Vinyl drew closer to Octavia, unable to keep a grin from crossing her lips “Actually that gives me an idea for a punishment.”
“O-Oh my.” Octavia backed away slightly, her hooves slipping on the couch, her face turning a bright shade of red.
Vinyl crept closer, placing a hoof on Octavia’s chest and gently pushing her, laying Octavia against the couch and standing over her. The entire room seemed warmer, the air heavier as the two mares’ breaths quickened.
“V-Vinyl,” said Octavia. “I…” the words died on her lips.
Vinyl smiled, lowering her head and gently kissing Octavia. First on her forehead. Then her cheek. Then on her lips.
Octavia flushed, her breathing quickening again. Vinyl could feel the warmth radiating from her marefriend.
“Vinyl, I—”
Vinyl leaned forward slightly, nibbling on Octavia’s ear and cutting off her words as the cellist let out a gasp.
Images flowed into Vinyl’s mind. The nightclub. Their first real kiss. Octavia’s reaction when she blew into her ear, just like this.
Octavia let out a moan.
They had been interrupted that time. Harpo and the Doctor, those intruders, ruining a perfectly good scene with champagne and celebration. Vinyl nuzzled closer to Octavia. Not this time. This time, there would be no interruptions. She had Octavia all to hers—
Octavia placed a hoof on Vinyl’s chest. The cellist was flushed, breathing hard, the first beads of sweat forming on her brow.
“Vinyl,” she said softly, “I can’t. Not right now.”
Vinyl felt her heart sink even as she forced a smile. “Yeah. Okay. I guess that that was going a bit too fast.”
“I just… I just don’t think I’m ready.”
Vinyl pulled Octavia into a hug. “Hey, no worries. Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
Octavia sighed in relief, smiling gratefully up at her marefriend. “Thank you, Vinyl.”
“Yeah.” Vinyl smiled, pretending not to notice the way Octavia shied away from the hug. “No problem.”
***
Vinyl lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was early. Not overly so, but certainly far earlier than she was used to. Sunlight filtered in through the window of the rather comfortable hotel room, birds chattered just outside, and it was, all in all, not an unenjoyable morning.
Vinyl lay in her bed, unwilling to move, the images still fresh in her mind.
“That,” said Vinyl, “was a bullshit dream.”
She forced herself to her hooves, wobbling slightly where she stood.
“What the hell’s the point of a dream like that?” wondered Vinyl aloud. “Just replaying something. Fucking stupid. There weren’t even any lasers or, like, giant robots or anything! I don’t think I’m even gonna count it as a dream. It’s so stupid that I’m not even gonna think about it anymore.” Vinyl nodded resolutely, glancing up at a clock on the wall. There was still about an hour before she and the rest of Syncopated had to head down to the lobby.
Vinyl let out a groan. An hour never seemed so long. Well, I guess I can grab a shower or something.
She set about the room, getting all of her toiletries in order, staying in constant motion, humming loudly. Vinyl placed a hoof on the bathroom door, opening it just a crack. The sound of running water carried into her room.
Oh yeah. Shared bathroom. Vinyl let the door close. That would’ve been embarrassing.
***
Lyra Heartstrings was having a strange morning. This is not to say that it wasn’t a very nice morning, because it certainly was bright and sunny and generally what one would expect a very nice morning to look like. But it was certainly strange.
The first, and perhaps the most jarring, revelation of the morning was that she had woken up on her own. The absence of a shift in breathing, of a warm body moving away, of heading downstairs, making breakfast and kissing Bon Bon goodbye, was a very notable absence and not a nice one at all.
The second revelation was that the hotel bed was far more comfortable than the one she had at home and that she and Bon Bon should really buy a new mattress.
The last was the uncomfortable realization that she would have to put up with Vinyl’s current state of mind.
This, like the first thought, was not a very nice one.
Lyra let out a sigh. She could talk to either of the other mares, force them to have a real conversation, and likely save Syncopated Records quite a lot of trouble. Indeed, that was probably the most rational route, the fastest way to fix whatever it was that had Vinyl so worried.
But that would be a quick fix, duct tape over a crack. Any lasting healing wouldn’t come from words; jealousy, for Vinyl Scratch was clearly jealous, was not so easily mended. Actions were needed, something big enough to clear out any doubt, and that could never come from somepony else.
Lyra had learned that from experience.
In any case, there was no use in laying about. Fleur de Lis had told everyone to be down in the lobby at about eight. That was a little over an hour from now. Lyra forced herself out of bed, setting about the room and gathering all of the necessities for her shower
If I can get Vinyl alone, thought Lyra, I’ll talk to her about it.
She never heard Vinyl Scratch open the bathroom door.
***
Harpo Parish Nadermane was, for perhaps the first time in his life, early. It was a rather disconcerting experience, but the composer had arisen in the early hours of the morning and had not been able to get back to sleep. He had grumbled and turned in his bed, bunching up the blankets and turning over his pillow, but it was all for naught. Harpo was forced out of bed and, being the only male in the party, was able to make use of a personal shower.
By the time Harpo finished his shower, the sun was up and the birds outside were making their customary racket outside of the open window. Harpo, never much of a fan of useless noise that came from a source other than himself, promptly slammed the window shut.
Harpo, deciding that there was really nothing better to do alone, had walked down the stairs and into the lobby, lingering for a moment before his beloved. However, the wall of alcohol was cordoned off, and without a bartender kind enough to pour Harpo a glass and then bugger off while the composer drank.
It was, quite frankly, the saddest thing Harpo had ever seen.
“Harpo?”
The composer reluctantly turned away from the bar. Fleur de Lis sat a fair distance away, immaculate as ever despite the early hour. Harpo began walking to join her.
“What a pleasant surprise,” said Fleur happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wake up before noon.”
“I know, it’s absolutely dreadful.” Harpo rubbed at his eyes as he dropped into a chair across from his employer. “Ponies were not meant to wake before the sun.”
Fleur smiled amusedly. “Perhaps I’ll work a nap into our schedule.”
“See, that’s supposed to be mocking, but I would love it.”
A cracking, high-pitched laugh broke out from the seat next to Harpo. The colt let out a yelp, nearly falling out of his seat. Next to Harpo sat an stallion, shrunken with age, his white mane thin around the edges of his face and nonexistent around his horn. The old stallion’s most striking feature, however, were his glasses; thick, round spectacles that enlarged already large, golden eyes and gave the stallion the overall appearance of an owl.
“This one’s funny, Fleur!” said the old stallion in a voice far too large for his body. Then he turned towards Harpo. “If you’re not Master Nadermane, then I must be blind.”
“Don’t call him that,” chided Fleur.
“Master?” asked the stallion. “That’s what I call everypony, Fleur. You know that.”
“No, ‘funny’. It’ll inflate his ego.”
The old pony let out another screeching, booming laugh.
“I think that I’m slightly offended,” said Harpo. And he did, indeed, seem slightly offended.
Fleur shook her head lightly. “Harpo, this is Coda, conductor for the Fillydelphia Orchestra and an old friend of Fancy Pants and I.”
“Old is right!” boomed Coda. “I was already Old Colt Coda when Fancy Pants first strolled into Canterlot. How is he, anyway?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Fleur.
“Tell him that I hope he croaks and he owes me for this favor.”
Fleur laughed softly. “I will.”
Coda fixed his magnified eyes on Harpo. “Master Nadermane, did you see your friends on your way here?”
Harpo shook his head. “I think that they’re still asleep.”
“Caught up in their daily routines, no doubt,” said Coda. “You know the way mares are.”
“Not all mares, Coda,” said Fleur. There was the beginnings of acid in her smile.
Coda thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not. But when two of your musicians are in a relationship and see each other on a daily basis, I should think that they would take the time to look their best.”
Harpo straightened in his seat. Fleur let out a sigh.
“Playing detective again, Coda?” asked Fleur de Lis.
“Hardly detective work.” Coda smiled, adjusting his glasses. “The signs were all there, even in the news articles. Only a blind pony could miss it.”
“Coda has an eye for details,” explained Fleur to Harpo. “It’s a rather useful skill for a conductor. And he takes pleasure in pointing things out.”
Coda’s golden eyes gleamed. “Only the things that matter, Fleur.”
***
Fleur smiled lightly. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, shall we get going?”
The five members of Syncopated Records were seated around a table, plates still covered in crumb and the last dregs of coffee quickly drained, though Harpo had insisted on purchasing another glass of orange juice and carefully pouring it into an empty bottle.
Octavia carefully wiped at her muzzle with a napkin. She nodded at Fleur. The others made to stand up, but Coda waved them down.
“Relax for a time,” said the conductor. “One must allow the food to settle before heading into work.” Coda leaned back in his seat. His horn glowed a soft yellow. A moment later, a polished, sleek looking smoking pipe and a small pouch of tobacco popped into existence before Coda.
A few moments passed in silence. Coda took a test draw from his pipe.
“Do any of you smoke?” asked the conductor.
The others shook their heads.
“Good. It’s a filthy habit.” Coda smiled, a thin line of smoke trailing up from his pipe. “Besides, Fleur would never allow it.”
“I should say not,” said Fleur. “And I still believe that you should quit, Coda.”
Coda waved a dismissive hoof. “Believe whatever you’d like.” He turned towards Harpo. “Master Nadermane, I believe that your mother was a smoker once upon a time.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Indeed. A very talented musician.” Coda puffed at his pipe a few times. “I knew your father as well. A very talented pony in his own right.”
“I haven’t heard much about Harpo’s parents,” said Vinyl.
Harpo laughed. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“I have a few stories that I’d be willing to share,” said Coda. “If Master Nadermane would allow me.”
Harpo shook his head fiercely. “Maestro Coda, the bar isn’t even open yet!”
Coda laughed at that. “Perhaps later, then.”
“In any case,” began Fleur, “I think that it’s about time to head out. It’s a rather long walk to the concert hall, isn’t it?”
“Rather.” Coda forced himself to his hooves. “It’s about a half hour walk, perhaps a bit shorter at a brisk pace.” He paused. “Please don’t take that as in invitation. My old bones would not be able to keep up.”
***
Twenty three minutes later, a group of six ponies stood in front of the Fillydelphia Concert Hall. It was a grand building, all swooping lines and steel and glass bent into curving shapes. The entire thing gleamed in the morning sun, forcing Octavia to squint if she wanted a better look.
Coda’s voice carried from the front of the group. “Fleur, what have you been doing to them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your musicians are huffing and puffing from such a short walk! I’m twice their age and I’m in better shape!”
Harpo ran a hoof through his mane. “We live a rather sedentary life.”
“And it’s hot,” added Lyra, fanning at herself with a hoof.
“Bah!” said Coda. He tapped his pipe a few times, shaking some ash loose. “You’ll be better off by the time you leave the city, I’ll see to that.”
It’s the city itself, thought Octavia.There are too many ponies out at this time.
Indeed, the Fillydelphia streets were crowded in a way that Canterlot never was. It seemed as though the whole city was out, milling around each other and tripping over each others’ hooves. Fleur and Coda had sailed through the mess, gliding seamlessly through the ponies. Octavia, Harpo, Vinyl, and Lyra had had decidedly more trouble, buffeted nearly every step of the way.
Coda’s magic flared again and the trail of smoke cut off. “Anyway, it’ll be a bit cooler inside.” He turned around, leading the way over a set of concrete steps and into the building.
The group marched through an airy lobby, hooves slipping slightly over the marbled floor. The lobby gave way to the concert hall proper. The lights were low in an effort to combat the heat, the second floor and the balconies of the hall were cast in complete shadow. A few ponies already stood on stage, chatting amiably among themselves, their instruments still lying in their cases.
“Looks like we’re a bit early,” said Fleur.
“Just a tad.” Coda gestured towards a row of plush seats just in front of the stage. “Rest for a while. There’s still some preparation to do.” He joined the members of his orchestra. The members of Syncopated Records took the noted seats.
Octavia tugged at her bowtie a few times. When had she last been in a proper concert hall? Quite a while ago. Not since her solo performance it seemed; the one that had brought Fancy Pants to see her in the first place. Or had there been one in between then and now? She couldn’t remember. How strange it was that Octavia couldn’t remember what happened less than two months ago, yet remembered years before so easily.
Octavia cast a furtive glance at the piano, then over the ponies assembled on stage. Would he remember? Most likely. He had always had a terrifyingly good memory. But where was he? Had they arrived so early? Or was he simply arriving later? Or, perhaps, he wasn’t coming in today. It was hard to imagine, but entirely possible.
Somepony placed a hoof over Octavia’s.
“Careful, Tavi,” came Vinyl’s voice. “You’ll rip your bowtie if you keep playing with it like that.”
Octavia smiled wanly and let her hooves drop from her bowtie. Vinyl kept a firm hold on Octavia’s hoof.
“You okay, Tavi?” whispered Vinyl.
Octavia nodded, her eyes darting to the concert hall entrance.
They stayed this way for some time. Little conversation passed among the musicians as the orchestra members buzzed about the stage, arranging music stands, chairs, and instruments under Coda’s watchful eye.
More and more ponies filed into the concert hall, offering nods to the members of Syncopated Records before climbing onto stage. Harpo kept a close eye on each of them from the moment that the doors to the hall were opened.
Before long, it seemed as though the entire orchestra had arrived. The stage was filled with ponies of all colors and sizes, most of them unicorns, though a few pegasi were dotted around and a rather large Earth Pony stallion stood by the timpani.
Vinyl gave Octavia’s hoof a squeeze. “Is that Frederic guy here?”
Octavia glanced over the orchestra. “No. I don’t think so.”
Coda’s voice carried down from the stage, breaking through the general chatter among the orchestra. “Fillies and gentlecolts, thank you for joining me for another rehearsal. Show up earlier next time or I’ll dock your pay.”
The orchestra laughed.
“Laugh all you want, but it will not make a difference.” Coda cleared his throat. “In any case, we will have a few guests joining us for the next few rehearsals. Master Nadermane, Madames Philharmonica and Scratch, if you would be so kind as to join me on stage?”
With a slight encouraging gesture from Fleur, the three named musicians took to the stage, feeling rather awkward as they took their place beside Coda.
“Now,” began Coda, “these are the employees of a very good friend of mine, Master Fancy Pants. You may have heard of them in some way or another, but they are still newcomers to this world of music. I expect each of you to put on your best behavior and make them as comfortable as possible. Am I clear?”
“Yes, maestro,” answered the orchestra in tandem.
“Very good.” Coda allowed himself a brief smile. “Master Nadermane, there is a harp in the back set up for you. You will be playing with Madame Clear Note.”
Harpo nodded, catching the eye of Clear Note, a light blue unicorn with a lavender mane. He trotted off to join her.
“Madame Philharmonica,” continued Coda, “you will be playing with the other cellists. I will leave them to their introductions.”
Octavia muttered something akin to a thank you and walked to her seat.
“Madame Scratch, you will be on the piano with Master Horsesh—” Coda broke off, glancing around the concert hall. “Has anyone seen Master Horseshoepin?”
A negative mutter arose among the orchestra. Coda heaved a sigh.
“Well, Madame Scratch, you will be performing a duet with Master Horseshoepin if he ever deems us worthy of his presence. You may seat yourself on the piano bench for now.”
Vinyl did so.
Octavia blinked a few times. I suppose that he’s not coming today.
Coda cleared his throat again. “Now then, I trust that everyone picked up their copy of the score. We will begin on the first page, as so many things tend to do. This is the Allegro con fuoco of—”
The entrance to the concert hall opened with a creak, letting in a burst of light. The entire orchestra turned towards the intruder, a tan earth pony stallion with a white mane.
“Master Horseshoepin,” said Coda, “I’m so glad that you could join us.”