The Most Beautiful Sound

by Caineachu

Vinyl Scratch, You're Going To A Concert

"C'mon, Prize, this is such a stupid idea."

You were leaning back on your mixing equipment, which was set up in the main room of your home. Mostly because there was nowhere else to put it in your small house (even though you could afford larger, you found no need to have a big house when you'd only use it to mix new tracks and sleep), and because it was easiest to just have it set up right in the living room. Blowing a wild strand of blue and cyan hair out of your face, you look across the few feet of space at the white stallion currently sitting on your couch; your longtime friend, just-recently-turned-your-manager Painted Prize. He rolls his orange eyes at you, as if knowing you'd protest.

"Vinyl, hear me out on this. I'm not trying to talk crap on your music or anything, because it's still top notch, but since I'm your manager here, I have to bring this kinda stuff up. With your latest album, more and more reviews have said you're starting to sound the same, that you're losing your originality-"

"And you know that's nonsense." You can't help but huff a little bit. Since when did you or he care about reviews?

"Yes, Vinyl, I know it's nonsense, but consumers depend on reviews a lot more nowadays than they did when you first started out. If enough of them say the same thing, especially something like that, sales could majorly take a hit." He fixes the thick green cloth on his neck. You were sure had some kind of actual name for it, but it just looked like a combination of a bandanna and a scarf to you, so that's what you always called it. He always wore it, no matter the season, despite how hot it must make him in summer. It must have some kind of sentimental value to it.

"So you want me to go to some lame-ass concert that'll only have classical music? How will that help me in any way?"

"The best artists are ones that can incorporate many forms of art into their work, or at least mix different genres seamlessly. Plus, you could use more appreciation for music higher-ups in Canterlot listen to. It's not all garbage."

You can't help but let a small smirk play at your lips. "What's this, is the once great Painted Prize turning into a hoity-toity music snob on me? What's next, are you going to call my songs 'mindless noise?'" This earns you a scoff in return.

"Oh please, that'll never happen. I just like a lot more different types of music than you seem to. And who knows, you might like the music at this concert, anyway. It's gonna be the best the genre has to offer. Why, even the top cellist in Equestria will be there-"

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the details, I'll go, whatever." Your hooves were held up towards him, showing a combination of "I surrender" and "please stop talking." He grinned over at you before reaching into the cloth whatever on his neck, pulling out an envelope. He whips it towards you like a frisbee of papercuts waiting to happen, and you catch it in your hoof.

"Your ticket is in there. I snagged us front row seats, not easy to get."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to thank you later." You glance behind you, placing it behind you on one of your turntables before turning back to him. "Anything else you want to practically force me to do?"

"Today? No, I think that's it, actually." He slowly stands up off the couch, grinning over at you as he makes his way to the front door. "Just try to enjoy yourself tomorrow, will ya? It won't be all that bad, I promise."

"Yeah, we'll just see about that when we're actually there." You make your way over to him, standing next to him to see him out. You hold a hoof up towards him, which he rewards with bumping his own against it. "If it's way lame, I'll bail in the middle of it."

"You better not." His tone is dead serious, but the smile on his face says otherwise, as if he's half expecting it to happen. "It starts bright and early, at least for you, at 9 am. I suggest going to sleep sometime before 3 am, because I'll be here at 8 to get you, whether you slept enough or not."

You can't help but groan, and he gives you a look before he turns and opens the door, the cool night air sending a chill down your spine. He glances back at you as he trots out, smirking slightly. "See ya tomorrow, Vinyl. Bright and early." All you do is let out a little whine before you close the door behind him.

----------

Never one to listen to your friend's advice, you stayed up far past 3, mixing a new song that came to mind. Once inspiration strikes you, you've found it's best just to get it out as quick as possible. Unfortunately, this outburst of creativity goes on for hours, until you hear a knock at the door. Pausing the track you were playing back, you shuffle to the front door, opening it and being met with Painted Prize, who looked surprised you actually answered the knock.

"Oh, Vinyl, you're up pretty early. I thought you'd be passed out still."

"I haven't passed out in the first place. Pulled an all nighter, been mixing tracks..." You yawn and rub at an eye with a hoof, not even bothering to met his gaze, which was one of minor frustration and disappointment. You've discarded your glasses since he last saw you, and while most ponies would be near captivated by your dark red eyes, he saw them enough times to not be caught the same way most others would be.

"Dammit, Vinyl, I told you to get some sleep-"

"Hey man," you cut him off, "I'm right as rain, or whatever. We'll get some caffeinated juices pumpin' in me and I'll be great." You offer him a grin, but with the bags under your eyes, it doesn't hold the usual effect. He just sighs.

"Alright, fine. We'd better hurry and get that drink, then, we'll be cutting that concert close as is."

"Well then let's stop flappin' our gums." You grab your saddlebags from the rack near the door that they're hanging from before you trot back to your turntable, picking the ticket envelope up with your magic before slipping it into the open storage on your back. You trot back over to Painted Prize, your glasses back over your eyes and casting a purple hue on everything. "Let's go."

You both walk out of your house and step out into Canterlot. The brisk morning air nips at your nose and ears, and you close and lock the door behind you before you both continue. Most of the trip to the closest coffee shop so you can get your drink (and energy back) is covered in silence, both of you focusing on just getting there as quick as possible. And within a few minutes of walking, you get there, stepping inside and being assaulted with the delicious smell of coffees and baked breakfast goods.

Painted Prize looks down at you, holding a few bits in his hoof. "I'll wait outside, get me a cinnamon bun or something."

You nod before taking the bits from him, stepping up to the counter and ordering the thing with the most caffeine in it and a pair of cinnamon buns before handing over the right amount of bits. You barely have to wait that long before your order is placed in front of you, and with a quick "thanks" to the pony behind the counter, you walked out, holding the food and drink up with your magic. You thrust the bag holding the cinnamon buns towards Painted Prize, walking past him.

"Come on, we got a concert to get to."

Comments

[SpinningRecord]

Overall, this chapter is pretty good. The plot is at a nice pace, although it seems a bit jumpy. Just make sure you watch out for run on sentences. Sentences that go too long, or crowd the reader's mind with ideas usually cause people to lose interest because they can get confused.

Anyway, this is fairly good so far, so I'll keep up!

[Caineachu]

4231164 I'm goin' back through and working on the run-ons and stuff right now, I don't usually notice them until someone points them out.

And thank you for the feedback! It's always nice to be able to improve.

[Humanarian]

The worst thing about this story is the fact it's written in the second person. Seriously, if you want to make the reader feel in the skin of the character, using the first person would be better.