//------------------------------// // The Counter // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// Octavia awoke comfortably, her eyes opening smoothly, her body feeling fully rested, if a bit worn by the previous night. It was a strange feeling, to say the least, a feeling made all the stranger by the lack of a DJ nuzzling into the cellist’s mane. The cellist looked around the room. Random bits of trash, candy wrappers mostly, a bowl or two on a desk, a lamp, a carpet that needed a good wash. No Vinyl Scratch. Octavia Philharmonica shivered, drawing the blanket up to her chin. “What got into me last night?” she whispered to the air. “That… shouldn’t have happened.” They were being horrid. But if Vinyl was able to withstand it-- Vinyl had no reason to do so! She should have yelled, she should have been the one to lash out like that; Celestia knows that she had every right to! And it’s hard to believe that Vinyl Scratch, of all ponies, would simply sit there and listen. Whatever happened to diving over counters in search of coffee? There was a knock at the door. “Hey Tavi, you decent in there?” Vinyl came through the door, an apron that read ‘Wub the Cook’ wrapped around her and a breakfast-in-bed table floating in a pearl white aura. “Awww, you are. Damn.” “Good morning, Vinyl.” “Hey there sweet cheeks, have a nice sleep?” She trotted forward, planting a kiss on her marefriend’s brow before setting the plate down. Octavia looked down at the bowl, an eyebrow arched of its own volition. “Really, Vinyl?” “What? You don’t like Lucky Charms? I know, not enough marshmallows, but it’s still pretty good!” The cellist gave her a bemused look. “Hey!” protested Vinyl. “At least I tried!” “That you did, Vinyl.” Octavia scooped up a spoonful of brightly colored cereal. “Thank you. It’s wonderful.” The DJ knit her brow. Then she laughed. “The hell are you talking about? That’s pretty freaking terrible. I mean seriously, cereal?” There was a slight pause and a moment of revelation. Vinyl’s face lit up with a grin. “Cereally?” Octavia put her spoon down and groaned in pain. “Tavi? You alright?” There was a genuine worry in her voice. “That remark caused physical damage. I could feel how bad that was.” “Haha, Tavi. Hardy-har-har. Don’t mind me, I just stayed up with you last night and got up this morning to make you breakfast which is, by the way, a very nice cereal! What do you have to say to that?” Vinyl crossed her hooves. “I say you’ve been spending too much time around Harpo.” The DJ froze for a few seconds. Octavia scooped up a few more spoonfuls of marshmallows. “But I like Harpo!” protested Vinyl. “He’s funny! An ass, but funny. So that makes it okay to be an ass.” “Flawless logic.” Vinyl let out a whistle, starting off on a high pitch and letting it get lower. She thumped a hoof against the bed.“Hear that, Tavi? That’s you falling down the sar-chasm.” The cellist rolled her eyes, rhythmically chewing her cereal. There was a knock at the door. “I got it,” said Vinyl with a wave of her hoof. She cantered off, down a small hallway, through the living room. Another knock. “Yeah yeah, I’m coming!” She flung open the door. Flash. Pop. Blinding lights coming from scores of different bulbs. Dozens of voices speaking over each other. “Is it true that you assaulted y--” “Were those ponies your par--” “Have you heard of the--” “What does Fancy Pants have to sa--” “Prince Blueblood is calling it the ‘abomination of the--” Vinyl slammed the door shut again, locking it, chaining it, her gaze darting around the room looking for something that could act as a barricade. “There aren’t any--” began Quick Quill “--bookcases,” finished Snap Shot. “That would have worked perfectly.” The DJ let out a shout, magically throwing a candy wrapper at one of the reporters. The wrapper, a gold color with the word ‘Twixie’ printed on it, pathetically floated towards the floor. “Terrifying,” said Quick Quill. “Absolutely terrifying,” agreed Snap Shot. “Of all the things to attack us with.” “We’ve never been attacked with a candy wrapper.” “Well, there was that time with the jelly doughnut.” “Ah yes. In Canterlot Castle. Good times.” “How the hell did you two get in here?!” Vinyl breathing came rapidly, her heart still thudding against her chest. Quick Quill smirked. “A reporter reports.” “Reports must be reported,” added Snap Shot. “That cannot be stopped. Not by doors--” “--or windows--” “--or locks--” “--or distance--” “--or--” “Shut up!” shouted Vinyl. “Seriously. It messes with my head when you keep changing like that.” “Sorry ‘bout that,” said Snap Shot sincerely. “Partners. Kinda gets into your head when you hang out with the same pony for enough time.” “Cute,” responded the DJ. “Now seriously, how the buck did you get in here?” Quick Quill put a hoof to his chest. “Why Miss Scratch! What happened to the thoughtfulness from last night?” “You were a pleasure,” continued Snap Shot. “So much of a change between then and now!” “Suppose that she’s angry?” “I do suppose that she’s angry.” Quick Quill shrugged. “Well, I suppose that it’s her right.” “Yes, you should be right to suppose such a thi--” “Damn right I’m angry!” broke in Vinyl Scratch. “What the hell was that, takin’ a picture of Tavi and my parents?! The buck are you two playin’ at?!” Snap Shot tutted softly. “Temper temper, Vinyl. Your accent’s comin’ through.” “Nothing good can come of that,” added the writer. “Quick’s right. Ain’t nothin’ good from losin’ your temper. We got some proof of that last night.” Vinyl felt herself scowl. She would have growled if it were any other ponies. “Fine. What do you want?” The reporters looked at each other. A few moments passed, filled with no words but plenty of minute facial movements between the two. They nodded, turning back to Vinyl. “Nothing,” they said in unison. The DJ’s scowl turned into a look of confusion. “What?” “Nothing,” repeated Snap Shot. “Nada.” “Zilch.” “Zero.” “Zip.” “I got that part!” Vinyl rubbed a hoof on the bridge of her nose. “Now I know how Tavi feels.” “In all honesty, I think you and Harpo are worse.” Octavia appeared in the doorway, clutching an empty bowl. “Good morning, Quick Quill, Snap Shot.” “Miss Philharmonica,” replied the reporters, inclining their heads slightly. “Tavi, I got this.” “Vinyl, I was angry last night, not deathly ill. There’s no need to worry about me today.” Octavia turned towards the reporters. “To what do we owe this pleasure? I think that you already have your story.” “Such poison in your tone!” sighed Quick Quill. “Suppose that she’s angry too?” asked the pegasus. “I’d suppose so.” “You’d suppose correctly,” cut in Octavia. Her grip on the bowl tightened by the slightest amount. “And I’d suggest that you get on with it before I personally toss you out in front of all of your peers.” Snap Shot held up his hooves. “Nothin’ but hostility! And after we came to explain ourselves.” “It’s the closest thing we’ve come to an apology,” added Quick Quill.” “Yes it is! Apologizing isn’t a common thing with reporters.” Octavia gestured toward a table. The four sat down, each pair facing the other. The bowl stayed right by the cellist’s hoof. It would make a good projectile. Octavia Philharmonica crossed her hooves. “Then I suppose you should begin your explanation.” “I suppose so,” agreed Snap Shot regretfully. “We’ll begin at the beginning. Quick Quill and I, as you know, are reporters.” “As reporters,” cut in Quick Quill, “it is our duty to report on anything that could possibly be reported. No matter what it might be--” “--no matter where it might be--” “--no matter when it might be.” To prove his point, Quick Quill plucked the feather he wore in his fedora. He held it up to the mares. The feather was a finely sharpened quill, one of the new models where the ink flowed from the quill itself. As the same time, Snap Shot reached into his own fedora, producing a small camera. “It’s our job,” said the reporters proudly. “We don’t apologize for our job.” “Very impressive,” deadpanned Octavia. “Now, why the buck are you here?” asked Vinyl with not a little venom. Snap Shot shrugged. “Moral issues.” “You two made a good impression last night,” lamented Quick Quill. “And we were there at the Lighthouse Cafe. We enjoyed it immensely.” “Best part of that date.” Octavia blanched. “Beg pardon?” Vinyl was busy trying to reattach her lower jaw. Quick Quill shrugged, an exact mirror to Snap Shot’s earlier move. “Partners. You spend enough time with somepony, you learn to love them.” “They tend to rub off on you,” added the pegasus. Vinyl held up a hoof. “Dude. TMI.” Snap Shot blinked once. A smirk spread across his face as he opened his mouth. A green hoof stuffed itself into his maw. “I know what you’re thinking,” said Quick Quill. “Stop thinking it.” The other reporter rolled his eyes and pushed the hoof away. The smirk returned. “Well, as long as you’re thinking it too.” Octavia coughed into her hoof. “We may be getting off-topic.” “Quite right, said Quick Quill as the faintest tinge of pink colored his face. “Our point is that we actually like you two.” “And Syncopated Records in general, actually.” Snap Shot looked to his partner. “Exactly. Our employer for last night, however… That’s an entirely different matter.” “Blueblood.” asked Vinyl. “You were working for Blueblood, weren’t you?” Her jaw strained as her teeth ground against each other. Octavia said nothing, but she took up her bowl again. “Yes,” said the reporters. “We’re freelancers!” added Snap Shot quickly. “We take employment as it comes!” “And it came from Blueblood this time,” said Octavia. Sullen nods from the couple across the table. “But what do you want now?” continued the cellist. “If you want forgiveness…” “No!” said the couple quickly. “We don’t apologize for our work.” “This is just to show that we’re on your side,” said Snap Shot. “If anypony asks us, we’ll tell them the truth. As we saw it.” Quick Quill nodded in affirmation. “And your article?” asked Octavia. “That’s… more complicated,” admitted the writer. “Blueblood insists on approving the work. And if he doesn’t like it, then we’re not paid.” “So nothing’s changed,” said Vinyl. “Good talk. You can see yourself out, right?” The reporters nodded sullenly. Octavia looked at the reporters steadily. “Thank you. For the support. It is appreciated.” There was a knock on the door. Not from the front door, where the reporters still occasionally tried for the musician’s attention, but from the back door. Vinyl got to her hooves, levitating the bowl with her. “I swear to Celestia, if any of them are trespassing, I’m gonna beat the crap out of them.” She trotted out of sight. The reporters stood up as well. “We’ll be taking our leave, then,” said Quick Quill. “Thank you for your time,” added Snap Shot. Octavia nodded. The stallions began their walk to the door. “Please don’t do that. It would be such a pain to find you afterwards.” Harpo stood in the back of the room, Vinyl following close after. The DJ looked down at her bowl, silently lamenting that she wasn’t able to hit anypony with it. The composer glanced back at the DJ. Particularly at the frilly pink apron she still wore. “Nic apron, by the way.” Thwack. “That’s a lot better,” said Vinyl happily. She turned towards the three already in the room. “Fancy Pants wants to see us. Those two too.” The reporters shared a nervous glance. Harpo rubbed at his head. But he caught the glance. “Yes, I suppose that Fancy Pants has that intimidating effect on ponies, but he didn’t seem particularly angry when I spoke to him. Of course, that could mean that he’s actually terrifyingly angry and is simply trying to keep his temper under control.” Snap Shot and Quick Quill swallowed in tandem. “Sounds great! Lead the way.” “How are we getting past the reporters?” asked Octavia. “Same way I did,” said Harpo with a grin. “Climb a tree, hop a fence, probably cut and scrape yourself a few times.” He held up a hoof, showing off a brand new red welt. *** “But seriously?! Not one of you actually got hurt!” The group of five walked up towards Fancy Pants’s mansion. Harpo was sporting another red line, a few leaves were tangled in his mane that nopony had cared to point out to him. The others were perfectly fine. “Not our fault that you can’t hop a fence,” said Vinyl. “Neither can Octavia! And you actually lifted her up and over the fence.” “Yeah, because I actually like Octy.” Harpo rubbed at his wounds. “That’s cold, Vinyl Scratch. That’s cold.” They entered Fancy Pants’s manor. The master of the house sat in his living room, sipping some amber liquid. Fleur de Lis sat next to him, a teacup levitated in front of her. Fancy Pants looked up at their entrance. The beginnings of shadows had formed under his eyes, but his smile was genuine. He gestured towards a bottle before him. “Help yourselves.” Harpo obliged, speedily taking up a highball glass. The others refrained from drinking. The mares simply didn’t feel like it. The stallions, sans-Harpo, were currently scared out of their wits and wanted to ensure that they could make a quick and sober getaway if they had to. Fancy Pants surveyed the reporters. “Has your deal with Prince Blueblood come to a close?” They nodded. “Good.” The elder stallion took a sip of his drink. “I’d rather not have to act upon my immediate urge of clobbering you two, as they say, ‘upside the head’. Though it certainly helps that you’re no longer connected to the Prince. But only slightly.” He smiled a predator’s smile. “Yes, Fancy Pants, sir,” said Quick Quill. “Thank you, Fancy Pants, sir,” added Snap Shot. Fleur de Lis smacked her husband. “You’re terrifying the poor dears!” A chuckle from Fancy Pants. “Quite. Forgive me, just having a bit of fun.” He turned towards his musicians. “I’ve decided on our mode of counterattack,” he said as he forced himself to his hooves. Fancy Pants paced back and forth. “The immediate reaction to something like this is to go into hiding, to wait for everything to blow over. As most immediate actions are, this is incorrect. We have to prove that the public’s vision of us is wrong, much as we did with our earlier problem. Or, rather, as we attempted to do.” Fleur took control from there. “Canterlot is abuzz. Many ponies amid the elite believe that their doubts have been confirmed.” She smiled slightly. “Funnily enough, the approval rates for Syncopated Records among young groups and the middle class have skyrocketed. And so, we’ve decided that the best way to rebuild our reputation is to continue onwards.” “We make music,” said Fancy Pants, “we hold concerts, and we agree to interviews.” His glance fell upon the reporters. “Which is why you two are here. We’re offering an exclusive interview with Syncopated Records, the very same recording group that your article will know doubt lampoon to high heaven.” “And that’s the plan?” asked Vinyl. “Most of it,” said Fancy Pants hesitantly. Fleur de Lis rolled her eyes. “It’s not going to be a solo interview. That would do next to nothing for our reputation; it would be seen as an attempt to cover our tracks.” Octavia knit her eyebrows. “Then what are we doing?” “It,” began Fancy Pants. “There will be three parties in the interview. You and Vinyl, Snap Shot and Quick Quill and… Vinyl’s parents. High and Mighty Scratch.” Harpo let out a barking laugh. “Your parents are High and Mighty?” “Yup,” replied the DJ. “In lots of ways.” Octavia fidgeted in her seat. “I’m sorry,” said Fancy Pants, his gaze set firmly on the cellist. “This is non-negotiable. It will happen, you two will be civil. By the time this is over, everything should be settled. That is all.” *** Snip. Thud. A brief pause. Snip. Thud. A brief pause. Octavia shifted the shears slightly. “Not there, dear,” said Fleur de Lis from her place by the roses. “Over slightly. Yes, that branch.” Snip. Thud. The cellist let out a deep breath, gazing up at the apple tree. She plucked a particularly red one, and wiped it on her coat. Fleur had given Octavia express permission to eat whatever fruit looked appetizing. The cellist had thought it unnecessary, but gardening had turned out to be rather arduous work. “Thank you Octavia, it’s always nice to have an extra set of hooves.” Fleur de Lis plucked another apple with her magic, floating it to herself and taking a dainty bite. “Especially as summer comes to a close.” “It’s my pleasure, Fleur.” Octavia glanced over her shoulder. Vinyl was off to the side, comfortably napping. Harpo was working on another plant. But the cellist’s gaze passed over both of them, focusing on the mansion behind them. “Something wrong?” asked the unicorn. Octavia shook her head in response. “No. I have full faith in Fancy Pants. And I think that Snap Shot and Quick Quill are willing to help us.” Fleur took a bite of her apple. “But?” “No buts,” said the other quietly. Fleur de Lis smiled softly, quickly trotting over and hugging the cellist. “Of course not, dear. Just remember, that faith you have in Fancy Pants and our dear reporters isn’t a one-way street. We all have that same confidence in you.” Octavia nodded. You shouldn’t, she thought to herself. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.” The elder mare held the cellist at hooves’ length. “Look at me, Octavia.” Her own eyes bored into the younger mare’s. “I spoke to your parents last night, after the argument. We all agree that what you did was unexpected, but most certainly not unwarranted. You were not in the wrong. We can handle anything thrown our way, and I won’t have anypony sulking around over a single, fixable mistake. Is that clear?” Octavia nodded furiously, her eyes widening slightly at Fleur’s insistence. “Good,” said the unicorn, her customary kind smile quickly returning. “Now, we’ll be moving on to weeding. I feel like I should warn you, this is far worse than pruning.” The cellist rubbed her hoof lightly, feeling the places where the shears’ rubber handles had ground into her. Any more and she’d be blistered. Her hooves ached, the sun beat down on her, she was all too tempted to simply lay down next to Vinyl and take a nap. “Perfect. Lead the way.”