//------------------------------// // 1-Opportunities Part 1 // Story: Hearing is Believing // by ShadowblazeCR //------------------------------// Octavia Philharmonica knew she was at her lowest point in her career, she just didn't want to admit it. She’d always had a stubborn streak; it got her far in the classical music industry, but it wouldn't get her anywhere, and she had found that out the hard way. Too many Canterlot elites had made one too many remarks about “this one chord she absolutely should not have messed up,” or “her inability to keep comments to herself,” which had led her to make a slightly rude remark to the nephew of President Celestia -- who was the president of the Royal Canterlot Orchestra -- after he had hounded her with minute things she had done wrong, and how he could've done what she did with his eyes closed. Octavia shook her head in annoyance, finishing her pancakes, and waving the waitress over for the bill. Blueblood was never able to do anything other than use his relation to the title, and she highly doubted that he would've been able to even hold the cello right. She sighed, the memory making her recall the reason she was looking for one last chance, anything that would get her back on track. Almost anything, really, some things she wouldn't do no matter what: anything to do with modern music, specifically the horrendous sounds that came from the genres that had surfaced recently; she would only dabble in it if she was forced to, and if her life was on the line. The waitress came by again to finish the dues, and Octavia gave a huff as she pushed herself from her previous seating position, making her way to the door. She meandered through the pathway between the tables and booths, but as she was almost to the end of it something groped her butt. Octavia whipped her head around to see a women that seemed around her age, with outlandish blue hair accompanied by lighter streaks of the same color was the culprit. She threw her hand back in preparation to leave their cheek with a different primary color, but stopped once they spoke. “Hey, lady, what's this say?” The punk wasn't even looking at her. Octavia took a deep breath to calm herself, then glanced at the menu, ignoring the fact that the girl had just grabbed her butt, and saw that they were ordering something quite simple. “It's pancakes, they're...scrumptious.” “Say again?” The woman took out an earbud, letting the obnoxiously loud electronic music play for both of them. “Sorry, was checking out some competition.” Octavia sighed, “Yes, well, you're looking at pancakes. I do have to recommend them as they are something of a staple for this place.” She began to walk away, “Good luck to you and your...endeavors with breakfast.” She huffed in annoyance at how someone could have competition from that kind of music. it was just a bunch of random noises with no correlation to each other. But… “Might I ask what this competition is?” Octavia had returned to the table, her curiosity winning a battle over her dislike of the electronic music phenomenon that had begun to overtake their generation, and the new generation, too. The artist took out her other earbud, and gestured toward the other side of the booth, bouncing a little in excitement for being able to talk about something she did. Once Octavia sat down they began. “Well, ya see, my job is to create EDM for a certain production company called ‘Wonder Productions,’ and this up and coming artist is tryin’ to kick me off the charts.” They turned their phone around to show Octavia the artist, someone she didn't recognize and didn't care about, but she nodded to be polite. “Oh, the name’s Vinyl Scratch, I go by DJ PON-3. The y is a three for ‘aesthetic’.” Vinyl made air quotes to accompany her obvious annoyance with the way it was spelt. Octavia cracked a smile at the woman's annoyance for the whiles that come with working for production companies. She understood it completely as work with her own manager could be aggravating at times. She sighed as she recalled that a meeting with said manager was imminent, something about a new proposition in the music industry. Vinyl raised an eyebrow at her sigh, obviously curious. “I know that it's a pretty cringey way to spell it,” She chuckled awkwardly, “but I didn't know it was that bad.” Octavia blushed in embarrassment, “Oh, no, no, I wasn't sighing at that. I just remembered that I have a meeting with my manager coming up.” Vinyl perked up, “Really? What do you do?” “To put it simply, I play the cello.” Vinyl nodded, “Cool, I've always wanted to try putting classical stuff in my music. Actually, I'm about to go to a meeting about just that.” She checked her phone, a wallpaper of a cartoon white unicorn with large headphones on top of what seemed to be the contraption the Disc Jockeys used quickly flashed on the screen, along with the time. “But I think I've got a few minutes.” Octavia checked her watch, “It seems I do, too.” Vinyl shifted a bit to get more comfortable before continuing, “So, what's it like playing the cello?” Octavia smiled, happy that she was able to talk about something she enjoyed doing, “It's magical, especially when you are in an orchestra. The whole symphony of varying instruments, the way the music just fits, and the euphoric feeling of the bow sliding across the strings, caressing your ears with its lulling sounds.” She grinned, “Much more sophisticated than your ear-splitting, shrieking that those abominations of technology make.” The waiter came by to gather what Vinyl wanted, and promptly left once she gave him her order. Vinyl sipped on her drink before replying, “Oh ho, I see how it is. You just can't handle the bodaciousness of my house shaking musical talent, but I get it, you want to hide your secret admiration of my awesome job.” Octavia let out an exaggerated gasp, “Well, I never! I would have thought that even someone like you wouldn't be so rude as to sully the life changing effects, and musical genius of classical music.” The two began an intense stare down, but were interrupted by the clattering of the plate that held Vinyl’s pancakes. Both cracked a smile, eventually bursting out laughing. Octavia sat up from the booth, “It seems that's my cue to depart. It was a pleasure conversing with you Miss Scratch, I do hope we can meet again.” Vinyl smiled and nodded, “Yeah, same. I'll see you around, uh…” “Octavia, Octavia Philharmonica.” :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Octavia made her way to her manager’s office, stopping once she saw the plaque labeled “Lyra Heartstrings” situated next to the room number. She knocked on the door politely eliciting what seemed to be a joyous, “Come in.” Once Octavia was seated Lyra began her pitch, “Okay, so let's get straight into it. I've got something I think you'll like, the only problem is you have to decide within...uhh, yeah, the next hour or so.” Octavia sighed, “And how, per se, did this predicament come about?” Lyra laughed awkwardly, “Heh, ya see, it may have been a slightly dangerous combination of alcohol, procrastination, and all around laziness.” Octavia pinched her nose, “I sometimes wonder how you're able to function properly.” “Anyway,” Lyra said, obviously trying to avoid a certain subject. “I got this deal from another company saying that they needed to borrow a classical musician from us, and, well, I figured that you would be right for the job.” “And the job is…” “Working with an EDM artist.” Lyra backtracked, “Listen Tavi, I think it would be a pretty sweet venture for you to try, I know you don't like that electronic music, but it could be really fun.” Octavia would probably have immediately said no, and she almost had, but when she thought back to the conversation she had with the EDM artist her curiosity got the better of her. “I'll do it.” “What?” “I said I'll do it.” Lyra blinked, “A-Alright, let me get my stuff, we’ll leave to meet them after that, ‘kay?” The drive to the EDM production company was quick, it especially felt so with Octavia’s nervousness over the rash decision to accept working with some artist she hadn't even met, but that was the reason that they were going to their building. She just knew that they wouldn't like her. No ‘modern’ artist seemed to like her, but then again she thought slightly more lowly of them than she probably should, which meant it was her fault for their attitude toward her. Her breathing quickened with her rising anxiety, what if I come off as standoffish towards this person, too? Ooh, I don't want to mess up again. Octavia perked up as she realized something, no, I can do this. I just act like I did to that one artist and I'll be fine. Before she knew it, and realized it, Octavia sat on a rather comfy couch outside a recording room. At least, that's what she thought it was. Both her and Lyra didn't wait long until the manager -- an attractive woman with pale skin, and dark blue and pink hair -- walked into the room with… “Vinyl?!”