Syncopation

by Terrasora


The Break

Lyra Heartstrings had spent the better part of the last hour walking through the halls of Syncopated Records. It was a surprisingly unassuming place. She was expecting… well, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting. Maybe a room that held vast amounts of instruments or a storage closet of nothing but sheet music or an opulent office where Fancy Pants would sit and look over towers upon towers of paper.

But no, Syncopated Records was none of that. The squat, largely concrete building that gave off an air of serious business seemed to contain only four important rooms.The lobby, with the receptionist’s desk -- now Lyra’s desk -- standing against the wall; the recording studio, which also served as Harpo’s editing room; that break room where Lyra’s interview had taken place, and a surprisingly tidy office that seemed to have never been used. The rest were an assortment of closets and restrooms.

Lyra was beginning to regret showing up so early.

Yes, it was important to make a good first impression, yes it would be impressive to be the first pony to show up, especially when it was her first day on the job, but it was boring. Especially since office hours hadn’t even begun yet.

And so, Lyra Heartstrings found herself in a poignantly empty break room, splayed out on a couch, her lyre floating before her. She had brought her instrument on the off-chance that she’d be given a chance to play and, while Lyra wasn’t exactly in the recording studio, she figured that now was as good of a time as any.

Lyra ran her hooves over the strings, coaxing out notes, following the musical patterns that years at the Conservatory had burned into her mind. Consonance, to dissonance, and back to consonance. Lyra marshaled the music into order, her eyes fluttering to a close.

Her hoof slipped, and a single harsh note sounded out. Lyra started, nearly slamming her head into her lyre. She let out a rattling breath, turning slightly towards the clock. About ten minutes had passed. Lyra settled back into her position with a sigh, readjusting her lyre. She played that note again - properly this time. Her hooves shifted to a second note. Then a third. Then she played them again, moving through the familiar tune. It was a song she had taught herself a while ago. The kind of song that she wouldn’t have even realized she remembered if she hadn’t begun to play it.

 

The leading lights of the age all wondered amongst themselves what I would do next.

After all that I’d found in my travels around the world

Was there anything left?

“Gentlecolts,” I said, “I’ve studied the maps and if what I’m thinking is right;

There’s another new world at the top of the world for the first one that breaks through the ice.”

 
Lyra paused for a moment, her hooves subconsciously repeating the last notes as her mind searched out the next verse. She knit her brow slightly, then:
 

And I looked ‘round the room

In that way I once had and I saw that they wanted belief.

So I said, “All I’ve got are my guts and my God,” then I paused.

“And the Ana Belle Lee.”

 
Lyra jumped, her head making full contact with her instrument, as another voice joined her for the last line. The aura surrounding her lyre sputtered and died. Only Harpo’s hoof kept it aloft.
 
The composer’s mane was messy, his eyes blurry. He yawned slightly, and offered the lyre to its owner. “Is my singing really that awful?” he asked, scratching at his ribs. “I mean, I know that I don’t get as much practice as Vinyl or Octavia, but it certainly doesn’t warrant throwing your instrument to the ground… I think.”
 
Lyra snatched her lyre out of his hooves, holding it close to her. “Harpo! You scared the Tartarus out of me!”
 
Harpo yawned again, walking backwards and falling ungracefully into his accustomed seat. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
 
Lyra gave him a look. Harpo grinned sleepily.
 
“Don’t worry, Miss Heartstrings. You’re not a bad singer. Or a bad lyrist.” Harpo glanced around slightly, eyes locking on the coffee pot they kept in the break room. “Do you mind levitating that to me? Just woke up.”
 
“You’d trust me with a burning hot liquid?”
 
“‘Course not. Coffee’s probably cold by now. Feel free to throw it at me, just make sure most of it lands in my mouth.” Harpo opened his mouth as wide as it could go.
 
Lyra passed over the coffee pot with a slight laugh.
 
“Cup too,” said Harpo. “Chop, chop, newbie.”
 
A styrofoam cup followed the coffee pot, flying straight at Harpo’s head. It fell short.
 
The composer snorted lightly, an amused glint shining through his bleary eyes. “Ask Vinyl to give you lessons. She likes throwing things at me. Octavia’s more of a physical contact beater.”
 
Silence fell on the room, broken only by the sound of cold coffee being poured into a slightly crumpled cup.
 
“So,” said Harpo, “you’re here a bit early.”
 
Lyra shrugged, looking down slightly. “Not as early as you.”
 
“Gah. Disgusting.” Harpo pulled a face at his coffee. “It’s not good enough to be drunk cold.” He took another sip, and pulled the same face. “As for the being early thing, that doesn’t really count. I’ve been here all night.”
 
“Really?”
 
Harpo shrugged. “Part of the job description. Stay up into the wee hours of the morning, tweaking melodies and harmonies and other kinds of –ies.” He took another sipped. “Not thinking to making more coffee.”
 
Lyra rolled her eyes.
 
“See, you think I’m exaggerating, but this is some absolutely terrible coffee. Want to try it?”
 
“No. Thank you.”
 
Another shrug from the composer. “Your loss. Coffee like this comes once in a lifetime. Anyway, we’ve established why I’m here so early. What about yourself, Miss Lyra Heartstrings?” Harpo grinned. “Or are you just here to rock out by yourself?”

Lyra grimaced slightly. “First impressions are important.”

“Mmmmm. Yes, showing up early does make a good first impression. Are you sure you don’t want any coffee? Horrid thing, really. Hardly deserves to be called coffee.”

“No Harpo,” replied Lyra with the slightest tinge of annoyance.

Harpo smirked. “Already getting under your coat, am I?” He swirled his liquid mud slightly. “I’m amazing.”

The unicorn rolled her eyes. “Have you always been this way?”

“Cynical, sarcastic, more concerned with his coffee than serious talk, a jerk who values his own entertainment above most other things?”

“Yup.”

“Yes, of course I have,” replied Harpo. He ran a hoof through his mane and waggled his eyebrows. “Also devilishly handsome. We can’t forget that.”

Lyra laughed, the bright sound carrying throughout the room. “And this is why everypony hates you?”

“My dear Miss Heartstrings, nopony hates me. Even the ones that don’t like me love me! I’m unhateable! You nearly broke my spine and you don’t hate me!”

“Give it some time! I’ll get there eventually.”

“Good luck with that.” Harpo lifted his cup towards his companion in salute, then drank the rest of his drink in one fluid movement.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, awaiting the inevitable tirade against the abomination that dared to call itself coffee.

“Well, I should be going.” Harpo placed his mug on the coffee table and got to his hooves. “The Doctor should be in later on. Octavia and Vinyl won’t be in; they’re on a date.”

Lyra nodded. She paused as the realization hit her. “Wait, they’re what?”

“I know!” replied Harpo with a grin. “An actual date! About time, too.”

“They’re… they’re a thing?”

“Oh yes!” Harpo’s grin faltered a bit. “I didn’t really have much to do with it, unfortunately. Bit of a shame. I wanted to poke a bit more fun at their expense.” He shrugged slightly.

Lyra blinked a few times. “And they’re… a thing?”

“A couple, to be exact,” replied Harpo with a smirk. He glanced up at the clock. “Now, while I’d love to stay and gossip, I really must be going.”

“Alright. Going anyplace in particular?”

Haro smiled nervously. “Oh, you know, just out and about. I have to see a pony about a thing. The usual.” He fidgeted slightly. The door was so close.

“Harpo,” began Lyra in a suspicious tone. Harpo hated that tone.

“I’m sorry Lyra, I’d love to talk, but I have to go now, bye!” The door shut solidly, muffling the sound of Harpo’s hooves on the hallway floor.

Lyra was alone again, watching the door with a pensive look. She played a quick, ominous tune on her lyre, then returned to her previous position on the couch. A half-smile touched her lips.

A styrofoam cup and the coffee pot were enveloped in an emerald sheen. The coffee poured itself. Lyra stared down at the dark liquid.

“It can’t be that bad,” she muttered to herself.

Lyra took a sip.

***

Harpo could hear the hacking and coughing from the lobby. He smirked in satisfaction as he marched towards the street.

Right, he thought to himself. Mane only slightly messy, bowtie as pristine as ever, running on time. Not bad for yourself, Maestro Nadermane.

He ran a nervous hoof through his mane and picked up his pace by the slightest bit. His mind wandered to random places. Time passed strangely, as it tends to do when one is traveling. By the time Harpo arrived at Canterlot Park, he could only remember brief flashes of scenery.

The composer trotted over to an empty bench, the one they had agreed on. She wasn’t there yet. Harpo smirked; he was still leading in points.

“I don’t think that one should count,” came a clear, musical voice.

Harpo grinned and turned. “Think what you’d like. It completely counts.”

Beauty Brass sat next to the composer. “But I saw you take your seat! That’s not early enough to warrant earning a point.”

“That’s not what we agreed on. From my point of view, it’s been a terrible wait. I had to spend a whole few seconds without you here! Do you have any idea what a torture that is to me?” Harpo made his lower lip shake slightly.

Beauty rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite hide her blush. “How much time do we have?”

“Quite a bit, actually. Seems that we’ll have to enjoy each other’s presence before we head out to breakfast.”

“Great!” said Beauty brightly. She dug into her saddlebags and pulled out some sheets of music. “We have time to talk about a piece I’m writing!”

Harpo raised an eyebrow. “You’re just using me for my talents.”

“And your dashing good looks,” replied the other with a sultry smile.

The stallion squeaked slightly in response, turned slightly pink, cleared his throat, then turned even redder as Beauty Brass giggled at him.

“Oh, be quiet and let me see the music,” mumbled Harpo.

***

Hoity Toity sighed. He sat in his office, a comfortable affair, normally perfectly maintained, with a wide window that overlooked Canterlot Park. Not that he took many peeks through that window. Or any at all, these days.

The stallion took off his glasses, revealing eyes that had sunken by the slightest bit. He sighed again, regretting his decision to cancel his visit to the spa.

He shook his head. No time for that. There were more important things than his appearance. Not many, but some things certainly took precedence.

And there were currently three folders on his desk that had that precedence.

Blueblood had continued to worm his way against Fancy Pants. To be honest, Hoity Toity was impressed. The Prince had a terribly annoying persistence. Especially in matters that threatened his “position.” Hoity Toity snorted. Position. Hardly.

Yet, the fact remained that Blueblood was still very much in the game. Which was perfectly fine by Hoity Toity. He could already see Blueblood’s Game Over. After all, the pompous ass only had three choices left to him.

Hoity Toity batted the files lazily. Not the first. Or the second. Blueblood couldn’t get through to them; they were cast in stone. But the third pair… they were different. They were a bit more susceptible to being swayed.

There was a knock at the office door.

“Enter,” said Hoity Toity, his hooves neatly stacking the files, obscuring the names printed on them.

A light blue earth pony, her white hair, offsetting her black dress, strode into the room. “Herr Toity! I, Photo Finish,” the pony paused. “Have returned!”

“I’ve noticed. I trust that everything went well.”

Photo Finish looked up dramatically, accenting every other word with a flourish. “I, Photo Finish, have searched far and wide and wide and far in my search to make… ze magicks!” She put a hoof to her forehead. “But I, Photo Finish, have failed you, Herr Toity!”

Hoity Toity raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes! I, Photo Finish, have not found--”

A few moments of silence passed.

“-- Ze magicks!” She stepped forward, placing an envelope on Hoity Toity’s desk. “This is Photo Finish’s two week notice.”

“I’ll take it into consideration,” said Hoity Toity as he placed the envelope in a drawer marked Photo Finish’s Two Week Notices. “I trust that you didn’t come back empty-hoofed.”

Photo Finish gasped. “Of course not! I, Photo Finish, took hundreds of photos of beautiful ponies! But none of them were… perfect!”

“I see. Well, give them to your assistant to dispose of, as per usual. You’re free to leave. Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course! Now,” she paused, her hoof pointing straight at the office door. “I go!”

Hoity Toity watched with the slightest amusement. Hmmmm… that’s another option now that she’s back. He turned back to his files.

Those two were the weakest links. Blueblood would go after them, if he hadn’t already done so. The question is whether they would break.

Snap Shot and Quick Quill were reporters after all. And who could predict what a reporter would do?