[Satyr] Sax and violins

Unicorn culture generally claims to have invented music. Naturally the other two races have since claimed to have perfected it, and in company of a mixed troupe it is often very easy to start a terse discussion. While the latter may be a subjective statement the former does have its roots in history. It takes no stretch of imagination to see the first makers of instruments forging their pieces from molten silver and gold with their telekinetic gifts.  Nor does it require any imagination at all to see that the oldest instrument makers of all reside in old Unicorn settlements, none greater than Canterlot itself. Inside it's myriad streets and passages one can find a small storefront, a cramped and well worn mostly vertical corner of one of the oldest buildings on the mountainside which proudly boasts being the oldest musical shop in Equestria. 'One thousand years old', the front door proudly proclaims, as it had for as long as anyone could remember. Much like the beloved Princess herself most found counting past the fourth figure unnecessary. A small and quite genuine silver bell rings as one opens the door, the subtle cue that would shape a young colt's life.

He couldn't stop staring at her as she trot inside, hair askew from butting the door open. She came right in with a peculiar familiarity as though it were her own home, dressed like a common farmer and likely smelling little better. Deep blue mane, coat like golden wheat, dirty red bandanna, heavily packed cargo saddlebags. She trot past the displays and around the shelves of musical books and sheets, beelining for the front desk without so much as a wasted step inside the small, cramped store. Not until she climbed the two little steps up to the higher floor of the shop did she casually glance to the side, catching the boy's wide stare and grinning like a wolf herself at the strange sight.

"Well, look at you! Ain't you a tall glass o' water?"

~~~~~~~~~<<~~

He tightly held his musical folder to his chest as though he were hiding behind a shield, forced to take a step back from the rapidly advancing mare in the narrow corridors of the shelving.

"Uh, uh, h-hello, my name is-"

"What are ya?"

His hoof clicked against the wall as he ran out of room to backpedal, his back flattened between two hanging cello he couldn't sink away any further. She pinned him, coming to stand mere inches away from his body. His gut was sucked in too hard to answer with anything but the meekest voice.

"A-a satyr. Half pony an-"

"Which half?"

"Th-the bottom?"

"No! Your ma or pa?"

"My mother."

"The other half?"

"Human."

With a bit of a squint she raises to the tips of her hooves, studying the boy from waist to mane. Pale skin, subdued clothes, little purple bowtie, dark hair. Male, a quick low glance confirms, it not being much apparent to the mare from his upper half. He shifts his booklet down to follow her impersonal gaze, she snaps her sight back to his face. With a curious tone she pesters him further.

"What's a human? I've never seen one."

"Well, there aren't any. Not anymore, not after-"

Without any sorrow or emotion in his voice other than slight anxiety he tried to explain what had happened before she cuts him off, her sigh of concern sounding like a wounded animal and only further discomforting him.

"Aww! You lost your pa? That's just terrible, you poor, poor little colt. Do you still have your ma?" He nods, watching her face shift from concern to a beaming smile. "Well that's not all bad, then! If you ever need anything you just call me whenever l'm in town, all right?"

He nods again, the mare's energy stressful, and her very physical appearance itself scratching at the back of his mind in a way he didn't quite recognize. Before he could think of anything to say besides 'ok' she'd whipped her head back to look behind her and backed up out of the cubby to trot off to the service desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~<<<<<

Without any sense of decorum she beat her hoof on the delicate little bell at the desk until the old unicorn came out of the back room to see her. V peeked over a rack of sheet music to watch her, she talked a mile a minute about everything under the sun, her speech so coded with idioms and euphemisms that she may as well have been speaking another language. Most shocking of all to the young satyr was that she hadn't simply wandered into the wrong shop, she left behind a case and a bag of bits with the old luthier, this country mare actually seemed to play an instrument.

The bell rang again, and she was gone. V stood there for a moment, his new lesson book hanging from his fingertips about to drop. Of the hundreds of musicians he had ever met alongside his mother they had all been equally quiet and 'refined'. They all sung the same song, one of quiet dignity and art. This mare, this plain earth mare, she was unique to him. Until now he would have assumed that a pony like her would call beating on pots and pans music, and yet she actually owned an instrument nice enough that this shop would service it.

With a bit of a jolt he realizes that she never actually gave her name despite her friendly offers of help. It takes a few minutes of pleading with the stuffy old stallion but he eventually relents a clue to the young repeat customer, a bit of a smile in the corner of his mouth at the young colt's determination.

"Why don't you ask her in three days, when she comes back?"

His hoarse laugh fills the tiny store as he slips the appointment book away underneath the desk.Without wasting any further time begging for answers he steps out into the street, hoping too late to catch her loitering somewhere. Luck is not by his side, she is long gone and his even longer walk home he can do nothing but repeat her candid words in his head over and over and wish he'd spoken up.

--- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening comes, a small family shares their dinner and then plays together. Mother stands at the cello, son sits on a stool with violin beneath his chin. Their eyes were level, although both kept them closed at the moment. Evening practice had been a part of his life as long as he could play, it was a part of his daily schedule no less important than the eating before it. Over these past years they've spoken more in music than with their words, neither was moved to conversation easily and some might joke they were in danger of forgetting how.

"I saw the strangest thing today, in the old store on the 8th."

Her hoof silently tapped the floor, counting out the long rest. They had run dry on duets and were practicing larger pieces at the moment, grooming him for his first real auditions. Octavia neither shushed nor entreated him, but her gaze met his and and he kept it.

"I saw a pony there, she looked like a caricature of ever country stereotype you could im-"

She drew her bow across her cello to mute him, a rude little scratch. He took the hint and waited another silent measure before diving in to his part, pouring in all the passion and pride he could manage to make it up to his mother. She didn't usually like talking during practice but he'd never seen her neck bristle like that.

'It must be nerves', he thought, 'I've got my audition in only a few weeks and it's just as much her reputation on the line as mine'. Young V could think of nothing worse that ruining his mother's image as an instructor in the fickle eyes of the upper class. Dinner parties and balls were their bread and butter, mother had even done the Grand Gala on several occasions. In between peeks at his sheet he kept his eyes on her now, warm candlelight soft on her face

The country mare had left his mind for the evening, but in return she troubled his dreams. Not in a percular or unusual way, just in the way one who is trying to sleep think of all the things they don't want to first and foremost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~---

V nervously pretended to look at cleaning supplies, absentmindedly studying a variety of brushes and oils for brass and woodwinds. That rack in particular had the best view of the door behind it, so for an hour he suffered to mull over supplies for instruments he didn't own while customers came and went. He didn't need to look too hard, there would be no mistaking her when she came in. Once his heart did jump at a glance of a golden mare, but it was a pegasus with a far less attractive mane. As V rolled a bottle of oil around in his hand for the thousandth time he absentminded thought about how pretty her mane had been those days ago, and why it had seemed so familiar. Right before he could place it the bell rang again, and in that split second he wish for it to be her so deeply that it simply had to come true.

His wish was granted, she trot right in the same was she had before, after having crudely headbutt the door the same way, wearing the same clothes. Déjà vu distracted him, this time as she walked around the store she missed his sight, the stallion at the counter having her bag ready before she even made it to him. She didn't waste a second today, she thanked him kindly and turned about, buzzing for the door as though she were late for an appointment. V watched her, dumbly realizing at the last second that she was about to leave.

Perhaps less smoothly than he intended he dropped the oil to the floor and squeezed between two racks to drop down and cut her off. Brushes clattered to the floor and loose leaves of paper fluttered by as his sleeves caught them and brushed them from racks, he made such a racket that she broke into a grin before she even fully recognized him.

"E-excuse me, Ms."

In this moment his voice and nerves failed him, he straightened out his shirt and vest and 'uh' and 'mnh'ed a bit. She smiles, suppressing all over her talkative nature and the over welling giggles and giving nothing to the conversation besides "Yes?"

"M-Ms. , I mean, I don't believe you ever gave me your name. My name is Virtuoso, or just V."


~~~~~<<<<<<

"Fiddlesticks." She bats her eyelashes at him, shifting the weight of her parcel over from flank to flank as she leans her hips and raises a forelimb. He hooks his wrist around her hoof, looks in the eye and mutters "pleasure to meet you" even though it wasn't quite accurate. Once their mutual gesture ends she says nothing at first and stands there, letting the young colt sweat between her and the door.

"Well, V? Is there anything else?"

"What instrument do you play?" He spits it out so fast it might have been one word, even throwing the quick speaker for a loop.

"The fiddle, silly."

"What's a fiddle? It's stringed, right?"

"Why- you don't know? You poor little creature, don't you know a thing about music? Head on over to the Salt Lick -right here on in the east quarter you know- tomorrow night, all right? I'll educate ya best I can."

V mutters a noncommittal reply , slightly upset at being told he knew nothing at what he'd studied his whole life. Without drawing things out any further she brushes him aside and bumps him with her hip for good measure as she squeezes past and blends into the crowded streets. V stands in the doorway watching her walk, ignoring the remarks about letting drafts in from the old pony behind him as he wondered just what in the world a 'fiddle' could possibly sound like.