Part Ten: Ponyakov’s Decision & Vinyl’s Quest
The music of the final movement of the symphony swelled in the theater as the orchestra reached the climax of the eighth run through of the concert. At the front, Ponyakov’s horn glowed as the baton floated in midair and his face glowered with concentration. The music peaked, and slowly lowered to piano level before tapering into silence with a final flat motion of the baton. This day of rehearsal had been quite different from those that had preceded it, as each time the temperamental conductor had switched chair positions for each instrument. Evidently, the incident with Octavia had made him decide to force each performer to prove their competence in every possible position. This had taken a number of the second chair musicians by surprise, and Ponyakov had more than once used his magic to make his baton swipe and poke at those unfortunate enough to make a mistake while angrily using a quill to scribble notes on a piece of parchment on the podium before him. With the Command Performance less than twenty-four hours away, nopony really believed he would actually change the established positions beyond the cellists, but if there was one thing the group had learned about Dmitry Ponyakov, it was to expect the unexpected at every turn. The musicians looked to the guest conductor with apprehension. Was he finally satisfied, or would he angrily order yet another run through?
Ponyakov remained silent as he looked down upon the musicians from his podium, seemingly considering what to say. At last he cleared his throat. “While I certainly would never compare this sorry lot to the Royal Marescow Philharmonic, I do believe you are at least finally sufficiently competent to perform the pieces as written tomorrow evening. I sincerely hope none of you will disappoint me.” It was as close as any of the musicians had come to a compliment from him thus far, and the musicians were simply too stunned by that to care about the subtle insult the stallion had worked into his statement.
“On that note, I urge each of you to not rehearse tonight, but to rest. Your minds, your hooves, and your bodies must be well rested if you are to give a performance worthy of the Princess of the Night.” Ponyakov looked to his parchment with a scowl before using his magic to fold it into a tight square and continuing, “You are all dismissed for today, with the following exceptions; Miss Melody and Miss Pizzicato, case your cellos properly and report to the conductor’s office immediately. That is all.” With no further words needed, the red stallion turned on his hooves and strode to the back of the house where a simple wood door marked “Conductor” was set into the wall. Ponyakov opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. Octavia and Pezzo placed their instruments in their cases and hurried to the door moments after him, curious as to what he would even want from them and noting that this was the first time he had even made use of the available office during his entire time in Ponyville.
The pair entered and found Ponyakov seated behind the large desk usually shared by their regular conductors. The top of the desk, typically covered with papers, sheet music, food, quills, or other debris was now immaculately cleared, obviously prepared for this moment. Ponyakov nodded to the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “Sit, mares. I have a matter to discuss with you.” With more than a hint of apprehension, Octavia and Pezzo took the offered chairs and wondered what had brought on this extraordinarily out of character behavior from the conductor.
“I am certain you have ascertained by now that the unusual method I used during rehearsal today was inspired by your unique situation. Simply put, I wished to test the redundancy of this entire outfit.” Ponyakov rose from his seat now, towering above the seated mares so that they were both forced to look upward to him as his horn glowed and the parchment unfolded before his eyes.
“It is my conclusion,” Ponyakov began, “that, by and large, the second chair musicians of this orchestra are woefully underprepared for any event in which they would need to take over for the first chairs. This is quite likely to be the fault of your former conductors, whom obviously never felt the need to force these ponies to work harder.”
Octavia looked to the stallion’s eyes and began to speak. “Actually, sir, I don’t think-“
“Do NOT interrupt me, Miss Melody. I should think you would have learned that lesson by now.” Ponyakov spat. Octavia shrank back at his glare as Pezzo shot worried looks between the two of them. After fixing an angry scowl on the grey cellist, the conductor turned to Pezzo and continued. “That being said, I will state that, you, Miss Pizzicato, have been the exception to the rule. You are more than competent enough and have obviously studied the pieces in their entirety. This has not gone unnoticed, I assure you. However…” Now his gaze shifted back to Octavia and he continued, “Miss Melody, despite her tendency toward unprofessional tardiness, occasional lack of focus, and the keeping of questionable, roguish company in her personal time, has demonstrated a skill level beyond yours. It is clear to me that her musical ability has earned her the position of first chair.” Ponyakov turned his back on the two mares as Pezzo gave a sly wink to Octavia’s disbelieving face.
“I wish it to be understood, of course, that such behavior would never be tolerated in an orchestra of my homeland, Miss Melody.” Ponyakov continued with his back still to the pair as he studied a framed photograph of the Equestrian Orchestra with one of his predecessors. The picture was obviously taken some time ago, as the faces of Misses Melody and Pizzicato looked far younger in it. Ponyakov noted with limited interest that the two cellists were very nearly the only musicians whom he recognized and idly wondered what had become of the many others. Perhaps they moved on to better things than this- he thought before turning back to face the two mares once more. “Do I make myself clear, Miss Melody?”
Octavia looked to Ponyakov with a hint of confusion. Was he actually saying what she thought he was? “I believe you do, Mr. Ponyakov.” She answered with dignity, feeling for the first time as if the esteemed conductor was not looking down upon her despite him quite literally doing so.
“I expect pure professionalism from every musician under my baton.” Ponyakov stated, making direct eye contact with Octavia once again as he leaned his hooves on the desk. “I hasten to add that I require a great deal to look beyond unprofessional behavior when I observe it. To your credit, your skill has inspired me to do so. If Miss Pizzicato agrees, I wish for you to play the first chair cellist position tomorrow evening.” The red stallion now turned his head to look to Pezzo. “Miss Pizzicato?”
Pezzo somehow contained her excitement for Octi and held together a professional appearance. “Oh, certainly, Mister Ponyakov. I think you have made a very wise-“
Ponyakov’s hoof was raised to silence her. “I appreciate your candor, Miss Pizzicato, but beyond your consent I am simply not interested.” His gaze was now directed back to Octavia. “Very well, Miss Melody. Your position of first chair is restored. Miss Pizzicato will play the second chair position. She has been gracious enough to allow you this honor; I trust you appreciate it.” With that, the Marescow resident sat in the chair behind the desk once more with all the manner of a head of state. His tone became all the more grave as he spoke his next words. “Once again I stress to you, Miss Melody, that I expect absolute professionalism from you. Do not make me regret my decision.”
Octavia fought to keep the smile from her face. “I promise you will not regret-“
“I certainly hope not.” Ponyakov interrupted brusquely. “Report at the established time tomorrow and be prepared to perform to the absolute best of your abilities for the Princess. Your performance reflects upon me, and I will not accept mediocrity. You are both dismissed.”
Octavia and Pezzo both rose and pushed their chairs back up to the desk. “Thank you, sir-“ Octavia began as Ponyakov once again used his magic to raise his note-filled parchment before his eyes.
“I believe I told you both you are dismissed.” He stated from behind the parchment. “Be on your way.”
Octavia chose to not push her luck and silently followed Pezzo out to the theater, softly closing the heavy wooden door behind her. Once it was closed, Pezzo’s calm façade exploded into excitement as she hugged her friend. “What did I tell you, Octi? Even that-“ Pezzo took a quick glance to ensure the door was indeed still closed- “stuck up plot-face knows how good you are!” The pair walked to the back row of seats where they had placed their cellos before entering the office, and retrieved the cased instruments. In contrast to Pezzo’s giddiness, Octavia retained her serious, dignified expression until they stepped out of the theater lobby into the late afternoon sun. Once there, she calmly set her case down and turned to her friend.
“Pezzo… what did you do?”
“What?”
Octavia looked to her compatriot. “Ponyakov was never going to give me back first chair. He made that brutally clear. Did you say something to him?”
Pezzo only grinned knowingly. “Why do you find it so impossible that he just recognized your talent?”
“Because he’s a stubborn… I believe the term was plot-face?” The words could not have sounded funnier given Octavia’s sophisticated tone.
The pink cellist gave a laugh as she walked on. “A fitting term, wouldn’t you say?” Octavia looked after her friend and decided to not push the issue any further before running to catch up to her. “This calls for a celebration.” Pezzo said with a smile as she led the way to Sugarcube Corner.
*****
The sun shone through the bedroom window, casting a beam over Vinyl’s sleeping form before shining directly on her closed eyes and forcing her into consciousness. The DJ almost immediately regretted it. She had been hung over many times in her life – it came with the territory of being a party mare, after all – but she had never felt anything like this. Her muscles still ached, her headache was worse, and she felt so sick that it seemed every step made her want to throw up, which would have made sense on some level had she actually eaten anything since yesterday. She could feel the emptiness in her stomach trying to fight it out with the sense of nausea, and her appetite was nowhere to be found. Miserably, Vinyl climbed from her bed and shuffled to her door. “Tavi?” she called out hopefully. Only silence greeted her. A quick look in her roommate’s bedroom revealed the pristine bed and no indication that Tavi had been back at all.
Once again noting the blood stains trailing down the hallway floor, Vinyl stepped to the living room and found absolutely nothing had changed since last night. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the fridge to see if she could force herself to eat something, anything, but looking at the food there was only made the nausea bubble to the surface once more. With a heavy sigh, she closed the fridge and made her way back to Tavi’s bedroom door. Once there, she looked inside reverently for a moment before entering, desperate to find any indication of where Tavi could have gone or any way that she could possibly hope to help the situation. There was nothing to be found.
By all accounts, the room certainly was what she had come to expect from Tavi – neatly organized and everything in its place. The bookcase with its meticulously ordered collection of classical sheet music in magazine holders, and a shelf above it holding a spare cello bow and a small supply of rosin. On the opposite wall, a deeper bookcase held her vintage record player above her collection of albums – a library of classical recordings maintained in excellent condition and precise order – plus a seemingly random blues album Vinyl had gifted to her one Hearth’s Warming Eve. The distinctly out of place pop album sat at the end of the row, its cover art displaying a tall colt with his eyes closed and his hoof on the strings of a royal blue electric guitar while the cover art of all of her beloved classical albums remained hidden, only the spines showing. Tavi rarely played it, but Vinyl knew she sometimes, usually very late at night (or late for Tavi, anyway), heard the strains of the electric guitar emanating from the player. On the vintage player, the turntable mat remained in the upright position Vinyl had turned it to the other day. On the wall above it hung a framed poster announcing a gig Vinyl had once played in Canterlot for a Hearts and Hooves Day concert, with a far smaller frame next to it that held a lone ticket stub from the event.
The bed was smartly made as always with those hospital corners Vinyl had never figured out. The vanity held her brushes and other essentials all laid out as precisely as a surgeon’s tray of instruments. The only glaring empty space in the room was the corner where Tavi usually kept her cased cello. The corner seemed to weep at its own emptiness, and Vinyl stared at it with sadness. She didn’t suppose that Tavi would just abandon her possessions here, but the most treasured one was gone…
What if I finally pushed it all too far… What if she really is gone… Vinyl hung her head with regret and felt the headache start to pound again. She turned and sunk to the floor, her back leaning on the cool wall that would normally hold the cello case. The unicorn could feel the tears welling in her eyes as she looked up to the rest of the room and wondered if Tavi would be back for her things, send for them, or just leave them behind. I’m sorry, Tavi. I’m so damned sorry…
Looking up, her eyes caught sight of the framed concert poster and noticed something she had never caught before – a small bit of Tavi’s neat script written at the very bottom of the poster. Curious, she rose and looked to the writing, which simply read “So proud of Vinyl!” The lettering was small, neat, and nearly unnoticeable from a distance, but still very clearly there when viewed up close. Vinyl rested a hoof on the wall under the small framed ticket stub and looked down. The vintage player with its modern fire-red mat filled her eyes, and the DJ reached a decision, odd in that moment but a decision regardless. Tavi… If you are leaving… Maybe...
Ignoring the pains she felt throughout her and the disgusting feeling in her stomach, Vinyl stepped back to her own room and bustled around, collecting as many bits as she could. Almost a shame she was wasn’t as organized as Tavi; her money was everywhere, a result of the bad habit of coming home and tossing anything that wasn’t her DJ equipment just anywhere with little regard to where it landed. When she was fairly sure she had collected all that she had to hoof, she sat on the bed and counted it up… Only 32 bits? Really? Well, it would have to do… She pushed her sunglasses over her eyes while wincing at the discomfort from moving her foreleg to do so.
Vinyl passed through the living room, eyeing the empty music stand sadly for a moment before heading out the front door and walking toward the far north end of Ponyville, where she knew she had the best chance of finding what she was seeking…
*****
Pezzo and Octavia walked on through the evening, each in higher spirits than they had been in days. At least part of that was likely due to the sugar high of each consuming three Pinkie “SUPER SUGAR SLUGGER” Cupcake specials at Sugarcube Corner, but it still counted. The pair laughed happily as they turned down the road to Octavia’s house, until the sight of the house drew the grey mare back to reality. Her laughter subsided as she looked to her house apprehensively. Her friend saw the change and looked to her. “Octi?”
“Oh… just… well, anxious, I guess.” She replied softly.
“Do you think Vinyl’s back?”
“I have no idea.”
“One way to find out!” Pezzo laughed as the sugar reminded her of its presence in her blood stream. She ran to the door and twisted it open as Octavia held up her hoof far too late to stop her. “Helloooooo?” The sugared pink pony called into the house, still laughing. “Vinyl? You home? Come out, come out, blue mane!”
Octavia ran up behind her, peeking over her shoulder. “Pezzo!” she hissed. “What if she’s sleeping?”
Pezzo rolled her eyes. “Then she needs a wake up call!” Pezzo darted to the room she knew to be Vinyl’s, ready to stir her from sleep, and possibly even give her a piece of her mind if she tried to snap at her. Of course, she found nothing. The weight of that calmed her down quickly as she turned to look at Octi. “Uhm, Octi? She’s- Well, she’s not here.”
The last vestiges of happiness drained from Octavia’s mind as she stepped to the couch and sat down after leaning her cased cello by the door. “I rather figured as much.” She said softly.
Pezzo sat down next to her. “Octi, if you want to stay at my place another night-“
Octavia considered for a moment before replying as calmly as she could manage. “No, thank you, Pezzo. “Everything I need to get ready for tomorrow night is here, and- and I think I’d like to sleep in my bed for tonight.”
“If you’re sure, Octi…” Pezzo said with more than a little worry.
“I- I am.” Octavia replied with some difficulty.
Pezzo looked to her friend, her own giddy mood wiped away as well. “If you need anything…”
“I know. Thank you, Pezzo.”
The pink mare offered her forelegs out, and Octavia gladly accepted the hug from her friend before she stepped to the door to bid her good night. Pezzo stepped out into the night, and only looked back when she heard the door quietly close. Silently, she wished Octi luck and simultaneously cursed Vinyl for making her friend go through all this turmoil.
*****
On the north end of town, Vinyl slowly and unsteadily stormed down the street, her sunglasses perched above her horn. How the flock could she have been to so many places tonight and not found it? Things were steadily getting worse as the Tartarus Neon had described was intensifying with her withdrawal. She found herself having to sit and rest here and there as her legs would suddenly tremor uncontrollably. As if that weren’t enough, her heart felt like it was alternating between racing and barely working, causing her even more discomfort. Luna’s moon shone down on her once more as a patch of clouds passed and she looked up to it, idly wondering if somewhere Doc was looking at it. No, of course he isn’t, she thought bitterly. Why would he when he’s probably working or clubbing? Her mind reeled back and forth between wishing he were here to give her just one more pill, and cursing his plot for ever giving them to her in the first place. Vinyl had never craved her bed as much as she did at that moment, but she wasn’t about to go back to the empty house – not yet. She knew what she needed to find, and she’d be damned if she was about to go back empty-hoofed.
Up ahead, she saw a darkened building and she peered through the dirty window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it. Just what she had been looking for. Just what she needed. Finally. And of course the place was locked up for the night. To make matters worse, the hours listed showed that the place wouldn’t even open until midday the next day. Unwilling to venture back home and feeling the tremors beginning in her legs once more, Vinyl resigned herself to sitting in the doorway for the night and waiting out the hours until the place opened again. At least it’s not a cold night, she thought as she closed her eyes and dropped her sunglasses down over them, praying the tremors and twitching would just go away and let her rest… and that no weird mint colored unicorns would suddenly decide that this was their doorstep.