Lost in the night, Vinyl considered the street lamp that her head rested against.
The Canterlot street beneath her hooves swam, and the world refused to come into focus. So the DJ shut her eyes, and imagined that the she couldn’t feel the earth spinning underneath her through space.
She was drunk. Even half-asleep and stupid from intoxicants, she knew it and felt a burning sort of shame. She also knew that the street was empty. Well, that it seemed empty. Vinyl was beyond glad, glad as anypony could be when they were right on the edge of vomiting their lungs all over the ancient cobblestone streets of the Old City. It got old, ponies watching you do this sort of thing all the time. One in particular.
The vertigo wouldn’t leave her alone, no matter how much she stood there, leaning, eyes closed. No amount of deep breathing seemed to help.
But then it was gone, and she felt herself relax as she slumped down against the pole, her body weak.
“Dammit,” she said, to no one in particular, and the word came out wrong. Her voice was warped, and she had no idea how badly. “Dammit.”
The street and the lamp, of course, had no response, and the word died in the night air. She left her mouth open, taking deep breaths. She felt hot, like the lights were still shining on her at full blast.
The stupor of the concert was beginning to fade, leaving her body ragged and spent. The air she pulled in over her teeth was tainted with the aftertaste of cheap beer and bile. It took another moment of willpower to hold back the wave of nausea, but hold it back she did.
No way in hell I’m throwing up all over the damn street like a homeless drunk, she thought sourly, gritting her teeth. No way. Tavi would straight up just…
Octavia. Vinyl shook her thoughts off like rainwater, and laid her cheek against the hard, cold stone. It felt wonderful, like cold kisses and a nice, long shower for two.
Why was she thinking like that?
‘Cause I’m drunk and alone and it’s… whatever time it is, she answered herself and the darkness of the street, eyes feeling heavy. Everything felt heavy. Her hooves were like lead, and her head felt like somepony had tied a millstone around it.
Behind closed eyelids, she saw it again: the lights, the spinning discs, the crowd and the flashing bulbs that cast them in a dozen shades of eerie, otherworldly color. It was all swimming in front of her, all of the concert, as if it were underwater. She felt the pills like phantoms on her tongue, and felt the alcohol like a ghost. She felt and knew it all, knew the faces that were familiar and those that were not and who was going to give her something that would be nothing but a bad, bad trip. Her mind processed, and now she relived it in Technicolor like the fancy screens they were selling these days from the nice storefronts in Manehattan.
—And she was there, back in Rockland, back where the lights are far too bright and the ponies are mad. They jump and they move and they writhe in the night and as she feels the bubbly rushing of the unnamed pills and the mixing alcohol she knows that the night is young and for fools like herself. She looks west and feels the beat of the bass like a second heart and the walls are imaginary—
She tried not to recall it. It was all sight and sound and fuzzy thoughts that weren’t really words at all, couldn’t be made into words. She hated the feeling of crash. Everything ached, everything felt awful in some new and horrid way. It was really something, she thought, how it was new and more painful every time. Like her body was frailer with each overindulgence in the long nights.
Vinyl let the cold earth steady her, and wanted to die.
Not really. Maybe a little. She certainly wouldn’t mind if she died for a little bit, maybe even for a short three hour sabbatical in the afterlife until this went away a little. Sounds wonderful, she thought, and groaned. It was pointless, but it somehow felt right to announce to the empty street that she was sick and pissed.
Her mind wondered.
She knew the show at Rockland would probably end up with her wasted and passed out somewhere. She had known, going in, that it would end badly. It was the venue—legendary—and it was the company—DreadColt and Maze. They partied hard and they crashed harder. Her tour last year with Maze had been when Octavia had almost made her sleep in the hall outside the apartment in absolute fury. The blazing fire in those beautiful—
Nope! She diverted her attention.
I should… She tried to stand up, feeling a bit more stable.
Only to immediately slump back down against the pavement, her stomach roiling and her head pounding. A long groan escaped her, and she felt as if her body was giving up all at once. End of the line, party’s over, last call.
It was really not how she’d wanted to end up.
❧
Octavia was more worldwise than many believed.
She kept up with the times, studied the papers, knew the word on the street. At least, she knew it moreso than many of her symphony companions did. It came from knowing Vinyl, she supposed. One got used to the pulse of the night and the streets, tracking her down.
She took a left, straining her eyesight as she scanned down the lonely alleyways. Nothing but backdoors and a few bits of broken masonry greeted her sight, and Octavia sighed.
“Wonderful,” she said to the still air. “Splendid. Vinyl is gone without a single bloody trace.”
It was the kind of thing she couldn’t help but laugh at, talking to nopony in particular in the middle of the Old City. It was about half past one, and Octavia had been searching for her roommate since eleven.
She’d made a beeline for Rockland, of course. It was a seedy establishment underneath a bar, near Saddle Street. Neon lights and graffiti almost as old as she was led down into the dark like the steps of Tartarus, and at the bottom there was the wide open maw of a hellish dancefloor—hellish to her, with its harsh lighting and its debaucheries. She had grimaced and borne it all, fighting around the edge of the crowd that was beginning to drop from exhaustion, one by one.
—The set was coming to a close, but Octavia didn’t know that. She knew that Vinyl had been dodgy about coming here. She knew that the two other “musicians” with her roommate in this… venture were rather unsavory types. Finally, she knew Vinyl.
Which meant that she knew that Vinyl was weak. A cracked vessel.
So Octavia pushed her way through the crowd, worked to the edge, near the bar. The bass threatened to tear her heart out of her chest and burst it upon the ground. Synths and snares assaulted her ears and mocked them.
The pony who worked it was a young mare with spiked blue hair and ear cuffs who grinned at her. Her words fell flat, despite their flirtatious tone and offer of drink. She hadn’t the time nor the inclination, and frankly, she didn’t trust anything in such an establishment. It was an awful place.
Moving on, she hugged the wall, dodging revelers as they spun and convulsed. It filled her with mild revulsion to see their faces screwed up and distorted, but also it sent a tiny shiver of fear down her spine. She thought of what Vinyl might do, poor, stupid Vinyl who just couldn’t say no. What Vinyl would do, if given even the ghost of a chance, with gleeful abandon that might just be too much this time. It would only take once, after all. Just one night, and then Vinyl was gone.
Maybe that overstated it. She didn’t know. Had she tried any of the things Vinyl did? No, but by watching their effects on her friend, Octavia had sized up her enemy. She saw it in the eyes of the dancing stallion with a collar around his neck, in the laughing mare with her mane long and twirling in layered braids. She saw it and did not know it and that was horrifying, really, wasn’t it? She didn’t know. She just knew that it was wrong. Vinyl’s lifestyle was horrid, because nothing that was wholesome did to her what she had seen it do. Nothing wholesome left Vinyl vomiting in the bathroom at two in the morning or groaning on the couch or with the body of a mare twice her age.
Away from the dance of death, and behind the riotous speakers, she encountered the guards.
Two dark colored stallions with dour expressions blocked her way, flanked on either side by an iron fence. She stamped her hoof in frustration, trying to be heard over the intense electronic music.
Their voices, low and harsh, were not lost in the roiling bass. She heard them deny her access loud and clear, and in a moment her hackles were up. Anger burned in her white hot. She was tired. She was sore. Her head ached. This was too common an occurrence and frankly she was tired of it.
So she shoved her VIP badge—a present long ago from Vinyl—into the guards face. It worked.
❧
Vinyl didn’t know she was sleepy until she woke up.
Her head was clearer now, at least, but her body ached even more than before. She had only thought she ached, that she knew pain, because now the haze was clearing and the numbing effects of… whatever it was had faded.
She tried to lift herself from the ground and the urge to throw up was unavoidable this time.
Afterwards, coughing, she crawled away from the light pole towards a bench a few feet down the street and climbed up on it. The acidic feeling in her throat made breathing hurt. She felt spent, not in a good way but as if someone had come and stolen from her.
Vinyl had to turn away from the light. It was like another sun.
What time was it? She had no idea. Octavia had always told her to start wearing a watch, even bought her one, but she always forgot it. Probably lying on the dresser right now in my room, face down, she thought and saw it in her mind’s eye. It was kind of sad. She wondered if Octavia thought about it.
She’s probably asleep. Vinyl looked down at the hard bench beneath her, wood sandwiched between two old slabs of rock.
Asleep in our apartment… lights out, soft bed, soft pillows, maybe a lamp on in my room or the kitchen lights on for me… I could be crawling into bed right now. Hell, I coulda crawled into bed like an hour ago or something.
Vinyl longed for warm covers and tried not to groan at the ecstatic prospect of pillows. Or anything that wasn’t the fallout of a very, very bad trip.
But eventually, Vinyl had to think of the positives. Foremost among them was that she was alive—always something you were thankful for after a wild night with Maze. That colt knew all the wrong kinds of ponies. Furthermore, Octavia was no doubt asleep, and thus would not see her at her worst.
Celestia is a god, she thought and snorted. The last thing I need is Tavi comin’ up and findin’ me like this, on a damn bench strung out. She’d be… I don’t know. Angry, I guess.
She’d be disappointed, Vinyl knew, though it was strange to think that word. It made her stomach knot up—more so than it already was, she realized with a little laugh. Which also hurt.
Just to be sure, she glanced up.
Damn. Earth pony. Was it? She wasn't sure.
It didn’t mean it was her. The pony was too far off.
❧
She rarely walked the streets without her lyre.
However, Lyra frequently walked the streets of the city steeped in lore. Time had been kind to it, and it fascinated her how new and old mixed.
Lyra hummed quietly, feeling the familiar weight of her instrument in the saddlebag at her side. Her walks in the odd hours of the morning were solitary affairs, and good for the soul. At least, she told ponies that. Perhaps it was true.
She had done this since music school. Late night studying had given way to wanderings, when she simply couldn’t stare at another book or score. Her heart would simply say no more, and she would be out into the hall and down into the streets, to wander until the lust was gone.
Sometimes she would play, but not often. Quietly, when she did, and alone. But the morning, and the hours that were neither morning nor night were for silence, she thought, and so she left them for silence.
It was strange to see another soul on the streets before about five in Canterlot. It was a big city, yes, but the night life was sparse.
Well, when there’s not a bit shindig down at Rockland, she thought, and snickered. Most of the night life of the city was underground, in the catacombs that had been made into dives and venues.
So when she saw somepony sleeping on a bench aboveground around four in the morning, it gave her pause. If this had been Manehattan, maybe. But Canterlot?
She hummed softly, breaking the stillness, and approached.
The prone form on the bench groaned softly, and shifted.
Lyra debated greeting her fellow unicorn—for it was indeed a unicorn—or letting her lie in peace. On one hoof, it really was none of her business. Bon Bon would have sailed right by, content to let the mystery lie and sleep. But that was why Bon Bon had Lyra, of course! Somepony had to poke the mysteries of the universe. Aggressively.
In this case, the mystery made the first move.
The unicorn with the wild mane—Lyra had the feeling it was always rather wild, but that it was rather extra unkempt at the moment—looked up and fixed her with a rather unsteady stare. Lyra stared back, pausing.
“You’re not Tavi.”
“I am not,” Lyra responded, her bright voice cheerful. “Lyra’s the name, stranger.”
The unicorn on the bench made a strange, wordless noise.
Lyra took a closer look, deciding that this was as much an invitation to meddle as anything, and tried to remember where she’d seen this face before. It was familiar, very familiar, like something she’d seen from a poster, perhaps. It wasn’t the sort of face she would forget. There was just something… different.
“You don’t have your glasses,” Lyra said flatly.
The unicorn on the bench sat up shakily, and coughed. “Do I not? Shit, I don’t…”
She started looking around, but then stopped and held her head. “Fuck…”
“But I remember you now!” Lyra continued, smiling. “Vinyl Scratch.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” the pony on the bench grumbled, still holding her head. “Are you… a fan? What are you even doing wandering around? You’re way too damn happy, no offense.”
“None taken,” Lyra said. She toned her voice down. I forget that ponies don’t like waking up to cheerfulness, she thought as she closed the gap and sat beside Vinyl.
Her new acquaintance reeked out of alcohol and sweat, and perhaps a little vomit. Lyra grimaced, but controlled her reaction. She smoothed out her face, and coughed to cover the indiscretion.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“Sleeping,” Vinyl said flatly.
“Well, yes, I noticed. But why here? It’s not exactly normal.”
“Normal. Right, yeah, who are you?”
“Lyra,” she answered, and smiled. She magicked her bag in front of her. “I know who you are. Musicians… we have ways of knowing.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Lyra… Kinda familiar? I’ve heard it.”
Lyra smiled and said nothing. Instead, she pulled the lyre from her bag, enshrouding it in her familiar golden glow. She loved the feeling of it in her magic’s grip. She loved the way how, if she paid attention and was still, she could feel the pressure and tension of a dozen strings had on the wood, how it all balanced and coordinated. It made sense.
With skill, Lyra played a short melody. A familiar one.
Vinyl’s eyebrows raised. “Know that,” she said quickly.
Lyra chuckled. “I wrote it.”
“No way. Really? I’ve heard ponies humming it for like… I don’t know. Ever.”
Lyra simply smiled, kicking her hooves and letting the lyre float before her. “I was younger. Well, obviously, yes, but I mean I was much younger. It’s… it’s how folk music works, that it always seems to be a kind of accident, that people take a little ditty and it grows. I live in Ponyville. I only come here to play in the streets and taverns sometimes. But you know about that.”
Vinyl smiled, and Lyra was glad for it. She knew how to play a crowd, no matter the size, and she was very proud of that. Smile a lot, she always said, and be genuine.
“Yeah, I know that feel. Touring! All over the place, night after night. Life on the road is greeeaaattt, man. The party never stops.”
Lyra strummed quietly, listening, as Vinyl continued, waving her hooves for a moment before her headache seemed to return in force. “Aw man, the nights! The lights! Town after town, a new place every night. I could do it forever.” She laughed. “Or until I burn out and keel over, y’know?”
“I see. I wouldn’t know!”
“Don’t tour?”
“Don’t party,” she said firmly. “When I was much younger, yes, but… that was a long time ago.”
“What, you get burnt out?” Vinyl was grinning. Warming to the subject, Lyra guessed. “Couldn’t take it? One bad trip too many?”
“Hardly. I could drink you under the table!” Lyra said brightly. “No. It was Bon Bon.”
And her voice was soft. Lyra stared at her lyre, and then brought it to her, cradling it and humming as she thought. Bon Bon was home, in the little apartment above the store, asleep. She thought about that little bed, and her little lyre stand in the corner of their living room, next to the couch.
“She was worried about me when we were friends, even though I wasn’t really all that crazy. It’s a different scene.”
“Yeah.”
“But I realized that even if I didn’t care, which at the time I didn’t, she cared. She cared a lot. Not because she was nosy, but because she loved me. I stopped a lot of my carousing when we got serious.”
Vinyl chuckled, and then held her head. “Ugh. And yet here you are, at four in the morning.”
“I’m eccentric.”
“What?”
Lyra rolled her eyes. “I’m weird, Vinyl Scratch. It’s a nice way of saying it. Lots of ponies say so. Sometimes I like it. Quiet. I’m a cheerful sort—“
“I’ll say,” Vinyl grumbled.
“—yes, we get that I hurt your head, I’m making a point here.” She pushed Vinyl, and instantly regretted it when the DJ groaned. “Oh… sorry. But I’m cheerful and that usually means I’m talkative right? Right. But sometimes I like the quiet times. That special time before the sun is up, when no one is really up.” She turned and spoke, catching Vinyl’s scarlet eyes. “Vinyl, Miss Scratch, whatever, it’s so great. It’s amazing to see the parts of the world that nopony really ever sees and…”
Vinyl blinked at her.
“…and that was wasted on you. Heh, wasted, get it? Okay, yes, that was terrible. Why are you here, Vinyl?”
Vinyl yawned. “A show that got crazy. I think I wandered or somethin’? It’s kind of vague.”
“No, I know how you got here,” Lyra said, standing and trotting a bit. She bit her lip, and then turned, her face set. “I asked why?”
Vinyl stared, mouth slowly opening as if to answer, and nothing came out. Lyra tensed, regretting.
What was she doing, anyhow? Curiosity had brought her over, but she wasn’t obligated to help. Vinyl didn’t seem to be craving aid and succor… so why bother her? There was nothing to be gained, no guarantee of any investment paying off. In fact, it was really the opposite. The way the DJ couldn’t formulate an answer all but screamed it. The way she sat, the way she held herself, the way she was out cold on a bench on a street in Old Canterlot so unimportant that they hadn’t even bothered to name it—Lyra was wasting her time.
But she didn’t move. She waited. After all, the unicorn reflected with a little smile as her tail flicked back and forth, she had all the time in the world. Hours. A whole day to wait, even. It was the wonderful thing about her ambling lifestyle.
“I have no idea,” Vinyl admitted.
“Not such a bad thing. Well, it’s not good, but it’s not the end of the world.”
“I suppose you have some deep, philosophical thing you’re gonna say now that’ll turn my life around, right? Like, ‘life’s too short to spend wasted and drowning in booze and shame’ or ‘do it for yourself, Vinyl’ or something.”
Lyra chuckled. “Not really.”
Beside her, Vinyl blinked and the lyrist watched her with amusement. Genuine, smiling amusement—she had sown calm and reaped peace, and her smile never truly left.
❧
They talked, and the conversation rarely touched the rather aching issue of why Vinyl was out in the cold of the morning. She liked it that way, because she didn’t want to talk about it.
That was a lie. She did. But she also didn’t. Vinyl was torn, and would have thought of an analogy to adequately describe to herself how torn she felt, but she was a DJ and it was far too late—early, rather—to be thinking about that. So she didn’t. Instead she just tried to focus on not falling asleep.
She liked Lyra. She’s cute, and that voice is like silk. Damn, shoulda gone into radio, filly.
“Yeah, I started touring, and she would come with me. But it was never something she wanted to do forever,” Lyra explained. “Bons always loved my music, but life on the road… it’s not a forever sort of thing. It’s not a thing that lasts. It’s always gonna end.”
Vinyl snorted. “Right.”
“I’m serious,” Lyra said firmly. “Vinyl, I don’t suppose I could ask you an honest question and get an honest response?”
“Absolutely. Is it your number and an invitation to swing?”
“No.”
“Well, damn. But yeah, go ahead.”
“Vinyl, what are you doing out here? Really. I’ve been paying attention, and this is literally the exact opposite way of your apartment. You said so yourself, talked about the neighborhood. I’ve been there.”
Vinyl took a deep breath, and wondered how nice it would be to lie back down. The remembered feeling of the cold stone bench returned, but only for a moment. It was replaced, swept away by the memories of her own bed, in her apartment, on her side of the wide, carpeted living room. Past the couch and the little table, past the small kitchen, her room waited. Octavia, no doubt asleep uneasily in her own bed. Vinyl could see her, for a moment.
“Octavia,” Vinyl responded simply, and then sighed. It was like letting the air out of the old air mattress in her first apartment. She wanted to laugh at the ludicrous image but she couldn’t. It just wasn’t funny.
As Vinyl wilted, Lyra seemed to be studying her. Waiting, perhaps. Thinking? Vinyl didn’t know. It was too quiet, and she fidgeted on the seat before standing up.
“Octavia,” she said again, pausing. “Octavia.”
“I got that part.”
“I’m trying to think, you,” Vinyl groused. “Look, it’s her. I guess… I kind of… it’s hard to explain. Okay. So I had a show, right?”
Lyra nodded, her legs kicking, sitting in her odd way. Vinyl thought it looked uncomfortable. That was probably the point, she decided. Make her look all weird and unique and different, go with her whole eccentric wandering folk musician thing. She was torn as to whether it was dumb or cool.
And now she was distracted. Lyra was looking at her strangely. “Sorry. I had a show at Rockland. Bangin’ affair, if you get my drift. It was a great show, it really was. I was in top form.”
“I’ve no doubt you were,” Lyra replied softly.
“What’s that… whatever. But I was. It was amazing. Maze was there, you know. And Octavia… I mean, she gets worried about me. She gets really pissed off about my partying. When I come home late she just bitches, you know? Like, ‘Vinyl, stop coming home at 2 AM!’ and ‘Vinyl, don’t get wasted and throw up in my bathroom!’”
She had been pacing, but now she paused. “Damn,” Vinyl said softly. “You know, it sounds less like bitching when I say it aloud.” She turned back to find Lyra smiling at her still. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“You smile too much,” she said flatly.
“Oh, I know. Sorry. It’s actually kind of a nervous habit. I laugh to easily, you know.”
“Right. I just didn’t want to run into her. Again.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
Vinyl groaned. “Why am I even telling you this? She showed up after my set was done and I was on… something? It was a wild sort of night. Energy! I felt it, pony. You ever been to a real rave, Lyra? I’ll tell you this, little minty pony, you haven’t seen or felt anything like a good late hours dance party that don’t stop ‘till they start dropping.”
“Seafoam, really.”
“Whatever. I hate colors, they keep adding new ones and having stupid names like ‘happiness’ or ‘best friends’ or some shit like that. Look, she showed up, I don’t know what happened. I just know that I ended up on the streets, the bouncers were looking at me kinda funny on my way out. Usually they’re really chill, but they didn’t wanna like, hang around. Kind of shied away, you know?”
“I’m beginning to see.”
“So I don’t know what happened.”
Lyra sighed. The smile finally withered. “I don’t either, but might I make a guess?”
“Sure?” Vinyl said, shrugging. She felt tired.
“Octavia cares about you, Vinyl, and I think she went in there and made it clear. You’re not living a good life right now.”
“Well fuck you too, filly. No offense,” Vinyl added hastily, and then paused. “No… no, that probably was meant to offend. Look, I’m fine, you know? And yeah, I know she does. Not like how I wish she would, but I know that. Octavia is just… ”
“Concerned by the fact that your body is probably aged and ruined from your overindulgences?” Lyra offered.
“I’ll just leave, you know.”
Lyra hopped down. “How about we go on a walk, then. If you’re so antsy, I could walk you home. Would that be alright?” When Vinyl shrugged, she continued. “Look, I know I’m being nosy. I’m weird like that. I can’t leave stuff alone sometimes. It’s a flaw in my character. If you really want me to leave you alone, really really, I’ll just go. Seriously. I know I’m bothering you. I just… I don’t know. I’m reminded.”
“Of what?” Vinyl groused.
“Me, I guess,” Lyra said, and deposited her lyre back into her saddlebags, snapping the clasp shut. She looked down at it for a moment, speaking. The tone was different. It made Vinyl squirm. “Reminds me of what I might have become. I mean, I’m not you. You’re not me. I wasn’t a rave kind of girl, but I did a lot of dumb stuff. Bons loved me enough to stick around and try to help me change, and I appreciate it a lot. More than I can say. She took a risk. It’s all about risk, Vinyl. All of it. Love, I mean, but just… life. Stuff. It’s kind of risky taking me along with you, you know. You might say something you regret.”
“Like?” Vinyl rolled her eyes. This chick was weird, and she didn’t like it. Honestly, she thought about just saying she could make it home on her own. She felt alright. She’d had worse trips. It wasn’t the end of the world.
“Like, you’re sorry.”
Vinyl sighed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. I guess you can come along. I mean, hell, it’s kind of boring.”
Lyra came alongside her, and they began to walk through the streets of Canterlot.
The city was waking up, preparing for a new day. The sun was beginning it’s slow climb up from the dark beyond the horizon, and Vinyl swore she smelled freshly baked bread at some point on one street. They saw a few ponies, and she finally remembered to find out the time. They asked a surly, blue stallion at an intersection, and he gruffly informed them between sips of coffee that it was half past five in the morning.
Wow. She’ll be up soon. It was her obsession, Vinyl had decided long ago. Her whole “waking up early” thing didn’t make any sense. She found it disturbing. Tavi’ll be going for a walk in about forty-five minutes. Shit.
❧
Vinyl talked the whole way back. She rambled, and she knew she rambled, but it didn’t matter. The streets were mostly empty, and it was like being alone. It was a thing best done with someone else who could listen, and she learned that Lyra could listen very well. It was a gift.
But Lyra left her at the stairs. She’d walked up halfway, and then stopped, and then come down.
And now she stood at the bottom of them, waiting.
Vinyl felt stupid. She was thinking about being a foal again, having to walk all the way from the back of the class to stand before the teacher. Vinyl could even see her glasses down on her nose, as those baleful eyes glared down at her, knowing what she had done, knowing it all. Down to the very last bit of it, those eyes had bored right through her.
But Octavia wasn’t like that. Well, the hair was kind of similar, she figured. It was that whole dignified thing, she guessed.
It had taken longer than she’d expected, and she knew that up those stairs, Octavia was waiting. The coffee would be on. Octavia would be going for her walk around the block in the cool morning air, or about to be.
And still she stood and stared up the stairs towards the landing. Staring at the door to the right that would lead her to Octavia. Somehow she knew that her roommate would be waiting for her there. It was just Vinyl’s luck—she was pretty sure Octavia didn’t have anywhere else to be, today. She could afford to wait a long, long time. There was no avoiding that walk of shame.
Shame—interesting word. She rolled her eyes. What did she have to be ashamed of, really? She was who she was. She did what she did, and that was that. Octavia knew what and who she was.
But she cared. She cared enough to come to Rockland, didn’t she? It isn’t her kind of place, like, really isn’t her kind of place, and she came anyway. For me.
That meant something, to Vinyl. She wasn’t sure what it meant. She wasn’t sure at all what it was she felt, but the image of a lost and determined Octavia braving the intoxicated, partying crowd at Rockland made her stomach knot up and made her heart ache. She didn’t know what it meant. She just knew it was true and that she had to do something about it.
Vinyl ascended the stair. She came to the familiar door, and with a deep breath she opened the door.
It was dark, and this gave her pause. Vinyl eased her way through the dark, making slow progress until her leg hit the sharp edge of the table at the end of the hall and she held in a hissed curse. Massaging her hurt limb, she stopped in the dark.
Vinyl Scratch saw light flood the carpet before her, around the bend, and she took another long breathe. It would be Octavia, sitting there and waiting. It would be her roommate, her friend for such a long time, waiting for her. Those purple eyes would bore into her as if she were made of glass. She couldn’t put words to it that seemed to work, but she was filled with shame. There was nowhere to hide, even in the dark hall.
So she stepped into the living room, and into the lamplight.
Octavia was there, lying across the couch. She slept, her breathing even and soft. A single gray hoof hung down like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, and the musician’s mane was an absolute mess. Vinyl suppressed a laugh with difficulty, feeling nervous energy slide off her like rainwater.
She carefully trotted over and sat by the couch.
She stayed up all night, Vinyl thought, and smiled. It was not a genuine smile.
Her chest felt warm, and she thought about reaching out and stroking that disheveled mane or that soft cheek. She thought about Octavia waking up, how her eyes would be soft and her expression soft with the confusion of regained consciousness. It made her happy, truly happy, for a moment.
She did it. Her hoof rose and gently touched that mane, smoothing it down. Vinyl had always been jealous of it, in school. How straight it had been, how beautiful! She had ever admired it. She had ever admired, if not understood, Octavia’s grace.
And her friend did not stir, and she was glad for it. For a second, she thought Octavia might open her eyes. She dreamed that maybe she was only feigning sleep to see what Vinyl would do, or that maybe she would be able to tell what Vinyl would never say though touch. She dreamed many things in the space of a moment, and her hoof lingered for longer than she had intended—she had been more faithful to that moment than ever she had planned, and she shook her head and lowered her foreleg. There was no need to rub salt in the wound. You couldn’t get what you wanted.
“I’m really sorry, Tavi,” Vinyl said softly. “I’m sorry I lied and didn’t tell you about Rockland. I’m sorry I keep… being me, I guess. Being stupid. I can help it, I’m not gonna say I can’t.”
Octavia didn’t stir, and Vinyl’s heart beat a nervous frenetic rhythm. Her eyes traced the curve of Octavia’s lips, and the grapes were so sour in her own mouth, and on her own lips.
“I’m sorry I come home late and do stupid things. I’m sorry if I said… something. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
Maybe she really was. At any rate, she knew this was shame. Octavia had waited for her to come home, and she hadn’t. She had gone everywhere but home. The picture of the long vigil came unbidden and unwanted, and she tried not to dwell on it.
“Tavi? Tavi, come on. Time to wake up.”
Octavia stirred, and groaned softly. Vinyl smiled, a bit more genuinely.
“C’mon. It’s early. You gotta take your walk and make coffee. Unless you wanna go sleep in your own bed.”
“Bed,” Octavia said bluntly, her voice muffled and throaty from sleep. “When you get in?” she managed.
“Late. Really late. Want me to help you?”
“Mhm.”
Vinyl nuzzled close and eased Octavia up, her head supporting her friend’s body as she worked magic to help ease the burden. With care, she herded Octavia to her own bedroom, turning the bedside lamp on.
“Here you go,” Vinyl said, laying her down on the bed. She opened the covers and Octavia crawled under them, groaning again.
The string player rubbed her eyes and licked her no doubt dry lips. “Vinyl?”
“Yeah?”
“Vinyl,” she said, “when did you get in?”
“Not that long ago. Don’t worry just yet.”
Octavia sighed and laid back. “Vinyl,” she began, her stern and cultured voice taking on it’s old lecturing tone. “I will be concerned—“
“I know you will. I am too, sometimes. It’s important. But you’re really sleepy, so let’s go to bed first, you know?” She lay down on the other side of the bed, sighing. “Can I crash here? I’m exhausted, and… I don’t wanna be alone. Is that alright?”
Octavia seemed perplexed. She nodded.
“Awesome.” She lay flat and closed her eyes. “Tavi, I want to talk about it. I had a long talk with a weird filly, thought a bit.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s freaking me out too. Pardon my fancy, but fuck I’m tired. Can we talk in like… six hours? Five?”
“I… I suppose so, Vinyl,” Octavia replied softly. “I just worry about you. I care about you, Vinyl.”
“Love ya for it,” Vinyl said, and then coughed. “I’m really sorry, Tavi. I know I say that sometimes, but I am. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just… I’m sorry.”
“'S alright,” Octavia said, her voice fading. She yawned, and Vinyl smiled as she surrendered to sleep.
Vinyl thought about saying a lot of things. She thought about asking what she had to do for that shame feeling to go away. She thought about saying something more shocking. She thought about asking if they still had Kahlua and milk. Mostly, though, she thought about sleep. Sleep and Octavia saying with some kind of finality the words, “It’s alright.” Some nights, she made it. Other nights, she didn’t, and those nights she withered in Octavia’s glance. But she wondered how much of it was her own shame.
It was way too late and way too early to think about it, so she put it off a few more hours. It was time to get ready, because when she woke up it would be time to begin again.
Author's Note
Yay! Idea purged from brain, time to go back to The Night is Passing.
