DJ Capricorn calmly sips from a cup of tea, levitates it, and places it gently down onto the table between us.
"So..." She stares at me, eyebrow raised. "You wish to create a remix album?"
I nod. Her home is dim, dusty, and full of books. I float a pair of pens between us, rotating them carefully. "I. Have. A. Vision. Of. Twelve. Tracks. Total."
She glances at the priceless Cyan Sings record propped up on a couch beside us. "Doesn't your old work have twelve ballads on it already?"
I bite my lip.
Capricorn looks at me again. "Miss Scratch, with all due respect, why bother to change what's already perfect?" She points at the album. "This is exquisite singing. Some of the best vocals I've heard in all my life. I'm... not certain remixing it would do the material of Cyan Sings any justice to put it to... to..." She blinks. "Just what do you have in mind, anyways?"
"Trance," I convey. "Some. Experimental." "One. Or. Two. Dance. Tracks."
"You wish to conjure forth dance tracks to Cyan Sings vocals?"
I nod.
"It... sounds remarkably eclectic, but..." She sighs. "I'm not too terribly sure how marketable it may be." She waves again. "Couldn't you just get in touch with your agent and push for a second print of the record you've salvaged? Celestia knows, Equestria could use more copies of your work. Universally speaking, ballads never grow old, either."
"It. Is. Not. My. Work," I communicate. "It. Is. My. Past. Work."
"Miss Scratch, how many times do we have to go through this? Cyan Sings is just as magnificent as anything else you've—"
"I. Am. Not. Denying. Its. Strength."
"... ... ..." She shifts where she sits, taking a burgundy breath. "Do go on..."
I slowly twirl the pens about. "This. Is. Not. About. Restoring. The. Past." My brow furrows. "This. Is. Not. About. Favoring. The. Present."
"Then what is it about, Miss Scratch?"
"Salvation."
She blinks.
I gulp and gesture. "I. Need. To. Know. That. Both. Cyan. And. The. D. J. Can. Leave. One. Legacy."
"So then..." She brushes her bangs back daintily. "The past meets the present... and manifests a future?"
I nod. "I. Need. A. Future. More. Than. Anything."
She nods back. "Of that, I'm quite sure." She takes a deep breath. "Well, Miss Scratch, you undoubtedly have the creative tenacity to make anything possible. But—dare I ask—what would you require my assistance for?"
I feel the urge to shiver. "You. Recognized. The. Genius. In. Cyan. Sings."
"I seriously doubt I'm the only one," she says. "Why not get Beau or one of your companions from Ponyville?"
"They. Only. Know. Vinyl. Scratch."
"And though I admire you professionally, I'm afraid I don't know Cyan from Vinyl—" Her words trail off, and she blinks into the distance of her study. "Celestia... I think I just answered myself."
I nod. Then I fidget.
"There's more to it, is there?"
Shuddering, I weakly gesture: "I. Do. Not. Have. The. Strength. To. Make. This. On. My. Own." I wince slightly, afraid of her answer...
...until she gives it. "I do believe that's the most courageous thing you've ever told me, Miss Scratch." She breathes. "As well as most honest." She levitates the teacup again, sips it, and looks at me. "And... of course..." An eloquent smile. "...I am honored beyond compare to play a part in your magnificent, artistic undertaking... though I shan't pretend to understand the finer mechanics of it. Not yet, at least."
I nod.
"How—pray tell—do you intend to accomplish this?" She gestures at my luggage. "You only have a basic turntable. And—at the risk of sounding uncouth—you appear to have just come in off the street."
I rub my hooves together, squirming slightly. Meanwhile, I twirl the pens. "I. Do. Not. Know. The. North. Carolineigh. Scene." I look at her humbly. "Could. You. Help. Me. Find. A. Studio?"
"Why bother?"
I blink.
She waves at her equipment nestled in the far corner of the room. "We have all of the material we need here."
My muzzle hangs open.
"Unless..." She takes another sip, gazing at me with a coy smile. "...you do not trust the quality of my equipment."
I shake my head with an earnest grimace.
She chuckles slightly, waving a hoof reassuringly. "I jest. I jest." A burgundy exhale. "We can copy the record and do the remixing here. Take as long as you need. I can tell that this project is... very... very important to you."
I exhale. As the magenta cloud clears, I smile gratefully.
"I won't lie. Part of me hoped that you would embark upon something like this... only much... much earlier."
I nod. Twirling the pens, I convey: "I. Can. List. Your. Name. On. The. Album. As. A. Co-creator."
"Hmmmmph..." Capricorn shakes her head. "Stuff that thought away." She points at me. "You're co-creating this with yourself. Vinyl Scratch and Cyan Sings." She finishes what's left in the teacup. "I rather like the sound of that."
Fidgeting, I gesture: "Then. Perhaps. A. Monetary. Share. In. The. Sales. Would. Do?"
"Miss Scratch..." She places the teacup down. "The only reward I hope to get from this is the satisfaction of seeing you achieve a much-needed catharsis. However..." She leans back and folds her forelimbs. "I categorically refuse to assist you with this endeavor unless you promise to do one thing."
Blinking, I twirl the pens. "Name. It."