“Yeah, but Bon Bon hates making soft candy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! She says that it’s a lot of trouble because you have to find the right consistency for the soft candy. If it’s too soft, then it gets stuck in your teeth and if it’s too hard, then it’s not really soft candy.”
“No kidding.” Vinyl craned her neck around the green mare, trying to get a better view of Harpo and Octavia.
Lyra nodded profusely. “I don’t really get it, but Bon Bon always complains when a customer puts in a big order of soft candy.”
“Yeah, that would suck.” What the hell are they talking about?
“But it’s really cute seeing her fighting with her recipes. She gets all worked up and her muzzle scrunches. It’s one of the few times that she’s angry at something besides me.” Lyra laughed.
Vinyl smiled. Seriously, they’ve been together since we left the hotel.
“Vinyl, do you mind helping me go over the list of candy I’m supposed to buy?”
“Sure.” Stop whispering, you assholes!
Lyra floated a scrap of paper before her. “Chocolate truffles, chocolate turtles, chocolate frogs, whatever hard candy I can get, those new Every Flavor Jelly Babies, probably for the Doctor.”
Vinyl nodded, not having heard a single item.
“Peanut clusters,” continued Lyra. “Some toffee, there’s a few fruit gummy things that Bon Bon wants to try, the blood of my enemies, the lamentations of their mares, the tears of their foals.”
“Uh-huh.” What the BUCK are they saying? How hard is it to talk to-- “Wait, what did you say?”
Lyra smiled pointedly. “Oh, so you were listening to me. I wasn’t sure. You kept looking over there.” She waved a hoof at Harpo and Octavia.
“The blood of your enemies?”
“I was just trying to get your attention.”
Vinyl gave her a strange look. “‘The lamentations of their mares’?”
Lyra turned slightly pink. “I just finished rereading Ponan the Barbarian.”
Vinyl nodded slowly. “Harpo’s a fan.”
“It’s a really good book,” said Lyra excitedly. “But we’ll talk about it later. For now, I’m more worried about you.”
Vinyl scowled. “Why?”
“You weren’t listening to me.”
“Well, maybe I was just bored.”
“That’s impossible,” said the other mare confidently, “I’m fascinating.”
A pause. “You’ve been spending too much time with Harpo.”
“Just that off time before we came out to Fillydelphia!”
“What were you guys even doing?”
Lyra chewed on the inside of her cheek. “He’s been helping me with my music. Playing and writing it. And he put in a good word with Fleur. It’s pretty much the only reason that I’m here right now.”
Vinyl blinked a few times. “That’s… strangely nice of him.”
Lyra smiled, then went right into a scowl. “We’re not talking about that! We’re supposed to be talking about you!”
“Lyra!” came Harpo’s voice. “Isn’t this that candy shop you were talking about?” He waved vaguely across the street, towards a small brick building marked ‘Sweet Tooth’s Confectionary.’ Ponies of all shapes, colors, and ages raced in and out of the shop, clutching bags of candy and wearing dopey grins.
Lyra groaned, shifting her gaze pointedly towards the DJ. “This ain’t over.”
Vinyl waved, waited until the other unicorn was no longer looking, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“What was that about?” asked Octavia.
Vinyl forced a smile. “Nothing. Just talking about Bon Bon. She’s got Lyra running up and down Fillydelphia.”
Harpo laughed slightly. “Yes, she’s got a vicegrip over Lyra. But that’s marriage, isn’t it? Which is why I’m never getting married.”
“Yeah,” said Octavia with a smirk, “that’s why. It’s nothing to do with your insufferable manner.”
“What insufferable manner?” Harpo glanced around in confusion. “Vinyl, do I have an insufferable manner?”
Vinyl shrugged. “Does that mean annoying?”
“More or less,” said Octavia.
“Then yeah.”
Harpo placed an offended hoof on his chest. “And here I was, about to take you two out for a meal. But nooooo, I’m insufferable.”
Octavia’s stomach let out a low growl. “Well, not that insufferable.”
“Mmmm, no,” said Vinyl with a shake of her head. “He really is that annoying.”
The composer laughed slightly. “Come on, you two. Booze and cookies can only take us so far.”
***
Fancy Pants let out a chuckle, a light smile brightening his eyes. “I assure you, my musicians are hardly ‘on the run.’ Did they really seem the type, Spot Light?”
The reporter smiled back, a sheen of light yellow magic keeping his quill in constant motion. “Well, you could hardly blame me for the assumption, Fancy Pants, what with the timing and all. Sending them on a tour just after that interview, it’s a slightly suspicious action.”
“Hardly ‘just after,’ Spot Light. It has, by my count, been two or so weeks since they spoke to High and Mighty Scratch. I would assume that Canterlot would have forgotten such a minor incident by now.”
Spot Light scribbled a few more lines onto his notepad. “There are some ponies worried about the disrespectful remarks made by your musicians. This is, of course, considering only the interview and not the prior conflict. Do you have anything to say about that?”
Fancy Pants’ dimmed slightly, the exact shade of a smile required when discussing a sad truth. “My musicians are young. They are also rather brash, though they have calmed down considerably since they first joined Syncopated Records. Vinyl Scratch in particular has shown substantial growth. However, they still have much to learn about the ways of the world.”
“Then you admit that they made a mistake?”
The businesspony paused, bringing the full weight of his gaze onto the reporter. “They are naive, Spot Light. But we can always find some source of wisdom in the naivety of children. There are not many ponies in Canterlot that would have reacted to High and Mighty as my musicians did.” Fancy Pants allowed himself a small smile. “It is a shame that they reverted to such a crass mode of action, but I agree with Quick Quill and Snap Shot on this matter. Octavia and Vinyl’s actions were a ‘breath of fresh air, a reminder of youth in a Canterlot that is so rife with the old’.”
Spot Light’s smile had shifted slightly, becoming slightly more strained as Fancy Pants went on. “Yes, that was a rather nice article. But there are also some rumors, Fancy Pants, that you and Syncopated Records had played a role in that particular writing.”
“How so?” asked Fancy Pants with a slight tilt to his head.
“Well, there are some who believe that Syncopated Records came into contact with Quick Quill and Snap Shot some time before the interview.” Spot Light shuffled through his notes. “Yes, according to this report, one pony saw Harpo Parish Nadermane enter Miss Scratch’s place of residence, only to exit with the other two musicians and the reporters in tow.”
“Ah, yes! I did share a few words with them over the invasion of my musicians’ property.” Fancy Pants’ eyes shone. “A few rather strong words, in fact.”
“I see.” Spot Light flipped his notebook closed. “Thank you for the interview, Fancy Pants.”
“The pleasure was mine.” Fancy Pants got to his hooves. “Forgive me if I don’t see you out. I have some business to take care of deeper within the studio.”
The reporter nodded, turning away and walking out. Fancy Pants watched him go, smiling serenely. His eyes roamed the room, looking for any stray article that Spot Light had ‘accidentally’ left behind. Then the businesspony collapsed onto his chair, rubbing at his eyes.
A brown hoof offered a glass of water. “I think that that you handled that quite well.”
Fancy Pants took the drink in his magic, sipping at it slightly. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“But then again,” said the colt, flopping onto a seat, “I can’t really expect any less, can I? Considering how much practice you’ve gotten.”
Fancy Pants groaned slightly. “Don’t remind me.”
The Doctor smiled. “Oh, see, I can’t do that. It’s hardly over.”
“I know,” said Fancy Pants with a sigh. “I know.” He drained his water, then stared down into the glass. “Do we have anything stronger?”
The Doctor smiled and climbed to his hooves. “Whiskey?”
“Cognac. I’d like to relax for a bit.”
The Doctor left the room, leaving Fancy Pants alone.
The businesspony closed his eyes, slouching into a slightly more comfortable position in his chair. He winced slightly as a series of cracks sounded along his spine. How long had it been since he felt this tired? Years, really. When he first started breaking into the business world. Fancy Pants smiled demurely.
What did you expect, old chap? Starting a new business isn’t easy. Had you already forgotten? He chuckled to himself. I did, actually. I’m almost certain that I did. What a terrible business practice, forgetting something like that.
The Doctor walked back into the room, a glass of deep amber drink balanced on his head. Fancy Pants’ magic flared, and he floated the glass to himself. The businesspony drank, draining half of his glass in one go. The alcohol burned as it went down.
“You know, Doctor,” said Fancy Pants, “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you drink.”
“I’ve got a terrible tolerance for it.”
“Do you?”
The Doctor nodded. “Yes. I just can’t seem to get drunk. No numbing effects at all. Absolutely terrible.”
Fancy Pants chuckled. “You have my pity.” He swirled his drink absentmindedly. “What’s the next assignment?”
“A party. Acoustic and Resonance’s daughter’s cuteceanera. We received an invitation a few days ago.”
The businesspony closed his eyes. “Right, right. Her name was… Perfect Pitch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when is that?”
The Doctor glanced up at the clock.
Fancy Pants rubbed at his eyes again. “No, Doctor, don’t look at the clock. Look at the calendar. For the love of Celestia, check the calendar.”
“Half an hour, sir,” said the Doctor. “Sorry.”
The businesspony dragged at his face tiredly. “Shit,” he breathed.
“Language, sir!”
“Mierda.”
A pause. “Not exactly what I meant, but I suppose that that works.”
“Alright. Do we have a gift for the filly?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fancy Pants sighed, then pushed himself to his hooves. “Wonderful. Let’s get going.”
***
Octavia lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The rest of the day had been uneventful. They had eaten, returned to the hotel, and Fleur had said that they would be heading to the orchestra the next day. The moon was well in the sky by then, and the musicians had been sent to their rooms.
Octavia’s lips twitched up into a reluctant smile. ‘Sent to their rooms.’ It was funny, really. Here she was, fresh out of Conservatory, expecting independence, the ability to be her own mare. And she had been sent to her room. But it could be worse.
Octavia turned over onto her side. It could be far worse, really. Fancy Pants and Fleur have been everything an employee could dream of. I believe that I’ve made a name for myself and I’m currently on tour through Equestria. A lot has happened. And I’d like to think that I’ve changed.
A twinge shot through the cellist, a moment of self-doubt, that terrible feeling that always seems to strike in the middle of the night.
Had she changed? She thought that she had. Octavia felt certain of it.
Can one change in a few weeks? The cellist nodded. A single day could change a pony, really. That was another thing that she was certain of.
Then why hadn’t she said anything?
And that was the question.
The Horseshoepins were from Octavia’s past, from her days at the Conservatory. From before she was… familiar with herself. No, that wasn’t the right word. Octavia thought for a few moments, trying to find the right phrase.
But nothing came to mind.
No, thought Octavia, I don’t exactly know how to phrase it, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t changed. I can stand up for myself now, just as I stood up for Vinyl. And I will, if I ever see the Horseshoepins and if the subject is breached.
Octavia nodded resolutely, then turned onto her side, shutting her eyes tight. She had been sent to her room, and it was time to sleep.
***
Vinyl stood at the door, her hoof hovering just an inch above the wood, ready to swing down and knock.
C’’mon filly, just do it.
But her hoof stayed in the air.
You did it before! I mean, you didn’t think about it, but you still did it! Why the hell can’t you do it now? She’s your marefriend now for Luna’s sake!
But her hoof stayed put. It didn’t move by itself, as it had some time ago, right after her and Octavia’s first fight, their first time practicing together. Her hoof didn’t move, didn’t act on its own and she knew exactly why.
Vinyl had changed. Had grown calmer because of Syncopated Records and Octavia and Harpo and the return of High and Mighty. She was no longer the mare who leapt over counters for coffee. She hadn’t even drank coffee, let alone been to SunBucks, in days. Vinyl had more control over herself and her hoof would not move unless she told it to.
And so it stayed in place, frozen by… something. Fear or uncertainty or something else. Whatever it was.
She’d lost something, and she had no idea what it was.
Vinyl sighed, gathering up the extra pillow that she’d brought, throwing one last glance at the door, and walking back to her room.
This has to change.