For the second time in one night, Bluenote found herself jumping too quickly into situations. For one, telling Caramel to be back at her place in an hour was way too small a timeframe. She took nearly half the time getting out of her sousaphone. It was a ritual that could have been thoroughly avoided if the instrument were divided, but instead took twenty minutes and a copious amount of contortion. The sousathingy, as a non-musician might call it, was hastily stowed in its case. The rest of her time was spent preparing for a late night at the club.

She looked around her apartment, unclasping her bowtie and laying it down on a dresser. The whole place looked like a father had set it up and let his daughter live in it for a few weeks. There was still an illusion of order from the last time she cleaned up, but it was so much quicker to throw things about haphazardly. The apartment had what was needed in the space of four rooms. She could have spent an hour looking over the living quarters, musing over a hypothetical dream home, but she hadn’t allotted herself that kind of time tonight.

Bluenote trotted into the shower, keeping the water cold. In there she pondered what to wear to the club across the corner, settling on nothing but a thin and loose chain necklace of silver. It couldn’t possibly be a formal environment. Most nights its lights were on until sunrise, and a careful observer could feel the bass resonate through the ground. She once again asked herself what she was thinking asking a stallion she barely knew to the club.

You felt bad for him. You were bored. You needed an excuse to go. The music’s supposed to be good. The drinks are, too. It’s better than sitting at home. He seems like an alright pony.

Excuses buzzed around in her head, bouncing like a swarm of a thousand frenzied parasprites. Any such thoughts with romantic tones were singled out to be swatted away. Unfortunately, it’s not easy to catch up to such energetic emotion.

The light blue mare’s coat was becoming saturated with water, as was her brown mane which tangled within her coat. Her tail similarly lost form and was pushed lightly by water on the shower tile. The frigid flow helped to keep her thoughts level as she went through the cleaning process as quickly as possible. She stepped out after she was satisfied with her job of cleansing herself of the gala and the stress that it caused. She shook herself crudely to throw standing water off before grabbing some towels and fervently drying off. She quite thoroughly abused the present perfume, aware that all senses would be obscured in a small number of minutes by the busy ambience of nightlife. Top notes of jasmine and orange blossom dominated the rest of the scents.

She was drying herself for as long as she could afford while she finished the rest of her preparation. She made sure to bring along bits this time. Bluenote began combing her mane and coat as time ticked down, choosing an uneven level. The front of her mane was allowed to sneak over her right eye, obscuring the lashes. She could barely remember the last time she’d been in a club atmosphere, and remembered even less the proper decorum. Her friends and colleagues generally guided her away from the more contemporary musical scene. In an attempt to calm herself, she took a minute to more carefully pack away her instrument than she had when rushing back to her apartment.

As confident as she would be, Bluenote strode out of her room and down to the main lobby. Her toothpaste-colored friend was no longer in the lobby, presumably having more important things to do. The sousaphonist held her form high, hooves gliding low over the ground as she trotted outside. Her eyes were open and determined, focusing directly forward.

As she stepped out the door, she saw Caramel looking up at the walls of the nightclub. The building stood several stories tall, and its street corner was cut out on the first floor to make way for sets of glass double doors blocked by bouncers and dividers. Two poorly formed lines from either side of the corner slowly proceeded forward, guided by tiles installed in the sidewalk that glowed a fluorescent green. A wavy group of neon tubes ran across the top of the structure, arranged in rainbow formation. They met at the corner, taking a sharp turn upwards and running onto the empty roof of the building. On top of the lights in the front was the name of the club in a gaudy, bright red font. “Insomniac Dreams” must have sounded witty when first pitched.

The caramel brown stallion stood mesmerized by the lights and sounds of the bar and dance club. Behind him, his companion prowled up to his left, centimeters away from her hair brushing against his. The blue mare swayed and leaned with exaggeration, nestling the side of her muzzle into Caramel’s mane. It was softer than she expected. His body stiffened in surprise, coming back into reality. His shoulders in particular shot back, and Bluenote felt that in her jaw like a short punch.

Undeterred, she spoke quietly and slowly into his ear. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Caramel.” Her eyes were closed, and she dug deeper into his hair.

“H-hey,” Caramel responded tentatively. He allowed his posture to relax and turned his snout over hers. The two of them stood on the street corner for a moment together before the blue mare pulled her muzzle out.

She took a better look at Caramel. His mane was pushed forwards, parting into a few bangs above his eyes. His tail lacked the definite S shape that it had an hour before, leaving a shorter and less formal look. He cocked his head after a moment of Bluenote’s examination. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmhmm,” She replied quickly, “Just thinking. Shall we?” She flicked her head in the direction of the bright neon signs for “The Dream.”

“Sure.” Caramel wasn’t as keen on masking himself with confidence as Bluenote was. The two of them crossed over to the corner of the club and stood themselves at the back of a slow queue to enter. In front of them, several dozen ponies were exchanging idle conversation with one another. Most of them looked like they would at home, but a few dressed up with goggle shades or glowsticks. As the line inched forwards, Bluenote could feel a heavy kick drum at what she recognized as march tempo. The beat resonated in her hooves as she passively tapped a hind heel down with each hit. No speakers lined the walls outside of the club; any sound heard right now was just finding its way through the building.

The two worked their way up to the front without speaking much to each other. A bouncer with an icy blue mohawk waved them through after a cursory glance. He pointed to the doors with a hoof. The huge room seemed to flicker in and out of existence by the light of green lasers. Before either of them had a chance to enter, the beat stopped, and the green flashes cut out completely. Caramel opened the door for Bluenote, and they proceeded through a blank vestibule to the club proper.

The room was packed with ponies passionately moving with the trance saws that cut through the air. The entire sound of Insomniac Dreams was focused in the treble ranges for a fleeting moment before bass started to fade in through subwoofers on and in the ground.

As the deeper waves entered, a platform overlooking the whole floor illuminated with electric blue. The star of the night’s show slowly raised her head up until she was staring at the ceiling through purple-tinted lenses. A kick build fazed in and the DJ pulled herself higher, looking like she could fall backwards. The whole track cut for half a beat, and P0n-3 raised her front hooves off the ground. Her entire body snapped back down as electronic hats and cymbals crashed. Her gel-styled cerulean mane bounced violently but maintained form as bassy tones retook the club by storm. Her smug smile bobbed up and down in time as music saturated with fourth and fifth power chords evoked cheers from her captive audience.

Caramel and Bluenote stared up in awe at the theatric performance of a bass drop. The dance floor bounced with the continual bass and snare. The crowd formed circles, some of two or three friends and some totaling to several dozens. Some groups pumped hooves in the air while others pulsed their whole bodies to the beat. Some colts and fillies were practically dancing on top of each other, fueled by the primeval desires of their partners. Whatever the activities, everypony was having a good time save for the rare awkward friend trying to make conversation with a dancing companion.

The moving wall of ponies was intimidating to enter alone. Caramel and Bluenote circled around it, eventually finding a nook to fill. The song was in a period of decline, bass quieting and treble losing sharpness. The two allowed their bodies to embrace the slowing rhythm, guided by the push of those around them. The mob was powered by the kick drum, and when it stopped, the club stopped jumping and started swaying.

Bluenote looked up at the DJ presiding over the event. Her head bobbed constantly, and one of her hooves was placed in front of her on a soundboard, messing with precise volumes and reverberations. Once satisfied, she shifted to hitting a black pad on the board. Kick re-entered on uneven beats where the synth was quieter. On the cue of an ending melody, the white mare slammed forward another meter, throwing pulsing offbeats into mix. The beat of the bass drum was back in full swing, maybe louder than before.

“Sorry, are you alright?” Caramel’s voice broke through the noise of the club and pierced Bluenote’s thoughts. "You haven't said much tonight."

She shook her head, continuing to gaze up at the confident queen of the decks. “Yeah. Maybe just tired?” A forced laugh came from her lips. “What’s this DJ’s name again?”

“DJ P0n-3.” Caramel replied, sure of the pronunciation of the name. “Her real name’s Vinyl Scratch. She used to go by DJ Raverider, but only the hipsteers call her that now.”

“How do you know that?” Bluenote quizzed over the heavy beat.

“Wikiponia,” Caramel shrugged. “She’ll do some more complex stuff as the night goes on.”

“Why, the mix isn’t full enough already?” The two shared a laugh as the track in the building built up on a chromatic pattern before another huge crash sent the song back to the four measures or so that repeated to make up the song. “It’s good ear candy. I like it.”

“Glad to introduce anypony to new music.” Caramel smiled as laser lights absorbed into his coat.

---

The show did indeed get more involved. The tempos of the music gradually sped up, the number of tracks in each song multiplied, and every style of techno was explored. Trance lead to acid lead to breakbeat, then to rave and glitch and dubstep. The whole universe for everypony inside was controlled by the DJ, whose smile never faltered through her concert. She ended the show like the rest of the crowd: glistening with sweat and at least a bit drunk. Bluenote and Caramel joined in the minutes-long ovation that followed the last encore.

“Thank you, Canterlot!” Vinyl screamed into a microphone in front of her, her vocal chords clearly shot from the last few hours of partying. “I’m out!” One last time, she slammed a limp hoof onto a button and a low male voice took hold of the room.

“Every day I’m gallopin’,” it said before leading into a scratchy synth devoid of the heavy bass and live performance P0n-3 had just offered. She turned away from her audience and exited her elevated stage. Lasers and fluorescent blues and greens gave way to more natural white and yellow lights in the ceiling. The show was officially over, and some patrons already made a mad dash for the exit. A few straggling colts decided that the party was only over when they said so, and they continued to dance on the main floor.

Bluenote began moving for the exit with the rest of the crowd. Caramel put a hoof out in front of her to stop the motion. “Let’s head over to the bar, okay?” She was willing to accept the suggestion, her mind still foggy from a cup too many of heavily spiked and sweetened punch. The two of them had exchanged amusing conversation for the time inside the club, and Caramel seemed like a trustworthy, if not sometimes forgetful pony.

They reached the bar, where a light tan stallion with a martini glass for a cutie mark was filling multiple orders at once. “P0n-3 normally hangs here after her shows,” Caramel explained.

“You come here often, then?” Bluenote slurred, swaying her body towards her companion.

“Twice before, so not really. I’m surprised you haven’t. I’d go more often if I lived across from the Dream.” He stepped up to the bar and tapped it in an attempt to get some attention. Bluenote looked around at the dozens still remaining in the club, likely all here to get autographs or a picture with a famous musician.

I’m a famous musician… she complained in jest to herself, why don’t I get to sign autographs? Who wouldn’t want a signed picture with the tubist of the Fillydelphia Philharmonic? She exhaled, pushing her mane up for a moment before it fell lifelessly.

Bluenote leaned herself against a vacant table for a few minutes until the musician of the night stepped out of a door across the dance floor. Excitement murmured from the compact crowd at the bar, and they parted a lane to the alcohol for Vinyl. “So, how’d y’all like it?” the mare with ever-gelled hair asked to nopony in particular. The question got a holler of positive cheers from the group, which hushed when she kept talking. “It’s awesome to get to set up the beats for nights like this, ‘Specially ‘cause at least one of you’s gonna remember tonight. I look like I stepped out of Everfree Forest right now, but anypony want any photos or autographs?” She glanced at the bartender. “Sonic Rainbomb, by the way.” The DJ commandeered an empty table, and a mob formed around her. She levitated a pen with her horn and started scribbling on a photo of herself a fan pushed at her.

Bluenote and Caramel pushed into the fray, Caramel having brought Super Ponybeat Vol. 1 to the show to get signed. By the time they reached the front of the queue, most ponies had their seconds to chat with a celebrity, and only a dozen or so patrons were left in the club. Caramel pushed forward the album with a hoof, and Vinyl reflexively stated signing it.

“I really liked the show,” Bluenote chimed in. “Was that Contrapunctus you sampled in your last piece?”

P0n-3’s head shot up at the mention of the piece name, and she looked over Bluenote through purple lenses. “Yeah,” she replied slowly, “by Johoof Sebastian Bach. I’m guessing by that cutie mark you’re a musician?”

Bluenote looked down at the black bass clef blazoned on her flank. “Yes, that’s right.”

The DJ took another swig of the rainbow drink in front of her. “Great, legit. Can you come up with me to the booth in a few? I need help on a song, but the studio’s full of morons and my fans always just say it’s great. It’ll only be a couple of minutes, I swear.” She handed the signed album back to Caramel, who looked just as surprised as Bluenote at the proposition.

“Well, I don’t really know about that.” Bluenote admitted. “I mean, I play the sousaphone. It’s not like I’m the best at music theory.”

“Even better!” Vinyl’s eyes probably brightened behind the goggle shades, which looked like they’d been wiped clear of fog recently. “Formal training just makes limits. Like ponies saying we can only have five toppings on top of our pizza.” Seeing the confused looks across the table, she added in, “I’ll explain that later. I still gotta greet a few more guests. You can bring your coltfriend, if you want.”

“He’s not my co-“ The rebuttal was interrupted by the next clubgoers pushing her out from between them and P0n-3.

“That’s great!” Caramel exclaimed. “Do you want me to stay for the music making?”

Bluenote thought for a minute. “No, I think you should go home and get at least some sleep.” She embraced Caramel with a foreleg. “Thanks for giving me a chance to come here, Caramel.”

“Thank you,” he replied, “for inviting me.”

“If you want to find me again, you know where I am,” Bluenote offered. She stepped back from the embrace and looked through tired eyes for one last time at Caramel. He had a good time tonight.

“I do. Good bye, Bluenote.” He considered saying something more. The last words flowed insubstantially out of his mouth, but he just turned away towards the exit.

Well, I guess I might remember tonight after all. Bluenote looked around for any sort of clock. It was intentionally hard to find, but she saw an analog timepiece behind the bar.

4 AM. Could be worse.

---

Author’s Note: Never listen to a three minute loop of ear candy when you have school tomorrow. It will invade your thoughts and keep you in a catatonic state while granting you no benefits of sleep.