The brown colt anxiously observed the scene, doing his best to keep an air of calm, least somepony important to the music industry or, worst case scenario, a paparazzi member took note his presence. It wouldn't be too far off for one of many patrons who supported his paycheck to take attendance to this place; it was, after all, one of many elite restaurants creating the belt of Canterlot's choice shopping district. Why he had wasted such precious time and money to bring his brother to such a place when, instead, he could have been practicing that violinist piece for the eighteenth annual Summer Solstice Ball, was unknown to himself. Outsiders would call it affection for his twin, but in honesty it was the fear of being caught in some dingy diner. Never could he live it down should it happen. So here Syncopation was, laying his attention on the distant clock. If that damn roadside performer throws him off schedule, he'll have to waste an entire day mending the holes in his pre-laid plans again.
A clatter of hooves rocked the chair opposite of him. "Little bro, that you?"
He expels his held breath. It is for mother's well being, the musician reminds himself.
The tables are low to the ground, carpeted by thick straw mats. Syncopation stands from his sitting position and arches his back, attempting to cower over his twin in dominance. It is no use, he is still the smaller of the two. Instead, he motions toward a folded menu.
"Yes, greetings, One Trick. Do sit down. Look through that menu of your's quickly; due to your lateness of, oh, say, approximately three minutes, point fifty-one seconds, you are now only left with two minutes and twenty seconds to select a meal. That will leave us with thirty minutes for small talk, twenty minutes to consume food, and two minutes for our goodbyes."
His brother blinked. "You're still doing the scheduling thing, aren't you?"
"This is not the time for small talk. Look through the menu."
"Brother, you gotta really..."
"Look. Through. The. Menu."
"Sure thing, kid."
The waiter arrived to their spot fairly quickly, and the two placed their orders. Syncopation requested the wood grilled salmon, buttered with a side of steamed asparagus, as his schedule had suggested he do. One Trick, with his signature goofy smile, asked for the macaroni and cheese dish. He was not accustomed to the splendor of a fine restaurant, and had instead skipped through the menu in pursuit of the kid's section. The waiter said nothing, but merely raised an eyebrow and left, their menus in hoof.
One Trick leaned into the table, a forming conversation on tongue. But Syncopation stood up, dropping the napkin he had draped on his hooves. His eyes were thousands of miles away, his mind drifting to another plane.
"I am sorry that I forgot to mention this, but it is time for my scheduled bathroom break. Wait for my return in three minutes."
Bathroom breaks were a form of escape for Syncopation. It was one of few times in the day he had to himself. Even solo instrument practices were accompanied by the rude brass of a french horn, or the elegant protests of a violin. The bathroom, while filthy, was a well-awaited fixture of his schedule.
One Trick, in his sudden abandonment, decided to make the best of time by testing an impulsive theory. He pulled out, from a saddlebag, a rusty pocket watch. Despite the layer of mold growing on it, it was in rather good conditions, given to him by a passerby short on money during one of his many sidewalk performances. One minute passed, and there was no sign of his brother. Two minutes, and One Trick still found himself alone, the table still empty of proper grammar and finicky hooves.
At the exact three minute mark, a gentle trot of hooves gave leave to the presence of his twin. One Trick threw up his head, teeth gleaning in a dragged out moan of distress.
"Okay, when you said three minutes, you really meant, like, three minutes. Bro, we need to talk."
"About what?"
"This freaky scheduling habit. I haven't seen you in three years, and you haven't changed a thing about your life. How do I know that? You're still sticking to your schedule. Aren't you gonna find a wife and kids, settle down, at least change something about how you live?"
Syncopation frowned. Where was this coming from? "You haven't changed, either. You're still a homeless...street performer."
He smiled. The insult had clearly gone over his head. "And that's where you're wrong, little bro!" He made a grab for his jug of root beer, which the waiter had left in his wake during Syncopation's bathroom break. He swallowed his ice cubes, grinning like a fool.
"Not only have you forgotten about my cavern, therefore rendering me un-homeless, my job lets me see new things every day! Like, literally, every day. I go to new towns, meet new ponies, do new things. I couldn't be happier, you know? I'm not tied down or nothing, but at least I've got my options open. I think you should do the same, brother to brother."
Syncopation immediately felt a wave of guilt for whatever poor soul his brother selected to be his mate, if anypony. But he merely nodded in response to his brother's words, intent to go back on the track of small talk. His schedule didn't call for any in-depth conversations. He had eventually managed to steer their talk in the direction of the weather and school system when their food came. The conversation slowed down considerably from there, an presence of awkwardness that Syncopation could believe only he was witness to, as his brother choked down another spoonful of thick cheese sauce.
Everything boiled down to the final two minutes of their reunion: the goodbyes. Yet One Trick seemed to have forgotten, flipping through the pages of a pink menu.
"Hey, little bro, you wanna split some desert? Split a banana split? Hah, you see what I did there?! Split a banana split!"
One minute to go.
A bead of sweat trickled down Syncopation's forehead. If he didn't get out, he'd be going against the schedule's word. He never went against the schedule's word. Never.
Finally, he snapped.
"Lookit'sbeenagreatnightbutireallyneedtogetoutofhe rehavesomeviolinpracticeintwentyminutesireallyneed togohere'smymoneybye!" Slapping down a bulging bag of bits and inching it toward his brother, he ran out of the restaurant, avoiding the stares of the fellow restaurant goers.
After getting over his stun, One Trick looked back at his now empty bowl of macaroni and cheese. "Looks like my brother had to split, huh? Ha! See what I did there?!"
AN) It's my first time writing for Tumblr's Thirty Minute Ponies in quite a while, which explains why this story is so compressed. Anyway, I think I did pretty good for only writing the basic layout in thirty minutes. This piece took about thirty minutes to an hour itself for editing.
I thought it would be a good idea to let my OCs breathe again, I have never written a story about them before. I really should get on that, I'm quite attached to them.
Yes, One Trick's name is a pun.