Wreck of the Bridleway Limited

by Locomotion

Chapter 2: The Train Now Departing

Perspective: Vinyl

Entry 3708

March 22nd

Boy, am I glad to have the Sunday off. I managed to get those thoughts of Tavi and my parents outta my head and get off to sleep okay, but I'm still feeling a bit out of sorts, and my head feels like I banged it against the table or whatever. Stupid hangovers! Why won't those memories just get the hell outta my head and stay out?!

Anyways, sit-rep – I've been giving myself like a gallon of water or something, just so I can get rid of this headache, and it's almost gone by now, but I'm still feeling too tired to do much else aside from sit and watch a bit of TV and stuff. Might go out for a hayburger later, see if Pinkie and Rarity are anywhere about, but for now, I'm just gonna lounge around until I get my strength back. I'm gonna need it if I'm to make that wedding reception.

Now, I'm gonna be blunt and say that I'm a little honked off that I don't have a lot of time to get myself ready for this gig. Basically, there's this couple over in Rainbow Falls who are getting hitched this upcoming Tuesday afternoon before pushing off to Trottingham for their honeymoon, and they were gonna hire Cheese Sandwich to host their shindig, but then he went down with something rotten. Long story short, they've had to hire me instead – at pretty short notice, I might add, because I've only got today and tomorrow to pick out the right songs for the whole she-bang. So yeah, I'm gonna be a bit pushed for time and no mistake. I swear, the way things are going right now, I could totally do with a vacation at some point.

Actually, I could probably do with a room-mate as well. I mean, okay, I like being alone when I'm mixing new tunes and such, but it gets well lonely in this flat without nopony to talk to. I'd go for Pinkie, but she's far happier living in Sugarcube Corner than anywhere else, and I don't really wanna take that away from her. Probably Neon in that case, seeing as he and I both do the same thing – but then on second thought, probably not such a good idea on account of how he can a right player sometimes. You never know he might come back to my flat with a mare in tow, and then they'd get up to all sorts of stuff – in my own bed as well! It certainly ain't gonna be me, that's for sure.

It sure would be nice to find myself a fillyfriend, though.

---

Entry 3709

March 23rd

Right, I've been going through all my records and all my remixes and stuff, and I think I've got all the right tunes for this wedding gig, but holy Celestia, was that tiring or what. Not only did I have to give myself a head start so I could get what they needed, but it kept me up so late that I didn't get any kind of shut-eye until stupid o'clock in the morning, so I ended up missing lunch because I slept in so late. But hey – at least that's the hard bit outta the way. I'll probably just play them at random or on request, though, or I'm gonna be tearing my mane out trying to create a playlist – and no way would anypony want a scabby slap-head for a DJ!

On the plus side, at least I can go hang out with Loco as promised. We've still got a heck of a lot of planning to do for his shindig, and that includes narrowing down the list of songs and tunes to his absolute favourites, trying to decide if we want them in a playlist or kinda as and when, etc., etc., etc. I gotta admit, he may not be that much into wubs like I am, but he sure knows what he's about. Guess the railways weren't so crazy for letting him clean their engines and stuff after all!

Mind you, I can't complain – I've been doing this whole DJ thing since my mid teens.

Entry 3709 and a bit

Just got back from Sugarcube Corner, and it's been going pretty well so far. Loco and I have been going through the music again, he says he'd rather just play the music as the mood requires, so that's one less job to worry about, but I'm still gonna have my work cut out for me because he's been asking for remixes of the Rodney the Railway Engine themes as well. That's gonna be a heck of a lot of tunes to choose from!

But meh – it's not as if I don't enjoy it. I did watch one episode of that series once when I was starting out my DJ career, and I really liked that bit of music where those two little yellow engines were running rings around that big boxy one. It was the sort of music you'd expect to hear in all these really random cartoons where one guy's trying to run away from someone, and that someone keeps appearing right in front of them! I bet my parents would have torn me a new limb if they found out I'd seen something so foalish, but what do I care? It was a funny moment, a good bit of music – that's all that matters.

If this keeps up, though, I'm probably gonna become a train fan in my own right. Why? Because I actually went right ahead and asked Loco to tell me a bit more about trains when we stopped to take a break. He's been telling me all about what goes on around the depot, what kinds of engines there are, and something called “absolute block”. It's basically a system where you split the line into separate lengths, and only one train can run on each one, so if anything happens – like if the train's late or there's been a crash or something – then you can't send another train into the “section” or whatever they call it.

Of course I asked him what happens if a train does crash, and he says to me, “That's when they send out the wrecking train to clear and mend the line.” He kinda lost me for a moment because for some stupid reason I thought he was talking about crashing another train straight into them. Turns out that a wrecking train is actually a really big crane and some flatbeds that are used to clear away wreckage, kinda like a breakdown truck for trains. He's already been out with the wrecking train once, so he knows what it's like going to clear up after a crash, right down to the whistle at the sheds that they use to call the emergency crews together. For an eight-year-old colt, that Loco sure has led an amazing life so far!

Anyways, enough lounging around. I've got an early start tomorrow, so I'd better get packing.

---

Perspective: Octavia

Apart from a solo performance for a cocktail party on Saturday evening, not to mention packing away my belongings for the long journey eastwards, the weekend for me was fairly quiet. Carolina was the only visitor to my apartment in the space of those final three days, and then only to help me take my luggage downstairs to the waiting cart; but other than that, I was glad of a bit of respite before setting off the following day.

The one thing I didn't send off aside from basic necessities was my cello, for even when I'm not rehearsing a certain tune, I enjoy playing it simply for the sake of my own enjoyment. It's just so therapeutic hearing the motherly hum of string against nylon – you could be in a state of pure despair over everything that happens to be going wrong with your life, but then you hear the cello singing a gentle serenade, and it just seeps into your soul and massages away your woes. Perhaps that is what makes our performances so much easier for me, because from the moment I start playing, I find myself paying a visit to heaven without having to depart this world, and I couldn't be any happier for it.

Perhaps it was because I was growing a little lonely; perhaps the memory was still lingering in the back of my mind since Friday night; or perhaps it might have been to do with the tune I was playing. Whatever the reason, as I was playing that one last piece before packing my cello and setting off for the station, I could see her sitting and listening with her eyes glazed over and a warm smile of admiration on her face, just like she had done when we were still in school together. She was just like I remembered her, with a braided mane and no shades to speak of – again, strangely nowhere near as attractive as she is now, but it brought back a vast catalogue of memories as I gazed back at her with a soft smile of my own. Only when I had finished playing did I realise that she wasn't even there. The seat was empty, and indeed the whole apartment was virtually deserted apart from myself. Deary me, Octavia, I thought as I stowed my cello away in its case; You really need a holiday sometime.

Now wasn't a convenient time for me to stop and gather my thoughts, however, as I had only an hour and forty-five minutes left before my train was due out. I therefore ran a quick check to ensure that I had all my personal luggage to hoof, and once satisfied that all was ready, I went downstairs to bid Carolina farewell before taking my leave.

“Good luck with your musical, Octavia,” she answered. “Hope you have a safe journey.”

Given what was to ensue later in the journey, her last statement was to prove something of an ill omen; but not once did such a thought cross my mind as I promised that I would – again, rather an unfortunate statement – and departed the condominium. All I knew was that it would be a while yet before I would ever see her again, for the performance was scheduled to go on tour around Equestria for a few months after its final curtain call in Manehattan.

---

The journey to Canterbury West Station took just over an hour, so I arrived almost precisely upon the stroke of six. As is to be expected of a Canterlot mainline terminus, the station was virtually submerged beneath a sea of passengers, porters, ticket inspectors, sleeping car attendants and various other railway workers; but I still managed to locate my friends even amid all the hustle of the evening rush hour. All five were gathered on the station concourse, patiently awaiting my arrival, and our train, the aptly-named “Bridleway Limited”, was standing quietly next to Platform 9 in readiness for departure.

After a quick roll-call, we went over to the luggage office so that I could surrender my cello to the porters and supervise the transfer of our belongings from office to train. Once this had been accomplished, I elected that we make good of the half-hour we had left before departure and treat ourselves to a spot of tea before we boarded our carriage. Among the patrons in the refreshment room, I noted, were a considerable number of high-society passengers who would be joining us on the journey to Manehattan, hopefully with the intention of visiting Bridleway Theatre that weekend; but I didn't endeavour to verify. Instead, as soon as we had made our purchases – five cream teas plus a latte for Frederick and a portion of biscuits for us to share – I took the group straight to a booth on the far side of the room, well out of the way.

Once we were seated, we began making small talk while we consumed our beverages. Frederick had been performing a piano solo over in the West End the previous day, and was in good spirits overall; whereas Harpo seemed a little agitated, quite likely at the notion of taking part in a theatrical performance. To hear him talk, however, you would have thought he cared less about the play and more about his social standing. “I don't understand you, Octavia,” he said petulantly. “Here we have the perfect opportunity to mingle with our regular clients, and you insist on spurning them completely?”

“I wasn't spurning them,” I reasoned, “I just wanted a bit of quiet downtime in which I could talk with my friends. Just because we entertain for the upper classes doesn't mean we're obliged to interact with them all the time.”

That's what I keep telling myself at the very least. Providing music for high-society events pays awfully well, but personally I find that socialising with the elitists can be more than a little demanding, especially when they pass judgement over your life choices; for example, if one were discovered to have leanings towards one's own number, like I do, a lot of socialites would look down their noses at you. It's that kind of shallow attitude that really takes the wind out of my sails.

“Never mind, Harpo,” soothed Frederick, interrupting my reverie. “There'll be time enough for all that once we get on the train.”

“I should bally well hope so,” scoffed Harpo grandly. “Need I remind you, Frederick, that this group has a position to keep up?”

Beauty Brass rolled her eyes dramatically. “We're well aware of that, thank you so very much,” she retorted; although I could detect the faintest hint of a smirk in her expression. “Just because you're still sore about last year's Gala doesn't entitle you to heckle us for...”

“Sore?!” cut in Harpo, abhorred. “We're lucky we haven't fallen from favour after playing that...that childish Pony Pokey atrocity! Honestly, I cannot understand what made Princess Celestia invite that pink ruffian along!”

I sighed heavily and shook my head. Just like Harpo not to overlook such a trivial matter. “Harpo, that 'pink ruffian' just so happens to be my cousin,” I firmly reminded him. “I know she was a bit on the...energetic side, but that doesn't excuse you to speak so ill of her.”

“Octavia, she nearly had our names on the high-society blacklist! How could you be so...ignorant?!”

“Because unlike you, I'm more than prepared to let bygones be bygones,” I defended bluntly. “And lest you forget, said pony is also a Guardian of Harmony, so you'd do well to show her a little respect.”

Harpo simply frowned and muttered something under his breath, probably to do with me having a deranged hooligan for a relative. Rather an unfair assessment, I feel, as the name Pinkie Pie has virtually become synonymous with laughter and happiness since she played her part in the defeat of Nightmare Moon and the restoration of Princess Luna, for whom I have since gained a new respect. But now wasn't the time to be picking arguments with Harpo, I decided, not least because two particularly prominent socialites were seated close by. The ponies in question – Jet Set, a major shareholder in the de Hoofilland Aircraft Cooperation, and his wife Upper Crust – had been present at a great many of the concerts and social gatherings for which my group had performed in the past, and I always found them to be especially snooty around ponies whom they believe to be beneath them. They even had the nerve to discredit the Elements of Harmony at the Canterlot Garden Party, Celestia forbid!

At that very moment, however, they seemed less concerned with us and more with the accommodation with which they had been provided aboard the train.

“It's disgraceful!” Upper Crust was saying. “All we ask is a compartment for two, preferably a private suite with a shower bath, and we find ourselves having to put up with a pair of lowly singles – and not so much as a washstand either! Surely these railways could be a little more organised than this!”

“Indeed!” agreed Jet Set with dignity. “Shameful state of affairs, this; and such a poor excuse for such abysmal hospitality. 'We regret that the Bridleway Limited is almost fully booked, and there aren't any other compartments available,' they said. What in Celestia's name is public transport coming to nowadays?”

Again, I thought their sentiments rather harsh. Equestrian National Railways have always striven to provide high standards of comfort and efficiency to their patrons, and so far, they have done a magnificent job; the compartment of an Equestrian express train is very much the embodiment of a cosy lounge aboard an ocean liner or in a country mansion, and the Bridleway Limited, on which I had travelled many times, was a prime example of the luxury they had to offer. But that said, even trains are literally “Limited” in the number of passengers they can convey, and with the inauguration of “The Legend of the Night” coming up in five days' time, it came as little surprise that there were so few compartments available.

And on the subject of the musical, it seemed that Harpo's stage nerves were once again starting to get the better of him. I hadn't been following the conversation too well I was so focussed on Jet Set and Upper Crust, but he seemed rather reluctant to have any part in the play at all. “I still don't know about this, Beauty Brass,” I heard him protest. “Concerts I can understand, but theatricals...we don't even know if this endeavour will pay off. It's just such a big risk.”

“Well, life's full of risks, unfortunately,” stated Beauty Brass curtly. “One can't be expected to play it safe all the time; if you don't take that leap, you're going nowhere.”

“Yes, but...only two more days left to rehearse? We're just setting ourselves up for disaster here!”

“After rehearsing almost daily for the last two and a half months? Surely even a perfectionist such as you should be satisfied.”

“Always room for improvement, I say,” insisted Harpo.

Frederick was quick to interject at this point. “Not every music group is perfect, Harpo,” he observed; though I could detect a slight inkling of unease in his voice. “Even the Royal Canterlot Symphony makes the very slightest of errors from time to time, and they're some of the most prestigious musicians in the nation.”

Ah, yes – the Royal Canterlot Symphony. To become part of their ranks one day was a long-held ambition of mine, one that I had been working towards ever since I had received my bachelor's degree. I could just imagine myself in first chair cello alongside some of the more distinguished and well-known musicians of the time. Maybe one day, I thought wistfully...

“I mean, yes, we may not have any idea yet as to what the outcome will be,” went on Frederick. “It might be a huge disaster not just for us, but for the Bridleway Company as a whole...”

“There, you see?” interrupted Harpo. “Frederick agrees that it's a bad move, so...”

“Well, no, I never suggested anything of the sort,” rejoined Frederick patiently. “I was merely being rational and realistic. Granted, you may yet be correct in your prediction; but on the other hoof, it could be an outstanding success – one which could well bring fresh fame to our group. Besides that, what reason would any of us have to doubt the shrewd, open-minded judgement of our Octavia Melody Philharmonica?”

“Very well put indeed, Frederick,” agreed Symphony.

“I'll say open-minded,” remarked Beauty Brass. “We could be playing at some gay wedding for a pair of fillyfoolers, and it wouldn't matter in the slightest – not to her, anyway.”

That statement was very much the wasp that left a sting in my heart, and although I was obliged to acknowledge it with a simple nod, I was secretly offended. The trouble with Beauty Brass, and this relates to her outdated morals, is that she tends to be slightly homophobic – not in the discriminatory sense, mind, but to her, the use of the word “fillyfooler” to describe mares like me who “play for the opposite team”, to coin a phrase, is about as offensive as “cheesemonger” or “socialite”. Indeed, while I like to think I'm a calm and collected sort of pony most of the time, there are occasions when I worry what she might think if she found out about my own leanings.

“If anything, Harpo, you should be grateful that you can take your instrument with you,” said Frederick, once again derailing my train of thought. “I have to live with the worry that there won't be a piano available when we get there.”

Symphony laughed. “Frederick, they host musical performances all the time; why wouldn't they have a piano?”

Frederick paused for a moment, and I almost began to wonder if he too was trying to pluck excuses out of thin air. But no – our faithful pianist would never stoop to Harpo's level, and today was no exception. “No particular reason,” he conceded uncertainly. “I'm just being cautious is all. After all, what good would I be to this group without one?”

“You could always try and take up a different instrument as a contingency plan,” I suggested. “Your mother always said you were good with a clarinet, for starters.”

“Hmm...not a bad idea, I suppose,” said Frederick thoughtfully. “I probably wouldn't have anywhere near as much opportunity to play the clarinet as I would the piano, but it's worth looking into.”

I smiled in agreement before returning to the matter in hoof; “Seriously, though, I doubt the playwrights would have included the piano as part of the 'Legend of the Night' score unless they had one available. These theatrical companies usually know what they're doing – even the amateur groups.”

Frederick gave a wry smile of his own. “Most worries just aren't worth worrying about,” he mused, more to himself than any of the rest of us. Indeed, if he was at all worried about Jet Set and Upper Crust, then that was another burden removed from his back; for just as I was taking another sip of my tea, I noticed that the topic of their conversation had shifted somewhat.

“Performing on Bridleway, eh?” remarked Jet Set. “Well, I do declare, this is an interesting revelation.”

“And as part of the 'Legend of the Night' résumé to boot,” added Upper Crust. “I always knew these musicians were cultured enough to deserve a part in a Bridleway performance, but I never thought I would see the day.”

“Yes, I suppose it's worth the inconvenient accommodation to see those six ponies broaden their horizons a little more,” decided Jet Set.

“You could be right, darling,” said Upper Crust.

That actually made me feel a lot happier, and I began to look forward to the opening night on Saturday. Taking part in the musical was nice enough, but to get a vote of confidence from those two, well before the very first curtain call, was high praise indeed. But just as we heard the final call for the Bridleway Limited over the speakers, my good mood was promptly swept away by that pessimistic broom that represented Harpo.

“Maybe we should just pull out,” he said, completely out of the blue.

“What was that?” I asked incredulously.

“I just don't think we're ready for this, Octavia,” lamented Harpo. “It's far too much too soon – we don't even know if this is going to work out for us.”

I could only wrap a hoof around the bridge of my snout at this point and stifle an annoyed sigh. “Well, it's too late to do anything about it now,” I admonished him. “Our rail journey and hotel have been booked, our luggage is aboard the train, and the Bridleway Theatre expect us to arrive on Wednesday morning in readiness for opening night three days hence. You had more than two months' time to change your mind about coming with us, but as it stands, we're now committed to this endeavour – and that includes you. Do I make myself clear?”

For a while, it looked like Harpo had a lot more to say; but having made it clear to him that he had no choice in the matter, I could see he was beginning to relent. In the end, he reluctantly hoisted the white flag and said unto me; “Very well, Octavia. Where you lead, I follow.”

And lead I did. As soon as we had finished our beverages and left a tip for the waitress, we left the refreshment room and took up our compartments at the front of the train; myself in the first sleeping car after the luggage van, while the rest of them went in the second. A further two minutes elapsed while the guard and the porters checked that all the passengers were aboard and the doors firmly shut – until, at 6:45pm precisely, the majestic bellow of the engine's whistle informed us that our three-day voyage eastwards had finally begun. With the anchor aweigh and the mooring ropes released, our stately cruise liner on wheels glided smoothly out of port, out of the city of Canterlot, and onto the open sea that was the main line to Manehattan. What none of us could know, however, was that our train would never make it to the end of the line...