//------------------------------// // The Past // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// “No, Vinyl.” “Is it this one?” “No, Vinyl.” “What about this one?” “Vinyl, that’s a spork. Where did you even find that?” Vinyl Scratch gave Octavia a sideways glance. “Octy, what kind of pony doesn’t carry a spork?” Harpo spoke up from his place in the corner. “What are we, barbarians?” The cellist turned and pointed sharply at the composer. “You still aren’t allowed to speak! Eyes forward, keep looking at the wall.” “I don’t even know what I did!” protested the stallion. “You tried to convince Vinyl that we are supposed to eat soup with a fork!” “Tried,” answered Harpo, “is the key word there.” “Just for the record, I totally knew that we ate soup with a spoon. Not a fork.” Vinyl held up her plastic spork. “But this wonderful invention solves that problem! And it can be yours for three easy payments of two bits.” Harpo sniggered to the wall. Octavia snatched the spork away. “No! Sporky!” Vinyl looked up at the cellist with a shaking lip. “... Why?” “Would you two please take this seriously?!” “We are taking it seriously,” responded Harpo. He leaned forward slightly, squinting at the wall. “Octavia, have you thought about repainting? Purple would be a rather nice color. I could tag along and you wouldn’t even need a swatch!” Vinyl was balancing a spork on her upper lip. “Yeah Tavi, we’re being seriously serious! And I kinda like your place the way it is... Can I move in? My place is crappy compared to this.” The cellist snatched the spork away. “Where do you keep finding these?! I know for a fact that I don’t buy them!” Vinyl shrugged. “I don’t know where I got half of the crap I have.” “Well I don’t remember where I got three-quarters of the crap I have,” input Harpo. Octavia rubbed at her temples, letting out a steady breath. “I feel a migraine coming on.” Vinyl grinned. Harpo turned in his seat and opened his mouth to say something; probably some form of snide remark. The cellist cut him off with another sharp point. “Eyes toward wall. I swear to Celestia, I’ll make you wear a dunce cap if you say a single word. And then I’ll make you sit outside with that dunce cap.” The composer mimed zipping up his lips. “Got it.” Octavia let out another sigh and walked out of the room. *** “Can I just say that this was definitely worth the awkward glances I’m getting from the ponies passing by?” asked Harpo from his place outside of Octavia’s home. He slightly shifted the paper cone on his head. “I rather like the dunce cap. Very fashionable.” Octavia locked the door from the inside, making her way back to the dining room. Vinyl was practically laying on top of the table. Her glasses were off and her eyes were closed. “Tavi,” said Vinyl when she heard the cellist’s hoofsteps, “do you think we’re too mean to Harpo?” The grey mare considered this. “I think that he has yet to outgrow his more childish tendencies. I’m beginning to think that he never will.” “Is that a bad thing?” Octavia knit her eyebrows together. “What brought this about?” Vinyl traced a circle on the table. “Nothing. Guess I’m tired or something. I ask things when I’m tired.” “Vinyl, we can take a rest if you’re not feeling up to it.” The DJ waved a hoof in Octavia’s general direction. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ve gotten used to working without a break... Do you have any coffee?” The cellist shook her head. “I don’t drink it very often. I’m sorry.” “It’s cool. Anyway, we should get back to that manner stuff. Pretty sure I can’t just put my head down on a table, can I?” Vinyl lifted her head with a gargantuan effort. Octavia looked on with worry. The way she works, it’s easy to forget just how much of a toll it takes on her. The DJ shook slightly under the force of a yawn. The cellist frowned. “Vinyl, I’d feel far more comfortable if you’d rest.” “I appreciate it, but I’m telling you that I’ll be fine. I can keep going.” Vinyl blindly picked up a utensil, glancing at it briefly. “Soup spoon!” “That’s the sugar spoon. And you’re not helping your case.” “That’s the point!” said Vinyl loudly. “I have no idea what all this crap is! That’s a fork, that’s a spoon, that’s a plate,” she held up the objects as she named them, “and look! Another bucking spoon!” The DJ put her head on the table again. “I don’t get it.” Octavia was slightly taken aback. She considered Vinyl for a moment before walking back to the front door. She opened it slightly and stuck her head through. Harpo was still sitting outside, looking around as the sun set behind Canterlot Palace. The composer took a moment to wave at a few ponies who were walking up the street. “Harpo,” said Octavia. The stallion turned. He smiled slightly and took off his cap. “My lady?” “You can come back inside if you go and buy coffee.” “From the SunBucks?” “Yes. Tell them that you’re picking up a drink for Vinyl; they probably know the order by heart.” Harpo tilted his head slightly. “Octavia, is everything okay? You seem serious... well, slightly more serious than normal.” The cellist managed a smile. “Vinyl’s a bit off-kilter. Though it may simply be the lack of caffeine coursing through her veins.” The composer nodded and hopped off of his stool. “Done! Am I buying you something?” “A chai tea would be nice.” “Right. One chai tea and one monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage coming up.” Harpo turned around, adjusting his dunce cap. “Harpo?” asked Octavia. The stallion turned around. “Whatever happened to being an introvert?” Harpo grinned jovially, taking the dunce cap in his hooves. He twirled it for a moment before putting it back on. “There’s no need for it. I think I’ve outgrown being serious. Now I’m just waiting for you to grow up, Octavia.” The cellist put a hoof on her chest. “You’re waiting for me to grow up?” Harpo laughed and walked away. I hope that sounded cryptic, he thought to himself. I’ve always wanted to sound cryptic. Octavia watched as the composer trotted down the street. She turned back into her home, shaking her head slightly. Vinyl hadn’t moved an inch. The grey mare sat near the DJ. “Okay Vinyl. There’s no chance of anypony overhearing. What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Octavia stared at Vinyl. A few moments passed. “What?” asked the DJ. “Are you just gonna stare at me until I start talking?” “Yes.” “... Dammit, Harpo did the same thing.” “After the first argument?” “Yeah.” “Did it work?” asked Octavia. “Yeah. The bastard.” “Is it going to work now?” Vinyl looked up, looking into the cellist’s eyes. Why does she have to be so adorable? “Yeah,” replied the DJ sullenly. “Yeah, it probably will.” Octavia sat still. Vinyl would begin when she was ready. “I’ve never talked to you about myself, have I Octy?” The cellist shook her head. “Yeah, there’s a reason for that. I don’t like the past. The past is stupid. And smelly. It’s stupid and smelly.” Octavia gave her a small, encouraging smile. Vinyl sighed and ran a hoof through her mane. “Well, you know I was born in Manehattan, right?” “Yes.” “Right. Well, my family didn’t always live in Manehattan. The way my parents tell it, we came out of Canterlot and they were one of the,” Vinyl took on a more refined accent, “‘most influential and esteemed’ of the Canterlotian nobles. And then shit went down and my family lost everything.” Octavia nodded; it was a common story. “Yeah, but my parents never started thinking differently. They always thought about their money and all the crap that they had bought, they never moved on! Not even when they moved into this run-down apartment in Manehattan. And then they had me.” Vinyl shook her head. “You think that would’ve made them rethink their priorities; that they’d start carin’ ‘bout their little filly, ya know? Fuck that noise. They ain’t doin’ shit differently.” Vinyl was silent for a moment. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. Calm down, Vinyl. Before you get pissed and take it out on Octy. A few more calming breaths. The DJ opened her eyes to a worried Octavia. “They didn’t care about me.” The certainty in Vinyl’s voice made the cellist shiver. The unicorn barked out a laugh. “I ain’t messin’ with ya. They didn’t give a shit about me. I wasn’t a kid to them; I was a way back to their old life. They pulled a few strings; taught me how to play and compose music because they figure that that was the quickest way to get back in favor with the rich ponies. Every day was school, music, manners, sleep for a few hours and get up to the same fuckin’ thing the next day.” Vinyl felt a few stray tears in her eyes. “I tried to get them to stop; I told them that I didn’t like doing any of the things they made me do, that I was tired all the time, that the tutors that were doing them favors didn’t give a crap about what they taught, that I wanted to live a normal life... They yelled at me. Said that the only way I could be anything was to get them back up to where they were.” The DJ chuckled darkly. “No shit; those were their exact fuckin’ words. “And that’s not all,” continued Vinyl. “Remember when I told you how I got my cutie mark? I started messing with music, right? Parents, tutors, nopony around me really liked that. They tried to get me to stop.” She smiled. “Tried, ya know? Didn’t work out. I had started doing my own thing and there was no way in all of Tartarus that I was gonna stop. Buck that. Nah, I kept rebelling. And then I dropped out of high school. Just to spite them. Next thing I knew, I was kicked out of the house. No backward glances, not good-byes. Just ‘you have ten minutes to get your crap in a suitcase and get out’.” Vinyl went silent again. Octavia sat silently, as still as a statue. There was nothing to say. What were you even supposed to say when you hear something like that? What can you say when somepony who’s always happy, bouncing around, grinning, making jokes, somepony who’s always having a good time, tells you that they had to struggle to get all of their happiness? Octavia couldn’t say anything. Instead, she stood up, trotted over to Vinyl’s seat, and hugged her. The cellist held her as closely as she could. The DJ stiffened slightly. And then she relaxed. “Ya know,” said Vinyl. “I haven’t told anypony else about this. I met Doc while I was homeless so he knows, and Fancy Pants helped me get on my hooves, but I never told anypony just how I got out on the street.” “What makes me so special?” asked Octavia. Her voice was quiet, hushed by Vinyl’s story. The DJ wrapped her hooves around the cellist, holding her just as tightly as Octavia held her. “Because you’re different. Because you’re so much better than anypony else I’ve met. Because you’re beautiful and talented and perfect and your muzzle scrunches just a little bit when you’re angry and I have to try so hard to keep myself from just staring at you all the time and I can still picture you after that first argument, when I showed up at your house and you had just gotten up and you had that piece of candy stuck in your mane and all I could think was how awesome it would be if I got to see that every day. It’s because you’re you, Tavi.” Octavia melted. She felt her cheeks burn up but instead of that urge to run and hide, the extra blood in her face was a pleasant tingle. She kissed Vinyl’s cheek. “You think I’m perfect?” Another kiss. “You’ve been through so much more but you’ve been this beacon, this shining ball of happiness that illuminates everything around you.” Another kiss, this one on the forehead. Octavia leaned forward, resting her forehead against the DJ’s, making sure to avoid her horn. “Vinyl, you’re the most wonderful mare I’ve ever met.” They kissed. A real kiss. Not the pecks and brushes that they had shared before, but something deeper, something far more real. A kiss that made a promise. They pulled away, both of them taking a deep breath as they did so. They held each other’s gaze, violet meeting a bright red. It felt as though an eternity passed between them. “Whoah,” said Vinyl. That broke their trance. Octavia let out a giggle. Vinyl grinned. Octavia laughed at how stunned and euphoric the DJ looked. Vinyl laughed because Octavia was laughing. Before long, the two of them were in stitches, clutching their sides and gasping for air. A few minutes later, they settled down. They sat against each other, a few stray giggles rocking their frame every once in awhile. “Tavi?” asked Vinyl. “Hmmm?” responded Octavia. “Will you be my marefriend?” “Only if you’ll be mine.” “Well, duh.” The cellist turned and smiled at the DJ. She held out her hoof. Vinyl smiled back and took it. The two sat like this for a time, simply basking in their mutual presence. “We really should get back to etiquette,” said Octavia weakly. “Don’t need to.” “What?” Vinyl levitated the utensils. “Soup spoon, sugar spoon, dessert spoon, salad fork, butter knife,” on and on she named the eating implements. Octavia shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me.” Vinyl shrugged. “Though it does beg the question as to why you didn’t do that earlier?” Vinyl shrugged again. “It’s fun to mess with you, you’re muzzle scrunches up and you turn a little pink. It’s adorable. Plus, I had a spork so every other fork, spoon, or knife was kinda useless.” Octavia sighed. The DJ pointed with her free hoof. “See! Adorable.” *** Harpo walked into SunBucks, holding his dunce cap in order to keep it from flying off from the late afternoon wind. A few of the patrons stared. The composer greeted them with a nod. The patrons were satisfied by that; they had seen stranger things than a stallion with a cone on his head. The line was nothing special; about what one would expect at that time of day. Harpo occupied his time by singing a song in his head. He didn’t even notice when it was his turn. You take the good, sang Harpo, you take the bad, you mix them all and there you have— “Sir?” asked Carrot Top from behind the counter. “I’m afraid that you’re holding up the line.” “Oh!” said Harpo. “Pardon me, I was a bit preoccupied with my thoughts.” “Not a problem,” smiled the mare. “What can I get for you?” “A grande chai tea with skim milk and whatever monstrosity of a beverage Vinyl Scratch orders.” “That’s why you look familiar! You were in here with Vinyl a few days ago, weren’t you? You and that cellist, right?” Harpo nodded. “Good memory.” “Thank you. It’s all in the eyes. I’m kinda proud of my eyesight. Anyway, that’ll be ten bits. Can I get your name?” The composer briefly considered ‘Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds,’ but decided that nopony in the immediate vicinity would understand the reference. “Harpo.” Carrot Top scribbled the name down. “Alright Harpo, your order will be up in a few minutes.” “Thank you,” said Harpo as he trotted off towards an empty seat. He quickly took it. What are Octavia and Vinyl doing? wondered Harpo. Probably something adorable... Not that I’m jealous or anything! I’m sure that I’d find the right mare once given the chance. Harpo frowned imperceptibly. Well, at least I’m pretty sure I would. Rarity was a fine mare. Not sure if we’re entirely compatible, though. The composer shrugged. Eh, it’ll probably work itself out. He went back to singing. In fact, he was so engrossed in his old theme song sing along that he didn’t notice the mare glancing at him from across the room. Nor did he notice that said mare had gotten to her hooves and was trotting over to him. We’re tiny, we’re toony, we’re all a little loony. And in this— “Harpo? Harpo Nadermane? It is you, right?” Harpo glanced up, slightly irked that he had been interrupted. He froze at the blue coat and light brown mane. “It is you!” said the mare loudly. “I thought it would be, but I was really worried that it wasn’t. That would have been really embarrassing. How have you been?” “H-Hello, Beauty. I-I’ve been fine.” Beauty Brass smiled broadly. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you mind if I take a seat?” Harpo shook his head. The mare sat. “So, anything special happening with you?” The composer shook his head. “Not really.” Beauty smiled again. “I see you’re still a bit quiet.” Harpo returned the smile, giving it a slightly awkward twist. “It’s a shame, too. You’re very charming when you speak.” The stallion let out a quick laugh. “You’re probably the only one who thinks so.” “Really?” Harpo gave a wry, half-smile. “You say charming. Witty is a bit more like it. And witty can be pretty bad.” “Beauty Brass!” called a barista. Beauty trotted over to pick up her drink. She sat down again. “Are you in much of a hurry?” she asked. “I’m dealing with this musical composition and I could really use another set of eyes. Preferably ones that actually know what they’re talking about.” Harpo locked eyes with Beauty. “Of course. By the time we’re done, I may even say more that two sentences at a time.” The mare laughed. “See? What did I say about the charm?” Harpo shrugged. Beauty giggled again and dug through her pack, pulling out a packet of sheet music. “It may be a bit much,” she said apologetically. “Harpo!” called a barista. The composer glanced at the two drinks, then back at the sheet music and Beauty Brass. His head repeated this motion a few times. They’re going to be so pissed. *** Harpo carefully pushed open the door to Octavia’s home. It was normally locked, but the composer knew where the grey mare kept her spare key. The door gave a shrill squeak as it opened, causing Harpo to wince. The sun had set fully. The stallion had simply lost track of time while working with Beauty. The only reason that he left at all was due to the baristas’ occasional glances. They weren’t particularly dirty glances, but it was enough to make Harpo feel like a hindrance. Besides, Beauty had something else to do. The composer smiled to himself. He hadn’t just let her walk away after that; he had specifically asked her out to dinner, under the guise of helping her with her piece. Harpo crashed into a chair, stubbing his hoof and biting on his lip to keep from crying out. He brought his hoof to his mane as the pain coursed through him. Something fell off of his head. Harpo turned as white as a sheet. The dunce cap rolled in a circle a few feet away. I... I was wearing that... the entire time that I spoke to Beauty. Harpo placed his head on the table with a small thunk. I am the dumbest stallion in all of Equestria. He pulled himself up, poking his head through the other rooms of the home, expecting at every moment for an angry Octavia and a coffee-deprived Vinyl to tear him into pieces. But it never came. Finally, he got to Octavia’s bedroom. They were both there, fast asleep, wrapped in each other’s hooves. For a moment, Harpo was sure that they were even breathing in tandem. Harpo smiled, closing the door softly behind him. He wore that smile as he made his way to the linen closet and pulled out an extra blanket and pillow and settled himself on the couch. Lucky devils.