//------------------------------// // The Changes // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// “See, you’re getting better already!” Slip. Thud. “Octavia, for the umpteenth time, don’t jinx it!” The mares untangled themselves, Vinyl shone a particularly bright red. Octavia rounded on the composer. “But she is improving! Simply pointing it out does not change the fact!” Harpo tilted his head slightly, giving Octavia a sage look. “Never underestimate a jinx.” “It’s just so slow!” said Vinyl, stamping at the ground. “What kind of pony dances like this?!” “The ponies that we’ll be consorting with in two days,” replied Harpo with a deadpan expression. The DJ grimaced and coughed into a hoof. “I think I feel a cold coming on.” “If she gets to take the day off by pretending to be sick, so do I!” Harpo dramatically swooned onto the couch. “My athlete’s hoof is acting up. I can’t feel my eyeballs!” “Keep that up and I’ll give you something to complain about,” threatened Octavia through gritted teeth. Harpo considered this. “On second thought, I feel fine. It’s a miracle!” “Perfect, because it’s your turn,” said the cellist with a snide smile. Harpo groaned, dragging himself to his hooves. “Who knows, maybe I won’t have to go afterall. Vinyl will probably break my hoof and then I can stay in bed all day!” The DJ scowled, throwing a dirty glare at Harpo that, for the first time in a long time, was not covered by bright purple shades. The composer stuck his tongue out at her. The cellist, for the first time in the last three seconds, wondered whether her friends had lied about their age when Fancy Pants hired them. “Can I at least get some music?” whined Vinyl. “I can’t just stand here and dance; it feels stupid.” “Vinyl,” replied Octavia, “I assure you that this is the fastest way to learn the steps. You just have to keep the beat in your head.” “But numbers are boring!” cried Vinyl, throwing up her hooves. “One two three. One two three. One two three. It’s like I’m back in magic kindergarten!” “Oh, give her the music, Octavia,” said Harpo. “It may help. And then she won’t, you know, leave me broken in a hospital.” The DJ punched the composer. Hard. “Don’t tempt me, Harpbutt.” The composer rubbed at the newest of his collection of bruises. “Octavia? The music?” Octavia nodded and trotted over to a closet. The door creaked open, revealing row upon row of neatly organized records, stretching from the closet floor and up towards the ceiling. Octavia had added shelves to the other side of the door and the closet walls. Those too were filled to bursting with records and each one was in pristine condition, still in the original cardboard sheets that the cellist had bought them in. It seemed as though every piece of music written in recent memory could be found within that single closet Vinyl gaped, running her eyes over, well, the vinyls. “Tavi, can I borrow some of those?” “Not if you’re going to use them in your shows, Vinyl Scratch.” “But… but I love you.” Vinyl prepared herself, gathering energy for the most powerful puppy dog eyes she had ever given. Octavia’s eyes widened. Her hoof darted into the closet, deftly picking out a record before slamming the door shut and locking it. The DJ’s puppy dog eyes turned into a pout. “Do… do you not trust me?” “Not with my records.” Octavia trotted over to her gramophone. “As much as I love you, I will be keeping my collection under lock and key.” “Lame!” protested Vinyl. “So lame!” The cellist rolled her eyes as she gingerly lowered the record into place. She cranked the gramophone a few times. “Harpo, make sure that that record doesn’t scratch.” The composer looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with the cellist. Octavia looked back at him and nodded slightly. Harpo shrugged. “Fine by me. I rather enjoy having feeling in my hooves.” The stallion flopped back onto the couch, giving the record a cursory glance. He smiled to himself and lowered the needle. A piano sounded from the machine. The notes seemed to slowly float downwards, like a leaf caught in the wind, as the mares squared off again. “Nice song,” said Vinyl. “One of my favorites,” agreed Octavia. “Remember, I’m leading.” The DJ nodded, her head tilting to one side as the piano shifted from its downward sways. The music kept its dream-like quality. “We’re not supposed to dance to this part, right?” “We can.” “But we’re not?” Octavia shook her head as a lone violin gave a plaintive call. “No, but we do dance to this.” The waltz began in full force. Octavia took a step forward, Vinyl took a step back. The mares swayed to the side. The DJ’s brow was furrowed in concentration; her dancing was stiff and choppy. Even then, she was doing far better than she had done previously. The music’s main theme returned, swelling louder. Octavia was barely able to stifle a giggle as Vinyl stumbled slightly. “Loosen up!” called Harpo from the sidelines. “Shut… up… Harpo!” retorted Vinyl, her eyes firmly locked onto her hooves. The composer chuckled and wondered whether popcorn was an option. “Vinyl,” said Octavia quietly, “try looking up.” The DJ glanced upwards quickly, before staring back down at her treacherous hooves. The cellist rolled her eyes. “All the way up.” “I’m kinda… busy!” Octavia sighed and swooped in, taking Vinyls forehooves in her own and making them rear up. The DJ made the most adorable squeaking sound and squirmed slightly in the cellist’s grip. “Harpo, start the record again. Carefully.” The composer rolled his eyes and, with exaggerated slowness, took the record off the gramophone, giving the machine a few cranks for good measure. The drifting piano notes resounded through the room. Vinyl had stopped squirming, a sheepish grin grew across her face, masking her embarrassment. “I’m really bad at this.” Octavia smiled softly. “Terrible is a bit closer.” She thought for a few moments. “Though ‘disastrous’ is probably the closest.” Vinyl gave an embarrassed bark of a laugh. “Now,” said Octavia, “forget all about that and dance with me.” Harpo gave a quick, “Awwwww,” from his place on the couch. Octavia glanced at him, but the composer preempted his punishment by putting the dunce cap on his own head. The violin gave its cry. A moment of quiet. And then the waltz began again. Octavia took a step forward, balancing against Vinyl in the same way she balances against her cello. The DJ was forced to take a step back, tottering dangerously on her hind hooves. But Octavia stalwartly held onto Vinyl’s fore hooves, sweeping her back and forth to the music. Vinyl wasn’t quite able to bend her head downwards, making sure that her hooves stayed beneath her; Octavia was pressed a tad bit too closely to allow that. The DJ was suddenly very aware just how close the cellist, her marefriend, actually was. “So,” said the DJ, “this is… nice.” Octavia smiled. “Yes, it is.” They kept up their dance. Vinyl stumbled a few times, but Octavia kept her from falling and ending their waltz. “This is kinda like music, isn’t it?” asked the DJ. The cellist arched an eyebrow. “How so?” “You know, it just kinda… is.” Octavia gave a small smile. “You have a wonderful way with words.” Vinyl stuck her tongue out, stumbling slightly. But only slightly. “You know what I mean!” The cellist considered this for a moment, her own hooves never faltering for a moment. “I suppose so. You must get a bit lost in the music to get it right.” Octavia lifted her hoof, giving the DJ a sudden twirl. Vinyl let out another squeak but somehow, miraculously, kept her balance. She looked at Octavia with a wide grin. The music drew slightly distorted. Somehow, the DJ was able to work through that. And then the main theme returned again, not as swooping as before, a bit bouncier. Vinyl added a spring to her steps without really thinking about it. Octavia grinned, one mirrored by the white unicorn before her. On the couch, Harpo swayed from side to side, humming along to the tune. The mares danced until the final note tapered out. Octavia and Vinyl fell back onto their hooves. The cellist’s grin hadn’t subsided in the slightest. “And then you bow to your partner and the dance is over. The grey mare’s head dipped slightly. Vinyl laughed and exaggerated her own bow. “My thanks, dearest Tavi, for sharing this dance with me. Now, I have heard that thou hast in thine possession the finest records in the land.” “No,” said Octavia. “But I danced!” whined Vinyl. “No.” “And I bowed and everything!” “No.” Vinyl pouted. “Well… then what are we supposed to do?” “We make sure that you’re prepared for the dance,” said Octavia. “Oh come on, Octy!” groaned the DJ. “I didn’t even fall that time!” “‘That time’ is the keyword in that sentence,” said the cellist with an adamant expression. “We should make sure that you can maintain your balance.” “You just want to dance with me again.” Vinyl waggled her eyebrows. Octavia turned slightly pink. “Fine… we’ll take a break.” “Hey!” protested the unicorn. “I didn’t say that that was a bad thing! I mean, it’s understandable.” She put on a cocky grin. “Who wouldn’t want to dance with me?” Harpo raised a hoof. His head snapped back as a pillow wrapped in Vinyl’s aura sped across the room. The composer still had his eyes towards the ceiling as he said, “SunBucks?” Vinyl shrugged. “Sounds good.” *** “— And so I said, what do I look like, a pineapple?!” Vinyl burst out laughing. Octavia and Harpo smiled politely. “Did you get any of that?” whispered Harpo to the cellist. “Not a bit.” The DJ had her eyes set on the coffee house doors. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee. Two days? Day and a half? Celestia, I don’t know how I’m functioning!” The trio had reached the glass doors of SunBucks. Octavia and Harpo held back, expecting Vinyl to rocket into the coffee house and, possibly, tumble over the counter. Whether they were looking forward to this possibility or worried about it was still up for debate. But Vinyl didn’t rocket. In fact, she didn’t even slam the door open and her usual war cry was replaced with a far calmer, “‘Sup, Berry?” Octavia and Harpo shared a look. The purple mare looked up, then glanced at the clock. “You’re off time.” The DJ shrugged. “I’ve been busy. Can you whip something up for me?” “The usual?” “Nah,” replied Vinyl, staring at the menu. “Something cold this time. Oh! Could you mix one of those cookie things into the drink?” “A buscotti?” asked Berry Punch. “Yeah, cookie thing!” Harpo and Octavia shared another look. This time, however, Vinyl caught it. “What?” she said. “I drink things other than the Hyped-Up DJ.” Octavia blinked. “Hyped-Up DJ?” Berry Punch looked up from a blender filled with coffee and cookies. “Three guesses as to where the name came from.” Harpo laughed. “I like this place more every time I come here!” “That’s the goal,” said the barista with a smile. “And can I get you the usual too, Miss Octavia?” The cellist rapidly shook her head. “No! No thank you; I rather like being able to sit still.” Berry looked a bit confused. “I didn’t think chai tea had that effect.” Octavia blinked. “Chai tea?” “That’s what you normally order, isn’t it? Or at least, what other ponies order when they’re bringing it to you. Chai tea with skim milk.” Vinyl grinned brightly and threw a hoof over the cellist. “Look at that! Tavi’s got a usual!” She wiped a pretended tear from her eye. “They grow up so fast!” “Mmmmmhmmm,” said Berry Punch in agreement. “Give it a little more and she’ll be a usual.” She smiled a knowing smile at Octavia. “Anyway, you’re drink’s ready, Vinyl.” “Thanks Berry,” said the DJ, throwing a hoofful of bits onto the counter. “You’re a doll. Harpo, let’s go get a table.” She trotted off, closely followed by the composer. “So,” said the barista when they had left earshot, “how’s insanity treating you?” “You remember that, do you?” said Octavia sheepishly. “I have a good memory. And a bit of a sense for these things.” “What… things?” Berry grinned. “These things.” She winked. “You two are cute together. I knew you would, ever since you first came in here with those papers.” Octavia thought back. She clearly remembered being quite prepared to run a hoof through Vinyl’s face. Nervousness had that effect on the cellist. “I certainly didn’t.” “That’s the thing about these things,” said the other mare with a shrug. “You never it coming.” Octavia craned her neck over her shoulder. Vinyl and Harpo had taken a table in the corner. The DJ was balancing a spork on her upper lip. The composer was desperately fighting the urge to knock it off. “No,” said the cellist. “You certainly don’t.” … Where does she keep finding those? *** Fancy Pants cradled his head in one of his hooves. “And there’s nothing more?” “No. Prince Blueblood has gone to extra efforts to ensure that his secrets remain secret.” Hoity Toity took a sip of his cognac. The eldest stallion sighed. “Doctor?” The Doctor unstuck two jelly babies, popping a red one into his mouth which was closely followed by a green one. “No idea. The most specific information I’ve managed to get is that he’s gotten a few ponies added to the guest list. I couldn’t find the names, but I’ve heard that it’s only two or three.” Fancy Pants frowned. “With what intent?” Hoity Toity raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter? It’s clearly something meant to break apart Syncopated Records. That should be enough.” The Doctor chuckled. “A few days ago, you would have been enough.” “I don’t want to break apart Syncopated Records,” said Hoity Toity. “Anymore,” added the brown stallion. “Care for a Jelly Baby?” “No… thank you.” Fancy Pants rubbed at his eyes. “For now, I am more than willing to assume that Hoity Toity has put aside any devious intentions.” “I’m flattered,” deadpanned the designer. The elder stallion looked up, greeting Hoity Toity with a sheepish smile. “Don’t take offense to that, Hoitoi.” Hoity Toity’s left eye twitched slightly. He took a sip of his cognac. “I’d ask you to not be so familiar with me, but that would be rather rude, wouldn’t it?” Fancy Pants grinned. “Yes, it would. Good thing that you’re not suggesting anything.” The Doctor watched the exchange with a bit more than a touch of amusement. The elder businesspony sighed again. He’d been doing that quite a lot recently. “I suppose that the next logical step would be to speak to Marcato and Legato.” The other two nodded. “Still,” pondered Fancy Pants, “what possesses Blueblood? Why does he feel the need to come after us.” Hoity Toity snorted. “Prince Blueblood? There’s no logic to that foal’s logic.” The Doctor rubbed at his neck. “I wonder about that.” The two stallions of wealth turned to the Doctor, eyebrows raised. “What I mean is,” continued the Doctor, “he’s clearly somewhat capable. Blueblood isn’t terribly dangerous, but he’s good at being annoying. Not many ponies could be such a good thorn in our sides.” “He’s a colt trying to play a businesspony’s game,” asserted Hoity Toity. “He started cheating when he realized that he is not good enough to play.” Fancy Pants smiled. When the stallion normally did this, every pony in the immediate vicinity felt that they had received their father’s approval. This time, the smile was ice cold. “It’s always been a game for you, hasn’t it, Mr. Toity?” Hoity Toity met the smile with his own cool gaze. “Only so long as it’s worth playing.” The elder businesspony took a deep breath. His smile thawed slightly. “I’d rather that you didn’t refer to my problems as a ‘game.’” He turned to the other stallion. “Doctor, contact the Philharmonicas and continue your search for information. Thank you for your continuing services.” The brown stallion saluted and marched through the doorway. Fancy Pants turned towards Hoity Toity. “I trust you know what to do.” “Of course.” He drained the rest of his cognac. “I can handle this. I’m not what I was before.” “I know.” There was a note of sadness in his voice. Sadness counterpointed with the slightest pride. “Goodbye Hoitoi.” Hoity Toity twitched once again before nodding to Fancy Pants. He walked back outside, already planning his meeting with Prince Blueblood.