//------------------------------// // The Second Practice // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// A few minutes and a few stubbed hooves later, a grand piano sat within the practice room. Vinyl was seated on the piano’s bench, absent-mindedly poking at the keys. The other ponies had re-taken their seats on the couch. “Is that everything you need?” asked Fancy Pants politely. “Yup,” said Vinyl, nodding. “That’s pretty much everything. I think we’ll be good.” A mare poked her head into the doorway. “Excuse me, sir,” she said to Fancy Pants. “You asked me to come find you at three o’clock.” She spoke in a very timid voice. Fancy Pants smiled warmly. He got to his hooves, not even bothering to check the clock. “Thank you Miss Script.” The receptionist nodded and disappeared back to the lobby. “Well,” continued Fancy Pants, “I’m afraid that some other business requires my attention. I will come check on you as soon as I am able to. Harpo, Doctor, do try to keep those two,” he gestured at Vinyl and Octavia, “from killing each other.” The Doctor saluted. Harpo grimaced. “No promises.” Fancy Pants chuckled slightly as he walked out of the room. Vinyl clapped her hoofs together. “Okay, straight to work. Octy, get your bass, Harpo, get the sheet music, Doctor—“ The Doctor grinned expectantly—“Doctor, do whatever you have to do today.” The stallion nodded, his head swiveling from side to side as he looked for something to do. “This time,” continued the DJ, “we’ll be recording what we play. And I’ll be joining you on this baby.” She affectionately patted the piano in front of her. Octavia raised an eyebrow as she unzipped her double bass’ case. “You are a pianist?” “Nope,” replied Vinyl. “But I know what key plays what note. We should really try to find a good pianist one of these days.” The musicians reconvened. Harpo set up a music stand, placing the sheets of music at Octavia’s eye level. Vinyl played a series of notes, trying to work a bit of the rust out of her hooves. It didn’t help that a lack of sleep and food had brought a haze onto everything the DJ did. Stupid keys, stop moving, Vinyl thought to herself. “Okay, Tavi. Play. All the way through.” Octavia frowned slightly. “Are you sure?” The DJ nodded. “All the way through. Nopony will stop you, and I’ve done most of the revisions I want.” Vinyl had to stifle a yawn. “ Doc, you mind setting up the recorder?” The Doctor complied, setting a black box midway between Vinyl and Octavia. Vinyl rolled her hoof. “Play, Octy.” The grey mare shrugged and shuffled through the sheet music before her. She got onto her hind legs, finding the awkward balance against her bass. Octavia stared at the notes, her head slightly bobbing to the beat of the song. She drew her bow across the strings. Three notes, a slight pause and the same three notes again. Now two short notes in between the original group of three. Repeat. Repeat again. Then the music changed. Octavia coaxed the long notes from her bass, adding vibrato when appropriate. The sheet music told her everything she needed to know. Stop the bow, rest for a few beats. Back to the triplets. Vinyl watched as Octavia played. The DJ’s head drooped slightly; she had to force herself to stay awake. The cellist finished the piece with a flourish, glancing up at Vinyl for a response. A slight frown creased Vinyl Scratch’s face. “Right.” She turned back to the piano, hiding a yawn as she did so. “We’re gonna play that again. I’ll be on the piano this time.” “Harpo, count us off,” said the DJ. The composer did so, and Vinyl and Octavia played. A series of notes came from the piano, adding to the tension of Octavia’s bass line. The song took on a slightly confused air. And Vinyl began to sing. Harpo and the Doctor sat up straighter. Octavia nearly fumbled a note. Vinyl’s voice wasn’t necessarily a nice one. It was rough and scratchy; it was clear that she had never had any formal lessons. But it fit perfectly. Vinyl’s voice was quiet but insistent, almost threatening. She promised fury, her voice made good on that promise. Vinyl was searching for something, trying to find the person that would make her life better, but she was uncertain. She had the bravado, the drive to achieve what she wanted, but she was confused. Octavia played the notes unconsciously, too focused on Vinyl’s voice and the music itself to care about the sheets in front of her. The song came to a close again. The cellist did not flourish this time. This was not the song for flourishing. There were a few moments of silence. “Vinyl,” said Octavia hesitantly. “I didn’t know you could sing.” The DJ gave a tired grin. “I can’t. I can barely even hold a note. Now listen for a bit.” Vinyl surrounded the recorder in her magic, rewinding the tape and replaying their latest session. Octavia’s eyebrows knit together slightly. The first few seconds, the part of the song before Vinyl sang, sounded… blocky. The grey mare couldn’t really put it into words. It was as if the bass and the piano couldn’t decide what would take the lead. The bass was exact, playing on the down beats exactly as it should have. The piano was nearly always slightly off; a chord would sound a split second before or after a beat. And then the recorded Vinyl began to sing. It took a bit of time, but the bass began to fall back. It would miss the beat by the slightest mark; Octavia would hurry to fit a note into the music. By all logical reasoning, the music should have become disorganized. But it didn’t. The blockiness and stiffness of the music had cleared up. Any dissonance between the instruments had become part of the music. Vinyl rewound the tape further. “Now, let’s hear just the bass line.” And there was the first take. Octavia played alone. As expected, every note was perfect. But it was lacking. Octavia sighed. “Okay Vinyl, it’s rather clear now.” “What is?” asked the DJ. “I’m mechanical. I’m used to simply following the music, a practice which does not function in this kind of music.” Octavia glanced at the Doctor. “It’s been mentioned before.” Vinyl waved her hooves. “No, actually, you’re golden. Okay, not golden, but maybe silver. Your classical style isn’t too bad when you’re playing alone. It doesn’t sound bad! But it’s a different story when you’ve gotta play with other ponies, that’s when you really have to loosen up.” Octavia nodded. “Problem is,” continued Vinyl, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to.” She yawned, but tried to put a cocky edge into her voice. “I mean, this time you were caught off guard by my singing. And I can’t blame you; I was really good. But we need to make sure that that wasn’t a fluke.” The cellist arched an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we do that?” Vinyl grinned and looked at Harpo. The stallion grinned in return. “Tavi,” said Vinyl, “you’re going to make mistakes. A lot of mistakes.”   *** Five notes. There were exactly five notes on the sheet music before Octavia Philharmonica. There were no sharps or flats, no slurs or changes in tempo. Only a repeating five-note figure. And Octavia, star pupil of the Canterlot Conservatory, a rising star in the classical community, was supposed to make a mistake. She threw a pained look at Harpo and Vinyl. “I don’t think I can do this.” “If there is one thing I have learned in my years of knowing you,” replied Harpo, “it’s that you can mess up. I believe in you, Octavia.” Octavia gave a wry smile. “Thanks for the bout of confidence.” She took a deep breath, placing her bow on the bass’s strings. Another glance at the sheet music. Dear Celestia, I won’t even have to switch strings. I am about to commit the greatest atrocity known to music. The cellist began the down stroke.  Or she attempted to. The bow twitched lightly in Octavia’s hooves, but she couldn’t bring herself to play. Octavia felt a trickle of sweat crawl down her forehead. How do you even make a mistake? thought Octavia. By definition, a mistake is unintentional. I can’t make a mistake if I try to make a mistake. Octavia let out a breath, lowering her bow. “This is absurd.” Vinyl nodded. “Exactly. Now mess up.” “I can’t!” protested Octavia. The DJ glanced at Harpo. “She’s kidding, right? She can’t not be perfect?” Harpo had a slightly sad look in his eyes. “I’m afraid so. Octavia is allergic to mistakes. It’s a tragedy, really.” “Shut up, Harpo,” snapped Octavia. “I’m not perfect by any means, I just can’t bring myself to play badly when I can play well.” “Honestly Octavia, it’s just a sharp instead of a natural, or a slight difference in the way you play a half note. It’s not a big deal!” “It is to me, Harpo! There is a certain standard that’s expected of me.” “Maybe at the Conservatory, but this is a jazz club. It’s a completely different audience that will be partly distracted by their food!” Vinyl’s head swiveled back and forth, watching the argument with half-interest. This is the first time that I’ve had to deal with a musician who was too good. What the hell am I supposed to do here? The DJ’s head began to throb. A headache. Buckin’ beautiful. “Harpo, there is a standard I have to maintain no matter where I am! I am more than willing to change the way I play, but I will not purposefully make an idiotic mistake!” Vinyl clapped her hooves together, one sharp clap that carried throughout the room. The argument ended suddenly. Both musicians and the Doctor, who had been watching the argument with growing interest, turned to face the DJ. “I…” began Vinyl dramatically. “I have a headache. I don’t like headaches. So now I have to be completely serious, which means being kind of mean, and take control of the situation. Thanks.” She pointed a hoof at Octavia. “Tavi, what song are we playing?” The cellist blinked at the sudden accusation. “C’mon Tavi, we don’t have all day!” Octavia frowned slightly. “Well, we’re playing…” The DJ leaned forward. “What’s the title, Octy?” Octavia was drawing a blank. “I… I’m not sure.” Vinyl nodded. “Alright, well I’ll tell you. We’re playing an arrangement of ‘On the Bound’ by Fiona Apple. She’s a distant relative of the family that provides the club we’ll be playing at with cider. But that’s not why we’re playing the song. Tavi, out of the millions of songs in Equestria, why did I choose ‘On the Bound’?” Octavia paused. She gulped slightly. “I don’t know.” I had never thought about it. The DJ nodded again. “It’s not a jazz piece and it’s not very upbeat. But it’s a great song. We’re playing it because it’s such a good song that everypony at the club would enjoy it. It works as background music for the ponies who just want to eat and the ponies who want to listen to music get to listen to good music. Follow?” Octavia nodded her understanding. Vinyl took a deep breath, fighting back a growing haze. “So now you’re wondering why the hell I’m saying all of this. I need you to pay attention to the song, Octy. Not just the notes, but the song itself. The reasons why we’re playing it, the reasons why the song was written, what the song’s trying to say; all of that has to go into what we play. It’s hard, it’s kinda confusing, but that’s how music works when just playing the notes isn’t enough… So that’s the end of my lecture.” The other ponies were staring at Vinyl with something akin to shock. Well, everypony besides the Doctor. He was smiling lightly, rather enjoying that Vinyl had managed to turn the others’ perceptions. The DJ arched an eyebrow. “What?” Harpo waved his hooves. “Nothing! That was simply an… enlightening lecture. Wasn’t it, Octavia?” “Indeed.” Octavia paused for some moments. “I have to look over the music again.” “Hey, Octy,” said Vinyl. “We’re not fighting again, are we?” Vinyl’s vision blurred slightly. Her headache intensified. The cellist shook her head. “As long as you don’t try to apologize.” The DJ tried for a smile. Am I going to pass out? It feels like I’m going to pass. “Alright, we’re cool. Good.” “Vinyl, are you okay?” asked Octavia in a worried tone. The DJ waved a hoof. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She got to her hooves, taking a seat in an empty chair. “I just need a bit of time.” The Doctor got to his hooves. “Vinyl, take off your glasses,” he said seriously. Vinyl looked up at the stallion. “Doc, I’m fine. I just have to…” The Doctor took Vinyl’s hoof in his own, measuring her pulse. He felt her forehead. “No, you’re most certainly not fine.” The stallion reached into his mane, pulling out a small metal cylinder. He pointed it at Vinyl. The end lit up and the instrument gave off a slight whirring sound. The Doctor held up the metal object and flicked it, murmuring to himself. “Vinyl, take off your glasses,” he repeated. Harpo and Octavia watched with worried expressions. Vinyl’s headache intensified further and everything became slightly blurred. She reached up and pulled off her shades. The DJ’s eyes stayed closed. “My head really hurts.” The Doctor nodded with a slight smile, folding Vinyl’s glasses and placing them on a nearby table. “It would. Harpo, can you toss me a pillow?” The composer hesitated for a few moments, and then tossed a cushion at the other stallion. The Doctor caught it neatly, and placed it behind Vinyl’s head. “Rest for a bit, Vinyl.” The Doctor’s voice was little more than a buzzing to the DJ. “I’ll just… Just give me a moment.” “Take your time Vinyl,” replied the stallion. “I’m sorry, I just have to…” The DJ slumped against the pillow. The Doctor turned to the pair of rather stunned musicians. “Doctor,” began Octavia hesitantly, “is there something wrong with Vinyl?” The brown stallion shook his head slightly. “Not wrong. It’s not a life-threatening illness, if that’s what you’re asking, but she is quick to exhaust; which is a rather large problem, considering her habit of running herself ragged for no apparent reason.” A soft snore came from the sleeping DJ. The Doctor continued. “She has hardly eaten or slept in the past three days. All we have to do is let her rest. She’ll be up in a few hours.” Harpo frowned. “She slept last night. I remember putting a blanket over her and turning off the lights.” “Indeed,” said the Doctor. “But she didn’t sleep for long. I came in at about five in the morning and she was already hard at work revising the sheet music.” The three ponies glanced at Vinyl Scratch. She was out cold. “If anything,” said the Doctor, “I’d recommend that some snacks be prepared for when she wakes up. She’ll have a rather ravenous appetite.” He grinned lightly. “Well, more so than she usually does.” Harpo gave a half-smile, relieved that the atmosphere had lightened slightly. “So, you really are a doctor, then? I was beginning to wonder.” The other stallion arched an eyebrow. “I am not a doctor, Harpo. I am the Doctor. With a capital D. There’s a difference.” There was a slight silence in the room, broken only by Vinyl’s snores. Well, thought Octavia, she could have warned us about suddenly passing out. That was a frightening experience. “So,” she said out loud. “What do we do now?” “Well,” said the Doctor, walking to the doorway. “I’ll be heading out to find some form of food. You two should stay here; there’s precious little time until your first gig and you should take every moment of it to practice.” His eyes locked onto the cellist’s for a moment. He grinned. “Oh, this is going to be fun!” The stallion exited the room. “Harpo,” said Octavia after a few seconds pause. “Do we have a copy of the songs we’ll be playing?” Harpo smiled. “Yes, I believe we do.”   *** Vinyl awoke groggily, her eyes only half open. Stupid headache, stupid exhaustion, stupid food. Why do we even need food? Plants don’t need food. I want to be a tree. She tried to bury deeper into her pillow. Music’s good, though. There was a steady bass line coming from somewhere in the room. Vinyl hummed along to the song. Damn, Tavi’s gotten pretty good. Vinyl’s eyes snapped open. Oh Celestia, that’s Tavi playing! The DJ sat up fully, her eyes immediately snapping to the cellist. Octavia was lost in what she played, bowtie askew, mane slightly disheveled. The cellist silently sang along, her eyes closed. The music was slightly off; the tempo constantly shifted and Octavia had actually added a few notes here and there. She wasn’t simply playing the sheet music. Vinyl grinned. This is so much better. A wave of queasiness washed over the DJ. Shouldn’t have sat up so quickly, she thought to herself as she leaned back into her chair.  Harpo caught Vinyl’s eye. He was sitting off the side, in the midst of a game of Solitaire. The composer arched an eyebrow, throwing a smirk in her direction. He mouthed the words, “Pretty, isn’t she?” Vinyl chuckled slightly, her gaze returning to the cellist. She nodded. Harpo returned to his game. They sat in silence, listening to Octavia play. The cellist allowed the last note to fade out. Vinyl clapped as loudly as she could in her debilitated state. “Alright Octy! It sounds like you got it now.” The DJ smiled warmly. “How long was I out? A year? Two years?” Octavia looked up at Vinyl. “Oh, Ha-Ha. Very fun—” The cellist gave a start as she saw the DJ’s eyes. “What?” asked Vinyl in a confused tone. “N—Nothing, Vinyl. I’m glad that you approve of the music now.” Vinyl frowned a bit. “Oh, the eyes! Duh.” She pointed a hoof at her eyes. “Yeah, they’re a really cool red right now aren’t they? Kinda freaks ponies out when they first see them.” Octavia shook her head. “I’m not ‘freaked out.’ It is a rather… beautiful color.” Vinyl smiled awkwardly, blushing a bit under the cellist’s attentive gaze. “Well, don’t get used to them. They’re only this scarlet kind of red when I’m tired or angry. My eyes change color a lot.” Harpo sniggered. “Tired or angry? Vinyl, ‘tired or angry’ basically defines your character.” “Shut up Harpo,” replied Vinyl jokingly. “I’ll kick your flank if you ever call me angry again. I’m a bucking ball of love and tolerance!” The composer grinned. “Yeah, and I’m a filly scout.” Vinyl turned back to the cellist. “But yeah Tavi, you really got into the music. You were swinging, filly!” Octavia smiled lightly. “I’ll assume that that’s a compliment.” “Are you kidding? You have to do that again! Swing, Tavi, swing; it’s the only way you should be playing from now on!” Vinyl’s stomach growled. “Ummmm… Are there any chocolate bars around?” “I’ll do one better,” said the Doctor as he swung into the room. He was followed by Trans Script, who was pulling a dinner cart. Vinyl got to her hooves quickly, apparently too quickly as her vision began to cloud over. She shook her head, not allowing anything to keep her from her food. “Doc, have I ever told you that you’re awesome?” “Yes you have Vinyl. But it’s always nice to hear it,” replied the Doctor with a grin. “Now, help yourself to whatever you’d like. We don’t want you to fall into exhaustion again.” He turned to the receptionist. “Thank you for your help, Miss Script. Care to join us?” Trans Script shook her head furiously. “No, thank you. I—I’m fine. But, um, if there’s anything else you need…” She let the statement hang. The Doctor nodded. “Of course. You’ll be the first to know.” Octavia and Harpo walked over to the cart. “Pardon me,” said Harpo, “but I don’t believe that we’ve met. I am Harpo Parish Nadermane, and this is my colleague Octavia Philharmonica.” Octavia gave a polite nod. “I—I’m Trans Script.” The mare seemed slightly flustered. The other ponies put it down to a natural shyness. “I really should be going. But if there’s ever any problem, I’ll be at the front desk. I’ll—I’ll try to help.” She tried for a reassuring smile. It was more of a grimace. Harpo nodded. “I can’t imagine that there will be many more problems now that these two,” he nudged Octavia and nodded at Vinyl, “have made up. And if you really have to be going, then it was nice meeting you, Miss Script.” Trans Script backpedaled to the door. “Yeah, likewise. I’ll just… be going now. Goodbye.” The mare left, walking rather awkwardly. Harpo arched an eyebrow. “Well, she was rather… nervous.” Octavia gave him a sharp rap on the leg. “You were too direct. You terrified her!” The composer put an indignant hoof on his chest. “I terrified her? I’m not intimidating in the least! Everypony loves me! I’m talented and handsome and modest!” “The most modest pony in Equestria,” Octavia added snidely. “Exactly! The most modest pony in Equestria! I’m glad that you finally understand my greatness, Octavia.” Octavia rolled her eyes, picking a salad off of the dinner cart. The Doctor was looking through the doorway, a slight frown on his face. “How strange,” he muttered to himself. “Nerves? From Trans Script?”   *** Trans Script sat at the front desk, a fresh piece of parchment and a quill in her hooves. She had gleamed two, maybe three, pieces of information from her short time with the musicians. She scribbled them down, making a mental note to check in with Hoity Toity whenever she had the time. The receptionist stowed the parchment in her mane, and laid her head against the front desk. “What the buck am I doing?”