Chapter 1: Sweet and Sour Symphony
Club Harmony
Chapter 1: Sweet and Sour Symphony
By Smoking Gun
11:21 PM, Friday, August 21st, 2012
To anypony waiting outside Club Harmony, all that could be heard was a steady, continuous booming—not because the music was seeping through the walls, but because of the speakers were set up on the outside, duplicating the allure of the music that was supposedly going on inside. Be it boiling hot or freezing cold, nothing could settle the anticipation of the ponies outside. On the exterior, Club Harmony strongly resembled a large black cube. A mass of ponies circled continuously around the building; some wore clothes, others wore nothing. All hoped to make it into the club before the party died down.
Upon entering the club, the lucky entrant would then be in the foyer, whose walls were covered in cushiony, dark red padding. The area is furnished with several tables, chairs, and couches, plus several video screens mounted on the wall showing the party deeper inside the club. The foyer then branches off into three possible paths.
Should the pony venture down the path to the left, they would find themselves in front of a pulsating, dark blue screen door. Above the door is a neon sign that reads “Wubville, Equestria.” Should the pony be brave enough to step through the screen door, every bone in their body would vibrate, their teeth would crack, and their manes would frazzle from the electricity. In an experience akin to stepping through the pearly gates, the light would be blinding until their eyes adjust. The walls are plastered with modern artwork that strongly resemble cage bars. The center of Wubville is a vibrating dance floor consistently packed to the edges with ponies waving their hooves in the air like they don’t care. Off to the left, a dark rectangular brick serves as the bar, behind which is a crack team of mixers blending alcoholic drinks and sodas as if practicing alchemy. When the lights reflect off the bottles, the glow was intense enough to seem like an acid flashback.
“Holla if ya hear me!” shouted the DJ. At the opposite end of the room from the entrance, a series of mixing boards and computer screens made up the unicorn’s DJ station. All of the advanced tech would make anypony feel like they were on the deck of the one of Fancypants’ newest airships. Hundreds of knobs, dials, and computer monitors shoved beat under a magnifying glass, showing every wub in its purest form before blasting it out of the speakers positioned throughout the room.
This must be how Celestia feels, thought the DJ. To be able to control every vibration in the air, every rumble of the ground, and every light and image the patrons saw, and to watch them go nuts for it—it was enough to make anypony feel omnipotent. She noticed an automated alert on her central screen reminding that she had her ‘mega-set’ in approximately forty-five minutes. She turned on her headset before standing on her hind legs, making sure that everypony could see her styled blue mane, fuzzy white coat, and hip shades. “Listen, you party animals! I’ve got places to be—but before I venture into the abyss, allow me to leave you with the rumbles that rock Wubville twenty-four hours a day!”
With the push of a button, a pre-recorded song of the DJ’s own composition blasted through the speakers so powerfully that it caused the room to shake, and some of the unattended drinks toppled over. As the DJ ascended the stairs behind her towards the unmarked door at the top, she looked back at the dance floor, noticing that a good chunk of the ponies were startled by the sudden shaking of the floor. “Afraid to die?” she shouted into the headset with a cocky smirk. “If we’re going out—we’re going out partying!”
The unicorn’s words seemed to restore confidence to the uneasy ponies, and they returned to their shuffling and grooving. She looked down upon her adoring customers like a proud mother before hitting a button on her earpiece. White noise erupted from the earpiece of a security guard patrolling the corridors of the building.
“Yo, Muscle. I’ve got a job for ya.”
“Yes, Miss Scratch?”
“Send Octy to my office.”
11:27 PM, Friday, August 21st, 2012
If a patron did not venture down the left path from the foyer, they would have two other options. Should they choose to venture down the right side, they would arrive before a large mahogany door with two golden knobs. Engraved on the door was “Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici.” Regardless of whether the ponies understood the words or not, they would find themselves in the most upmarket, clean, bright, and calming environment they could possibly imagine. Class and elegance emanated off the cream-coloured walls and again off the thick pillars that supported the roof above. The roof in question was dotted with beautiful—and expensive—chandeliers that illuminated the room.
In contrast to Wubville, small drink stations sat all throughout the room. Each one had a neatly groomed and well-dressed stallion or mare, waiting for a guest to venture up to them and request a glass of their finest. There was never a ‘sir’ or “madam” too far away when dealing with the bartenders in Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici. There were large leather chairs set up near fireplaces, and a circular couch allowed ponies to look at each other while enjoying their drinks. A variety of other seating arrangements lay around the room for ponies to use when covering with their compatriots. The pièce de résistance of the Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici was its moderately-sized orchestra. Classical music permeated the room, though not so loud that the ponies couldn’t hear each other. The music was beautiful, calming, and enlightening, enough to make anypony truly feel like they were living the high life. When the violinists played a high note, a shiver went up the spines of anypony listening. Leading the orchestra wasn’t a conductor but instead a cellist—a grey earth pony wearing nothing but a pink bow tie. Her mane was neatly groomed, obviously the work of a team of stylists.
The musicians reached the climactic finale of their piece. They stood and bowed as a thunderous applause flooded the room, almost rivalling the vibrations of Wubville. The cellist walked up to a microphone and coughed to clear her throat. “Je vous remercie tous d'être venus. N'oubliez pas d’assister à nos mélodie techno-classique à minuit.” While some of the ponies nodded their heads in approval, the majority seemed to have lost the meaning of the earth pony’s words. “For the linguistically challenged, that means, ‘Thank you all for coming. Remember to attend our techno-classical melody at midnight,’” she said with a slight chuckle.
The refined audience gave the orchestra another round of applause before the musicians left the stage. While the rest of the musicians left through the door on the right wall of the room, the cellist went straight for the nearest drink station. “Quite a piece, Octavia,” remarked the brown, unicorn bartender.
“It was nothing special, Mix ‘n’ Match, ” she said, motioning him to lean in close to her. “But don’t tell them that,” she whispered, pointing to the guests. The two ponies chuckled, trying not to draw too much attention. “Thank you,” she added.
“Hey, it’s my job to flatter. This time it just happens to be true,” he said, hoping his blush wouldn’t show through his black coat.
She playfully punched the bartender, almost knocking the glass he was cleaning out of his grasp. “Oh shush!” she said, and the two started giggling like schoolchildren. Blood rushed to her cheeks. Thank goodness I remembered to put on make-up tonight, she thought. As their laughter died down, she turned her attention to the drinks menu behind the bartender. “I’ll have a glass of C—”
“Cabernet Sauvignon?” he said while magically pouring her a glass. “The drink you’ve ordered every night since this place opened?” he asked with a hint of smarminess, hoofing the glass to her.
“Yes. All seven of them,” she retorted before taking a long sip of the red liquid.
“I’m a bartender. It’s part of the job description to pick up on what the regulars are inclined to. And so far, it appears as though there’s nothing you love more than a glass of C.S.”
After finishing her sip, Octavia blinked in confusion for a moment. “Hmm. Did you put something in this?”
“Does love count?” he answered with a smirk. Octavia just returned a blank stare. “That, and I may have pulled out the vintage stuff.” The unicorn levitated the wine bottle onto the counter.
Octavia’s eyes passed over the label on the bottle, skipping the brand name and going straight for the year: 1921. The pony’s pupils contracted. “You didn’t!” she said, aghast.
He shrugged it off with a smile. “No, I took a marker to another bottle,” he said sardonically.
The earth pony just barely restrained herself from jumping over the bench and tackling the bartender into the neatly stacked pile of bottles behind him. “Are you out of your mind?” she said furiously. “Those are reserved for royalty and couples celebrating their 75th anniversary or something. You can’t just whip that out for me! Do you have any idea how much that bottle you’re holding is worth?”
“Eight thousand bits,” he said casually. “I know because that’s how much that gentlecolt over there paid for the majority of the bottle.” He pointed to a blond-maned unicorn on the other side of the room.
Octavia leaned towards her bartender friend, her eyes still focused on the unicorn in question. “Is that Prince Blueblood?” she whispered.
“As a matter of fact, yes. He wanted to impress a few of the lovely mares over there but didn’t want to carry the bottle around. He’s already paid for it in full, leaving me to pour the rest at my discretion.”
Octavia turned back to the bottle, noticing that it was mostly empty already. “Well then... I apologize for yelling at you,” she said, adjusting her bow tie.
“Good. I was afraid I’d have to file a workplace health and safety report. ‘Hello? H.R.? After a single glass of wine, my employer gets violent!’” The two broke up into laughter, Octavia nearly knocking over her glass.
“Miss Philharmonica?” The two ponies spun around to see the burly head of security, Hired Muscle, who was staring down at them through his thick shades.
“I told you, Hired, it’s just Octavia.”
“Miss Scratch wants to see you in her office.”
The earth pony rolled her eyes in frustration. “It’s not her office. And don’t call her Miss Scratch.”
“She said she likes it.”
Octavia downed the rest of her wine before trotting towards the flight of stairs against the back wall. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t do it.”
11:32 PM, Friday, August 21st, 2012
Shoving the door open to bang against the wall, Octavia entered the office, trotting onto a carpeted area. She stormed straight over to the two large desks in the center of the room that had been pushed together with a computer on each one, addressing the pony who was seated facing away from her. “Vinyl, you can’t just summon me like you're my boss.”
“But I’m everypony’s boss,” said Vinyl, dramatically turning her chair to regard Octavia. Her glasses sat on the desk beside her, the lack of shades on her face revealing her magenta eyes and cocked eyebrows. “We meet again, Miss Philharmonica.”
“Do you expect me just to play along with you?”
“No, Miss Philharmonica, I expect you to die! Mwhahahahahah!” Vinyl’s eyes bugged out and she threw her hooves into the air, laughing menacingly the whole time. Once she finished she looked at Octavia, who was staring blankly at her. “You suck. You know that?” she said, jumping off her chair.
“So I’ve been told.”
Vinyl trotted off the small carpeted floor of the office and onto what took up the vast majority of the surface: a floor made entirely of glass that allowed the two ponies to gaze down on the middle section of the club. Each step she took on the glass made a little tink noise. “Maybe you should take that as a sign, fuddy duddy.”
“Stop calling me fuddy duddy!” the earth pony said hotly as she too walked onto the glass.
“Then stop acting like one.”
Now standing side by side, the two gazed down at the center section of the club, watching more and more ponies pour in. Vinyl nodded to herself in satisfaction. “Yep. This is definitely what Celestia feels like.”
Octavia shot the unicorn a confused look, but Vinyl was too busy looking down to notice. “Um,” said Octavia hesitantly, “I believe Celestia’s duties usually allow for more sunlight than we’ve been getting.”
“Who needs sunshine when you’ve—”
“—got wubs?” finished Octavia. Vinyl shot a glare at the earth pony, who added, “You may have mentioned that before.”
“Only because it’s true.”
The joint owners let their eyes wander along the length of the glass observation floor. At the entrance of the club, they could make out the long line of ponies waiting to enter.When they observed the entrance, they could make out the long line of ponies waiting to enter.
“Look at this, Octy. It’s beautiful. We’ve conquered Equestria!” exclaimed Vinyl with her forelegs in the air.
“We’ve been open for a week, Vinyl. We’ve barely made enough to pay wages.” Octavia glanced back at the central desk. Off to her own side of the arrangement, there were piles of financial calculations that she had made. Vinyl’s side was mostly covered with old boxes of Chinese food and loose papers with rather crude drawings on them. “In fact, we’ve barely made enough to pay rent.”
Vinyl turned to Octavia. “I told you it was a good idea for us to move in together,” she said.
“Don’t remind me,” the cellist said with a shudder. “Ever since then, everypony seems to think we’re sleeping together.”
“Wait! We’re not?!” said Vinyl, forcing tears out of her eyes and dilating her pupils. “Baby... I’m hurt. You’re just a heartbreaker, aren’t you?” she said, placing a hoof over her heart.
Octavia smirked at the display before looking back down through the glass. “So I’ve been told.” Her expression faded as she watched more and more ponies enter the central room of the club. “Vinyl, I’m still uneasy about this.”
Vinyl groaned and rolled her eyes. “I told you, ‘Tavi—they can’t see you. Plus, for them to look up your skirt, you’d actually have to be wearing one.”
“It’s not that.” Octavia had never been fond of the one-way glass floor idea that Vinyl had come up with. Ignoring the obvious issues, the idea of gazing down on their customers just seemed off to her. “But this is something we’ll need to discuss later. The very idea of a glass floor is exactly why the banks wouldn’t give us any money.”
“It’s magically reinforced, fuddy duddy. Unless you installed a magic cannon without telling me—did you?”
“No.”
“Damn it!” Vinyl said angrily. She sighed. “Anyway, the point is nothing can go wrong. Plus, when they look up, all they can see is the night sky.” She tapped the glass for emphasis. “All they’re getting is a view of the heavens.”
“It’s like with every sentence that comes out of your mouth, you reinforce my theory that you have a god complex,” Octavia said half-jokingly.
“We are gods, Octy!” said the DJ, poking the cellist purposefully. “Never, ever forget that. We built this world.”
“Club.”
“We create the atmosphere that keeps this place going every single night.”
“All seven of them.”
“We stir emotions in our patrons.”
“We watch them get blitzed.”
“We can stop our guests’ hearts at any point.”
“That’s because your music scares them to death.”
“And yours bores them to death,” said the empowered DJ, wrapping a foreleg around her friend. “You see? With our combined powers, we could change everything. I mean, all you have to do is look down. Hundreds of ponies have come from all over Equestria, just to listen to us. In less than a week, we’ve become the thing in Equestria. We are gods!”
Octavia wouldn’t let it show, but if there was one thing Vinyl could do better than anypony—besides the obvious—it was delivering speeches. The earth pony smiled slightly. “Yes, you’re the god of the music. I’m the god of the tax returns and quote collections,” she said with a groan, looking back at her desk.
“Hey, we both agreed that you would take on the paperwork and I would deal with the awesome stuff.”
“Well, I’m sick of it already!” the cellist pouted. “Maybe we could switch for a little—”
Vinyl laughed loudly, cutting off Octavia’s proposal. “You wanna take control of Wubville? You, of all ponies?”
“W-well, maybe for one night we could, I don’t know, take turns?” Her eyes shifted back and forth nervously.
“It’s so cute that you think you could handle my domain.” She pulled her friend in close. “You merely adopted the funk. I was born in it.”
The hum of the computer filled the room for a moment.
“Just watched ‘The Dark Mare Rises’ again?” inquired the cellist in a dull voice.
“Yeah, because it’s awesome! You should come with me to see it some time.” Vinyl began to trot back towards the carpeted area of the office.
Octavia followed behind the DJ. “I don’t think so. A mare that jumps around and violently assaults other ponies doesn’t seem like my cup of tea.”
“I don’t know—maybe you’re just afraid it’ll awaken something in you,” Vinyl cooed with a wink.
“Shut up.”
“The fire rises!” she shouted, tackling the earth pony onto the carpet. They burst into a fit of giggles.
Once their laughter had died down, they gazed up at the wall behind the desks, which was covered with framed photos and significant documents. There were photos of their graduation and photos of them just messing around, along with their university diplomas, both of which indicated music degress from Manehattan School of Fine and Performing Arts. In the center of the wall were two key items: the first was a photo of the two of them wearing hard hats inside a rusty run-down Club Harmony. Above that was a framed parchment. At the top, written in ink, were the words “Declaration of Ethics,” at the bottom were the signatures of the two musicians, and in the middle was a list of twenty-one promises that Club Harmony swore to live up to.
The two ponies turned to each other, beaming with pride. “We’re doing good, Octy.”
“I know.” An awkward, but welcome silence filled the room until Octavia cleared her throat. “I believe you called me up here for something?”
“Oh yeah! That thing!” Vinyl ran to her desk and pulled out a hoofwritten script, shoving it into Octavia’s hooves. “I want you to remember these before our sesh tonight.”
Looking over the script, Octavia found that it was a series of trash talk examples, most of which rhymed. “Well,” she said after a pause, “it’s a nice change of pace from what you normally scribble down on paper. But I have to wonder, what exactly is this for?”
“We need to get the crowd worked up. And trust me, for the ponies that I play for, nothing would piss them off more than a stuck-up bitch coming out and trash talking ‘em.”
“Hey!”
“Don't get mad at me. I’m just painting a picture,” Vinyl said, throwing her hooves in the air.
Octavia shifted her eyebrows awkwardly as she read the lyrical insults that the DJ had written for her. “I don’t even know what half of these words mean.”
“Nopony knows. That’s what makes them so harsh—it could mean anything.” Vinyl glanced at the clock on the computer. “Come on, it’s eleven forty-six. We’ve got to head down and set up.”
11:47 PM, Friday, August 21st, 2012
As the two ponies closed the door behind them and descended the staircase into Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici, the noise from their steps caught the attention of the prissy ponies beneath. Upon seeing the ruffian descending the stairs with Octavia most of them would have been inclined to call security, had they not recognized her as the co-owner of the establishment. With her crazy mane and epic shades, Vinyl might as well have just walked into a funeral wearing a clown costume. “These are the ponies you play for every night?” the DJ whispered to her partner.
“More or less, I suppose,” she said with the tiniest hint of shame in her voice.
Once the pair hit the hard floor, Vinyl took the opportunity to absorb the dubious looks she was receiving. “Nice crowd.”
Octavia led her friend over to Mix ‘n’ Match’s drink station. “Mix, make me the strongest brain cell-destroying drink you learned in bartender school.”
“Hmmm... I don’t think so,” he quipped while polishing a bottle of champagne.
Octavia’s eyes widened in shock—in a playful way, of course. “Excuse me?”
“Well, as my employer, I’d like you to have enough wits to sign my paycheck at the end of the week,” said the bartender with a cheeky grin.
Vinyl made sure to sit at just the right angle to catch the whole conversation.
“Oh, are you just being nice to me for my money?” Octavia asked with a gasp—and a smile.
“Maybe, but what’s your excuse for being so friendly? Is it for my drinks? My service? Or just the fact I look good in this tuxedo?” he said while ever-so-slightly leaning in.
Octavia returned the gesture, leaning over the bar and laying down her sheet of lyrics. “Maybe, or maybe it’s because we just opened and you work for minimum wage,” she said with a cocked eyebrow.
Vinyl’s mouth twitched into a slight smile.
“Hey, I’m a student. I’ll take whatever work I can get.”
“So you chose the hottest new club in Ponyville?”
“Well, it wasn’t the hottest new club at the time. Besides, I liked the crowd,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“High praise.”
“Yes, high praise... from a university student-slash-bartender. Move over, H. L. Manecken—there’s a new kid in town.” The two ponies shared a hearty laugh.
Throughout the entirety of the conversation, Vinyl’s gaze had been bouncing back and forth as if she were watching a game of pong-pong—not that anypony could tell with her shades on.
After glancing at the clock behind Octavia, Mix laid down his rag and put away the bottle of bubbly. “As fun as tonight has been, I’m afraid I’ve got to clock off.”
“Really?” asked Octavia, failing to mask her disappointment. “I might just have to give you more hours.”
“Please do. Tuition doesn’t pay itself, no matter how many times I ask.” With one last giggle from Octavia, Mix left his station and headed for the back door, giving the cellist a wave before leaving.
Once Octavia’s giddiness died down, she resumed reading her script until she noticed Vinyl, who was wearing the most self-satisfied smirk Octavia had ever seen. “And just what are you smiling at?” asked the earth pony, slightly annoyed.
“Nothing. I’m just happy my ever-so-busy business partner is still finding time to get herself some action!” Vinyl said, with a punch on her partner’s shoulder that was a little harder than necessary.
Octavia looked at Vinyl with surprise and rubbed her bruised shoulder. “What in Equestria are you talking ab—?”
“Don’t even try and hide it. I saw the way you and the drink boy were eye-banging each other there.”
“His name is Mix ‘n’ Match, and we were doing nothing of the sort,” said the cellist with a slight blush, turning up her nose at the crude DJ.
Vinyl didn’t appear to be backing down. “Oh, it’s a first name basis with you two, huh?” Her eyebrows peeked over her shades.
“W-well, of course.” Octavia’s blush was now easily visible through her makeup. “Just because you want ponies to call you ‘Miss’ because it makes you feel good, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”
The DJ casually turned away. “Oh, I don’t know. Try getting him to call you that in bed next time; you might change your tune.”
Octavia’s weak punch barely registered on Vinyl’s radar. “Shut. Up,” the cellist said through clenched teeth. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Vinyl turned back to Octavia. “Really?” She recused the champagne from the small Mix had placed it in and took a swig straight out of the bottle. “Next to music, this is my thing!”
“I thought movies were your thing next to music.”
“The thing is, you may see it as ‘witty banter’ that you two are having at this point, but what you’ve forgotten is that I’m a translator. And when I heard you two ‘chat,’ all I heard was...”
Vinyl took another swig of the expensive bubbly and then removed her glasses and gazed off into space. She said loudly, “Oh Mix, I want to be shaken and stirred!”
Octavia's pupils constricted to microscopic size.
“Push your notebooks off your dorm room table and study me!” moaned the DJ.
Octavia noticed several ponies in Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici turning their heads in Vinyl’s direction. She began to sweat. “That’s quite enough, Vinyl,” she whispered.
Vinyl suddenly lowered her tone. “Miss Philharmonica, you’re trying to seduce me!”
More and more ponies started to stare.
“Come here and let me earn my pay check. Tuition doesn’t pay itself.” Turning her back to Octavia, Vinyl wrapped her hooves around her body. “Oh, Mix!” she wailed in a high voice. “Take me!”
“Mmmms,” “aaaahhs,” and kissing sounds filled the room.
Octavia turned around to see an elderly couple staring in horror at the one-pony show in front of them. She said hastily, “Sh-she’s rehearsing for a... a show we’re doing! Giving the patrons a sneak—”
“OH YES!” Vinyl slammed her hooves on the bar, startling Tavi and the couple. “PLAY ME LIKE YOUR CELLO!”
At a corner table, Prince Blueblood waved over one of the waiters, staring straight at Vinyl. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Octavia shook her DJ partner frantically. “Scratch, stop!”
Vinyl froze mid-performance, tongue lolling out of her mouth.
The whole room was dead silent; even the piano player had stopped to enjoy the show. Vinyl shot a glance around the room, tongue still hanging out, before standing on her hind legs and bowing. “And thus concludes this evening's dinner theatre!”
Several of the gentlecolts in the room began to applaud. The mares, on the other hoof, just glared. Octavia glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed the time—eleven fifty-five PM. She took a hurried sip of champagne and pulled Vinyl towards a door at the side of the room.
“Thank you! Thank you!” shouted the DJ to her admirers as she was dragged through the door. “You’ve been great!”
11:57 PM, Friday, August 21st, 2012
There is a third door leading off the foyer of Club Harmony - not a black screen, nor wooden door with golden handles. It looked to be made of made of black marble, and it is fitted with two metal push-plates that the ponies would use to push it open. Should they get the marble door open, they would not be blasted with lights, sounds, or drinks. Instead, they would simply step into what felt like another dimension, one of both sight and sound. Printed over the door was a single word: “Harmony”.
The walls aren’t covered with modern art, wallpaper, or indeed anything at all. Anypony new would think that they had entered an area still under construction. The floor doesn’t look much better, but it at least can still be walked on without causing a health and safety violation. There aren’t any bars, hors d'oeuvre tables, or even drinking fountains. The walls and floor have dark blue tiling similar to Wubville’s.
The only thing that adorns the room is a large black stage, sitting along the back wall.
There was a large black stage towards the back of the room. Off to stage right was a compact DJ station, similar to the one in Wubville. On the other side of the stage sat a cello, waiting to be used. Behind the stage, Octavia was sitting on an empty crate, hyperventilating into a paper bag. Vinyl laid a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder.
“You’ve performed at the Grand Galloping Gala. This can’t be that bad, can it?”
“It’s just... this is our first—oh Celestia!” She went back to her inhales and exhales before taking another break. “This is our first duet since we opened. There’s so much riding on this and—”
Vinyl slapped Octavia across the cheek, making the earth pony drop her bag. “Girl, we poured our hearts and souls into this place. We are going to make this happen!”
Octavia gently rubbed her cheek. “Did you have to slap me?”
“That’s irrelevant. What is relevant is the fact that there’s a cello on that stage with your name on it. We’ve rehearsed the whole set already. Don’t panic because I threw some extra material at you.”
The cellist glanced down at her script. “But I still don’t know it... and they’re coming in.” Side doors connected to the other sections of the club swung open, letting ponies from each side pour into Harmony. The musicians peeked past their equipment.
“Watch, Octy. It’s gonna happen just like we said.”
Once the patrons of Wubville settled into Harmony, they couldn’t help but snicker at their prim and proper counterparts from Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici. Ironically enough, the same thing was happening on the opposite side of the room; the sight of the drunken, questionably dressed ruffians on the Wubville side triggered a snicker among the prissy ponies. It was hard to make out what the ponies were saying, but one didn’t need to read lips to tell that there was some antagonism brewing in the room.
“See? What did I tell ya?” asked Vinyl.
“I never doubted this part, Vinyl. It’s the part that comes next.”
Hearing the back door swing open, the musicians turned to see Mix ‘n’ Match entering the room. “Hey guys,” he said casually.
Octavia immediately resumed hyperventilating. “M-Mix?” she stammered. “I thought you were off.”
“I am, but I just thought I’d catch the show before I left. I hear there are these great musicians playing.”
Without warning, the house lights dimmed. A single spotlight was now aimed straight at the cello. “That’s your cue, Tavi,” said Vinyl as she shoved Octavia up the stairs. Once Octavia stepped into the light, the refined side of the room gave her a warm round of applause. The Wubville side was not as welcoming.
Octavia squinted at the audience in front of her, unable to distinguish either half of the crowd. Her heartbeat pounded loudly as she adjusted her bow mic nervously. “Um... good evening, everypony.”
“Oh, Celestia,” said Vinyl with a facehoof.
“What is she doing?” asked Mix.
“I... may have given her rap lyrics and asked her to trash talk the ponies from Wubville.”
Mix looked horrified as he turned back to the stage. Even with her back to him, Mix could tell Octavia was sweating bullets. “This is going to be the worst speech ever... that I’ll have recorded and playing on a constant loop.”
It took a tremendous effort for Octavia to get her first sentence out. “I see a lot of nice ponies in the audience tonight. Unfortunately,” she said haltingly, “that doesn’t include the ruffians I see on the Wubville side!”
Vinyl’s skin started to crawl.
Mix shook his head. “This is too sad to be funny,” he remarked.
“Y—you’re minutemen... wrapped in cinnamon!” stuttered Octavia.
“Vinyl,” Mix said, “you’ve got to—” He paused and looked around. Besides the technicians, there was nopony in sight. “Vinyl?” he said hesitatingly.
“Your parents experiment with narcotics!” said Octavia.
With a loud clang, the spotlight shut off.
“Oh, thank Celestia,” the cellist whispered to herself.
“Children of the night...”
With another clong, the spotlight turned back on, now shining on Vinyl at her station. Looking over the top of her glasses, she gave her audience a wide, evil grin. “What beautiful music we make.” The Wubvillians erupted into cheers for the DJ. The refined ponies remained silent. “What is up, my party ponies?” Vinyl roared into the applause.
Octavia covered her ears.
“And of course, our distinguished invad—I mean, guests.”
The ponies from Le sophistiqué de séjourner dans ici bickered amongst themselves, obviously shocked and appalled by the disrespectful DJ.
“Now...” Vinyl started strutting across the stage on her hind legs with her forelegs behind her back. “It’s come to my attention that there are some ponies in this room who shall remain nameless—because I don’t know them—that are too far stuck in the dark ages to appreciate real music. Would you say that this true?”
Octavia would have described what she saw next as a ‘science experiment.’ The Wubvillians cheered and pumped their hooves in support of the DJ. On the other hoof, all the guests from her side of the club shook their heads and muttered to each other. When she listened closely enough, she could hear more than a few ponies saying, “This is most unorthodox.”
“Yep, I thought so.” Vinyl trotted back over to her mix station. Turning to face Octavia, Vinyl leant over her mixer, resting her head on her hoof. “But, it’d be pretty mean of me to not let the queen of the fancies here get a fair shot in first. Care to prove me wrong, Tavi?”
Octavia smiled and nodded before grabbing her cello and bow. She took a deep breath and then pulled the bow across the strings, striking notes with airtight precision. Anypony with half a brain could recognize the song she was playing: Bittersweet Symphony.
While the Le sophistiqué guests let the classic melody waft over and consume their pretentious minds, the Wubvillians had to keep drinking so they wouldn’t fall asleep.
After finishing her excert, Octavia received applause from half the audience as well as the DJ next to her.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” Vinyl flipped through some folders on her screen and pulled up a single audio file. “Here’s a little something I whipped up earlier.” She slammed her hoof on the keyboard, and the speakers blasted out thumping beats that shook the room.
The Wubvillians started taking up more and more space, creating an impromptu mosh pit that just added to the shaking. The patrons of Le sophistiqué, on the other hoof, plugged their ears and gritted their teeth at the noise. Nothing more than a crazy assembly of sound effects and other noises that you would find at a construction site they thought it was, but to the Wubvillians, it was a soul-invigorating trip. Vinyl was playing the music so loudly that the glass in one pony's monocles started to crack.
The music faded into silence. Vinyl stepped out from behind her mixing board and openly embraced the screams of her fans, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, seems like we’ve both got something going, wouldn’t you agree, Octy?”
“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” she returned.
The DJ brought up a custom composer program on her monitor. After adjusting a few settings and turning the volume up to 11, she turned her eyes to her partner, giving a knowing smile. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
Octavia returned the smile. “Three... two... one...”
“KICK IT!”
Octavia launched back into her rendition of Bittersweet, and Vinyl simultaneously began crafting a whole new set of wubs. The crowd stood in shock as the two musicians started blending their styles, flawlessly. The vibrations bounced off each other perfectly. Despite how different the musicians were, they still performed in perfect harmony. It wasn’t dubstep, it wasn’t classical, it was something entirely new. What the audience felt was strange, but what the musicians felt was quite familiar. The spotlights shining on them revealed the giant smiles the two shared. This is what they were always meant to do.
The ponies from Le sophistiqué started to nod their heads to the beat. The mares, after taking off their expensive shoes, tapped their hooves on the ground. One by one, they started grooving more and more to the music, moving towards the center as they started bouncing. They had never heard dubstep like this before. For the first time in their lives, the music was making their hearts beat faster and their brains throb—and they didn’t give a buck. The Wubvillians were having a somewhat different reaction. The wubs were always welcome, but the inclusion of Octavia’s work gave them a more relaxed feeling. All the angry, harsh emotions that they may have had when they entered were long gone. They gradually returned to their moshing, but it wasn’t anywhere near as aggressive as it has been a few moments ago. This time, it was smoother, cleaner, and more about enjoying the music itself than enjoying the club. Within minutes, the two social groups of ponies merged, moving to the beat of the beautiful tunes. They let their muscles turn to jelly as they jumped up and down and waved their hooves around. When they were at their most blissful, they all turned their heads upwards, viewing the beautiful and peaceful night sky projected across the ceiling.
Typically, the average song lasted between two and four minutes, but not this. This just kept going and going...
12:21 AM, Saturday, August 22nd, 2012
And going.
The fatigue finally settled in, and all the ponies gradually moved away from the center room. But instead of returning to the sides that they had come from, the guests were now mingling with each other. In one corner, an elderly gentlecolt in a top hat was discussing wine with a stallion in a mesh shirt. Nearby, a duchess was making out with... nopony knew whom exactly, but there it was.
Sweat dripping from their brows, Octavia and Vinyl bowed to their new fans, still wearing the same smiles from when they started playing. “See, what’d I tell ya?” Vinyl panted as she escorted Octavia backstage. “It went exactly like we planned. Look at them!”
Octavia gazed past the sound equipment at the newly combined group of ponies sharing drinks, stories, and phone numbers. She may have been humiliated, but it was worth it for this. “Yes. I suppose it did.”
“Octy, look,” whispered Vinyl from behind her.
Octavia turned around to see Mix sleeping in a pile of sandbags.
“I told you your music put ponies to sleep,” said Vinyl.
Noticing a large drape that had been tossed into a pile of other unused things, Octavia grabbed it in her mouth and pulled it over the bartender. “I think this may have more to do with the fact he’s been up working for eight hours.”
“I’m thinking you planned this whole thing, just so you could tuck your little Mixy-Wixy in.”
Octavia was way too tired to be embarrassed. “Mixy-Wixy?”
“Yeah, you can call him that and he can call you Miss P—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Regardless of Vinyl’s jokes, the makeshift blanket did look tempting right now. “I think I’m just going to call it a—” Octavia looked beyond the stage to see Vinyl chugging cider with some Harmony guests. “Vinyl?” With nopony else around, Octavia took the opportunity to side under the drape, taking care to keep a considerable distance from her employee. “This isn’t weird, is it?”
Octavia stared awkwardly at Mix’s sleeping form for a moment.
“Yeah, it is.”
9:08 AM, Saturday, August 22nd, 2012
One of the other draws of Club Harmony was the fact it was open twenty-four hours a day. It was never particularly busy during daylight hours, but there were always a few stragglers hanging around from the night before—usually unconscious.
A male unicorn wearing a black button-down shirt with a white tie approached the door of Wubville, which hung open slightly because Berry Punch had passed out in the middle of the doorway. Stepping over her, he entered what looked like a war zone; vomit covered the wall, and broken glass and missing shoes lay scattered across the floor. With a sigh, the unicorn used his magic to clear a path through the room. The only ponies in the room that were still conscious were the cleaning ponies. The stallion approached the first staff member he could find.
“Hey, mate. You don’t know where Vinyl Scratch is, do ya?” he asked.
“I think I have an idea,” the cleaner responded.
The cleaning pony walked to what looked like a pile of dead bodies. Most of the guests had opted not to use the furniture and simply slept on top of each other, forming random piles around the room. One by one, the cleaner moved ponies out of the pile, reaching as deep as he could into the stack. “Here she is!” With all of his strength, he pulled out the DJ, causing the pile of ponies she was sleeping under to collapse— not that that woke them up.
“Thanks, mate,” said the unicorn.
He started nudging Vinyl with his hoof. “Yo, Vinyl Scratch? I’m here for the interview.”
Vinyl slowly started to get up. “Dude... can you not see that I’m completely out of it right now?” she groaned. “Who wakes a pony up a six in the morning?”
“Nine,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s ten minutes past nine. We agreed to have the job interview at nine-fifthteen.”
It was hard for Vinyl to stand still with her legs shaking like she was in a snowstorm. “I remember agreeing to no such thing!”
“Actually, that’s exactly what we agreed to.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a printout of a series of emails between him and Vinyl. “I asked you if August twenty-second at nine-fifteen would be acceptable. You said ‘whatever.’ So here I am!”
As Vinyl's shades started to slip down her face, the unicorn could see her bloodshot eyes.
“OK, whatever,” she said as she dragged herself onto the one piece of a nearby couch that wasn’t covered in Celestia-knows-what. The unicorn decided to stand; there wasn’t anywhere else to sit that wasn’t covered in gunk.
“Look, you should talk to Tavi. She handles this employment crap a lot better than I do,” said Vinyl, rubbing her throbbing head.
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” said the unicorn snidely.
Vinyl shot back a glare, which was amplified by her bloodshot eyes.
The unicorn awkwardly cleared his throat. “Something just told me that I should talk to you about this.”
“I’m sorry, who the hay are you again?” asked the hungover DJ.
“Neon Lights,” he responded. “I’m here for the lighting job.”
9:16 AM, Saturday, August 22nd, 2012
Relaxing on a clean couch in Le sophistiqué, Octavia was sipping from a cup of hot chocolate that one of the early morning bartenders had whipped up for her.
“Octavia?” asked Hired Muscle as he approached his employer. “There’s somepony here to see you.”
He pointed her towards a male earth pony sitting across the room at a table for two. Even from here, Octavia could see that this guy seemed rather questionable. His mane looked greasy, his beard was stubbly, and his suit looked cheap.
“Very well. I don’t suppose you could—?”
“Yeah, I’ll be in earshot.”
Octavia gave him a nod before approaching the stallion, leaving her hot chocolate behind. “You wanted to see me, mister—”
“Let’s not stand on ceremony here, Octavia. Just grab a seat.” His thick Istalion accent added to his aura of disreputability.
Octavia didn’t have a problem with Istallion—but this particular pony met the exact description of a thug from a mafia movie Vinyl had made her watch a few weeks earlier.
“Name’s Bobby Trotta,” continued the stallion. “I’m an associate of Harold Maxx.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t believe I’ve heard of this Harold Maxx.”
“Most ponies haven’t,” he said, sliding a business card across the table. “He’s kinda shy.” On closer examination of the card, Octavia noticed that the card was yellow with a few lines of black text. It read ‘Maxx’s Disposals—For All of Your Waste Needs.’ Suspiciously enough, there was no address or phone number on the card.
“If you’re offering Mister Maxx’s services, you can let him know so he can come and see me himself. Until then, I’ll have to bid you good d—”
“You didn’t let me finish, Octy.”
Octavia only let those closest to her use “Octy” as a nickname. This guy was really starting to make her uneasy, but she wasn’t ready to give him the boot just yet.
The stallion paused and glanced around. “You see, disposal is just one a’ Maxx’s many, many services,” he said softly. “He’s dabbled in construction, catering, wine making, and, on occasion, pharmaceuticals.”
“I’m sorry, but did you just say ‘pharmaceuticals’?” It didn’t take a university degree to tell that a pony who does both construction and medicine didn’t pass the smell test.
“The economy’s been rough on hardworkin’ ponies like Maxx. With things bein’ as hard as they are, it’s never a bad idea for a stallion to venture into multiple professions. You’re a fresh graduate; I’m sure you can sympathise.”
Octavia’s rear hoof started to quiver. “Excuse me, but how did you know I had only just graduated?”
“It’s good practice to know the pony you’re doin’ business with. I’m sure they taught you that back at school,” he said with a creepy smile.
“Well, that’s,” said Octavia with a pause, “ certainly something I can’t argue with.”
Muscle was ready to step in, but a brief glance from Octavia signalled for him to hold on just a little longer.
Octavia began, “Mister Trotter—”
“Call me Bobby.”
“Bobby, what sort of business does Maxx want to do with Vinyl and me exactly?”
“Umm... it’s not exactly you and your friend that Maxx wishes to deal with. He wants to deal with Club Harmony.”
Octavia started to lean back, arching her eyebrows in a confused manner.
Bobby continued, “Kid, you’ve got something great here. In less than a week, Club Harmony has already got everypony’s attention. Ponies from Boltimare, Canterlot, even Trottingham are talkin’ about this place. But still, it can’t be cheap to run a hangout like this. Am I right?”
Octavia re-examined her surroundings. Even though Wubville wasn’t the cheapest area to furnish, it had nothing on the bill that came for Le sophistiqué—the chandeliers alone were expensive enough to put most ponies into poverty. “Again, something I can’t argue with.”
“Here’s another thing ya can’t argue with: Maxx is a pony of his word. All he wants is to use Club Harmony to help further his business. Waste management, construction, pharmaceuticals... whatever profession Maxx chooses, he can run out of this fine establishment of yours. In return, Maxx would ‘ease’ the financial strain of runnin’ such a swanky joint,” he said, leaning towards the earth pony. “What do ya say?”
Octavia swallowed her fear and leaned towards her guest. “Bobby, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but when Vinyl and I opened this establishment, we signed something called a ‘declaration of ethics.’ Now, you don’t strike me as the kind of pony who would be familiar with any of those words, so I’ll explain. Ethics are a code that a pony stands by, regardless of the circumstances. I don’t suppose Maxx knew about that when he researched us?”
“Yeah, Maxx thought you’d mention that. He thought it was cute,” said the pony smarmily.
“Then you know that Club Harmony has sworn to uphold twenty-one different ethics. Did Maxx mention by any chance what number one was?”
Keeping his smile up, Bobby just sat and stared.
“Number one is that Club Harmony will never knowingly conduct itself in illicit activities. And I don’t believe I need a tertiary education to figure out that Maxx may not have the law as a priority.”
“Let’s not throw insinuations out there. Maxx, and all of his employees, are just honest ponies looking to make an honest bit.”
“I think you and I might have different definitions of that word.” She shifted her gaze past the greasy pony. “Muscle?”
Bobby turned in his seat to find a giant pony in shades and a suit towering over him.
Octavia said, “Would you be so kind as to escort Mister Trotter to the dumpster out back? Thank you.”
Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Muscle carried Bobby towards the back door.
“I see ya like havin’ guests, Octy. Good—you’re about to get a few more.” Without saying anything else, Bobby finally left Octavia’s sight.
Pushing the door open, Mix strolled into Le sophistiqué. His ears twitched as he heard a crash coming from the dumpster outside. “What’s that about?” he asked Octavia.
“Oh, nothing—except I just had my head of security escort out a mobster.” Octavia made no attempt to hide her pride. “I’ve never felt so... powerful.” She skipped back to the couch she had been sitting on before, picking her hot chocolate back up. “It was quite invigorating.”
While Octavia happily sipped her hot chocolate, Mix had a clear look of panic on his face. “Octavia, are you sure that was the best idea?”
“Of course! There’s no chance in Tartarus that I’d ever compromise the ethics that Vinyl and I swore to.”
“Octavia,” he said, leaning in close. “Are you sure about this?”
Finishing her sip, the cellist gave her employee a cocky smile (something she didn’t give out often). “What could go wrong?”
9:21 PM, Friday, January 1st, 2013
Harmony was the last word anypony would use to describe the center hub of Ponyville’s number one club. The soundproof windows from the foyer to the middle room were cracked, teetering on the brink of shattering into thousands of pieces. The inside of Harmony looked like a battlefield. There were three unconscious earth ponies on the ground, covered in the same glass that was covering the rest of the floor. Some of the glass that was facing the right way revealed a glimpse into the stars of the night sky. The speakers that had once hung above the room had fallen to the ground, looking like they had exploded from the inside out. On the stage was a mixing board that had been riddled with so many bullets that it looked like Swiss cheese. On the opposite side was a cello resting on top of a white pony, blood running out from her wounds and dripping onto the floor.
The rear door flew open.
“VINYL!” Octavia ran up to the stage and threw aside the cello, revealing a barely conscious Vinyl Scratch. Blood was pouring out of her ears and forming a puddle on the stage. “Vinyl! Can you hear me?” shouted Octavia frantically.
Vinyl looked up at Octavia in a daze.
“Come again?”
Next: Mareinizer!
Author’s Notes:
Well... yeah. Here we go.
I've always wanted to do a story around a club. My father owned a club in the Gold Coast's biggest club district. I was 10 at the time. Of course, being the man my father is, he let me in the club... during business hours. Being a 10 year old who got to look at things from the owner's perspective...
Let's just say I've seen some stuff.
A lot of the stories you'll see in this series are based on what I saw and experienced as a kid. Not to mention, Octy and Vinyl are based on me and best friend. Just the way we interact with each other as well as our stories and tastes.
I can't wait for you guys to see what's coming. And don't bother asking me how long this will go for. I've got stories to keep my going for a while, but I am planning to do things in a 'season' type manner.
I'd like to thank my pre-reader, PossiblyDominator. He has two brilliant stories going; Then You Saw Her and Doctor Whooves: Equestria Chronicles. Be a smart person and read those!
Hope to see you in the future chapters!
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I wub this story so far.
And yes I had to use that pun.
Very original
I'll give it a read <shameless advertising
> when i've finished the chapter i'm witing for 'The Wolf'
>mixture of classical music and modern rock
where's Vinyl's contribution? She should be bringing da' wubs. Everyone knows that.
1116826 It's more of a broad statement that includes anything that isn't classical. Although I can understand the confusion.
Thanks for reading!
1117194
But by fanon standards, she's the dubstep DJ of Pon-3-ville.
You have my favorite. Do not disappoint me.
1119316
It's k, but she is more of a Dubstep DJ by fanon standards.
I get where you're coming from, though.
Wait, what dress code are you referring to?
I wasn't aware ponies even had one, let alone one for human patrons.
Yes! Second read! When I get back to my brothers nook this is most definitely going in my favorites! By the way...I keep seeing the number 21...does that mean something...? Message me :P or I'll message you when I return home.
Yes! Second read! When I get back to my brothers nook this is most definitely going in my favorites! By the way...I keep seeing the number 21...does that mean something...? Message me :P or I'll message you when I return home.
Yes! Second read! When I get back to my brothers nook this is most definitely going in my favorites! By the way...I keep seeing the number 21...does that mean something...? Message me :P or I'll message you when I return home.
My bad...3ds ruins everything!
Nice,but poor Vinyl =(
P.s. if it's rated teen+, you can swear...
Hello Smoking, your friendly neighborhood Equestria Daily pre-reader here! You have promise! I just wanted to comment that you should be getting your submission response later today.
I wanted to do something like this,but i thought i was too inexperienced.Thanks for doing it for me!
I was summoned, so I will read
.
Okay, friend. Here I am.
And what a story you've asked my to critique.
This is amazing. Just flat-out astounding. Your ability to craft such a unique and vibrant setting is truly amazing; your club is next to flawless in description. I can easily visualize myself in it (in the “Le sophistiqué résident ici” section, mind you. Keeping it classy). Secondly: characters. Vinyl and Octavia, used so much, but fully understood by so few. You, my friend, understand both perfectly. I love your Octavia in particular, so different from my own. The way that you've crafted the duo so they can bounce banter off each other is particularly entertaining.
I hate to say it, but there's really not much in this story that I can say is "wrong". It's well-written, original, humorous, and just all-out entertaining.
One thing, though. During your musical sequences, I'd like a little more detail on the music. Now, this might just be a writing style thing, since I absolutely adore in-depth musical numbers, but in my story, I've always tried to paint a picture of the sounds. You focus on the audience, which is just fine. At that point in the proceedings, it was important to elaborate on what the patrons were thinking.
All in all, this was phenomenal, and I look forward to seeing where this is going.
Cheers!
~ Desideratium
Hey keep up the good work. cant wait to read moar you have me hooked as a fan of you as a writer your style and stories are amazing. keep up the good work and quality.
Very cool idea so far, I can't wait to read more n_n
I lost at: "Nearby, a duchess was making out with... nopony knew whom exactly, but there it was."
why is it that 10% of Vinyl/Octavia fics I read somehow involve the mob? It's kinda ridiculous really.