The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Eleven

***

"Tavi?"

The cellist let out a soft 'hmm', without diverting her attention from the sheet music. They had recorded the cello part (at last) and Vinyl had been tinkering with the mixing for a few days already. And Canterlot's Finest is but a couple days away.

"I think that's it." Vinyl smiled: an actual smile, not a grin - a smile that made Octavia warm inside. "I've finished the mixing. Our suite is done."

Octavia stood up and embraced her DJ from behind, kissing her on top of her head gently as her arms snailed past Vinyl's shoulders, resting on the disk-spinner's breasts. How, how could Octavia possibly stay angry at this wonderful woman, whatever she did? Their quarrels had never lasted long - if they could qualify as quarrels. One moment Octavia was running after Vinyl with a kitchen knife or her bow, and the next moment they were rolling on th floor in a loving embrace, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

"So, how does it sound?" Octavia wondered in a murmur, closing her eyes, the warmth of her DJ enough to make her eyelids weary and her body sleepy to no extent. Her mind was still sharp, and that mind was aching for closeness with her girlfriend - and closure, too. Soon, Octavia told herself. The event will be over soon and we can finally take a break. Maybe even go on holiday somewhere, the cellist mused. She had to ask Vinyl later. After Canterlot's Finest.

And that, too, bore certain barriers: who was she, to restrain Vinyl's freedom? Sure, not in a dangerous way - just the contrary. And still: Vinyl had her own life, and she had her own performances to attend, and maybe she wanted to go on tour? No, she, Octavia, could not command every moment of her DJ, despite the relationship. I'll just ask, the raven-haired woman told herself. Just ask. Later.

Vinyl smiled. "Something like this." She pressed the key and the sound of Octavia's cello filled the room.

Octavia opened her mouth to ask. What was this? Sure, her cello sounded a little... reverb-y and with hints of chorus. As if it were being played on a huge stage - or an empty train station - only in a box. Or a glass dome, with specks of wood and plastic. But... It was just her cello. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, though, the music changed. Her cello was still there, the peaceful, serene introduction - but with near-silent, steadily approaching beats of the kick drum.

And - by the end of the introduction - the kick was there, with snares floating aboout in full-surround, highly delayed, breaking the rhythm, and... beautiful. The thick, low sound of sub-bass. The mild pads singing out like a choir. This... This was beautiful. Octavia had never imagined that electronic music could be so... beautiful. There were no other words. Octavia closed her mouth.

The drums grew louder, just as the cello rushed, hissed, painfully howled out - even more than the initial recording. The dismay of this part - first steps of a relationship - was accentuated by the strange array of effects - there was a certain degree of flanger? -  Vinyl had gifted the music with. The drums beat faster, and faster, and faster, creating an illusion of broken tempo - even though Octavia knew that the tempo remained the same - and then...

The silence! Near-second of thick, imperceptible silence, and then an array of bass, and high frequencies - and yes, the cello! Only it was not the same. It could never be the same. Ever again. Not after this... The beat intensified, the pads were screaming now, and her intervals were now full chords! Her cello, solo cello, unable to pick more than two notes with a bow, was now playing full chords! Octavia eyed Vinyl in shock and, well... fear. Yes, fear was there too, lingering in the back of her head. Or the front. She wasn't sure.

How could she be sure of anything any more - after this music?

"So..." Vinyl asked after the music ended. "How was it?" She immediately added, "I... I wanted it to show how... um, how different we are, and how... how we manage to be together." A real expert at talking, Vinyl. The DJ wanted to hit herself. With a stick.

"I loved it. It was..." Octavia fell silent. Did she like the music? Yes, definitely. Was it something she had expected? Not in the slightest. Was it fantastic? Sure. Magnificent? You bet. But it was also something else. Something... out of this world. Something that was perceived by her ears, but something that her mind failed to perceive - at least in the same way. Same manner. It was... something transcending transcendence itself. It was...

Octavia smiled and kissed her DJ on the cheek. "Mind-blowing."

***

"From the top."

Harpo groaned aloud, clasping his hair with his fingers madly. "Freddie, seriously? Seriously? That's the fifteenth time in a row!"

Fiona chuckled, her fingers gripping the bow, untired, unwavering. "That's not a record for Freddie, you know."

Harpo stuffed his index fingers into his ears. "Too! Much! Information!"

Beauty cracked her knuckles wearily, stretching her neck and arms. "Fifteen times?" She raised a brow at the violinist. "How do you guys do that?" Somehow, talking to Fiona had got easier over the time they'd spent together as a quartet. Maybe it was because she hadn't talked to Octavia - mostly in fear of Vinyl: the DJ seemed very... possessive, to say the least. Maybe it was because Fiona had, indeed, turned out rather witty, if prim. But then again, Octavia was prim too. FIona seemed like... she seemed like a friendlier, more open-minded version of Octavia. More... outgoing. Less stately.

Fiona leaned in, covering her mouth in a conspirational manner. "Well, see, there's a certain trick to it..."

Frederic cleared his throat audibly, and Bea could swear that, for a second, a thin blush passed his cheeks. "Ladies, we still have a suite to perform."

Fiona blinked innocently. "Oh, but of course, dear. I'll tell Bea about your... endurance later."

Now the blush was visible on the man's cheeks, if only for a moment. "Ahem, anyway. Harpo." Silence. "Harpo!"

The lyrist opened his eyes for a moment, his ears still shut. "Have you stopped discussing Frederic's dick?"

Beauty placed a hand on her boyfriend's hand, prompting him to uncover his ears. "Yes, dear. We can practice now."

With a powerful intake of breath - a signal - and a nod of his head, Frederic led the ensemble into battle. The piano - the heavy artillery shot heavy seventh chords, merry jazz trained and restrained in a fine classical way. The lyre gave it the needed morale, played by the well-trained military bard, Lieutenant Harpo Parish Nadermane. Fiona's violin - this beautiful medical solace in the middle of the battle! This beauty, this mesmerising skill, this fascination that she gifted him with! And the tuba, the low, grumbling tanks crushing his enemies underneath. Yes... Yes! This, here, was real beauty. Unveiled. Uncovered.

The enemy would be crushed. Mercilessly. Painfully. He would march into her camp and- and take what's rightfully his. By the rule of war. The conqueror takes it all. And- And if she refused- If she refused! She... She would refuse. And- He had his bounty already - poorer, true, but-

Frederic stopped abruptly, to the surprise of his fellow musicians. Fiona, definitely, was the first to notice something was wrong. "I think that's enough rehearsing for today."

Bea got it and began to pack her tuba hastingly. Harpo looked at Frederic and opened his mouth in an attempt to talk to his friend - enquire what was wrong - but Fiona shook her head, mouthing, Not now. Harpo frowned - She dares-! She has stolen my friend! - but obeyed, placing his lyre in its soft sack.

Frederic faked a smile and turned towards the rest of the ensemble. "I think that's enough practice. The suite's perfect. We will have one last rehearsal on the day of the event, but now let's take a few days of rest. Canterlot's Finest is right behind the corner." Seeing Harpo's and Beatrice's uncertain expressions, he raised his hand, waving it in the air. "Everything's all right. My fingers are just a little tired." Then, with an accepting sigh, "Just... Go home. You need your rest." And so do I.

Harpo took a hesitant step towards Frederic, but the pianist waved his hand in the air dismissively. With a sigh, Harpo grabbed Bea's tuba case, his own lyre sack, and followed his girlfriend towards the door.

Frederic closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He felt the familiar presence of Fiona's hands on his shoulders, massaging them, rubbing the sore muscles. "Darling, they've left. Can you tell me what's wrong?" Frederic did not reply, turning his head and burying his face in the violinist's breasts. "You... Have you been thinking of Octavia?"

"Yes." Frederic lingered for a moment and stood up abruptly. "Yes, I have."

"You..." Fiona gulped, shutting her eyes against the tears. "You still love her, after all these years?"

"No." Frederic did not need time to reply. He looked into his woman's eyes. Orange. Bright. Fiery with passion. "I just realised something, Fiona. All this time - all these years... I've loved you. Octavia was the substitute I created. When you left for-"

"Don't mention that." The violinist neared her pianist and embraced him softly. "That's in the past. Like Octavia."

"Like Octavia," Frederic repeated dumbly. "I love you, Fiona," he said, for the first time not in reply to Fiona's call.

"I love you too, Freddie." Fiona kissed the pianist on the lips - a breezy, minute kiss.

"I have a reservation for tonight," Frederic said. "The Gourmet, ten-thirty."

"That's lovely, darling." Fiona smiled. "Lovely."