“But what do you mean there are no openings available?” demanded the light gray mare with more desperate whining underscoring her words than she had intended. “There are always openings! I am—“
“Octavia Philharmonica,” the beige stallion interrupted curtly, eying the mare across the wooden expanse of his desk. “Currently known through all of Canterlot as the pony who aided and abetted the ruination of the Grand Galloping Gala by participating in the rendition of, of all things, the 'pony pokey'.”
“But that wasn't my fault,” Octavia objected, her lilting and cultured voice overshadowed by an element of pleading. “I was just doing my job and playing ponies' requests. I can't possibly be held responsible.”
The stallion sighed, massaging the furrow between his brows with a hoof. “Miss Philharmonica, it is true you cannot be blamed in any litigious sense. However, you know these upper-class Canterlot types as well as I do. I'm afraid you are very much persona non grata amongst those who form your usual clientele. There is simply no one interested in reserving your abilities as a cellist at the moment.” He forestalled her interruption by continuing without pause. “Of course, this will pass soon enough. It's simply a matter of patience.”
“Patience is all well and good Mr. Bookings, but I believe my landlord is in short supply. I have bills to pay! Surely there is something I could do in the meantime? Some smaller commissions I could take on?”
Elite Bookings shook his head. “I'm really quite sorry, but there's nothing even remotely in your field that I have available at the moment. I'm afraid all I've got is an opening at a new nightclub that's opened up, looking for an assistant for their DJ.”
Octavia gently snorted, shaking her head in denial. “No, I can't say that sounds like something suited for me. Could you imagine me in some nightclub?” An image briefly took shape in the recesses of her mind of herself, glowing plastic jewelry gracing neck and forelegs as she tried to blend in with a frantic crowd moving erratically to an unheard beat, signature pink bow tie and elegantly styled mane clashing with the spiked and dyed styles around her. She chortled slightly at the ridiculous idea.
“Well, if anything comes my way I'll be sure to let you know, Miss Philharmonica,” the stallion said.
Octavia knew a dismissal when she heard one. “I'd appreciate it. Thank you very much.” Rising, she excused herself from the room, head held high. She was a disciplined and professional musician whose skill made her valued through all of Canterlot. She would endure this challenge with dignity.
Octavia lay on her couch, tail hanging listlessly and ears flat, wondering where her dignity had gone.
Wherever it went, I believe it took my pride and self-worth with it.
Her light purple eyes tracked wearily over several letters from her landlord that were strewn across the floor; she didn't particularly want to find out what homelessness was like firsthoof. Her stomach rumbled loudly; the last bit of food she owned or could afford had gone into her mouth several days ago. Her daily phone calls to her agent had increased to thrice-daily frequencies over the course of the last month. No work had been forthcoming. She sighed resignedly. That opening at the nightclub had hovered in front of her after every phone call, offering her salvation for the low price of her painstakingly constructed image as a refined and sober cellist. The possibility of a paycheck had been increasingly hard to resist, but she had marshaled every ounce of stubbornness she commanded to fight back against the impulse to give in to something so alien and lowbrow. Still, the very real prospect of eviction and hunger are great equalizers amongst ponykind. Sighing, she reached out for the phone; the number she sought was ingrained habit by now. She listened keenly as the number dialed and steeled herself to her task as her agent answered. “Mr. Bookings, if that position at the nightclub is still available, I'm interested in it.”
Octavia stood uncertainly outside an unfamiliar building in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Even from here she could hear, or rather feel, the pounding of bass and the muted cacophony that apparently constituted “music” to some ponies but to her was more akin to the sounds of the damned in Tartarus. She shied from hoof to hoof, trying to work up the courage to brave this alien environment in pursuit of the pony she was supposed to talk to about this job, one Vinyl Scratch.
A glance to the sky confirmed that it was still early evening; far too early for “nightlife”, or so the cultured mare presumed. There certainly didn't seem to be a queue of ponies trying to get inside. She swallowed a sudden lump that formed in her throat.
Come on, Octavia. It’s a job interview, not a criminal endeavor. There's nothing to be so worried about.
Being so advised she trotted forward and nudged the door open, considerably relieved when it swung inward at her touch. Immediately she was paralyzed, overcome by a petrifying onslaught of rhythm and bass that reverberated in the marrow of her bones. Her eyes were dazzled by hypnotic pulses of neon color that surged and throbbed through the near-darkness. She simply stood, slack-jawed, struggling to process the sudden sensory overload. Slowly, though, her eyes began to take in something more than a spasmodic artist's creation in a medium of light and color. Her eyes were inexorably drawn to the far side of the room where a blindingly white unicorn towered over an array of consoles and audio equipment that stood on an elevated dais in the midst of the expansive dance floor. Opaque purple lenses obscured her eyes from sight but a translucent blue aura enveloped her horn, the same light infusing her equipment. Octavia watched, enthralled, as the whirling colors cast themselves over her pristine coat, lending it a kaleidoscopic and pearlescent quality. A two-toned tousled blue mane bobbed with her head according to the noise currently filling the room. Octavia refused to dignify it as actual music.
After a few more moments of entranced staring Octavia finally shook her head clear and advanced several more steps into the club. The DJ noticed her then; the head-bobbing stopped and those purple glasses swung to regard her. Sound and light died away, leaving Octavia and the other mare staring at each other. She cocked her head to the side, a small smile taking shape. She was obviously waiting for Octavia to say something. “I'm looking for Vinyl Scratch. I'm supposed to speak with her regarding a job opening here,” the cellist said, trying to sound as confident as possible as she approached the unknown pony.
The unicorn's grin broke into a wide smile and she hopped easily down to land beside Octavia. “Well, you found me; Vinyl Scratch, also known as DJ Pon-3. What can I do for ya, Treble Clef?”
Octavia's eyes narrowed. She wasn't thrilled about being assigned a nickname by a pony she had just met, let alone one based on something as personal as her cutie mark. Still, her voice was controlled and polite as she answered. “I heard from my agent that you need some help at this, erm, establishment. I was hoping you would take me on.”
Vinyl’s eyebrows rose quizzically. “Oh really? What's your deal?”
Octavia stared blankly. “Um, come again?”
“What do you do that makes you want to come and work here? Are you a DJ like me, a composer, an audio engineer, what? What makes a club somewhere you wanna work?” Vinyl asked.
“Oh! Um, actually, I'm a . . . well, I'm a cellist,” Octavia admitted with an uncertain scuff of her hoof.
For a beat there was no response then Vinyl Scratch broke into gales of laughter. The hysterical unicorn tried to get a word in edgewise around her own mirth and failed miserably. She thumped solidly down onto her haunches, sides heaving.
Octavia herself was torn between indignation and shock at this uncivilized outburst. As if she needed further proof she was no longer amongst her familiar peers, this uncouth and plebian behavior was it. Her voice was icy and precise as she spoke, struggling to make herself heard to the histrionic mare. “I fail to see what is so funny about my profession,” she observed sparsely.
Waving a hoof as if to stave off her words, Vinyl finally brought herself back under control. “No, no, it's not funny that you're a cellist,” she said with a tremor of laughter still underscoring her words. “It's just funny that a cellist is applying for a job in a nightclub. Most raves don't feature a string section, you know. Are you sure you didn't get lost looking for the concert hall, sweetie?”
“Don't patronize me! And no, I didn't get lost. I am precisely where I wanted to be,” Octavia replied, a hint of annoyance entering her tone.
Above the impenetrable lenses that concealed her eyes, Vinyl's eyebrows quirked inquisitively. “Oh yeah? Tell me this, Treble Clef; what's the difference between techno style music and house style music?”
“Oh, um, I don't actually know.”
“What's the difference between mixing and scratching?”
“I don't -”
“What's an upfader?”
'I don't see how I should -”
“What does an equalizer do?”
'I have no idea!” an exasperated Octavia finally exclaimed.
“Then what are you doing here? What does a classical musician like you think you're gonna do at a club like this? Ponies who come here wanna get drunk and dance like maniacs, not appreciate the subtle grace of a cello,” Vinyl retorted.
“I need a job, thank you very much. This is the only opening my agent knew of, so here I am. I'm aware I'm out of my depth here, but I assure you I can manage whatever you need done.”
“Yeah, I'm sure you think so. How about you just go find somewhere your talents will be better appreciated, Treble Clef.”
Octavia stood in stunned horror.
But this was my last hope. I never thought I wouldn't be able to get this job; I just didn't want to stoop so low.
She opened her mouth to protest this callous mare's judgment then clamped it shut.
No; I won't degrade myself further by begging.
“Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Scratch. I'll show myself out.” She turned to go quickly, but not before the crushing weight of her imminent homelessness and ruination forced a misty quality to enter her eyes.
I wonder if all my possessions could fit into a cardboard box in an alley?
She could only take consolation in the fact that she was fairly certain her display of weakness had gone unnoticed.
Vinyl watched her out-of-place interviewee go. Her shades concealed her face, leaving it an impassive mask. She had noticed the tears just before the discomposed musician had turned to leave. With every one of the grey mare's receding hoofsteps Vinyl cursed her growing sense of altruistic imperative.
I don't even know this filly. Why the hay should it matter to me if she's upset that I told her to get lost? She said herself she only came down here 'cause she needs a job. Some snobby, upper-class classical musician who probably never set foot in a place like this before. Probably thinks she's better than me and my music.
She grimaced then, as the aggravating filly in question had already reached the door. One perfectly white hoof whipped up to lie across her face in frustration before she resigned herself to being a nice pony to someone who likely regarded her as a stain on the fabric of society. “Hey, Treble Clef, wait a sec,” she called out across the empty club.
A clipped “What?” was all the reply she got back.
“I noticed the waterworks, so come back over here and tell me about it,” Vinyl demanded.
“Why do you care?” the obstinate Octavia retorted.
Vinyl Scratch rolled her eyes, though nopony could possibly see. “I'm not freaking Discord over here. I don't make it a daily goal to make somepony cry, especially when I don't even know why. Now get back over here and tell me why a cellist is so hung up on working in a nightclub that she starts crying when I tell her to get lost.”
Octavia couldn't help the small grin that imposed itself on her at this mare's carefree forthrightness. “ 'Get lost,' you say? Not very subtle in your word choice are you, Ms. Scratch?”
Vinyl snorted in derision. “Filly, I'm about as subtle as a lunar eclipse.”
The out-of-place cellist trotted hesitantly back over to where Vinyl still sat on the floor as a product of her earlier fit of laughter.
The DJ rose to her hooves and nodded to a bank of tables situated next to what was obviously the bar. “C'mon, Treble Clef. Let's go discuss this like the grown mares we are.”
This looks entertaining. I like your writing. I only noticed one error.
Octavia watched, entrhalled,
I think you meant enthralled.
Otherwise, Seems cool. Hope this pans out. You get a preemptive thumb up.
Very intrigued. Please, moar. I require moar Octavia + Vinyl.
Like, loads more; so much in fact I might need to create some form of disease that infects people to make them write more.
Interesting! We don't often see one of this duo in a position of authority over the other, so that alone should make this an interesting change. Looking forward to more!
Awesome! I need more, please!
I like it
Bring me another
Okay, you have my attention.
Please continue.
Tavi and Vinyl are my favorites, after all.
Yay! Another Scratchtavia that seems worth reading.
*waits for next chapter* Let's hope the narrative gets going well.
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Thanks for catching that for me. And for the kind words.
Actually, I appreciate everyone's kind words.
"that your a cellist"
30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzyxrl1vjb1r0whnto1_500.jpg
But other than that, awesome.
... This seems to be moving at a very rapid pace with me, not exactly a story with a smooth flow.
730204 *Trollface* (Sorry, but there's a second error.)
She wasn't thrilled about being assigned a nickname by a pony she had just me,
I assume you mean met, yes?
The blatant statement of Vinyl Scratch's altruism is my only issue. I would have preferred it if we had the physical responses, not the name of the source, such as a characteristic awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. I can be counted on to imagine, but I would, like all readers, like a nudge into the direction you wish to take it in if it would improve the story.
Nice work with the beginning. I enjoyed the unfairness of it all, and the sordid reminder that yes, this was how the world worked; very far out of reason and logic. I enjoyed that turning point for Octavia, in a battle between her human pride and dignity, and her more base needs of shelter and food. I am kind of confused with how she managed to last three days and still be rather conscious, and I would have enjoyed it if there were some mention of those deprivations affecting her breakdown.
Lovely work with the DJ speak. I enjoyed Vinyl's high-paced, casual and slang ridden speech. Very in-character, and a lovely accompaniment to Octavia's dry wit and sophistication.
Nice start, I can't wait to see more.
Always was my favorite ship pair, but most stories where they get together are completely unrealistic. This does no appear to be one of those stories.
This looks good so far. I've seen a story with a similar premise, but I didn't read it. You may be wondering why I even bring it up then. I have no idea
Anyways, tis be good reading. I'll keep it on the watch, see how it goes.
784338 we're talking about a story focused on the relationship of a cellist and a DJ. Smooth? Orchestral symphonies are smooth, not nightclub mixes.
YES! I found it! I left the story yesterday and forgot to like and favorite it. I lost it in the caverns of the internet but it was a good thing i forgot to clear my history for the day!
oh... another one of those stories where her life is ruined by pinkie pie... i wish people would be a little more original... just look at mah shit! those ideas are pretty original... *cough* beside the x-mas one, that one wasn't very original...
I'm not freaking Discord over here. I don't make it a daily goal to make somepony cry, especially when I don't even know why.
Don't You DARE Cuse My Namedl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Sweetie_Belle.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Scootaloo.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Applebloom.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Twilight_Sparkle.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Fluttershy.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Applejack.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Pinkie_Pie.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Rarity.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Rainbow_Dash.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/sillyfilly_Derpy_Hooves.png
dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/discord.png dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_RageFace.png
You have me definitely intrigued. This is one of my favorite ships so I can't wait to see how you handle it. Looks like a great set up.
Gee, Vinyl, if knowing any of that stuff was important, you should have mentioned it in the job posting, y'know?
Damn with octavia being my fav pony I hate it when anybody messesup her char but this dear sir damn good job
“the number she sought was ingrained habit by know” – ‘Now’ instead of ‘know’.
“lending it a of pearlescent quality” – I think you meant “a sort of” rather than “a of”.
These are all the complaints I can give to your form of writing, though. It’s just seems like it lacked proofreading, especially when I see numerous other comments discussing errors. As for personal opinion, as a fellow writer, this is what I hope to get to in terms of descriptive writing.
You have an amazing talent for providing so much detail with so little words, not to mention how well-versed your vocabulary is. It’s perfect for Octavia, though not as useful for Vinyl. Speaking of them, I like how you portrayed them, as it has similarities to how I often see them, from my mind’s eye.
Honestly, I am a bit jealous of how well-versed you are, and it’s only the first chapter!
With regards to the plot, it’s a pretty generalized subject, but rather interesting to me, since I seldom read fanfiction. Probably the only real problem I have with this chapter is the idea of a telephone being used, since I had never seen one in the show… then again, it’s not like a telephone is out of the realm of believability when it coems to the show, so I can let it slide.
It’s just the concept of being immersed: When something sticks out of the story to me, I find myself immediately having a difficult time getting over it. It’s a personal trait, though, nothing I should be bringing up as an official “chapter complaint”.
Regardless, in terms of the story as a whole, it’s far too early to pass judgment… So onto Chapter 2! By the way, I like how you segment chapters in terms of both “length”, and “where one ends and another begins”. I find that it’s similar to my own style, so it’s easy for me to learn to like. Heh… I hope the story continues to be held in positive regard! (Though it is clearly well-loved, if the Thumbs-Ups are an indicator!)
Mistake on the 6-7th paragraph:
Who wouldn't want to work in a nightclub as an assistant for a DJ??
I get the feeling I was seeing the phrase "out-of-place pony/cellist" a bit much there, around the end of the first chapter here. Juss sayin'.
Besides that, color me interested.
Good start so far. Very interested in where this is going.
Rather quick start, but I'm not complaining. Grammar, punctuation etc. were excellent, minus some minor mistakes. Nailing the characters' personality as well. Looks like an interesting start
Personally I find that Ironic because I have a certain story plan once I've cleaned up my current ones.
Her daily phone calls to her agent had increased to thrice-daily frequencies over the course of the last month.
Huh I didn't know there were phones in equestia
9442099
Given the fact that DJ's exist along with all their equipment in a world that mixes steam trains, zeppelins and skyscrapers with castles, thatch houses and sorcery, it's safe to say that technological advancement is rather open to interpretation.