The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 22: Day Trip to Ponyville

About a month or so went by and I spent most of my time refining the new piano concerto when I wasn’t visiting some of the bars around Canterlot to drink until I passed out and Wilfred had to drag my flank home. Not to say that during that time that I hadn’t received a few visitors. Between composition, drinking, and organizing the musicians for the Hearth’s Warming concert in Manehattan, I was visited by reporters, neighbors, even from time to time professors from universities around the world.

Most of the time when those visits happened, I would speak to them from the piano that had turned into my work desk. I would speak to them while jotting down the notes that I required. In other words, I was working hard. The only times I would stop was to use the toilet, eat meals or go out for a drink or fifteen.

So this part of the story begins at my piano, on a morning where I hadn’t received any visitors. I was sketching out the orchestral part of the second movement when the butler came into the foyer.

“Excuse me, Wolfgang,” he began. “Pardon me for asking this, but don’t you think you’re working yourself a little too hard?”

“I’m a little busy,” I muttered as I let my hoof run over the keys before penning the notes.

“That’s exactly my point. You’ve been at this piano for over a month now working harder than any of us. Don’t you think that you might want to go someplace that isn’t here or a bar?”

“But I don’t feel like taking several days to visit another city, they’re all too far away for that.”

Wilfred hummed in thought, “What if you don’t have to? Perhaps, if I may be so bold, why not take a day trip to Ponyville? It’s only half-an-hour away and despite being small, there are plenty of things to do."

I raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”

“Well… there are plenty of shops to go and see. The quality of food has rivaled that of any place in Equestria in recent years. They have a movie theater, which now I think of it, you still haven’t seen one. Oh, and it’s also home to the youngest living composer in the country.”

Now, this caught my attention, “What was that last part?”

“You mean the young composer?” I nodded. “Well, I know for a fact that a filly that has just got her cutie mark not too long ago has been making headlines for being one of the youngest, yet excellent, composers. Sweetie Belle is the name. I think she had started out with small pieces for piano, strings and a hoofful of songs here and there – but she’s starting to get into larger scale pieces.”

“Sounds like a little me,” I joked.

“There are rumors that she might be. I heard that she is planning on writing her first symphony.”

I looked at him as I processed this, “And you said that Ponyville is a half-an-hour away?”

---

It goes without saying that I had no idea what to expect from Ponyville. For I didn’t know how big nor wealthy it would be before the train carried us there. However, I was rather surprised when I did arrive; this didn’t seem like the place where a Princess of Equestria resided. The only way I could describe it was as a quaint town, neither too big nor too small. In a way, most of the town with its thatched roofs and white plaster reminded me of the cottages in Trottingham that I had seen when I was only a colt. However, in the very heart of all of this, stood a towering structure that seemed, in my eyes, to clash with the rest of the architecture. A tree-castle-thing was made out of crystal, reminding me of that Empire up north.

I confess that my butler was right, I had been working too much and I needed somewhat of a day off. So what better way to do so then to get lost in a place that I’d never been to?

“So what exactly do you plan on doing today?” Wilfred asked, following close behind me as always.

“No idea,” I told him. “Hopefully we may get lost and find something that nopony bothered to look for.”

“How does that make any sense?” my butler questioned.

“Well, we have to get lost first; otherwise everyone would know where to find… something. Maybe we’ll run into someone fun.”

And as if answered by the universe, a bright pink mare popped into existence. “Did somepony say fun?”

“Hello, whats-your-name that just popped out of nowhere!” I replied in disbelieving surprise.

Then at the tempo of lightning, she said something along the lines of: “I’m Pinkie Pie, are you new here? You must be since I’ve never seen you in town before. Hey! You look like that Moztrot guy that just popped up a couple of months ago. Has anypony thrown you a welcome-to-modern-Equestria party yet? No that’s a stupid question, of course, you would be already be given one. Everypony knows that since chapter six. Still, has anypony welcomed you officially yet?”

I blinked, “I afraid that I didn’t catch all of what you’ve just said, so how about we start over.” I held out a hoof to her, “My name is Wolfgang Moztrot.”

She took it into her hoof and shook me in place, “Pinkie Pie. Since you’re new, stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

Within a blink of an eye, she reappeared with a wagon that had a big red button on one end. After pressing it, the thing opened up with flutes, horns, pipes, and cabinets that instantly played music like a barrel organ. Then to my surprise she sang and danced a short but sweet welcoming song while at the same time putting pointed hats on our heads, playing the trumpet and a drum as well as catching a flying cake (that was aimed at my head) at the end of the song. Then the pipes exploded with confetti all over us.

“So would you like the grand tour like how Braeburn does?” the mare asked with a smile.

I on the other hoof had started to laugh, “That was amazing.” I said, “Where can I get one of those wagons?”

“Over by the drug store,” she pointed towards a shop down the street. “You can get them for roughly two-hundred bits, kinda expensive but at least it’s worth it to put a smile on your face.”

“Uh yes, thank you for that,” Wilfred stepped in between me and the mare. “If you would, ma’am, we were wondering if you know where a Sweetie Belle is. Master Moztrot is interested in meeting her.”

She then asked what time it was. My butler took out a pocket watch and told her that it was getting close to noon. “I think she might be home for lunch,” Pinkie replied. “She would be at Rarity’s place at Carousel Boutique. You just need to go straight down there, take a left, then right at the Quill and Sofa’s, over the bridge, take a left at an oak tree, take three steps into the park take another left and you should see it.”

Wilfred blinked, “What?”

“I got it,” I told him. “Thanks for the directions ma’am – and the cake too.”

It’s times like that that I’m grateful for having a good memory. After hearing all that only once, I was able to follow the pink mare’s instructions and looked for the signs and landmarks leading the way to the Boutique which didn’t take too long. The shop was certainly fancier than most of the buildings around it; it reminded me of a glorified gazebo in blue.

The sign on the door said “Closed,” but that didn’t stop me from knocking on it. A moment later it was unlocked and answered by unicorn mare who had a mane as I’d never seen before, lilac in color and one uniform curve.

“I’m sorry we’re having lunch right…” she paused as she noticed who was at her door. “Oh my! Are you --”

“Call me Wolfie,” I held out a hoof. “Short for Wolfgang Moztrot, are you Sweetie Belle by any chance?”

She told me that she wasn’t but rather her older sister. But nevertheless, she was surprised at my arrival. “I wish that you would’ve told me that you were coming – I would have welcomed you myself since I’m such a fan of yours.”

“Who’s at the door, Rarity?” a young voice from behind the door inquired. The door opened a little wider and I saw a unicorn filly with a curly mane and a high speaking voice.

“Hello little one,” I said. “Are you Sweetie Belle by any chance?”

“Well, yeah? Who are you?” I told her my name and she was taken aback. “You’re Moztrot? The real Moztrot?” After my butler told her that I was, she asked what I was doing there.

“My butler Wilfred here told me about you and I was curious. So since I needed a day off, I thought I would come down to see for myself if what I was told was true. In the meantime, could we come in? It is rather cold out here.”

We were led inside into the shop that had every resemblance to a tailor’s. Fabrics of every color and quality were shelved beside the mannequins that wore dresses, suits, and costumes of radical design; not even the nobles of Celestia’s old court would imagine wearing them. From clothes of gold to bejeweled overcoats, my coveting eyes distracted me for a moment before the young filly asked the question: “So why do you want to see me?”

“I made him curious,” Wilfred told him. “I had told him something of your work, so he wanted to see what your music was like.”

“Get out your portfolio darling,” the elder sister told her. “So Mr. Moztrot, since we are currently having lunch, would you like to have something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Ooh! You have coffee!” My tail wagged in excitement.

“Just give him only one cup, two spoonfuls of sugar and plenty of cream,” Wilfred warned. “Otherwise, he’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time.”

After showing us into the kitchen and pulling up two spare chairs for us to sit on, Rarity put a pot on the stove. “I’m rather surprised that you’ve heard about Sweetie Belle,” she told me. “I know that she is barely starting out with this music business aside from what she usually does, but I didn’t think it would get your attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I be curious?” I asked. “After all, I was once a child prodigy. Such a thing is still incredibly rare, which is why, after Wilfred told me about her I wanted to see how good she is.”

“My little sister has had some of her work published; most of the critics say that her talent is quite promising. She was taught how to compose by Beethoven himself.”

“Really?” Wilfred asked. “The Ludwig van Beethoven, taught your sister?”

“Admittingly, only the basics, as he was only in Equestria for a year, but once he taught her the ins and outs of it by copying a few string quartets, she experimented with music. Of course, I helped her get some of her work published.”

Before I could ask further Sweetie Belle came in with her portfolio that had sheet music nearly busting out of it. “You know, I’m really nervous showing you these.” She told me as she placed it on the table. I asked why. “Because you’re Moztrot, one of the greatest composers of all time, and you’re right here sitting at our kitchen table, wanting to see my stuff. How can I not be nervous?”

I tilted my head, “How old are you anyway?”

“Fourteen,” she replied. “And I started doing this about three years ago, but only as a hobby.”

“I see,” I nodded, “May I?”

“I don’t --”

“Don’t worry Sweetie,” Rarity said with reassurance. “I think you’re good enough for Moztrot.”

After opening the portfolio, I picked up the first sheet music that was on top. “So little one? May I? I promise that I’ll be kind to your work, and treat them like they’re somepony’s children. I only want to see what they have to say.”

She eventually agreed and I focused my attention on the one in my hoof. It was a Larghetto in D minor for violin and piano, in which it was entitled “Buffalo Lament.” The violin part started off as if singing out its sorrow while the piano gave it movement. To me, the melody was very simple, but it sure did have tears behind the lines of sound. There wasn’t much decoration on the violin side, as it was giving nothing but the bare truth of its current condition, much like the plight of a homeless child. But as I progressed, the mood changed, as if it were trying to make itself happy by telling jokes or daydreaming. I noticed that she went into unusual keys, with double-stops to hum in a strange harmony. However, even so, especially towards the end, that ghost of melancholy returned to strangely not end the piece with a bang, but in a somber whisper.

The next one I chose out from random, in which it was a Serenade that, intriguingly enough, was dedicated to someone, only that name had been furiously scratched out. It was for a string orchestra with the traditional two violins, violas and cellos. As I scanned over it, it was almost as if I were looking at a painting of young love itself. The solo cello began with the melody, writing a love poem while the other strings acted as its muse. Each note, again, wasn’t decorative. The piece grew more thoughtful with each passing bar. Yet, the passion of youth still resounded profoundly in this Serenade where the language of love was in every single note.

Then I picked up one that was at the very bottom – one that was solo violin and piano again that didn’t have a name. But as I read through this one, it seemed to me like the sketch of an aria, given its lyrical melody, this time with a familiar sense of longing. As if the violin was missing someone with all their heart. And once again, it was straightforwardly honest about its very emotion as the instrument waited for the return of somepony dear and near to them.

“I-Is it… not good?” Sweetie Belle asked, snapping me back into reality.

“Hm? Oh, on the contrary, little one,” I said with a smile as I hoofed over the ones I’d read. “From what I’ve seen so far, these are refreshingly original.”

“Original?” she inquired as she looked at the pieces I examined, “How so?”

“You have shown something that I hardly see anymore. Each one is honest with what they’re conveying. Perhaps it is this difference between you and me when it comes to this sort of thing: I write music that is pleasing to the ear and must uphold only positive emotion – you on the other hoof don’t seem to try to hide it.”

The young white unicorn tilted her head, “Well why wouldn’t I? I’ve learned that from Beethoven that… come to think of it, I think that he was your student at one point.”

This surprised me. “What? I had only a few pupils in my lifetime, and I think I would have remembered one that was so noisy at the piano – which is a great disgrace if I say so myself. But I’m getting off-topic. The point is, as I was looking through what I’ve read, it seems that you lean towards simple, straightforward melodies that are highly lyrical. In my opinion, it is a very good thing. After all, to win applause, one must write stuff so simple that a coachpony might sing it.”

“I’m just starting out,” she muttered, and it was here that her older sister had put forth the cup of coffee before me.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said before turning to Sweetie Belle. “That is understandable; I won’t pretend that my earlier work was as complex as it is now. After all, I only started writing when I was four years old, simple pieces for the keyboard. But over time, with experience, one does learn new tricks and ideas to express. And from what I can see, what you have is a very good starting point.”

“Yeah… but I’m no genius like you.”

I frowned at that before I could take my first sip. “Young mare, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure?”

“Have you cared for anypony besides yourself, where you would put effort into their happiness?”

She looked at me, perplexed. “Well, of course, I do. With my friends, Rarity, my classmates and even those who haven’t gotten their cutie mark yet.”

Now I took my sip. “Then I dare say – that you are a genius.”

Now it was her older sister’s turn to be confused, “Darling, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together, go to the making of genius.” I poked at Sweetie’s withers with the tip of my hoof three times, “Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”

“Wow,” the young mare blinked, “I… I never really saw that from that perspective before. Still, I take it that you do like my work, Mr. Moztrot?”

I nodded, “I think that you are off to a great start. However, I do have some criticisms.” After another sip, I continued, “You see, I do think that while you have memorable melodies inside your head, they could be developed further. Have them playoff from the higher or lower register; create an interesting conversation among the instruments. On a separate note, you might want to have these numbered somewhat for organizational reasons. Now don’t get yourself down, even I’m guilty of neglecting this too. Plus, you do need to strike up a balance between your passions and being clever.”

She then asked me something that caught me by surprise. “Mr. Moztrot,” she said, “could you teach me then?”
I nearly spat out my coffee. “Come again?”

“Well, could you teach me about composition? Sure, Beethoven taught me a little how to do it, but you’re right, I think there’s more than I can learn. So, if it’s not too much to ask, would you teach me?”

“I don’t know…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m sorry to tell you this. Currently, I’m already busy as it is with composition, two operas, a concert next month and rehearsing the orchestra that I’m not sure I could take on any pupils until after February.”

The filly had looked disappointed until her big sister stepped in. “Mr. Moztrot, Sweetie Belle admires your work and wishes to learn more in the musical field. She wants to learn from the best, and who else out there is more qualified than you are?”

“It’s not that you could pay me,” I pointed it out. “After all, Celestia has more or less set me for life.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and with a frustrated sigh, she asked, “Okay, so what exactly do you --” then her eyes widened. “Actually… I’ve noticed that you’ve been eyeing my work in the shop.”

“Well yes?” I raised an eyebrow, uncertain where this was going. “Those clothes are lovely.”

“Mr. Moztrot, suppose I make a deal with you?” Curious, I asked her what she meant by that. “What if, in exchange for giving my little sister some lessons, that I, in turn, pay you with some new clothing. Each article will be completely original and very valuable. You give me the style you want, and I’ll produce you something that will take others’ breaths away.”

Oh, such a tempting offer! She has a point, apart from those funerary clothes that I had to borrow, I had been wearing the same clothes for months. And on laundry day I couldn’t go anywhere without something to cover me. Not only that but if my eye for fashion was accurate, then I would be one step ahead of anyone in regards to modern fashion.

“I’ll tell you what,” I replied. “Since old Winter is about to sneeze, why don’t you do this: if you make me a coat that not only would keep me warm but pleases me aesthetically, then I’ll teach your little sister composition. As to the style…” I hummed as I looked at my red overcoat. “Why not do a cross between what was fashionable from where I came from and today’s tastes?”

Rarity hummed as she used her horn to lift my foreleg horizontally. “It could work… but I would need some references in regards to what kind of style you wanted. ”

It was then that Wilfred cleared his throat, thereby making his presence known. “Excuse me, perhaps I could be of assistance? Perhaps, as soon as we get back to Canterlot, I could send you a few books to accommodate.”

After it was agreed upon, I finished my cup of coffee, thanked Sweetie Belle for showing me her work, and had Rarity take my measurements. Then we set out to see the rest of Ponyville.

---

“So what do you want to do now, Wolfgang?” Wilfred inquired.

This was after lunch; we had just walked out of a particular place where ponies rolled heavy balls to knock down a set of pins. I paused to think it over. “Did you say something about a movie theater in this town?”

“I did,” he nodded.

“Now remind me, what is a movie again?”

“Well… they were used to be called motion pictures when they were first introduced because it looked like the pictures projected on the screens were moving. However, this is merely an optical illusion; it isn’t just one picture, but a whole series of them, one after another, so fast that it looks as if the image moving. Ponies have learned how to tell stories about these things and even add sound… along with color later on.”

“Ooh, sounds complicated,” I smiled. “So where do we find one of these theaters?”

“You mean like that one over there, Sir?” he pointed a hoof over to a building that had signs and posters around it.

“Huh, that’s convenient,” I blinked, and with that, we went up to get a closer look at the theater. Over along the side of the building under signs that says: “Now playing,” were four different posters or stories that I suppose they were telling.

“From what I can see,” my butler informed me. “It looks like we have a choice of science fiction, historical drama, adventure, or horror. Since I haven’t seen any of these, I can’t tell you how good they are so we might have to take a gamble.”

I went to the poster that Wilfred pointed out as horror. “‘Saw?’ What sort of a name is that for horror? With a title like that, I suppose it’s about carpenter equipment.”

“To be fair, most horror movies nowadays tend to lean on the ridiculous side. Perhaps if we’re lucky, it might be one of those so bad it’s good.”

After purchasing our tickets, my butler then showed me a new snack called “popcorn” and a bubbly drink (that sadly had no trace of alcohol in it). Then he showed me to our seats. The theater itself was somewhat empty, but when I walked in that theater, I was already blown away at the sight of giant ponies moving on the screen.

“Looks like we’re early,” Wilfred commented. “Theaters like this tend to show trailers (or to put it more accurately, teasers) of other movies in order to entice audiences into seeing them in the future.”

“Then how do we know if the story we’re here for is about to be shown?”

“You’ll know it when it comes,” he replied as we took our seats, facing the enormous screen. Once again, I was amazed at not only how bright and colorful it was upon the screen, but the fact that sound was coming from every direction! Of voices and orchestras, choirs and everyday noises came together in harmony as they showed one “trailer” after another. I thought to myself if these shorts are merely advertisements like one would do for plays or operas are like, then what would the movie itself be like?

If anything, I was getting rather excited to see my first movie.

And then… it started.

---

“For the nine-billionth-and-a-half time, Sir,” my butler told me. “You are not going to be taken and be put into one of those torture devices.”

At this point, we were on the train home, and I was hugging Wilfred for dear life. Do keep in mind, that rarely in my whole life had I been ever truly been afraid of anything. However, after seeing that… monstrosity, my butler had the good common sense to drag me out of the theater as I was screaming for somepony to help the ponies on the screen. Never in my worst nightmare had I ever witnessed such atrocities being carried out so cruelly, so shocking, that if even a fraction of it had been shown in my time period, Celestia would have had whoever produced it locked up in the deepest depths of her dungeons.

On the train, however, I was what one may call traumatized from witnessing something so barbaric. Ponies on the train did give us weird looks, but at the moment I didn’t care as I needed something solid (and more importantly, alive) to hold on to. I was nervously glanced this way and that, in hopes that I wouldn’t see any sign of that puppet and its master.

“Are you sure that Jigsaw doesn’t exist?” I whispered.

My friend sighed, “No Wolfgang. He’s only a character. It was all pure fiction, like everything else that was on the screen. None of those actors were ever hurt. Or died. Or mutilated beyond description. What you saw were only special effects and acting. Nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” I asked like how a colt would say when he’s scared of the monster underneath his bed.

My butler raised an eyebrow. “Look, I know this was the first film you’ve ever seen, but I’m not exactly sure why you should be so scared. After all, didn't you once write an opera where the lead ends up being dragged into Tartarus?”

I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes. “It’s one thing to imagine something horrible happening, yet it’s completely another when you actually see something terrible happening.”

He closed his eyes and wrapped a foreleg around me, “Wolfgang. This is entirely my fault, and I deeply apologized for not having the foresight of how someone like you, who have never seen a motion picture before, would react. I’m responsible for making you this paranoid, so is there some way that I could calm you down, Sir?”

It was then that I remembered something that I had forgotten. A memory back when I was only a colt. On that train, I remembered how I and my family were crossing over the sea in order to reach Trottingham. There was a frightful storm in which tossed the ship this way and that, and I was so terrified that I was sure that the boat would capsize us at any moment. I recalled Papa coming over to me, and I told him how scared I was. ‘Wolfie,’ I heard him say. ‘How about I teach you a simple, little song to soothe your fears? It’s quite easy. And it goes like so.’ Then he taught me a song that, once I was able to master it, helped calm me.

In hindsight, to those passengers on that train, it looked as if I was losing my mind as I sang out the tune from my foalhood – but it was the only way at the time to keep my sanity.

Comments

[Greenhorn]

Sweetie is now a composer, Ludwig must be really proud of her. And we saw Rarity exercised her business skill in getting her sister a music lesson. The most annoying thing so far is that Moztrot hasn't seen or listened to Beethoven's works yet.

[CrackedInkWell]

8547444
Technically, he has. What do you think that piano piece was at the beginning of chapter 14?

[TheDriderPony]

Coincidentally, I saw Saw for the first time just two days ago.

[Chrome Masquerade]

Within a blink of an eye, she reappeared with a wagon that had a big red button on one end. After pressing it, the thing opened up with flats, horns, pipes and cabinets that instantly played music like a barrel organ. Then to my surprise she sang and dances a short but sweet welcoming song while at the same time put pointed hats on our heads, played a trumpet, drum as was able to catch a flying cake that was aimed at my head at the end of the song. Then it ended with the pipes exploding with confetti all over us.

[Cardboard Box]

Frankly I'd probably be in the same boat as poor old Moztrot. The whole Saw series makes me feel unclean just looking at the Wikipedia pages - especially since it's basically one long rant-cum-revenge fantasy about US health insurance!

[Chrome Masquerade]

“I mean that neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination, nor both together, go to the making of genius.” I poked at Sweetie’s withers with the tip of my hoof three times, “Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”

As Einstein reputedly said,
http://grayboulevard.blogspot.ca/2012/03/wordspiration-everyones-genius.html

[DualKitsune]

Yeah horror was not the best choice.