Played on Strings

by Sixes_And_Sevens

The Night Before

“Well,” said Minor. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

His four guests studied the building in front of them. It was a tall, crooked old house, taller than it was wide. At some point, it must have been some kind of color, but the paint was so faded and bleached by sunlight that it was hard to tell what it might have been. It wasn’t in bad repair, mind, the paint wasn’t peeling; it was as though it had been sucked dry by some kind of pigment-hungry vampire.

“It looks in very good repair,” Beauty said. “For a house of its age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fred asked hotly. "Just 'coz it's old doesn't mean it's breaking down, you know --"

“No, 'course not," Beauty said hastily. "Just, you know. Must have a history, yeah?”

Minor Key shrugged. “Not particularly,” he said. “It was one owner from new when I bought it. She liked to look at the sea.”

“Oh,” Harpo said. “Good view, then?”

“It inspires me, at times,” Minor replied, trotting up to the porch and unlocking the door. “Wipe your hooves on the mat, please.”

The interior wasn’t quite as colorless as the exterior, but everything seemed to be undergoing the same color-leaching process as the walls; it was merely that they were all at various stages of the same inevitable process. “Dig the aesthetic,” Octavia said. “Very… heirloom-chic?”

“Mmm. You’ll find no shortage of bedrooms at the top of the stairs,” Minor said. “Take whichever you like on the second floor. Mine is in the cupola, and none of the others have been used in quite some time.”

“Right-o,” Octavia said. “Bags the one nearest the bathroom!”

“What? No, you can’t bags something you’ve not even seen,” Beauty argued, all four musicians suddenly fighting their way up the stairs.

Minor rubbed the bridge of his muzzle gingerly. Other life-forms. Why.

With a sigh, he trotted deeper into the house, making for the kitchen. Theoretically, at least, he understood that one was meant to feed guests. While he doubted his ability to cook much, he suspected that he might at least be able to throw together some kind of rice dish. He made his way through the twisting, narrow corridors of the building that he had come to call home, every wall lined with bookshelves. It was an impressive collection, if somewhat unfocused in its subject matter. Sheet music, books of obscure and terrifying old fables, several grimoires of the arcane, textbooks on the study of acoustics, all this and more rubbed up against one another, their covers made sickly and gray by the dim, greenish light of the hall.

When he entered the kitchen, all thoughts of cooking flew out the window. There was a mare lounging on the counter, clad in tall white socks, a tan blazer, and a skull mask. She looked at him, and while her eyes were hidden in the hollow, shadowy sockets of her mask, he could feel their intense gaze on him, flickering with a particular combination of mischief and disdain. “Hello, Key,” Rita said.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Checking up on you, naturally,” Rita said lazily, rolling over on the counter. “And, by extension, my little… subjects.”

“Were you indeed,” Minor said crossly. “One would almost think you didn’t trust me.”

Her lips twisted into a smirk.

He continued, “And what, pray tell, would you have done if one of them had come in here, instead of me?”

“They wouldn’t have,” Rita said.

“You can’t know --”

“Oh, yes I can.” She chuckled. “For all your research and your little plans, it’s really rather embarrassing how little of the big picture you can actually see.”

“And what would you know of my research?” Minor Key asked.

Rita sat up on the counter, the shadows beneath her mask darkening as her expression fell into a scowl. “Mind your words,” she said coolly. “And remember; it’s only your own fault that I couldn’t wait for you in your study.”

Despite himself, Minor couldn’t resist a small smirk. “Well,” he said. “As you can see, your precious cargo is well in…” he paused a moment, distracted. “Well in hoof,” he said, oddly uncertain of himself for the briefest of instants. “Yes.”

“And what have you learned of them?” Rita asked.

“That they are powerful,” Minor said without hesitation. “Powerful and totally unaware of it.”

Rita snorted. “Aside from that,” she said impatiently. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Minor considered. “They’re deeply irritating?”

Rita sneered at him. “Useless. I doubt you could even tell me which two of them are married. For someone who so craves information, Strings, you are a singularly poor observer. And you’re very bad at providing it, as well.”

Minor Key flared up. “That’s not true,” he said. “I observed plenty. Their little hidden sorrows, their oblique pains, I saw them all. Octavia seems content enough; a few hints of childhood trauma, a small amount of guilt concerning a loved one, some minor anxieties -- little more. The blue one, Lyre --”

“Harpo.”

“Whichever. He’s pining over some creature. Seems quite frustrated with the path his life is going. I suspect he feels unappreciated. As for the other two -- I think that they must be the married ones. Their intimate irritations and grievances with one another cut deeper than any of the others do. Gotten worse recently.” He tilted his head. “How’s that for observation?”

Rita nodded. “Decent enough,” she said. “I had suspected as much, but I suppose you’re useful enough for confirming that my designs haven’t gone completely to shit.”

She turned to face away from Minor. “That Octavia… she’s the closest thing I have to a weak link in this chain.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Keep a close eye on her in particular.”

Minor Key looked at her sourly. “And my payment for the services rendered?”

Rita considered. “Scarcely worth it,” she mused. “But… very well. You may have a scrap.”

Along the wall, her shadow distended, producing something out of the darkness -- a glowing little piece of violet light. The shadow stretched across the wall, blotting out the light from the bulbs overhead, turning it a deathly pale red where it once shone bright, until it reached out to Minor Key’ own shadow, which reached out and snapped up the ball of light like a dog desperate for a scrap of bacon. For a moment, his shadow turned darker, deeper; then it had faded to normal once again. Minor shuddered as chills rolled down his spine. For a moment, his eyes were clear and his muscles untensed. For the briefest of instants, he looked almost young.

Then the moment passed. He let out a long sigh. “Will that be all?” he asked after a long moment of silence, his voice clipped.

There was no reply. He looked around. Rita had already gone.

With a snarl, Minor swept a hoof across the counter, sending the cookware there crashing and clanging to the floor. He stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily as he stared at the mess he’d made. Abruptly, he turned on his hoof and made his way out of the kitchen, all thoughts of making dinner for his… ‘guests’ forgotten. They could fend for themselves. He had work to do.

---

The four bandmates poked around the room Octavia had chosen as her own. “It’s not a bad house,” Octavia said. “Just…”

“Old,” Beauty finished, nodding. “And dusty.”

“Decrepit and creepy, you mean,” Harpo muttered, glancing around. “No wonder old Key is letting us stay here on the cheap.”

“You’re just bitter because your room has that weird-ass Big Mouth Billy Bass on the wall.” Octavia said.

“To be fair, it is a bit weird that it was mounted right over the bed,” said Fred.

“I’m pretty sure it’s an actual taxidermy fish,” Harpo said, shuddering a bit. “And I don’t know what that song it played was meant to be, but I hope I never hear it again.”

“I --” Beauty paused and tilted her head. “D’you hear something?”

All four of them peered out the door and down the hall, only to be treated to the sight of their host storming up the stairs, across the landing, and up to the next floor. The band watched him stomp upstairs until he was out of view. After a few moments, they heard the crash of a door being slammed shut.

“Wonder what’s got his knickers in a knot,” Beauty said mildly.

“I don’t reckon he wears knickers,” Fred said, rubbing his chin. “Doesn’t seem the sort.”

“Easier to knot your knickers if they’re tucked in a drawer somewhere,” Harpo observed. As he spoke, the faint tones of a violin being tuned up could be heard echoing through the halls.

“True, true,” Fred agreed. “Still. Seems to me that our esteemed host might be hiding more from us than just his poor housekeeping and weird singing fish.”

Harpo shook his head again. “I really hate that thing. Can I convince you lot to help me make one of the other rooms fit for equine habitation?”

“It was hard enough cleaning out these three,” Octavia protested. “I’m not about to go for four.”

“It’s alright, Harps,” Fred said, slinging a hoof around the younger stallion’s withers. As he spoke, the faint violin music from above shifted from warmup exercises into a melody. “Your dear ol’ Uncle Fred’ll keep you company. It’ll be like a sleepover!”

Harpo pulled away from Fred’s grip more forcefully than any of the bandmates would have guessed. “One, you’re only five years older than me,” he said. “Second, I don’t need or want your pity!”

“Whoa,” Octavia said. “Now hang about, Harpo --”

“What, and you’d just leave me?” Beauty snapped. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point after what you’ve been pulling lately”

Fred’s shocked look twisted into a scowl. “Oh, hello, pot, the name’s kettle,” he said.

Octavia shook her head. All of a sudden, the mood in the room had shifted. It was as though the entire atmosphere had changed. Her bones ached, and her mind felt stupid and slow. When she looked at her friends, all she could see in her mind’s eye was every time their teasing had pushed that bit too far, every time they’d let her down, every time they’d done her wrong. She realized she was clenching her jaw again. She realized she could taste blood.

Something was wrong. Something was inside her, humming a tune that she couldn’t quite hear consciously, but which had locked her muscles and bones, until no course of action was left to her but anger.

“I can’t believe you,” Fred said, glaring at Beauty. “All those times you broke off our plans, and for what? Where have you been?”

“At least all of you have partners,” Harpo snarled.

Octavia tried to think, but her memories were tinted blood red. Her mind awhirl, she sought any kind of solace.

And like magic, she remembered. The thumping beat of a club, the lights, the drinks, the friends… and the beautiful musician who took the stage. They had all been there that night when she first saw Vinyl. They had all encouraged her to go follow her heart, even if she felt like something was pulling her back. These were her oldest and best friends, and they had always been there for her.

She opened her eyes. “Right,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

The others fell silent, their faces still tight and harsh, but their mouths shut at last. “It’s been a long day,” Octavia said. “We’re all tired out and apparently properly stressed out. So. Who wants to go out and find a party to crash?”

The tension did not vanish, but it dispersed somewhat. “That sounds lovely, Octy,” Fred said. “Though, our esteemed host did suggest that this wasn’t exactly a party town.”

Harpo shrugged. “Well, if we can’t find a ruckus, we can always start one ourselves.”

“That’s the spirit,” Octavia said, grinning broadly. “Come on, then, let’s get out of this old misery of a house and get absolutely smashed.”

The magic words had been spoken. The other three brightened up and made for the door.

“After you, Beauty.”

“Oh, no, Harpo, I insist.”

“Fred should really be first out, age before beauty an’ all.”

“Oi, you…”

Octavia watched, puzzled. The argument hadn’t been forgotten, clearly. She could see it in their eyes, smoldering embers of resentment. She could feel it in herself, too. But far stronger than those tatters of anger was the intense fear that gripped her heart. For a moment there, she had almost lost control of herself, body and mind. She hadn’t felt that way since…

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she bolted for the door after her bandmates.

---

In an empty hotel room, all was quiet and still. Then, with a quiet wheeze, a light flickered into existence, then grew brighter and louder, stirring the curtains and sheets in the breeze. Finally, with a last thump of the engines, the TARDIS materialized.

The doors clicked open and Romana stepped out into the room beyond, a wary Vinyl Scratch only a few steps behind. “Where are we?” Vinyl asked.

“A few rooms down from Octavia’s,” Romana replied, moving to pull open the door. The numbers on the outside flashed in the light, reading ‘067’.

“Okay…” Vinyl paced the room slowly. “So, like, now what? Do we just go up to Tavi and ask, ‘hey, have you noticed any weird fluctuations in time,’ or whatever?”

“Oh, no,” Romana said. “That would be absurd. Partly because she wouldn’t have noticed anything, given that she’s inside the distortion, and partly because we really don’t want to announce our presence here any more than we have to.”

“What? Why not?”

Romana shut the door again. “Changes in the timeline on this scale almost never happen naturally. I suspect that some intelligent force is behind whatever is happening to your wife and her friends.”

“Yeah, which is what, exactly?” Vinyl asked. “You’ve been pretty vague. ‘Time sense’ this and ‘danger’ that -- what kind of danger are you talking about?”

Romana sighed, not looking at Vinyl. “It’s difficult to explain in temporal terms.”

“This is my wife we’re talking about. Try.” Vinyl said.

After a moment, Romana nodded, and turned to sit on one of the beds, gesturing for Vinyl to do the same. After a moment, the DJ hopped up onto the other bed, looking at Romana face to face, waiting for the Time Lady to speak.

“The Web of Time,” Romana said after a moment, “is the term used for the causal links between every event in all of conventional spacetime. Ultimately, everything is linked to everything else, though often in extremely tenuous ways. The further out in time and space you go, the less effect any individual event has in the grand scheme of things.”

“So if I were to step on a butterfly some trillion years ago…” Vinyl said.

“You’d have nothing more weighing on your conscience than a dead butterfly,” Romana assured her. “The Web of Time has varying degrees of flexibility -- some points are fixed, immutable events, which time travelers can’t and shouldn’t interfere with. Other points are sort of tipping points in space and time, which can push the future one way or the other. Most other points can be… well, flexible. Those are usually fairly unimportant events, like going grocery shopping or having tea, that kind of thing.”

“Okay,” said Vinyl.

“About an hour ago, Sunday was an ordinary day. When your wife and her band departed for Ausseil, it suddenly became a tipping point.”

“Oh,” said Vinyl. “I’m guessing that’s bad.”

“Very much so,” Romana said grimly. “Once it’s ‘happened’, and been observed by a time traveler or other achronological entity, it will become fixed, shaping the future of Equestria and potentially the whole of Gaea.”

“...Huh?”

“It’s the observer effect, very complicated,” Romana said. “People within the time stream don’t properly count, since they’re part of the event. It’s sort of like how the cat in the box is probably aware of whether it’s alive or dead, but it isn’t one or the other until the box is opened.”

Vinyl stared at her. “Are you high?” she demanded. “Cats in boxes? What the fuck--”

Romana heaved a deep sigh. “I’ll explain some other time. Right now, I’m going to go check on your wife and her band. I want you to keep out of sight.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they all know you’re supposed to be in Ponyville. I have at least a modicum of plausible deniability.”

“...I guess,” Vinyl relented.

Romana peered down the hall. “Look, you can hide behind one of the potted plants if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Alright, alright,” Vinyl said. “You’ve just got me a little worried, is all. I wanna be there for Tavi.”

Romana nodded. “I can relate, believe me. But you are here for her, aren’t you? She just… well, she just can’t know it yet, that’s all.”

“...I guess,” Vinyl said again. “Alright, go… knock on the door, I guess. But if your cover gets blown, I’m not hiding any longer, alright?”

“That’s completely fair,” Romana said.

“As long as that’s clear.”

Romana paused for a moment to wave her sonic pick at the key card reader on the door. It beeped once. “Light your horn for a moment,” she said.

Vinyl looked skeptical, but did as she was told. The card reader beeped again.

“I’ve keyed it to read our magical signatures,” Romana explained. “To keep the TARDIS from being disturbed.”

“Oh. Smart,” Vinyl said.

The two mares trotted purposefully down the hall. Romana nodded to a large potted plant just a meter away from room 064. Vinyl crouched behind it, albeit reluctantly. She peered around the edge of the pot to get a look at Romana as the Time Lady rapped sharply at the door.

There was a pause, and then a click as somepony on the other side turned the knob. “Yes?” a female voice asked that Vinyl recognized as Octavia’s conductor.

“Hello,” Romana said, pouring as much charm into that one word as she could. “I’m from the front desk, it’s about the band --”

“Oh, you’re here about the luggage,” Baton Tap said.

“Er,” said Romana. “Yes?”

“Right, yes. Sorry to leave it in the lobby like that, but I wasn’t going to haul it all the way up to this room just to make you cart it all back down again.”

“Of course,” said Romana. “I understand.”

“The address is, let me see…” Baton ruffled about for a moment, seemingly looking through some papers. “806 Anderschwelle Road.”

“The address,” Romana repeated blandly.

“...Yes?” Baton said. “The address where the Krikkits are staying, since your management downgraded us from a suite to a single-bedroom. I mean, it isn’t that I blame you personally or anything, but I would appreciate a refund for the trouble, at the very least.”

“Of course, yes,” Romana said. “I’ll be sure to inform the desk.”

“I appreciate that. If there’s nothing else?”

“...No, thank you, that’s quite everything I needed. Have a nice day, madam.”

“And you.”

There was the sound of a door clicking shut and Vinyl peered out from behind the potted plant. Romana arched an eyebrow at her. “Convinced yet?”

“...Yeah, that sounds pretty suspicious,” Vinyl conceded. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”

“Excellent,” said Romana. “806 Anderschwelle Road, here we come.”

“Er,” said Vinyl. “We’re gonna need to take their luggage along with us, though.”

Romana shrugged. “So be it.”

Vinyl winced. “Every try to carry a cello, a sousaphone, and a harp at the same time before?”

“Ah.” Romana rubbed her chin. “Let me see if the TARDIS is up to making a few short hops, then…”

---

Meanwhile the Krikkits had managed to find one of the taverns that Minor had mentioned on the train ride. “The Fox and Grapes,” Beauty read aloud, arching an eyebrow. “Sounds a right laugh.”

Fred pushed roughly through the double doors and into the pub beyond, the others following not far behind. Immediately, every eye in the place was on them, and while the band weren’t exactly strangers to having an audience, the cold and distant curiosity in the eyes of the patrons made all of them stumble.

The barmare broke the silence. “Strange e’en for it,” she said, giving the four earth ponies the once over with a fish-eyed gaze.

“Strange evening for what?” Octavia reposted.

The barmare, a round mare whose greying coat still bore a hint of orange, sucked her teeth for a moment. “Strange e’en,” she said at last, “fer strange ponies.”

“Stranger than most,” rumbled a big workhorse near a table in the back. “Whatcha call that manecut you all got?”

“Arthur,” Fred snapped back.

The burly workhorse stared at him for a moment, then made a sound like he was choking. It took the musicians a moment before they realized the muscular pony was chuckling. “City slickers,” xe said with mild contempt. “What’s got city folk comin’ out to these parts?”

“Er,” said Harpo. “Would you believe a concert?”

There was a prolonged silence at that.

Beauty leaned over to Octavia. “Maybe we should’ve just raided Minor’s liquor cabinet, eh?”

“Musicians,” said the barmare with a hint of contempt in her voice. “You’d not happen to be friends with him in the old house, would ye?”

“We… know of him,” Fred said cautiously. “Why?”

“Can’t trust that old place,” said another patron. “Can’t live with it, can’t knock it down. Just have to… stay still. Silent. For there is strange music there.”

"What do you mean?" Fred asked. "What's so strange about it?"

"You ask too many questions," the barmare said. "Don't like ponies who ask questions."

"Never have to put up with them for long, though," a mare sitting near the wall commented, and a rumble of unpleasant laughter rippled through the room. Fred, Beauty, and Harpo all backed up, closing a protective circle around Octavia.

Octavia, for her part, was looking off, glassy-eyed, into the middle distance. “Alright,” she said, the air in the bar crystallizing as she spoke. “Let’s do the show right here.”

The workhorse from before let out a pained grunt and shifted in xer seat, but could not rise. The dulcet tone of a cello filled the air and the lights flickered and spat, the bulbs humming as they glowed brighter than they were ever meant to, forming a spotlight on the band. And without entirely knowing how or why, the quartet began to play.

---

Within ten minutes, the whole bar was singing along.

In an hour, the concert had spilled onto the street.

It was only at the two-hour mark that the police finally arrived, sending the festivities into disarray, and it wasn’t until Octavia was hurrying up the path back to Minor’s house that it struck her that none of them had brought along their instruments.

Comments

[Mix-up]

Interesting build up, I can't wait to see the actual horror part actually starts