//------------------------------// // Mutual Mistrust // Story: Making Due // by Sabellion //------------------------------// Her headphones buzzed against her skull, the loud beats pounding on her ear drums. She bobbed her head, a cocky grin spread across her muzzle as she strut down the manicured streets. She had to admit that this side of town was nice-in appearances at least. Classy, is probably the word-but if she had heard correctly there was just as many bad ponies and corruption on this side of town as down in the Wards. Still, her rose goggles and violent blue hair assaulted the clean streets and everypony at the very least gave a glance in her direction. A few stopped and watched her walk by, confused as to why and how she found her way over here. She spun and twisted her way across the streets and intersections-at least the carriage drivers hadn’t changed and she simply danced through them, eyes almost closed. Her hooves struck the ground with every down beat, her entire frame bobbing, the bag on her back bouncing. Pon3 opened her eyes to see the massive silver tower looming over her, its mirrored façade clean and tidy, trimmed in silver and gold. The Ponyversal Building. She walked inside, her hoofsteps echoing off the polished marble floors and through the rather empty lobby. At the end there was a little desk, complete with a receptionist typing away behind her horn framed glasses. Pon3 took off her headphones as she approached, her music still playing. “Hey, what floor do I head to?” Pon3 said. “Seventy-seven.” The mare said without glancing at her. “How do you-“Pon3 started to say but just shook her head and put her phones back on and walked to the elevators. Fancy, she thought as it started to ascend, the glass behind her giving a view of the city as it zoomed upwards. “Level Seventy-Seven: The Ponyversal Music Group Studios: Uptown Records” the elevator said in a rather pleasing voice. Pon3 didn’t notice though and just strolled in. The hall was ornate, blue and silver trimming on rather old looking set pieces. There was a single door a few feet down the hall and she strolled over and pushed it open, peeking in. Inside she saw Beauty Brass and another pony talking by some recording music. She looked over at the clock behind them. 10:15. “She might not show, Brass.” The grey one said. “She’s just late. She didn’t strike me as an early bird type.” Brass said as she shuffled some papers around. “What’s her name again? Pown Three?” the mare said. “DJ-Pon3” Brass said, “She’s a big star in the underground scene it seems.” “Underground?” “You really don’t listen to much modern music, do you?” “I tried. If I recall correctly, I got a headache from it.” Octavia said. “Hello?” Pon3 said as she inched into the room. “Pon3!” Brass said as she put down what she was doing and turned towards her. “Do come in.” DJ-Pon3 closed the door behind her with a kick of her back leg and strolled over. Octavia appraised her, no-she evaluated how much of a threat this unknown chess piece would be. Her hair spoke with confidence, the deep azure dripping down her head and spilling over her neck to pink goggles that bounced with her strut. She was cocky-arrogant and overconfident and that, would get her killed in this industry. She could hear drop hats and bass lines grow distinctly louder from underneath the headphones as she approached. “Greetings,” Octavia struggled to pronounce her name correctly,”Pon3”, but regained her smooth confidence as she continued, “My name is Octavia Melo-“ “Sup.” Pon3 said as she flicked her head upwards to her, the music stopping as she took her headphones all the way off. Octavia looked at her incredulously, before glancing at Brass as if to say, “Really?” Brass’ glare shut down any sass she was about to get before she said, “Glad to see you made it here without any difficulties. We have a lot to go over before we get started.” “Alright. Who’s the pony that I’m gonna have to work with?” Pon3 said, “I didn’t see anyone else on my way up.” Octavia cleared her throat. Pon3 looked back at her, her eyebrow raised before saying “You sick?” “What Miss Octavia is trying to say is that she will be the artist that you will be collaborating with.” Brass said. “Oh, sorry dude. I didn’t realize. You look more like a journalist, or executive or something” Pon3 said, “No offense, my fault really.” Octavia forced a smile. “It’s…fine” “Cool. Where should I put my stuff?” Pon3 said, as she slumped her saddlebags onto the floor. “Right over…” Brass started to say, but the mare had already placed her headphones back on and was pulling different items out of her bags. “Anywhere, I guess is fine.” Octavia said, voice like shards of glass. She leaned in to Brass, “I thought you said you’d bring me the best!” “You doubt my judgment?” “Maybe, seeing as the others at least had some level of professionalism” “Maybe that’s the problem.” “She just won’t do!” “How do you know?” “Because she-“ Octavia inhaled sharply and whispered, “is you know…uncivilized.” “Octavia” Brass said, as she lowered her brow towards her. “That’s not-“ “It’s true, it’s what it is. She-“ “Yo, ladies.” Pon-3 said, as she finished slapping her gear together, “We ready?” Octavia blinked. Somehow, this unkempt unicorn had set up a small tower of speakers, spin table, and other accoutrement in the blink of an eye. She shook her head, as if it would somehow make them vanish, and she would see the mare still setting up. DJ-Pon3 raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Yes? What were you expecting?” “I-uh-“ Octavia stammered, her gaze dashing between Pon3 and Brass. Brass’ mouth turned into a little knowing smile and with a bob of her eyebrows she turned back towards Pon3. Told you she was this good. “Don’t we need to-uh...talk about what we’re doing?” “We’re making an album, right?” DJ-Pon3 said, “Wasn’t that the deal?” As she spoke she looked towards Brass, as if to clarify that this was the indeed the purpose of her being here. Brass nodded. “Well, shouldn’t we discuss what kind of music we’ll be trying to make, the style, the feel? Shouldn’t we, you know, talk about that?“ “Look, I don’t care.” Pon-3 said, “I’m just here cause the bits.” Octavia blinked at her. Those words did little to help her confidence. “So you don’t care about music at all?” “Not what I said,”  Pon-3 said, “Look, if it matters so much to you, Miss Fussybritches, I’ll work with whatever you give me. I’m flexible.” “Fussybritches?” Octavia echoed, “Fussybritches!?” “Not doing much to help the image there…Miss…uhh” Pon-3 said, “Sorry, what’s your name?” Octavia’s facial expression flicked between a gape and clenched anger before she said through closed teeth, “Octavia. Octavia Melody.” Again her gaze flew straight back to her producer. “Just, try to play nice.” Brass said, as she moved over towards the Recording Booth. She carefully tiptoed over the new wires that linked it to DJ-Pon3’s station. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Octavia said, as she shot her a glance that would break bones. Brass didn’t even spare her a glance as she took her place. Octavia pulled out her contrabass from its case, setting up. She placed the headset over her ears, and moved the microphone near her. “Ready whenever you are.” Brass said. Pon-3 nodded, as she started to tap her foot. The bass beat began to kick through Octavia’s set. She clenched her teeth. This was not going to be a fun day.  ---X---   The door strained under the stress of explosive foreboding as the thunderous claps of hooves grew steadily louder, alongside a very irritable voice. The doors shook as they burst outwards, revealing a grey mare stomping her way out of the room, hounded by a plump little blue mare, reaching out after her. “She’s completely unprofessional. She’ll never do. This just won’t work, Brass.” “Look, just give her a second chance she’s really-“ “She’s really what, talented?” Octavia said, “All that was was noise. It sounded terrible.” Octavia said, “She’s destroying my art, she’s-“ “Need I remind you that this is your last chance, Octavia?” Brass said, “It’s over after this.” “I’ll just find someone else to produce for me.” “Right, cause that worked out so well before.” Brass said. “Ay, ladies.” Pon-3 said, as she peeked around the doorway. “There seem to be a problem?” Brass sighed, “Just, give us a moment, please.” “Kind of hard to do, what with all the shouting.” Pon-3 said. “What seems to be the problem?” Octavia inhaled sharply, letting it burst out from her mouth in an exacerbated gust. “The problem is you. You have no respect, you have no-“ “Does the Misses not agree with my manners?” Pon-3 said, as she trotted towards her, her nose raised to a ridiculous level as she strained to look up at the ceiling, “Oh, I play string instruments! I’ve never had to work a day in my life! What shall I ever do if a low-class type touches my precious music?” With the last words she threw a hoof over her face, complimenting it with a fake sob. “How dare you-“ “How dare I what, Princess, talk back to you? Not cower at your pretentiousness?” DJ Pon-3 said as she took a step towards her. Brass struggled to put her hooves between them, pushing them apart. Octavia simmered, her blood boiling. How could someone ever get this much a rise from her? “Pon-3-“ Brass started. “I’ve got this.” Pon-3 said with a confident, smug smile. “Looks like you’ve got no comebacks and just your anger right now. That’s good.” “What?” Octavia said as he molars threatened to break each other. “I don’t give a damn about whether or not you like me, Octavia.” Pon-3 said, “Hate me if you want, but I need this and from what it sounds like, so do you too. So, either you work with me or you leave. Because I’m not backing down, not from you. This prissy bullshit might work on others, but not me.” “I-I-“ “You? Abuh buh buh?” Pon-3 said in a mocking voice, before her voice dropped to a normal range, “Look, I know I’m not the friendliest of ponies for ponies like you to get along with. I don’t think we’d ever be friends, but for this one thing, this one time, let’s make a truce.” DJ Pon-3 offered her hoof. “We get through this together. Then we go out separate ways.” Pon-3 said, “Deal?” Octavia looked behind Pon-3’s shoulder at Brass who shrugged and shook her head. Octavia sighed and closed her eyes. “Very well.” Octavia said, “But you better start to make better sounding music.” “The problem with that track wasn’t on my side.” Pon-3 said. “Of course it was, you-“ “Your A1 string is a bit flat.” Pon-3 said. Octavia blinked rapidly. “No, it’s-“ “Pretty sure it is.” “Will you stop interrupting me?” “I’ll try.” Pon-3 said, “No promises. But seriously, that string is a bit flat. Not by much, but it was throwing the backing off a bit and I couldn’t fix it in time while keeping beat and resampling.” “How do you know?” Octavia said, “I keep my instruments tuned constantly.” “I’m just good. Go check it out.” Pon-3 said as they started to walk back into the studio. “I’ll hit an A1 on the synth, see if it matches.” Octavia shook her head as she walked over. This nobody didn’t know what she was talking about. She hand tuned it herself every Saturday. Her hoof picked up the bow, and pulled across the string, a solid low note filling the air with deep vibrations. She looked up at Pon-3 who nodded and pressed a button. She…she didn’t believe it. Octavia leaned her head closer to her Contrabass, and indeed, the note was just a little bit lower. She tweaked the machine head, until they fell into perfect harmony. Pon-3 halted the note, as a cocky expression that said, ’I told you so’ spread across her face. Octavia looked away from her. It meant little that she was right this one time. It could have been knocked once or twice and shifted it off a little bit. Pon-3 said, “Alright, let’s start from the top again. You start playing whatever, and I’ll figure out something to go along with it.” Octavia nodded. “One, two, three…”  ---X---   The sun’s golden rays began to fade beyond the horizon as Celestia began her daily ritual. Pon-3 had barely noticed, as she struggled to make something, anything from the music being presented to her. It wasn’t bad, hell, by all means, it was pretty good, but she couldn’t figure out what to do with it. Most music she could just feel how to improve it, but this was different. Brass Beauty finally said over their headsets, “It’s getting late. We should probably call it for today.” The stopped playing and silence took over the room. This was not the heated silence of anger, nor the awkward silence of tension. Instead, this was a comfortable but dizzying sort of feeling, like when one has finished a long test. Frustration and hard work dulled their thoughts and set about their minds like wool. “Should I leave my stuff here?” DJ-Pon3 said, “I mean, is that cool?” “Of course.” Brass said. “I’ll lock everything up, it’ll be safe here.” Octavia was quiet as she closed the lid to her instrument. Brass led them out and into the hallway, conjuring keys and locking the door behind them. She flipped around, and immediately there was a bounce to her trot, and sparkle in her mood. “Today was a good day.” “We didn’t get much done.” Pon-3 said. “True.” Brass said, as she looked over at Octavia. “But you did something today.” Pon-3 laughed, “I get it now.” “What?” Octavia said, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. “Brass here offered a big advance.” Pon-3 said, “How many others did you go through before you came to me?” Brass sighed, “Far too many.” Pon-3 chuckled. Octavia looked at the ground. Why did she feel the need to stay quiet? Brass exchanged quick goodbyes and left, leaving the two mares to alone in the silver hallway. They walked to the elevators in silence, and took it down to the ground floor in the same manner. Finally, as they exited the building and were able to fill their lungs with the fresh, slightly polluted city air. It was damp, and full of the random noise that was the metro. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Tavi.” Pon-3 said, as she began to pull her headphones on. “Tavi?” Octavia inquired. “Yeah. Octavia is too regal for my tastes.” DJ Pon-3 said, as she began to blast her music. “Hope you like it. See ya.” Octavia waved her hoof farewell as she watched her stroll away through the crowd, unaware, or uncaring of the strange ponies that walked around her. Octavia clenched her teeth. Why did she have to play it so cool? She hailed a taxi and quickly clambered aboard. She instinctively said her destination, and pulled past the white mare. She shook her head and looked up into the sky. The sooner they finished, the sooner she wouldn’t have to hear the name Tavi again.