The glossy black front door, like the white brick house it sat in, was no bigger or more intimidating than those of the houses up and down the street to either side. Not in reality, at least. To Sweetie Belle, it might have been a hundred feet tall.

The shaking of her tiny, pale arm matched the thudding in her chest as she raised a fist to knock. But knock she did, a moment of stubbornness overcoming the timidness with which she’d been planning to knock, and balancing out into a rap of knuckles on wood at a fairly normal volume. One she then almost flinched away from when she imagined it echoing down the street. Probably imagined, anyway.

But it was done, and she couldn’t take it back. Even if I ran, I wouldn’t make it out of sight in time. All she could do was wait, and dwell on how this had seemed such a good idea at the time and really didn’t right now.

Colourful flowers bloomed up and down the street, and the lawns shone in the morning sunlight. Bees and butterflies flitted about. She could practically smell next door’s hyacinths from where she stood. All of which she tried to distract herself with as she cast her eyes about, but only really served to remind her that it was June, so the Battle of the Bands had been just three months ago.

And here she was, on the doorstep of someone who, if her demeanour in the school corridors was anything to go by, really had not forgotten it.

Despite Sweetie Belle keeping her ears peeled for the faintest sound of someone in the house making their way to the door, she heard nothing until the instant the handle turned, the sudden noise of which hit her like thunder and made her jump. Then the door swung open, and…

Even in a rose strap top and dark jeans, Adagio Dazzle, framed by her doorway and looking dispassionately down at her unexpected caller, froze Sweetie Belle to the spot. It brought to mind some old movie of a monster between two skyscrapers, towering over a city’s doomed inhabitants.

“Hi, um,” Sweetie Belle began, drawing on all the courage she could find, as well as the knowledge that, however scary starting the conversation might be, answering a demand to know who she was and what she was doing there would be much worse, “you’re Adagio, right?”

No sign of a response, or any acknowledgement at all, so she quickly pressed on, “Sorry, my name’s Sweetie Belle, and…” she blushed, knowing she was about to be laughed out of town, but that she had to try nonetheless, “and I want to be a singer.” She closed her eyes, remembering her own performances during the Battle, compared with those of the siren before her. “I wish I had a voice like yours.”

For a couple more seconds, Adagio continued to stare down at Sweetie Belle, not giving any hint she’d heard a word. Sweetie Belle tried not to hold her breath, and also fought the urge to explain more. The sensible part of her mind told her she’d said enough, one way or the other.

Then, at last, Adagio gave a flat response. “Me too, kid.”

“I’m really sorry what they did to you,” Sweetie Belle jumped in as fast as she could, in case Adagio recognised her from school and lumped her in with those who took her voice away, “and it must be horrible if you can’t sing anymore.” There really wasn’t much else Sweetie Belle, or anyone else really, could say as consolation. “But I can pay you, if you’ll teach me?”

Even that wasn’t enough to bring out much reaction in Adagio right away. Only after a few more moments of emotionless staring, during which Sweetie Belle felt she was very much being weighed up, did Adagio drop her eyes to the floor, smiling wistfully. “You know, once, I would have had you incinerated for insinuating that talent like mine was something that could be bought.” She arched an eyebrow, one finely-sculpted enough to make Rarity jealous. “...Now, I could use the money.”

Sweetie Belle’s heart leapt, and also tried to ignore the implied threat.

“But you’re right,” Adagio continued, shifting her weight to one leg and leaning against the doorframe, “I can’t sing anymore. I don’t know how I could teach you.”

Luckily, Sweetie Belle had an answer to hand for that, because she’d hit that problem, too, after the initial five minutes of excitement from coming up with the idea. “My friend Scootaloo said that most sports coaches are too old to play anymore, so they turn to coaching others instead.”

Adagio’s eyebrow rose again, and, like it was a shark fin appearing in the water, Sweetie Belle realised the danger she’d put herself in. “Not that I’m saying you’re old!” she said, hurriedly holding her hands up in front of her. “But perhaps if they can still teach, you could too?”

Inside, Sweetie Belle was crossing every finger and toe she had.

“Perhaps.” Adagio pursed her lips. “If you can learn without practical demonstrations, then perhaps.” Before Sweetie Belle had the chance to respond with more than a big smile, Adagio folded her arms in front of her. “Sing me a note. Let’s see if you’re worthy.”

Just like that, Sweetie Belle felt her smile falter, casting her eyes to either side. “...Right here?”

“Are you kidding?” Adagio snorted. “Half of performance is just confidence.” Then she turned stern. “Yes, right here, or not at all.”

Not feeling she could afford a moment to lose, Sweetie Belle opened her mouth, only remembering at the last second to take a deep breath first. Then she aimed for a note she felt she could belt comfortably, and went for it before she had a chance to doubt it further. “Laaaaaaaaa!”

Adagio nodded once Sweetie Belle had finished, and her brow furrowed. “Hmmm. Projection and depth better than I expected, but focus needs work. Less nose, more chest.”

Blushing again, more heavily than before, Sweetie Belle looked at her shoes, taking in the view of her body as she did so. She wasn’t quite sure what Adagio meant about focus, but, regarding the other thing… “Um… I’m only twelve… my sister said they’d grow when I was a bit older.” Not that she was sure why that was relevant?

“You’re funny,” Adagio said, with an expression that might have been amused or maybe just quizzical, and left Sweetie Belle more confused than ever. “Ok, and a phrase?”

“La la la la laaaaa!”

“Pitching’s not bad at all.”

Sweetie Belle tried not to be too visibly elated – she had to maintain some semblance of cool around someone who seemed to ooze it as effortlessly as Adagio – but she did breathe easier.

“Which is good,” Adagio continued, “as regularly correcting that would require me to provide examples to follow, which I can’t.” Then she grimaced. “Also, because I don’t know how I’d have phrased it if I had to tell you you were flat.”

Though Sweetie Belle blushed again, she thought she got the joke?

Adagio’s expression had become tight, almost a manic grin. “...I’ve never spoken to a child before, can you tell?”

Laughing nervously was the best response Sweetie Belle could come up with, so that would have to do.

“Anyway,” Adagio frowned, not aggressively, but just like she’d hit the next problem in line, “how can you afford to pay me, at your age? Aren’t there labour laws or something?”

Even more than before, Sweetie Belle was glad she’d taken the time to plan it out and think it through before she’d brought her suggestion to Adagio, because that issue was one it had taken her a while to figure out, and she’d hate to have to answer it on the spot unprepared.

“My sister, Rarity, said I could work in her shop after school to earn some money.” And if Adagio hadn’t already realised Sweetie Belle was related to one of the girls responsible for destroying her voice, she’d certainly know now. Quick, keep talking, move the conversation on! “I just feel like…” she faltered, speaking from the heart in the absence of any other plan, “I love to sing, but everyone in my school’s a great singer, so it’s not like I stand out for it.” She probably wouldn’t have admitted that if not for spontaneous desperation, but it was true. “No one really did, until you. You held every eye and ear in the school when you sang. If I could learn to do that…?”

Adagio smiled. There was a pained kind of look to it, but the joy, as far as Sweetie Belle could tell, seemed genuine. Then a gleam appeared in Adagio’s eye, giving the smile a very different cast. “Let me see if I’ve got this right.” She began ticking off points on her fingers as she spoke. “A member of the band who destroyed my amulet, on the grounds that I was an evil, corruptive influence… is happy to embrace statutory child slavery – in her own business – so that I can be paid to take her little sister under my wing… and teach her to be more like me?”

Biting her lip, Sweetie Belle had to agree Rarity probably hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms. She had okayed it though! Would she go back on it, later? “W-well, when you put it like that–”

“–Then how could I possibly refuse?” Adagio’s eyes lit up. “Come in.”

Author's Notes:

I wrote all the dialogue for this about three years ago, and all the rest today.