> The Cab Ride and a Night Train
>  by Penguifyer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> A Disappointment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Octavia slid off of her chair and bowed to an applause. The audience was quieter than she expected.
She picked up her cello and walked offstage with her piano accompanist. Once out of view from the audience, her accompanist walked up to her. “So, how do you think it went?”
“The performance was splendid,” Octavia responded, setting her cello in its case.
The accompanist put a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. “You looked worried.”
Octavia brought a hoof to her mouth, realizing she was frowning. “Do I?”
“You do. Is something wrong?”
Octavia let out a deep breath. “My last concert had a louder applause. Considering I just premiered my new piece and invited a professor from the Canterlot Conservatory to listen to it, I’m a bit worried.”
“Hey, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Enjoy the night while you can.”
“Thanks,” Octavia smiled back, brushing the hoof off of her shoulder. “I need to hear that.”


— — —


The more Octavia thought about it, the more she realized all classical music, let alone music in general, sounded the same. Every song or piece had a melody, a harmony, and a logical form. Every voice stayed within a key, even if the key changed abruptly or subtly. Everyone used more or less the same instruments. That’s not to say there wasn’t a wealth of creative possibilities within this structure, but everything new was just a variation of the old. Where was the creativity? Where was the true innovation?
A single question enveloped her plight: why did music have to be this way? The only answer Octavia could come up with was that’s what ponies knew.
What if there was no harmony? What if there was no melody? What if music wasn’t confined to what ponies called “instruments?” Who said music could only be in one key at a time? It was this last question Octavia decided to experiment with. What if a piece of music was in two keys at the same time?
She composed a solo for cello accompanied by piano. However, the left hoof of the pianist played in C major as the right hoof played in D major while Octavia’s cello melody weaved between the two. She dubbed it “Bitonality.”
Right off of the bat, a new wealth of possibilities opened up. How would different keys interact with each other? What new aesthetics could she explore?
Just the thought of it excited her, just like when her cutie mark first appeared.


— — —


Octavia woke up the day after her performance and rubbed her eyes. A burst of adrenaline shot through her body; the reviews of her performance came out today.
She hopped out of bed, brushed her hair, tail, and teeth, chugged a quick cup of black tea, and dashed outside. Across the street, a mail pony flew by and dropped off a stack of the Ponyville Tribune to a small newsstand. The merchant pony in the stand shouted “today’s Ponyville Tribune is for sale!”
Octavia rushed to the growing line, jittering as it inched forward. One by one, each pony in line received a paper and moved on until it was Octavia’s turn.
Octavia stood her front legs on the counter. “How much?”
“Five bits.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“Fine, two. Thought you’d be desperate enough to pay anything.”
She popped two bits and rolled them onto the counter as the merchant nodded and tossed her a paper.
She hopped out of the line and dashed back into her house. Once inside, she ripped the paper open, looking for the reviews section. Seeing two reviews on the fifth page, she focussed on the one at the top of the page and read it aloud.
“Once again, Octavia Melody proved to Ponyville, and much of Equestria, that her performance skills are second to none. Her ability to remain cool and make sense of such a piece is unmatched from any other pony I’ve seen.” Her heart raced with excitement. “And make sense she had to. The music was constantly at odds with itself, producing strange dissonances and awkward harmonies. It was as if the piece couldn’t decide what key to be in and settled on both at the same time. Overall, it made for a rather unpleasant listening experience.”
Octavia’s heart sank, but she forced herself to read on.
“On a second glance, one would notice Octavia composed the piece herself. Due to her skill, it can be assumed this is her vision for the piece. Plenty of ponies have made great careers solely on their performance skills. Likewise, Octavia might want to consider dropping composition and focusing on doing what she does well.”
Her forelegs twitched as her bones yearned to rip the paper apart. There was one more review though. A glance at the author revealed it to be from the professor of the conservatory. She turned her head and reluctantly mumbled it out loud.
“Octavia Melody’s A Solo in Two Keys is more accurately a solo torn between two keys. Although her musicianship skills are no laughing matter, one struggles not to let out a chuckle wondering why she thought this was a good idea. Although the blocked chords are bearable, the conflicting melodies give little more than an impression of what could’ve been. However, striking dissonances will pull anypony out before Octavia’s sublime skills can mesmerize them. The only impression the piece does give is that of a Yak mob…”
Octavia tore her eyes from the page and threw the paper at the wall. The pages split apart in the air, gently drifting to the ground as she collapsed. This was supposed to be innovation. This was supposed to get her into the textbooks. Tears welled in her eyes.
News of this would spread. Her colleagues would hold this against her and her career would suffer for it. She’d be known as the crazy cellist whose ideas boggled everypony else. She didn’t know if she could recover from this.
A click from the doorknob and a creak from its hinges signaled to Octavia her roommate was home. She grabbed a page of the paper and covered her face with it.
“I’m back, Octa…” Vinyl froze, unsure what to say. Octavia told her about the premier, but neither of them expected this. “It didn’t go well, did it?”
“What does it look like?” Octavia sniffled, her voice muffled from the paper.
Vinyl trotted over to Octavia and levitated the newspaper off of her head. Sitting down, Vinyl held out her hoof and grabbed Octavia’s foreleg. “Come on, let’s get you up.” With a gentle tug, Vinyl helped Octavia up and guided her to the couch.
Once Octavia sat down, Vinyl covered her with a blanket and trotted over to the kitchen. A minute later, she came back with a mug of tea and a mug of coffee and levitated the tea to Octavia. Vinyl sipped her coffee as Octavia gave her tea a sniff. “Camomile this early?”
Vinyl sat down next to her. “I don’t think caffeine is gonna help you right now.”
“Fair enough.” Octavia sipped her tea.
“So, how bad was it?” 
Octavia stared into her mug.
“If you don’t talk about it now, it’s only going to weigh you down.”
Octavia exhaled before stuttering. “I-I feel worthless.”
“Octavia…”
“Like if I touch a manuscript again, I’ll vomit notes onto it.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“How do you know? You go on stage, spin your little record, and everypony enjoys it.
“Don’t go there.”
“I put weeks of effort into my piece, making sure every note is correct and intentional, making sure the score is clean, rehearsing until the performance. You just trot onto the stage and do your thing.”
“Back off.”
“For what? I have to put in effort. I have to spend hours getting details right. Your fans will eat up whatever you do.”
“Octavia!”
“I have to please academics. I have to please professors who will ruin my career if they want to.”
“OCTAVIA!” Vinyl shouted, jumped off of the couch, and paced around. Octavia curled up and stared at the ground. After a brief silence, Vinyl sighed. “Look, I know you’re not mad at me. Please don’t take it out on me. I know it sucks right now, but please don’t make me your enemy.”
Tears welled in Octavia’s eyes. “Vinyl… I’m so…”
As Octavia broke into a cry, Vinyl slid onto the couch and hugged her back. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.”
Octavia leaned in Vinyl, breaking out into a bawl. “I-I’m so sorry.”
“Shh…” Vinyl rubbed Octavia’s back. “You’ll get through this one step at a time.”
Octavia sniffled back and rubbed her eyes. “I know, I just feel like there’s no point anymore.”
“Come on, you still have your stellar performance career behind you. Maybe the composition thing will be a slow burn instead.”
“Maybe…” Octavia let out a deep breath. “I just want to get away from all of this, even if I have to leave Equestria altogether.”
Vinyl paused. “Actually…”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. That was not the response she expected.
Five pages of the newspaper levitated in the air from Vinyl’s aura. Vinyl checked them one by one before, tossing a few aside. “Here it is,” she exclaimed, levitating a page to Octavia.
Holding out her hooves as the page fell on top of them, Octavia read the title out loud. “All Inclusive Trips and Tours of Earth?”
Vinyl smiled. “I saw it while I was pacing. I bet it’s just a week-long thing and won’t fix your problem, not that it should, but it might be nice to get out of Equestria for once.”
Octavia stared at the paper. She knew that humans had a long history of classical music much like Equestria. She even heard in passing that their classical scene was far more experimental than Equestria’s, although she didn’t know what that meant. That didn’t matter though. She was desperate for ideas and this looked like the perfect opportunity.
“How do I sign up?”


— — —


Octavia had to fill out an application form along with a statement on her intentions for visiting Earth (she emphasized her composition). The article in the paper commented on the strict regulations on travel between Earth and Equestria. The more research she and Vinyl did, the more they realized how likely her application could get rejected.
Vinyl pitched in some extra bits to help her out, allowing her to barely afford the minimum stay of a week. Money would be tight afterward for a bit, but she needed the break.
The company presented her with two location options: New York or London. She asked Vinyl if she knew anything about either of the places.
“I met a pony who spent some time in London. When I asked him what the humans were like there. He said exactly like you but human.”
“Interesting,” Octavia nodded, mentally crossing out London.
“Seems like a place you’d like if you ask me.”
“I bet it is.” She didn’t want familiarity; she wanted to go somewhere new.
It took a week before the travel company got back to Octavia. When they finally got back to her, they only sent her a letter saying she passed prescreening and would be notified in a week or two if she was accepted. A week later, another letter came in the mail saying she was accepted into the program. But due to a change in the scheduling for her trip, the trip would be delayed by a couple of weeks. This pushed the trip out to a month away, making the waiting unbearable. She wondered if anything went wrong.
The month leading up to the trip felt agonizingly slow. Every morning Octavia glanced at her calendar, counting the days until the trip.
Octavia continued to perform around Ponyville twice a week. She even got invited to perform at Canterlot for the princesses and a dragon diplomat. But that trip carried a mix of emotions with it. Even though the princesses complimented her and invited her to join the afterparty, she only stayed for thirty minutes after catching sight of the critic who bashed her composition.
The days went by as the X’s on Octavia’s calendar approached the date of the trip. As the day inched closer, she wondered what human music would be like and whether this trip was a good idea. What if she regretted it when she got there? At least she’d only be there for a week.
Finally, she woke up, glanced at the big circle on her calendar, and nodded. It was the day. After some last-minute packing and a quick mug of black tea, she hugged Vinyl goodbye and headed for the train station. Despite her doubt and the looming uncertainty, excitement filled her when she stepped on the train. Freed from the opinions and history of Equestria, she could discover something truthfully new. Just the thought made her smile and her cutie mark glow.
> A City of Cabs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Humans, and plenty of them.
Octavia leaned against the wall just off of the platform inside Pennsylvania Station. A sea of humans filled the halls and crowded the space. She put a hoof against the wall and caught her breath. She’d never seen a human before, let alone thousands. She didn’t even know if she’d seen this many ponies in one place before, even in Canterlot.
“Octavia Melody?”
Octavia turned her head to see a tall, pale man in a suit. His hair greyed at the tips and his face carried a few wrinkles. “H-here.”
He nodded and walked up to her. “I tried to get here before the train arrived and meet you at the platform, but there was a lot of traffic on the way here.”
Octavia steadied herself and grabbed her bag. “It’s okay.”
He held out his hand for the bag, which Octavia slid over to him. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Octavia nodded.
After trekking through long corridors of humans and climbing several sets of stairs, they stepped through the glass doors of the station and onto the city street. Octavia breathed out a sigh of release, taking in the musty New York air.
“Better?”
“Much better,” Octavia assured.
“I almost forgot. “ The human held out his hand. “I’m Professor Netone. I’m currently doing a temporary stay at the Juilliard Conservatory nearby.”
Octavia stared at his hand, unsure of what to do. “Uh, I’m Octavia, but you already know that. I graduated from the Canterlot Conservatory in performance, although I’m looking into composition at the moment.”
“So you were serious about what you put in your application?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, most ponies that come to Earth are executives or politicians or even a few scientists. When the school got word that a composer wanted to come, the staff pushed hard to get your application approved, even offering to subsidize the trip.”
Octavia paused. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, you still already paid, but you’ll get more than the minimum treatment you paid for.”
“That’s really nice, but why?”
“In your application, you said you were looking for inspiration after a failed compositional experiment. I have my suspicions, but would like you to elaborate on what you meant.”
“Well, where do I start?” She sat and scratched her head. “I guess when I think back to my studies and the music I listen to, Equestrian music really hasn’t changed in over a couple hundred years. Everything has harmony, a melody, and a resolution. Everything is in a single key at a time. Everypony uses the same instruments more or less. Sure, we’ve elaborated on tonality a whole deal. But at the end of the day, it’s just varying shades of the same thing. Even my roommate’s music is fundamentally based on these same ideas, and she’s as far from classical music as she can be. I don’t hate tonality, but I’m ready for something new.”
Netone smiled. “I think I have just the thing for you.”


— — —


The two of them spent the rest of the day touring the city. Octavia got to see the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and the World Trade Center, although wasn’t able to go to the tops of any of them (Netone assured her that they were working on reserving time slots for that). Octavia didn’t mind; her purpose here was elsewhere.
Unfortunately, the last-minute schedule changes combined with the peak summer season and limited budget meant she had to take a train into Long Island to get to her hotel. Netone bought her a Walkman to help with the rides, including a cassette of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. When she listened to it during the train ride that night, she thought it was good but typical and quite antiquated.
They spent the next morning and afternoon touring more of the city. By the evening, Netone and his colleagues managed to secure two tickets to a New York Philharmonic piano recital that evening. Netone also mentioned that the program for the night included music from modern composers, some of it unlike anything she had heard. Octavia jumped at the news. She’d finally get to hear this experimental new music the humans made.
An hour passed and they arrived at the Lincoln Center and entered the Fisher Hall. They had to sit near the back and off to the side, but Octavia didn’t mind. She could hear and that was enough. It also minimized the number of heads that glanced at her.
She glanced down at her program and checked the first piece.

Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, “Pathétique” Op. 13 (1798)

Ludwig Van Beethoven (1770-1827)


The lights dimmed as a man stepped on stage and sat in front of a piano. His hands glided across the piano, making short work of the powerful block chords and fast runs The capabilities of human hands impressed Octavia.
The music itself sounded excellent but familiar, too familiar in fact. She could easily mistake it for a piece from one of her colleagues. She knew by the date that this was antiquated for humans but enjoyed it nonetheless, awaiting the next pieces.
She glanced at her program again as the Beethoven ended and the applause quieted down.

Les jeux d’eaux á la Villa d’Este (1883)

Franz Liszt (1811-1886)


Rapid yet smooth arpeggios echoed throughout the hall as the pianist’s hands danced along the keyboard. If the last piece was difficult, the musicianship here astounded her.
She loved the music more than the previous Beethoven, but it still felt too familiar. If she composed something similar, she knew her colleagues would praise her and the royalty would adore her. But she craved innovation; she craved discovery. She wanted to feel like she discovered her cutie mark again.
As the Liszt came to a close, she glanced at the program again.

Some South-Paw Pitching (1919)

Charles Ives (1874-1954)


Octavia noted the more recent date. Her knowledge of human music history was limited, but she inferred that this piece should be more “experimental.”
The pianist began with piercing octaves on each hand. A sharp dissonance stung with the first chord and Octavia felt something was off.
“Sound familiar?” Netone whispered to her.
The piece picked up. Octavia struggled to follow it. “What do you mean?”
“You mentioned something about bitonality in your application. Charles Ives is our textbook bitonal composer. I thought you’d find his music interesting.”
“Hmm,” she muttered back.
As the piece slowed down and ended on an unexpected resolution, Octavia’s nerves built up inside her. Was this her bitonality idea taken to its fullest? Is this what her music would’ve evolved into? She couldn’t hate it, but she couldn’t get behind it like the earlier pieces.
Dissonant chords rang out from the piano again as Octavia checked the program again.

Klavierstück Op. 33a and 33b (1929 and 1932)

Arnold Schöenberg (1874-1951)


The pitches conflicted with each other, making for a nearly indiscernible melody and harmony. Yet, she could tell by the grace and expertise of the pianist’s hands that every note was intended. His control of the dynamics and articulations matched any pianists Octavia knew back in Equestria. But the notes, they didn't make any sense.
She leaned over towards Netone and whispered, “I don’t get it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can tell the notes are intentional, but I don’t get it.”
“Really? I’ll explain it later.”
Octavia nodded as the piece came to a close, growing increasingly uncomfortable. Was this the path she was destined to take? Was this where her curiosity led her? She loved music for its expression and beauty, but she wanted to progress into new territory. Was this the only path to do so?


— — —


Octavia stood near the edge of the Lincoln center as Netone waved at the cars going by.
“Taxi!” he shouted as a yellow cab pulled over. He opened the backseat door and turned toward Octavia. “After you.”
Octavia trotted to him. “I guess.”
“You look worried.” He noted as she slipped inside the cab.
“Get in and I’ll explain.”
Netone shrugged and slid into the car.
As Octavia and Netone shifted around and buckled in, the cab driver turned around and smiled at them. She took note of his curly, disheveled hair. “Where are you two headin…” He stumbled on his last word, noticing Octavia.
“Penn station, she needs to catch a train.” He nodded toward Octavia.
Her brain went blank for a sec. “Uh… don’t worry. I don’t bite.”
The driver smirked. “Too bad you don’t get to see Grand Central. Penn is a bit of a letdown.”
“I’ve been there already. It’s no big deal.”
“That’s good.” He pulled the car into the street.
Octavia braced herself against the car door out of instinct. The jerky movements of the car still felt alien to her.
“So, what’s on your mind?” Netone prodded.
Octavia stared out of the window for a second, trying to put her thoughts together. “My mind… do you have the program?”
“Sure.” Netone pulled the program out of his pocket and handed it to Octavia. She unfolded it and skimmed through the pieces, collecting her thoughts. “Let’s start at the top. I liked the first one.”
“The Beethoven?” Netone corrected.
“That’s how you say it. Anyway, it was good but a bit…”
“Typical?”
Octavia nodded. “Yeah, too similar to what we have in Equestria. The next was also good too. What does the title say?”
“‘The Fountains of the Villa d’Este.’”
“Fountains? That makes much more sense.” She paused, getting her mind back on track. “Anyway, I liked that one a lot too. Now that I think about it, it does sound like water flying through the air. At the same time…”
“It’s still a bit too familiar?”
“Yeah, like an incremental improvement. I’m sure if I took that piece and played in Equestria, it’d be universally praised. At the same time…”
“You want something new?”
“Exactly. That being said, the next piece, the ‘Charles Ives’ was… well…”
“Brilliant?”
Octavia paused, searching for the right words. “Actually, I don’t know if I liked it.”
“Really? I thought you’d find that one quite interesting.”
“I did. But to be honest, it felt like the composer went a bit too far. When I made my bitonal piece, maybe I was a bit too safe, but I tried to make the two keys fit together. I didn’t think another composer would take things so far.”
“Hey, that’s what artists do. I personally think there’s some beauty in its chaos.”
“I guess. I see its value, but it's not music I’d listen to in my free time.”
“That’s fair.”
Octavia breathed in and let out a deep sigh. “Now, the elephant in the room.” She paused again and decided she had no other option but to be blunt. “What happened with that last piece?”
“I quite liked it. It’s actually quite logical.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“You see, first Schoenberg aligned all twelve chromatic notes together in a row. Then, he constructed a note matrix that gave him all of the possible transformations including the various forms of inversions, retrogrades, and transpositions.”
Octavia stared at Netone. “What?” The cab driver chuckled.
“Using that matrix to guide his composition, all he had to do was supply additional rhythms, dynamics, and assign the notes to octaves.”
Octavia glanced at the program and looked out the window. “I don’t get it.”
“I think it makes sense.”
“I’ve studied music for over ten years and I couldn’t hear that.”
“It takes some getting used to.”
“But what’s the point? Where’s the expression? Just because I want something new doesn’t mean I want to stop loving music.”
“The way I see it, there’s more to music than expression. Music is like a science to us now.”
Octavia’s eyes twitched. “S-s-science!?”
“Well, advancing our field is more important to us now.”
“Let me prove my point.” She leaned forward toward the front seat. “Mr. driver?”
The driver turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the road. “Yup?”
“Do you listen to Schoenberg? Do you even know who he is?”
“Can’t say I’m a fan. When I was in Pari…”
“See!” She stared down Netone, breathing heavily. Tension lingered in the air.
The driver broke the silence. “You two okay back there?”
“I’m fine,” Octavia responded, steadying her breathing. “I’m not saying classical music should try to be popular, far from it. But I can’t see anyone enjoying that.”
Netone shrugged. “I enjoy it. I enjoy composing it and analyzing that kind of music.”
“But do you enjoy listening to it?”
He sat silent, tilting his head down with sharp eyes.
“I don’t want to be condescending, but I was taught that theory follows practice,” she continued, catching her breath and realizing how worked up she was. She paused and controlled her breathing. “I don’t want to say there’s no value in your music, but you have to understand that if Equestrian critics blasted me for bitonality, your music is out of the question.”
“That’s understandable,” Netone conceded.
She leaned back into her seat and stared out of the car window. “I guess I’m just disappointed. I came here looking for inspiration, looking for a completely new kind of music. Instead, I found music I can’t listen to, let alone compose.”
The car sat silent for a moment as Octavia and Netone reached an impasse.
The driver tilted his head towards Octavia. “Have you heard of Stravinsky?”
“Who?” Octavia replied as Netone widened his eyes.
“Igor Stravinsky. I think you’d like Firebird by him or even his Rite of Spring. I wouldn’t call him a true modernist, but he definitely blends a traditional style with modernist elements.”
“Modernist?”
“That’s what you call Schoenberg and Ives, although Schoenberg is more specifically a serialist. Not every composer went all in like they did, though, like Stravinsky.”
His response caught Octavia off guard. It sounded too knowledgeable. “Who are you?”
“I used to work for my father’s record store. I had to know all of the music in that store.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Octavia shot back.
The driver paused for a second. “Philip… Philip Glass.”
“That’s funny,” Netone noted. “You have the same name as a composer some of my colleagues at Julliard rave about. He composed an opera a couple years ago.”
The driver hesitated, fumbling over his words. “About that…”
Netone froze. “Don’t tell me.”
Philip chuckled. “Yes.”
“What are you doing driving my taxi!”
“I’m driving you two to Penn Station.”
“But you’re an artist.”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “And sometimes I’m a taxi driver as well.”
Octavia chuckled. “You didn’t answer the question again,” she teased.
Philip sighed. “Turns out even if you sell out a theatre two nights in a row, you can still lose money. At first I was angry, but I don’t mind it that much anymore. It beats running a moving company.”
“Let me get this straight, the guy who is driving my taxi wrote an opera?”
“Yes, and some people liked it too.”
Netone scoffed. “What kind of audience? I’m curious.”
“Well,” Philip shrugged. “My group and I have more of an audience than Schoenberg.”
Netone looked away, sweating and uncomfortable. Thankfully for him, the taxi pulled over just in front of the entrance to Penn Station. As soon as the taxi stopped, Netone hopped out and waited for Octavia to follow suit. Octavia didn’t care about him.
“I hate to barrage you with more questions.”
“Go ahead, I don’t mind.”
“Why drive a cab when you could be a professor? Why work a day job when you could write popular music? I feel like I’m missing something.”
“I’ll give you one word.” He turned toward her and smiled. “Independence.”
Octavia tilted her head. “I don’t follow.”
“When you’re a professor, you have to cater to the academics. When you’re a pop writer, you have to cater to the general public. By driving cabs, fixing people’s plumbing, and moving people out of houses, I can write what I want without someone standing over my shoulder.”
Octavia leaned over and looked down. “When my bitonal piece got blasted by critics, I felt like my career was over. But seeing you… I don’t know.”
“Hey, when someone hopped onto my stage and banged on my piano, I punched him in the jaw.”
Octavia laughed.
“Not kidding, when your music is the exact opposite… actually… let me…” He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a cassette tape, and handed it to Octavia. “You should hear it yourself. Do you have a cassette player?”
“Netone bought me something he calls a ‘Walkman.’”
“Perfect. Other people call my music minimalist, although I don’t really like the term. But if you’re looking for something different, I think it’s worth checking out.”
Octavia bit the cassette and tossed it into her bag. “I’m definitely curious now.”
Philip smiled. “Keep in mind, that’s the kind of stuff I wrote after being surrounded by Schoenberg. It’s… uh… quite different.”
“How different can it be?”
“Let’s just say I needed to hear something simple. I don’t know, I like it.”
“That’s exactly why I’m interested.” She opened the door, slid out of the car, and paused. “Did Netone pay you?”
“Now that you say it…”
She fished through her bag and tossed him a ten-dollar bill. “Hopefully that covers it. Thanks for the ride.”
“You too,” Philip waved before driving off into the street.
Octavia waved back before trotting to Netone.
Neither of them spoke to each other as they navigated the halls of the station. Even as they waited for her train to board, they didn’t speak a word. When her train arrived and began boarding, Netone gave her a soft wave and walked away. Octavia didn’t mind, though.
As soon as she found a seat and sat down, she popped the cassette into her Walkman, adjusted her flimsy headphones (she thought about asking Vinyl for some pony friendly headphones), and played the cassette.
The train jolted forward as she stared out of the window, listening to the soft synth. It was simple, deceptively simple. Even a year or two ago, she would’ve blown it off as too repetitive and useless. But after the stress from the concert and the arguments with Netone, she found peace in the music’s repetition and gradual change.
At that moment, it clicked. Instead of rejecting aspects of music, maybe she should reduce music to its most basic components. Doing so would force her to think of music in a completely different way. Maybe then she can rebuild classical music into something that’s both new and pleasant.
She pulled a piece of staff paper and jotted down some ideas. She might even ask Vinyl to help her with this.
A faint glow of her Cutie Mark emanated from her flank.
> A Different Path
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vinyl sat at a table at home sipping a cup of coffee. The eerie silence in the morning felt empty. Sure, she enjoyed blasting her sound system late at night with no Octavia to bother. But she did miss waking up to the singing cello melodies in the morning.
“Wait,” Vinyl said to herself. “Isn’t she supposed to come back today?”
Octavia burst through the door, carrying a box on her back. “I’m home!”
Surprised, Vinyl jumped out of her chair and fell to the floor.
Octavia trotted up to the table and plopped the box on it as Vinyl rubbed her eyes. “Give me a heads up next time, will ya?”
“Sorry, it’s just…” Octavia opened the box, revealing an assortment of LPs, cassettes, and even some sheet music. “You have a record player, right?”
“How else do I blast music at two in the morning?” Vinyl sassed, noticing Octavia’s disheveled mane.
“Sorry, mind’s a bit out of it right now.”
“You complain about it almost every day!”
“I didn’t have a record player at my hotel, okay? I haven’t listened to any of these yet.” Octavia pulled out a few of the records as Vinyl stood back up and levitated them to herself.
She rotated the albums upright and squinted at the titles. “In C? Drumming? Music in Similar Motion? What kind of music is this?”
“I don’t exactly know either, which is why I’m dying to… where is it?” She fished around the box before pulling out a black album. “Got it!” She looked around the room confused. “Where is the player again?”
Vinyl leaned over Octavia. “Come on, you live here!”
“I don’t go to the other side of the room that often.”
Vinyl sighed. “Behind the synthesizer.”
“Thanks!” Octavia trotted out of the room. “I might mess with that too.”
“With what?” Vinyl asked as she trotted after Octavia.
Octavia loaded a disc onto the player. “The synthesizer.”
“Who are you!?” Vinyl yelled, tugging at her mane.
Octavia flinched from Vinyl’s yell. Taking a second, she let out a deep breath. “I should explain myself.”
“You better.”
Octavia sat down. “When I was in New York, the academics and professors kept trying to sell me this atonal and unpleasant music, like my piece but orders of magnitude harder to listen to. Then I met a composer driving a taxi. That alone confounded me, but after talking to him and thinking about it for a few days, I think I get it now. There can be just as much beauty in the simple as there can be in the complex.” She pulled an LP out and fiddled with it. “But more importantly, innovation can require not just failure, but sacrifice. But if you love what you’re doing, that sacrifice won’t be that bad.”
Vinyl sat down and tilted her head. “Okay, I kinda get it. But what do you mean by all of this?”
“Well, I think I’m gonna change some things. I don’t think I’ll stop performing, but I want to break up with the critics and schools. If I have to pick up a side job, so be it. I’ll deal. Moreover, I don’t know exactly what music I’m gonna write and I don’t know who my audience will be. But if I love what I make, I hope someone else will too.”
Vinyl paused. “And here I thought you’d come back with a few new ideas.”
Octavia looked away. “Tell me about it.”
Vinyl laughed and trotted to the record player. “Hey, you’ve piqued my interest in this music now. I mean, what kind of music does a taxi driver write?”
Octavia squeezed the album sleeve as Vinyl levitated a record out of it. “Just be aware that it’s a bit repetitive.”
“Come on, you call my music repetitive. I’ll be the judge of that.”
“As in, it’s an opera that’s over four hours long and each scene lasts twenty minutes.”
“Sounds like a normal concert of mine, minus the ‘opera’ part.”
“Just understand it’s different.”
Vinyl ignored her and plopped the record into the player. An arpeggio blasted out of the speakers, gradually changing texture and meter.
“This is an opera?” Vinyl asked.
“It is, believe it or not.”
“I mean, is that a synth I’m hearing?”
“I think.”
“Huh, sounds like something I’d make.”
“I kno… really?”
Vinyl held her hoof to Octavia’s mouth and let the music continue. After a minute and a chord change, she smiled at Octavia.
“You know what? I kinda like it.”