Vinyl Scratch found this day rather boring. She had walked around her apartment, had tried to write music, had stared through the window, she had done everything in her power to occupy her time.
And it was pointless!
There was simply nothing to do; everything seemed boring when compared to the helter-skelter last few days. The funniest part was that she had run out of energy. She had spent the last week pulling all-nighters and stressing out over the music. The DJ couldn’t even count how many corrections she had made! But now, when she had the time to work and was fully caught up on sleep, Vinyl couldn’t even convince herself to get out and head to SunBucks.
If there was one word to describe her current state, Vinyl decided that it would be bleh.
The only option was to lie down on the couch in front of her speakers and crank her music. Landlord probably won’t like it, thought Vinyl hesitantly. She shrugged. Whatever, he’s a dick anyway.
Throb went the bass. Wub wub went the rest of the music. Vinyl felt the couch shake under her, she knew that the walls were probably shaking and her neighbors were reaching for their earplugs. She snorted. I pay as much rent as they do. If I have to put up with their crappy-ass singing, they have to put up with dubstep.
And then there was another rhythm. It was wooden and rapid, not quite mixing in with the rest of the song. Vinyl’s face scrunched up slightly; she didn’t know whether she liked the new direction that this producer was going.
It’s not too bad, she thought to herself. It sounds kinda like knocking though. How awkward would it be if I opened my door because I thought somepony was knocking? she thought with a laugh.
The music, much to the relief of Vinyl’s neighbors, quieted to a lull. The knocking, however, was as insistent and annoying as ever.
With a sigh, the DJ clicked off her music and walked to the door, swinging it open to reveal a rather grim-faced composer.
“Harpo?” asked Vinyl uneasily. “What’s up?”
“Spokes is outside. Fancy Pants wants us to meet up. Let’s go.” Harpo turned around and trotted towards the street. Vinyl hesitated, off-put by the unusually serious composer.
“Hey, Harpo?” called the DJ.
The stallion turned with a slight frown.
“You’re scaring me, dude. What happened?”
Harpo sighed and kneaded his eyes with his hoof. “A problem. I’ll tell you on the way.”
***
Despite his promise, Harpo didn’t begin to explain as the carriage glided through the streets of Canterlot, opting instead to stare through the window and scowl at the general expanse of the city.
And so, Vinyl’s mind was left to wander. Under normal circumstances this is not a good thing; the DJ had a very curious mind that enjoyed lighting things on fire as it wandered. As a general rule, Vinyl’s mind is to be preoccupied at all times unless the building she is currently in has taken out insurance on damage caused by either fire or very loud, foundation-shaking dubstep.
Luckily, there were no readily accessible matches or speakers. Unfortunately this meant that Vinyl was left to imagine all of the possible reasons for Fancy Pants’s call for a meeting.
Okay, she thought, this could easily be a good thing! We could already have our next gig or Fancy Pants wants to give us our pay and treat us to dinner for the great job we did!
There was a gentle thud as Harpo pressed his head against the glass.
… So probably not a good thing, continued Vinyl’s internal monologue. Is Fancy Pants firing us? Did we mess up? Oh Celestia, we totally bucked something up didn’t we? Nah, that can’t be it; we rocked the Lighthouse last night! So what’s happening? And why won’t Harpo explain anything? Damn it Harpo, start explaining something!
Vinyl tried to stare a hole into Harpo’s head. The composer turned to look at her, a cold expression on his face.
“What is it, Vinyl?”
“Harpo, what the buck is going on? I’m freaking out over here and you’re being all, ‘Oh, I’m a troubled artist who stares out windows.’ What the hell is happening?!”
The composer’s frown twitched slightly and a glint of his former perpetual amusement returned to his eyes. And then it was gone, replaced by the cold gaze. “I’m angry, Vinyl. I haven’t been angry in a long time.”
The DJ arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could get mad.”
“Clearly.”
A few moments of silence. Then Vinyl spoke again. “Well, are you going to tell me what’s pissing you off?”
In response, Harpo reached into a small compartment by his seat and pulled out what seemed to be a business card.
“This is part of it,” he said, offering the bit of paper to Vinyl.
The card in and of itself was simple, yet there was a richness to its simplicity. It was obviously printed on fine paper and its message was written in gold ink.
‘Meet at the restaurant. 12: pm. I’d recommend the dandelion salad.’ – Hoity Toity.
Vinyl nodded, returning the card to Harpo. The composer took it gingerly, wrinkling his muzzle slightly as he returned it to its compartment.
“And we know where this restaurant is?” asked Vinyl.
“Fancy Pants does.”
The carriage turned onto a side street. The DJ looked through the window at a slightly unfamiliar side of Canterlot.
“Hey, I think the carriage made a wrong turn.”
Harpo shook his head. “No mansion, no studio. The media is swarming around there.”
“Wait, what?” asked Vinyl. “Just for a meeting with Hoity Toity?!”
The composer knit his eyebrows together, completely focusing on Vinyl for the first time that day. “No. Of course not. You don’t know?”
“No! Because you won’t tell me!”
Harpo sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “This would be entertaining if it weren’t such an annoyance.”
***
Vinyl burst through the doors of Harpo’s home; the impromptu meeting place for the band of musicians. Fancy Pants and Octavia were already there, the latter looking rather frazzled and the former just polishing off a glass of brandy.
“Fancy Pants!” called Vinyl. “I’ve only been up for a few hours and I already have no idea what the buck is going on! Harpo doesn’t want to explain and I’m tired of not knowing!”
Fancy Pants refilled his tumbler as Vinyl complained. He took a sip and looked up at the DJ. “Are you quite done?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” The stallion gestured toward a nearby coffee table topped by a folded newspaper. “Read that. Front page, you can’t miss it.”
Vinyl scowled slightly and levitated the newspaper over. She stared at the image. She knew exactly what it was, but Vinyl had no idea how to accept it.
“Well… shit,” seemed like the most appropriate response.
Right on the front page of the newspaper was a picture of Octavia and Vinyl, both clearly intoxicated, both hanging from each other’s shoulders. The mare in the image were obviously having a good time, laughing drunkenly as they exited the club from two nights ago. A closer look revealed a smiling and tipsy-looking Harpo following close behind Octavia and Vinyl.
The headline read “Fancy Pants’s Big Investment: Three Drunken Musicians.” The DJ quickly scanned through the article. She only picked up on keywords. ‘Drunk’ and ‘drinking’ popped up a lot, as did ‘Fancy Pants,’ ‘disgrace,’ and ‘Syncopated Records.’
“Syncopated Records?” asked Vinyl.
“Our recording studio’s name,” replied Fancy Pants.
The DJ nodded, slightly surprised that she had never asked for the company’s name before. And then that rather useless thought was brushed aside by the more pressing issue at hoof.
“Well… shit,” repeated Vinyl as she floated the newspaper back to the table.
Fancy Pants nodded. “That’s as good an assessment as any. Although Octavia had a far more… colorful opinion on the matter.”
The cellist grimaced and held her head in her hooves. “That was such a mistake. I don’t know why I ever agreed to do it.”
Vinyl felt a twinge at that. It didn’t seem as though anypony else noticed.
Fancy Pants shook his head. “It doesn’t matter why; the deed has already been done. Although I have to question the thought process that decided that attending a nightclub on the very night before the first public show was a good idea.”
The DJ felt a slight blush come over her face.
“But,” continued Fancy Pants, “as I’ve said before, the deed is done.”
“Alright,” said Vinyl, “so I made a mistake when I told everypony else to head to the club with me. But what’s next?”
Harpo stepped forward, twirling Hoity Toity’s card between his hooves. “We go to our meeting and we answer two questions: ‘Who took the photo?’ and ‘Who paid to have the photo taken?’”
Octavia raised her head slightly. “Paid?” she asked.
Fancy Pants nodded. “That’s my largest suspicion. News like this does not belong on the front page; it would most likely be found in the Business or Entertainment section, but not as a lead article. This reeks of the more unsavory side of wealth.” His muzzle wrinkled slightly, as though there really was an odor in the air.
Vinyl got to her hooves. “So restaurant? Have a nice meal, kick Hoity Toity’s ass, and then call it a day?”
The elder stallion chuckled. “Indeed, we’ll all be going to the restaurant. There will be no kicking of anyone’s ass, however. Fleur is taking care of the media and we needn’t worry about any reporters knocking on your days as I’ve made sure to keep your living arrangements confidential. We’ll be leaving unless there are any immediate pressing issues.”
Three heads shook. Fancy Pants drained his tumbler.
“Then we’re off.”
***
Hoity Toity sat alone. He had chosen a table that was out of the way, placed in such a way that none of the other diners would be able to hear his meeting with Fancy Pants’s company. He had been sitting patiently for the past five or so minutes, politely declining offers of breadsticks and the mint-green unicorn who would ask for his order. He had merely opted to drink water.
This was, after all, proper business etiquette.
A timid mare approached his table. The poor dear glanced from side to side, nearly shaking from her nerves. Hoity Toity gestured towards a chair by his side.
“Please, Miss Script,” he said, “sit down.”
“I—I can’t,” stuttered Trans Script. She paced back and forth in front of the table. “I feel so nervous. Oh, Fancy Pants will be so angry at me.”
“Well, would you please try, Miss Script? Your nervous pacing will drive me to anxiety.”
Trans Script paused slightly. She nodded and took the offered seat.
“Thank you,” said Hoity Toity. He glanced up at a clock. Two minute until noon. “It won’t be long now.”
The mare fidgeted in her seat. The stallion sat serenely, idly flipping through the pages of his menu. I wonder what I’ll order. I haven’t actually sat down to eat in ages. Perhaps a fruit salad today?
The restaurant’s doors swung open and a group of four ponies marched in. Fancy Pants gave a cursory glance around the restaurant before his eyes settled on Hoity Toity’s table. He frowned slightly upon noticing Trans Script. Then a look of realization and a fair amount of hurt flashed across his face. It was, however, quickly masked.
The four made to way to the table, Octavia shrinking back from what she thought were the stares of other ponies. Vinyl walked normally. Harpo maintained his farce of impassivity.
Four chairs scraped slightly as the members of Syncopated Records took their seats. The clock struck noon.
Hoity Toity looked around with a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it. I trust that Mister Nadermane informed you of our meeting yesterday?”
Fancy Pants nodded. “Yes, on the way here.”
“Good,” replied the other businesspony, “that saves me a bit of trouble. I must register my regret on your predicament.”
Vinyl snorted.
Hoity Toity turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “Something to say?”
The DJ’s lips shifted into something midway between a grimace and a smirk. “Yeah, I do! We know that it’d take a lot of money to pull something like this off and who here has enough money to actually do it? Well, let’s do a head count! There’s Fancy Pants and there’s… Oh! You!”
“That’s enough, Vinyl,” interjected Fancy Pants firmly.
Hoity Toity narrowed his eyes. “And why, pray tell, would I release a picture to the media when there are so many other ways to get rid of you?”
Vinyl took off her glasses and looked directly at Hoity Toity. “Is that a threat?” she practically hissed.
“No, it’s an example. There are so many other ways to go about accomplishing what I wish to do; it would be pointless to stoop to something as crass as the media.”
Fancy Pants held a hoof out towards Vinyl. “You are not allowed to respond to that. Is that clear?”
The DJ scowled at Hoity Toity for a few more moments before nodding and bringing her shades back into place.
Hoity Toity looked on with pronounced disdain. “Honestly Fancy Pants, I would have assumed that you’d be in better company by now. Not ponies like this.”
Vinyl felt her jaw strain against her will. Just one good offensive word and I’d be good for the rest of the week.
A soft voice hissed across the table. “I’d appreciate, Mister Toity, if you never referred to Vinyl in that way again.” Octavia bristled in her seat, staring at Hoity Toity with evident anger. She held his gaze, trying to convey all of the offense she had taken from those few words in that look. Nopony, not Fancy Pants, not Fleur, not the Princesses, and certainly not Hoity Toity, would ever be allowed to address Vinyl like that. “Lest I cannot be held responsible for my actions,” finished the cellist.
Octavia felt the entire attention of the table shift onto her. She kept her ground, never breaking her eye contact with Hoity Toity.
Fancy Pants rapped his hoof on the tabletop. He glanced from pony to pony with slight disappointment. “We will not allow emotions to get the better of us. If you are unable to maintain an outburst then you will not be allowed to stay at this table.” He locked eyes with his musicians. “Is that clear?”
They nodded.
The waitress chose that moment to take their orders. The six at the table were able to collect their thoughts, but poor Lyra Heartstrings had to wade through the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded that group.
Their orders placed, the conversation resumed.
Hoity Toity was the first to speak. “You all seem to have a very negative opinion of me.”
Octavia nodded. Vinyl barely held back a snort. Harpo raised an eyebrow and said, “I think that’s an understatement.”
“Indeed,” agreed Hoity Toity. “I hope to remedy that.”
“And how the buck are you gonna do that?” asked Vinyl with incredulity.
Hoity Toity sighed. “You’ve been highly oppositional ever since you first sat down. Care to explain why?”
Vinyl opened her mouth, but Fancy Pants caught her eye. The elder stallion was looking very grim as he stared at the DJ. There are very few who could say that they have seen that look and even fewer that admit that it was directed towards them
Vinyl shook her head and adjusted her seating.
The other business pony allowed a half-smile. “Yes, sit down. This is not your domain, Miss Scratch; you would do better far and away from places like this.”
Octavia had learned something in this short encounter with Hoity Toity. It occurred to her that the picture was embarrassing, especially because of the uncouth position it had found her in. But that wasn’t a problem, that could be dealt with. The media, which would no doubt be swarming to her home in due time, could also be handled. In fact, they would be handled calmly.
But these insults, the superior tone Hoity Toity took when he addressed Vinyl; that could not be handled with impassivity.
The cellist felt herself bristle. “Tell me, Mr. Toity; what gives you the right to so easily judge Vinyl?”
Hoity Toity raised a slightly amused eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“What’s so difficult to understand?” Octavia was powerless against her own anger. She felt her voice rise as she went on. “Do you not understand how hard she has worked, how much time and effort she puts into her work, how exhausted she must have been after each and every sleepless night?!”
Fancy Pants sighed and leaned back slightly. He put a hoof to his temple. Well, I suppose it’s best that they get it out of their system.
Hoity Toity narrowed his eyes. “Is that a serious question? Do you really know nothing about me? You go on and on about effort; I’ve been doing that for years. I started off with nothing of my own; a poor colt from the middle of nowhere. Have you not heard my name? Hoity Toity. It’s a joke! Something that ponies from my hometown used to describe those most snobbish of Canterlotian ponies. I was hated, simply because of my more refined tastes. Do you know how difficult it was to get to where I am?” The stallion put his hooves onto the table, leaning forward and towards the cellist. “I slaved day after day; I paid my own train fare here and I made a name for myself. It is you, Miss Philharmonica, who does not understand.”
Octavia felt her anger deflate. She sat down again, hardly realizing that she had gotten to her hooves. “I—I’m sorry.”
Fancy Pants sighed again. “Lesson number one.”
A slight smile grew on Hoity Toity’s face. “Never judge a businesspony by his reputation.”
“Exactly,” replied Fancy Pants.
The group lapsed into silence. The food was served.
“Well,” said Fancy Pants, “we’ve successfully broken the ice. I believe that we should actually get to the reason why we’re here.”
Hoity Toity nodded, having just taken a forkful of his salad. He gestured towards Harpo.
The composer knit his eyebrows together. “Do you want me to say something?”
Hoity Toity nodded again.
Harpo sighed. “Hoity Toity and I spoke last night. He approached me and gave me the card that I’ve shown all of you. He said that there would be ‘a problem’ and that Fancy Pants would call a meeting. I woke up the next day, found the newspaper and our ‘problem’ and ran over to Fancy Pants’s house.”
“You’re missing something key,” said Hoity Toity. “I said that I didn’t want your anger directed at the wrong pony. In this case, I am the wrong pony. I came here to offer a sort of olive branch.”
“After you’ve been taking company secrets?” asked Fancy Pants.
Trans Script, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, slid slowly downwards.
Hoity Toity waved a hoof. “That’s espionage. This entire matter with the media is far too uncouth for my tastes. And as for Trans Script, I have offered her a job as she is no doubt no longer welcomed at Syncopated Records.”
Fancy Pants shook his head with a sad frown. “I’m afraid not, though it pains me to say it. We must find a new secretary.”
Trans Script felt her lower lip begin to shake.
A certain mint-green waitress who had been passing by with a tray of drinks perked up her ears slightly.
“But,” continued Hoity Toity, “I hope that we can begin this newfound relationship with a clean slate.”
Vinyl, Octavia, and Harpo were hardly able to contain what would have been an impressive simultaneous snort.
Fancy Pants nodded. “Seems… plausible… I suppose. But if you truly want a clean slate, I have to ask for more information.”
Hoity Toity smiled. “What do you want to know?”
“If you didn’t publish the image, then who did?”
The other businesspony chuckled. “Is that a serious question? Think about it Fancy Pants; there are only three major recording labels in modern music. Two of the owners are sitting at this table. The other isn’t. Two plus two equals?”
Harpo let out a breath. “Prince Blueblood.”
Hoity Toity grinned. “No, it equals four. And yes, Prince Blueblood."