Backstage, the four musicians found themselves in an awkward silence.  Whatever had come over them, they all found themselves allowing a guest to decide what they should play. Further, they allowed this guest to make a mockery of music and the entire gala. Horseshoepin would have berated Bluenote for giving the intruder a chance to start, had he not been equally guilty. Nadermane was helping Octavia examine every facet of the contrabello, the gray mare a distraught mess by this point. Her hooves ran over the length of the exterior, feeling a distinct dent in the back of the instrument’s body. An expletive ran from her mouth, and she paced around the room in anger, the soles of her hooves stomping on the tiled floor with a percussive rhythm more rigid than her normal canter.

“That wild foal had better be ready to pay up!” Octavia yelled. The walls of the castle were well insulated, but it sounded like some sort of commotion was going on in the palace. Any noise Ms. Philharmonica made was easily drowned out.

“Tavi, calm down.” Bluenote marched confidently across the room, sousaphone still around her body, placing a hoof on the angered musician. “If it’s damaged, you ca-“

“It is damaged,” the gray mare interjected, shrugging off the hoof, “and I don’t want to hear you tell me that I can just get it fixed. It would take weeks, and it will never have the same beautiful tone again!” She may have come off as a drama queen, but the others in the room could vouch for how important the health of an instrument is.

“Stuff happens,” the blue pony once again tried to comfort her friend. “You’re not going to be any worse just because there’s a dent. It’s not like there’s not another one like it.” Bluenote knew that Octavia had been the subject of a few posters advertising the Celuneste brand of stringed instruments, and the contrabello at the gala had on it the interjoined, stylized moon and sun of a high class music company.

“You’re one to talk, Blues,” Octavia spat out, disdain in her voice. “It’s not like you’ve played personally for royalty with this, or toured across Equestria with a prized possession, or ever been able to play anything more than that chunk of copper!” She ran her hoof around the rim of the marching tuba, reaching up as she did so. “That’s not something fit to play at the gala! That’s something that belongs at the stands for a university hoofball game!”

Octavia stood angry above Bluenote, their postures contrasting. The two of them had struck discordant chords against each other, and the brass player was shrinking back down into her instrument against her intimidating colleague. Two pairs of wide, purple eyes stared at each other, Octavia’s a decidedly more gray and underspoken shade. Despite this, hers were more intense in the moment, filled with the rage of a wronged musician. Bluenote took a quiet step back. “O-Octavia…”

The tense air was broken not by any of the four in the room, but instead by sounds heard through the castle walls. Five huge crashes of stone on stone rocked the palace, and the earth shook as pillars toppled to the ground. The expectable public panic held off for about fifteen seconds, when the doors crashed open and a yell of “LOVE ME!” permeated the silent atmosphere. With this, the crowd (and what sounded like monkeys?) made a raucous scene that could only be heard by the musicians, who stopped what they were doing and turned to the door.

“Well, I’m out.” Harpo Parish Nadermane quickly uttered before running out the door, towards the nearest exit with the rest of the crowd.

“I’ve no more to do here.” Frederic Horseshoepin said as he trotted away from the two musical mares, ready to leave for his Canterlot residence.

“And you, my dearest Blues?” Octavia mocked, the contrabello now once again in her arms, “Will you leave me here alone?”

“I don’t think you want me here with you right now, Tavi.” Bluenote used the fillyhood nickname in endearment while Octavia did so in some disgust.

“That is correct,” the gray mare remarked matter-of-factly. The two of them shared a moment of silence before Bluenote turned about face, her long and winding tube of brass turning with her. Her brown mane and tail similarly swayed with her march style movement.

“We’ll catch up right some time, Tavi. When you’re not angrier than Nightmare Moon.” Octavia didn’t have a chance for rebuttal before the doors swung back closed, leaving her and her instrument alone inside a castle of chaos.

***

The trek out to the horse-drawn carriages was a harsh one. As is always the case with the Grand Galloping Gala, there were thousands of ponies involved. This year, they all were trying to leave at once. Despite any impression she may have given off, Bluenote wasn’t eager to get her instrument damaged, and wasn’t in a position to take it off. Its case was at home, and how she ever got the huge horn on and off in the first place was the topic of minor speculation. So, she braved her way through the crowd, keeping her posture straight. She ticked to herself like a snare’s metronomic pattern of taps, denoting the steps of her front left hoof. Some mares and stallions cleared in front of her at times, perhaps intimidated by the sousaphone. She eventually found her way over the rolling hills of the castle garden to the main road where dozens of stagecoaches waited. The closest unoccupied carriage to her was being pulled by a lone male earth pony with a cream caramel coat and cyan eyes, a bowtie around his neck like many of the gala attendees.

Bluenote climbed into the coach, making sure not to bump her brass in the process. The carriage was not designed to accommodate for such an object, but with a bit of maneuvering, she was able to stand comfortably in solitude. “You don’t mind if I’m in here alone, do you?” Bluenote asked in an unintentionally aggressive tone.

“No I don’t, ma’am,” the pulling stallion replied automatically. His voice was deeper than expected, but still sounded a bit uncertain. “Where are we headed, ma’am?”

The sousapony spouted out a corner address from memory.

“Really, the P0n-3 show? You didn’t seem the type.” Without looking back, the stallion began his somewhat slow trot out into downtown Canterlot. “I mean, it’s not like I got too good of a look at you. Not because you’re … you know, I’ll just shut up and pull right now.” The driver seemed the kind who would ramble on one-sidedly for an hour if given the chance.

Bluenote couldn’t find it in herself to laugh at the social ineptitude. “My apartment is on the same corner,” she explained.

“Sorry…” The caramel pony hung his head down a bit and continued his pace towards the brighter parts of Canterlot.

Realizing she had snapped at him, Bluenote let back on her tone of voice. “I’m sorry, I’m berating you on assumptions and I never even caught your name.”

The stallion’s posture snapped back up in optimism as he took the time to look back at his current passenger. Her hair was becoming frayed from the stress of the gala, her mane losing its curl and finding itself covering the top of her left eye. “I’m Caramel,” he stuttered. From the awkward walking angle of his body, his cutie mark could be made out as three blue horseshoes. He smiled a stupid smile with the same class he had carried himself in the last minute or so of conversation.

“Shouldn’t you be wa-“ Bluenote tried to warn Caramel before he bumped into another coach headed in the opposite direction, which snapped him back to reality. “Just keep looking forward, Mr. Caramel.”

“Sorry, ma’am, sorry.” He stumbled for a moment over a crack of cobblestone before regaining his canter and spending the next hooffull minutes in silence. The driver and passenger slowly made their way closer to downtown Canterlot, the stray streetlight fading out to the magically magnified moonlight and starlight. The land was bright, and various clubs, bars, restaurants, and shops displayed themselves to a consumer with the éclat and dazzle of a showmare. A constant layer of talking ponies set the scene for street performers and the faint beat of clubs.

“So, why did you leave so early? Don’t the musicians have to stay ‘til the end?” Caramel inquired, trying to calm down his embittered passenger with mindless conversation.

“We were forced to leave because the gala ended early.” Bluenote explained with more patience.

“Why?” He asked simply in stark contrast to the sophistication of Bluenote’s last several hours.

“I don’t know.” She answered after a brief pause. “Everypony was running and screaming, the castle was a mess, and animals were running around the halls.” She would have been content with her answer if the party were ever officially called off. “You don’t think I’m in trouble, do you?” Suddenly, she once again had reason to worry for her career.

“No, why would you?” Caramel’s gaze was now staying forwards, but drifted now and again to examine a storefront. His response seemed automatic and without thought.

“Well, they never said I could leave! What if they think I’m a deserter? And what about the times I messed up? Or playing pieces out of the repertoire! Mr. Jazz could make it so I never have a good job again!” Her voice climbed the reaches of her range, ending her miniature panic in a high, whiny register.

He let out a chuckle, a comforting one like that of a grandfather. “I don’t think there’s a job in the world that’s that bad. I don’t think there’d even be anypony to listen to you if you stayed…” Caramel’s voice trailed off, unable to end the sentence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name either, ma’am.”

“Bluenote Brass,” she recited, giving a reflexive bow which her companion couldn’t see. “The musical world is very unforgiving.”

“Maybe yours,” he retorted as he gave another quick laugh. “I can’t think of one artist on my iPony who’s perfect. Hedged Sevenfold, Daft Pony, David Petal, Hooves and Roses, Whinny Hendrix, they’ve all messed up, especially in concert.”

Bluenote pondered the examples for a minute. “So, wait, you have Hedged Sevenfold and David Petal on your iPony?”

“Yup,” he answered. “Sorry, do you not know who they are? David Petal did 'Where Them Mares At' and 'Sexy Bit,' Hedged Sevenfold did 'Night Mare,' 'Celestia Ha-'“

“Yeah, I know!” She cut him off before more song names could be dropped. “I just didn’t really think you’d like both of them at once. They’re pretty different genres.” The pop culture references distracted her for the moment from her alleged career issues.

“No way you like them,” Caramel taunted in disbelief. “You’re worrying about Mozcart and Beethoofen one minute and liking today’s music the next.”

“What, just because I make one kind of music, I can’t like another?” Bluenote responded playfully.

“No, no, of course not!” He seemed worried that he offended his passenger. “You just really didn’t look like the kind of pony, like I said earlier.” He paused, trying not to run his mouth and say more than he had to like the first time the topic was brought up. “I mean, you came out of the palace with an instrument. I thought everyone at the gala was a stuck-up rich pony.”

“I don’t really feel like I fit in there, anyway.” Bluenote sighed a sigh of fatigue. “I need to not make a foal of myself in front of all of those high class fillies and gentlecolts, and apparently it’s not too easy.”

“I would recommend going to see P0n-3 if you get the chance. If the bass doesn’t get your mind off your problems, the drinks will.” Caramel spoke over his shoulder as they were beginning to approach their destination. He gave an honest smile and another one of his laughs, this one less reserved. It was a laugh at the world, and Bluenote couldn’t help but share it.

“Thank you, Caramel,” Bluenote said, “but I think I’ll be occupied tonight.”

“Alright, if you say so.” Caramel’s voice trailed upwards, implying a question.

Bluenote took this as a challenge, deciding to speak with the sense of artificial formality she would have used at the Gala. “I’ll have you know I’m very busy. This sousaphone doesn’t maintain itself, you know. And if I had free time, I would spend it in a far more meaningful way that being bounced between drunk, flirtatious colts.”

“If you say so,” he repeated, tone climbing even higher into a sing-songy taunt. Within a minute they were at their destination. Bluenote carefully climbed out of the coach, and dug into her saddlebags for bits for the driver.

There were no bits in the saddlebag.

There was no saddlebag on her pony at all. The musician hadn’t even noticed that she only brought her instrument to the gala. She planned to walk back, but the hustle and bustle of the Gala’s ending changed her mind. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back, please trust me!” Without more explanation, Bluenote ran into the apartment building. No sooner did she enter than almost collide with a mare with a light blue coat in the lobby. Her mane was layered, icy white over cerulean blue.

“Colgate, lend me five bits? You’ll get them back first thing tomorrow.”

“Sure thing!” The blue-eyed pony replied with a smile. Without hesitation, she reached into her bags and flipped out with her teeth a five-bit piece. “Why do you need it?” Maybe she should have asked before giving the money.

“Need to pay a cabby and my stuff’s upstairs.” The explanation was rushed, and Bluenote turned to pay Caramel. Through the exchange, her sousaphone was still around her body.

“Thanks for waiting, and thanks for the ride!” Bluenote smiled courteously at Caramel, who took the coin from the outstretched hoof without taking his eyes off of the mare’s face.

“You have fun with your sousathingy, now.” Caramel looked over at a clock. “My, look at the time,” he muttered.

“What time is it?” Bluenote disregarded the sousathingy comment and looked over to a clock. The time had officially passed over into the morning of the next day.

“Time for me to return this coach and then I’m done for the night. Good-bye, have a nice night maintaining your instrument.” Caramel took care now to not call the sousaphone by any incorrect name. He turned off for the road.

Bluenote watched him begin his trot off, and thought of what her night would look like. Valve oil and cheap salt, most likely. That and the complexities of taking off the blasted brass.

“Hey, Caramel!” Bluenote shouted out a bit more loudly than she had expected, a hoof outstretched towards the coach. The brown pony turned, perfectly round eyes cocked in confusion.

“Sorry, yes?” Normally this meant he forgot to give proper change to a customer.

“Meet me back here in an hour for that club across the corner?”

Now where in Equestria did that come from?