//------------------------------// // The Cafe // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// “And just where the hell have you two been?” A blue unicorn wearing sunglasses stood in the middle of the Lighthouse Café. He tapped his hoof in impatience. “I’ve been waiting for hours! I swear, I do most of the work but you two get more money. How is that fair?" “Shut up, Neon,” Vinyl said dismissively. The Doctor nodded his greeting. Neon sighed. “Point taken. Well, while you two were busy doing whatever you were doing, I actually got some work done. Pretty much all of the sound system is set up.” He gestured towards the soundboard and speakers behind him. “I know, I know; I’m awesome.” Vinyl snorted and marched over to the system, followed closely by the Doctor. They slowly walked around the machinery, eyes zooming over every inch of metal, their hooves fiddling with buttons, switches, dials, and wires. Harpo and Octavia awkwardly walked in, their heads turning every which way. “Well,” said Harpo, “it’s a rather… nice establishment.” His eyes locked onto the building’s extensive bar. “Scratch that. It’s perfect and I never want to leave.” Octavia rolled her eyes, passing over the bar and to the stage. “That’s where we’ll be playing, is it?” Neon looked up at the classical musicians. He frowned slightly, noticing their bowties and perfectly styled manes. “Are you looking for something?” Harpo and Octavia raised a synchronized eyebrow. “Pardon?” they asked. The unicorn put on his best ‘dealing with ponies’ smile. “I’m sorry, but the Café’s closed for the day. There’s another restaurant a bit more to your standards a few blocks away.” The composer scowled slightly. “Oh, really? Would you care to write up some directions for us?” Neon completely missed the malice in Harpo’s voice. “Of course, just let me get some paper and a quill.” The Doctor’s muffled voice came from somewhere behind the turntables. “Ee’s Joe King.” Neon looked up. “Joe King, Doc? Do you know this pony?” The technician’s head popped up. He carried some kind of metallic pen in his mouth. “No! Not Joe King! Ee’s Joe King!” “Then you don’t know him?” asked the unicorn. Harpo put a hoof to his chest. “Have you forgotten me already Doctor? After all of the special times we’ve shared?” “Woah!” exclaimed the unicorn. “TMI, dude. Doc, you’re a good-looking pony and all, but I don’t want to hear about your ‘special times.’” The Doctor spit the pen out of his mouth. “Are you sure about that Neon? They make for rather good stories. In fact, you can say that they’re out of this world.” He turned to his left, smiling into the empty air. The other ponies gave him a blank stare. The brown stallion scratched the back of his head. “Yes, that works far better when Derpy’s here.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was trying to say that ‘He’s joking.’ They won’t need directions; they’re not going anyway. Neon, this is Harpo Parish Nadermane and Octavia Philharmonica. They are the newest additions to Fancy Pants’s group of musicians. Harpo, Octavia, this is Neon Lights. He’s an upstart with an ego.” “Aw Doc, you know me so well.” Neon blew a kiss at the other stallion. The Doctor neatly swayed back and away from the imagined kiss. “If he ever bothers you just tell me. He’ll be fired and sent back to the university we found him in.” Neon Lights took off his glasses. He looked far younger without them; clearly somepony in his first or second year of full adulthood. “You… You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” The Doctor stayed silent. “Doc?” The brown stallion chuckled slightly. “Of course not, Neon.” He allowed a dangerous gleam into his eyes. “Well, maybe not. Just don’t mess up.” “Too late for that,” said Vinyl from the back of the room. She worked as she spoke, using her magic to rearrange wires and manually fiddling with the knobs. “Wires are messed up, lighting’s off by half a second, bass is too low, treble is way too high, there’s a bit of dust on the tables, and I don’t have a cup of coffee in my hooves.” She raised her voice slightly. “INTERN! Why don’t I have a cup of coffee in my hooves?” “Vinyl,” whined Neon, “I haven’t been an intern in a week! I can’t be getting you coffee all the time now that I’m actually working.” The elder DJ stopped suddenly, allowing the wires to lower and her hooves to stop fiddling. She turned towards Neon. “Intern. What could possibly be more important than my coffee?” Vinyl spoke in a soft, dangerous voice. Neon Lights visibly gulped. “N-nothing, Miss Vinyl Scratch.” “Why don’t I have a coffee in my hooves?” “I-I don’t know. I’ll go get you that coffee now.” He all but ran from the room. Vinyl turned back to the turntables, slightly humming to herself. Octavia and Harpo stared after Neon’s retreating figure. “Vinyl,” began Harpo. “Would you care to explain exactly what just happened?” finished Octavia. The DJ looked up from her work. “Neon’s gonna go get me some coffee.” A look of realization spread across her face. “Oh, did you want something too Tavi? Sorry, I should’ve asked first.” Vinyl turned her head slightly. “NEON! GET SOMETHING FOR TAVI, TOO!” “Got it!” came Neon’s distant reply. “No thank you, I’m fine,” asserted Octavia. “What I meant was—“ “NEON! FORGET THE EXTRA THING!” “Is she sure?” asked Neon from the other room. “I don’t know!” Vinyl turned back to Octavia. “Octy, are you sure?” “I—I,” stuttered Octavia. “I am quite sure, thank yo—“ “YEAH, SHE’S SURE!” Vinyl turned back to her turntables. “Well, does she want some chips or something?” Neon had decided to make some sort of good impression on the new musicians. Octavia glanced back and forth between the shouting DJs, looking ever more frazzled at every word. “I am loving this,” murmured Harpo to the Doctor. The brown stallion nodded with a grin. “NO THANK YOU! I AM FINE!” shouted Octavia suddenly. Vinyl blinked and looked up at the cellist. “Whoah Tavi. What got into you? Do you need a soda to calm you down? NEON! GET TAVI A SO—“ Octavia jammed her hoof into Vinyl’s mouth. The cellist leaned in, lifting the DJ’s shades and looking directly into her eyes. “Vinyl Scratch. If you continue to interrupt me, and if you continue to make assumptions about what I want, then by Celestia, I cannot be held accountable for my actions. Is that clear?” Vinyl nodded quickly. “Sorry Vinyl, I couldn’t quite catch that last shout,” said Neon, walking back into the room. He was levitating a cup of coffee. “But look! Coffee! Now you don’t have to be so terrifyin—“ The colt stopped suddenly, noticing that the object of his terror was at the mercy of another pony. “I’ll… I’ll just… Go get some coffee for Miss Octavia.” He turned around and walked back out of the room. The cellist took a deep, calming breath and withdrew her hoof, taking a moment to wipe it on the floor. Vinyl made a face and rubbed her jaw with a hoof. “Damn Tavi, you’re scary. And kind of gross. I mean, you walk on that thing!” “Yes, I do. Now tell me, why is Neon terrified of you?” “He’s new, just a kid trying to break into the business. I’m kind of like his mentor.” Vinyl grinned slyly. “Mentors are supposed to yell and make sure that their students learn something. I like that part of mentoring.” “And he’s rather attracted to Vinyl,” added the Doctor helpfully. The DJ shrugged, plugging in the final wire. The speakers came to life with a loud pop. “Yeah, so he likes me. He’s also terrified of me. Poor kid.” Neon walked back into the room, now carrying two cups of coffee. “Miss Octavia, I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so I just left it black.” “Thank you Neon, but I don’t drink much coffee. And just Octavia is fine.” The cellist smiled. Harpo snatched a coffee cup out of the air. “In that case, I’ll be taking this.” He took a sip, promptly scalding his tongue and trying desperately to hide it. “Alright,” said Vinyl as she rubbed her hooves together, “let’s test this baby out. Neon, you have the microphones, right?” “Yup! I have them right over there.” He levitated three microphones over to Vinyl. Three clicks later and the microphones were all hooked up. “Just one last test,” said Vinyl. She cleared her throat and lifted a microphone. “Test. Test. Crafty Changelings crafting changes. She saw seaponies swimming at sea. Who’s a silly pony? Who is? You is, Octavia.” She tapped the microphone. “Okay, we’re all done here.” The cellist shifted her weight, looking slightly uncomfortable. Vinyl noticed this. “I don’t think you’re actually a silly pony Octy; it’s just a song.” Octavia shook her head. “It’s not that.” “Then what’s up?” asked the DJ. Harpo brought one hoof down on the other. “Oh, it’s your routine! Of course! Octavia, you’re not still embarrassed about that, are you?” The cellist shook her head. “Routine?” asked Vinyl. “What routine?” Octavia scuffed the ground. “It’s nothing really. We can leave now; there are things at home that I have to attend to.” She tried to walk to the door, but Harpo held out his hoof. “Don’t you dare, my dear cellist.” He turned towards the other ponies. “It comes from my younger days, when I was a bit more interested in less… fully scientific endeavors. Numerology, horoscopes, and the like. A routine is a way of getting yourself into a certain state of mind whether that is a state of enthusiasm, serenity, or, as Octavia uses it, performance.” The Doctor nodded. “Sounds like a rather good habit.” “It is,” agreed Harpo. “But Octavia is never comfortable in talking about it.” “It’s weird,” mumbled Octavia. “Nopony else does it. Even you don’t do it anymore, Harpo.” “I do it,” said Vinyl. Octavia looked up in surprise. “Yeah,” continued the DJ. “Every time before I get on stage. It’s just trying to remember a time where you totally kicked flank, right? I do it to pump myself up.” A slight scratching sound filled the air. Four ponies turned to Neon, who had pulled a quill and a pad of paper from thin air. He was taking notes. The colt noticed the others’ stares. “What? It sounds like a really good idea.” Harpo chuckled slightly. “Follow me, young DJ; I’ll explain the finer aspects of a routine.” He nudged Octavia slightly. “You get on stage and do what you need to. Don’t take too long, though. I’d end up walking home alone and who knows what’d happen if a stallion like me were seen alone at night.” Harpo sat at the bar, gesturing for Neon to follow him. As soon as the others turned away, the composer reached over and snuck a bottle of whiskey off of the bar. Octavia slowly walked on stage, glancing around, trying to imagine what the café would be like in two days. Well, she thought to herself, it’s a relatively popular place. The chairs would be filled with ponies. The booths in the back would be for groups— “How does your routine work?” asked Vinyl. Octavia grimaced slightly and threw a sharp look at the DJ. “I was in the middle of it.” “Oops. Sorry.” Octavia shook her head. Now, where was I? Those tables in the middle have candles on them. A couple would probably be sitting there. A bouquet of flowers, a small gift. How cute. The seats in the front think that the music is just as, if not even more, important as the food and camaraderie. The café seemed to come to life under Octavia’s gaze. Love-struck ponies with stars in their eyes stared at each other over the candle light. There, in the corner, a new couple awkwardly trying to make eye contact. They blushed and quickly looked away as soon as they met each others’ eyes. In the back was a boisterous group; friends that had known each other for years. They laughed at shared stories and at stupid remarks. They would laugh to the point where no sound came out and they could only clap like helpless seals. Up front, the ponies carefully ate their salads. Actually, a few had forgotten that the food was on the table. Each of them was clearly listening to the music, tapping their hooves or bobbing their heads to a beat. Octavia’s left hoof twitched, almost unconsciously playing the melody to the very first song she had ever learned. It was familiar; it was a song that she would never make a mistake in. With a smirk, the cellist added a quick improvisation. She settled back into the simple tune. And even if I did make a mistake, nopony would care. What’s the quote? ‘If you hit a bad note, hit it again so it looks right’? Octavia opened her eyes, not quite sure when exactly she had closed them. “Yes, that just about describes this musical genre.” She stomped her left back hoof twice. “Finished, Octavia?” called Harpo from his place at the bar. “Yes, quite. We can leave now.” “It’s about time,” said Vinyl. “I’m tired out after fixing all of Neon’s mistakes.” “It wasn’t that bad!” whined Neon. The Doctor trotted over and put a hoof on the colt’s shoulder. “No, it wasn’t that bad. It was probably worse than that.” He slapped Neon’s leg playfully. “But we fixed it! Now let’s go, it’s past your bedtime.” The group of ponies left. Two seconds later, Harpo came rushing back in with a sheet of paper and a quill, both of which had been borrowed from Neon. He threw a hoofful of bits onto the counter and scribbled a quick note. It read: “I hope this covers one two bottles of whiskey.—Hugs and Kisses, Harpo Parish Nadermane.”   *** Trans Script put a timid hoof to the speaker. “T—This is Trans Script. I need to speak to Mr. Toity.” Don’t forget; you’re here to get out of this deal. There’s no reason to spy on them. I don’t even know why I did it in the first place! It was so stupid of me. The golden gates before her swung open slightly. The receptionist entered and the gates closed behind her with a small click. She walked along a brick path, hardly noticing the wide green expanses, the trees, and the hedges dotting Hoity Toity’s manor. This will only take a moment, she thought to herself. Just get in, say that the deal is off, then get back out. Don’t even give him a chance to talk, don’t even give him any reasons why you’re leaving. Just say that you are. Her saddlebags, weighed down with bits seemed to keep her from walking properly. Give him his money back too, but only if he asks for it. Wait, no that would mean that he would be talking! I can’t let him talk; he’s too damn clever when he talks. Trans Script felt something on her shoulder. She jumped. Hoity Toity stood in front of her, one hoof reached out to hold her back. “You were about to crash into me. We can’t have that, now can we?” The stallion gave her a stunning smile. “Now tell me, Miss Script; to what do I owe this surprise? If memory serves, you came to visit me yesterday night.” Hoity Toity thought for a moment, and then walked into his manor. Trans Script was having a panic attack. Damn it, he’s already talking! Why didn’t you say anything?! Okay, there’s still time, I just have to keep him from talking again. I just need time to say two words and I’ll be fine. Hoity Toity walked back out, now clutching a piece of paper. “Yes,” he said, “you did come to see me last night. I have the evidence right here.” Trans Script could not tell whether she had imagined the emphasis on ‘evidence’ or not. It didn’t really matter to her at the moment. What mattered was the scrap of paper Hoity Toity held in his hoof. The stallion glanced at the paper. “Indeed, I remember you coming and showing me these notes. Written by your very hoof, it seems. Of course, no one else would know these small details besides yourself, now would they? Which is why, my dear Trans Script, you are ever so valuable to me.” He smiled again. “Incredibly valuable. I need to make sure that you stay with me, darling.” Trans Script seemed to be frozen to the spot. Her jaw worked up and down, but no words would come. Hoity Toity maintained his smile. “Is something the matter, you look absolutely rigid! Then again, it is rather cold this evening. Would you care to come in?” He gestured towards his manor’s door. The receptionist stiffly walked in. Hoity Toity followed closely, then led the way into his living room. The room was richly decorated; paintings hung from every inch of the walls and fresh flowers adorned every table. A roaring fire suffused the room with a glow, its light glinting off of the various pieces of golden decorations. The two ponies sat. The stallion poured two cups of tea, and offered one to Trans Script. “I would be lying if I said that this visit was entirely unexpected; most of my associates become a bit… jittery right about now. It is, however, merely a passing phase.” The mare absentmindedly sipped her tea, and a modicum of feeling returned to her. “I trust that you’re feeling a degree of regret right now.” Hoity Toity spoke with sympathy. Trans Script nodded. “Of course you are; it’s only natural. I am not affected because I have been dealing with matters like these for quite a while. But you’re new to this. I’m sure that it’s been troubling you.” Another nod. Hoity Toity tutted slightly. “How noble; if only I could still think that way. But please, Miss Script you have to realize that you are an indispensable part of what I am trying to accomplish.” Don’t let him talk. You said that you wouldn’t let him talk. Why are you letting him talk?! Hoity Toity continued. “But, even if you do not realize your importance, I do. Which is why I’m prepared to increase my offer three-fold.” Trans Script blanched, completely caught off guard. T—Three times? The stallion leaned forward slightly. “Three times the amount that I’ve been paying you. Maybe even more, depending on the information you provide. Isn’t it a good deal?” *** Trans Script walked out of the manor, saddle bags and spirit a good deal heavier than they had been when she entered. Hoity Toity waved goodbye from his patio before going back into his manor. “I’d forgotten how persuasive you could be,” said a rather pompous voice. Hoity Toity turned to the white stallion who had spoken. “Thank you for the compliment. It’s quite the honor coming from someone of your status.” Prince Blueblood humphed. “Indeed it is. Especially after you so hurriedly ran me out of the room simply because some commoner came into your home. I was hardly able to hear any of the conversation. If anything, you should have simply left her out in the cold.” Hoity Toity’s smile twitched the slightest bit. Even I can’t stand this colt. “Maybe next time. Now, to what do I owe this great honor?” Prince Blueblood walked over to a fruit bowl, levitating and scrutinizing an orange. He tossed it to Hoity Toity. “Peel this for me.” Hoity Toity, silently fuming, pulled a nearby cord. A butler appeared as if from thin air and quickly peeled the orange. Blueblood pulled the orange from the other stallion’s hooves. “You owe this honor,” he said as he ate, “due to Fancy Pants’s insistence on breaching my business.” His business, thought Hoity Toity indignantly. I have the far bigger recording company. His is nothing. “Of course. He has quite the ambitious goals.” “Yes, he does. Tell me everything you know about his company.” Prince Blueblood spoke as if he were bored. Hoity Toity didn’t miss a beat. “I hardly know anything. There hasn’t been quite enough time to gather information. I am trying, but Fancy Pants guards his secrets closely.” Blueblood finished his orange. “You’re useless. Of course you are; what else was I to expect? You will inform me of anything you learn.” Hoity Toity felt his eye twitch. “Of course.” The white stallion left the manor without a word. Hoity Toity stood still for a few moments before walking to a couch. He picked up a pillow and flung it across the room. It hit a vase, scattering glass, water and flowers in all directions. The stallion scowled and pulled another cord. Two maids suddenly appeared and quickly cleaned up the mess. “Buffoon," said Hoity Toity from between gritted teeth. “Idiot. Stupid, self-entitled, short-sighted fool.”