Let The Music Play
How could any pony stay sane if she was surrounded by constant explosions of light and sound?
Beams of light swept through the air. Too numerous to count all at once, and changing hues as regularly as ponies breathe, they danced to an inaudible beat. However, with enough study, some patterns emerged. This one will cut left as that one goes right...now it will trace a wide arc along the wall...and split as the strands of light that converged into one spread out on their own again. How could you find them again? How could you learn where they gathered at first? How could you know how many other beams would follow a path and split again? It was impossible.
Nor was it possible to focus on those thoughts overlong. The thunderous shock of sound flowing through one's body would ensure that. The vibrations were dominating. At times, she felt that her very heart was under the sway of the bass. When the music died, would her blood remember how to dance without it? She never knew the answer until the music stopped.
How could she stay sane amid this chaos?
She controlled it.
Vinyl Scratch, under her stage name DJ P0N-3, was mistress of the tempest. The lights, dancing and swaying and captivating, were her strings. The sound, booming and unrelenting, carried her commands. The ponies on the dance floor, drunk with substance or atmosphere, were her puppets.
Noise was what other ponies called it, if they were being generous. Racket was also popular. Nothing but a barbaric din for the unwashed masses, as one of her stodgy old music professors back in Canterlot would say. Vinyl sometimes wondered how many ponies thought she went to college when they saw her. She never figured it was too many.
Music was the color of her world, and Vinyl Scratch found a way to explore it. This whole stage was her design. She was the one who rigged the lights. She bought and set up the speakers. She worked the turntables. The club was her canvas, and she was going to paint a masterpiece.
And she would do it for some pony she never met before. In all likelihood, she would never meet her. Vinyl spotted the mare five minutes ago, hovering on the fringe of the sweaty mess of ponies. It was easy to tell the mare came alone. She fidgeted on the edge of the dance floor, never talking to or looking for any pony else. The mare finally lifted a hoof and stepped out.
She was a pretty thing. Vinyl guessed she was few years older than the mare. Her burnt orange coat only showed on her back, shoulders, and face. Black tights wrapped around her hind legs and quarters, giving them quite a shapely appearance. A flirtatiously short blue skirt provided the barest level of modesty. Two detached sleeves, also blue, covered her forelegs down to the hooves.
To Vinyl's eye, she was looking for company. Her short mane was tied back in a braid, while her golden tail was left long and flowing. The mare danced in place, taking an occasional step side-to-side. Her hips swayed back and forth, yet she never turned her back from the wall. She was keeping both eyes out for the stallions–or mares, Vinyl wasn't going to judge–but she wasn't doing a very good job pulling them in.
Vinyl Scratch could help with that.
The mare became part of her canvas. She was a detail, not an imperfection, that Vinyl adjusted to. The first thing to do was learn about her. The beats slowed at her command, and all her attention turned on this new task.
Vinyl prepared every color in her world. She played with the mare like a filly would with a doll. She experimented with sound itself, imagining herself brushing the mare's hair. Vinyl wondered how she would look with each subtle change, and her subject reacted beautifully. A step to left. A dip of the shoulders. A shake of the hips.
The movements were noted, and the rhythm increased.
Vinyl did not repeat her last pattern. Some colors simply didn't go together. Some colors just weren't needed for certain canvases. Vinyl eliminated those choices from her mind, and tried again. A small smile split the mare's lips. Her motions became more open and fluid. Her steps flowed into each other.
The movements were noted, and the rhythm increased.
Vinyl had a clearer idea of what this canvas needed to look its best. The mare finally looked like she was having fun. The golden tail swayed in perfect time with the music. Her smile spread across her lovely face. Vinyl returned the smile, even though the mare would never see it.
The movements were noted, and the rhythm increased.
The mare closed her eyes in surrender to the music. Vinyl Scratch was in complete control of her now. What happened next was entirely on her head, whether she wanted it or not. It was time.
Three beams of light zipped towards the mare on the wall, just as Vinyl knew they would. The music built to a crescendo. Just as the beams were about to pass the mare, Vinyl dropped the bass. The light, the sound, and the mare became one. She set her hooves and spun in response to the music. Her mane and tail soared in the air. The light revealed her in all her glory.
The net was cast.
Vinyl refocused on the rest of her stage. The mare stayed by the wall, dancing and laughing in delight. She had no idea what Vinyl Scratch did to her. Vinyl Scratch didn't know what would happen next. That was the beauty of it. To Vinyl, the mare was one of many, but for a brief time, she was all Vinyl cared for. To the mare, her world would go on, but for a brief time, she listened to Vinyl Scratch. Whether or not she remembered was up to her.
A gray stallion caught Vinyl's eye. He trotted across the dance floor and made his way down the wall to the mare. Vinyl grinned as he lowered his head to her ear. The mare giggled and wrapped one of her forelegs around his. Could there be more to this story?
Vinyl Scratch watched the pair and let the music play.