“Repeat that again for me. Slowly.”
“I essentially told Prince Blueblood to, if you’ll pardon the language, sit on a horn and spin.”
Fancy Pants put his head in his hooves. “I thought you said that you could handle it.”
“And I did,” replied Hoity Toity. “I think I handled it quite well.”
The businesspony looked up, giving his former employee a sharp look. “Quite well? Have you completely reverted yourself, Hoitoi? Have you forgotten everything I ever told you? We can’t simply tell somepony, any pony, to ‘sit on a horn and spin’! That’s not how business works! That’s not how anything works!”
“Indeed. I lost my head. I apologize.” Hoity Toity didn’t look very apologetic. Fancy Pants said as much.
“I assure you,” said the earth pony, “I was not in my right mind when I said that. It was an idiotic move.”
“It put you on his level.”
“I had never meant to stoop so low.”
Fancy Pants regarded the producer for a few moments. This didn’t make sense. Hoity Toity was completely out of character. He wasn’t so new in the business; there’s no way he’d easily succumb to his dislike of Blueblood so suddenly. But what good would it do?
Fleur de Lis walked down the stairs, smiling a greeting to the stallions sitting in the dining room. The mare wore a simple, leaf-green dress. “Fancy Pants, are you ready?” she called.
Her husband nodded and got to his hooves. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join us?” she asked Hoity Toity.
“Thank you for the offer. I decline.” Hoity Toity stood and nodded his goodbyes. “I’ll see you two at the gathering. Again, I’m sorry.” The door shut quietly behind him.
“He’s not sorry,” said Fleur as she trotted to her husband’s side.
Fancy Pants raised an eyebrow. “You were listening in?”
Fleur hit him softly. “What do you take me for?”
“So you weren’t?”
“Now, I never said that.”
Fancy Pants chuckled, nuzzling against his wife. His unease towards Hoity Toity, however, didn’t quite vanish. “What’s he playing at?”
“I don’t know. Unless he cut ties with Blueblood in an effort to completely associate himself with us.”
The businesspony snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”
Fleur smiled lightly. “But let’s not get too caught up in that. We have musicians to pick up and a party to attend. We’ll have enough troubles without having to overthink things.”
“Of course dear. You’re right.”
“As per usual,” said Fleur de Lis with a giggle.
“As per usual,” agreed Fancy Pants. They walked out of their manor, tails intertwined. Spokes was already outside. Employee and employer exchanged a few words. Then the businesspony climbed into the carriage and they headed out.
***
“Hey, Boss.” Vinyl climbed into the carriage, trying not to wrinkle her new dress. Octavia would probably kill her.
“Afternoon, Vinyl,” greeted Fancy Pants. Fleur smiled.
“So now we’re gonna go pick up Tavi and Harpo?” asked the DJ.
The businesspony nodded before lapsing into silence.
Vinyl felt herself give a half-grimace. “C’mon Boss. It’s never a good thing when you’re quiet like that. What’s wrong?”
Fancy Pants was barely able to open his mouth before Vinyl cut in.
“And don’t give me that crap about it not being my problem. It’s way too early for that.”
“Vinyl, it’s half past two,” said Fleur.
“Exactly!”
Fancy Pants smiled thinly but genuinely. “There’s nothing you have to worry about.”
Vinyl facehoofed, a task made much easier as she wasn’t wearing her shades. Fancy Pants cut off any complaints with a raised hoof.
“Nothing you need to worry about yet. I’m sure it will come back to haunt us in the future, but my dear wife has suggested that we focus on today. And that is what we shall do.”
Vinyl nodded, then turned towards Fleur. “Blueblood?”
“Hoity Toity, actually,” she responded.
The DJ nodded and turned to look through her window. Fancy Pants shook his head. “Mares,” he cursed under his breath.
“What was that, darling husband?”
“Nothing, oh beloved and beautiful wife of mine.”
The carriage rolled to a stop again. Octavia and Harpo were already outside, loitering awkwardly in their more formal attire. Vinyl swung the door open and the other musicians climbed in.
“Hoity Toity’s done something and Fancy Pants doesn’t wanna tell me what it is!” whined Vinyl as soon as the door had closed.
The businesspony facehoofed. Fleur covered her mouth with a hoof as she giggled. It was going to be a long carriage ride.
***
“Octavia, you have to go inside!”
“No I most certainly do not! I am quite content out here and away from… there!”
Harpo shook his head. Vinyl glanced over her shoulder towards the mansion teeming with well-dressed ponies. Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis were somewhere among them, they were whisked away as soon as the carriage doors had opened.
“I don’t get it,” said Vinyl. “It’s a nice place.”
“It’s her parent’s home,” explained Harpo.
“Oh! … I don’t get it.”
Octavia gave her a dark look. “Mother and Father live there. I used to live there. Mother and Father have a tendency of reminding myself and everypony in the immediate vicinity that I once lived there.”
“Ooooooh.” Vinyl nodded her head.
Harpo looked at the DJ. “You don’t get it.”
“No clue.”
The cellist sighed. “They have… physical evidence of my presence. Photographic evidence.”
“Foal photos?” asked Vinyl.
Octavia cringed. “Yes. Those.”
“Tavi, it’s a party for a bunch of snooty rich ponies. I don’t think your parents will be taking out the photo album.”
Harpo gave a bark of laughter. Vinyl stared at him. The composer shrugged apologetically but couldn’t quite wipe his smile away.
Octavia was shaking her head. “You, Vinyl Scratch, have not met Mother or Father.”
“They brought those ‘photo albums’ to our dear cellist’s high school graduation,” said Harpo with a chuckle.
“They brought those photo albums to my first day at the Conservatory. Luckily, they only showed those to the professors.” Octavia shivered. “Celestia knows that Father would have happily shown them to the other students.”
“It is a father’s duty to embarrass his children.” Marcato Philharmonica materialized suddenly. Vinyl and Harpo jumped, the latter barely stifling a yelp. The former pianist could be deathly silent.
Marcato regarded the two with unconcealed amusement before rushing forward and hugging Octavia. “My beautiful little octave, where have you been?!” he cried. “I haven’t seen you in years! What, you go to some fancy school and you’re suddenly too good for your father? You don’t even care anymore, do you?”
“Father, I was here not two weeks ago.”
Marcato held Octavia at hoof’s length. “Do you not understand what two weeks do to these old bones? No, of course you don’t! You young ponies have no sense of time!” He glanced up at the sun. “Speaking of time, look at the time! It’s time you went inside!” Marcato made his way towards the manor, pulling the cellist along. “There’s so much to do! You two come along too!”
Harpo held back a chuckle, quickly following. “Yessir, Mister Philharmonica, sir.”
“Don’t give me any of that fake respect crap, Harpo!” scolded Marcato over his daughter’s attempts at reasoning herself out of the party. It was a futile effort anyway.
Vinyl trotted up to the still-laughing composer. “This is Tavi’s dad?” she asked in an incredulous lilt.
“This isn’t anything,” assured Harpo. “It can, and probably will, get much worse.”
Marcato burst through the main entrance of his home, Octavia in tow. Harpo and Vinyl were close behind, peering nervously at the room of well-dressed, well-to-do ponies. These already colorful, expensive ponies were wearing equally colorful, expensive clothing. The musicians, at that moment, felt incredibly grateful to Rarity and her talent.
The elder Philharmonica was leading them to a table. Octavia could have sworn that she saw Fancy Pants and Fleur already sitting there.
A blue pegasus wearing a fedora intercepted Marcato. The camera slung around his neck was a perfect match to his cutie mark. “Afternoon Marcato!” he greeted cheerfully. “Nice party ya got goin’ here. Is this your daughter?” He extended a hoof towards Octavia. “Name’s Snap Shot, ma’am. Photographer extraordinaire.” His grin was nearly blinding.
The cellist smiled and took the offered hoof. “Octavia Philharmonica.” Harpo and Vinyl stopped by their friend. They shared a look, immediately reaching the same conclusion.
This could easily go very badly.
“Come now, Snap,” said Marcato warmly, “you can’t say that you didn’t already know her name. Not with your network.”
Snap Shot shrugged. “Don’t hurt to play nice.” He turned towards the two other musicians, shaking hooves with them. “Name’s Snap Shot.”
Harpo and Vinyl introduced themselves.
“See what I mean?” asked Snap Shot. “Playin’ nice. That’s kinda important in this business.” The last statement was directed at the musicians.
“You from Manehattan, Snap Shot?” asked Vinyl.
The pegasus’ eyes lit up. “Yes ma’am. Best city in the world, right after Cloudsdale! Ya tell by the accent?”
The DJ nodded, letting her own voice slip back into the Manehattan tone. “Ain’t too bad or nothin’ but it’s still there. An’ I know that accent.”
Snap Shot grinned. “Small world. Scratch, right? DJ-PON3?”
“Heard of me?”
“Ya can say that.” He glanced around. “Watch yourself today, alright? Don’t do nothin’ stupid when me and Quick Quill are around.”
Vinyl knit her eyebrows together. “What’s that mean?”
Snap Shot nickered. “Just… watch yourself. Nice party, Marcato.” The pegasus nodded his goodbyes and trotted away.
Marcato glanced at the DJ. “Well handled,” he said.
“Nothin’ to handle,” murmured the DJ. “He didn’t seem like a bad pony.” Her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
The elder stallion seemed to appraise the unicorn. “There are worse ponies. Snap Shot is just... very thorough with what he does. Quick Quill even more so.”
Vinyl nodded.
Marcato turned towards his daughter. “You make good friends, Octavia.”
“Bit more than friends,” said Harpo. The cellist’s eyes widened and she dug a hoof into Harpo’s side.
“No kidding?” replied the other stallion noncommittally. “It’s about time.”
***
“Tavi, just kill me. Buck me right here.” Vinyl tapped her temple. “Make it quick.”
“Vinyl, you’re doing wonderfully. Stop overreacting.”
“Says Miss Foal Photos,” snarked Harpo.
The three musicians had been escorted throughout the party, sometimes by one of the Philharmonicas, sometimes by Fancy Pants or Fleur de Lis. They had shaken hooves with dozens of well-to-do ponies, a few of which had barely been able to contain a scoff when they saw the DJ. Octavia and Harpo were doing most of the talking.
Yet, everything was going far better than could be expected. Of course Vinyl didn’t quite fit in; she was not a born and bred Canterlot pony, no matter how her parents had tried to mold her as such. But she had maintained her composure, had done nothing to damage the reputation of Syncopated Records. Which was more than many ponies attending the party had thought possible.
“Pardon me.” A sweet voice resounded through the room. Legato Philharmonica stood toward the back of the festivities on a makeshift stage. A piano stood off to the side.“Thank you so much for attending this gathering,” said Legato into a microphone, “it’s simply a joy to see so many of you and I hope that you’ve been enjoying yourself. But the evening has gone incomplete for far too long.”
Marcato joined her onstage, carrying a microphone of his own. “Incomplete,” he said, “because not a single Philharmonica within the Philharmonica manor has been harmonic all day.” He seated himself at the piano. “I mean that in the musical sense, of course. My wife and daughter would maim me if I thought of them as anything less than the very embodiments of harmony.”
The ponies in the audience laughed lightly.
The pianist coaxed a few arpeggios from the keys. “In any case, Legato and I would very much appreciate the chance to play a song for you.” He got to his hooves and stretched. “But I am old, decrepit, and I have yet to hear my daughter play professionally.” His eyes seemed to twinkle. “Or, for that matter, her marefriend, Miss Vinyl Scratch. And Maestro Nadermane as well.”
Legato smiled, trotting off the stage, the crowd parting before her as she made her way to three stunned musicians.
“You’re kidding,” said Octavia. Her head swiveled from side to side, stopping on two familiar unicorns. “She’s kidding,” the cellist mouthed to Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis.
Fancy Pants gave an encouraging smile. Fleur waved her on with a hoof.
“They’re not kidding,” said Harpo.
Vinyl nodded.
First public appearance, remembered the cellist. We’re representing Syncopated Records. Of course we’d be asked to play. She looked up at her mother.
“Of course,” said Legato, “your father and I could always ground you if you don’t decide to play.”
Octavia sighed and glanced at her friends. With a resigned nod, they quickly trotted up to the stage, Vinyl carrying the microphone in her magic.
A harp had been set up in those few moments where Legato had walked through the crowed. Harpo quickly cantered there and took his seat, his back ramrod straight, his eyes forward, practically exuding formality. Octavia and Vinyl exchanged a glance. The DJ nodded slightly, understanding without words. She trotted to the piano.
Octavia Philharmonica took center stage. Marcato returned from wherever he had disappeared to, carrying a large, black case.
The cellist stood in awe as her father opened the case, revealing a perfectly polished, lovingly crafted cello. A few tears welled in Octavia’s eyes. She quickly wiped them away, giving her father a brief but heartfelt hug.
Marcato walked off stage. Octavia placed the microphone on a stand before situating herself against her cello. “My apologies,” she said. “This… this is the cello that Mother and Father bought me when I first entered Canterlot Conservatory.” The cellist smiled, wiping away more tears. “Her name is Presto,” she added in a quiet voice.
Vinyl grinned. That was kinda adorable. She quickly straightened up. Wait, no. Remember what Octy said… or what her look said… or something. This is a fancy party. So I have to play fancy. Formal. Proper. Whatever the buck you want to call it. That crap my parents wanted me to do.
She glanced up at her marefriend. But I’ll do it for her.
“We will begin with a song for Princess Luna. A Moonlight Serenade.” That was it. No more preparation than that. There could be no excuses of ‘no time for rehearsal.’ Not from Syncopated Records, and certainly not from Octavia Philharmonica.
The cellist twitched her bow slightly, from side to side, marking time. Harpo and Vinyl kept the time in their head.
Octavia kicked off the song, playing a swaying, dreamy figure. Harpo joined in a beat afterwards, plucking at his harp strings, adding a steady beat to the music, like the ticking of a clock. Then it was Vinyl’s turn, her hooves lightly, almost lazily, tapping against the keys.
The music had a soothing effect. Conversations lazed aways, lapsing into a silence filled by three musicians. Within a few minutes, the chatter of the party had died away, swallowed up by the music.
Octavia allowed one longer note to fade into silence. Everypony in the room heard the thunk of a pen hitting the floor. Vinyl took control of the melody, the cello and the harp clearly following into line behind the piano.
The DJ turned pianist was the center of the piece.
Some in the audience began to speak among themselves, serenely munching on whatever complimentary food happened to be passing by. Most were quite content to simply eat as they listened to the music.
The song came to a close. The crowd clapped their hooves politely. The musicians took their bows. Vinyl was a bit disappointed with the reaction, as used as she was to raucous cries and chants.
They quickly trotted offstage. Another group of musicians, the group that the Philharmonicas had actually hired for the party, took their places.
“It’s always a pleasure to hear you play,” said Fleur de Lis as the musicians approached their table.
‘Wonderfully done,” said Fancy Pants, getting to his hooves and offering his seat to one of the mares. Octavia took the offer and found herself seated between her parents. Marcato and Legato smiled proudly at their daughter.
Hoity Toity had found his way to the table, a half-empty glass of amber liquid standing in front of him. He nodded his greeting.
Marcato leaned forward slightly, resting his hooves on the table as Vinyl pulled up a chair. “What intentions do you have with my daughter, Miss Scratch?” Everypony at the table froze up momentarily.
Legato glanced at her husband. “Did you really just ask that?”
“It’s my right as a father! Besides, how many chances have I had at saying that line before today? None, that’s how many.”
“None?!” asked a very surprised Vinyl Scratch. Every pony at the table turned to stare at her. Well, every pony except Octavia, whose head had, at this point, made full contact with the table.
The DJ felt her cheeks heat up. “Sorry. It’s just… well, she’s Octy!”
Marcato knit his eyebrows together. “And what does that mean?”
Harpo laughed lightly. “That Vinyl thinks that Octavia’s perfect.”
“Not perfect!” protested the DJ. “But… okay, yeah, perfect. Or pretty much perfect. I mean, I would’ve thought that a mare like her would’ve… I don’t know,” she said lamely. It felt like her brain was overheating; she knew that her white coat might as well be scarlet at that point. “Hey Hoity, where’d you get that drink?”
Legato reached across the table with the lightning speed of a mother. She pinched Vinyl’s cheek, shaking her hoof slightly from side to side. “Awwww, that’s adorable! Reminds me of me and Marcato. I thought that he was perfect at first.” She glanced at her husband. “Don’t worry, they’re quick to prove you wrong.”
Marcato stuck out his tongue in reply.
A quill scratched against a notepad. The ponies turned again. A bright green unicorn stood near the table, a pad of paper and an acid green quill floating in front of him. He wore a fedora nearly identical to the one Snap Shot wore.
“So it’s official?” he asked. “I thought as much from the picture Snap took, but it’s always best not to assume.”
“Enjoying the festivities, Quick Quill?” asked Fancy Pants politely.
“Yes indeed,” responded the reporter. He turned to the musicians. “I saw you guys at the Lighthouse Cafe too. You’re not bad.” His eyes fixed on Vinyl. “You especially. There aren’t many ponies who could keep up with musicians who went through as much formal training as these two.”
The DJ nodded in thanks.
“Scratch,” said Quick Quill. “Vinyl Scratch.” He flipped his notebook shut. “Don’t do anything stupid tonight. Least, not in front of me.”
“Funny. Your partner said the same thing to Marcato and the musicians,” said Legato with a smile. “Any particular reason?”
The reporter returned the smile and adjusted his fedora slightly. “Just playing nice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see a platter of quiche with my name on it.” The unicorn walked away.
“Reporters,” cursed Marcato. “They never tell you anything.”
***
Vinyl and Octavia returned to their table, sweating slightly. It had taken every ounce of the cellist’s diplomatic skills to convince her marefriend but it had worked out in the end. Vinyl had promised a single dance. And then another and then another. Hours after the first dance, the two mares collapsed onto their seats, immensely grateful that their drinks hadn’t been moved.
“Well,” said Vinyl, “it’s not the dancing I’m used to, but it hits the same way.” She threw her drink back.
“Those were waltzes.” replied Octavia. “Just be glad we didn’t have time to learn anything more complicated.”
Vinyl nearly choked. “There’re more complicated dances out there?!”
The cellist lifted an eyebrow. “Honestly, Vinyl?”
Harpo dropped heavily into his seat at the table. He was slightly flushed and grinning like a lunatic. “You two finished already?”
“Wiped,” responded Vinyl.
“Exhausted,” said Octavia.
The composer waggled a hoof at them. “You youngins.” He grasped at his own drink, emptying the glass within three gulps. “Though a break sounds really good right about now.”
The mares nodded tiredly. They sat comfortably, the music providing a background for their thoughts.
“Tavi, we really need to go on a date,” said Vinyl.
Octavia lazily turned towards the DJ. “What prompted that?”
The other mare shrugged. “Well, it’s because we’re official. But…”
“But what?” asked the cellist worriedly.
“But I feel like I should do some big ol’ romantic thing. And I haven’t done it and I really really want to!”
Octavia smiled. “And when would this happen?”
“Tomorrow,” replied Vinyl with determination.
The cellist blinked.
“Well, why put it off?” Vinyl grinned. “And I get to be all romantic and crap. It’ll be awesome!”
“I’m sure,” replied Octavia with a smile.
Off in the corner, when he was sure one of the mares would notice, Harpo pretended to throw up.
“Shut up, Harpo,” said the mares in unison.
“I wasn’t doing anything! Honestly, you two are so quick to judge my ac—”
“Vinell!” said a mare’s voice. She had a Canterlot accent. A highly practiced accent.
“Where, where is she?” asked a stallion. Another accent that sounded far to Canterlotian to be from Canterlot.
Vinyl felt a chill come over her. There was a strange pressure in the back of her head. Blueblood got two ponies invited to the party.
“No,” whispered the DJ to herself. “Please. Celestia, Luna, whatever’s out there. Please.”
“Vinyl?” asked Octavia. She rested a worried hoof on the unicorn. “Vinyl, are you okay?” But Vinyl Scratch was shaking. This was not okay.
A cerulean earth pony trotted into view. Everything about her, from the sequined blue dress she wore to the long, dangling silver earrings, screamed excessiveness. A darker blue unicorn followed close behind her, his own clothes kept in perfect order. He was consistently using his magic to fix his mane.
“There you are, darling,” said the mare in that grating accent. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why didn’t you come and greet us?”
The stallion was preoccupied with his mane.
Vinyl looked up. She felt herself shaking. “Mom. Dad.”