The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Twelve

***

"Are you nervous?"

Octavia nodded as she tried to calm down. Of course she was nervous. How she possibly be not nervous? Octavia looked about the large garden - if the vast empty space filled with round tables and well-dressed people of such wealth and pose that it scared even the well-to-do and rather high-class cellist could ever be called a 'garden'. She glanced at the improvised empty stage - a simple wide postament, really - in the far end of the enormous 'garden', the stage that Vinyl and she were sitting by, or, rather, behind - a stage that she, along with Vinyl, would have to take. And perform. In front of all these people. Suddenly, Octavia's tuxedo felt too warm and itchy.

Vinyl, however, seemed to be pretty tranquil, tinkering with wires connecting Octavia's electric cello - a marvel for the few passers-by who walked past the stage at a leisurely pace - to what the DJ called a 'looper': a device that was meant to make her cello sound exactly like the mix that Vinyl had produced. Naturally, the cello part had been cut by the DJ so that the cellist could actually perform, and not just stand by as Vinyl worked the turntables - which, by the way, had already made their way to the stage. "I... I'm a little nervous, too," Vinyl admitted. "And this tuxedo is itchy," she added with a wince.

Octavia chuckled, covering her mouth with a hand. Somehow, knowing that her partner was nervous too made her less nervous herself.

"Chins up, Tavi," Vinyl rubbed the cellist's cheek with a thumb - a gesture that made Octavia blush, for it was borderline for such an event. Ah, but who cares anyway! Octavia kissed the finger, disregarding any possible response that such behaviour might evoke.

"I'm just..." Octavia chewed on her lip as Vinyl began massaging her shoulders. "I'm thinking about my- about Frederic's ensemble. Harpo, Beauty... I haven't seen them in a while."

Vinyl shrugged. "You'll see them soon. Their performance is right after ours." But talk to them? No, Tavi, you won't talk to them. Because you're mine. You're a part of me. You're mine to keep. Now, Vinyl realised her power. She knew that, by making this pact - choosing this relationship, with all it brought them - she signed a deal. And so did Octavia. And thus, she did have a say in her girlfriend's matters. Without being overprotective - but sometimes, being overprotective. And... I can't lose you to Frederic. She couldn't take chances.

"Speaking of which," Vinyl changed the topic swiftly. "Our performance begins in fifteen minutes. Time to practice the looper."

"Yes." Octavia nodded. "Time to practice."

***

"You're late."

Harpo averted his eyes at Frederic's remark. The quiet corner of the garden was nice and secluded. How would they drag the piano, though? he mused as he eyed the concert grand, white at snow, at which Frederic was sitting, looking at him sternly. "I quit, Freddie."

Silence.

Frederic frowned. "It's not very nice to quit before the performance that we've been practicing so hard for." He pondered for a moment while Fiona just sat next to him, a silent support. Steady. Steadfast. Unwavering. "May I ask why?"

Harpo winced. "There are certain... disturbances in the quartet that I don't like." He cast a quick glare at the violinist, who pretended not to notice. "Moreover, I don't like the way you run the ensemble. So, since I can't change it, I quit."

"You are missing out a lot of fame and fortune," Frederic observed calmly.

Harpo sighed. "I know." He turned his back on the pianist. "But, more than anything, I'm missing out a friend." With that, he walked towards the middle of the garden, now a free part - a particle - of the gathering. He will still achieve much, Frederic realised. He'll talk to a few people here and there and he'll get what he wants. The man nodded approvingly at his vanishing friend. Yes. He has a certain... charisma.

"I quit, too." Beauty winced painfully as she said the words that she so did not want to say.

Frederic smiled sadly. "Et tu, Brute?"

Bea was on the verge of crying, covering her eyes with a hand. "Freddie, Fiona, I- I really like you and the ensemble, but..." She sniffed. "He's my boyfriend. He's the man I love. He's the man I want to marry. I can't leave him hanging like that. I must follow him." The woman smiled through tears. She'll make a good wife, Frederic thought. Gentle, but firm. And yet obedient enough. Obedient, but with an opinion of her own. A perfect soulmate.

"I understand, Bea," Fiona said, sniffing herself, as she hugged the tuba player, crushing her in a tight embrace. "You're free to drop by any time you want, you know?"

Beatrice looked at Frederic: his eyes hazy, his gaze averted, fixed on something beneath the non-existent horizon. "I'll call," she replied vaguely and followed her man to the garden.

Fiona placed her hand on Frederic's shoulder. "We can still perform as a duet. I'll alter the violin parts and-"

"No," Frederic chuckled, shaking his hand. Suddenly, he laughed, his head clear, warm, scary happiness washing over him. But no excitement. "I'll be performing alone. I knew something like that could come up, so I've been working on a solo piece too."

"But-" Fiona started, only for Frederic to shush her with his hand against her mouth, slowly, tenderly.

"I want to perform alone because it's a special song. Also, I believe our judges may be biased if they see the two of us on the stage." He smiled. "They'll think I chose you for your good looks, and..." He paused, his smile directed only at the violinist. "Because of familial relations."

"Familial... relations?" Fiona blinked. "Why would-"

"Because..." Frederic lowered himself to his knee, taking a small box out of the pocket of his trousers. "I want you to become my wife."

***

"Tavi, you ready?"

Octavia wanted to say 'Born ready' or something equally confident, something worthy of her girlfriend. Something brave. Something to match her calm - 'chill', she called it - demeanour. Instead, she just let out a confirming 'eep' that could - she hoped - pass for a 'yep'. Sitting on a chair on the stage, all eyes on her - and Vinyl naturally, but mostly on her, as it seemed. God. So many people who... Who could define my future. Never prone to stage fright, Octavia felt nausea creeping over her, her gut retching and her stomach swirling about her belly. So many people. Each of them more financially successful than her whole en- that the ensemble she used to play in. Octavia shut her eyes. Tight. If she didn't want to lose her career - and she didn't - she had to concentrate.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Vinyl's voice boomed over the garden. "I am very humbled that you invited me to this wonderful event. And even though I initially wanted to provide some background ambience - all on my own, that would be really hard, won't you agree?" A few laughs from the crowd that had already gathered before the stage - apart from the richest and most important ones confirmed Octavia's suspicions that Vinyl, surprisingly enough, did know a lot about high-class society and proper eiquette. I'll need to talk to her about it. The DJ carried on, "It is my honour and privilege to present to you my partner, the cellist Octavia Philarmonica." Octavia took a small bow without standing up, marvelling at how skilfully the DJ had used the word 'partner' to avoid controversy. "We will be performing a suite composed by yours truly and the cellist in question." Octavia could not help but notice thin hints of mockery in Vinyl's words.

Vinyl nodded and pressed the button. For a moment, Octavia felt... frozen. Numb. Unable to move. Oh my god I'm too late now what to do of course Vinyl could make a joke or something and- And the cellist found that her hands, to her incredible surprise, were moving correctly, playing the notes in their stately succession. Automatically. The introduction had begun.

Octavia was feeling more confident. The bow danced across the strings on its own, allowing her to think. Also, she was scared that if she concentrated on her movements, instead of diverting her attention from them, she would fail. Some fifteen minutes ago, she could not believe she would be performing here. And, still, while actually performing, she still could not believe in it.

She was actually playing! With Vinyl! At Canterlot's Finest! Before all these people! In near-orgasmic glee, Octavia grinned as her hands guided the bow, the melody evolving. Yes, she could hear the kick drum now, and boy, she loved it! Vinyl was there, grinning, her eyes covered by the purple shades, so sleek, so beautiful, so unbearably sexy in that tuxedo of hers! Oh, how she wanted to rip it off her right now and make love to her DJ!

The high-heeled foot hit the pedal, bringing the looper to life. She played the intervals and- magic! Magic of music! Forth came full chords! Vinyl's magic worked! Eyes closed, Octavia played the familiar notes, the feeling of creating something uncreatable with a solo acoustic cello tugging at her incredibly.

Lost in time, Octavia did not notice the suite's end. How long had she been playing for? Did it matter?

Silence. Painful, mind-numbing, ear-shattering silence. Her hands ended the piece correctly. Automatically. And then-!

An eruption of applause! People all around her clapping violently, their primness vanishing behind their open mouths, their pose lost as they cheered like a common crowd, their arms above their heads. And- even those who had been occupied with business talk at the tables were here now, applauding like the others!

Octavia felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Following some higher force, she stood up, dropping the bow, and the cello be damned, and ran up to her DJ, who was grinning widely and waving at the audience, and grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her round, and locked her lips with hers in a passionate kiss, a kiss of love, a kiss that drowned out the loud, fervent clapping.

And then - silence.