Octavia stared at the building before her. It was rather short, especially compared to the other buildings surrounding it, but it somehow was not dwarfed by them. The building seemed to glow, the morning sunlight reflected every which way by glass and stainless steel. Fancy Pants had spared no expense.
But it also had a rather unwelcoming feel about it. Everything was reflected and distorted by its walls and windows. Octavia couldn’t shake the feeling that it was staring at her.
Or maybe it’s some kind of gateway. Ponies have always believed that reflections lead to other worlds.
The grey mare shrugged a shoulder, allowing the case she carried to settle into a more comfortable position. She failed miserably in this, the case’s strap cutting into a particularly sensitive nerve between Octavia’s shoulder and neck.
She winced in pain, cursing slightly as she walked towards the building’s entrance. Stupid double basses. A cello’s weight is nothing to scoff at, but this… this is just ridiculous.
The lobby was sparsely furnished; a few paintings here and there, a couch that was too new to be comfortable and some chairs that would never be comfortable.
Octavia walked to the receptionist’s desk. A shape, whom Octavia could only assume to be the receptionist, was currently rustling through some drawers. The musician gave a small cough before speaking. “Pardon me. I’m supposed to meet with Miss Vinyl Scratch today. I’m one of the musicians that Fancy Pants hired, my name is—“
The shape popped its head over the desk and Octavia was greeted by a grinning brown stallion.
“Good morning, Octavia! I’ve been wondering when you’d show up; Harpo’s been here for a few days already and it’s been at least a week since I last saw you.”
Octavia blinked a few times. “It’s been two days.”
“For you maybe, but I’m pretty sure it’s been a week. Well, we’re probably both right; you know what they say about time.” The Doctor grinned expectantly.
The musician smiled awkwardly.
A few moments passed in this way, until Octavia realized that Doctor Whooves was actually waiting for an answer.
“Er…” said Octavia eloquently “time flies?”
“I suppose that they do say that, even if it isn’t exactly true. You see, time doesn’t fly so much as swim in a kind of… what’s the word… It’s kind of a wriggling, vibrating shake movement.” The Doctor put a hoof to his chin. “Wiggle-waggle? Jiggle-biggle? Bibbly-Bobbly? Jelly Baby? No, I don’t think it was that last one.”
Octavia was stoutly resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow and snap at the Doctor. This strap is going to saw off my leg! “Excuse me Doctor, but where is Vinyl?”
Doctor Whooves pointed in the vague direction of an elevator. “Third floor, fourth door on your right,” he muttered.
The cellist nodded her thanks and trotted to the elevator, straining against the weight of the double bass. She jammed her hoof against the button a good dozen times before the doors mercifully slid open. The Doctor continued to mumble to himself all the while.
Octavia balanced her instrument against an elevator wall and punched the button for the third floor. The doors shut just as the Doctor let out a proud shout of “Wibbly-Wobbly!”
The grey mare shook her head. What a strange pony. But then again, this is the stallion that Vinyl called ‘weird.’ Octavia shivered. I shudder to think of what he can do.
Two pleasant dings and an ineffective self-administered shoulder massage later, Octavia was trudging through the third floor. I hope Harpo’s alright. Two days alone with Vinyl Scratch must have been disastrous for his health. She raised a hoof in front of the fourth door from the right. Actually, Harpo and Vinyl spending two days together would be disastrous for my health.
Octavia knocked on the door and was promptly greeted by the thump of something hitting the floor and a scrambling of hooves. There was some muffled shouting as the door slammed open, nearly knocking the grey mare to the ground and a mass of purple flew out of the room.
“Octavia!” pleaded Harpo from his place around the cellist’s neck. “You have to get me out of here, she’s crazy! I haven’t slept in two days and I’ve only eaten chocolate bars and orange juice! Chocolate and orange juice DO NOT go together!” The composer hid his head in the cellist’s mane. “She ruined orange juice… The monster.” Harpo was on the verge of tears.
The grey mare awkwardly stood, not quite sure what was happening. “Um… I’m sorry?”
Harpo whimpered slightly and nodded into Octavia’s mane.
“It wasn’t that bad!” said Vinyl, appearing in the doorway, “I gave you a Crunch bar!”
The stallion looked up. “You threw that bar at me when I started to fall asleep!”
The DJ shrugged. “Crunch bars are good.”
“It was already opened and it fell on the floor!”
“Five-second rule.”
Harpo looked up at Octavia. “She’s crazy, Octavia. She is absolutely Dog-Barking-Wide-Eyed-Make-Discord-Himself-Proud crazy!” He clutched at the grey mare’s hoof. “Run. We have to run!”
The composer took his own advice, bolting for the elevator. He ended up in the air, wrapped in a pearl white aura, his hooves mightily galloping through nothing.
“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” said Vinyl. She walked back through the doorway, a still struggling Harpo floating before her. “C’mon in, Tavi. ‘Mi workplace es su workplace’, and all that crap.”
Well, thought Octavia hesitantly, this is a rather foreboding start.
***
Octavia looked around the room. It was nearly identical to the lobby, but on a smaller scale and with tables placed in seemingly random places. Balled up music sheets covered the floor amid shattered quills, pools of ink, and empty jugs of orange juice.
Harpo was unceremoniously plopped onto a couch. He scrambled to his hooves, but was quickly beaten down by a pillow wrapped in Vinyl’s aura.
“No, bad Harpo,” scolded Vinyl, “you can’t leave yet. Take a nap or something while I work with Tavi.”
“Right,” said Harpo dreamily. “Nap. Sleep. I can do that.” He turned around, facing the couch. Within minutes, the composer’s breathing became steady.
“Vinyl?” asked Octavia. “What exactly happened here these past few days?”
The DJ glanced around the room. “Nothing you need to worry about.” A stack of papers levitated across the room, settling in front of Octavia. “This is what we’ve been working on, or at least the clean copies of it.”
Octavia took the papers, quickly scanning through the dots and lines she would have to play.
“We won’t be able to do any big band jazz since we’ve only got a bass and a piano,” continued Vinyl. “You did re-learn how to work a bass, right?”
The grey mare nodded absentmindedly, preferring to concentrate on the music. It seemed simple enough; a few moments of virtuoso playing, but nothing outside of her talent range. Why was Harpo so worried?
“Hey, hey Octy!” Vinyl was waving a hoof in front of Octavia’s face.
The cellist blinked a few times. “Oh, I’m sorry Vinyl. Just a bit distracted by the music.”
“Yeah, whatever,” said the DJ, waving a hoof. “Just get out your bass and let’s hear you play.”
Octavia nodded, glad to be relieved of her burden. She took the bass from its case and reached for the bow.
“Woah, woah, woah,” said Vinyl. “What’re you doing?”
Octavia looked up. “Getting ready to play?”
“No bow, just your hooves and the strings. The bow’ll just get in the way.”
The grey mare hesitated slightly, but followed Vinyl’s order. Octavia stood on her hind legs, balancing herself against the bass. It still felt rather awkward. I miss my cello.
Vinyl levitated a page of music, holding it in front of Octavia. She motioned with a hoof.
Octavia took a deep breath and strummed at the strings. A quarter note followed by a triplet, repeating for a few measures. It was a bass line, a foundation for the rest of the piece; hypnotic, like a heartbeat for the rest of the song.
Vinyl snatched the paper, muttering to herself all the while. The beat came to a halt; Octavia watched with a shocked expression as the DJ quickly crossed out and re-wrote a section. The music sheet retook its place.
“Do it again,” said Vinyl.
And so Octavia did. Again and again, getting a little farther into the song every time, but never more than three or four measures would pass before Vinyl scratched something out of her work and the musician would have to start all over. The music had a hypnotic effect, resounding through the small room. Always the same quarter note and triplet rhythm, followed by a slight flutter as the sheet music flew through the air and the scratching of Vinyl’s quill.
Octavia had to squint to make out the notes. Flecks of ink seemed like grace notes, a careless line could actually be a slur; Vinyl had to stop and correct the musician multiple times. The DJ never yelled, but her naturally loud voice spelled out exactly what Octavia was supposed to play.
The grey mare always delivered, taking the changes in stride and slowly learning how to differentiate between notes and stray quill marks. Vinyl remained impassive, moving only to stifle a yawn or to reposition her sometimes drooping head.
Hours passed as Octavia struggled to keep her balance and play the music Vinyl had written.
The DJ was correcting furiously, drops of ink flying all around, tongue slightly sticking out of the side of her mouth. Octavia would have found the sight rather endearing if her hind legs weren’t crying out in pain.
Vinyl’s quill broke, sending ink out in every direction. “Shit,” cursed the DJ. “Alright, Octy, that was my last quill so take a break while I try to dig another one out of somewhere.”
Octavia nodded gratefully, placing her bass on the ground before shakily walking over to a chair. She watched as Vinyl rummaged through various drawers, flinging out everything that wasn’t a quill.
She hasn’t even really changed the music, just a slur here, a sharp there. But she does it every few minutes! I’m surprised Harpo isn’t dead.
“Ah-Ha!” shouted Vinyl, holding a quill in triumph. “C’mon Octy, let’s get back to work.” The DJ began to walk back to her place, stifling a huge yawn as she did so. She stumbled slightly.
“Vinyl, are you okay?” asked a concerned Octavia.
The other mare was fixing her glasses, trying to hide her trip behind a grin. “Just fine, Octypus! Now let’s get to”— another treacherous yawn escaped Vinyl’s lips — “that music again.”
Octavia nodded reluctantly. I should say something. Get her to stop for a while. Harpo is basically dead at the moment; Vinyl should be at least as tired.
But she didn’t say anything.
Instead, Octavia took to her bass, her right hoof colored slightly pink from plucking the metal strings. They worked without speaking for a little more than an hour. Vinyl continued her random corrections, pausing every once in a while to lift her glasses and rub at her eyes. Each time she did so, Vinyl kept her eyes tightly shut.
But Octavia wasn’t really concerned with Vinyl’s eye color at the moment. The grey mare cared more about the heavy bags under the DJ’s eyes, evidence that she was running herself ragged. Another heavy yawn wracked its way through Vinyl Scratch.
“Vinyl,” Octavia began hesitantly.
Vinyl held up a hoof. “No.”
“Pardon?”
“I know what you’re going to say, and no, I’m not going to rest or take a nap or anything. I don’t need it.” Vinyl’s protests were slurred.
Part of Octavia wanted to yell at Vinyl. Of course you need it! You’re about to fall over! “Are you sure?” she said aloud.
Vinyl nodded, her purple shades very slowly sliding from her face. She viciously pushed them back into place, refocusing on the sheet music.
Her quill, normally furiously flitting from note to note, paused inches away from the paper. A few drops of ink fell from the feather. Vinyl looked up at Octavia.
The DJ tried for a jovial grin. It came out as more of a grimace. “Don’t worry, Tavi, I’m fine. I’ve stayed awake for longer than this.”
Octavia frowned, unconvinced.
“I’m fine. Besides, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Octavia’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Pardon me?”
“Well, this isn’t exactly your type of music. This little bit of practice makes it pretty clear.” Vinyl shrugged. “Don’t worry though; you’ll get the hang of it.” The DJ paused. Shit, that came out wrong.
She looked up at Octavia. For a split second Vinyl saw pain in that face; a small flash in Octavia’s eyes that betrayed her wounded pride. Then it was gone, replaced by a mask of professional indifference.
But Vinyl knew what she had seen.
“Look, Tavi,” began Vinyl.
“No Miss Scratch, I fully understand what you mean. This really isn’t my genre of music, and I’ll be glad to take any advice you may have.” Octavia gave a small and polite smile.
But Vinyl wasn’t stupid. The smile was forced; it was a face that Octavia was used to wearing, one that she wore well, but Vinyl could tell. The grey mare’s smile was a puppet’s smile.
“Tavi, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” groaned the unicorn. “I just mean… The music needs something more, something like…” Vinyl spun a hoof in circles, trying to find the words.
Octavia simply nodded, balancing herself against her bass, her smile never slipping. “Of course. Shall we continue?”
Vinyl rubbed at the space between her eyes. “No! Octy, I want to apologize; I really don’t like the way I sounded.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m fine with it.”
“No, I do. And no, you’re not!”
Octavia’s eyebrows began to knit together. “Miss Scratch, if I say I’m fine with it, than I am fine with it.”
“But you’re not!” Vinyl said loudly. “I’m back to being ‘Miss Scratch’ because I said the wrong thing!”
The grey mare was scowling now. “Miss Sc—Vinyl. Don’t apologize if I tell you that you don’t have to apologize.”
“But I feel like I should say sorry.” Vinyl was getting a bit heated. “Look, just accept the damn apology!”
“But there’s no reason for it!”
The door opened quietly, and the Doctor entered, carrying a platter of cups. “Anyone care for a drink?”
The two mares stared at the intruder. Time Turner noted the slightly pink hue in their faces. “Right, bad timing,” he said, inching towards a nearby table. “I do that a lot. It’s a habit; I just kind of pop in when I’m least expected. Sometimes that makes good things happen,” the mares were still glaring at him, “but this isn’t one of those times.” He put the platter down. “Well, I’ll just… leave this here. If that’s okay.” The Doctor was little more than a brown blur as he raced through the exit.
Vinyl levitated a cup towards herself, finding that it was filled with rather cold coffee. She drank it anyway.
Octavia stayed silent, going through the motions required for the music.
Both of them held their positions for a time, not making eye contact.
Vinyl rubbed at her eyes and gave a small sigh. “Let’s call it a day.”
Octavia bristled. “I can still keep playing.”
“Yeah well, I can’t,” snapped the DJ.
The grey mare scowled, putting her bass on the floor. She put the instrument away, leaving the room with her head held defiantly upward.
The door closed.
Vinyl’s head drooped significantly.
“Well, you bucked that one up.” Harpo was still laying on the couch, facing away from the room, but he was clearly awake.
Yeah, this is what I fucking need right now, thought Vinyl. “Thanks Harpo, I hadn’t noticed.”
The composer spoke into the couch, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Really? I thought it was pretty obvious.” He gave a crude imitation of Vinyl. “‘Just accept the damn apology!’”
The DJ leapt to her hooves, seriously considering hitting Harpo. “It’s her fault! All she had to do was say ‘It’s okay’ or ‘Apology accepted’ and we’d still be here working on music!”
Harpo sat up and turned towards Vinyl with a serious expression, one that the DJ hadn’t even seen while they were working on music. “Vinyl Scratch, I have known Octavia for years now and she has never once accepted an apology of mine.”
Vinyl opened her mouth, but Harpo held up a hoof.
“That doesn’t mean that she’s never forgiven me. And the Royal Sisters know that I've done plenty of things that have required Octavia's forgiveness."
The unicorn stood still, a scowl still clear on her face. “She just had to say ‘It’s o-FUCKING-kay!’”
Harpo remained impassive. “Vinyl, let me tell you about Octavia Philharmonica.”
***
Octavia walked out of the room, silently fuming. Honestly, what a stubborn mare. How hard is it to not apologize when no apology is necessary? Octavia pressed down on the elevator call button. The doors quickly slid open. What do I care if somepony tells me that a musical genre outside of classical is different from what I normally play? It’s simply a fact! The elevator doors slid open again, and Octavia stepped out into the lobby. And I am a professional; I can take criticism, so why apologize for critiquing?! Idiotic.
Engrossed in her thoughts, Octavia did not notice the brown stallion trying to get her attention. The mare crashed into the Doctor.
“Pardon me,” muttered the cellist.
“Not at all. I realized that having you crash into me was probably the only way to grab your attention, and now that I have it I can say what I wanted to.”
Octavia was already halfway to the exit.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I say something and nopony listens.” He trotted after the retreating mare.
But Octavia had returned to her thoughts. But what a condescending remark! ‘Don’t worry though; you’ll get the hang of it.’ As if I’m some kind of foal.
“Octavia.”
‘I’ll get the hang of it,’ of course I’ll get the hang of it! The first time I played a bass in years and I played nearly every note perfectly, exactly as that Vinyl Scratch wrote on the score.
“Octavia.”
Actually, what in Luna’s name could have been wrong with what I played? I did exactly what she asked exactly how she asked for it. And she tells me that I was playing it wrong. How infuriating! What could have possibly been wrong about a song played perfectly?
The Doctor poked Octavia in the ribs. He didn’t put much strength into it, but it was enough. The cellist jumped straight into the air and rounded on the Doctor. “What was that for?!”
The stallion met Octavia’s gaze coolly. “Octavia, I’ve been following you for a few blocks now, trying to grab your attention. It was either this or crashing into you again, and the latter didn’t really work a few minutes ago.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “And, at the risk of sounding rude, what do you want?”
“Well, there’s a candy shop not too far from here. Care for a Jelly Baby? I haven’t had one in ages.”
The eyebrow went further up the cellist’s brow. “Don’t you have to manage the receptionist’s desk?”
“I’m tech support; I was only at the receptionist’s desk because she had to take the day off. Not sure why. But that’s beside the point. Candy shop?”
Octavia shook her head. “I’m not in the mood for sweets.”
“Oh come now; every mood is a mood for sweets! Chocolate when you’re feeling down, soft candy when you’re energetic, hard candy when you can afford to calm down. And Jelly Babies! Don’t get me started on Jelly Babies.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”
“Well, that’s a shame. But seeing as we’re already in front of the shop, why don’t you come in anyway?”
Octavia glanced up. The Doctor had subtly led them to the entrance of a rather simple red-brick building. Different displays of chocolates, candies, and cakes could be seen through two large windows. The entire shop seemed to be suffused with a warm glow. A white sign hung above the doorway, the words “Bon Bon’s Confectionary” written in pink and mint-green striped letters.
The Doctor opened the door slightly. “C’mon. I’ll tell you a story to help clear your mind. Perhaps something about Vinyl Scratch.” He entered the shop. The quiet sound of a small bell rang out.
Octavia sighed and followed. The sound of a tinkling bell marked her entrance.