The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 37: Drinking with Horseshoepin and Paganeighni

There is one advantage in jumping into the future: at least you know where the best remaining pubs in Canterlot are. While the prices have certainly gone up, the quality is not only as good as I remember it but in some cases, it has improved tremendously. Take for example the pub that, in my time, was known as “The Laughing Canary” but now is “Musician’s Corner.”

In fact, when I first went to the old pub soon after coming back from the dead, I asked the barpony why the change in name. From what I understood, apparently, they did so because someone did some research on the place that, as it turns out, was a favorite hangout of other composers and famous musicians. Not just me. But I was surprised to learn that even the Master Buch, Hayden, and even someone named Vifilli came to drink at least once here. Because of that, not only was this place turned into one of those historical sites but it became a tradition for famous musicians who come here for the sake of luck.

Ah superstitions, as useless as you are, you are hard to kill.

I will give the owners this: they’ve managed to (mostly) preserve the interior to the way that it was when I first visited all those years ago. White plaster walls supported by dark wooden beams that held oil paintings of ancient landscapes, cracked with age. As one enters, a row of windows that faces the street illuminates the pub during the day while iron chandeliers that now are lit by electric lights take over by night. To the left as one enters, a hearth that is continually burning regardless of day or night, summer or winter. It is also a billiard table where I myself had played many games. To the right are booths and tables made out of dark wood. At the back behind the bar are shelves of liquors stacked in front of a mirror, which reflects some additional light.

Apart from keeping and improving the drinks being served, they immortalized my usual seat with a brass plaque on the back of a chair by a table facing the street. I confess, I still find it amusing that the establishment has commemorated my spot so that worshippers can leave roses on the seat like a shrine. In fact, when I returned there for the first time in centuries, that was the first thing I noticed.

“The usual Mr. Moztrot?” One of the barponies asked as I walked through the door.

“Just a few glasses of champagne for now,” I said sitting down. “But not too much as I want to be home in time for dinner.”

At this time, it was mid-March and I was taking a break from writing out variations for the piano. I knew that it was best for me to take a breather for a while, watching the ponies pass by, letting my little head wonder for new ideas to play with. As I waited for my glass, I looked through the window, playing a game with myself to see if I recognized any of the faces that moved along.

Not a few minutes had passed before I saw a familiar figure past by my sight and enter the front door. I whistled and called out, “Horseshoepin!”

He snapped his attention over to me. “Moztrot?”

“Fancy running into you, are you planning on drinking?”

“More of an afternoon snack.”

I waved him over, “Well come sit with me! I can pay for a drink or two if you want.”

He hesitated for a moment before walking over to my table and sitting next to me. “I can pay for my own.”

“Pfft,” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever it is, I can pay for it, I got the money you know.”

“But I only came here for the stuffed mushrooms,” he said. “After all, I can’t stay very long, the orchestra is expecting me.”

“Well so? You could at least spend a few minutes here, so I can on my part be able to get to know you properly.” At that moment the barpony returned with my glass and a bottle. “Ah thank you,” I said to him. “Could you also cook up some stuffed mushrooms for my friend here?” After he nodded and left, I returned my attention to the pianist. “You know, I actually do want to meet you. I haven’t seen you around since I asked the Philharmonic for help.”

“That reminds me, I was rather curious about something.” He shifted a little in his seat. “Why did you charge ponies admission when you get an allowance from Celestia herself?”

“Two reasons: the first is that my home has limited space so ergo, I had to limit the number of ponies who could attend in one sitting.”

Horseshoepin nodded, “Okay, and the other reason?”

“You are right on the money issue. As of now, I don’t have any need for it. So I gave it away?”

“What? To a charity?”

I shook my head, “No. To fund a scholarship I’m putting together. In short, it’s to sponsor talented students of music who have gotten themselves into debt as I had. Of course, there’s some paperwork that I had to fill out, but once that goes through, I’ll sleep easy at night knowing that I’ve made life easier for somepony else.”

“Really?”

“Why not? Before I only wished that I had money to enjoy life. But what does one do when they’ve already got everything they’ve ever wanted and money to you becomes plentiful as pebbles in the road? I think the real secret of wealth isn’t so much how to get it as what to do with it when you have too much of it. But I’m rambling. I want to hear from you, tell me about yourself.”

He sat there in thought, “My… where do I start?”

“You start it off with a once upon a time.” I giggled. “Everypony knows that.”

Thankfully this at least got him laughing, “Well… I guess I could start with saying that I wasn’t born in Equestria and that I came here seeking asylum.”

“Oh?” Now, this caught my interest. “That begs the question then: where are you from?”

“Ponland,” he answered. “I studied music there and started to compose a little when I was a teenager. Originally, I left the country to go on tour for a short time, but I found that I couldn’t return as it was – and is -- going through a bloody revolution. Do realize that I had to keep away for safety reasons.” Horseshoepin sighed, “I’ve been away for years now and I haven’t seen my family since then. Only a few letters come through to let me know how bad things are getting over there.”

“Do you miss your country?”

He nodded, “Oh yes… I think about it nearly every day. But luckily, I have a job at the orchestra as a pianist when they need me. Personally, I prefer to play alone in a smaller setting, like a salon, where it’s just me and the piano.”

I nudged the bottle of champagne towards him, “I think you need this more than I do.”

“No thank you,” he pushed it back. “I’m not here for a drink, just a snack is all.”

“Still, I understand where you’re coming from. You’re lonely in a way.” I refilled my glass. “Believe me, I’ve been there. Especially recently since I came back from the dead.”

He raised an eyebrow as the barpony set a plate of the famous stuffed mushrooms in front of him. “Really? How so?”

“My family and friends are all dead. I have no living relatives, and to top it off, I’m the only one apart from Celestia who had been alive from around the eighth century. While I dare not say that your situation is less troublesome than my own, I can say that I empathize where you’re coming from.”

“I miss my home,” he said as he picked up and stabbed a mushroom with a fork. “With all the ponies, the festivals, and the music. Ah, the music is something that I miss the most of all, the ballads, waltzes, and barcarolles. While I can’t recreate all the sounds on the piano, I can get the feel and rhythm of them. No matter how homesick I become, I can turn to it because the music itself has no mother or fatherland; its homeland is the whole universe.”

Raising my glass to him, I said: “I’ll drink to that.”

“So what’s next for you?” he asked, “I mean after the Marriage of Figaro.”

“To begin with,” I said as I downed my glass. “I’ve taken up teaching again, composition with a talented and imaginative filly in Ponyville.”

“Really? How often?”

“Once a week on Friday. And in return for lessons, her older sister, a designer of some note, fashions new clothes for me. Other than that, I’ve been writing back and forth to the King of the Changelings.”

“Wait what!” This got Horseshoepin’s attention. “Whatever for?”

I smiled, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I’m planning to conduct the Magic Flute come May, in the way that I’ve always envisioned it.”

“But why them?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Why not? I saw first hoof how they can change, not only in appearance but in voice as well. Not only that, but they have very good memories. They would need only a few rehearsals until they could perform it flawlessly.”

He blinked. “And what did the King say about this?”

“Oh, he’s thrilled by the idea. The Changelings have put on plays before, but never an opera. Besides, they can do things in their style of theater that I thought was only possible in my imagination. So I honestly can’t wait, but I do have to organize the perfect orchestra for this.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, you know Star Swirl the Bearded? The one who also returned to Equestria?”

He nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

“Get this,” I leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s never heard a symphony in his life.”

“You’re kidding!”

With a wide grin, I shook my head. “Nope! Not a one. And I’m also planning on treating him to a good one as a way of introduction. Of course, the problem is which one. Even if I don’t show him one of my own, there are still thousands of high-quality symphonies to choose from.”

“What about Beethoven’s? They’re very popular around here.”

“True, I have copies of all of his works in my library. They look quite promising, but I’ll have to do some research before I find the one that I can introduce him to.”

“Very well,” Horseshoepin quickly ate the rest of the mushrooms. “I have to go. Perhaps we’ll meet again some other time?”

After bidding my friend goodbye, I returned to my glass and my bottle.

Now I confess that the more of that sweet, delicious champagne I gulped down, the less I was paying attention to the time. So much so that as I turned my attention to a game of billiards, I didn’t notice another musician coming in. In fact, I didn’t know that he was there at all until I finally looked up from my game. There alone in a booth with a couple of mugs of ale was a familiar, long-haired stallion, slumped over the table.

“Paganeighni!” I called out as I abandoned the game and took the bottle in hoof. “What a surprise I didn’t see you come in. How are you?”

He looked up with a gloomy eye. “Go away,” he muttered, “I want to be left alone.”

“Don’t you know it’s considered bad luck to be drinking alone?” I sat down across from him. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how’s the fiddle playing coming along?”

“Forgive me, master, if I’m not in the mood to chat.” He groaned as he fell face first onto the table. “Especially not after today.”

“Why? Did something bad happen?”

He favored me with an annoyed look, which, combined with his scraggly mane, made him look like an enraged creature rising from the sea. “Happened? Nothing happened, and that’s the problem! Why do I have all of these fans that come to listen to someone like me anyway?”

I blinked, “What are you talking about? You’re still popular, are you?”

The violinist ignored me as he downed a gulp of ale. “Ehh… What’s the point? I don’t deserve fame or your attention in the first place. Maybe it’s best that the world ends up forgetting me.”

“Why? You’re the most brilliant violinist that I’ve ever heard. I’ve seen, up close, you do things with your instruments that even I couldn’t do.”

He snorted, “I cheated.”

“Pardon?” I said, taken aback. “Cheated, how?”

“Whenever those idiots come to listen to me play, they expect a pony like you and them to come out onto that stage and perform feats of skilled musicianship. When in reality, I’ve been lying to them this whole time. I don’t know which I find more depressing: that what they call talent is not what I consider to be a skill; or the fact that they think they’re cheering on a pony.”

I tilted my head, “Are you saying that you’re not?”

“Siren,” he muttered as he downed another gulp. “Or at least on my mother’s side. Sure, I don’t have fins, and my singing voice is an abomination, but what I lack in the voice I make up in the bow. Why, if they knew that every single time I pick up that violin that I was casting a spell upon them, they’d probably run me out of the country. I know that I have been lying to them, and I don’t blame anyone if what I do is ultimately forgotten. The truth is, if anyone here has any real talent, it’d be you. You were born with a gift and me with a curse. What talent do I have when to my ears it’s all ugly scratches? I can’t pick up the violin without those so-called fans considering it a masterpiece.”

I leaned back in my seat, “So why do you play?”

“Because I’m part Siren,” he told me. “Music is in my blood. Literally. It’s always been a passion that I obsessed over. But compared to them, and even you no less, I don’t have any talent to be proud of. How can I even call what I play music at all if I can’t hope to have the mind and creativity like yours?”

“Paganeighni,” I frowned. “One must never sell himself cheap in life – for that is a cardinal sin – or else he is done. Whoever is most impertinent has the best chance.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Impertinent?”

“To put it more simply, you have to have a little pride in yourself, but never too much. In my life, I have learned that talent can come from anywhere. From my older sister to a freed Zebra that composed for the King of Prance, music comes from those who have the pride to compose it, and the confidence to play it. You, sir, should be ashamed for thinking such nonsense! You’re part Siren? So what? As a colt when I heard about your kind, I would have killed to know what your music sounded like.”

The violinist gave me a deadpan stare, “Your music is better than any Siren could do.”

“But it’s not perfect.”

This took him by surprise, “What?”

“If it were perfect, everyone else would have stopped. Even I’m never satisfied, which is why I strive to do better. If a genius like me is constantly trying to improve himself, what does that tell you?”

“That you’re… a pony?”

I nodded, “You may be part Siren, but you’re a pony too. And that’s the thing about us ponies: even if we don’t have an inborn talent or skill, it doesn’t stop us from earning one. If you want to be better at the violin, then do so. No problem in the world is ever accomplished by moping about it.” Then I paused as a thought came to me, “What time is it anyway?”

Paganeighni took out his watch, “Almost seven.”

“Dammit, I’m late!” I exclaimed out of my seat. “I’d like to talk more, but I completely forgot something. Bartender!” I rushed over to slap several bits upon the counter. “Here’s for the champagne,” then I turned to the Violinist. “And thanks for the chat. See you around.” And like that, I galloped out to head home and face a rather annoyed Wilfred.

Comments

[Voltaje]

Well, we have scheduled the magic flute, and starswill needs to hear a symphony, mmm, well, i can go for the 9th of shubert, 41 Júpiter, beethoven 5th or 9th,

[TheDriderPony]

Oh hey, I'm getting flashbacks of chapter 28. Nice to see that that idea was useful.

Still, I really wish this story would get more attention. This really should be one of those stories that pops up on the featured box with every update, it really does deserve it. But I guess that the masses prefer that place go to one-shot comedies instead of sprawling speculative historical fictions. Their loss.

[CrackedInkWell]

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