A Vinyl/Octavia fic that centers around Vinyl releasing her inhibitions, escaping the memories of her broken family, and trying to rediscover her love of jazz in order to win the heart of a classical prodigy.
Vinyl was going to be a prodigy. Everyone said so. Her teachers continually bumped her up through different music classes, and her peers were envious of her skills on the piano. Her feel and comprehension of jazz were beyond compare. But of course, the daughter of such a famous musician can only be expected to outperform her father.
However, when Vinyl's family is broken apart, she begins to make some decisions that could cause her to take her childhood dream as a casualty. Heartbroken and defeated, Vinyl was consigned to her fate until she discovered a classical prodigy who shows her the dream she could have chased. Octavia represents everything Vinyl ever wanted for herself, and so much more; she gives Vinyl a new sense of courage, of hope, and a new inspiration to dream about. But can Vinyl escape her fractured past to pursue her dream?
Vinyl shivered. The basement was drafty, but she liked it. It was an old house, and so the foundation was made of stone walls set into the ground. It was on the main hill of Canterlot, although not in a particularly expensive neighborhood. But it was her house, and she was content with it. It did feel a bit lonely sometimes, though.
She stood up from her computer and flipped her mane over her shoulder. The basement had always been her special place, even when she had still lived here with her mother. It was the place she could be alone, the place where she could work on her music. Of course, it had changed since then. While the old Yamahoof Semi-Grand still sat against the far wall, it was covered in a layer of dust. She hadn't played it since her father left. Now the once barren walls were covered in a guitar and a few basses hanging from a rack, several midi cables, the table where her computer sat, and a large set of shelves filled with her old collection of LP's. The room was bathed in a ghostly light, courtesy of the lava lamp on the table, as though it were trying to crawl its way back to the carefree past it had once enjoyed. The studio was a bit cramped, but it was where she worked during the day, and for the most part, where she lived.
Vinyl looked back over at the piano. It was beautiful, in a poised sort of way; it almost reminded her of the Classical sculptures of olden ponies, regal and devoid of emotion. Tall and square bodied, its wood held a luster that was barely dulled by the dust. She remembered the feel of the ivory keys dancing under her hooves, the way that it had made her fall in love with music. And she remembered her father, hooves gliding over the keys, captivating her, showing her the beauty that the instrument could produce. He was the one who had inspired her to start playing, and it was he who had given her an introduction to the instrument. From then on, Vinyl had become inseparable from that piano.
As she had begun school, music teachers had seemed impressed by her talent. They had continually bumped her between different music programs, where she always concentrated her focus on jazz. There was something about jazz, smooth at some times, jarring the next; it was always so elegant, so perfect, that it had captivated her. So Vinyl made it her passion, and she was viewed by many as the next filly prodigy of piano.
Her father had left when she was in her first year of middle school. “I'll come back,” he had told her. She remembered their last embrace; she had been crying, and he had pulled her into a quick hug. “I promise,” he'd whispered in her ear. “Your mother and I... just need some time apart.”
He had never come back. Days came and went, and Vinyl grew more and more distant from her father; more and more distant from her beloved instrument. Her motivation dropped, and her energy sagged. Despite her continually bright and cheerful demeanor, she began to slowly sink out of friendships. Her mother cried more and more each night. Not soon after she had passed. Not soon after, she had passed; the doctors had whispered comforting words, muttering something about rheumatic fever. They told her that her Mother was too young to have passed, and spouted false words of regret for the family. Throughout the process Vinyl didn't shed a tear; she only allowed her emotion to escape her whenever she returned to her bed at the end of another day of dealing with constant reminders. Every night she cried herself softly to sleep.
She was still allowed to live in her parents' house, but under watch from a social worker until she was eighteen. A blithering old earth pony, he could barely recall her name the few times they had met over the years. She had assured him that she was getting along fine, and with that, she was mostly left alone.
It was ninth grade when Vinyl had finally quit piano, about the same time that she had finally admit to herself that her father was never going to come back. She still had a few friends, but she never allowed any of them to get particularly close to her. Vinyl developed a slight reputation for being cold, even haughty, from some of the upper class ponies. She had begun to hang around with other ponies who came from “bad neighborhoods.” Ponies who didn't ask questions, and whose ulterior motives were at least obvious. It was harder for her to navigate the social scene of fake-blonde manes who would lie straight to her face with a smile than to navigate ponies whose priorities lay exclusively in the categories of sex, drugs, or rock and roll.
She had gotten into Canterlot University on a musical scholarship, but she had ended up dropping out. Everything had become so insincere. There wasn't any integrity in music for her anymore. It was just another way to make money, not something that she could do for enjoyment. So she dropped out, and began to sell her talents with some of the new bands playing what they called "rock music." She had attained some amount of success, but she hadn't enjoyed that particularly either. There was only so much she could do with a guitar and a distortion pedal. So she began to experiment with her own styles.
To say she had a hoof in creating Dubstep would be an understatement. To say she singlehoofedly invented the genre would come closer to the truth. Ponies raved about her. She began taking on jobs as a DJ in a few nightclubs around, always going out in her large, round sunglasses, and her stage name, DJ-PON3. The glasses and the alias hid her from the world. From the musician she felt she could have been.
The truth was Vinyl had never really liked rock, and she liked dubstep even less. She still fondly listened to her old jazz LP's, and attended classical concerts regularly. But she could never bring herself to go back into the genre which her father- the stallion who had left her and never wrote her again- had introduced her to.
Coming out of her thoughts, Vinyl trotted over to the piano, overtaken with a sudden urge to look at the keys again. She reached out, towards the mahogany sheen across the curved key-guard. She remembered it fondly, from the days she had revered it, spending hours practicing in the dusty, mostly empty basement. But now it seemed strangely foreign to her, a childhood memory, or a dream even, which she could never attain, or even become enthused with the same zeal that had first moved her to play.
Her hoof was only inches from the latch on the key guard when her doorbell rang. Vinyl straightened up, grabbing her sunglasses off of the computer table. She could use a distraction right now, she decided. Like a nice, cold drink.
With that thought, she turned away from the lonely studio leaving her ruminations with it tucked neatly behind the piano.
- - -
Zephyrs of the warm summer breeze flew whimsically among the trees, shaking their leaves into shimmering tapestries of green, before darting off to buffet the tall towers of Canterlot Castle. Vinyl felt her spirits lift as she walked through the streets to the royal gardens, the low-hanging sun projecting its heat and dull, evening light across the city. Cloud had been right: she really did need to get out more.
It was this Stallion- Darnell Cloud- who had knocked on her door. He was an old friend from University, before she had dropped out, and one of the few that she still kept in touch with. These interactions, however, were mostly out of necessity; Cloud was the owner and manager of the largest record label in Canterlot, Raincloud Sounds, and he was constantly asking to Vinyl to promote new musicians he had signed by giving them airtime at the local clubs. Additionally, she had signed with Raincloud for the few dubstep tracks she had released.
That afternoon, Cloud had come to inquire whether Vinyl, having just released a new single, might celebrate with him. He told her that he had preemptively booked tickets for a concert: Octavia, the new cellist prodigy at Canterlot University, was giving a brief show on the lawns of the Canterlot gardens. Since she had been planning to see the concert anyway, Vinyl had agreed to join Cloud for the evening, and thus she was following Cloud over to the royal gardens.
Cloud was a tall pegasus, with a light brown coat. He constantly brushed his hoof through his mane when he was talking, so it always stuck out slightly over his forehead. Vinyl knew that many of her peers had found him quite attractive at university, but she had never really been able to see anything particularly extraordinary about Cloud aside from the rapid rate at which he went through marefriends. She supposed that was one reason that he still maintained contact with her: she was one of the few mares who didn’t fall head over hooves for him.
Trotting along beside Cloud was a dark red unicorn, whose eyes continually flicked back towards Vinyl with distrust. As Cloud’s marefriend of the week, she would be joining them for Octavia’s exposition. Vinyl, despite her best attempts to keep an open mind, had taken an immediate dislike to the mare; something about the smug expression permanently smeared onto the unicorn’s face rubbed her the wrong way.
As the trio approached the gardens, the crowds of ponies around them began to thicken. The exposition was, of course, free to the public; Cloud had reserved seats so that they would be close enough to the cellist to appreciate her concert. Indeed, as the three ponies walked underneath the arbor that marked the garden entrance, a patchwork quilt of grass and picnic blankets unfolded before them, stretching on up to the walls of the castle, next to which the cellist was tuning.
Squeezing between ponies, Vinyl took a moment to observe the cellist. She was grey, although Vinyl thought she could observe a faint brown tinge to her coat, and her black mane cascaded around her shoulders with the simple elegance of effortless beauty. Her shoulders were narrow, but still strong; Vinyl could see the muscles working as the cellist tuned, sending ripples down her coat. Vinyl stood watching the cellist, transfixed, for another moment, before another pony walked through her field of vision. Shaking her head, she followed Cloud and his marefriend to their seats.
The cellist straightened up, instantly hushing the dull roar of the crowd. She paused, as if savoring the warm summer silence, broken only by the rustle of the trees and occasional cricket chirping. Glancing briefly over her audience, Octavia brought the bow up to the strings, letting it rest there for a fraction of a second. And she began to play.
The piece started with a few long, somber tones, drawn out until they faded away into the heavy evening air. Slowly dying, each faded into the next, resonating through the cello’s body out over the silent crowd. The notes slowly began to climb, in pitch and in tempo, reaching a more moderate pace. The notes ran through smooth, legato winters in the minor, scaling up to a major scale for a staccato spring. The piece exuded a quality of life, superseding the moment and reaching forth into times yet to come, that was of a higher order than Vinyl had ever experienced. It sped up, continuing in a frenzied ascension along the highest string of the cello, which, upon reaching its zenith, dropped down to a low, powerful series of runs.
Listening to the performance, Vinyl felt captivated. The passion, the pure ecstasy obvious in the playing, was unlike anything she had heard since she had listened to her father play. It was the quality that music had lost for her. She remembered a time when she had felt that way playing, before University and its focus on the financial benefits and disadvantages of a musical career, or, in her teenage years, before her love for music had slowly ebbed away. She remembered, after her father left, her hours of practice to block out the tears, and also the sense that mundane life was slowly lapping at the defense and carrying its power away in the tide. Vinyl was seeing the dream, that dream which she’d once had, alive and well in a younger pony: not younger in years, but lacking the same age-inducing turmoil of Vinyl’s youth. The DJ felt connected to the cellist; she wanted the mare to succeed where she had failed herself.
Octavia dropped down into a low chord, sustaining it until it floated away on the wind before lifting the bow from the strings. The garden was quiet, each pony reflecting in their own thoughts, reveling in the beauteous music, and realizing that it had come to an end. Slowly at first, and then in a rush, the crowd erupted into applause, hooves pounding on the grass with thousands of dull thuds, creating a low, thunderous roar that resounded across the gardens. The cellist bowed quickly to the crowd before turning and beginning to unbuckle her case.
Glancing over, she saw Cloud disappearing between two ponies, heading towards the makeshift stage. His marefriend was nowhere in sight, since she had disappeared halfway through the concert with some mumbled excuse about needing to use the mare’s room; Vinyl slid off of her lawn chair and began to slip through the crowd after Cloud.
Slipping between two giggling schoolfillies, she caught sight of Cloud talking in a low voice with Octavia, still packing up her cello. She slipped closer, and Cloud turned to face her.
“The mare of the hour!” he exclaimed. “I was just telling Octavia about your newest success. That single is breaking Dubstep records for most copies sold. And the B-Side isn’t half bad either!”
Vinyl looked at the cellist, with her no nonsense mane and attire; she doubted that the earth pony even knew what dubstep was. She graciously accepted the compliment, but her heart wasn’t in it. She had just seen a pony following her own naïve dream from years ago, and succeeding at it; a pony who hadn’t sold out, who was still in the music industry for… well, the music part, not the industry. She could barely look the cellist in the eye.
“Yes,” the cellist granted Cloud. “I suppose this, erm... Dubtrot or whatever must be popular with less civilized audiences; however, I have a number of groups with somewhat higher distinctions of what defines music. I expected you to have showcased somepony with more experience in the field of classical, if not a similar genre.”
Vinyl gritted her teeth slightly at the earth pony’s derogatory remarks, but she kept her composure. It wouldn’t do to blow an opportunity this lucrative for Cloud.
“Well, Ms. Philarmonica, it might interest you to know that Ms. Scratch is somewhat more accomplished than simple beats. In fact, a few years ago, she was considered one of the most well renowned jazz pianists of the century.”
Cloud was, at heart, a salespony, and it was easily apparent in his collected manner. Vinyl had watched him calmly adapt to countless curveballs that potential customers had thrown at him with astounding ease and simplicity. He truly did live up to his recently acquired reputation as an ingenious business pony; Raincloud Sounds was one of the most profitable startups that Equestria had seen in recent history, breaking into a heavily locked market and becoming a respected name in only a few years. Vinyl did wish that he and Octavia would stop ignoring her though.
Octavia raised an eyebrow. Vinyl wondered whether the gesture was meant to indicate that Octavia accepted her as a legitimate musician, or if it was intended to question whether she could in fact play piano. She had never really cared about what other ponies thought of her, and as a result she was unpracticed at reading body language. She decided that she didn’t really care about Octavia’s opinion anyway, so it was a moot point.
“Well,” the cellist broke into the silence, “I don’t suppose that you could refer me to a pony that has signed with you, so I might discuss the merits of your label at a greater length?”
Cloud considered the question for a moment, a bemused smile playing around his lips. “Actually, I believe I already introduced you. Octavia, this is Vinyl; she’s had a good amount of experience with me, and won’t hesitate to tell you everything that I’ve ever done wrong. I doubt you could find a more suitable candidate anywhere.”
Octavia’s eyes raked back over him, as though she was looking for flaws in his argument. She lowered her gaze and fished something out of her pocket.
“Here.” She thrust the card at Vinyl; arching over the card, in spindly gold writing, read Octavia Philarmonica, Cellist. Underneath it contained an address- to a university dorm, the unicorn noticed- and a telephone number.
“If you would feel so inclined to discuss the label with me,” she said, throwing a condescending glance towards Vinyl, “you can call the number tomorrow in order to set up a more formal meeting.” Octavia snapped the final snap into place on her cello case and picked it up, sauntering back out the university entrance to the gardens.
Cloud chuckled. “It’s on your head now, Vinyl,” he laughed, leading her out of the garden. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Vinyl rolled her eyes at the pegasus, already two steps ahead of her towards the garden’s main exit. She could tell he had some sort of plan for getting Octavia to sign, but she couldn’t figure it out yet. Sighing, she turned to head back to the nightclub, as it was almost late enough. Sometimes other ponies just didn’t make sense.
Vinyl was spinning around in her desk chair. Though foalish, she still found the act quite amusing. If anypony saw her, however, she would insist that it helped her thinking process. Shaking her head, she sighed and flipped off her monitor.
The unicorn rummaged around in her saddlebag, eventually procuring and pulling out the business card which she had received last night. Vinyl hadn’t called the cellist yet; she had been putting it off for most of the day. With the unpleasant experience looming in her sights, she hadn't been productive at all: talking to snobbish earth ponies was not particularly high on her list of things to do, and neither, frankly, was using the telephone. Together, the two amounted to an activity that fell somewhere between listening to somepony tune a banjo and going shopping the day before Hearth’s Warming Eve.
With a last forlorn glance at the card, she levitated the phone and punched in the number listed. Suspending the phone near her ear, Vinyl waited for the cellist to pick up, vaguely hoping that she wouldn’t.
To Vinyl’s dismay, however, a faint click signified the phone connecting. “Hello?” the cellist’s voice wafted over the line. There were several other ponies talking and laughing in the background.
The unicorn glanced down at the speech she’d prepared for the phone conversation; she didn’t think she'd feel comfortable ad-libbing. “Hello, this is Vinyl Scratch, we spoke last night. I was calling to sched—”
“Yes, yes,” the earth pony cut in. “I know who you are.” Octavia’s words weren’t entirely distinct. They were slow, and seemed to run together breathlessly into long, drawn out notes. “I have caller ID, you know.”
“Well, I, uh… thought it was proper to introduce oneself when communicating by phone,” Vinyl grasped for words, trying to salvage her preparations. There was a definite change in the cellist's demeanor. Vinyl was disoriented; she had been expecting the same pretentious treatment she had been given last night.
“Well, who actually does that?” the effect of Octavia’s indignation was somewhat compromised by the comically drunk sound of her voice. Vinyl had a bizarre urge to laugh. She checked the card again, but it was definitely the right number. “Anyway,” the cellist forced the conversation back to the point. “What do you want?”
Vinyl tried to remember her conversation with the stern, prissy mare that she had been introduced to the previous night. It didn’t help when a cheer burst over the phone from the party behind Octavia. “You… um… wanted to discuss the merits of signing with Raincloud Sounds,” the words came back to her with a rush.
“Oh, right.” There was a pause, and what sounded like liquid sloshing around in a plastic cup. When the inebriated mare spoke again, the slurring came back with renewed vigor. “How does tomorrow evening sound? We could meet at Twisket’s. It’s a lovely coffee shop on the corner of Oak and Mane.”
“That sounds fine. What time?”
The cellist didn’t answer. After a few moments of silence, Vinyl heard a burst of static roar over the phone. It slowly died down, and another welled up. With a sinking feeling, Vinyl realized that she was hearing snoring; Octavia must have fallen asleep on the phone.
“That sounds lovely,” Vinyl spit bitterly at the receiver. She wondered if the cellist would be sober enough to walk when she came to the coffee shop; she doubted whether Octavia would even remember their conversation in the morning.
Vinyl set the phone back on its hook, shaking her head. When she had first met the cellist, she wouldn’t have believed that the mare had ever even had a drink, much less gotten to the state in which Vinyl had discovered her. Octavia had been a completely different pony; it was strange to think how such an upstanding mare could have degenerated to the state she was in so quickly.
Allowing herself a quick chuckle at the strange situation she had found herself in, she turned back to her wubs. Time to reverse the unproductivity of the morning; DJ-PON3 needed to eat.
Reinvigorated, Vinyl started to work.
* * *
Vinyl had left early. She had allotted herself extra time to pick out a dress― she had figured that whatever coffee shop Octavia had picked out, it would probably be fancy enough to require her to look nice― but she hadn't expected this; the “coffee shop” was a full-blown restaurant. And from what it looked like, a very expensive one. She hoped she had enough bits in her saddlebag to cover the bill.
As she walked under the arbor that marked the entrance to the patio seating, she caught sight of Octavia, waiting for her. The mare, although she hadn't seen Vinyl yet, glanced impatiently at her watch. Really? Vinyl thought incredulously. You didn't give me a time, and now you're going to chew ME out about being late?
A waiter came over to her, eying her strange choice of attire. She had on an open-backed green dress, with, of course, her customary shades; she never went out in public without them. Vinyl never had been one for formal attire. She shot a glare at the cellist, who was absentmindedly staring at the menu, sitting at her table across the restaurant. Vinyl had to admit it: she looked good. She was wearing a simple gray dress, slightly shimmery, with a pearl necklace and earrings. The DJ blushed in spite of herself. Yes, Octavia was very pretty, and, well, if she was interested in mares...
“Ahem,” the waiter jarred her out of her thoughts.
“Oh, right.” Vinyl shook head, trying to clear it. She only succeeded in shaking her mane down over her glasses. “I'm with Ms. Philharmonica,” she told him, nodding at the cellist's table.
“Yes, right this way.” Vinyl followed the stallion across the room.
As they approached, Octavia glanced up, but quickly looked back down at her menu, blushing. Apparently she still had their phone conversation fresh in her mind as well.
“Hey,” Vinyl nodded to the cellist, sitting down.
In an awkward fashion, owing to the two mares seated across the table not speaking nor looking at each other, the waiter took their orders. He then retreated to the kitchen.
After holding up her shield a moment longer, the earth pony looked up and found the unicorn's eyes. “I sincerely apologize for the phone call last night; I was extremely rude and unprofessional.” Vinyl levitated a dinner roll and a pat of butter off of the tray on the table. She had a feeling that this excuse would take a while. “And I do want to learn more about Raincloud; it's supposed to be the fastest growing record label in Equestria, isn't it?”
“Esh,” Vinyl informed her dinner guest, nearly choking on the roll in her mouth. She swallowed while Octavia's slightly disgusted frown deepened. “Yes,” the unicorn repeated herself with a tad more clarity. “It's been growing steadily since I met Darnell.”
“And how did you meet, ah, Mr. McCloud?” Octavia was splitting a dinner roll with a knife, looking at Vinyl as though she was trying to set an example. Vinyl knew that it was considered bad manners to eat with magic if you were dining with a pegasus or earth pony, but she chose to ignore this fact. It was certainly much more entertaining to watch the cellist grow increasingly annoyed.
“We go way back. I went to Canterlot University with him.”
“What class were you?” Octavia looked mildly interested.
“I, uh... didn't graduate,” Vinyl admitted, smiling sheepishly at the cellist.
“Oh.” Octavia's disapproval was palpable.
The waiter returned, this time with their beverages. The edge of Vinyl's lips curled up slightly when she saw Octavia's drink: red wine. The phone call replayed in her head, and it must have in the earth pony's too, since the red tinge in her cheeks increased slightly. The unicorn had some strange sense that she was competing with the cellist somehow, and that she had somehow just gleaned a tiny advantage.
Vinyl took a sip of her own drink― diet coke. She could feel Octavia's eyes boring into the top of her head. Okay, this hadn't seemed like a diet coke place, but hey, it was on the menu.
“So, do tell,” the cellist initiated the conversation again. “About how many artists are signed with Raincloud currently?”
“The Canterlot Division, or all branches?”
“Canterlot, naturally.”
“About eighty musicians, give or take. Which, considering the size of Canterlot, is a fair percentage of the musically inclined ponies in the city.” She took another sip of her diet coke, only to be met with more disapproving glares from across the table.
“So how do you find the label?” Octavia took a sip of her wine.
“Fine. Darnell's always been chill, y'know?”
Octavia did not seem to know, judging by the frown wrinkling her forehead, but she elected to stay quiet.
“Anyway, I've been pushing stuff out with him occasionally for almost three years now, and I've never had a problem.”
“Occasionally? Aren't you a full-time musician?”
“No, actually; it's kind of a day job. I work nights as a DJ, so Darnell deals with me to get his artists play at the clubs.”
“Ah.” Vinyl would have thought it impossible beforehoof, but Octavia's frown deepened even more. The DJ wondered if the lines would stay permanently etched on the cellist's face.
“Well, I mean, we probably wouldn't be playing your stuff in the clubs, but...”
“I would assume not,” Octavia told the DJ tartly, refilling her wine glass.
The two lapsed into another awkward silence, which was only broken when their waiter stopped at their table again.
“For you, madame, the chopped dandelion salad.” He placed a small plate consisting of a few greens in front of Octavia. “And for you, ma'am, a large hay fries.”
Octavia's nose wrinkled. “Hay fries?” she raised an eyebrow at Vinyl.
“Yup!” the unicorn was pouring ketchup over them now, which the waiter had also brought over.
“You do realize that this isn't exactly... that kind of restaurant, right?”
Vinyl shrugged. Damn, these hay fries were good. She had to admit that she had been trying to get Octavia's goat when she ordered them, but they were definitely worth it. That and seeing the look of shock on the cellist's pinched face.
“Well,” Vinyl started back in. “Anything else that you'd like to know?”
“Ah, yes. What's the cut?”
“It's the best I've found in Canterlot. Darnell charges a 15% take off the top, unless you fail to sell more than 100 albums, at least, I'm assuming the pricing is the same for classical. It's not exactly a field I'm an expert in.”
“Yet I understand that you were let into Canterlot University on a musical scholarship for jazz?” asked Octavia, draining the last of her second wineglass. Vinyl's head jerked up. Somepony had done her homework.
“Yes― I was in the field once. But, um, certain situations came up.”
“Am I also to understand that you are the daughter of the famous musician Theloneighus Monk?” Somepony had definitely done her homework.
“Erm... yes. I didn't take his last name for... obvious reasons. That's why I have my mother's maiden name.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, when I went to do a musical background check― which, naturally, I would always do before meeting an artist that I'd never heard of― I found some recordings of you in the Canterlot Public Library.
Vinyl's hay fry caught in her throat. “How old were they?”
“I don't recall.” A small smile had stolen over Octavia's muzzle. “But you were playing piano.”
Vinyl gulped.
“Frankly, Ms. Scratch, I've heard very few ponies with your natural ability. I've actually come here for two reasons. One was to learn about Raincloud Sounds. The other was to ask a favor of you.” Vinyl didn't like where this conversation was headed.
“Now, you of course know about the graduation requirements for Canterlot University; for my term dissertation, I've been composing a solo piece for cello. Unfortunately, my adviser has asked me to stretch my comfort level a little bit, and at least write a duet. So, naturally, I picked one of my favorite instruments.” Octavia popped another dandelion head into her mouth. “The piano.”
“Now wait a second―”
“I'd be honored if you would record with me, Ms. Scratch. Even if we do have somewhat... differing musical tastes.”
Vinyl looked at the wine bottle. She knew Octavia had drunk several glasses over the course of their dinner, and it was almost empty. She wondered what effect the alcohol might be having on Octavia’s decision making; why would the cellist want her― her of all ponies― to accompany her for her semester project? Vinyl thought back to the performance Octavia had given the other night. In a bizarre, twisted way, it sort of made sense. After hearing the cello prodigy in convert, Vinyl was sure that Octavia was true to her music. She would want the accompanist who would best compliment her playing style. Somepony who had the same passion for the music as she did. Somepony like Vinyl in those recordings.
The trouble was, that was a different Vinyl. She'd never have the same love of the music, the same soul, as she'd had before her father had left her. The unicorn felt her throat choke up. She'd had years to escape that shadow he'd left on her heart, and she was beginning to think she might have to bear the same pains forever.
“I... I don't know,” Vinyl sighed. “I've never been one for the spotlight.” Yet there was something oddly alluring about the cellist's offer. Something that might or might not be related to the particular cellist that she would be playing with. The DJ shook her head, trying to clear it.
“Well, just promise me you'll consider it, okay?” Octavia drained the last dregs of wine out of her glass; the bottle was empty.
“All right.” Vinyl could agree to that. She knew she'd be thinking about the offer anyway. “So,” she changed the subject, “do you think you'll end up signing with Raincloud?”
Octavia smiled. “Well, it's sounded pretty good so far. Tell me more about Mr. McCloud...”
And so the two talked on as the sun set over the tallest tower of the royal palace. It seemed to Vinyl as though it hadn’t been more than a few minutes when the waiter appeared by their table again with their check. The unicorn had a feeling that Octavia would expect her to pay, as the host; she glanced at the bill.
150 bits? Vinyl balked at the paper. Frickin’ wine. She grudgingly took the amount out of her saddlebags, trying not to think of how much lighter they were getting. Octavia smiled innocently at her from across the table. Vinyl rolled her eyes.
The two ponies got up from the table, splitting away into opposite directions at the entrance to the restaurant. As Celestia lowered the sun over the horizon, Vinyl felt a strange feeling well up, a feeling she hadn’t felt since before her father left. It was that sort of curl up and hug something, sing a song out loud to the world, real belly-laugh sort of happiness that always keeps a smile on your face. The feeling that comes from loving life, down to every instant, every eccentricity it throws your way, and living as though each day was the last.
Meandering her way through the darkened streets, the DJ made her way home.
Cloud’s house was large and imposing, clearly indicating the success of his startup. Vinyl knew that it was mostly superficial, and that some of the upstairs rooms were unfurnished, but she still received the house’s message loud and clear: Cloud had money. The party was really meant as much to display Cloud’s wealth as to celebrate Octavia’s signing with Raincloud.
Vinyl flashed her invitation at the porter, who quickly swung open the heavy doors for her. She paused, letting the sound and light of the party filter through her signature shades for a moment before stepping inside. As the porter began to heave the oak doors closed in her wake, Vinyl began making a mental map of the social groups in the party.
On her right, all toting flutes of champagne were several college students; Vinyl quickly surmised that they must be Octavia’s friends. To the left, near the food, several musicians whom she had met on occasion were milling around, chatting in quiet voices. Across the room from her, Cloud, with his foreleg wrapped around a pale green earth pony whom Vinyl assumed must be his current mare of the week, was talking with Octavia and a few others. They seemed to be either very rich sponsors or stockholders of raincloud, or else very important for other reasons. Vinyl, naturally, joined this group. She wasn’t particularly important, nor, of course, particularly rich, but she knew she could stand on the fringes and listen in on the others’ conversations.
Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Vinyl squeezed through a couple of ponies heading over to the buffet. To her surprise, as she neared the group, Cloud beckoned her over.
“Hey Scratch,” Cloud greeted her as she drew up beside him. “Octavia was just telling me about the gig.”
“Um… what?”
“Oh, you know. Her Canterlot University performance graduation requirement. Apparently she wants to record it live for the first release. You know, to get her name out there.” Cloud flicked his mane back.
“Ah.” Vinyl couldn’t think of much else to say. She figured it would just be one of those types of conversations where all she had to do was smile and make nondescript noises of agreement every so often; Cloud had always been rather talkative. After a while she would tune him out, and just nod affirmatively whenever there was a break in the buzzing. She took another sip of her drink.
“…it really is an honor Vinyl.”
“Wait, sorry. What were you saying?” Vinyl was jolted out of her thoughts.
“Accompanying Octavia in her exposition; after all, it will be her first release with Raincloud, so naturally she would want the best.” The corner of the Pegasus’ mouth twisted up as he acknowledged her.
Octavia had told Cloud about that? And Vinyl had only told the cellist ‘maybe.’ The DJ groaned inwardly.
“Well, I’m… uh… a bit out of practice, really.”
“I still think that you’re the mare for the job, Ms. Scratch,” a voice called from over her shoulder. Octavia drew up beside her, taking a sip of champagne. “After all, her aptitude in those recordings I found was really beyond compare. Playing with you also saves me from having to play with somepony like… him,” she said, nodding across the room toward an earth pony who was stuffing a piece of cake in his mouth, smearing it all over his face. “That’s Frederick Horshopin. No manners, no skill, and, hopefully, nothing to do with me. I’ve been assigned to projects with him before…” the cellist shuddered, but steadied herself with another sip of her drink. She turned, addressing Cloud. “Vinyl is certainly the best choice available. And, of course, the association with her father won’t hurt.” Cloud chuckled dryly; Vinyl turned away.
With that comment, Vinyl had realized that this was, of course, the real reason that Octavia had chosen her; it wasn’t just a weak, drunken moment. She wanted Vinyl’s name, and her family’s, to be associated with the album. Maybe she’d been wrong about Octavia; maybe she was just another sell-out. One with considerable skill, certainly, but a sell-out all the same. Vinyl took off her shades, shaking her head. She had no doubt that she would be forced to perform with the cellist, to play the music that Octavia was composing for a crowd that didn’t understand it, that couldn’t feel the its power. The Unicorn felt a faint stirring of letdown. Somehow, for some reason, she had believed in Octavia. There was just something about the cellist… something that had affected her on some basic level. But it had all been a lie; the cellist was no different from all of the other students the University was turning out.
Vinyl took another drink from a passing waiter, but it tasted stale, with none of the hopeful buzz she had felt before. She looked back, but Cloud was nowhere to be seen. Octavia wasn’t there either; Vinyl paused for a second. Octavia would be everywhere at once at her party, pulling social strings and trying to get a leg up. Vinyl was sure that she would at least be getting another glass of champagne, but only a few of the students from before were milling around the waiters.
“Hello. Are you from the university?” A young stallion had pulled up beside her. He had a slighter build, and his face wasn’t perfectly shaven. A lopsided smile settled pleasantly across his features. “I don’t recall seeing you before.” He spoke with a slight Trottingham accent.
“No, I’m not a student anymore.”
“Oh. Are you a graduate? You look familiar.”
“Um, no. I attended but never actually finished.”
“Oh.” He let the subject drop.
“But I take it you’re studying there?” Vinyl tipped her head to the side.
“Yeah, music, funnily enough. Seems Octavia just about brought the entire Canterlot U. music department down to the party. She is a bit full of herself sometimes, isn’t she?”
Vinyl chuckled. “Truest thing I’ve ever heard. What music do you do specifically?”
“I do electronic music. There’s this kind of new genre called Dubstep, actually, that I’m particularly interested in.”
Vinyl stifled her laughter. The stallion looked at her quizzically.
“What’s so funny about that?” he asked her. “Or are you familiar with the genre?”
“You could say that.” Vinyl offered him a coy smile.
“Well, if you haven’t had good experiences, there’s… discrepancies in the genre, just as in any other type of music. You should try listening to other artists. For instance, there’s this one artist, DJ-PON3… she’s absolutely amazing.” Vinyl realized with a jolt that he wasn’t able to recognize her without her shades on. Her hoof instinctively felt the pocket where they were resting.
“Well,” she decided suddenly to play along. “I’ll have to check her out sometime.” He was clearly trying to flirt with her, and he was certainly the type of stallion who others might consider handsome. For some reason, she had never really found the same attraction that other mares had with most stallions, but maybe she was just missing something. Maybe it was time to let it go.
“You should; she’s really amazing.” Vinyl noticed that they were climbing the stairs together. What was she getting into? Did she want this? Was that even the right question? Should she want this? “As are you.” His arm had snaked around her shoulders.
There was a door; Vinyl didn’t remember walking over to it, but it was suddenly right in front of her. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much at the party.
The door swung open at her lightest touch. She stumbled a bit over the threshold, but the stallion’s hoof was there to steady her. She didn’t even know his name! What was she doing? Was this how she was supposed to be feeling? Vinyl felt like crying, but there was some deep-seated need driving her forward. Strangely, she noted it had nothing ot do with the stallion at her side.
His arm pulled her toward the bed in the darkness. She could feel his body pressing against hers, his hooves running over her dress. She swallowed.
There was a faint sound; Vinyl could feel the back of her dress come open as he worked at the clasps. He worked down her back, getting lower, lower, lower.
Light. Sound. A light flipped on. Vinyl scrabbled at the top of her dress, making sure the front was sitting at its normal height.
Somepony was yelling. Next to her, on the bed, a couple was still kissing passionately. She ducked out of the room. What was she even doing here? A party. Some sort of party. She reached the doorframe. Yes. The cellist was signing. Raincloud. She looked back at the room. The cellist was still preoccupied, pressing her face into Cloud’s. Vinyl turned away, slamming the door. She felt something hot and wet on her face. Was she crying? She didn’t even know. She didn’t know anything anymore.
There was a rush of green as a mare pushed past Octavia; Cloud’s marefriend from before. She heard another voice add to the yelling.
Vinyl ducked into the bathroom; she was choking over her sobs. Was she really crying that much? Had she even started crying? She fumbled over the clasps of her dress with her hooves; she was certainly too inebriated to use magic.
She slumped against the wall. She could feel her consciousness fleeing her and returning in dull throbs. What was happening to her? Had she just screwed up her life? She couldn’t even remember. She couldn’t remember whether or not she had just screwed up her fucking life. She kicked the sink; something fell off and shattered.
The image of Cloud and Octavia kissing replayed itself before her eyes, again and again and again. Her body pressed into his, their tongues locked together, Cloud’s hooves running over the earth pony’s back. Why did she care? She knew Cloud wasn’t exactly faithful, and she had never really objected to his tendency to sleep with every mare in the room before. Why now? What was happening to her?
Vinyl looked in the mirror. Her face was streaked with tears, her mane was disheveled, and her nose was bleeding. She vaguely remembered hitting it on the bedframe in the panic. She took a towel and smeared it across her face, dropping it on the floor. Cloud could clean that up. A hiccup escaped her.
She found herself leaving the bathroom in a rush. Somehow she was through the party. Out the doors. In the cool night. Vinyl ran through the streets, somewhere towards her home. Cars honked, swerved. She heard angry voices, but she kept running, running, running away from it all.
Her house. A staircase. Her bed. She collapsed with an effort into the four-poster, not even bothering to take her dress off. Vinyl hugged a pillow to her face. And cried.
She had never felt so acutely aware of just how alone she was.
- - -
Vinyl gulped, steeling herself. Almost four days had passed since she had run out of the party; Cloud hadn’t tried to contact her since. She wondered how much he knew that she’d seen.
Octavia, on the other hand, had contacted her almost immediately. Only the day after the party, she had awoken at midday, rather hungover, with a crash. When she had gone outside to investigate, all she found was a grey pegasus sitting on top of something rather flat and metal. After a second, Vinyl ascertained that it was her mailbox.
The mailmare had apparently accidentally landed on her mailbox while trying to put a letter in it. Privately, Vinyl wondered whether the Pegasus’ shoddy flying had had anything to do with her strange eyes, which looked out in either direction, but she didn’t voice the thought aloud. The mailmare had apologized, handed her the letter, and, thankfully, left without destroying anything else.
The letter had contained a message from Octavia; Vinyl was to come to a practice in the Hoofstrong Hall of Music at Canterlot University, so that Octavia could provide her with sheet music and she could begin to learn it. That was four days ago. Now, Vinyl hitched her saddlebags and opened the door, trying to ready herself to see the cellist for the first time since seeing her and Cloud on the bed...
Vinyl shut out the memory; she couldn’t lose focus. She needed to attend the practice, and show Octavia that she just didn’t care. That she was just doing the exposition because she had already agreed. Get in, play music, get out.
It was a short walk to Hoofstrong Hall, and one Vinyl had made many times before she had dropped out. She quickly ducked through the wrought iron gates that would lead her to the main quad, turning left down a winding cobblestone path that led to the music department. It was early morning, and still rather chilly; Vinyl shivered. It felt like it was going to rain.
She opened the doors ahead of her with her magic, closing them soundlessly behind her. Vinyl opened the door to the practice studio.
The cellist was already in the studio, her back to the door. She was backlit, facing the windows, and her mane fell softly around her shoulders, not styled at all. The earth pony had her cello resting gently on her shoulder, and was playing a beautiful melody that Vinyl recognized; it was the second movement in Winter from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. The unicorn let the cellist play for a few minutes, soaking in the idyllic atmosphere of the room.
“Hey,” Vinyl called out as Octavia brought the piece to a close. The cellist set her instrument down in its case, slowly turning to face the DJ.
“Well, shall we get started?” her voice was cold; despite her previous assumptions, Vinyl questioned again whether Octavia had noticed her during the party.
“All right.” Vinyl drew up the bench to the piano; it was a grand, open, and polished to perfection. She had no doubt that it was tuned perfectly as well, but she still couldn’t help comparing it to the piano sitting in her basement. Maybe it was a nicer piano in general, but she could already tell it had not character. It was just a generic piano, not something special.
Octavia was rifling through her saddlebags. After a moment, she straightened up, producing some hastily handwritten sheets.
“Here you are,” she said curtly, handing them to Vinyl.
Vinyl looked over them. The piece was in E minor, a sonata; it modulated down to C major in the fantasia.
“Can I see the cello part?” Vinyl asked.
After a moment, Octavia managed to produce it. It did seem a nice complement: the cello provided a soft melody, a little bit melancholy in the beginning; it played heavily on the relationship between the minor and major seventh. She reached up to the piano and ran up a couple octaves in an E minor blues scale. The piano’s tone was flat and flavorless, but it still produced music. And she still remembered the movements of her hooves. She put the sheet of music on the piano.
Octavia settled back in her chair. “I’ll let you give that a few run-throughs.”
Vinyl pressed down the keys, entering into the first measure. It did have a certain, jazzy feel to it; she was briefly reminded of Vince Guaraldi. A jazz sonata. She chuckled. It was an eclectic mix.
She felt the piece settle down; the cello would take up the melody there. She played through the different notes. The piece was rather flat for such a jazzy rhythm. Vinyl could tell Octavia hadn’t written any jazz piano before; there was no room for any accentuation or personal flair. Well, she could work with it.
Octavia cleared her throat. “You know, Cloud’s a really good kisser. I can see why you like him.”
Vinyl’s hoof slipped, but she continued playing; she had decided that Octavia’s comment didn’t warrant a response. The dissonance settled in over the room.
“I mean,” the cellist continued. “It would be an absolute travesty if he ever went out with somepony as... uncultured as you. But I get the attraction.”
Vinyl didn’t turn around, but she could imagine the smug expression on the earth pony’s face. She gritted her teeth at Octavia’s thinly disguised insults. She lifted her hooves from the keys.
“Why do you think I like Cloud?” Her voice seemed strangely loud in the soundproof studio.
“Oh, it’s obvious. The way you are around him. You just can’t stop flirting, can you.” The condescension in Octavia’s voice was growing every second.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to pretend Vinyl. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” A slight edge was affecting the cellist’s voice as well now.
“I...” Vinyl stammered to a stop. What was she trying to say, anyway. What was she trying to prove to the prissy earth pony, anyway? “Can we just play the music?” She glanced back at the other mare.
“He likes you.” Octavia’s voice was quiet; she had lost the condescension, but she the edge in her voice was even more pronounced. Vinyl realized that the musician was on the verge of tears. “He... he said... he said your name.” The cellist hung her head, ashamed.
“What?”
“You know.” The cellist shifted uncomfortably. “When we, uh... when he...”
“Oh.”
The two shared an awkward silence. After a while, Vinyl broke the quiet. “I don’t actually have any feelings for him, if that, um... makes any difference.”
“You don’t understand.” The cellist was facing away from the DJ, staring out the window. It had started to drizzle gently, but the sound didn’t penetrate the inside of the studio.
“Cloud doesn’t like me. You don’t like me. Nopony likes me. Some stallions try to ask me out, but only because I’m rich, or because I’m going to be famous.” She sniffed. “No one understands me. I thought you’d at least understand that.”
Vinyl shifted on the piano stool. Her hindquarters were falling asleep.
“Cloud didn’t want anything really. Just quick sex and go.”
“Well, yeah,” Vinyl pointed out. “That seems like Cloud.”
The cellist’s glare told her that her commentary was unwanted. “Oh, so you can say that; you can have a stallion any time you fucking want.”
“Hang on, hang on,” the DJ shook her head. “What?”
“Vinyl... you’re... um, quite frankly... hot. Fun. Exciting. You’re everything that stallions want. I’m... just this.” Octavia motioned down her body.
“Wait, I don’t think—”
“—no, you don’t.” Octavia was looking at her now. “Cloud, Ethan...”
“Who?”
“You didn’t even know his fucking name?” Vinyl realized with a jolt that Octavia was talking about the British pony from the party. “Even the stallions on the floor below us, they always talk about you. You’re the DJ for the best club in Canterlot. You’re freaking famous.”
“But—” Vinyl started, and then stopped.
“How do you... do it?” Octavia’s eyes caught her own, and then dropped away. There was a faint red tinge to the cellist’s cheeks.
“I... I don’t know.” That was a lie though; Vinyl did know. “Well, I guess... you know how everything is better when you can’t have it?”
Octavia nodded. It hurt Vinyl to look at her; she was so lonely, so vulnerable. Vinyl remembered the feeling. She knew exactly what it felt like.
“Well, I guess...” Vinyl paused. “I guess I don’t like stallions.”
Octavia’s jaw dropped. “Wait...”
“Well, I have to be off now.” Vinyl grabbed the music off of the piano. “I’ll see you around.”
She stepped out of the studio, leaving Octavia open mouthed in her wake. Something had just broken free inside of her. She bounded out the doors, into the bright streets of Canterlot.
Vinyl walked towards her house, humming Octavia’s song under her breath. She even had time for some lunch.
