Played on Strings

by Sixes_And_Sevens

Hard Day's Night

Scrutinizing a monitor, Romana typed a command in Gallifreyan and watched as the requested information loaded. She took a thoughtful sip of tea.

There was a bright flash of light followed by a scream, abruptly cut short as Vinyl collided with the floor, books and papers scattering everywhere.

Romana set down her cup of tea. “How did it go?” she asked mildly.

Vinyl’s only response was to groan loudly and flop off the pile of books that had broken her fall, slowly rolling down to the ground.

“Jolly good,” Romana said, not looking away from the screen.

“I got caught,” Vinyl said.

Romana turned to face her for the first time. “By whom? One of the band members, or the mysterious Mr. Keys?”

“Neither,” Vinyl said, struggling back to her hooves. “There was another mare -- I tried to teleport away, but your ‘emergency escape’ didn’t work.”

Romana frowned. “But it clearly did,” she reasoned. “Seeing as it brought you back here.”

Vinyl shook her head. “There was a room that was warded against teleportation,” she said. “I had to… fuck. I just jumped out a fucking window!”

She sat down heavily, staring into space. “I could’ve died.”

Hesitantly, Romana reached out to pat the other mare on the back. “Well… I’m glad that you didn’t?” she tried.

Vinyl shook her head. “I brought back everything I could,” she said. “See if you can make any sense of it. I’m gonna go lie down.”

“Of course. The TARDIS will -- where are you going?”

Vinyl paused at the main doors. “We’re parked in a hotel room,” she said. “I might as well make use of it.”

“Ah.” Romana blinked. “Fair, I suppose. Oh, but before you go? The mare that saw you. What did she look like?”

Vinyl shrugged. “Dunno. She was wearing a mask.”

Romana’s breath hitched. “...What kind of mask?”

Vinyl rubbed her cheek. “I mean, it looked a lot like…”

“A skull,” Romana said the last part in time with Vinyl, her voice grim. “Of course.”

“You know her?”

“Probably not personally,” Romana said, turning back to the monitor. “Go have your lie-down, Vinyl. I have a feeling we’ll need all the energy we can muster.”

---

Minor Keys was having what, by almost any standard, would be considered a wonderful day at the beach. There were ponies everywhere, on the sand, in the surf, in the sky -- the usually sullen townsponies of Hayburg had undergone a nigh-miraculous transformation, laughing and playing all around. Ponies were splashing in the waves. Pegasi and batponies wheeled circles in the air, dodging around kites. Several burly workhorses had even set up a game of volleyball not too far down the coast.

It was a lovely day at the beach.

Minor despised it.

His cold and silent refuge had been invaded and overcome by this horde of rabble-rousing joymakers. The indignity that had been brought to his cold and silent shores alone was almost too much to be borne. Yet, he thought that even this he could have tolerated, if only he could have clung barnacle-like to the cliff face, skulking in the shadows and sullenly watching the beachgoers. Unfortunately, he had been captured.

“C’mon, Mines!” Harpo said, his hooves on Minor’s withers. “You must at least know what a conga line looks like, even if you’ve never been in one.”

“Must I?” Minor retorted.

Harpo, unfortunately, misinterpreted this as a simple desire not to participate, and slapped him fondly on the back. “Come on, you’ll have fun once you get into it! I know you must’ve had some fun in your life, you know. I can see those tattoos under your coat.”

Minor opened his mouth to retort, but the words were snatched from his lips as the line lurched forward. Octavia led the equine centipede, whooping and hollering, on its meandering march across the desecrated sands.

Minor struggled to keep pace with the juddering construct of bodies that twisted before him, all of their legs jerking out at odd angles in this parody of a dance. His own intestines were twisting as well, writhing as a burning sensation rose from somewhere deep within his chest. It was deliriously searing, a power stronger than even the music that his houseguests had so kindly served him a mere hour ago.

He paused at the thought, causing Harpo and all the others behind him to stumble for a moment before the forward pull of the remainder of the throng yanked Minor back into time with all the others. The music. Now there was a thought.

He peered over the heads of everypony else, to where Octavia led the townsponies in their rhythmic march. It was barely visible in the golden sunlight of midday, but she was resplendent in that same bright, warm energy, pulsing around her in time to the beat of the dance, flaring every time the line of revelers cried ‘Hey!’ and kicked their hind legs out. Now that he was aware of its presence, he could feel the same warm prickle on his shoulders and deep inside his core, see it as it traced patterns onto each and every beach party attendee. They were golden glowing tethers, leashing each and every one of them back to Minor’s houseguests.

He looked out to sea, in all its empty, starving glory, and the cold, gaunt specters that danced within it. A slow smile creased his face.

Perhaps, he thought as he joined his own particular song to the chant of the crowd, this would be a nice day at the beach after all.

---

Vinyl lay on the hotel bed, limbs spread out like a starfish, belly up. She stared at the off-white pattern of the ceiling. She almost wanted to close her eyes, but every time she tried, all she could think of was the shadows of the room shifting around her, the blade of an intangible weapon poised to strike --

She shuddered and rolled onto her side, curling up to stare out the window, instead. The light cut through the gauzy curtains and cast diffuse shadows across the room.

The thought that she could have died still haunted her, to a degree. It was a terrible feeling, that sense of being backed into a corner. Between the void in the closet and the mysterious masked mare, she wasn’t sure which had been more horrible. At least the void hadn’t talked back.

While all that weighed heavy on her mind, however, it was outweighed by several orders of magnitude by the thought that Octavia was still living in that damnable house. Vinyl was out of danger, at least for the moment. Her wife was decidedly not.

She tried to shut her eyes again, but her brain cast visions of Octavia, silently screaming as the darkness slowly spread across her body --

With a sudden burst of vigor, Vinyl rolled off the bed and trotted quickly back into the TARDIS. Romana might not have been the most talkative of mares at the moment, but she was a distraction if nothing else.

The hum of the console room rolled over her as she trotted back in, and Vinyl felt the muscles in her back loosen and her jaw relax. She hadn’t even realized she’d been clenching them.

Romana had moved away from her monitor to lean against the railing around the central platform, sipping tea as she stared off into space.

“Hey,” Vinyl said.

Romana acknowledged her with a single nod. “Feeling any better?”

Vinyl opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Taking her silence as an answer, Romana set down her tea and moved swiftly back to the console.

“I’ve been looking into your wife and her bandmates,” Romana began, tapping commands into the TARDIS. “There are -- well, quite a few oddities in their timelines. Individually, they’d be quite minor, really quite unremarkable, but when put together they start adding up.”

“Yeah?” Vinyl asked. “You mean like the way they’re all obsessed with bow ties?”

Romana paused. “I didn’t, actually,” she admitted. “That’s another interesting data point, even if I’m not certain where it figures in…” She contemplated that for a moment, then shook herself from her reverie. “No, I mean that there are certain events in each of their lives that seem to be shrouded in mystery. For instance, I couldn’t find a date for when any of them received their cutie marks.”

Vinyl frowned. “That’s… weird. Can you find that for other ponies?”

Romana nodded. “Yes. I ran a similar program on you, Ditzy, and a hoofful of other ponies as a comparison. So, if you could confirm that you got your cutie mark on July 12th, 987 Celestial Era…?”

Vinyl nodded. “Yeah. I was a late bloomer, actually, I only got it when I was sixteen. I was at a party, and the DJ just fuckin’ sucked. Super unprofessional, couldn’t read the room for shit, and just a real surly guy. So when he stepped out for his third cigarette break of the evening, I decided that I couldn’t do a worse job than him, and… yeah, the rest is history.”

“Interesting,” Romana said, though her attention seemed to be locked on the screen. “That was one of the more notable discrepancies, but there are other things too, when you look more closely. They all went to Mulliard at the same time, despite receiving better offers elsewhere. I can’t find any evidence of Harpo even applying there, but he was accepted nonetheless. Same story with the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra -- all of them were accepted at the same time, and all of them quit at the same time. Given their current group, I can understand that the latter might have a rather mundane explanation, but it is peculiar in light of all those other oddities.”

Vinyl nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that all sounds pretty… conspiratorial, I guess.”

“I think the fact that all of them not only share a birthday but were born in the same hospital is especially damning proof,” Romana added.

Vinyl tilted her head. “Huh? No, they don’t.”

“...Don’t what?” Romana asked.

“They don’t share a birthday. They weren’t even all born in the same year. They were all in different months, too, so it’s not like they even have the same birth date.”

Romana squinted at the screen. “That’s not possible. I’m looking at their biodata, and that simply doesn’t lie. If you were to corrupt it, it would literally change their history, and it says they were born on the twenty-ninth of February, in nine-sixty--”

She broke off suddenly, staring at the screen with new intensity. “The year nine-hundred and sixty-three, Celestial Era,” she said softly. “Which, as memory serves, is decidedly not a leap year.”

Vinyl stared at her blankly. “So, the TARDIS is wrong, then?” she asked. “Cuz, Tavi’s a whole year younger than I am, she was born in ‘72.”

The engines of the ship rumbled in indignation.

Romana patted the console absently. “There, there. She doesn’t know any better, that’s all. No, Vinyl, the TARDIS isn’t wrong -- well, probably not, anyway -- and it’s not a great idea to suggest that when you’re walking around inside her.”

Vinyl blinked. “Kay. Did not need that mental image. So what’s it mean, then?”

Romana let out a long breath. “I have a very nasty suspicion about that skull-masked mare of yours,” she muttered. “But I need it confirmed…”

She yanked down hard on a lever. “Sorry about this,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “But I think we’re going to have to make a little trip off the beaten timeline.”

---

Harpo sat slightly away from the rest of the party, resting on a rock at the edge of the surf, idly kicking his hoof in the waves as they surged up the beach before falling back once more. He was fiddling with something hoofheld, his tongue poking slightly out of his mouth as he fixed his gaze intently on the object. He glanced up, however, as Minor Key approached him, and he gave the older stallion a wide grin. “Oi up there, Minor! Feeling inspired yet?”

Minor gave the harpist a tight smile and took a seat on the rock next to him. “It is, perhaps, rather too noisy for me to truly get my head around music at the moment,” he said. “But I will admit, getting closer to my muse has given me a few new ideas.”

Harpo’s grin brightened. “Brilliant! I’m sure we’d all love to hear a bit of it when we’re back up at the house.”

Minor gave a noncommittal hum in response. “And you, Harpo? How are you feeling this morning?”

“Much better for being out in the sunshine,” Harpo said. “No offense to your house, of course, but it is a little dim. And cramped. And old. And --”

“And what is that you have there?” Minor interrupted, a touch of ice entering his voice as he gestured to the object Harpo was working on.

“Hm? Oh, this. Just me camera,” Harpo said, holding it up for the musician’s inspection. It was a fairly nice model, sleek and black. “Photography, you know? It’s a hobby I’m looking into.” He scratched his cheek. “Not much luck yet, but oh well. Say cheese!”

Minor flinched as the flash went off in his face, and he barely bit back a snarl. Regaining his composure, he glanced back at Harpo. “You wished to photograph the party?” he questioned.

“The party, yeah, and the sea itself.” Harpo threw his hooves wide and quoted, “The Sun was shining on the sea, shining with all her might -- she did her very best to make the billows smooth and bright.”

“And that was very odd,” Minor murmured, “because it was the middle of the night.”

Harpo nodded enthusiastically. “You know Carol?”

“Lewis Carroll, yes of course,” Minor said, not quite paying attention.

Harpo paused. “...No? Bells Carol, the one what wrote Chalice in Wonderland.”

Minor shook himself. “Hm? Oh yes, of course.”

“I always wanted to write something like what he did,” Harpo said. “All psychedelic and sparkly, like. The others do too, but we haven’t got the right sound quite yet.”

“Mm,” Minor hummed. “What do the others think of your photography?”

Harpo shrugged. “Dunno, really. Haven’t showed them much of it.”

Minor nodded, looking out to sea. “That makes sense. They wouldn’t have paid attention to it, anyway.”

Harpo paused. “...What?”

Minor shrugged. “Well, you know. I haven’t known the four of you for very long, but I can tell a fellow outsider when I see one.”

Despite the warmth of the day, Harpo felt a sliver of ice in his stomach. “...You’re wrong. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Octavia is the clear leader,” Minor said. “Beauty and Fred are hitched. You are… what, exactly?”

“I’m their friend,” Harpo said. The words sounded oddly hollow in his ears. “I’m their friend.”

“Of course, I must have been mistaken,” Minor said, nodding as he continued to stare at the ocean waves. “You just remind me so much of myself at your age. Enthusiastic. Creative. But so very… alone.”

The golden sands were now dull and grey, and Harpo shivered as the breeze blew in from the sea. He rose from the rock, his flanks cold and flat where they had been pressed against the stone. “I… I’m going into town,” he muttered. “See you… when I see you.”

He trotted back toward the cliff. Minor noticed that he was far from the only one -- a trickle of ponies were making their way up the trail, shiving and sober, not one among them thinking to share their body heat with another. Minor watched. Minor smiled.

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of the beach, Octavia was reclining on the sand, resplendent in tiny, elegant sunglasses and a casual swimwear bowtie. Fred and Beauty stood on either side of her, diligently burying her in sand. “So, Tavi,” said Beauty. “We haven’t really caught up properly yet! What’s the hot goss out in Ponyville?”

Octavia tilted her head. “Well,” she said. “It’s been fairly quiet this last couple of weeks, really. There was a bit of a ruckus with the new alicorn, and Discord’s daughter returning, but it’s all been settled now.”

Fred chuckled. “How’s Fluttershy taken to having a new daughter?”

“I doubt she thinks of it like that,” Octavia said. “Seeing as Screwball’s older than civilization as we know it and all. But I think the two of them get on quite well, really.”

“Sounds nice,” Beauty muttered, a touch of acid entering her tone as she poured her bucket of sand over Octavia’s recumbent form.

For a moment, Fred’s face darkened. Then, with a shake of his head, he was back to his normal, smiling self. “And Vinyl?” he asked. “How’s she been, then?”

“Oh, lovely as ever,” Octavia said with a contented sigh. “Still the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Fred chuckled, shoveling up more sand. “I mean, what’s she been up to, love?”

“Oh. Still composing, still performing, still much too fuddy-duddy to really carry off the DJ vibe. Not that I’d have her any other way, of course.”

“Of course,” Fred said. “You wouldn’t ever want her to change.”

“But she would if you really needed her to,” Beauty said, shoving her spade into the ground with a force that belied her light tone. “I can tell, that’s how much she cares about you.”

Fred let out a long sigh through his nose.

Octavia glanced from one to the other, taking in their tense shoulders and downcast eyes. “Everything alright?” she asked. “Anything I can help with?”

“No,” both said at once. They glared at one another over Octavia’s buried body.

“I’m going on a walk along the coast,” Beauty said shortly, turning away.

“Fine. I’ll be up at the house,” Fred said, turning in the other direction.

“Lads? Oi, lads?” Octavia wriggled against her sandy bonds, which suddenly felt much more abrasive than they had mere moments before. “Look, tell me what’s wrong or don’t, but could one of you give me a hoof out of this? Anyone?”

She glanced up and down the now-spartan beach and the slow trickle of ponies trekking back up the path to the top of the cliff. “Help?” she tried.

With none apparently forthcoming, Octavia sighed and began the laborious process of pushing herself to a sitting position, still glancing at both of her departing friends until they had passed out from her line of sight.

---

Minor Keys sailed through his back door, head held high and back straight as he made his way toward the library. He was displeased, though not exactly surprised, to discover that it was already occupied.

Rita sat before the hearth, which was crackling with unearthly red flames that made the shadows of her mask dance like juddering marionettes. Behind her, her shadow reared back, larger than life against the wall in the flickering light.

“Good afternoon,” Minor said. “To what do I owe --”

He paused, as Rita’s shadow swung its blade mere inches from his throat.

The mare rose from her seat by the fire, and threw a large, square object to the floor, where it clanged dully against the soft and aging wood. “Explain,” she said shortly.

Minor looked at the sheet metal with disdain. “So. You finally managed to circumvent my wards.”

“I said, explain,” Rita said. “I would prefer you to stay alive until my ends are met, but if you threaten my --”

“Oh, shut up,” Minor spat.

Rita stopped dead. Though her mask concealed her face, Minor fancied he could see her jaw hanging agape beneath the ill-formed mandible. Even her shadow seemed taken aback.

He took a step forward. “You always thought you owned me. You held my soul, my memories, and my very life in your hooves. Did you never wonder if I would resent you? That I would look for a new patron to avenge myself on the old?”

“Answer the question,” Rita said, jaw clenched and shoulders trembling. In rage, Minor wondered, or in fear?

“My muse came to me in my darkest hour,” he continued, taking another step forward. “In it, I felt a kindred hunger, a need for something that had been stolen from the core of myself, a raw-bit cold and lonely void where our hearts once were, a void that we were each desperate to fill. I sought to feed it in the only way I could, the only shred of my identity that you had left me. I played for it. Composed for it. Wrote for it.”

He kicked aside the sheet metal, engraved faintly as it was with something that might almost have been called music, though in no staff or key known to Gaea. “Fed it,” he whispered.

“What are you doing?” Rita demanded, taking a step toward him. Her shadow readied its blade. “What have you done? No more games, Key!”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he continued, his eyes foggy and unfocused. “My music was never enough to move any creature’s heart, let alone one so cold and empty as my muse of mist.” He broke into a wide grin, his eyes unchanging. “And then you dropped your pet project right into my lap.”

The shadow swung its blade along the wall, striking true at Key’s neck. The blade passed clean through. Minor Key, still standing tall and proud, began to laugh. “Fool!” he cried. “Fool! You can no more kill me than you could stab a cloud! My shadow is dead already, sapped away in honor of my magnificent muse!”

Rita backed away. “You’re insane,” she said. She paused for a moment and barked a laugh. “But then, that’s the way you always were meant to be, I suppose…”

Key tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Rita held up a bottle of glowing golden aether. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she taunted.

Key stared at the bottle as it shimmered in the red firelight. “No,” he said, looking at her squarely, watching her face drop behind the skull she wore. “I don’t care. Whoever I once was, he is dead.”

He turned his back to her and trotted back out the door. At the threshold, he paused and glanced back. “You should get away from here, before you join him.”

With a muffled thump, Rita was left alone, staring at an old oak door. She did not blink for several minutes, only breathing heavily as she watched. At length, she turned to her shadow. “We,” she said, “are going to need some reinforcements. Now.”

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

Well, my timing is either horrendous or impeccable. Not sure which.

In any case, this just got a lot more complicated. Especially since I just remembered where I've heard "Entropy" in the context of your work before. Definitely looking forward to seeing how this redraws the battle lines.

[Haradion]

I don't think I've ever see a Doctor Whooves fic to employ this particular faction.

A good choice.

Personally with Gallifrey seemingly destroyed again, I think it would be a great time to explore different factions of Time Lords. I don't want to see them repeat Last of the Timelords. So I'd like to see Gallifey Civil War. Rassilon Loyalities. Omega Fanatics. The House of Paradox. Time Lords willing to recruit from lesser races. Purists who seem to restore Gallifrey to the Centre of th e Web of Time. Realists who want to take Gallifrey into a Post War reconstruction.

Now, seems like a great time to explore what it means to be a Timelord. Who gets to call themselves one and owner that means for them and for the universe.

Having a war between loyalists and r heels with Blood Magic using anarchists would be awesome. But I suspec t unlikely so I shall comfort myself in seeing The Faction here.

Romana, with her butchered timeline, would doubtlessly be of interest to them.