//------------------------------// // The Warm Up // Story: Synchronization // by Terrasora //------------------------------// “Please hurry, Master Horseshoepin, the entire orchestra is waiting on your talent.” The tan figure hurried down the center aisle, a slightly frantic lilt to an otherwise perfectly proper voice. “Forgive me, maestro, my parents are in town and they simply would not—” Coda waved a flippant hoof. “Save your excuses, they’re just slowing you down. Take your place if you really want to apologize.” Frederic Horseshoepin hurried up the stairs, one of his hooves catching the edge of the top step and nearly sending him crashing to the ground. However, he managed to keep his balance. “Almost there,” said Coda in mock-encouragement. Frederic ran a hoof through his mane, flattening a few errant white strands, throwing a tight smile at the highly amused orchestra. His gaze wavered for a few moments on Harpo and locked entirely on Octavia. Coda stepped forward. “I see that you’ve noticed our new arrivals. Master Horseshoepin, this is Master Nadermane and Madame Philharmonica. I believe that you all attended the Canterlot Conservatory at about the same time.” “We did,” said Frederic. He nodded a greeting to Harpo and Octavia. They returned the gesture.  “And this,” continued Coda, gesturing towards the piano, “is Madame Vinyl Scratch. I don’t believe you’ve met her, but you’ll be playing together.” Frederic’s eyes turned reluctantly away from the other two and towards the third member of Syncopated Records. “We haven’t met.” He walked over to the piano bench, reaching out a hoof. “I am Frederic Horseshoepin. It’s nice to meet you.” Vinyl took the hoof, shaking it firmly. “Vinyl Scratch.” Frederic nodded, taking a seat at the other end of the piano bench. Coda stepped back onto his podium, rapping his baton on the stand before him. “Now that everypony has gathered, we can begin with our warm ups.” The orchestra moved together, instruments and hooves rising into place. Octavia, Harpo, and Vinyl were a step behind the group. “Ascending scales.” Coda’s voice, loud as it was, seemed to magnify in the stillness of the concert hall. “F major.” His baton rose into the air, dancing out a steady tempo before dropping suddenly. Eight notes rang out from the orchestra. “B-flat major.” The dancing again, at the same tempo. Eight notes rang out from the orchestra. “E-flat major!” The baton danced slightly faster. Eight notes rang out from the orchestra, keeping pace with the baton’s swings. The warm up carried on in this way, Coda’s calls gradually picking up speed until his baton was little more than a blur in the air. With every iteration, Coda grew slightly more animated, calling for crescendos from the strings or staccato segments from the woodwinds as it pleased him. Once, he quieted the entire orchestra save for the timpani for two scales, only to call for the entire orchestra to play in the middle of the third scale. Every once in awhile, one of the musicians would hit a sour note, or the scales were not played to Coda’s standards, and the entire orchestra would be forced to play through the scale five additional times. “Enough!” called Coda in the middle of a G major scale, swiping his baton to the side. The music instantly stopped. “I’m tired. Everyone feeling warmed up?” More than a few musicians were massaging sore hooves, Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl among them. A few voices replied: “Yes, maestro.” “That’s not everyone!” called Coda. “Have we warmed up properly?” “Yes, maestro!” called the orchestra. Coda smiled. “Wonderful. Take two minutes of break, all of you.” The orchestra shifted their instruments to a resting position, a murmur quickly breaking out among the musicians. Vinyl turned, intent on asking Frederic a few questions, but the pianist had left the bench as soon the break had been called, joining another group of ponies. Harpo took Frederic’s place at the piano bench, fanning himself with a hoof. “He’s a slave driver.” “Who?” asked Vinyl, keeping a watchful eye on Frederic Horseshoepin. “Coda, who do you think?” “Oh. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” “I’m just glad he placed me next to such a nice harpist. Rather cute, as well.” Harpo turned, glancing at Clear Note and turning away just as quickly. “He’s good,” said Vinyl. “Quite an animated conductor, at least,” agreed Harpo. “Though those are often the most difficult to play for.” Vinyl shook her head. “Not Coda. I meant him.” She nodded towards Frederic, who was chatting amiably among his group of friends. The pianist stood slightly to the side, not laughing quite as loudly as the rest of the ponies, but it seemed as though every one of them were turned slightly towards him. Harpo followed her gaze. “Yes, Frederic has always had that technical prowess.” “He didn’t miss a single note,” said Vinyl, rubbing slightly at her hooves in an attempt to quiet the dull throb that had developed. “And he’s not even tired.” “Who are you two talking about?” Octavia’s voice sounded from just behind the pair. Both Harpo and Vinyl gave a slight start, turning around to face the cellist. “Coda!” said Vinyl quickly, ignoring the look that Harpo gave her. “Kinda crazy how much energy that old guy has, isn’t it?” “Rather,” agreed Octavia, taking no notice of the gesture. “It’s as if Harpo suddenly aged thirty or so years.” Harpo shook his head. “I don’t have that much energy right now, let alone in thirty years.” Coda’s voice broke out over the orchestra. “Places!” he called. “Your two minutes are over!” The orchestra was immediately buzzing with activity, the musicians all but running back to their places and taking up their instruments. Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl followed suit. “Master Nadermane, Madames Philharmonica and Scratch,” said Coda, “I would have you join Fleur and Madame Heartstrings for now. I will provide you with a copy of the sheet music for your pieces before you leave, but I’d prefer if you just listened to my orchestra play for the time being.” Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl shared a look, but stepped off of the stage, joining the other members of Syncopated Records. Coda rapped his baton on his stand once again. “Now, as I said before Master Horseshoepin chose to interrupt, we will begin at page one, with the Allegro con Fuoco.” The baton danced for a moment, then fell gently downwards. *** Fancy Pants tilted the bottle, watching the liquor fall gently into his glass. He cut off the flow far earlier than he would have liked to, setting the bottle aside as he floated two ice cubes into place. “I’d offer you a drink,” said Fancy Pants, “but I’m well aware of your stance on this subject. Unless you’d care for water or tea?” Hoity Toity shook his head. “I have a bit more tact than to come to another’s home without taking care of my own needs.” “Simply playing my role as host, Hoitoi, no need to be so antsy about it. It makes me think that you simply don’t want to drink with me.” Hoity Toity’s jaw clenched slightly at the shortening of his name. “Quite.” “You know, some ponies say that you cannot trust anyone that won’t drink with you.” Fancy Pants took a sip of his drink. “And others say that you shouldn’t be trusting anyone anyway.” Fancy Pants shrugged slightly. “I suppose that there’s a saying for everything.” Hoity Toity sighed, taking off his purple aviator glasses. “Did you invite me here to speak in circles, Fancy Pants? Celestia knows that it wouldn’t be the first time.” The elder pony smiled slightly. “Forgive me. Teasing you has always been a favorite pastime of mine.” “I’m aware of this.” Fancy Pants took another sip from his drink. “How goes your business?” “Busier than ever, with the recent acquisitions.” “Yes, I suppose it would be. I’ve heard that you have plans to build your own music arena. The Canterlot Shell?” “I’m afraid that I can’t disclose that information.” Fancy Pants reached for the bottle again, pouring a bit more into an almost empty glass. “No, I suppose not.” He settled into his seat slightly, sipping at his newly filled glass. They sat in silence for a time. Fancy Pants kept a steady gaze on Hoity Toity all the while, occasionally taking a drink. “Is that all you’ve called me here for?” asked Hoity Toity. “If so, then I would rather take my leave.” Fancy Pants waved a hoof. “No, please do stay. It gives me an excuse to drink.” Hoity Toity raised an eyebrow. “I think that Nadermane’s tendencies have rubbed off on you.” “Thank you.” “It wasn’t a compliment.” “I’m well aware of that.” Fancy Pants took another sip from his drink. Hoity Toity got to his hooves. “I have no clue why I continue to agree to these meetings; they seem to serve no purpose but to infuriate me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will be taking my leave.” True to his word, Hoity Toity tuned on his heels and walked resolutely out of the room. Fancy Pants watched him go, draining his drink in a few quick sips. “Doctor, let’s compare notes.” Time Turner slid out from behind a doorway, quickly walking over and taking a seat next to Fancy Pants. “It’s not very good.” “It could be worse,” said Fancy Pants with a sigh. “Don’t say that, saying that is never a good thing.” Fancy Pants smiled lightly. “Perhaps. Now, what did you catch?” “He’s been watching our musicians. Or, he has at the least been watching Harpo.” “Hoity Toity is fond of information, if he knows about Harpo’s affinity for alcohol, then we can assume that he’s learned far more than that.” “Their travel schedule?” asked the Doctor. “Perhaps. It wouldn’t surprise me.” The Doctor nodded, staring at the door through which Hoity Toity had made his exit. “If he has the connections to build a music hall, then he could at least do that much.” “Quite.” Fancy Pants reached for the bottle, but stopped, seeming to think better of the action. “A music hall certainly lends him a certain advantage.” “How long until he’s finished it?” Fancy Pants gave a tight smile. “Knowing Hoity Toity, far sooner than we’d wish.” *** Trans Script held the carriage door open, standing diligently aside as her employer climbed inside. “That was quick,” said Trans Script, climbing in after him. The carriage slid smoothly forward. Hoity Toity adjusted his glasses slightly. “Never speak to a competitor for longer than absolutely necessary; they often learn too much. When your competitor is someone like Fancy Pants, it’s best to leave before then, lest he learn everything.” Trans Script nodded, taking a mental note and filing it away with the other lessons. “Did you learn anything?” Hoity Toity gave her a look. “Anything that you want to share with me?” “He’s curbing his drinking habit.” A pause. “That’s… interesting.” “Indeed, it is.” Hoity Toity turned away, staring through the window of the carriage and out onto Canterlot’s streets. The lamps were slowly flickering to life, bursting into full flame just after the carriage passed them by. *** “Tell her.” “He’s over it already.” “Someone should still tell her!” Harpo ran a hoof through his mane, letting out a breath. “We saw Frederic and nothing happened, Lyra. There’s no need to complic—” “It’s not complicating things, it’s making things fucking easier!” Lyra paced around the room, throwing a glare at Harpo, then at Octavia, who hadn’t said a word since Harpo and Lyra had barged into her room. “If no one cares anymore, than what’s the point of bringing it back on?” asked Harpo. “If Frederic’s done with it, then I’m more than willing to let it go.” “Vinyl cares! She’s worried about it, trying to figure out what her supposed friends are hiding from her!” “It’s in the past, Lyra!” “Not for Vinyl! She has no idea what’s happening!” Octavia cleared her throat. Harpo and Lyra turned, both of their faces tinged pink with anger. Octavia was silent for a time, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I think th—” There was a knock on the door, loud enough to cut off the cellist. Three pairs of eyes fixed onto the door. The knock came again. Octavia climbed to her hooves, quickly crossing the room and throwing open the door. Vinyl stood just outside of the room, bright red eyes burning inches away from Octavia and a music score, the one from this afternoon, floating just next to her. Vinyl stepped forward, brushing past the cellist, throwing the music onto a desk and taking a seat on the nearest chair that she could find. Her eyes, for once not covered by purple lenses, burned into every pony in the room. “You were being really loud,” said Vinyl flatly. The other three were silent. Vinyl continued. “I heard what you guys were saying. I came to practice the music, but I don’t give a single shit about that right now.” She paused. “I want to hear the story. All of it.” Lyra nodded. “What do you want to—” “I want Octavia to tell me.” The name sounded strange coming from Vinyl. “That’s the only version that I care about right now.” Octavia hesitated the slightest bit. “We’ll need our privacy.” Both Vinyl and Octavia turned pointed looks at the other two musicians. Harpo shook his head. “I can’t jus—” “No!” Vinyl’s voice was loud and sudden, flattening everyone’s ears against their heads. “Harpo, I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word outta ya.” She paused, taking a few deep breaths. “Just get out.” With a last glance backwards, Harpo and Lyra left the room. Silence reigned between Vinyl and Octavia for a time. Neither of them even tried to catch the other’s eyes. “He didn’t deserve that,” said Octavia quietly. “Yes he did,” spat Vinyl, even as the beginnings of guilt began to eat at her. Vinyl sighed, burying her face in her hooves. “Just tell me what happened, Tavi. I'm really tired.” *** Fleur took a sip of her tea. She sat alone in her room, a book open before her, staring at a page that she’d begun six times before. There was a disconcerting feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that she couldn’t quite identify. It had not been there earlier in the day, nor the day before, but it had settled into place sometime between then and now. There was a problem in Syncopated Records. It was just a feeling of course, nothing more than superstition or perhaps something she had eaten disagreeing her. Yet, Fleur put a certain amount of weight into superstitions. And so she sat in her room, a teacup held in her hooves from which she drank diligently, trying to keep thoughts away from her mind. She drank until only the dregs of the tea remained. Then she held her cup in her left hoof and swirled three times, dumping out the tea leaves onto her saucer. Fleur stared at the leaves, trying to make sense of the shapes.