Strings Attatched

by Chickenscratch

Etude

When I first met her, everything changed. Not in a sudden kind of way that someone can notice right away, but in a slow way where you would have to look back on it years later to see the difference. Now that I think about it, it started a long time before I met her. It started when I first discovered the joy of music.

*****

I was very young at the time, perhaps five or six years of age. My father was a musical pony from the start, and he was always doing something with his instruments. He was a pianist first, and everything else came later. My father could play any kind of music you could dream of. Jazz, classical, you name it, he could do it. Naturally, he taught me piano as well. I collected a quick talent for the instrument and longed to be as good as my father.

My mother was not a musical individual. We lived in the heart of Manehattin, and my mother held a job as a bartender in an out of the way little place called Oats and Whey. It was a sleepy sort of bar that served Germane cuisine and barley beers. I had only been once or twice with my mother, and the only thing I could really remember was the smell of barley and the sound of a piano playing against the ambience of mild conversation. My father would play there sometimes when the normal pianist was out.

Naturally I was very proud of my father, and he was the topic of nearly every conversation I would have on the school grounds. I looked up to him more than anything else. I knew I wanted to be a musician just like him, but my cutie mark was not there. My classmates questioned my talents frequently and often, and I began to question them myself. If I really had been destined for music, my mark would have appeared a long time ago. I came to my father about it, crying.

“Scratchy,” he said softly, nuzzling my tear streaked face. “Don’t you worry about it, baby. It takes time for these kinds of things.” I was embarrassed about crying, but began to sob even more.

“But I know it’s my talent,” I replied. “I’m so sure father.” He smiled and lifted me onto his back.

“Don’t let it get to you, baby. You’ll get it when the time is right.”

I loved my father dearly, and trusted him in the matter. That was the last time I came to him about it. I was not the most vocal character, and would usually flock to the grand piano with my sorrows. Something about those stark ebony and ivory keys drew me to them, and I poured my emotions into the music that spilled from its strings. The piano was almost a part of me, and its tones brought more comfort to me than the words of ponies ever could. Sometimes my father would play duets with me, and sometimes he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to me, as long as I got to play. The piano was the source of my comfort, and my solitude.

Often times when I returned home, my father would be sitting in his study, eyes concentrated on the music that would be playing from his phonograph. I learned not to disturb him in these state very quickly. The one time I had tried to speak with him during this time, he had slowly turned to me and said,

“Scratchy, do you know what I’m doing?” His voice was kind and soft, but I could still sense some irritation.

“No,” I said.

“I’m going on a journey.”

“A journey, father?” I was confused. It looked like he was sitting in his study with music on. He smiled warmly.

“In here,” he said, pointing a hoof at his head. “In my mind, Scratchy.” I was still puzzled.

“But you aren’t going anywhere.” My father seemed tired of my questions and closed his eyes.

“You’ll understand when you’re older. Don’t you have some homework to be doing?”

I left him alone after that. I suppose the most important part of my childhood was our trip to Canterlot to visit my cousins.

“Vinyl,” my mother called from the kitchen. I trotted in loyally, finding her sitting at the counter with a small shot of alcoholic cider. I never did mind her drinking, and accepted it was just something every pony did from time to time. “We’re going to be taking a visit to Canterlot for one of your cousins’ graduation from high school.” She took a sip of her cider. “We’ll be leaving next week and staying with your uncle Sweet Tart.”

Uncle Sweet Tart was unknown to me at the time, and the concept of meeting new relatives excited me almost as much as visiting Canterlot did. I had my bags packed that very night, and spent the week in jittering anticipation. When the day of the trip came, the whole family packed onto the train Canterlot bound early in the morning and set off. I had never been on a train before, and felt fit to burst with excitement as I watched Equestria whip by outside of my window. It was almost like a dream, the way I was seeing things. I wondered if this was what my father saw when he took his journeys and asked him.

“Sometimes,” he said with a laugh, patting my head. I couldn’t imagine what other kinds of journeys he could take, but I didn’t ask .I sat transfixed beside my window until our trip had ended. When we stepped off the train at Canterlot Station, I could have recognized my uncle right off, even if he had covered himself with robes and worn sunglasses.

His coat was a shocking pink hue the likes of which I had never seen. His blue mane was styled in the most ridiculous curls I had ever seen on a pony, save for some of the more expensive filly dolls. His eyes were a strange shade of magenta, and on his flank was a cutie mark of some assortment of taffy. He ran up to my mother and nearly knocked her over in his excitement.

“Berry!” he cried loudly. “So good to see you!” I shielded my ears.

“Hey Tarts,” she returned, hugging him tightly. As I looked on, I could see their relations clearly, my mother’s creamy strawberry coat and minty greet mane beginning to look more and more like candy when paired with my uncle’s. My mother, named Berry Mixer, was from a long line of brightly colored connectionists centered mostly in the Manehattin area. Sweet Tart had moved to Canterlot to start his own candy shop. My uncle looked over me with great interest.

“So this is little Vinyl Scratch you’ve been writing to me about!” I puffed out my chest at being called little. “She’s got ma’s mane, that’s for sure!” he said, ruffling my hair. “A fine filly you’ve got there, sis.” Sweet Tart turned to my father and did a small bow. “Good to see you again, Record Scratch. Pleasure to have you with us.” My father smiled in the mild way he always did. He said nothing in return.

We made our way through Canterlot slowly. I gripped my suitcase tightly in my mouth as we walked. The city was almost overwhelming to me. The height of the spiraling towers that surrounded me made me dizzy trying to gaze to their metallic tops that pierced the skies with statues and other things of artistic merit. The white stone walls that surrounded the cobblestone streets were adorned with pictorial signs and sophisticated shop advertisements. All around me were cafes and bakeries that completely overwhelmed my senses with the smells of pastries and coffee.

Even more impressive than the architecture was the ponies. Everywhere I turned there were mares clad to their snouts in frilled, fluffed up dresses and bonnets, and the stallions escorting them were just as impressive, sporting long tailed tuxedoes and bowler caps. In my awe of them my jaw had dropped, and my suitcase clattered to the ground, the lid popping and my possessions spilling out onto the streets. When I realized my fumble I was sent scrambling, trying to gather everything with my hooves. My magic still wasn’t strong enough to do me any good, and I snapped at things with my teeth to try to catch them. Suddenly a hoof came down on the comic books in front of me, and I looked up to see a pale blue pegasus smiling down at me. She had a tie wrapped expertly around her neck and white buttoned cuffs on her hooves.

“Here, let me help you,” she said quietly, picking up the comic book gently in her teeth and setting it in my suitcase. The two of us quickly collected my belongings. I noticed her eyeing some of my piano music and grinning. “Are you a musician?” she asked, eyes remaining on the page.

“Yes ma’am,” I answered, pulling my suitcase close. She set my music back in the case as my parents approached.

“That’s some advanced music for a filly your age,” she said quietly. I suddenly noticed her saddle bags and my jaw dropped. She followed my gaze and giggled. “I play saxophone in the Royal Orchestra,” she explained, tapping her instrument case. “I’m late for rehearsal now. You keep playing music and maybe you can play with me some day. Ciao.” She trotted off down the street and my parents came to me.

“Vinyl I told you to stay with us-”

“-had us worried sick-”

I was deaf to their words as I stared wide eyed at the pegasus mare as she disappeared into the streets of Canterlot. Now, more than ever, I felt a calling to music. When we arrived at Uncle Tart’s house my first unpleasant encounter with my cousins ensued. They were two colts: one a soon-to-be graduate of Canterlot High and one in the third grade. The oldest was named Bubble Spark and the youngest Bitter Blitz. Both proved to live up to their names. Bubble Spark studied magical defense spells and was going to work for the Royal Guard. The few times I spoke with him he was nice enough, but it was his brother I most hated.

Sweet Tart was a unicorn through and through, so when I saw Bitter Blitz was a pegasus I quickly guessed that the missus was as well. Bitter Blitz was in the Junior Speedsters program, and talked about nothing but flying. Even his cutie mark was a compliment to his speed; his flank was adorned with a hair of blue glittering wings. The moment Bitter Blitz laid eyes on me, I could see a judgmental smirk creep across his face.

“Fillies don’t like Action Colt comics,” he said condescendingly. He had spotted my Kabuki Warrior suitcase.

“Yeah they do,” I replied. “I do.”

“Oh really? Where was the battle of Ironhoof held?” I didn’t have that issue yet. I said I didn’t know. “Typical,” he snorted, “for a filly.” I was reaching back to clock him in the snout when my father withdrew me to another room.

“Scratchy,” he said gently. “Please behave yourself. We’re company.”

“He was making fun of me,” I protested. My father frowned.

“I’ll have a word with Sweet Tart about it…put your things in the guest room.” Soft spoken as ever. My father left. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs and into the guest room. There was a medium mattress in one of the corners and a sleeping bag on the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where I was sleeping. I pulled my music out and spread it out across the floor. I remembered what the pegasus mare had said to me on the way here and frowned. She had said it was advanced for someone my age, but it didn’t seem so difficult to me. I ran over the notes in my head, humming the tune quietly. It wasn’t simple, but it wasn’t complex either. I took the music in me mouth and went to Sweet Tart.

“Where’s your piano?” I asked.

“Sorry kid, we haven’t got a piano,” he said, ruffling my mane. I felt a stone drop in my stomach. All at once I wanted to return home and went to my father with the request.

“We haven’t even been here an hour, Scratchy,” he said gently. I sighed.

“I want the piano.” My father looked at me with a strange grin.

“Is that the only reason you want to go home?” I didn’t answer. I was too embarrassed to admit the truth. My father laughed quietly. “How about this,” he said, “There are going to be some floats at Bubble Spark’s school tonight, and I know some of them will have music. Would you like to go?” It was no Royal Orchestra, but it was music. I said I would. I waited in anxious anticipation for the evening to arrive. I had only been to a few musical events in my life so far, and I couldn’t wait to attend one in Canterlot.

When it came time to leave, my father boosted me up onto his back and we set out into the town. Uncle Sweet Tart was accompanying us on the way to the school. Bubble Spark was on the cricket ream, and Sweet Tart was going to watch the game. He told me that his son’s cricket team was the best in all of Canterlot, and that they had been all over Equestria in tournaments.

“Now that he’s graduating, this’ll be his very last game before joining the Royal Guard,” he said, smiling. Even though Bubble Spark hadn’t followed his father’s career, it was obvious that Sweet Tart was incredibly proud of his son. It always showed in the way he spoke about him, with the excited tone in his voice and look of happiness on his face. I wondered if my father would speak that way about me. We arrived at the school quickly enough, only to find the evening’s festivities had already begun. Sweet Tart left us then to catch the remainder of his son’s cricket game.

I clung tightly to my father as we nosed our way through the crowd. I could hear music over the crowd. I stopped suddenly, my ears perking. This music was different from anything I had ever heard. It was loud, for a first. Not in volume, but in style. I stood up, placing my hooves on my father’s head as I craned my neck to see the float that was letting out this strange, exciting music. Upon the large, flashy platform were several unicorn colts, every one dressed in outlandish outfits. The one singing was the most outlandish of them all; a white colt with shocking blue hair. He sang loudly and heavily, and I felt my chest swelling with joy.

This new kind of music was incredible to me. It gave me a feeling unlike any other in my heart, and suddenly I knew this was what I was meant for. This was my destiny. And in that moment, my cutie mark appeared.