> Synchronization
>  by Terrasora
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Welcome to Fillydelphia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The train sped on and on, blazing a trail through winding tracks. It circled down Canterlot’s mountains, past Ponyville Station, skirting the Everfree and rocketing out into open plains. Octavia shifted in her seat, stretching out one of her back hooves

Crack.

The cellist let out a satisfied sigh as her joints slid into place. She extended her other hoof.

Crack.

A snort shot out of Harpo at the noise. He grumbled something unintelligible and turned over, soon back to a full slumber.

“Nice,” said Vinyl, her eyes narrow over five playing cards. The purple shades, far too reflective for any card game, lay on the table, keeping watch over a stack of chocolates.

Lyra threw down two of her cards, a golden aura sprouting over the deck and two cards floating up to join the ones she held. “That sounded like it hurt.”

Vinyl stared at Lyra, red eyes roaming over every inch of the green mare. Lyra was unreadable. “Nah, Tavi likes a little bit of pain.”

A beat of silence.

Vinyl closed her eyes, bracing for impact.

None came.

Octavia was still looking through the window, watching the fields whip past. Canterlot was still visible off in the distance, a golden point on a purple field.

Vinyl furrowed her brow. “Tavi, you okay?”

The cellist turned, blinking again and again. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I’m fine, Vinyl,” said Octavia with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Go back to your game.”

Vinyl stared at her for a few moments more before turning back towards Lyra. Vinyl threw her cards onto the table. “Three of a kind, Princess high.”

Lyra smiled, turning her cards. “Full house.”

“Celestia damn it!” Vinyl cried. “That’s like the fifth time you’ve won!”

“Sixth,” said Lyra, unwrapping a chocolate piece and flipping it into her mouth.

“C’mon, one more time! Double or nothing!”

“I’ve already taken all of your chocolate!”

Vinyl put her hooves together, eyes sparkling as she stared up at Lyra. “Please! I can get everything together; you know that I’m good for it!”

Lyra stared down at the DJ, one brow sharply raised. “You’ve got a gambling problem.”

“It’s not a problem if I win!”

“But you never win!”

“One more game!”

Octavia let out a little laugh. “You need to pick your battles, Vinyl.”

“For the love of the Princesses,” muttered Harpo murderously, “will you mares ever let me take a proper nap?”

“Shut up, Harpo,” said Vinyl in greeting. She turned towards Octavia. “What do you mean ‘pick my battles’?”

“I mean that Miss Lyra Heartstrings was the Conservatory’s resident card shark.”

“What?!” Vinyl snapped to Lyra. “You’re a ringer!”

“I told you that I knew how to play.”

“You said that it had been years since you played!”

“Yeah!” Lyra grinned, absentmindedly shuffling the deck. “Years since I started playing.”

Vinyl stared blankly at the other unicorn. A few beats of silence. “I want my candy back!”

Lyra picked up her prize, dragging it over the table and into the seat next to her. “Nuh-uh. I won it, so it’s mine.”

“You live in a freaking candy shop!”

“I live above a candy shop and I have a sweet tooth, so bleh.” Lyra stuck out her tongue, magically unwrapping a chocolate bar.

“Taaaaaavi!” complained Vinyl. “Make her share!”

Octavia thumped her head against the window’s glass. “There are two of them now,” she muttered darkly.

“Now children,” said Fleur de Lis calmly, sliding into an open seat and laying a small bag on the table. “Fancy Pants told you to play nice.”

“She stole my chocolate!” protested Vinyl, stabbing a hoof at Lyra.

“I did not! I won the chocolate. Chocolate that you bet and should have been prepared to lose!”

“But I thought that I would win!”

Fleur giggled into her hoof, magically picking up the deck of cards. “What game?”

“Poker,” said Lyra.

“Ah. I prefer Bridge, personally.”

Lyra smiled. “That’s a fun game too.”

“Yes, it certainly is.” Fleur opened the bag, revealing piles and piles of chocolate coins, bags of gumdrops and Jelly Babies, and various other tooth-melting sweets. “Though I do rather enjoy the tension that comes from Poker.”

Lyra and Vinyl stared at the bag, their eyes shining as they simultaneously swung up towards Fleur. “Wanna play?”

Fleur de Lis smiled, cutting the deck neatly in half with her magic. The two halves lined up, the facing edges bent upwards. Fleur’s shuffle was perfect, every card falling into place behind the other.

Lyra and Vinyl glanced at each other nervously.

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Fleur de Lis with a shark’s smile.


***


Lyra and Vinyl laid their heads against the table, no longer capable of facing other ponies. And certainly incapable of meeting eyes with the demon in a pink mane.

The demon smiled sweetly. “Come now dears, I’ve simply been on a winning streak. One more game?”

“Everything…” muttered Lyra, “It’s all gone.”

Vinyl didn’t say anything at all.

“Fleur,” said Harpo hesitantly. “I think that you’ve killed them.”

“Oh.” Fleur paused slightly, glancing between the two other unicorns as if seeing them for the first time. “Yes, it certainly seems that way. Care for a game Harpo?”

Harpo shook his head furiously, his mouth flapping for a smart remark but, for one of the few times in his life, finding nothing.

Fleur pouted in disappointment. “Octavia, I don’t suppose that you would play a round?”

The cellist held up her hooves. “I’ve never been one for card games.”

“Oh, bother. And it’s such a fine way to pass the time.” Fleur got to her hooves. “Well, I’ve certainly worked up an appetite. Would anypony care to accompany to the dining cart?”

“Food?” asked Vinyl into the table.

“Yes, dear, food. My treat?”

Vinyl nodded, dragging herself to her hooves like a foal straining from bed on a Winter’s Monday. She trudged down the aisle, Fleur leading the way, and the two mares disappeared into another cart.

Three former classmates sat around in their seats. Harpo and Octavia stared out the window, Lyra still lay against the table, trying to recover her pride as a cardholder. The scenery had long-since shifted, the wide plains that sat on the other side of the Everfree giving way to the tall, bright trees of tamer forests.

“How long until we get there?” asked Harpo.

“Hour and a half,” answered Octavia without pause.

Harpo nodded. “Fillydelphia…” He let the word hang.

Lyra lifted her head. “Fillydelphia... Isn’t that where Frederic is?”

Harpo and Octavia nodded.

“Oh.” A pause. “Any idea what he’s doing?”

“We didn’t exactly stay in touch,” said Harpo flatly.

Silence fell on the group. They stared out of the window, lost in the heavy thoughts that come when one would rather not think at all.

“So, uh,” began Lyra, “have either of you actually told anypony else about it?”

Harpo shook his head.

“Fancy Pants? Fleur?”

Octavia shook her head.

Lyra opened her eyes wide in shock. “Not even Vinyl?!”

“No.”

“Octavia, we can’t just hide something like this from them! Especially if we’re going to run into Frederic.”

The cellist ran a hoof through her mane. “We’ll… We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Besides, it’s just as much Harpo’s problem as mine. He should have a say in who we tell.”

Lyra shook her head and turned towards the other pony. “Harpo, you can’t agree with this!”

“It’s in the past,” said Harpo with a shrug, his eyes firmly set on the passing landscape. “Old history. No longer applicable.”

Lyra crossed her hooves and leaned back into her seats. “Great. So nopony knows anything. Fucking awesome.”

Octavia sighed. “I see that you haven’t quite gotten over that sailor’s mouth of yours.”

“It’s not as bad. It’s only there when I’m getting pissed. And I’m getting pretty fucking pissed.” A pause. “I guess that you want me to keep quiet too.”

“Lyra,” began Harpo softly, “we’ll tell them should the need ever arise, but all of that is water under the bridge. That was a Conservatory issue.”

“You’ve only been out of the Conservatory for a few weeks.”

“You know what I mean! Besides, it was all over before our senior year. Ancient history.” Harpo nodded confidently.

But Lyra still sat back in her seat in that strange way she sat. Her hooves were crossed tight over her chest as she glowered at the two other musicians. “Sure. Ancient history. And what about you two? Are you going to tell Vinyl about--”

A loud crunch from the aisle cut off Lyra’s question. “Tell me about what?” asked Vinyl, speaking through a mouthful of Extra-Crunch Peanuts.

Lyra glanced at Harpo and Octavia, then turned back towards Vinyl with a sigh. “Nothing.”

Vinyl glanced at the three ponies. She threw another hoofful of peanuts into her mouth, cracking down on them with another sickening crunch. “‘Kay,” she said, quickly sliding into the seat next to Octavia.

Lyra blinked. “... ‘Kay?”

“‘Kay,” said Vinyl with a nod. She turned towards the window, extending a small, brown paper bag towards Octavia. “Want some?”

The cellist turned, glancing into the bag. Heaps upon heaps of brightly colored sweets greeted her sight, making her vision waver slightly. Octavia shook her head, turning back towards the calmer green flashing across the window.

Vinyl plucked out a few of the sweets and stowed the bag away. “‘Kay.”

“Ah!” said Fleur, walking towards their seats. “There you are, Vinyl! I was wondering where you had run off to. She gracefully took her seat, gaze falling on each and every one of the oddly silent musicians. Her magic flared, floating the discarded pile of cards up into the air. 

“Anyone care for a game?”


***


Vinyl stepped onto the platform, stretching slightly, trying to remember how to walk on solid ground. Fillydelphia Station was abuzz with activity. Clouds of white smoke drifted down from the trains, coating the floor before dissipating around the hooves of those departing, arriving, waiting, and waving. Vinyl breathed in deeply, letting out a satisfied sigh at her return to civilization.

“Alright then dears,” said Fleur, once their entire group had stepped out onto the platform. “We’ll be walking out to our hotel from here.”

Harpo let out a groan.

Fleur de Lis turned towards him with a sly smile. “Oh, hush. You could use the exercise.” She continued over Harpo’s indignant gasp. “In any case, it’s only about a five minute walk. From there, we’ll have a quick lunch and you’ll all be allowed to explore the city for a time. Sound fine?”

“It sounds like we’re on a field trip,” said Vinyl with a roll of her eyes.

Fleur giggled into a hoof before turning gracefully away from the platforms. “Come along now, children. Single file, make sure to keep an eye on your buddy!”

The musicians followed after Fleur, the unicorns keeping a firm magical grip on most of the luggage, though Octavia had insisted on carrying her own cello and Fleur had to insist that, as the only stallion in the group, Harpo carry at least one of his own bags. In this way, the five of them walked out onto the streets of Fillydelphia.

Vinyl’s head snapped up and down the street, taking in the shops, the cafes, and the buildings, tall enough to draw one’s eyes towards the graying sky but not so tall as to loom over those on the streets. Ponies walked briskly down sidewalks, carefully glancing up and down for passing carts before charging across streets without so much as a backwards glance.

Fleur kept up a running commentary as they walked, a bright smile lighting her face as she glanced from building to building. “It’s been years since I’ve been in Fillydelphia, but I do so love the city. It has such a metropolitan feel to it, but without that oppressive feel that Manehattan has.” She glanced at Vinyl. “Though there are certainly many wonderful ponies from Manehattan.”

Vinyl shrugged. “Plenty of bad ones too.”

Fleur nodded. “Yes, that’s true enough. In any case, there’s a wonderful restaurant not too far from our hotel--We’re turning left here--where we’ll be eating. Fancy Pants has already made the proper reservations.”

Lyra shivered. “It’s cold.”

“Yes, it is a bit nippy. Must be scheduled for some rain.” Fleur’s magic flared around her home and the bright pink case she carried opened. A scarf, pink and white striped, floated out and placed itself around Lyra’s neck. “Better?”

Lyra placed a hoof on the scarf. “I-I have my own scarf! I can take that one.” Her own magic briefly flared, but Fleur shook her head.

“Nonsense, dear! I’ll allow you to borrow that one for now. Besides, the pink fits your color rather nicely.”

Lyra seemed about to protest again, but thought better about it. Fleur had that motherly air about her that would brook no argument, especially when it came to her children being cold. They turned another corner, onto a street where each passing building seemed to be taller than the last.

“There!” said Fleur, pointing out with a hoof. “That’s the Mareiot.” The hotel was a golden affair, gleaming in the little sunlight that filtered through the clouds, a tall, rectangular building with various setbacks and windows that grew farther apart as one went further up.

Fleur picked up her pace slightly, forcing the musicians into step as they rounded a fountain that depicted Princess Celestia raising the sun, water streaming out of her horn, and stepped into the hotel proper.

The lobby stretched out before them, a small resting area to their immediate left and the check-in desk just beyond that. Immaculate lamps hung on the wall in exact intervals and the carpet was plush enough to make everypony feel that they sunk slightly every time they took a step.

“Stay here for a moment,” said Fleur to the others, leaving her packs in their care, “I’m going to go check us in.”

Harpo nudged Vinyl’s side, gesturing to a polished oak counter in front of which sat multiple dark black stools. The wall behind the counter was entirely dedicated to glass bottles of every shape, size, and color.

“Vinyl,” said Harpo hesitantly, “I think I’m in love.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d notice the booze first.”

“Not just booze, Vinyl! That’s a whole lot of booze!” Harpo clasped his hooves together, the perfect image of a lovestruck schoolfilly. “Pinch me.”

Vinyl turned and punch Harpo in the leg.

“Ow! I said pinch, mare!”

Vinyl’s magic sprouted over her horn, quickly gathering over the same spot on Harpo that she had just bruised. It pinched, pulling and turning slightly as Harpo yelped in pain.

Lyra barely held back a snicker. “Why do they hate you so much, Harpo?”

Harpo rubbed sadly at his newest bruise. “Sexism, I think.”

Fleur trotted back towards the group, this time accompanied by a tan, smiling earth pony. They came to a stop in front of the rest of the group.

“Children,” said Fleur, “may I introduce you to the owner of this fine establishment and a personal friend of mine and Fancy’s, Hôtel Particulier.” She gestured towards the stallion, pronouncing his name with a perfect Prench accent.

Hôtel Particulier nodded in greeting and spoke with a gleaming smile on his face and a refined Prench accent. “You may call me Particular if it would be easier for you.”

The musicians nodded their thanks.

“Hôtel,” said Fleur, “these are our musicians. From left to right, Vinyl, Harpo, Lyra, and Octavia.” Each musician offered a mix of nodding and smiles as they were named.

Particular’s eyes shone brightly. “Ah! These are your Syncopated Records! Magnifique!” He trotted forward, circling around the musicians, stopping in front of them with a satisfied smile. “Yes, yes, they have the beginnings of music about them! You have a fine bunch here, Fleur!” His eyes fell on Octavia. “Though this one seems lost in thought. Mademoiselle, are you feeling fine?”

Octavia snapped out of her stupor. “Yes! Yes, thank you Monsieur, I feel fine.” She forced herself to stay focused.

Particular nodded hesitantly, then gestured forward. “Now, if you will be so kind, gather your instruments, and I’ll lead you to your changing rooms.” He trotted forward, stopping only when he realized that nopony was following.

“Changing rooms?” asked Octavia.

“Oui, Mademoiselle. Changing rooms.” Particular knit his brow slightly, then glanced at Fleur with understanding. “Fleur, what a cruel trick you play!” he tittered.

Fleur giggled in return.

Harpo leaned over to Lyra. “They have the same laugh.”

Lyra nodded. “It’s scary.”

“You see,” offered Fleur, “this is a relatively expensive establishment.”

Hôtel Particulier puffed out his chest slightly. “And well worth every bit,” he said proudly.

“Yes, very much so.” Fleur smiled reassuringly. “But in order to lessen the cost and stretch out our budget, Hôtel has allowed us to hire you out for a time. In return for food and shelter. You’ll be playing in,” here she paused to look at the clock, “oh, half an hour.”

“I thought we were going to lunch!” protested Vinyl.

“Yes, we are. You’ll be providing entertainment for the lunchtime crowd in the Mareiot’s attached restaurant.” Fleur beamed and trotted off. “Follow me!” she called back to the musicians. “The dressing rooms are this way!”

The musicians stared at each other in disbelief.

“She’s insane,” said Harpo.

“She’s our boss,” said Octavia.

Particular chuckled slightly, motioning for the ponies to follow after Fleur. “Welcome to Fillydelphia, mes amis.”
> The Lunch
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Tres bien, Mademoiselle.” Hotel Particulier held Octavia at hooves’ length, sharp eyes darting from place to place, taking in every detail of the uniform. “Very professionally done.” He nodded in approval and patted Octavia’s head before turning towards Harpo.

Particular narrowed his eyes, slowly pacing around the composer. “Lift your head slightly. Non, lower it a bit. There.” He stopped, having made a full circle around the other stallion. Harpo smiled tightly.

Hotel Particulier’s eyes flashed around the composer one last time. “You matched golden cufflinks with silver buttons, your bowtie is crooked, you’re wearing a kerchief with a vest, your bottom button is buttoned, and, though it is my uniform, I’m not particularly fond of the black vest with your natural violet. A light grey would, perhaps, fit you better. But you’ll have to wear black.” He turned suddenly, striding away from Harpo. “Mademoiselle Philharmonica, fix him.”

The composer’s mouth hung open slightly and he ran a self-conscious hoof through his mane.

“And fix your mane as well!” called Particular without turning around.

Octavia trotted forward, failing to hide a laugh with one of her hooves.

“I thought that it looked fine,” said Harpo sullenly.

“He has a very discerning eye.” Octavia tugged at Harpo’s bowtie, centering it as Harpo took off his cufflinks and unbuttoned the bottom button of his vest.

“He’s picky,” said the composer.

“He knows what he’s talking about.”

Harpo rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. Just because he called you professional.”

Octavia smiled wickedly. “He only said that because I don’t dress like a slob.”

The composer snorted, tugging at his sleeves, replacing gold with silver. “Sure.” Then, quietly, after Octavia had turned away. “I don’t dress like a slob. I look good.” Harpo glared at the floor for a few moments.

Hotel Particulier slid back in front of the composer. “Better. Much better. Do a twirl.”

Harpo blinked. “Pardon?”

“A twirl. A spin.” Particular spun his hoof in a tight circle. “So that I can see the rest of you. Quickly, Monsieur, I would very much like to get all of you into the dining room. We are running low on time.”

Harpo threw a helpless look at Octavia. The cellist waved him onwards. And Harpo spun, stepping slowly and carefully in a tight circle.

“Twirling also needs work,” noted Hotel Particulier. “Now!” he said, clapping his hooves together. “Where are Fleur and the other two mademoiselles?”

Octavia gave a half-smile. “They’re… dealing with a problem.”

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” Vinyl burst through the changing room doors, her vest flapping uselessly around her hooves, her bowtie hanging limply from her collar.

“For Celestia’s sake!” shouted Fleur, bounding out in pursuit of the DJ. “Lyra, I told you to hold her down!”

Lyra followed Fleur, her own uniform askew and marked with hoofprints in some places. “She’s too fast! She got away from me!”

Vinyl jumped vaulted over a couch, peeking just the top of her head over it. Fleur hefted a brush menacingly.

“Vinyl,” said the mare, “I love you like a daughter, but I plan on beating you senseless once you get near enough.”

The DJ knit her brow in confusion. “See, that doesn’t really make me want to move.”

“Lyra, grab her hooves.”

A green aura sprouted around Vinyl’s front hooves, yanking them up into the air as the DJ let out a yelp. Fleur’s own magic flared, taking hold of Vinyl’s back legs. Vinyl was lifted up into the air, hogtied by magic, unable to even reach a hoof out to Octavia.

“Tavi,” begged an upside-down DJ, “save me.”

Octavia covered her face. “Remind me why we’re friends?”

Fleur and Lyra marched back into the dressing room, the door shutting closed on a bewildered Vinyl Scratch.

“How charming,” said Hotel Particulier with only the barest trace of irony. “I admire her... eh, what would you call it?”

“Complete lack of shame?” offered Harpo.

“Yes, that works.” Particular began pacing again, throwing the occasional glance towards the clock on the wall, muttering something in Prench, then pacing again. 

Some ten minutes passed this way, the uncomfortable silence broken only by the occasional shout of pain from within the dressing room, until the three mares reemerged from the dressing room.

Or rather, Lyra and Fleur emerged from the room, both of them wearing proud, if a bit exasperated, smiles. Vinyl had to be coaxed out with promises of alcohol and cookies.

“Booze and cookies?” asked Vinyl, still hiding on the other side of the changing room door.

“Yes, Vinyl,” said Lyra. “Booze and cookies.”

“Can I have booze and cookies?” asked Harpo.

“Maybe if Vinyl decides to share.”

“Nope,” said Vinyl confidently.

Harpo sighed slightly, thumping a back hoof against the floor. “Why do you hate me?”

Hotel Particulier clapped his hooves, a sharp sound ringing through the entire room. He kept a stern expression as he spoke. “While I’ve enjoyed this detour, my friends, we really must be going; we are currently two minutes behind schedule. Mademoiselle Scratch, get out of there. Everypony else, file behind me.”

Particular turned sharply, quickly cantering out of the room. The musicians shared a look.

Fleur smiled. “Come along dears, nothing good can come of further angering Monsieur Particulier.” She turned towards the changing rooms. “And you, Vinyl Scratch, will come out of there this instant or lose your booze and cookies.”

Vinyl stepped quickly around the door. Her glasses were off, her vest perfect and, most dramatically of all, her hair brushed back away from her face and tamed by various bobby pins and hair clips. “Okay, I’m here. Booze and cookies?”

“After the show.” Fleur set off towards Hotel Particulier.

The DJ frowned, brushing at her vest. “Damn.”

The rest of the musicians quickly followed. 

They left the main lobby, heading into a side wing of the grand hotel, their path taking them right in front of the grand wall of alcohol. Octavia had to physically push Harpo to get him to move away. Lyra did the same to Vinyl, amid repeated promises of booze and cookies.

“Still, Vinyl,” said Lyra, “why were you making such a fuss about wearing the uniform? Didn’t all of you have to dress up for a party?”

“It’s different.”

Lyra snorted. “Why? Because that was a dress and this is a vest?”

Vinyl shook her head, sneaking a glance at Octavia, who was currently trying to keep Harpo from dashing back to the bar and making friends with the bartender.

“It just is,” said Vinyl noncommittally.

Lyra wasn’t buying it. “Vinyl--”

Hotel Particulier threw open a pair of doors, revealing a wide, circular room filled with ponies, each of them buzzing to and fro, carrying tablecloths and chairs. 

“Shift that table over a bit!” barked Particular. “We want the guests to be able to breath! I want somepony mopping down that stage until it shines! Quickly! Hop to it!”

A few working ponies nodded. Most of them simply picked up their pace slightly.

Harpo blinked. “I thought that we were running late.”

Particular’s muzzle scrunched disapprovingly. “We most certainly are. There are only 20 minutes left until lunch begins. I had wanted to walk in with 22 minutes left.” He let out a sigh as Fleur giggled into her hoof.

“Should we head to the stage?” asked Octavia.

Hotel Particulier knit his brow. “The stage? Non ma amie, you all will not be on the stage.”

Vinyl’s head snapped up in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“I mean no offense to any of you Syncopated Records,” said Particular quickly. “But you are fresh from a train! You are all tired and I would rather not take the risk of having tired performers perform.”

“Then why are we here?” asked Octavia.

Hotel Particulier grinned. “You will be servers!”


***


Octavia maneuvered through the crowds, a platter precariously balanced on her head. The gathering, party, whatever it was, was now in full swing. Each table was filled with ponies of all shapes and sizes, each of them dining on an assortment of hor dourves, fresh fruit, cooked vegetables, baked pastries, hot soups, cold soups, pizzas, pastas, ice cream, mousse, juices, water, soft drinks, hard drinks an endless assortment of food! Most of which Octavia had carried on her head and almost spilled.

The cellist tripped, her hoof darting up to keep the platter in place. Vinyl trotted past with a grin, waving her completely unencumbered hooves as her own silver platter floated over her head. Lyra followed close behind, a pitcher held in her lime green aura.

Not for the first time, Octavia cursed magic. Unicorns were cheating. However, Octavia was able to take some solace in the knowledge that Harpo was going through the same struggles.

A pause. Wait, where is Harpo?

A loud, booming laugh arose from a nearby table. A large stallion, his stomach bulging well out of the shirt he wore, roared with laughter, his rather large hoof roughly patting Harpo’s back, forcing a small cry of pain every time it made contact. Harpo laughed through the pain, lifting up a glass of some white wine and clinking it against the fat stallion’s. Then they settled into a comfortable conversation.

Harpo caught the cellist’s eye. He quickly looked away, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible.

Nevermind, thought Octavia. Buck Harpo and everything he stands for.

“Pardon me! Excuse me!” A voice rose over the general mumble of the crowd from somewhere behind the cellist. Octavia painted a smile onto her face which seemed, truth be told, much more of a grimace, and trotted over to the voice.

The owner of the voice was a light green Earth Pony mare, lighter even than Lyra’s color, and a golden mane. Directly to her left sat another Earth Pony, a brown stallion with a carefully combed silver mane.

“Good afternoon,” greeted Octavia, shifting her platter to a hoof. “Can I help you?”

The mare’s face lit up. “It is you! Oh, Octavia, it’s very nice to see you again.” She patted Octavia’s hoof, a terribly bright smile playing across her face.

“Yes,” said Octavia awkwardly. “It’s… very nice to see you again.”

The stallion arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think Miss Philharmonica remembers us.”

The cellist nodded slightly, an implicit apology in the movement which the mare quickly waved away.

“No worry, Octavia, no worry! After all, it has been a whole year since we last saw each other. Ever since Frederic graduated from the Conservatory.”

Octavia’s eyes went wide.”Oh!” she gasped. “Mister and Missus Horseshoepin! I’m sorry, I hardly recognized you.”

Mrs. Horseshoepin laughed again. “No worry, as I’ve said before. We could hardly recognize you, dear. You’ve been rather busy, haven’t you?”

“Made quite the splash in Canterlot,” said Mr. Horseshoepin dryly. “Come to take the rest of Equestria?”

Octavia smiled tightly.

“He teases!” said the mare in her high-pitched whine of a voice. “We were in Canterlot when those reporters published that dreadful article about you, then we came to Fillydelphia and hardly heard a word about it! Tell me dear,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially, “has everything been quite cleared up?”

Octavia nodded.

“Good!” Mrs. Horseshoepin leaned back into her chair. “I’m glad that everything worked out. What a terrible accusation it was, too! I don’t see why they should mistake having some harmless fun with a friend with being a fillyfooler, but I suppose that it comes with being in the public eye.”

Mr. Horseshoepin grunted his agreement.

“In any case,” said Mrs. Horseshoepin, “I’d hate to keep you any longer, Octavia, but you simply have to visit some day. We’re staying with Frederic while in Fillydelphia, and I know for a fact that he would love to see you again.”

Octavia licked at her lips, trying to work some moisture back into her mouth. “I will. It was nice to see you again.”

“You too, dear,” said Mrs. Horseshoepin with that uselessly wide smile. Mr. Horseshoepin nodded his farewell.

Octavia turned away, balancing the tray again and allowing her hooves to take her where she needed to be.

Yes, terrible accusation. That’s what it was. She’d forgotten. Too much time with Harpo and Fancy Pants and Fleur and Vinyl. She’d forgotten what a terrible accusation it was. Be shocked. Not normal, not natural. That’s what they saw. Terrible accusation. Fun was fine, go out and drink all you want, leave nightclubs without a memory of what happened there, but how dare they call her that. 

“Tavi?”

Terrible accusation.

“Tavi?”

Fillyfooler.

“Hey, Tavi!”

Octavia glanced up. The room was empty, her hooves suddenly tired from walking up and down tables, her neck stiff from heavy platters. Vinyl was a few inches from the cellist, a hoof rested against Octavia’s forehead. Octavia jerked away.

“Hey, Octy,” said Vinyl worriedly, “you okay?”

Now she remembered. The gathering had come to a close. The guests had left, leaving the musicians-turned-waiters to eat the leftovers. Hotel Particulier had left, taking care of some business or other. Everypony else was seated around one of the few tables left in the room.

A pause. Octavia caught her breath. “Yes, quite. Just wandered away for a few moments.”

“You sure?”

Octavia nodded, glancing down at the floor, not quite catching the way that Vinyl bristled slightly at the movement.

“Fine.” There was a deceptive nonchalant tone to her voice. She smiled, popping a slightly cold chocolate chip cookie into her mouth and washing it down with a light IPA.

Lyra sipped at her champagne, then took a bite of a peanut butter cookie. “Booze and cookies,” she said thoughtfully. “Weird.”

“I rather like it,” said Harpo.

“You haven’t eaten any cookies.”

The composer shrugged. “I see no problems with this.”

Fleur smiled, the simple gesture somehow bringing all attention onto her. “Once all of you have finished lunch, you’ll have some free time to explore the city. I won’t be able to join you, as I have some business to attend to, but I expect all of you to be back before it gets too dark. Is that clear?”

The musicians nodded.

“Wonderful.” Fleur climbed to her hooves. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the Fillydelphia Concert Hall. Have fun!” She left the room.

The four remaining ponies shared a look.

“Sooooo,” began Vinyl, “where’s everypony going?”

“Food?” asked Lyra.

“Always,” said the DJ.

“Bon Bon told me that there’s this really good confectionary--” she paused at Vinyl’s slightly blank expression, “--candy shops that aren’t too far from here.”

Lyra and Vinyl chatted for a few moments more, discussing the merits of candy, chocolates, cookies, and booze, providing just enough time for Octavia to secretly tap on Harpo’s shoulder. The composer leaned in subtly.

“Harpo,” said Octavia, “I need to talk to you for a while.”
> The Worries
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yeah, but Bon Bon hates making soft candy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! She says that it’s a lot of trouble because you have to find the right consistency for the soft candy. If it’s too soft, then it gets stuck in your teeth and if it’s too hard, then it’s not really soft candy.”

“No kidding.” Vinyl craned her neck around the green mare, trying to get a better view of Harpo and Octavia.

Lyra nodded profusely. “I don’t really get it, but Bon Bon always complains when a customer puts in a big order of soft candy.”

“Yeah, that would suck.” What the hell are they talking about?

“But it’s really cute seeing her fighting with her recipes. She gets all worked up and her muzzle scrunches. It’s one of the few times that she’s angry at something besides me.” Lyra laughed.

Vinyl smiled. Seriously, they’ve been together since we left the hotel.

“Vinyl, do you mind helping me go over the list of candy I’m supposed to buy?”

“Sure.” Stop whispering, you assholes!

Lyra floated a scrap of paper before her. “Chocolate truffles, chocolate turtles, chocolate frogs, whatever hard candy I can get, those new Every Flavor Jelly Babies, probably for the Doctor.”

Vinyl nodded, not having heard a single item.

“Peanut clusters,” continued Lyra. “Some toffee, there’s a few fruit gummy things that Bon Bon wants to try, the blood of my enemies, the lamentations of their mares, the tears of their foals.”

“Uh-huh.” What the BUCK are they saying? How hard is it to talk to-- “Wait, what did you say?”

Lyra smiled pointedly. “Oh, so you were listening to me. I wasn’t sure. You kept looking over there.” She waved a hoof at Harpo and Octavia.

“The blood of your enemies?”

“I was just trying to get your attention.”

Vinyl gave her a strange look. “‘The lamentations of their mares’?”

Lyra turned slightly pink. “I just finished rereading Ponan the Barbarian.”

Vinyl nodded slowly. “Harpo’s a fan.”

“It’s a really good book,” said Lyra excitedly. “But we’ll talk about it later. For now, I’m more worried about you.”

Vinyl scowled. “Why?”

“You weren’t listening to me.”

“Well, maybe I was just bored.”

“That’s impossible,” said the other mare confidently, “I’m fascinating.”

A pause. “You’ve been spending too much time with Harpo.”

“Just that off time before we came out to Fillydelphia!”

“What were you guys even doing?”

Lyra chewed on the inside of her cheek. “He’s been helping me with my music. Playing and writing it. And he put in a good word with Fleur. It’s pretty much the only reason that I’m here right now.”

Vinyl blinked a few times. “That’s… strangely nice of him.”

Lyra smiled, then went right into a scowl. “We’re not talking about that! We’re supposed to be talking about you!”

“Lyra!” came Harpo’s voice. “Isn’t this that candy shop you were talking about?” He waved vaguely across the street, towards a small brick building marked ‘Sweet Tooth’s Confectionary.’ Ponies of all shapes, colors, and ages raced in and out of the shop, clutching bags of candy and wearing dopey grins.

Lyra groaned, shifting her gaze pointedly towards the DJ. “This ain’t over.”

Vinyl waved, waited until the other unicorn was no longer looking, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What was that about?” asked Octavia.

Vinyl forced a smile. “Nothing. Just talking about Bon Bon. She’s got Lyra running up and down Fillydelphia.”

Harpo laughed slightly. “Yes, she’s got a vicegrip over Lyra. But that’s marriage, isn’t it? Which is why I’m never getting married.”

“Yeah,” said Octavia with a smirk, “that’s why. It’s nothing to do with your insufferable manner.”

“What insufferable manner?” Harpo glanced around in confusion. “Vinyl, do I have an insufferable manner?”

Vinyl shrugged. “Does that mean annoying?”

“More or less,” said Octavia.

“Then yeah.”

Harpo placed an offended hoof on his chest. “And here I was, about to take you two out for a meal. But nooooo, I’m insufferable.”

Octavia’s stomach let out a low growl. “Well, not that insufferable.”

“Mmmm, no,” said Vinyl with a shake of her head. “He really is that annoying.”

The composer laughed slightly. “Come on, you two. Booze and cookies can only take us so far.”


***


Fancy Pants let out a chuckle, a light smile brightening his eyes. “I assure you, my musicians are hardly ‘on the run.’ Did they really seem the type, Spot Light?”

The reporter smiled back, a sheen of light yellow magic keeping his quill in constant motion. “Well, you could hardly blame me for the assumption, Fancy Pants, what with the timing and all. Sending them on a tour just after that interview, it’s a slightly suspicious action.”

“Hardly ‘just after,’ Spot Light. It has, by my count, been two or so weeks since they spoke to High and Mighty Scratch. I would assume that Canterlot would have forgotten such a minor incident by now.”

Spot Light scribbled a few more lines onto his notepad. “There are some ponies worried about the disrespectful remarks made by your musicians. This is, of course, considering only the interview and not the prior conflict. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Fancy Pants’ dimmed slightly, the exact shade of a smile required when discussing a sad truth. “My musicians are young. They are also rather brash, though they have calmed down considerably since they first joined Syncopated Records. Vinyl Scratch in particular has shown substantial growth. However, they still have much to learn about the ways of the world.”

“Then you admit that they made a mistake?”

The businesspony paused, bringing the full weight of his gaze onto the reporter. “They are naive, Spot Light. But we can always find some source of wisdom in the naivety of children. There are not many ponies in Canterlot that would have reacted to High and Mighty as my musicians did.” Fancy Pants allowed himself a small smile. “It is a shame that they reverted to such a crass mode of action, but I agree with Quick Quill and Snap Shot on this matter. Octavia and Vinyl’s actions were a ‘breath of fresh air, a reminder of youth in a Canterlot that is so rife with the old’.”

Spot Light’s smile had shifted slightly, becoming slightly more strained as Fancy Pants went on. “Yes, that was a rather nice article. But there are also some rumors, Fancy Pants, that you and Syncopated Records had played a role in that particular writing.”

“How so?” asked Fancy Pants with a slight tilt to his head.

“Well, there are some who believe that Syncopated Records came into contact with Quick Quill and Snap Shot some time before the interview.” Spot Light shuffled through his notes. “Yes, according to this report, one pony saw Harpo Parish Nadermane enter Miss Scratch’s place of residence, only to exit with the other two musicians and the reporters in tow.”

“Ah, yes! I did share a few words with them over the invasion of my musicians’ property.” Fancy Pants’ eyes shone. “A few rather strong words, in fact.”

“I see.” Spot Light flipped his notebook closed. “Thank you for the interview, Fancy Pants.”

“The pleasure was mine.” Fancy Pants got to his hooves. “Forgive me if I don’t see you out. I have some business to take care of deeper within the studio.”

The reporter nodded, turning away and walking out. Fancy Pants watched him go, smiling serenely. His eyes roamed the room, looking for any stray article that Spot Light had ‘accidentally’ left behind. Then the businesspony collapsed onto his chair, rubbing at his eyes.

A brown hoof offered a glass of water. “I think that that you handled that quite well.”

Fancy Pants took the drink in his magic, sipping at it slightly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“But then again,” said the colt, flopping onto a seat, “I can’t really expect any less, can I? Considering how much practice you’ve gotten.”

Fancy Pants groaned slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

The Doctor smiled. “Oh, see, I can’t do that. It’s hardly over.”

“I know,” said Fancy Pants with a sigh. “I know.” He drained his water, then stared down into the glass. “Do we have anything stronger?”

The Doctor smiled and climbed to his hooves. “Whiskey?”

“Cognac. I’d like to relax for a bit.”

The Doctor left the room, leaving Fancy Pants alone.

The businesspony closed his eyes, slouching into a slightly more comfortable position in his chair. He winced slightly as a series of cracks sounded along his spine. How long had it been since he felt this tired? Years, really. When he first started breaking into the business world. Fancy Pants smiled demurely.

What did you expect, old chap? Starting a new business isn’t easy. Had you already forgotten? He chuckled to himself. I did, actually. I’m almost certain that I did. What a terrible business practice, forgetting something like that.

The Doctor walked back into the room, a glass of deep amber drink balanced on his head. Fancy Pants’ magic flared, and he floated the glass to himself. The businesspony drank, draining half of his glass in one go. The alcohol burned as it went down.

“You know, Doctor,” said Fancy Pants, “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you drink.”

“I’ve got a terrible tolerance for it.”

“Do you?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yes. I just can’t seem to get drunk. No numbing effects at all. Absolutely terrible.”

Fancy Pants chuckled. “You have my pity.” He swirled his drink absentmindedly. “What’s the next assignment?”

“A party. Acoustic and Resonance’s daughter’s cuteceanera. We received an invitation a few days ago.”

The businesspony closed his eyes. “Right, right. Her name was… Perfect Pitch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when is that?”

The Doctor glanced up at the clock.

Fancy Pants rubbed at his eyes again. “No, Doctor, don’t look at the clock. Look at the calendar. For the love of Celestia, check the calendar.”

“Half an hour, sir,” said the Doctor. “Sorry.”

The businesspony dragged at his face tiredly. “Shit,” he breathed.

“Language, sir!”

“Mierda.”

A pause. “Not exactly what I meant, but I suppose that that works.”

“Alright. Do we have a gift for the filly?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fancy Pants sighed, then pushed himself to his hooves. “Wonderful. Let’s get going.”


***


Octavia lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The rest of the day had been uneventful. They had eaten, returned to the hotel, and Fleur had said that they would be heading to the orchestra the next day. The moon was well in the sky by then, and the musicians had been sent to their rooms.

Octavia’s lips twitched up into a reluctant smile. ‘Sent to their rooms.’ It was funny, really. Here she was, fresh out of Conservatory, expecting independence, the ability to be her own mare. And she had been sent to her room. But it could be worse. 

Octavia turned over onto her side. It could be far worse, really. Fancy Pants and Fleur have been everything an employee could dream of. I believe that I’ve made a name for myself and I’m currently on tour through Equestria. A lot has happened. And I’d like to think that I’ve changed.

A twinge shot through the cellist, a moment of self-doubt, that terrible feeling that always seems to strike in the middle of the night.

Had she changed? She thought that she had. Octavia felt certain of it.

Can one change in a few weeks? The cellist nodded. A single day could change a pony, really. That was another thing that she was certain of.

Then why hadn’t she said anything?

And that was the question.

The Horseshoepins were from Octavia’s past, from her days at the Conservatory. From before she was… familiar with herself. No, that wasn’t the right word. Octavia thought for a few moments, trying to find the right phrase.

But nothing came to mind.

No, thought Octavia, I don’t exactly know how to phrase it, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t changed. I can stand up for myself now, just as I stood up for Vinyl. And I will, if I ever see the Horseshoepins and if the subject is breached.

Octavia nodded resolutely, then turned onto her side, shutting her eyes tight. She had been sent to her room, and it was time to sleep.


***


Vinyl stood at the door, her hoof hovering just an inch above the wood, ready to swing down and knock.

C’’mon filly, just do it.

But her hoof stayed in the air.

You did it before! I mean, you didn’t think about it, but you still did it! Why the hell can’t you do it now? She’s your marefriend now for Luna’s sake!

But her hoof stayed put. It didn’t move by itself, as it had some time ago, right after her and Octavia’s first fight, their first time practicing together. Her hoof didn’t move, didn’t act on its own and she knew exactly why.

Vinyl had changed. Had grown calmer because of Syncopated Records and Octavia and Harpo and the return of High and Mighty. She was no longer the mare who leapt over counters for coffee. She hadn’t even drank coffee, let alone been to SunBucks, in days. Vinyl had more control over herself and her hoof would not move unless she told it to.

And so it stayed in place, frozen by… something. Fear or uncertainty or something else. Whatever it was.

She’d lost something, and she had no idea what it was.

Vinyl sighed, gathering up the extra pillow that she’d brought, throwing one last glance at the door, and walking back to her room.

This has to change.
> The Conductor
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vinyl drew closer to Octavia, unable to keep a grin from crossing her lips “Actually that gives me an idea for a punishment.”

“O-Oh my.” Octavia backed away slightly, her hooves slipping on the couch, her face turning a bright shade of red.

Vinyl crept closer, placing a hoof on Octavia’s chest and gently pushing her, laying Octavia against the couch and standing over her. The entire room seemed warmer, the air heavier as the two mares’ breaths quickened.

“V-Vinyl,” said Octavia. “I…” the words died on her lips.

Vinyl smiled, lowering her head and gently kissing Octavia. First on her forehead. Then her cheek. Then on her lips. 

Octavia flushed, her breathing quickening again. Vinyl could feel the warmth radiating from her marefriend.

“Vinyl, I—”

Vinyl leaned forward slightly, nibbling on Octavia’s ear and cutting off her words as the cellist let out a gasp.

Images flowed into Vinyl’s mind. The nightclub. Their first real kiss. Octavia’s reaction when she blew into her ear, just like this.

Octavia let out a moan.

They had been interrupted that time. Harpo and the Doctor, those intruders, ruining a perfectly good scene with champagne and celebration. Vinyl nuzzled closer to Octavia. Not this time. This time, there would be no interruptions. She had Octavia all to hers—

Octavia placed a hoof on Vinyl’s chest. The cellist was flushed, breathing hard, the first beads of sweat forming on her brow.

“Vinyl,” she said softly, “I can’t. Not right now.”

Vinyl felt her heart sink even as she forced a smile. “Yeah. Okay. I guess that that was going a bit too fast.”

“I just… I just don’t think I’m ready.”

Vinyl pulled Octavia into a hug. “Hey, no worries. Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

Octavia sighed in relief, smiling gratefully up at her marefriend. “Thank you, Vinyl.”

“Yeah.” Vinyl smiled, pretending not to notice the way Octavia shied away from the hug. “No problem.”


***


Vinyl lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was early. Not overly so, but certainly far earlier than she was used to. Sunlight filtered in through the window of the rather comfortable hotel room, birds chattered just outside, and it was, all in all, not an unenjoyable morning.

Vinyl lay in her bed, unwilling to move, the images still fresh in her mind.

“That,” said Vinyl, “was a bullshit dream.”

She forced herself to her hooves, wobbling slightly where she stood.

“What the hell’s the point of a dream like that?” wondered Vinyl aloud. “Just replaying something. Fucking stupid. There weren’t even any lasers or, like, giant robots or anything! I don’t think I’m even gonna count it as a dream. It’s so stupid that I’m not even gonna think about it anymore.” Vinyl nodded resolutely, glancing up at a clock on the wall. There was still about an hour before she and the rest of Syncopated had to head down to the lobby.

Vinyl let out a groan. An hour never seemed so long. Well, I guess I can grab a shower or something.

She set about the room, getting all of her toiletries in order, staying in constant motion, humming loudly. Vinyl placed a hoof on the bathroom door, opening it just a crack. The sound of running water carried into her room.

Oh yeah. Shared bathroom. Vinyl let the door close. That would’ve been embarrassing.


***


Lyra Heartstrings was having a strange morning. This is not to say that it wasn’t a very nice morning, because it certainly was bright and sunny and generally what one would expect a very nice morning to look like. But it was certainly strange.

The first, and perhaps the most jarring, revelation of the morning was that she had woken up on her own. The absence of a shift in breathing, of a warm body moving away, of heading downstairs, making breakfast and kissing Bon Bon goodbye, was a very notable absence and not a nice one at all.

The second revelation was that the hotel bed was far more comfortable than the one she had at home and that she and Bon Bon should really buy a new mattress.

The last was the uncomfortable realization that she would have to put up with Vinyl’s current state of mind. 

This, like the first thought, was not a very nice one.

Lyra let out a sigh. She could talk to either of the other mares, force them to have a real conversation, and likely save Syncopated Records quite a lot of trouble. Indeed, that was probably the most rational route, the fastest way to fix whatever it was that had Vinyl so worried.

But that would be a quick fix, duct tape over a crack. Any lasting healing wouldn’t come from words; jealousy, for Vinyl Scratch was clearly jealous, was not so easily mended. Actions were needed, something big enough to clear out any doubt, and that could never come from somepony else. 

Lyra had learned that from experience.

In any case, there was no use in laying about. Fleur de Lis had told everyone to be down in the lobby at about eight. That was a little over an hour from now. Lyra forced herself out of bed, setting about the room and gathering all of the necessities for her shower

If I can get Vinyl alone, thought Lyra, I’ll talk to her about it.

She never heard Vinyl Scratch open the bathroom door.


***


Harpo Parish Nadermane was, for perhaps the first time in his life, early. It was a rather disconcerting experience, but the composer had arisen in the early hours of the morning and had not been able to get back to sleep. He had grumbled and turned in his bed, bunching up the blankets and turning over his pillow, but it was all for naught. Harpo was forced out of bed and, being the only male in the party, was able to make use of a personal shower.

By the time Harpo finished his shower, the sun was up and the birds outside were making their customary racket outside of the open window. Harpo, never much of a fan of useless noise that came from a source other than himself, promptly slammed the window shut.

Harpo, deciding that there was really nothing better to do alone, had walked down the stairs and into the lobby, lingering for a moment before his beloved. However, the wall of alcohol was cordoned off, and without a bartender kind enough to pour Harpo a glass and then bugger off while the composer drank.

It was, quite frankly, the saddest thing Harpo had ever seen.

“Harpo?”

The composer reluctantly turned away from the bar. Fleur de Lis sat a fair distance away, immaculate as ever despite the early hour. Harpo began walking to join her.

“What a pleasant surprise,” said Fleur happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wake up before noon.”

“I know, it’s absolutely dreadful.” Harpo rubbed at his eyes as he dropped into a chair across from his employer. “Ponies were not meant to wake before the sun.”

Fleur smiled amusedly. “Perhaps I’ll work a nap into our schedule.”

“See, that’s supposed to be mocking, but I would love it.”

A cracking, high-pitched laugh broke out from the seat next to Harpo. The colt let out a yelp, nearly falling out of his seat. Next to Harpo sat an stallion, shrunken with age, his white mane thin around the edges of his face and nonexistent around his horn. The old stallion’s most striking feature, however, were his glasses; thick, round spectacles that enlarged already large, golden eyes and gave the stallion the overall appearance of an owl.

“This one’s funny, Fleur!” said the old stallion in a voice far too large for his body. Then he turned towards Harpo. “If you’re not Master Nadermane, then I must be blind.”

“Don’t call him that,” chided Fleur.

“Master?” asked the stallion. “That’s what I call everypony, Fleur. You know that.”

“No, ‘funny’. It’ll inflate his ego.”

The old pony let out another screeching, booming laugh.

“I think that I’m slightly offended,” said Harpo. And he did, indeed, seem slightly offended.

Fleur shook her head lightly. “Harpo, this is Coda, conductor for the Fillydelphia Orchestra and an old friend of Fancy Pants and I.”

“Old is right!” boomed Coda. “I was already Old Colt Coda when Fancy Pants first strolled into Canterlot. How is he, anyway?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Fleur.

“Tell him that I hope he croaks and he owes me for this favor.”

Fleur laughed softly. “I will.”

Coda fixed his magnified eyes on Harpo. “Master Nadermane, did you see your friends on your way here?”

Harpo shook his head. “I think that they’re still asleep.”

“Caught up in their daily routines, no doubt,” said Coda. “You know the way mares are.”

“Not all mares, Coda,” said Fleur. There was the beginnings of acid in her smile.

Coda thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not. But when two of your musicians are in a relationship and see each other on a daily basis, I should think that they would take the time to look their best.”

Harpo straightened in his seat. Fleur let out a sigh.

“Playing detective again, Coda?” asked Fleur de Lis.

“Hardly detective work.” Coda smiled, adjusting his glasses. “The signs were all there, even in the news articles. Only a blind pony could miss it.”

“Coda has an eye for details,” explained Fleur to Harpo. “It’s a rather useful skill for a conductor. And he takes pleasure in pointing things out.”

Coda’s golden eyes gleamed. “Only the things that matter, Fleur.”


***


Fleur smiled lightly. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, shall we get going?”

The five members of Syncopated Records were seated around a table, plates still covered in crumb and the last dregs of coffee quickly drained, though Harpo had insisted on purchasing another glass of orange juice and carefully pouring it into an empty bottle.

Octavia carefully wiped at her muzzle with a napkin. She nodded at Fleur. The others made to stand up, but Coda waved them down.

“Relax for a time,” said the conductor. “One must allow the food to settle before heading into work.” Coda leaned back in his seat. His horn glowed a soft yellow. A moment later, a polished, sleek looking smoking pipe and a small pouch of tobacco popped into existence before Coda.

A few moments passed in silence. Coda took a test draw from his pipe.

“Do any of you smoke?” asked the conductor.

The others shook their heads.

“Good. It’s a filthy habit.” Coda smiled, a thin line of smoke trailing up from his pipe. “Besides, Fleur would never allow it.”

“I should say not,” said Fleur. “And I still believe that you should quit, Coda.”

Coda waved a dismissive hoof. “Believe whatever you’d like.” He turned towards Harpo. “Master Nadermane, I believe that your mother was a smoker once upon a time.”

“You knew my mother?”

“Indeed. A very talented musician.” Coda puffed at his pipe a few times. “I knew your father as well. A very talented pony in his own right.”

“I haven’t heard much about Harpo’s parents,” said Vinyl.

Harpo laughed. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“I have a few stories that I’d be willing to share,” said Coda. “If Master Nadermane would allow me.”

Harpo shook his head fiercely. “Maestro Coda, the bar isn’t even open yet!”

Coda laughed at that. “Perhaps later, then.”

“In any case,” began Fleur, “I think that it’s about time to head out. It’s a rather long walk to the concert hall, isn’t it?”

“Rather.” Coda forced himself to his hooves. “It’s about a half hour walk, perhaps a bit shorter at a brisk pace.” He paused. “Please don’t take that as in invitation. My old bones would not be able to keep up.”


***


Twenty three minutes later, a group of six ponies stood in front of the Fillydelphia Concert Hall. It was a grand building, all swooping lines and steel and glass bent into curving shapes. The entire thing gleamed in the morning sun, forcing Octavia to squint if she wanted a better look.

Coda’s voice carried from the front of the group. “Fleur, what have you been doing to them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your musicians are huffing and puffing from such a short walk! I’m twice their age and I’m in better shape!”

Harpo ran a hoof through his mane. “We live a rather sedentary life.”

“And it’s hot,” added Lyra, fanning at herself with a hoof.

“Bah!” said Coda. He tapped his pipe a few times, shaking some ash loose. “You’ll be better off by the time you leave the city, I’ll see to that.”

It’s the city itself, thought Octavia.There are too many ponies out at this time.

Indeed, the Fillydelphia streets were crowded in a way that Canterlot never was. It seemed as though the whole city was out, milling around each other and tripping over each others’ hooves. Fleur and Coda had sailed through the mess, gliding seamlessly through the ponies. Octavia, Harpo, Vinyl, and Lyra had had decidedly more trouble, buffeted nearly every step of the way.

Coda’s magic flared again and the trail of smoke cut off. “Anyway, it’ll be a bit cooler inside.” He turned around, leading the way over a set of concrete steps and into the building.

The group marched through an airy lobby, hooves slipping slightly over the marbled floor. The lobby gave way to the concert hall proper. The lights were low in an effort to combat the heat, the second floor and the balconies of the hall were cast in complete shadow. A few ponies already stood on stage, chatting amiably among themselves, their instruments still lying in their cases.

“Looks like we’re a bit early,” said Fleur.

“Just a tad.” Coda gestured towards a row of plush seats just in front of the stage. “Rest for a while. There’s still some preparation to do.” He joined the members of his orchestra. The members of Syncopated Records took the noted seats.

Octavia tugged at her bowtie a few times. When had she last been in a proper concert hall? Quite a while ago. Not since her solo performance it seemed; the one that had brought Fancy Pants to see her in the first place. Or had there been one in between then and now? She couldn’t remember. How strange it was that Octavia couldn’t remember what happened less than two months ago, yet remembered years before so easily.

Octavia cast a furtive glance at the piano, then over the ponies assembled on stage. Would he remember? Most likely. He had always had a terrifyingly good memory. But where was he? Had they arrived so early? Or was he simply arriving later? Or, perhaps, he wasn’t coming in today. It was hard to imagine, but entirely possible.

Somepony placed a hoof over Octavia’s.

“Careful, Tavi,” came Vinyl’s voice. “You’ll rip your bowtie if you keep playing with it like that.”

Octavia smiled wanly and let her hooves drop from her bowtie. Vinyl kept a firm hold on Octavia’s hoof.

“You okay, Tavi?” whispered Vinyl.

Octavia nodded, her eyes darting to the concert hall entrance.

They stayed this way for some time. Little conversation passed among the musicians as the orchestra members buzzed about the stage, arranging music stands, chairs, and instruments under Coda’s watchful eye.

More and more ponies filed into the concert hall, offering nods to the members of Syncopated Records before climbing onto stage. Harpo kept a close eye on each of them from the moment that the doors to the hall were opened.

Before long, it seemed as though the entire orchestra had arrived. The stage was filled with ponies of all colors and sizes, most of them unicorns, though a few pegasi were dotted around and a rather large Earth Pony stallion stood by the timpani.

Vinyl gave Octavia’s hoof a squeeze. “Is that Frederic guy here?”

Octavia glanced over the orchestra. “No. I don’t think so.”

Coda’s voice carried down from the stage, breaking through the general chatter among the orchestra. “Fillies and gentlecolts, thank you for joining me for another rehearsal. Show up earlier next time or I’ll dock your pay.”

The orchestra laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but it will not make a difference.” Coda cleared his throat. “In any case, we will have a few guests joining us for the next few rehearsals. Master Nadermane, Madames Philharmonica and Scratch, if you would be so kind as to join me on stage?”

With a slight encouraging gesture from Fleur, the three named musicians took to the stage, feeling rather awkward as they took their place beside Coda.

“Now,” began Coda, “these are the employees of a very good friend of mine, Master Fancy Pants. You may have heard of them in some way or another, but they are still newcomers to this world of music. I expect each of you to put on your best behavior and make them as comfortable as possible. Am I clear?”

“Yes, maestro,” answered the orchestra in tandem.

“Very good.” Coda allowed himself a brief smile. “Master Nadermane, there is a harp in the back set up for you. You will be playing with Madame Clear Note.”

Harpo nodded, catching the eye of Clear Note, a light blue unicorn with a lavender mane. He trotted off to join her.

“Madame Philharmonica,” continued Coda, “you will be playing with the other cellists. I will leave them to their introductions.”

Octavia muttered something akin to a thank you and walked to her seat.

“Madame Scratch, you will be on the piano with Master Horsesh—” Coda broke off, glancing around the concert hall. “Has anyone seen Master Horseshoepin?”

A negative mutter arose among the orchestra. Coda heaved a sigh.

“Well, Madame Scratch, you will be performing a duet with Master Horseshoepin if he ever deems us worthy of his presence. You may seat yourself on the piano bench for now.”

Vinyl did so.

Octavia blinked a few times. I suppose that he’s not coming today.

Coda cleared his throat again. “Now then, I trust that everyone picked up their copy of the score. We will begin on the first page, as so many things tend to do. This is the Allegro con fuoco of—”

The entrance to the concert hall opened with a creak, letting in a burst of light. The entire orchestra turned towards the intruder, a tan earth pony stallion with a white mane.

“Master Horseshoepin,” said Coda, “I’m so glad that you could join us.”
> The Warm Up
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Please hurry, Master Horseshoepin, the entire orchestra is waiting on your talent.”

The tan figure hurried down the center aisle, a slightly frantic lilt to an otherwise perfectly proper voice. “Forgive me, maestro, my parents are in town and they simply would not—”

Coda waved a flippant hoof. “Save your excuses, they’re just slowing you down. Take your place if you really want to apologize.”

Frederic Horseshoepin hurried up the stairs, one of his hooves catching the edge of the top step and nearly sending him crashing to the ground. However, he managed to keep his balance.

“Almost there,” said Coda in mock-encouragement.

Frederic ran a hoof through his mane, flattening a few errant white strands, throwing a tight smile at the highly amused orchestra. His gaze wavered for a few moments on Harpo and locked entirely on Octavia.

Coda stepped forward. “I see that you’ve noticed our new arrivals. Master Horseshoepin, this is Master Nadermane and Madame Philharmonica. I believe that you all attended the Canterlot Conservatory at about the same time.”

“We did,” said Frederic. He nodded a greeting to Harpo and Octavia. They returned the gesture.

 “And this,” continued Coda, gesturing towards the piano, “is Madame Vinyl Scratch. I don’t believe you’ve met her, but you’ll be playing together.”

Frederic’s eyes turned reluctantly away from the other two and towards the third member of Syncopated Records. “We haven’t met.” He walked over to the piano bench, reaching out a hoof. “I am Frederic Horseshoepin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Vinyl took the hoof, shaking it firmly. “Vinyl Scratch.”

Frederic nodded, taking a seat at the other end of the piano bench.

Coda stepped back onto his podium, rapping his baton on the stand before him. “Now that everypony has gathered, we can begin with our warm ups.”

The orchestra moved together, instruments and hooves rising into place. Octavia, Harpo, and Vinyl were a step behind the group.

“Ascending scales.” Coda’s voice, loud as it was, seemed to magnify in the stillness of the concert hall. “F major.” His baton rose into the air, dancing out a steady tempo before dropping suddenly. 

Eight notes rang out from the orchestra.

“B-flat major.” The dancing again, at the same tempo.

Eight notes rang out from the orchestra.

“E-flat major!” The baton danced slightly faster.

Eight notes rang out from the orchestra, keeping pace with the baton’s swings.

The warm up carried on in this way, Coda’s calls gradually picking up speed until his baton was little more than a blur in the air. With every iteration, Coda grew slightly more animated, calling for crescendos from the strings or staccato segments from the woodwinds as it pleased him. Once, he quieted the entire orchestra save for the timpani for two scales, only to call for the entire orchestra to play in the middle of the third scale.

Every once in awhile, one of the musicians would hit a sour note, or the scales were not played to Coda’s standards, and the entire orchestra would be forced to play through the scale five additional times.

“Enough!” called Coda in the middle of a G major scale, swiping his baton to the side. The music instantly stopped. “I’m tired. Everyone feeling warmed up?”

More than a few musicians were massaging sore hooves, Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl among them. A few voices replied: “Yes, maestro.”

“That’s not everyone!” called Coda. “Have we warmed up properly?”

“Yes, maestro!” called the orchestra.

Coda smiled. “Wonderful. Take two minutes of break, all of you.”

The orchestra shifted their instruments to a resting position, a murmur quickly breaking out among the musicians. Vinyl turned, intent on asking Frederic a few questions, but the pianist had left the bench as soon the break had been called, joining another group of ponies.

Harpo took Frederic’s place at the piano bench, fanning himself with a hoof. “He’s a slave driver.”

“Who?” asked Vinyl, keeping a watchful eye on Frederic Horseshoepin.

“Coda, who do you think?”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

“I’m just glad he placed me next to such a nice harpist. Rather cute, as well.” Harpo turned, glancing at Clear Note and turning away just as quickly.

“He’s good,” said Vinyl.

“Quite an animated conductor, at least,” agreed Harpo. “Though those are often the most difficult to play for.”

Vinyl shook her head. “Not Coda. I meant him.” She nodded towards Frederic, who was chatting amiably among his group of friends. The pianist stood slightly to the side, not laughing quite as loudly as the rest of the ponies, but it seemed as though every one of them were turned slightly towards him.

Harpo followed her gaze. “Yes, Frederic has always had that technical prowess.”

“He didn’t miss a single note,” said Vinyl, rubbing slightly at her hooves in an attempt to quiet the dull throb that had developed. “And he’s not even tired.”

“Who are you two talking about?” Octavia’s voice sounded from just behind the pair. Both Harpo and Vinyl gave a slight start, turning around to face the cellist.

“Coda!” said Vinyl quickly, ignoring the look that Harpo gave her. “Kinda crazy how much energy that old guy has, isn’t it?”

“Rather,” agreed Octavia, taking no notice of the gesture. “It’s as if Harpo suddenly aged thirty or so years.”

Harpo shook his head. “I don’t have that much energy right now, let alone in thirty years.”

Coda’s voice broke out over the orchestra. “Places!” he called. “Your two minutes are over!”

The orchestra was immediately buzzing with activity, the musicians all but running back to their places and taking up their instruments. Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl followed suit.

“Master Nadermane, Madames Philharmonica and Scratch,” said Coda, “I would have you join Fleur and Madame Heartstrings for now. I will provide you with a copy of the sheet music for your pieces before you leave, but I’d prefer if you just listened to my orchestra play for the time being.”

Harpo, Octavia, and Vinyl shared a look, but stepped off of the stage, joining the other members of Syncopated Records.

Coda rapped his baton on his stand once again. “Now, as I said before Master Horseshoepin chose to interrupt, we will begin at page one, with the Allegro con Fuoco.” The baton danced for a moment, then fell gently downwards.


***


Fancy Pants tilted the bottle, watching the liquor fall gently into his glass. He cut off the flow far earlier than he would have liked to, setting the bottle aside as he floated two ice cubes into place.

“I’d offer you a drink,” said Fancy Pants, “but I’m well aware of your stance on this subject. Unless you’d care for water or tea?”

Hoity Toity shook his head. “I have a bit more tact than to come to another’s home without taking care of my own needs.”

“Simply playing my role as host, Hoitoi, no need to be so antsy about it. It makes me think that you simply don’t want to drink with me.”

Hoity Toity’s jaw clenched slightly at the shortening of his name. “Quite.”

“You know, some ponies say that you cannot trust anyone that won’t drink with you.” Fancy Pants took a sip of his drink.

“And others say that you shouldn’t be trusting anyone anyway.”

Fancy Pants shrugged slightly. “I suppose that there’s a saying for everything.”

Hoity Toity sighed, taking off his purple aviator glasses. “Did you invite me here to speak in circles, Fancy Pants? Celestia knows that it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The elder pony smiled slightly. “Forgive me. Teasing you has always been a favorite pastime of mine.”

“I’m aware of this.”

Fancy Pants took another sip from his drink. “How goes your business?”

“Busier than ever, with the recent acquisitions.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be. I’ve heard that you have plans to build your own music arena. The Canterlot Shell?”

“I’m afraid that I can’t disclose that information.”

Fancy Pants reached for the bottle again, pouring a bit more into an almost empty glass. “No, I suppose not.” He settled into his seat slightly, sipping at his newly filled glass.

They sat in silence for a time. Fancy Pants kept a steady gaze on Hoity Toity all the while, occasionally taking a drink.

“Is that all you’ve called me here for?” asked Hoity Toity. “If so, then I would rather take my leave.”

Fancy Pants waved a hoof. “No, please do stay. It gives me an excuse to drink.”

Hoity Toity raised an eyebrow. “I think that Nadermane’s tendencies have rubbed off on you.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Fancy Pants took another sip from his drink.

Hoity Toity got to his hooves. “I have no clue why I continue to agree to these meetings; they seem to serve no purpose but to infuriate me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will be taking my leave.”

True to his word, Hoity Toity tuned on his heels and walked resolutely out of the room. Fancy Pants watched him go, draining his drink in a few quick sips.

“Doctor, let’s compare notes.”

Time Turner slid out from behind a doorway, quickly walking over and taking a seat next to Fancy Pants. “It’s not very good.”

“It could be worse,” said Fancy Pants with a sigh.

“Don’t say that, saying that is never a good thing.”

Fancy Pants smiled lightly. “Perhaps. Now, what did you catch?”

“He’s been watching our musicians. Or, he has at the least been watching Harpo.”

“Hoity Toity is fond of information, if he knows about Harpo’s affinity for alcohol, then we can assume that he’s learned far more than that.”

“Their travel schedule?” asked the Doctor.

“Perhaps. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The Doctor nodded, staring at the door through which Hoity Toity had made his exit. “If he has the connections to build a music hall, then he could at least do that much.”

“Quite.” Fancy Pants reached for the bottle, but stopped, seeming to think better of the action. “A music hall certainly lends him a certain advantage.”

“How long until he’s finished it?”

Fancy Pants gave a tight smile. “Knowing Hoity Toity, far sooner than we’d wish.”


***


Trans Script held the carriage door open, standing diligently aside as her employer climbed inside.

“That was quick,” said Trans Script, climbing in after him. The carriage slid smoothly forward.

Hoity Toity adjusted his glasses slightly. “Never speak to a competitor for longer than absolutely necessary; they often learn too much. When your competitor is someone like Fancy Pants, it’s best to leave before then, lest he learn everything.”

Trans Script nodded, taking a mental note and filing it away with the other lessons. “Did you learn anything?”

Hoity Toity gave her a look.

“Anything that you want to share with me?”

“He’s curbing his drinking habit.”

A pause. “That’s… interesting.”

“Indeed, it is.” Hoity Toity turned away, staring through the window of the carriage and out onto Canterlot’s streets. The lamps were slowly flickering to life, bursting into full flame just after the carriage passed them by.


***


“Tell her.”

“He’s over it already.”

“Someone should still tell her!”

Harpo ran a hoof through his mane, letting out a breath. “We saw Frederic and nothing happened, Lyra. There’s no need to complic—”

“It’s not complicating things, it’s making things fucking easier!” Lyra paced around the room, throwing a glare at Harpo, then at Octavia, who hadn’t said a word since Harpo and Lyra had barged into her room.

“If no one cares anymore, than what’s the point of bringing it back on?” asked Harpo. “If Frederic’s done with it, then I’m more than willing to let it go.”

“Vinyl cares! She’s worried about it, trying to figure out what her supposed friends are hiding from her!”

“It’s in the past, Lyra!”

“Not for Vinyl! She has no idea what’s happening!”

Octavia cleared her throat. Harpo and Lyra turned, both of their faces tinged pink with anger.

Octavia was silent for a time, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I think th—”

There was a knock on the door, loud enough to cut off the cellist. Three pairs of eyes fixed onto the door.

The knock came again.

Octavia climbed to her hooves, quickly crossing the room and throwing open the door.

Vinyl stood just outside of the room, bright red eyes burning inches away from Octavia and a music score, the one from this afternoon, floating just next to her. Vinyl stepped forward, brushing past the cellist, throwing the music onto a desk and taking a seat on the nearest chair that she could find. Her eyes, for once not covered by purple lenses, burned into every pony in the room.

“You were being really loud,” said Vinyl flatly.

The other three were silent.

Vinyl continued. “I heard what you guys were saying. I came to practice the music, but I don’t give a single shit about that right now.” She paused. “I want to hear the story. All of it.”

Lyra nodded. “What do you want to—”

“I want Octavia to tell me.” The name sounded strange coming from Vinyl. “That’s the only version that I care about right now.”

Octavia hesitated the slightest bit. “We’ll need our privacy.”

Both Vinyl and Octavia turned pointed looks at the other two musicians.

Harpo shook his head. “I can’t jus—”

“No!” Vinyl’s voice was loud and sudden, flattening everyone’s ears against their heads. “Harpo, I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word outta ya.” She paused, taking a few deep breaths. “Just get out.”

With a last glance backwards, Harpo and Lyra left the room.

Silence reigned between Vinyl and Octavia for a time. Neither of them even tried to catch the other’s eyes.

“He didn’t deserve that,” said Octavia quietly.

“Yes he did,” spat Vinyl, even as the beginnings of guilt began to eat at her. Vinyl sighed, burying her face in her hooves. “Just tell me what happened, Tavi. I'm really tired.”


***


Fleur took a sip of her tea. She sat alone in her room, a book open before her, staring at a page that she’d begun six times before. There was a disconcerting feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that she couldn’t quite identify. It had not been there earlier in the day, nor the day before, but it had settled into place sometime between then and now.

There was a problem in Syncopated Records.

It was just a feeling of course, nothing more than superstition or perhaps something she had eaten disagreeing her. Yet, Fleur put a certain amount of weight into superstitions.

And so she sat in her room, a teacup held in her hooves from which she drank diligently, trying to keep thoughts away from her mind. She drank until only the dregs of the tea remained. Then she held her cup in her left hoof and swirled three times, dumping out the tea leaves onto her saucer.

Fleur stared at the leaves, trying to make sense of the shapes.
> The Explanation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fighting a losing battle against the unyielding material. “Right, well. I suppose that it would be best to start at the beginning.”

Vinyl didn’t answer her, choosing to merely stare at Octavia. The DJ’s eyes had dulled slightly from their earlier bright red, but had kept their sharp gleam. Octavia found her gaze shifting from bed to seat to nightstand; anywhere but into those cutting eyes.

Octavia cleared her throat. Somehow, the act of promising an explanation was far easier than actually speaking. “I suppose that it all began at the Conservatory. You know that Frederic, Harpo, Lyra, and I all attended at the same time?”

Vinyl slumped into her seat slightly, staring at the cellist.

“Right. Of course you do. Stupid question.” Octavia shook her head, taking a deep breath. “In any case, Frederic was a year ahead of the rest of us, but he was the first pony that Harpo ever met at the Conservatory.” Octavia paused, waving her hooves slightly. “You see, there’s this orientation period where incoming students are paired with upperclassponies and they walk us around and get us acquainted with campus and… I’m rambling. Sorry.”

Throughout this, Vinyl had sunk deeper and deeper into her seat, her head almost touching the fabric at this point.

“Are… are you okay, Vinyl?” asked Octavia.

Vinyl’s head snapped back into place. “Just keep going.”

Octavia hesitated the slightest bit before nodding. “Well, yes, as I was saying. Frederic was really the first pony that Harpo knew in the Conservatory for… various reasons. I didn’t meet either of them until the second semester of the first year. I mean, thinking back on it, I’m sure that I must have seen them around campus on some occasion or another, but I certainly never spoke to either of them.

“That is, until the second semester. Every year, the Conservatory puts together and end-of-the-year concert for the seniors. It’s rather a big event, taking up a good week of time and months of time of preparation. Like a festival, in fact. Except that there hadn’t really been a proper performance from the first year class in quite a long time, whether because of lack of experience among prior students or some case of bad luck or some other cause.”

“Why do I care?” asked Vinyl. “What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

“It’s the beginning, Vinyl,” answered Octavia. “I’m starting at the beginning.”

Vinyl sighed, gesturing for Octavia to continue.

“Right. End Concert. Well, Harpo and I were asked by a professor to represent the first years of the Conservatory. Apparently, we had made a name for ourselves; I’m not entirely sure how. That’s really how Harpo and I met. I was not the easiest pony to work with, but we began to practice together in preparation for the concert and, while we certainly were not fast friends, we became friends after a fashion. Then, as I grew closer to Harpo, I also grew closer to Frederic and I first met Lyra, though I didn’t spend much time with her.” Octavia paused. Something had crossed Vinyl’s eyes, for the briefest of moments, something that seemed familiar but that the cellist couldn’t quite place.

Viny nodded, to show that she was still listening.

Octavia continued. “That brought my first year at the conservatory to a close. We were all friends, but… Well, there were a few complications.” She paused for a time, staring down at the floor. Vinyl stayed silent until Octavia spoke again. “I said before that Harpo and I had made a name for ourselves by the middle of our first year, but the End Concert fully cemented that fact. And in a competitive environment like the Conservatory, that kind of attention can draw a certain amount of ire as well.

“It was never too bad, I suppose; more of a cold war than anything, and I never felt the full brunt of it, but Harpo was being Harpo even back in those days. He never came to class, always put off his assignments, seemed to be drinking more often than not, yet he still pulled better marks than most other ponies in his class. Ponies grew jealous.” A pause. “Frederic grew jealous as well.”

“So that’s it?” asked Vinyl irritably. “The big thing is a school jealousy? Why the fuck is that supposed to be such a massive deal?”

Octavia shook her head. “I’m not finished yet. Frederic grew jealous, but he never really… well, he tried to change Harpo, tried to get him into better study habits, tried to get him to actually apply himself. At one point, Frederic actually hid Harpo’s supply of liquor, thinking that that would force Harpo into a more productive mindset. That went about as well as you’d expect. But we were all still friends.”

“Then what happened?!” asked Vinyl. She rubbed at her eyes. “It’s late, Tavi. I just wanna clear this up and head to bed, so that I can actually get to sleep once on this damn trip!”

“Vinyl, have you not been sleeping well?” Octavia straightened slightly. “You of all ponies have to make sure t—”

The DJ waved her hoof. “Just keep telling the story.”

Octavia scowled, meeting Vinyl’s eyes properly for perhaps the first time that night. Their bright red color had died down to a reddish purple, but even as Octavia watched, the faintest flecks of red began to creep back into them. The cellist looked away first.

“Quickly then,” said Octavia. “Yes, Harpo, Frederic, and I were friends, and rather good ones at that, for the first two years that I was in Conservatory. And then Harpo and I began seeing each other.”

“Wait, what?” asked Vinyl.

Octavia glanced away, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor and her hooves tugging steadily at her bowtie. “Towards the end of our second year, Harpo and I began to see each other.”

“As… as a couple?”

Octavia nodded.

“Huh.” Vinyl paused, scratching at the back of her head. “That’s, uh… weird.”

“It was never anything serious,” said Octavia quickly, “really nothing more than a friendship. I could never really have feelings for Harpo, no matter how I tried to convince myself back then.”

The room was silent for a time. Octavia watched Vinyl, trying to gauge her reaction, but whatever emotion the cellist could have read was covered by an impassive weariness.

It was Vinyl who broke the silence. “Then what?”

“Then Harpo and I… dated, I suppose, though it didn’t feel any different than before. And we saw Frederic less and less. He was still there, but he seemed to phase himself out of any conversations. By the end of the second year, we wouldn’t see him for days at a time.”

“He was jealous,” said Vinyl.

Octavia nodded. “Yes. He cared far more for Harpo than anypony else back then.”

Vinyl nodded slowly. Then the realization hit her. “When you say ‘care’, do you mean?” The question trailed off.

“Yes. Frederic, despite his jealousy of Harpo, was in love.”

“Oh.” Vinyl sat still for a few moments, blinking. “I, uh… huh.”

Octavia nodded. “Harpo didn’t know, nor did he return the sentiment. He saw Frederic as a friend and, perhaps, something of a big brother figure. Frederic was aware of this. It still hurt him, and it probably hurt even more once Harpo and I were together.”

Vinyl frowned sadly, but offered no other comment.

“In any case, my relationship with Harpo obviously did not last. And, really, this is where our current troubles come from.” Octavia paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I wasn’t comfortable with myself until the end of the second year of Conservatory. Once that year came to a close, I gathered my courage and told Harpo that I was a fillyfooler. It made things awkward, to say the least, but we stayed friends.

“And then Frederic heard about it. He was furious, convinced that I had effectively used Harpo as a cover-up for my sexuality. He thought that I was just protecting whatever image the Conservatory had of me and, one day, Frederic confronted me about the… issue.” Octavia reddened with every passing word. “Things got heated and we both began shouting. He had found me in a rather secluded area that all three of us often visited, so there was nopony else around. Until Harpo showed up. And then he joined in on the argument and… Frederic said some rather insulting things about both of us.”

The room went silent. Neither mare moved; Vinyl simply watching, as Octavia sat in her seat, her purple eyes fixed on the floor and the slightest shake to her form.

Octavia continued. “Harpo hit him first. He lost his temper, Vinyl. The first time that I had ever seen that happen and certainly the last time I’d ever care to see it. Before long, they were fighting, striking each other with everything that they could in any way that they could. I shouted for them to stop, but they didn’t. They kept going until they both fell one too many times and couldn’t keep fighting. Then they turned around and left. Today was the first time any of us had seen Frederic since then.”

Silence again.

After what felt like an eternity, Octavia glanced up towards Vinyl. The DJ was watching her steadily. Vinyl’s eyes had dulled even more, a purple that was very nearly grey.

“Is that the story?” asked Vinyl.

“Vinyl, are you alright?” Octavia began getting out of her seat.

“That’s everything, right?”

“Yes, bu—”

Vinyl swooned suddenly, slipping out of her seat and crashing to the floor. There was a sickening thud as her head slammed backwards.

“VINYL!”


***


“Great.” Harpo sighed, roughly tapping the bar top. “The first day that I actually need a drink in Fillydelphia and the bar is already closed.”

“It’s late,” said Lyra.

“In a few hours it’ll be early.” Harpo rested his head against the cool wood. “And the bar will still be closed. You don’t suppose that I could sneak a bottle off of the wall?”

Lyra scowled. “How could you think about drinking right now?”

“I can always think about drinking.” Harpo sighed into the bar. “Unfortunately, I can’t always engage in the drinking. It’s a shame, really.”

Lyra slammed a hoof onto the counter. “Holy shit, Harpo! Vinyl and Octavia are up in their room, talking about the past, your past, and this is how you act?! Vinyl’s fucking pissed right now! At you! She’s pissed at you!”

“She’s always pissed at me.”

“Not like this!”

“No… no, I suppose not.” Harpo thumped his head lightly against the counter. He could almost feel Lyra’s gaze boring into him. “Can we not do this?”

“What?” asked Lyra.

“This entire situation.” Harpo straightened slightly. “I know you, Lyra. I know how this plays out. I know that you, more than any other pony, wants to force a real, serious conversation out of me. You want us to have a heart to heart, just like Vinyl and Octavia are, but I don’t, Lyra. I would like nothing more than to sit here and allow for everything to blow over without once having a serious moment.”

“And this isn’t serious for you?” asked Lyra.

“No, I’d say it’s more a clever way of subverting a serious moment.”

“Harpo!” Lyra almost groaned the name. “What the hell’s the point of trying to avoid something when there’s no way to avoid it?! What are you afraid of?”

“Spiders.”

“Don’t try to make this into a joke!”

“Spiders aren’t a joke! They walk on eight legs, Lyra, it’s absolutely horrifying.”

Lyra shook her head. “Somedays, Harpo, I wonder whether you ever actually grew up.”

Harpo thought for a moment. “I wonder the same thing as well. I’ve decided that I’ve grown just enough to stop caring.”

“Fucking shit.” Lyra rubbed a hoof over her eyes. “There’s no way to get through to you, is there?”

“Nopony’s been able to yet.” Harpo glanced around the lobby.

“Frederic tried.”

“Yes, and look what good it did.” Harpo smiled suddenly, his eyes fixed on a pony dressed in a white dress shirt and a black vest. “Well, I do believe that our bartender was just on a break. Lucky me.”

Lyra scowled, staring angrily at Harpo. “You’re gonna have to break the funny colt act one day, Harpo.”

The composer grimaced. “I assure you, Lyra, I don’t think that I’m funny.”

The bartender slid into his place. Harpo smiled, unzipping a pocket in his collar and producing three gold bits.

“A Maker’s Mare, please,” said Harpo. “A double if you can.”

Lyra’s scowl deepened and she got to her hooves, walking to an empty seat and taking it. Harpo stayed at the bar, steadily working through his drink. They stayed like that for a while.

Octavia raced passed both of them, her hooves slipping against the floor of the lobby. Harpo and Lyra hardly had the time to register the white shape flung across her back before she was through the hotel’s entrance.

Fleur de Lis followed close behind, her magic flaring as she jerked Harpo and Lyra to their hooves. “Get up!” she shouted, her mane frazzled and out of place.

“Wha—”

“Don’t ask questions, just run with me!”

Harpo and Lyra ran alongside their employer, barreling past other hotel patrons and stopping just on the other side of the large glass entrance.

They watched as a white carriage with a red cross painted on its side sped down the street and turned the corner.
> The Wait
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fleur de Lis paced the length of the waiting room. Her steps were mechanical, exactly the same as she passed back and forth.

Click. Click. Click. Click. 

Then a pause, as she turned around and made her way back.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

It was the middle of the night, almost early enough to be called morning. Under normal circumstances, the hospital’s warm, heavy atmosphere and the rhythmic sound of Fleur’s hooves against tile would have lulled Harpo to sleep. Lyra, never one for staying up late, was breathing steadily in the seat just next to the composer, but Harpo was wide awake.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Fleur hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the waiting room. Vinyl had been rushed inside, having remained unconscious through her ambulance ride. They, the hospital staff, had kept the other members of Syncopated Records from following until they’d run their preliminary tests.

Octavia had not taken kindly to this and had insisted, rather loudly, that she be allowed to see Vinyl. Fleur took her aside, to a corner of the empty waiting room where they exchanged a few words out of the earshot of either Harpo or Lyra. Once they were done, Octavia had taken a seat facing the doorway through which Vinyl had passed. Her eyes were glued to that doorway, a few stray tears finding their way down her cheeks from time to time.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Harpo should have been worried. Or, rather, should have been far more worried than he was. He had not heard or seen whatever had made Vinyl take her trip to the hospital, but he was certainly worried about her, despite the fact that the hospital staff allowing Octavia to see Vinyl was surely a good sign. However, they had limited Vinyl’s visits to one pony at a time, and Octavia had yet to return. Harpo and Fleur would have to wait a bit longer for any more news.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Harpo looked up at the change. Fleur had walked past her usual turning point, making a beeline out of the waiting room. Harpo was left alone for a few minutes, Lyra snoring softly next to him, before Fleur returned, now floating a notepad and quill before her. Evidently, it was one of the new quill models, the type with the ink inside of it, as there was no inkpot in sight.

“I’m going to send a letter to Fancy Pants,” said Fleur, taking a seat for the first time since entering the hospital. “He needs to know what’s happened.”

Harpo nodded.

“And another one to Coda,” continued Fleur, “explaining why neither Octavia nor Vinyl will be at practice.”

“Will I be there?”

Fleur looked up from the notepad, inspecting Harpo. “Is there a reason that you shouldn’t be?”

Harpo took a moment to think. He shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then I’ll tell him that you’ll be there.” Fleur floated the notepad before her, placing quill to paper. It stayed there, pressing lightly onto the first line. “Is there anything that I need to include?”

“It would be best to ask Octavia that question.”

“Why were you and Lyra down in the lobby? I’d assumed that you four would be practicing.”

“We were talking.”

“About what?”

A pause. “Are you asking that as my boss?”

“If I have to.”

Harpo sighed, straightening slightly in his seat. “Then I’ll keep it short.”


***


Vinyl was asleep. The fall had been a nasty one, and the nurses and doctor had not been happy to learn that Octavia had moved their patient. It was never wise, they had said, to move anyone who had sustained a head injury. But the chastisement had lasted for only a few short moments. Then they had left Octavia in her current position.

The cellist had hardly moved since then, firmly seated next to Vinyl’s bed. The heart rate monitor beeped rhymically, serving as the only sound in the room save for the occasional nurse shuffling through on some business or other. Octavia herself never made a sound. She only watched Vinyl.

It occurred to Octavia that she had never really seen Vinyl sleep, despite the numerous times that something had led them to share a bed. Vinyl was always behind her, her face buried in Octavia’s mane, or else they would awaken at about the same time, leaving Octavia with only enough time to realize that Vinyl had been sleeping next to her before the DJ woke up. Even then, Octavia’s memories of Vinyl’s sleeping face were hazy.

But now, there was no telling how long Octavia had sat there, her eyes alternating between watching Vinyl and watching the floor. She could have drawn the sleeping form, the slight parting of Vinyl’s lips, the mane, normally perfectly spiked, that now drooped and covered part of Vinyl’s forehead. Perhaps the most striking difference, however, was the lack of purple lenses covering Vinyl’s face. Without them or the color of Vinyl’s equally striking eyes, the DJ’s face was a perfect white mask, devoid of the usual fire that infused Vinyl’s movement. She seemed calm, laying there. Small, serene, and completely incapable of annoying anyone.

In short, everything that Vinyl isn’t.

Octavia started, eyes previously heavy with sleep suddenly opening wide.

“This hasn’t happened in a while,” she muttered to herself.

There’s always time for a comeback.

I have my friends now. There’s hardly a reason to talk to myself any more.

There are times where there’s nopony else to talk to.

Octavia frowned at that. A nurse passed through the room, quickly checking the monitors and making a few notes. She was gone just as quickly as she entered.

There’s no use in arguing with myself.

There never has been.

Octavia let out a sigh. “I’m going mad,” she said quietly. “Everything’s finally caught up with me, hasn’t it?”

This was a common thing a few months ago.

“Yes, well, it’s been a few months since then, hasn’t it?”

Enough time to break this habit?

Enough for a lot of things to happen. Octavia’s gaze shifted to Vinyl. The DJ scowled in her sleep, the sudden tension making her muzzle scrunch slightly.

It feels like far longer than it’s actually been.

She literally worried herself sick over me.

Not just me. Work, music, practice, travel, new places, new ponies. Hardly just me.

But mainly me.

A pause. Octavia watched as Vinyl let out a breath, her face relaxing back into its peaceful state.

I should have told her as soon as I could.

I did tell her.

Octavia leaned forward, putting her head in a hoof. “I was an idiot. This entire situation could have been averted if I hadn’t been so stupid.”

Don’t go down this road. You know that nothing good can come from—

But Octavia clamped down on that thought. Yes, she knew full well what it meant to blame herself. She knew, in the farthest corners of her mind, how idiotic it was to attempt to accept the blame for something that was caused by a hundred different things. 

But at that moment, none of those thoughts mattered to Octavia Philharmonica.


***


“Good morning, maestro!”

“And to you, Madame Note.”

“Good morning, maestro. You’re looking well.”

“And you’re looking nervous, Master Tremolo. I trust that you had the time to practice as I asked you?”

Tremolo, a rather small, dark brown pegasus, scratched the back of his mane. “Not exactly.”

Coda sighed, throwing a sharp look at the musician. “You have twenty minutes before rehearsal begins, Master Tremolo; I suggest you make the most of it.”

“Yes, maestro. Thank you, maestro!” Tremolo gave a few tentative bows, then walked hurriedly away.
Coda leaned back in his seat, watching as the pegasus climbed onto the stage and took his place. The other members of the Fillydelphia Orchestra steadily filed into the concert hall, each one of them greeting their maestro as they passed. Every orchestra member had filed into place a full ten minutes before rehearsal was set to begin. The sound of random notes filled the air as each musician began tuning their instruments to one another.

The only problem, Coda noted with a certain degree of annoyance, were the missing guests. He had told them to arrive early, yet they were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t the best impression they could make.

“Maestro Coda?” came a voice from behind the conductor. Coda turned.

“Ah, Madame Heartstrings, was it?”

Lyra nodded, reaching into her saddlebags.

Coda glanced past the mare, then around the concert hall. “And where are the rest of you? There’s hardly enough time to tune your instruments properly.”

“That’s why I’m here, sir.” Lyra held out a neatly folded sheet of paper. “It’s from Fleur.”

Coda quickly took the note, unfolding it and scanning through the slanted letters. It was a rather short letter, holding only the bare minimum of what Coda needed to know. He frowned slightly and gave it back to Lyra.

“Tell her that I wish for Madame Scratch’s swift recovery and that I will be preparing the orchestra for their return, the sooner that is, the better. Will you be traveling back to the hospital now?”

Lyra nodded.

Coda got to his hooves with a slight sigh. “Very well, then. Send Fleur my regards. I’ll tell the orchestra why none of our guests will be in attendance.”

“Thank you, maestro Coda.”

Coda nodded in response, then turned, climbing the stairs and calling the orchestra to attention. Lyra left the concert hall as Coda told his musicians what had transpired.


***


The sun had risen high into the sky and begun to set. Vinyl had been asleep for close to 12 hours, the hospital staff keeping a close watch on her all the while. By all measures, Vinyl had not received any serious injury from her fall, but there was never any harm in being cautious.

Octavia had left Vinyl’s room once in those twelve hours, and only that because the nurses had forced her to. As the hospital staff grew more confident in Vinyl’s condition, they had allowed more guests into the room. Fleur and Lyra had both done their fair share of visits. Harpo too had entered the room a few times, but his visits were far shorter, often limited to leaving a cup of water or a sandwich for Octavia. Then he would leave, pacing the waiting room or sitting in an uncomfortable seat. Whatever the case, his eyes hardly ever left a clock placed high along the wall farthest from the lobby’s entrance.

“Fatigue,” said Fleur de Lis. From Harpo’s point of view, she had simply materialized beside him. In actuality, she had been sitting there since Harpo had returned from Vinyl’s room.

“Pardon?” asked Harpo, furrowing his brow slightly.

“Vinyl had been working far too hard for her own good. At least, that’s what the doctors say.”

“Ah.” Harpo glanced at the clock again.

Fleur gave a faint frown. “Waiting for something?”

Harpo nodded. “I’ll be leaving in an hour and a half.”

“I see. Any particular reason?”

“I have to speak to somepony.”

“I’d thought that you’d want to be here when Vinyl wakes.”

Harpo waved a flippant hoof. “Octavia is there. That should be enough.”

Fleur regarded him for a moment. “You don’t actually believe that.”

Harpo gave her a questioning look.

“You’re tired,” continued Fleur, “and distraught. It’s entirely understandable; but the best thing that you can do is be there for Vinyl. You have to be there, Harpo. We’re all going to have to sit down and discuss everything if there’s any chance of remedying this situation.”

“And I’ll be there when that happens,” insisted Harpo. “But there’s something else I can do before then!” Harpo sighed, leaning back in his seat and rubbing at his eyes. “Why do ponies have to be so complicated, Fleur? Is it so difficult to let things pass?”

“Vinyl will be perfectly willing to—”

“I’m not talking about Vinyl,” cut in Harpo. A pause. Then Harpo sighed again. “Look at me, I’m a mess. I should never have gone to see Octavia last night; it would have been far better for everyone if I’d just gone to sleep.”

“Harpo,” began Fleur in a comforting tone. “If you’ve somehow convinced yourself that what happened is your fault, you must get out of that mindset.”

Harpo shook his head. “Of course it’s not my fault. I’m not kind enough, or stupid enough for that matter, to lay all of the blame on myself.” Harpo ran a hoof through his mane, playing with a out of place strand. “I am, however, more than willing to fix what I can.”

“And going to see this pony will fix something?”

Harpo shrugged. The bags under his eyes, well hidden by his purple coat, seemed to darken slightly. "I have absolutely no idea."
> The Conversations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Frederic Horseshoepin was not a heavy drinker. This in and of itself was not an entirely auspicious achievement in and of itself; there were ponies all across Equestria who preferred not to partake in any alcohol.

Very few of these ponies, however, had met Harpo Parish Nadermane. Even fewer could count Harpo as one of their friends. Harpo himself often preferred the company of a bottle of whiskey to any teetotaler, claiming that he had never heard a drip of dull conversation come from even the driest wine. 

For all intents and purposes, Harpo Parish Nadermane ran on alcohol and, by extension, the vast collection of drunken stories that he had accumulated over his years of intoxication, many of which Frederic Horseshoepin had played a leading role in.

Given all this, it is rather incredible that Frederic had never allowed himself more than a light buzz before switching to water or, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, a soft drink. Given the choice, Frederic Horseshoepin would avoid bars and taverns altogether, politely excusing himself nearly every time one of his coworkers invited him out.

After practice, Frederic quietly walked out to The Alley, a rather inconspicuous hole-in-the-wall of a tavern.

The Alley was a tiny place, a single counter manned by a single bartender standing a few meters away from a small cluster of tables. The tavern could hold perhaps 20 ponies at once, but there were only three ponies at that time: Frederic, the bartender, and a colt in the corner who was currently reading through a newspaper.

Frederic Horseshoepin approached the bar, rather grateful for the privacy, and ordered a drink whose name he only vaguely remembered. Despite this, the bartender was able to quickly mix something resembling what Frederic remembered, and the pianist retreated to a more isolated table.

He took a sip of his drink, pulling a face as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. It left an unpleasant aftertaste, somewhere between metal and burnt lemon. Frederic pushed the glass a bit further away, the burnt lemon still very much on his tongue, and reached into his saddlebags, coming away with a small stack of sheet music. He sighed, brushing a few pieces of lint from the slightly crumpled pages.

This, thought Frederic as he flipped through the music, is far more trouble than it’s worth.

There was a particularly tricky part within the duet, a sudden flurry of notes coupled with a key change that always disoriented Frederic. Not to mention the fact that he had yet to practice with the duet’s other half.

Who was currently in hospital.

Frederic frowned, steeling himself before taking another quaff of his nameless drink. It burned worse than before, bringing tears to Frederic’s eyes before settling in his stomach like a stone. He turned back towards his music.

By all regards, Frederic should have had enough time to practice the piece, even given Vinyl’s… current situation. Coda, however, did not believe in playing “music that could not be played properly.” This was a duet and, by definition, was not meant to be played by a single pony. So Frederic was not allowed to play it. The most he could do, it seemed, was sit at a table, his eyes scanning the notes and his hooves tapping the wood, and imagine that he was playing, taking the occasional sip whenever his mind began to wander.

The tactic worked rather well, the burning negative reinforcement keeping Frederic on task. Before long, however, he had finished his drink, leaving Frederic with no choice but to order another. This glass mysteriously drained itself a fair bit quicker than the first and, once again, Frederic was forced to drag himself to the bar and ask for another. 

The ground was a bit shaky on the way back to his seat, but Frederic managed to get back with only a few stumbles. The music notes, however, were now waving back and forth and causing a rather unpleasant sensation in Frederic’s stomach.

“I’d forgotten what a lightweight you are.”

Frederic jumped at the voice, his hoof brushing dangerously against his glass, nearly knocking it over.

Harpo reached across the table, steadying the glass before holding it up to the light. He took a sip, shuddering slightly at the taste. “Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. Not very well mixed, but better than what Vinyl can make.”

“Harpo,” began Frederic, “what are—why are you here?”

“I came to see you.”

Frederic stared at the other colt.

Harpo didn’t quite meet the stare, opting instead to twirl the drink in his hoof. “Soooo, yeah. Here I am.”

Frederic stayed silent.

“In The Alley.”

No response.

“Trying to talk to you.” A pause. “Though it’s, uh, not very easy.”

Frederic frowned. “That’s my drink.”

Harpo looked at the glass in his hoof. “You’ve already drank two of them.”

“And I’d like to have another.”

Harpo frowned slightly, looking between the drink and Frederic. Ultimately, however, Harpo placed the glass back on the table, pushing it slightly towards the other colt.

Frederic took the glass, ignoring his disdain for the drink.

The two were silent for a time.

“Are you actually going to drink that, or just stare at it?” asked Harpo

“Stare.”

“Ah.”

Another bout of silence.

“You… weren’t at practice today,” said Frederic.

“Nope. Hospital.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

Harpo let out a sigh. “I’m terrible at this. This isn’t the type of role I’m supposed to play, it’s simply not in my character. I should at least be drinking something.” He got out of his seat. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

Frederic watched him go. Harpo got about halfway to the bar before turning around and retaking his seat.

“I didn’t bring my bitbag,” the composer admitted.

“Ah.” A pause. “Why are you here again?”

“Evidently, not to drink.” Harpo cast a longing glance towards the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

Frederic sighed, nudging the drink towards Harpo. “I’m not going to finish it. You’ve ‘killed my buzz’, as they say.”

“Hate when that happens.” Harpo reached over, bringing the glass over to his side of the table. He took a careful sip. “Mmmm, revolting.”

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Unfortunately,” admitted Harpo with a sigh. “Have you?”

Frederic looked down, suddenly very interested in the table.

“Mahogany?” asked Harpo.

“Pine, I think.”

Harpo smiled at that. “It all looks the same to me.”

“I tried to show you the difference. It never quite took, did it?”

“Not even a little.” Harpo drew his drink to his lips, but stopped it midway. “Frederic, I really do have to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“You know what I mean.”

Frederic sighed, looking up from the table. “I’m ready to put the past behind us, Harpo.”

“All of it?” asked Harpo, staring hard into Frederic’s eyes.

A pause. Frederic shook his head. “No. Most of it, but not everything.”

Harpo sighed, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s a start, I suppose.”


***


Vinyl sat in her hospital room. Sunlight and hoofsteps streamed in through the open window, combining with the steady beep from her heart rate monitor. 

The previous night was coming back in bits and pieces. Yelling at Harpo. Sending him and Lyra away. Listening to Octavia. Relief. A sickening sense of vertigo. She must have fallen. Whatever the case, it probably wasn’t a big deal; nothing really hurt.

Vinyl looked around the room. There wasn’t much to it. The heart rate monitor, a small table topped with a small plant, a curtain cutting the room into approximate halves. The quintessential hospital room.

“Vinyl? Are you awake now?”

The voice came without warning, melting from what Vinyl could have sworn was empty space. It was, however, now occupied by a cerulean mare.

High Scratch’s eyes flickered up towards Vinyl, scowling briefly before she turned her attention to some dirt on her hooves. “Honestly,” she chastised, still cleaning her hoof, “it’s just like you to keep me waiting.”

Vinyl seized up. “Mom.”

“I leave you alone for a few weeks and this is what happens to you.” Mrs. Scratch threw a disdainful glance around the hospital room. “I warned you that you’d end up hurt.”

“I—” Vinyl blinked, shaking her head slightly. “Hurt?”

“Of course, you stupid girl. You forgot your health, tried to do things that you were never capable of doing.”

Vinyl felt a throb of pain in the back of her head. She stretched a hoof towards the back of her mane. It came away bloody.

High Scratch tutted lightly, inspecting Vinyl’s hoof. “That’s what your new life has gotten you. A bang on the head and a mare that doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Vinyl winced. The pain was getting worse. “Tavi is… Tavi just—”

“Octavia,” said High Scratch slowly, “is far more comfortable with her past than her present. She’ll go to Harpo before asking you for anything. He’s more important to her.”

“Who let you in here?”

“You’re the opposite, Vinyl. You don’t want anything to do with your past, you want to forget everything about it. After everything your father and I tried to do for you.”

“Ya didn’t do shit for me!” Vinyl swatted a hoof through the air, but it felt sluggish, as if it were passing through water. The throbbing in her head continued incessantly, growing faster and more painful with each passing moment.

“We did everything for you.” High Scratch nearly growled the words. “We gave you tutors, instruments, we had ponies watch over your health, things that we could hardly even afford! And you ran away like an ungrateful bitch.”

“Get outta here!”

“I cared about you more than any other pony in your life!”

“GO AWAY!” The throbbing reached its apex, the pain forcing Vinyl to shut her eyes. Everything went black, but the pain remained, a constant pressure in the back of her head. Another noise joined the throbbing, a high-pitched beep that resonated with every throb of pain.

“Vinyl?” asked a soft voice. “Vinyl, are you awake?”

Vinyl gritted her teeth. She’s still here. “Go away,” she mumbled.

The voice grew slightly louder, a note of brightness in it now. “Vinyl, can you hear me?”

Vinyl felt a hoof brush against her leg. She recoiled from the touch, her eyes cracking open.

This hospital room was much the same, holding all the things that one could expect to find in a patient’s room. The mare by the bedside, however, was not blue.

“Tavi,” said Vinyl quietly.

Octavia flung herself forward, wrapping Vinyl in a tight embrace. “Vinyl!” said Octavia shakily. “I-I was so scared. I thought—” Her voice broke off.

Vinyl stiffened slightly at the touch. It was a few moment before she was able to move, placing an awkward hoof on Octavia’s mane. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m up now.”

Octavia didn’t respond. She simply held Vinyl, a few shaking sobs breaking the silence that fell between them. Vinyl ran a hoof through Octavia’s mane. They stayed that way for a few minutes. Eventually, however, Octavia forced herself to let go and Vinyl was able to get a good look at her marefriend.

The cellist’s mane was in tangles, her bowtie askew. Her eyes, tinged red with tears, had the beginnings of bags. Octavia wiped away her tears, the motion somehow childlike in its sincerity.

Vinyl let out a laugh, a single solitary giggle that grew in intensity as time passed.

“Vinyl?” asked Octavia hesitantly.

“Have you looked in the mirror yet, Tavi? You’re a mess!” Vinyl kept laughing, growing short of breath, the muscles in her stomach cramping slightly from her mirth.

Octavia had grown slightly pink. “Well, excuse me for caring.”

Vinyl winced, the throbbing pain in the back of her head returning. “Ow. Shit.”

The cellist was by her side in a flash. “Are you okay? Is it your head? Should I get the doctor? You should lay down.” Octavia pushed gently at Vinyl, forcing the DJ to lie on the bed.

Vinyl saw her chance and took it, planting a quick kiss on Octavia’s lips. “Thanks, Tavi.”

The pink in Octavia’s cheeks burned brighter for a moment. She glanced around the hospital room and, finding that they were alone, leaned down and kissed Vinyl, this one lingering for a few moments longer.

“Never scare me like that again,” said Octavia once they’d broken away.

“No promises, especially if you’ll kiss me every time I wake up.” Vinyl batted her eyelashes, though it must have looked more like she had something in her eye. “Makes me feel like a princess.”

Octavia shook her head. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not an ass, I’m a pony.”

The cellist smiled lightly, climbing to her hooves. “I’m going to find Harpo and Fleur; they’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Vinyl nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

Octavia made for the doorway.

“Oh, and Tavi?” asked Vinyl. “Can you find me a toothbrush? I’ve been asleep for a while. Seriously, I have no idea how you put up with those kisses.”
> The Pianist and the DJ
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fancy Pants sat in his seat, his eyes firmly shut, and a pack of ice resting on his head. His office was a mess, paperwork strewn about, interspersed with empty cans of coffee and cookie wrappers. He heaved a sigh. He'd forgotten how hard it was to keep a business up and running without Fleur de Lis by his side. The Doctor was there to help, yes, but it wasn't the same. Fleur was calming; she could dance among the media, and ponies in general, with the utmost grace. Ponies liked her, liked her as very few ponies could like Fancy Pants. Sending her with the musicians was the right decision, Fleur could connect with the Equestrians more thoroughly than anypony currently working for Syncopated Records. But she wasn't by Fancy Pants' side. She wasn't even near Canterlot.

And Fancy Pants felt her absence keenly.

"Cup of tea, boss?" came the Doctor's voice.

Fancy Pants nodded, forcing his eyes open. "Yes, please."

The Doctor smiled warmly, if a bit sadly, and set a tea saucer on Fancy Pants' desk, just within the elder pony's reach. Then the Doctor set about the room, trying to make a dent in the mess.

Fancy Pants shifted slightly, readjusting the ice pack and floating his teacup up to his mouth. The Doctor didn't have Fleur's calming aura, or her interpersonal skills, but he knew how to brew a decent cup of tea. And he was a hard-worker.

"Doctor, you do realize that it's well past five o' clock? You're free to head home."

The Doctor looked up from his work. "There's still a few things left to do."

"A few signatures, yes. Bit of paperwork. Nothing I can't handle on my own."

"Forgive me for saying this, Fancy Pants, but you're not exactly in your best condition. I'd rather hang around."

Fancy Pants scowled from under his ice pack. "And make sure I don't fall down dead?"

"Well... not in so many words."

"I assure you, Doctor, I am more than capable of signing documents. There is no need to inconvenience yourself on my behalf."

The Doctor frowned slightly, tossing a few cookie wrappers into the trash can. The cans were placed in recycling. "Is there any reason why you can't finish it in the morning?"

"It would go against the schedule." Fancy Pants took off the ice pack, placing it on his desk and drawing out a fresh quill and ink pot.

The Doctor's frown deepened. "You need to sleep at some point."

"Once I'm finished."

"You need to sleep more than two hours a night!"

Fancy Pants' scowl darkened. He glared at the Doctor. "Once I'm finished. Now, kindly leave my office and go home before I say something we'll both regret."

The Doctor met his glare with worried eyes. They stayed that way for a time, silently testing the others' will. Fancy Pants turned away first, fixing his eyes on the documents before him and dipping a quill into his inkwell. The scratching of quill against parchment followed the Doctor out of Fancy Pants' office.


***


Coda lowered his baton, nodding silently to himself. "Yes, it's almost halfway decent. Violins, you're still rushing into your part. Keep your eyes on my baton, not on Master Horseshoepin and Mademoiselle Scratch; their solo ends abruptly. Bassoons, remember that we flattened that A in measure 287."

"Yes, maestro," the orchestra chorused.

"Yes, yes. Now off with you. And make sure you take care of yourselves! I will not have you coughing onstage unless the music calls for it!"

"Yes, maestro," the orchestra said again, leaving their seats and working off the weariness that came with three hour rehearsals. Light conversation filled the concert hall as the orchestra members packed up their instruments and carried their seats offstage. Vinyl Scratch sat just outside of the sudden flurry of activity, her eyes scanning over her sheet music while her hooves played over the piano's keys. She could hear the music in her head, even above the din of the packing orchestra, but her hooves couldn't keep up. 

Vinyl sighed, allowing her aching hooves a brief respite. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. "Hey, Frederic," she began, turning to the other half of the duet. But Frederic Horseshoepin was nowhere in sight, having snuck away just after Coda dismissed his orchestra.

"Vinyl?" asked Octavia, materializing just beside the piano bench. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Tavi," Vinyl replied with a slight pout. "How'd practice go for you?"

"Decently. No problems. You haven't had a headache or anything of the sort, have you?"

Vinyl rolled her eyes behind her purple lenses. "Tavi, I'm fine. The doctors said I was fine."

"They also said to report back if your head hurt in any way. And don't roll your eyes at me!"

"How did you...?"

"Honestly Vinyl, your entire head turns whenever you roll your eyes. You're not exactly a subtle pony."

"Are we making fun of Vinyl's habits?" asked Harpo, trotting into their conversation. "Have you ever noticed that her best comeback is 'Shut up, Harpo'?"

"Shut up, Harpo," said Vinyl.

"Case and point! It's like bantering with a record player."

"I'm just afraid of hurting you, Harpo."

"Sticks and stones, Vinyl Scratch."

Coda's voice carried over from his conductor's stand. "Mademoiselle Scratch, if you can spare a moment?"

"Yes, maestro!" Vinyl smiled apologetically at Octavia and Harpo. "Don't leave without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," answered Octavia.

Vinyl trotted off, stopping in front of the conductor's stand. Coda had been shrunken by age, but he stood far above Vinyl on his stand.

"Forgive me for dragging you away from your friends."

"Hey, no worries. What's up, maestro?"

"I have some concerns regarding your performance, Mademoiselle Scratch. I fear that Master Horseshoepin is covering for you and doing it well enough to make me question whether it's actually happening."

Vinyl's eyes widened in surprise. "I-I'm not sure. I've been trying to get my half of the music down, I wasn't paying attention to Frederic."

"Weren't paying attention?" asked Coda, arching an eyebrow. "To your partner?"

"Well, I've been having trouble with a few measures."

"Then you should be asking Master Horseshoepin for help!"

I tried! He avoids me! "Yes, maestro. I will."

Coda was silent for a moment. Then, "We're coming down to the wire here, Mademoiselle Scratch. You had to take a few days off to coalesce, and I understand that, but you must make up for those days on your own time. Ask Master Horseshoepin for help. I know you don't know him very well, but he's a kind pony; I've never heard him turn down the opportunity to help somepony else."

"Yes, maestro. I'll ask first chance I can."

"Thank you," said Coda, smiling warmly. "I will see you tomorrow, Mademoiselle Scratch."

Vinyl nodded, walking back to her friends with slightly subdued steps.

"Is everything alright, Vinyl?" Octavia asked.

"You look like Coda just fired you," Harpo added helpfully.

"Nah, I'm good. Just need to practice a bit more."

"There's a piano in the hotel. We can ask Particular if we can use it," suggested Octavia, leading the way out of the concert hall.

"I'm actually rather surprised you're having trouble with the duet," said Harpo. "I mean, yes it's technically challenging, but that's if you've only got your hooves playing. Didn't think it'd be that difficult even with magic."

"I'm not using magic."

"Oh. May I ask why you aren't using the thing that can fix all of your problems?"

"Frederic plays it without magic."

"Yes, but Frederic Horseshoepin is a monster. He might as well be a griffon. Or a kraken!" Harpo put a thoughtful hoof to his chin. "Yes, kraken would suit him quite nicely."

"I have to agree with Harpo," said Octavia. "Well, the sentiment if not the exact wording. Frederic, for all his faults, is a very talented pianist."

Vinyl scowled. "I'm pretty good too!"

"Yes, but you're not a kraken."

Vinyl rolled her eyes, turning her entire head in the process and catching a glimpse of a tan shape retreating through a doorway. She frowned slightly. He really was avoiding her. Well, no problem; she could confront him tomorrow. Vinyl took a few steps forward, towards the exit of the concert hall and the safety of the hotel.

Then she stopped. And she thought.

"Guys, I have to go talk to somepony. Head to the hotel without me."


***


Frederic Horseshoepin cursed his small bladder. He had a clear shot home; Vinyl Scratch was distracted by her music, Harpo and Octavia were putting away their chairs, nopony asked him to join them for a drink, it was perfect! And then he had to go and literally piss his chance away. All three of them were just in front of the exit and though Frederic had duck around the corner at soon as he saw them, he had never been the fastest pony. Leaving was the best option. Yes, he could return to the stage, pretend that he'd forgotten his music! Clever Frederic! Smart Frederic!

"Hey Frederic, I wanted to talk to you," said Vinyl, rounding the corner.

Frederic nearly jumped out of his skin. "Vinyl Scratch! I-I had no idea you were here."

"I'm pretty sure you dove out of this doorway a few seconds ago."

"You must have been imagining things. I'm a terrible diver, never was any good at swimming, I think I'll go practice!" Frederic tried to step towards the exit, but found his way thoroughly blocked by Vinyl.

"Frederic, how many syllables does your name have?"

"... Pardon?"

"Five total, right? I'm rejecting your name. You're now Freddy."

"That's... That's hardly shorter than Frederic."

"So it's not as efficient as Tavi. Don't worry about the details. I need to talk to you, Freddy."

Frederic cast a longing glance towards the exit, then sighed. "This has been happening far too often."

"Deal with it, Freddy."

"Please don't call me Freddy."

"Continue dealing with it, Freddy. I'm having some problems with the duet and I need you to help me out."

"Use your magic. Problem solved. Can I leave now?"

"You don't use magic, so I won't."

"You do realize that I can't use magic at all?"

"Can't?" asked Vinyl, "Or won't?"

Frederic knit his brow. "Can't."

"Well, then I can't use magic either." Vinyl nodded affirmatively.

Frederic stared at her incredulously. "You're absolutely infuriating, aren't you?"

"Tavi actually chilled me out a bit. I'm in a kind of in-between place right now. Haven't had coffee in a while." Vinyl shook her head. "So are you gonna help me or what?"

"I'm going to have to go with 'or what'."

"I'll tell Coda that you refused to help your duet partner."

"Be here half an hour early tomorrow. We'll go over what we can."

Vinyl smiled warmly, stepping aside. "Awesome. See you tomorrow, Freddy."

Frederic forced himself to return the smile. "Until tomorrow, Vinyl Scratch." He made towards the exit.

"Wait, Freddy, one more thing!"

Frederic visibly cringed, painting a smile onto his face before turning around. "Yes, Vinyl Scratch?"

"Harpo told me and Tavi about your talk at the bar."

"Did he?"

Vinyl nodded. "He said that you probably still have a grudge against Tavi."

Frederic frowned.

"Do you?"

A few moments passed in silence, both ponies watching the other. Frederic spoke first.

"Octavia Philharmonica," he said, "is a monster."

Vinyl didn't respond.

Frederic Horseshoepin continued. "She plays pieces meant for unicorns with hardly any effort. She keeps perfect time. She knows most everything and anything she doesn't know she can learn with a few hours of study. Do you think that Octavia Philharmonica has ever had to ask for help the way you just did?"

"You're jealous of her."

"Jealous?" Frederic asked, seemingly amused at the thought. "If anything, I pity her. A monster can't change. Someone as perfect as Octavia has nowhere to go, nothing to grow into. I knew Octavia for three years and she never did anything that shocked me. She'd be angry or sad or happy, but always in that perfect way. Octavia Philharmonica has always been Octavia Philharmonica."

Vinyl felt the heat of anger growing in her stomach. She strove to keep it down. "She's Tavi now."

"And how long have you known Tavi? What makes you think that you know her better than I do? Than Harpo does?"

"I love her," Vinyl said truthfully.

"So did Harpo." And that was also true.

The silence returned. Frederic regarded Vinyl with a cold stare that she couldn't meet, even through her purple shades.

Frederic sighed. "Maybe I said too much. I'm not here to change your opinion of Octavia. Tomorrow, half an hour before rehearsal." He made towards the exit.

"You know," Vinyl said, trying to keep herself from shouting, "they talk about you the same way."

Frederic Horseshoepin straightened slightly, glaring back at Vinyl. "Goodbye, Vinyl Scratch."

"Goodbye, Frederic."