Maybe it's the fact that I can sleep again.
Maybe it's the showers I've been taking... this crispness... this cleanliness...
...but I suddenly feel like I can do this again.
Like I can do anything again.
Life, I suppose, is a seaside tide that ebbs and flows.
Sometimes the waters lap up against the fetlocks, warming, tickling.
At other times, it's a drought... long spells of waiting for nothing.
At some point... some point indeed...
...the pattern will end.
... ... but that is not this day.
... ... ...that is not this night.
I sit before the music sheets. I stand before the instrument panel. I walk these Carolineigh streets.
There is no week, no month, no time frame to the unfolding of events. Just regular trips to Dr. Terra and the ritualistic opening of a Dr. Pony bottle. I almost fail to notice that the latter is happening less and less frequently. You know you're making progress on a project when you even forsake taking restroom breaks.
The twelve tracks are completing themselves. Everything turns from red to yellow to green. I feel like my head is filled with the scent of fresh plastic factory goodness. This is a labor of love, built by my own hooves, and yet there's something so pristine... so factory fresh about it.
I wonder why I never noticed it before. I wonder why I anguished over it before.
DJ Capricorn can barely keep track... can scarcely see me on the visual spectrum. I'm blurring about, hopping from instrument to instrument, grabbing samples from here and clips from there. At some point, a track finds itself in need of the most obtuse thing—a sample of maracas. We're too lazy to go out and buy a professional set of sound clips, so I get Capricorn to fill a pickle jar with gravel and she shakes it before the mic. It works. I take it and I go soaring. It's so beautifully unprofessional that it works.
This is a natural album. A home-brewed album. The digital orgasmitronica sticks to the background. Cyan Sings takes up the foreground. She sticks to the mic and she does not peel off.
This is for me. This is for her.
And as everything comes to a delightful, dreamy close, I realize precisely why I am able to finish this...
...and that's because it's for Tavi.
Wherever she is.
Whatever pit she may be stuck in.
This is my hoof, outstretched to pull her out.
As I've also been pulled out.
It's too crazy to work, which is why it must.
But first thing's first... before I even listen to this beautiful mess...
...before I put my seal of quality on it and everything...
... ...I must fine tune the most delicate instrument of all.
Is she going to sing? Hoo boy...
The name of this chapter scared me for a second
So.. is this shipping, cuz it sounds like shipping
Cyan shall sing again.
Anything? Maybe even... sing?
Yeah, this is now the mental image that is going to appear in Midnight's head every time they think of this
storymasterpiece.WOOOOO SKIRTS, CHAPTER TITLE IS NOT OKAY.
I'm beyond nervous to see what happens, but I'm ready. I hope we find Tavi and I hope this story ends on a good note. Please, man.
You hold the key to my sanity.
6790577 let us bow our heads and pray for it.
Time to sing it out!
She finally realized there are things you can do in bed that help induce sleep. *golfclap*
6790523
If she actually does sing, I'll be surprised. She's gone to those visits but Dr. Terra says she's got to have more visits before she makes any progress - and that's not even a guarantee of anything. I suppose that Vinyl finally being able to speak/sing is what this whole last arc is pointing toward, but I'm still expecting her to use Cyan's vocals as her words.
Either way, I wonder just what she will use this song to say. Will it be a message to Tavi? A way to re-invent and discover herself by making a farewell song?
Now, I wonder what instrument is that? Does Vinyl hope that her therapy is advanced enough that she would be able to record some vocals, even a spoken word piece for the remaster?
Dammit skirts, such a cocktease.
breaks
6791708 You don't have brakes in your bathroom?
Last time I forgot to put them my sink crashed against the door, killing twelve dudes and a dog.
Wow, the track you picked for this chapter...I could clearly imagine Vinyl at the height of her game with that playing.
Hehehehe, I half expected the chapter title for this to be the end, and yet its not, tehehehe.
Awesome job on this!
WIll Cyan sing again!?
LET US FIND OUT!
You know, I've spent quite a lot of time reading quite a lot of VinylTavi fanfics.
This is, without doubt or exaggeration, the most accurate depiction of music production I have ever read. Ever.