"I..." DJ Capricorn's muzzle scrunches. "I don't recognize these notes that you've written down." She shuffles through several hastily-scribbled music sheets. "Where exactly are these located on the recorded copies? Please, I really want to help you isolate the samples, but—"
I hold a hoof up. I spin from one instrument panel to another in her studio. I pick up one sheet and hold it up. Making sure she sees it, I levitate a freshly copied disc next to the sheet with a matching, underlined number.
"Yes. I see it, Miss Scratch. But even still, I-I'm afraid I don't—"
With a magenta breath, I slide across the floor in an office chair. I slap the disc in question over the spindle. With telekinesis, I adjust the volume until the studio's speakers crackle with Cyan Sings' blue, blue voice. Then—with more swiftness than grace—I spin the disc with a discordant scratching noise.
"Guh!" DJ Capricorn winces all over, and I can already tell that she's the kind of artist who prefers studio work to live performances. "Be careful—"
A small part of me wants to smirk. Instead, I scratch the disc back and forth, feeling as the blue exchanges for crimson. My left eye squints and my right ear twitches. At last, I find the note, isolate it, and I scratch back and release the record so that it plays the portion in question.
Capricorn blinks, her ears filled with the vocals that match the written chords on the music sheet in front of her. "Oh... sweet Celestia... how did you?"
I whistle at her with a blast of magenta. Somehow, I'm not collapsing from it. Capitalizing on the moment, I gesture at the instrument panel beside her.
"Oh! Yes! Yes of c-course!" She switches several dials and nods my way. "Ready to record the sample."
I scratch the record back into place, let it play naturally, and point at her.
She hits the record switch. We commit the sample of Cyan Sings Ballad #3 to crystalline leylines. She hits the switch again. "Got it." She shuffles to another sheet of paper. "Now for sample two on disc three..."
I look over her shoulder. I spot the written chord in a blink, then scratch the disc forward until it reaches the spot in the song. I isolate a prolonged note of Cyan's, making sure Capricorn hears it.
"Dear Goddess. Absolutely amazing..." She nevertheless clears her throat. "Alright. Go ahead. I'm ready."
I scratch it back into place, then point at her.
She hits the switch once... waits for the vocal to end... and slaps it once again. "Got it. Have you actually memorized all of these already?"
I shrug, then point at her sheets.
"Oh! Uhm..." She shuffles through them. "...you've written down 'sample one' on 'disc five.'"
I yank the freshly recorded ballad in question off a rack, twirl it, then place it on another spindle. I hit a switch, spin the disc into place, and play the part in question for her.
"Yes. That's it." Capricorn takes a deep breath. "Very well. Ready when you are."
You have no idea.
I spin the disc back ten seconds, raise a hoof... then signal her.
She records again.