This was very unfamiliar territory. Ask me anything about some districts of Canterlot and I could rattle off every street name and directions to the last tiny gift shop tucked away in the smallest alleyway. But this part was not somewhere I came regularly, or even at all. The whole change of scenery was almost un-nerving, from the graceful and rustic old stone buildings of Historic Canterlot to these new, smoother buildings that seemed to lack any sort of angle to their edge… simply filleted at the ends by skilled craftsmen. It felt eerily wrong in a way.

Nor did I feel particularly in place the way I was dressed. Ponies were wearing their manes styled in all colours and sizes except… well, brushed. Many pairs of ears glinted with studs and mirrored glasses were commonplace. Certainly no bow-ties.

If luck would have had it, I’d never have come here in the first place. I’d have stuck to my nice cheap tea shops I knew in the quieter areas of the richer districts and walks in the parks when it was late. But as that old famous adage goes, needs must when the devil vomits into your tea-kettle. And when a search for your mysteriously-vanished cellist led you to this part of town… well with such a concert in a month’s time to prepare for, there was no other option.

I’d been suggested many other string players – a lovely mint-green lyre player from Ponyville, as well as a trio of violin players all of whom had plenty of talent, and I’d even taken two of the latter for my group – but I wanted the performance to be perfect. To be perfect it needed a perfect cellist, and there was only the one I knew.

I’d practically bounced to the door of Octavia’s apartment with the news, only to find the mare out. No matter. A slip of paper under the door with instructions to contact me when she returned. That had been two weeks ago.

It wasn’t unusual for Octavia to sometimes take breaks like this, true, but usually she’d told me or another friend where she’d gone beforehand and packed up to leave well in advance – she could be so fussy with her bags. But this wasn’t like the mare I knew at all, and I suspected foul play. Despite the protests of the other two members of the quartet, I packed myself up and decided to do a bit of private investigating.

A dead end of a lead had spent many, many days travelling all across Equestria, first to Ponyville where I’d forced myself to sit through the jabbering of some kind of pink menace before getting another tenuous lead… a rock farm in Hoofingtonshire. However, the mare that greeted me as I opened the door, while bearing plenty of similarities to my close friend, was a different pony altogether.

Ms and Ms Pie were lovely hosts however and their cookery skills while simple felt more filling than anything I’d ever eaten at Canterlot before. I’d taken my leave after a day or two of rest with promises to return at some day before returning to Canterlot in search of a new lead.

This time however, the rumours seemed to point towards the music clubs in New Canterlot. Why on earth Octavia would find anything for her there I knew not, but a lead was a lead, and I wanted to find my band-member. The quartet wasn’t complete without her and no two-bit fiddle players (with no disrespect to Niccolto or Viola intended) would replace her.

I was getting some very strange looks now from the younger ponies clustered around the trendy bars and clubs, pointed hooves pointing out my bow-tie and smooth mane, and no doubt my drab colouring as well.

“Hey pops! Looking for your kids?” one colt called out, voicing the opinions of his peers as they burst into laughter. My cheeks burned red and I held my head high, refusing to talk to them and instead continuing to trot on. I’d been told I’d find the club soon if I just kept walking down the main street and kept my eyes open for the big neon sign, and while I didn’t like the look of the mare who told me as such or her voice, she seemed earnest enough.

I found out just how earnest after only another five minutes’ walking. Neon blue on white, images of music notes everywhere and the name of the club in great high red letters. I grimaced slightly as I looked towards the doors and saw the strobing lights and thumping music from inside. This was not my scene. For that matter, it wasn’t Octavia’s either… but something had brought her here and I’d be buggered if I wasn’t going to find out what it was.

I began to trot towards the door, only to have a grey hoof stuck out right in front of me, blocking my entrance. I blinked and followed the limb towards the great grey stallion standing by the entrance, eyes going wide at his spiky ice-blue mane.

“C’mon dude, I gotta see an ID. Rules are rules,” he drawled at me, obviously bored, but a note of apology in his tone. I got the impression he knew I was older than twenty-one and it rankled a little in me. Did I look –that- old?

“Not a problem. Here,” I said, fishing a business card from inside the lining of my bow-tie where I always kept it. The grey stallion looked over it for a moment, nodding before his eyes went wide.

“Hey! You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!” he said, suddenly agitated. I dropped my card in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, blinking blankly at the bouncer. But already he was pushing open the ‘VIP’ marked door, and beginning to nudge me towards it.

“Vinyl wanted you at nine sharp, boyo. Now don’t piss her off more than you already have. Down the corridor, third room on the left. Trot to it, Maestro!” And with that, the door shut behind me and leaving me inside the club whether I’d wanted to be here or not. I took a breath of the stale air inside the club and looked around.

I found myself in a black-painted corridor with dim lighting overhead, and thick red shag-pile underhoof. The sign on the wall said that this was the ‘VIP’ area, though I wondered just which important ponies came to a hive such as this. Under the instructions from the bouncer, I began to trot down the corridor, looking from side to side at the different doors I passed. Security booth, do not enter. Changing rooms. Bathroom. Dance Floor. Bar. Third door on the left: ‘DJ’s quarters – stay out if you ‘aint got booze’. Ain’t. Written on the door. And spelt incorrectly. I didn’t like the look of this one bit, but I raised my hoof gingerly and knocked on the door.

“For buck’s sake, took your time!” yelled a loud voice inside. I winced at the fury of it, and backed away slightly as I saw the field of red magic coalesce about the doorknob and hurl it open. “Shit, Blues, we agreed you wouldn’t keep…” the voice snapped seconds before it seemed to register I wasn’t the pony she meant to be shouting at.

“Um… the bouncer told me I needed to come here?” I asked, looking over the figure that had just smashed open the door in her irritation. I’d not seen a coat that white since I last saw Princess Celestia, or that strumpet Fancy Pants always kept on his hoof. It was tinged with only the tiniest trace of lemon yellow in the highlights, and contrasted shockingly with the electric blue of her mane.  With another glow of that red-tinged magic, the pair of massive violet spectacles were removed from her muzzle and I got a full glance at a pair of intense, ruby-red eyes.

“Whoa. Ziggy really is getting bucking blind if he thinks you’re Blues,” she said after a long moment, her accent from Manehatten, though I could detect just a bit of the clipped vowels that indicated a Canterlot upbringing. Her head tilted to the side, and took a glance at my cutie mark – for some reason this made me rather uncomfortable. Before, anypony had only had a cursory glance at my flank but this white unicorn was gazing at it, almost assessing it.

“Huh. Well guess that’s one thing he almost got right,” she muttered, straightening up to look me in the eyes again. “So, you some kind of music guy?” she asked, leaning against the doorjamb. I nodded, fishing for my card only to find that I’d dropped it outside with the bouncer. I needed to introduce myself.

“Frederic Horseshoepin. Pianist,” I said with a slight bow. To my surprise, the unicorn gave a massive pearly-white grin at that, and chuckled.

“Heh. Cute,” she said with a wink. I was taken aback. I was used to sniffs and nods, or polite applause from the Canterlot crowd. “I’m Scratch. Vinyl Scratch. Mind if I call you Freddy?” she asked, offering a hoof. More out of automatic reflex than anything, I took it and shook.

“Um, of course,” I replied, and she giggled a little more like a schoolfilly. Realising that she was in a good mood and I could capitalize on this. “Listen… I think your friend at the door got me wrong. I’m actually looking for my friend. She’s a grey mare with a black mane, a pink treble clef for a cutie mark…” I had her at ‘grey mare’. I saw her eyes go wide, and she nodded.

“Yup. Tavi, I remember her. Any reason you’re looking for her?” she asked, crossing her forelegs as she continued to survey me. My face had lit up at that – nopony in their right mind could all anypony else but Octavia ‘Tavi’. Likely as not the mare hated it, more than I didn’t like ‘Freddy’. But whatever made the unicorn happy.

“My quartet… her quartet. We’ve got a performance in a few weeks at the Royal Opera Hall, but she hasn’t been around for me to tell her. I want her to come back and do some practice with us.” At that, Vinyl Scratch’s face fell slightly, and she began to scowl.

“Bah. And I thought you were getting interesting, Freddy,” she said, glaring at me with those big red eyes. I wondered what I’d done wrong. “But what the buck. I need me a musician and Blues is off banging… his fillyfriend. That leaves you here maestro, and you want information. So here’s the deal.”

“You play with me tonight, full set, two hours, and I’ll spill all the beans on what your friend’s been doing, and maybe where she is if you need to go talk to her. But not unless you do your part. Capiche?” she asked. I spluttered.

“What? But I can’t play here… I’m a concert pianist! I don’t know anything about clubs, and parties, and raves, and…” I began, but Vinyl cut me off with a murderous gesture of her hoof.

“You don’t need to know anything about them, maestro. You just need to rattle out the tunes I put in front of you, and I’ll take care of the crowd. You can read music, right?” I nodded, feeling my chest rise a little.

“Anything you show me I’ll do it. I’m no prodigy, but I have good hooves,” I puffed just a little. The smile came back to Vinyl’s face and she dropped her glasses from her horn onto her snout again, hiding her eyes.

“Alright Freddy. Follow me,” she said, and with a flick of her horn, closed the door behind her and trotted out into the corridor. I followed her obediently, doing my best not to look at her shifting, swaying rump. Difficult though. There was rather a lot of it.

“We’ve got an electric keyboard somewhere… hope that’s alright for you? Don’t really have the money for one of those big ones with three legs,” she said as she walked, and the conversation was the perfect moment for me to stop staring at her behind.

“Uh… yeah. Grand Piano. And the keyboard should be fine. I’m guessing that I’m just playing the music, you’re… playing about with it?” I asked. She looked over her shoulder and though I couldn’t tell through the glasses, she looked like she was winking.

“Heh. Guess that’s the best way to say it. Alright Maestro, get yourself ready for some noise… this ain’t no hoity toity crowd in Old Canterlot. People want noise and action, so you’re gonna play Fortissimo and Allegro, got it?” I froze an instant before she did.

“How do you know the terms for ‘hard’ and ‘fast’ in classic music?” I asked, trotting a little faster to keep up with her now. A red flush was coating her cheeks and I wondered if there was more to the DJ than I first suspected.

“Heh… you gotta research this stuff sometimes. And I flicked through a piano book once or twice,” she insisted, tail swishing to and fro. “Anyway,” she added loudly before I could ask any more. “Here we go. Moment of truth, maestro. You still want to find your friend?” We had arrived at a large pair of double doors. From behind, I could hear a pounding and a roaring of almost a hundred probably drunk young ponies. I swallowed.

“Yes.” I lied.

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