Octaves

by JapaneseTeeth

Chapter 3: These Walls

Octavia yawned as she unlocked the door to her dorm room. Every day felt longer than the one before it. Her professors had seemingly conspired to save all of the most aggravating work for the past week and then unleash all of it on their hapless students at the same time. Today she had been lucky enough to finish off everything before dinnertime rolled around. She had celebrated by making a few extra trips to the dessert line. Now she was ready to roll into bed and catch up on all the sleep she had lost over the past few days.

Something crunched under her hoof as she walked into the room. She looked down and saw an envelope. It was badly crinkled, doubtlessly from being shoved beneath her door. As she bent to pick it up, it became obvious who had left it. Instead of a real address, the letter simply read “Tavi!”, and the return address was a crude doodle of a pair of sunglasses.

“Vinyl,” she muttered under her breath.

She picked up the envelope, opened it, and drew out an awkwardly-folded piece of notebook paper with a coffee ring on it. Vinyl’s penmanship hadn’t improved in the slightest; if anything it had gotten worse. Octavia sat on the couch (which was much cleaner, now that Vinyl wasn’t around to eat on it) and began to read.

‘Sup Tavi!

The tour is going AWESOME but you probably knew that already, because duh, of course it is. Everypony LOVES my single. They even hum along with your bassello-whatever thing! I gotta admit that after spending so long working on that song I’m starting to get just a bit tired of it after playing it at every show, but that’s not a big deal. It’s really fun playing all my new stuff though. They’re not quite as into those songs as the other stuff, but that’s just because it’s all new to them. Once they learn the new stuff they’ll be all over it, so that’s cool, too.

I know you’re probably thinking “Oh, I am certain her performance is not quite that wonderful and she is just being a pompous fool” or something like that, so I stuck a ticket for tomorrow’s show in there with the envelope. I know you’re probably not gonna bother showing up since you’re too busy rehearsing or studying or tuning your hoofboard or whatever, but I seriously think you’d get a kick out of hearing yourself live. Well, okay, it wouldn’t really be live because it’s a sample and you’ve heard yourself play a bunch of times anyway but you know what I mean.

If you manage to make it you can stand wherever since there aren’t any assigned seats or anything, but you should totally try to be up at the front to get the full DJ-PON3 experience. I’ll keep an eye peeled for ya.

VINYL “DJ-PON3” SCRATCH

P.S. Remember, if you can’t make it or decide to be lame or whatever, give the ticket to somepony.

P.P.S. If you do come, make sure you don’t wear anything too nice.

P.P.P.S. You might wanna bring some earplugs too.

P.P.P.P.S. And pick up some aspirin on the way home.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Don’t bother buying any swag at the merch booth. When we’re in a big city they mark that stuff up to like double the regular price and I can get you free stuff anyway.

P.P.P.P.P.S Whoops too many P’s in that last one.

Octavia checked the envelope and sure enough, she found a ticket and a poorly-drawn map indicating the location of the venue. She bit her lip. Her first thought was to ball the letter up and leave the ticket at the dorm’s counter for anybody who wanted it. She had hours of rehearsing to do tomorrow, never mind studying for her finals. There was no reason to waste several hours of valuable time at a concert that she had no reason to believe that she would enjoy, despite Vinyl’s insistence. And besides, there would certainly be plenty of other ponies who would enjoy the show far more than she would, anyway.

She stared at the ticket for a long moment. Then she stuffed the ticket back into the envelope and tossed it onto her desk. It was time to go to bed. She would worry about the tickets tomorrow.

---

Octavia squinted at the map, then at the nearby street sign. Then she turned the map upside down. It wasn’t any more comprehensible.

“Vinyl couldn’t draw a map to save her life,” she muttered to herself. She turned to a nearby newsstand. “Could you please tell me where this is?” She held up the address.

“Sure. It’s right down the street and on the left.” He pointed. “The marquee is covered with flashing lights. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

She shoved the map into her pocket and headed in the direction that the newspony had indicated. Sure enough, halfway down the street an enormous, bright neon marquee sign came into view, shining like a beacon in the fading evening light. A secondary sign dangled beneath it. Large, illuminated letters read “DRAFTWERK, LIVE.” Then, in much smaller letters under an “Opening acts” heading, were three more names. The middle name, DJ-PON3, was the only one she recognized.

Octavia joined the line at the door, regretting her decision more with each passing minute. The more she looked at the other ponies, the more she wondered why she was even there. She blended in well enough. Her mane was back in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of sunglasses that Vinyl had forgotten in the room and a bright pink scarf that she had received as a gift from a well-meaning aunt with no fashion sense. But as the line moved, it became increasingly evident that she was the least excited pony there.

Octavia wrinkled her nose as she pushed her way through the crowd, looking for a vantage point from which she could actually see the stage. At least in a concert hall there are seats for everyone, she thought to herself. There were entirely too many ponies in too small a space, and the inevitable musty smell combined with the sticky sweetness of the drinks from the bar to form a heavy, dense odor that made it difficult to breathe.

The only remotely open space in the venue was the open area directly in front of the stage. She had quickly decided to disregard Vinyl’s advice; even Octavia could see that that area of the floor was for dancing, and she wasn’t about to get stuck in the middle of that. She eventually made her way up to the balcony that lined the edges of the room and found a spot near the edge. After going through all the trouble to come, she was going to make sure that she actually managed to see Vinyl. And hopefully, Vinyl would see her. Half the reason she had showed up was to spite Vinyl’s assumption that she wouldn’t.

The stage looked oddly small and cluttered. The edges were hidden by curtains and there were so many wires, cables, lights, speakers, projectors, and other bizarre electronics that she wasn’t sure where the performers were even supposed to go. She was still thinking it over when the lights went down and crowd began to roar.

If everypony is shouting like that, how are they supposed to even hear the music? She thought. Then the music started, and the question was answered. A wall of sound crashed into her, accompanied by a an assault of flashing lights that nearly blinded her, despite her sunglasses. For a moment, she thought that a stagehand had made a mistake and flipped the wrong switch backstage, setting everything off all at once. But as she waited for the cacophony to subside, she realized that it was all part of the show.

I should be glad that Vinyl recommended the earplugs, she thought.

---

Octavia’s ears were ringing as she stumbled out of the venue. Her expectations for the night hadn’t been high. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t really had any expectations at all. In particular, she certainly hadn’t expected to come dangerously close to enjoying herself.

The opening act hadn’t impressed her much. That had simply been a mess of various thumping noises, intermittently sprinkled with sirens and beeps. It was so muddled that she still wasn’t sure whether they had even played multiple songs. Then Vinyl had taken the stage, and she had found herself bobbing her head along to the sound. She could hardly consider herself a fan, of course, but as she watched Vinyl work behind the turntable, she could feel a slight hint of musician’s kinship.

Ever since she had been a filly, whenever she had heard music she had felt a compulsion to tap her hoof or sway or do something in time with the music. That was half the reason her parents had first put her in a music class, so she could interact with the music more closely, so she could feel it. Vinyl, or DJ-PON3 rather, clearly had the same compulsion. There were few feelings that could possibly match that of being up on stage, not only hearing the music, but creating it.

And she could see the appeal in sharing that feeling with the audience. She enjoyed her classical concerts far more, of course, but naturally she also greatly preferred participating to spectating. Sitting as still and silently as possible for hours didn’t always make it any easier to enjoy the music.

Then again, Octavia’s concerts typically didn’t involve strobe lights or the stage somehow unfolding itself into the audience for the performers to stand on. The audience participation was all well and good, but there were just too many bells and whistles. The concert was supposed to be about the music, not the spectacle.

There had been so much flash and brightness and glitter that Octavia had had a hard time even seeing Vinyl on stage. And Vinyl had most likely not seen her either. Octavia had thought that their eyes had met just before Vinyl had launched into her final song, her hit single, the one that Octavia had contributed to. But that might’ve just been wishful thinking. There were hundreds of ponies and she barely even looked like herself anyway. Vinyl probably wouldn’t be able to pick her out.

She had briefly considered attempting to make her way backstage to see if she could catch Vinyl there, but she had taken one look at the number of fans piled up at the door and given up. It would take forever to squeeze her way through, and even then there was no guarantee she’d be let through, or that she’d find Vinyl even if she was. Besides, she was already tired out.

She leaned against a lamppost and waggled a hoof in the air to draw the attention of a cab. Even with the earplugs, her head was ringing. She couldn’t imagine how much worse her headache would’ve been without them. It was a miracle that Vinyl wasn’t deaf.

A cab rolled up to the curb and she lethargically clamored in. Before the concert she had harbored a vague idea that she would do some extra studying before hitting the hay, but there was no way that was going to happen. She fully intended to flop right back into bed as soon as she got back to her room. Listening to music had never been so exhausting before.

“Where to, miss?” asked the cabby.

“C.A.M., please.” She mumbled. It would be a miracle if she made it back to the dorm awake. It would be an even bigger miracle if she ever managed to get Vinyl’s bassline out of her head.

Author's Note:

Chapter 3!

With a bonus PMV:

Comments

[Yami Vizzini]

P.P.P.P.S. And pick up some aspirin on the way home.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Don’t bother buying any swag at the merch booth. When we’re in a big city they mark that stuff up to like double the regular price and I can get you free stuff anyway.
P.P.P.P.P.S Whoops too many P’s in that last one.

[Meta Four]

Seriously, Vinyl, how drunk were you when you wrote that letter?

I’m starting to get just a bit tired of it after playing it at every show, but that’s not a big deal. It’s really fun playing all my new stuff though. They’re not quite as into those songs as the other stuff, but that’s just because it’s all new to them. Once they learn the new stuff they’ll be all over it, so that’s cool, too.

IT BEGINS

[Tayman]

Ah, the price of fame. No one quite ever thinks it through...