In a black as dark as pitch, engulfed by the hiss of dry ice and the flicker of lurid strobes, Vinyl Scratch closed her eyes behind mirrored lenses and grinned a hedonist's grin. She sat, a sore-hoofed tyrant at her turntable, spinning the dancers here and there like marionettes on whirling strings as they moved to the iron command of the beat. You could lose yourself on nights like these, she knew; forget your dreams and troubles both, become deaf to all but the song. That was where the magic lay, in that vast grey realm between control and oblivion. She let the music overpower her, dragged it to heel only to lose it again, kept it hovering just inside her reach and felt it thrashing to escape. She was more than the conductor, more than the conduit, part and parcel of what she was trying to create.
Below, the partygoers melted into a viscous blur of manes, coats, and hooves. It was impossible to see the colours of their eyes, or the contours of their faces; they had ceased to be ponies, and become the crowd. On weary legs, their hooves skittering across varnished wood as the building vibrated with sound, they danced a dance that knew no distance or difference, a dance that would engulf queens and commoners alike. A mother could dance alongside her own daughter and never realise it, blinded by the dark and the heat and the sound.
For hours without pause Vinyl fought her demons and let the sound stay barely within her control, balancing it on the tips of her hooves and daring it to break free. Every time the volume swelled, the crowd swelled with it, breath bated to see if this was the time, if this was the moment that her finesse would fail her and the storm would break beneath her gaze. And every time she would keep them hanging on the edge, dancing over the precipice, before reeling them back in and laughing at their faithlessness. They were hers, the music and the crowd both, and she would do with them what she wanted. It wasn't until dawn broke that she finally relented, and let the beat spiral out of control into one last, frenetic motion.
When all had fallen still, she took off her glasses, wiped the sweat from her brow, and let the smile play across her face a while longer. Her legs hadn't stopped trembling when she began the long walk home.
A wave of cool air greeted her as she opened the door to the apartment. It was the warm season in Manehattan, when lemonade stands sprouted like mushrooms on the streets and bankers boiled in their suits. Even early in the morning, heat seemed to pour off the roads in thick, shimmering waves. But the apartment was always cool and shaded, and the heat faded by nightfall.
The apartment itself was nothing special. It would be de rigueur, but even that would be too fancy; bland was the word, bland and beige and boring without measure. Just a box to put ponies in, really. That was how Vinyl thought of it, like she thought of all temporary accommodation. Just boxes, in different places and with different owners. It wasn't important. What was important was the content of the box.
“Octavia?” she called, loudly enough to be heard but quietly enough that it didn't echo in the empty space. “I'm back.”
The earth pony came to meet her, her dark mane only half-combed and her coat still ruffled from sleep. It made no difference. There was elegance there even in the disarray, somewhere in the slope of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin. She smiled wryly.
“What would you have done if I were asleep?” she asked, in a voice that sounded like smooth marble on a warm summer's day.
“I couldn't hear you snoring, so I figured you weren't,” Vinyl replied, taking off her glasses and grinning.
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Only one pony in this room snores, Vinyl Scratch, and it's not me. Did you have a good night?”
“Mm. Good morning, too. It was one of the best sets I've played in a while.”
“You said that last night as well.”
“Can't help it if I'm on a roll. You should have seen them jumping when I started up the new mix. It was crazy,” Vinyl said, and didn't bother to disguise the satisfaction in her voice. “I'm wiped, though. I might just go straight to sleep.”
“Not before breakfast, you don't. I was just about to make some hash browns when you came in, so it won't be long.”
Vinyl nodded. They'd only been staying in Manehattan for a couple of months, but Octavia had quickly taken to the local menu. She had trouble cooking flowers since they were so delicate, but potatoes were another story. She'd also grown fond of iced tea; sure enough, there was a pitcher of it on the living room table, made with honey and slices of lemon for flavour. It was a little too sweet for Vinyl's tastes most of the time, but she poured herself a glass anyway to cool down after the walk.
“How were the samples?” Octavia asked, picking up a knife and starting to dice the potatoes. She handled it with the same deftness as her bow, and her cuts were quick and precise.
“They were great,” the unicorn replied. “Sounded like big band until I added the bass. You and Brass really nailed it.”
Vinyl knew that in the kitchen, Octavia would be smiling. She had trouble believing that a cello and a saxophone could be worked into a drum and bass soundtrack, but that was the kind of city Manehattan was. Cheerful and mournful, high-class and gritty, crowded but lonely. There were maybe a thousand ponies on the streets every day, and not one of them knew each other; the city moved with an endless energy, but everypony seemed tired out by the pace. A city of dreams, where nopony ever slept. That was the city, and that was its music: dichotomies, backbeats and contradictions writ large in every bar, and every octave. That was what Octavia had been sent to learn, and she'd learnt it well.
After a few minutes punctuated with the sound of sizzling potatoes, the earth pony slid two plates of hash browns and a glass of orange juice onto the living room table, before taking a seat opposite Vinyl. “I think they turned out well this time,” she said as she grabbed a fork. “Which reminds me. Would you mind making some of that homemade pizza again? We have just enough ingredients, and I quite liked it last time.”
“What pizza were you eating? Pretty sure I charcoaled the last one,” Vinyl grumbled.
“Oh, it wasn't that bad. Although, perhaps my taste buds have shrivelled up from eating too many carbonised daffodils, hm?”
“Fine, fine. Like I'd say no anyway,” the unicorn replied, yawning a little. “You cooked breakfast, so I'll cook dinner. It's only fair.”
“Thank you, Vi. Now, I'd better get dressed for work. We're still rehearsing the score on that new musical, and the director keeps hanging around the music hall and generally being a terror. Honestly! You'd think she would focus on her own side of the performance rather than worrying about ours,” Octavia sighed, and pushed away an empty plate. “I'll do the dishes when I get back in the afternoon, so don't worry about them if you want to get some rest.”
Vinyl nodded, and privately resolved to do the dishes anyway. She worked at night and Octavia worked in the day, but she was usually far less tired when she got home from work than Octavia was. That was the pay-off for being a headline act in a decently-sized city. Opening for a big-namer could be a significant career boost by itself, so there was never any shortage of up-and-coming artists willing to be the warm-up act, and there was usually one of the older ponies on the circuit there to give the body of the set before she came in for the climax. Overall she was only on the job for a few frantic hours a night, although she sometimes played past her set until morning. She still got tired, because being in a club did that, but not as bad as if she'd had a nine to five job.
“There. How do I look?” the earth pony asked, stepping out of the bedroom/ She'd changed into a black blazer and red cravat, the uniform of the Manehattan orchestra.
“You know how I think you look,” Vinyl replied, a touch lazily. They had this discussion every day, and they hadn't yet tired of it.
“I suppose, but you're biased. If I came out wearing skis and a monacle, you'd still tell me I looked great,” the cellist teased.
“If you want an unbiased opinion, there's a mirror in the bathroom. You'll get pretty much the same answer.”
“I'll take your word for it, I suppose. I'll see you when I get back,” Octavia said finally. She took a second to kiss Vinyl softly on the lips, and rushed out of the apartment in an attempt to get to work before the streets got too crowded. A few moments after the front door had slammed shut, it opened again. “We have a letter,” she said.
Vinyl frowned, and drained the last of her orange juice. “Huh? The mailpony isn't due for ages yet. Is it addressed to me or you?”
“Both,” Octavia said, before tearing open the envelope and reading the contents aloud.
To Vinyl and Octavia
Re: Employment status
I am pleased to inform you that the Vivian Emi Centre for Music and Performance has been finished. As such, Octavia Philharmonica is required to cancel all engagements immediately, and proceed to Ponyville as soon as possible to assume her position as a valued member of staff. A representative will be there to greet you, so please check in at the building as soon as you arrive.
With regards to Vinyl Scratch, I will be operating under the assumption that you two will be travelling together and will therefore be setting up bookings in the Ponyville area.
I look forward to a fulfilling working relationship.
Yours, Vivian Emi
“Cancel all engagements? Immediately? Isn't this a touch abrupt?” Octavia said when she'd finished, her tone hovering somewhere between panic and annoyance. Her eyes ran across the letter again, checking she hadn't missed a postscript telling her to take her time.
“Well, that's the boss for you,” Vinyl yawned, and stood up. The chances of a mid-morning nap seemed to have decreased substantially. “She didn't put a deadline on when we arrive, though. We can probably sneak in a visit to your mom on the way back.”
The earth pony sighed, and began to undo the buttons on her blazer. “The maestro will be furious with me for leaving on such short notice. But… Well, I can't say I'm not pleased to be heading home.”
Vinyl nodded. As much as she liked Manehattan, it was only ever intended as a temporary stay. More of a working holiday than anything. It was harder to enjoy a place when you knew you could be leaving it behind at any time. Sometimes she regretted that. But there were train tickets to think of, and suitcases to pack; the world kept on turning, and the beat never stopped. That was the way it should be.
At least she'd gotten out of doing the dishes.