity Toity?” asked Fleur.

An affirmative grunt was Fancy Pants’s response.

“I see. Was he as uncaring and elitist as always?”

Another grunt, this time accompanied by a thud as Fancy Pants softly banged his head against the glass.

“Ah, it’s about Vinyl, isn’t it?”

The husband pulled away from the glass, turning towards his wife. “Yes. He believes that she is ‘dead weight’. He believes that a living, breathing pony can be ‘dead weight.’” Fancy Pants felt his anger build up. “He didn’t even bother to learn her name. Simply judged her by her past.”

Fleur de Lis scooted closer to her husband, nuzzling against him. “You can’t say you didn’t expect it. Prejudice, as we both know, is a common occurrence in Canterlot. But we can deal with it, we have dealt with it. Preconceptions are little before an actual show of talent and effort. And your musicians, dear, certainly have both talent and the effort to back it up.”

Fancy Pants sighed. “We realize that, but will anypony else?”

“Fancy Pants, everypony else will realize that.”

But the stallion was reluctant to let go of his anger. “Not Hoity Toity.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Oh, nobody gives a minotaur’s flank about Hoity Toity’s opinion.”

Fancy Pants’s eyes widened in shock but he chuckled at his wife’s words, wrapping a hoof around her and giving Fleur a small squeeze. “Now Fleur, that’s not nice,” he pretended to scold.

“But it’s true. And the musicians will have a chance to prove it in a week.”

The stallion grinned widely, his earlier worries mostly forgotten. “So you got them the job?”

Fleur gave her own proud smile. “Indeed, with hardly any effort. Although I have to wonder how Octavia and Harpo will react to this. It isn’t exactly in their comfort zone.”

“Not to worry, Vinyl has some experience in the area, even if it isn’t her normal ‘club scene.’”

“And only a week to prepare?”

Fancy Pants grinned again, a drive burning in his eyes. “It’s a trial by fire. They either make it or get burned trying.”

“Taking the money you invested with them.”

The stallion shrugged. “You win some, you lose some.”

“My dear husband, have I told you that you’re insane recently?”

“My lovely wife, I’d worry more when you stop calling me insane. Because then we’d both be mad, and where would that leave us?”

“Somewhere in Prance, enjoying some quality food and simply relaxing. There would be no risk at all,” said Fleur de Lis in a wistful tone.

Fancy Pants grimaced. “Exactly. How awful.”

***

Some minutes later, husband and wife walked through the doors of their manor where they found three drunken musicians soundly asleep.

Strangely, the sight was rather endearing, even when Fancy Pants noticed that a few bottles of his alcohol collection were now nearly empty. The married couple shared a look and walked away, returning from opposite directions with an assortment of blankets and pillows.

The three younger ponies were effectively “tucked in,” Vinyl and Octavia sharing a blanket because of how close they were and Harpo still snoring away on what had effectively become his couch.

Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis shared a smile, feeling more like parents than bosses and retired to their own room for the night.