Not My Faultby Daemon McRaeChaptersStormfront AheadGround ZeroNow Where Did I Leave All That Ordinance?The Calm Before the Storm?It's Serious Business, Yo.Well, Okay ThenProperty Damage, HO!Shipping and Handling (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge)Get CheckedThe Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1)The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 2)The Amora Crescendo (Part 1)The Amora Crescendo (Part 2)The Amora Crescendo (Part 3)Fallout! at the DiscoA Disaster Waiting to HappenThis Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really.Stormfront AheadChapter 2: Stormfront Ahead I couldn’t believe how pissed off I was at that snobby elitist mare. Nopony’s ever been that rude during a date with me. ...I mean, I might have, others have told me so, but I’ve never argued like that on the first date. That usually takes months. I’ve never admitted to being great at the whole dating thing. But still, I was pissed. I hadn’t had anything to eat yet, and I was freakin’ exhausted from moving all my stuff in. At least most of it was unpacked, so I just microwaved something. Compared to what I thought I was going to be eating (heh) that night, my frozen dinner tasted like cardboard. But I wasn’t about to let this ruin things for me. Sure, I had one stuffy neighbor that didn’t like me. I’m used to that. More than I’d like to admit. But I still had a whole building’s worth of ponies to talk to, and hang out with, and stuff. I mean really, how many of them could be like HER? All stuck-up and rude. Yells a lot. Makes a big deal out of little things. Can’t read the atmosphere. Stupid poofy hair. Stupid pristine coat. Great flank. Pretty eyes. ...dammit. Now I was MORE mad. I’d never been so humiliated. Eating alone? Having your date (which it was so very NOT a date), walk out on you before the appetizer even arrives? Who does that to a pony. Honestly, the sheer gall of that girl. It was rather astounding how presumptuous she was. I mean yes, she did make several remarks that could probably only be read as “coming onto somepony”, but she never once used the word date. It was just dinner. I’d only known her for maybe ten minutes, sure. But it wasn’t a date. Even if she did have every reason to suspect otherwise. I hadn’t even opened the door to my apartment before that thought struck me. Even if I hadn’t thought so, she clearly did. And I’d given her no reason to suspect otherwise. Not to mention, my behavior was rather appalling. I’d never lost my temper like that before. So, instead of turning my key in the lock and opening my door, I turned around and knocked on hers. After all, it’s not like I can just live across the hall from somepony, see her everyday, and be so... so... FURIOUS with her. I needed to be the better mare and apologize. It took her a little while to open the door, but there she was. Still wearing those shades. Mind you, I understood why she did, now, so it’s not like I could be mad about it (even though I was, for some stupid reason). “Yeah, what do you want?” She had good reason to be upset. “I... listen, I came back to apologize. Even if I didn’t think it was a date-” “Which it WAS”, she interrupted. “EVEN IF I didn’t think it was a date, I hadn’t taken into account how you felt. I’d given you every reason to think it was, and then treated you very poorly. So... I came to apologize.” I wouldn’t let myself get riled up by her. I was trying to be nice. She looked taken aback, to my surprise. “Oh... um, ok. Wow. Nopony’s ever... I mean... thank you. I appreciate that. Listen, I know trying this whole date thing again probably isn’t going to work-” “EVER.” I interjected. She smiled a little “Yeah, yeah. Even if that doesn’t work, I do appreciate you coming over and apologizing. And taking me somewhere nice for dinner.” I must have had a look on my face, because she quickly corrected herself “ACCOMPANYING me to a nice restaurant where we could have dinner as friends. I never thanked you properly for that. And besides, it would be TOTALLY uncool if we were to like, glare at each other whenever we opened the door at the same time, or whatever, right?” She seamed rather earnest, which I remember thinking was very nice of her. “Yes, that would be a little troublesome.” “So yeah, I should maybe say I’m sorry, too? I did yell at you and stuff, and that’s also so very uncool of me. I mean, come on. I’m the coolest DJ in Equestria. I can’t go around being lame like that all the time!” She puffed up a little in pride, which I was starting to see was a regular trait of hers. “Hey, how about this. We go to lunch tomorrow. NOT a date, just two friends sitting down and having a meal. Like, food-friends. Or something.” I thought about it for a bit. What was the worst that could happen, now that we were on even footing? “Sure. Ok, I think that’s fine.” “Great. Ok, I gotta get some sleep. I have like a BUNCH of work tomorrow morning setting up for a gig tomorrow night. But I should be back here like a little after noon or something.” “Well, aside from practice I have a few days off before a recital this weekend, so I should be around.” “Awesome. Good night, Tavi.” “...good night, Vinyl.” Really, what WAS the worst that could happen? I woke up that morning feeling amazing. I was totally expecting to go to sleep like, really angry last night, but that so did not happen. I was stoked. I had a huge party that night, I had lunch with a crazy gorgeous girl (“EVER”, my flank. I’d get a date out of her eventually. I’m awesome like that.), and the morning view from my apartment was total sunrise GREATNESS. Today was going to be amazing. At least, I thought so. Ok, so it started exactly like I thought it was going to. I got up at sunrise, had breakfast, and went down to the ginormous auditorium I was performing at. It was an invite-only preshow for a huge concert they were having this weekend (which I was ALSO DJing for), some really big party for all kinds of rock and pop artists or something. I think it was an award ceremony or whatever. I stopped paying attention when they showed me the check. Sooooo many zeros. Ok, maybe not that many. But it was awesome. Anyway, that’s not where it started. Like most of what’s gone wrong lately, it started when Octavia showed up. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was going to start hating that name. Now, I’d thought that I was going to wait until I got home to see her, or whatever. But right when I’m getting the last finishing touches on my console set up, she walks in. I recognized her right away. I’d been staring at that flank WAY too long. (Pfft, that’s a lie. No such thing.) So, being the polite and courteous lady that I am (oh shut up), I walked up and said hi. “Hey, Tavi, what’s up?” “Oh, Vinyl! I had no idea you’d be here. Um... what are you doing here?” She raised an eyebrow at me, and I noticed the other three ponies she’d walked in with. They also gave me weird looks. Not like “What’s her problem?” looks, more like, “Who is this AWESOME pony Octavia is talking to?” Obviously. “I’m setting up. We’re doing a preshow tonight for some huge thing this weekend. I gotta make sure everything works right, y’know?” Her eyebrow twitched. “Some... huge... thing?” “Yeah, it’s some kind of award ceremony or whatever. Pretty fancy, huh?” I knew she’d be impressed. The ponies behind her seemed less so, but Octavia just asked calmly, “Vinyl, do you know what award ceremony this is?” I had no idea. “Nope. I just looked at the check and said OK.” There she goes again with the eyebrow twitching. “Well, it’s called the Grammy Awards. It’s one of the most prestigious accomplishments for a musician. And you say you’re... DJ-ing?” She was starting to get all snooty again. But I’d learned my lesson last night. “Well, yes and no. Kind of no. I’m just responsible for all the music that plays when they hand out awards and stuff. There’ll be some live performances and all that that I’ll be helping out with, too. But mostly I’m just getting paid to sit around and play the right music at the right time. Pretty sweet, huh?” Then this stuffy stallion spoke up. “And WHO, exactly, is this... mare you’re talking to, Octavia?” “Her name is Vinyl Scratch. She’s... well, I don’t exactly know WHAT she does aside from DJ-ing. She lives across the hall from me. We’re having lunch later.” She seemed all tense and stuff. I guess she was keeping up appearances or something. “Vinyl Scratch? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.” What a tight-flank. But he gave me a great opening to just knock him off his hooves. “Well, you probably wouldn’t. Most ponies know me as... DJ Pon-3.” I could not BELIEVE what I had just heard. DJ Pon-3? The DJ for Princess Cadence’s wedding? The rising star in the pop music industry? THIS was HER?! “...um, wow, Vinyl. I had no idea you were DJ Pon-3.” I tried to sound rather nonchalant. I think. “That’s ok, Tavi. You already told me you don’t listen to music that requires a DJ. A lot of ponies don’t. Wouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t recognize the shades.” She had that slowly-becoming-familiar arrogance about her. Frederick, or, I should say, the stallion who’d been talking just a moment ago, spoke up. “YOU are DJ Pon-3? I find that rather hard to believe. You expect me to buy that YOU DJ’ed for the PRINCESS?” I hindsight, I should have stopped him talking earlier. Vinyl was getting agitated. “Tavi, please tell me these... ponies aren’t coming to lunch with us.” That had actually been my original plan, but I hadn’t said anything. I’d wanted them to be there so that I had somepony to lean on if things went south again. “Um, no. I just had them come with me, because we’re giving our recital during the awards ceremony. We’re one of the performances.” She raised her eyebrows at that. Which just barely made it over the top of her sunglasses. “Oh, really? That’s pretty cool. Good luck and all. Listen, I gotta finish up. I saw a cafe like a block away this morning, how about we meet there for lunch?” She obviously wanted this conversation to be over. I was inclined to agree. :Yes, that sounds nice. I will see you later.” So far, so good... right? Ok, so she had some stick-in-the-mud friends. They’d warm up to me once they saw my AWESOME performance tonight and this weekend. If they were playing during the awards show, they were going to be there tonight. I’d show them. And totally impress Tavi. My master plan was foolproof. So what happened next was TOTALLY not my fault. Ok, so I got done setting up and stuff, right? Then I went to the cafe. I found Octavia sitting at a table outside, and she waved me down. “Oh, hey, were you waiting long?” I am SO smooth. She smiled politely. “Not very, I just got here myself.” “Great. Let’s see what they have.” I pulled up a menu and perused. (I was getting used to this whole high society thing. Perused. Great word. Just say it for no reason for a while. It’s great. Perused.) We were silent for a bit while we looked at our menus, then Tavi spoke up. “Listen, Vinyl, I’m sorry about Frederick. He’s always very conscious about the ponies he spends time with. His reputation means a lot to him.” “Hey, it’s no biggie. I haven’t played a whole lot in Canterlot, so I’m not surprised he hasn’t seen me before. He must not have gone to the wedding.” He’d know me after tonight, though. “Well, yes. After the Grand Galloping Gala, the Princesses saw it fit to look for more... contemporary music for the wedding. I think the groom had something to do with it, too. Do you know him? Your mane looks a little like his. And your coat...” “Nah. I got that a bit at the wedding. He’s actually Princess Twilight’s older brother. But yeah, no relation.” That’d be sweet, though. Being a Prince’s sister? Heck yeah. “Oh, I see.” She went back to her menu, but something buged me a little. “You said you performed at the Grand Galloping Gala?” She lowered the menu a little. “Um, yes?” “You wouldn’t happen to be... the Canter Quartet, would you?” She paused a little, then put the menu down. She was blushing. “Heh heh... yes. Yes we are.” “I KNEW it!” I smacked my hoof on the bale. A few ponies glared at me for the noise. “My bad. Anyway, you guys are like, really big, aren’t you? Even I’ve heard of you, and I SO don’t do classical.” She seemed to brighten up after that. “Well, I wouldn’t say that... but thank you. That’s... rather sweet.” I mean, I only heard about what happened at the Gala from a friend of mine in Ponyville. She didn’t seem impressed. But then again, I can see her not wanting to sit still for classical music at a party.” A cloudy look came over her face. “A... friend? What would her name be, exactly?” “Huh? Oh, her name’s Pinkie Pie. She’s this awesome party planner. Bit of a sugar addict, but she’s totally cool.” “Totally COOL?!” Uh oh. “She RUINED the biggest performance of my LIFE!” “Hey, hey, calm down. She was just trying to be nice. I mean, she IS the Element of Laughter, right? Not a lot of people laughing during a quarter performance.” She practically rumbled. “WHY am I not surprised you’re FRIENDS with her?! It took me MONTHS to get over that, and even then we barely made it as a performance for the Grammy’s!” Now I was a little miffed. Nopony talks about my friends like that. ESPECIALLY not my friends who have also SAVED the WORLD. “But you’re FINE now, right?! Big ol’ fancy apartment in uptown Canterlot. Playing award shows-” “And ANOTHER thing. It’s not just an ‘Award Show.’ It’s the bloody GRAMMY’S! The most prestigious musical accomplishment possible, and you don’t even know what it’s called! And you’re PART of the CEREMONY! How can ANYpony be this dense?!” She had officially gone nuclear. “Are you kidding? I have more right to be there than you do! If anyone should be at a music awards ceremony, it's a musician who DIDN'T get kicked out of Canterlot and WASN'T made to play for Halloween festivals in Ponyville! I should thank you, by the way. It's entirely because of you and your group I got to DJ that wedding! Think about THAT the next time you decide to yell at me for no reason!" I didn't give her a chance to respond, I just stormed off, and went home. NOT my fault. Author's Note Author’s note: Ok, so the first chapter was surprisingly fun to write. I think I could get quite a bit out of this story as long as I don’t try to drive it too hard. Nice, short chapters (like the last one, maybe a bit longer) should work fine. Especially for this narrative type. This story gives me a lot of wiggle room to just be a total ass. Not to you guys, of course. To them ^ And why is writing arguments so much damn fun? Ground ZeroChapter 3: Ground Zero I could not BELIEVE how pissed off I was at that high and mighty... whatever-the-hell-instrument-she-played... -ist. Didn’t care. I’d gone straight home and made myself something to eat. AGAIN. All the while vocalizing my disapproval (others call it bitching, but who cares?) to the unlucky soul who had called me right as I walked in the door: Neon Lights. “I’m telling you, dude, it’s not even cool. She totally trashed on my friends, made fun of my career, ooh, I just wanna strangle somepony!” I yelled in his general direction as I ate, floating the phone around my head. Magic makes everything better. Because MAGIC. “I heard you the first time, Vinyl. Look, you live next door to her, right? You’re going to see a lot of her. The least you could do is find some kind of common ground, or at least call a truce.” I opened my mouth to yell some more, but he cut me off. Somehow, he just knows. “I’m NOT saying you have to like her. Just lay out some ground rules so that you don’t yell at her every time you see her, or something, ok? I’ll be honest. I don’t want every phone call to be about how bitchy your neighbor is. AGAIN.” “...fine. So, listen, about the set tonight.” “Yeah?” he seemed happy to change the subject. “Are the Grammy’s really that big a deal? I mean, I’ve never gotten one.” I could hear the headdesk from over the phone. “I... but... yes. Yes Vinyl, the Grammy’s are a big deal. It is a very huge gig. All those zeros? Yes. It is a BIG. DEAL.” “...Neon, do YOU have a Grammy?” I was curious. I was more interested in the Golden Table awards, anyway. You know, the one for DJ’s? Biggest musical accomplishment for anyone who’s ever touched a turntable? “NO I do NOT have a Grammy because that NO TALENT MOTHERFU-” I won’t talk about the rest of his rant. It goes on for a while and there’s more important stuff to talk about. So like, after 5 minutes of this, he calms down. “...huff...huff... no. I do not have a Grammy, Vinyl. Although I am going to the awards ceremony.” “Oh, sweet? Are you performing?” I loved working with Neon. He had some of the best gear. We played off each other really well. And to be honest, if I liked stallions, I’d have pinned him to a wall already. “NO I’m not performing! That HACK of an artist Headstone Alive took my-” and off he went some more. It’s good to know you can always have friends to yell at for no apparent reason. It’s therapeutic. I had decided to forgo eating alone at a restaurant I’d been ditched at for the second time, and went back to the auditorium to regroup with my ensemble. They were approximately where I’d left them, getting ready for practice for the invite only rehearsal tonight. I must have looked rather distraught, or at least upset, because Beauty Brass picked up on it right away. “Oh, Octy, are you alright?” She was really a very sweet girl. Much more polite than SOMEpony I know. Parish and Frederick were paying at least some attention. Those two really could be all work. I heaved a much-needed sigh, and told them all the whole story. How I met Vinyl, the dinner that was NOT a date, me apologizing, and the lunch. “WHY am I not surprised she’s friends with that boorish pink disaster?” Frederick’s drawl was filled with disdain. None of us very much liked that pony, but Frederick always made his opinions... readily available. Beauty Brass tried to smile. “Well, it’s not all bad. We’re playing the Grammy’s, right? Anyway, You said you lived across the hall from her?” I tried not to think about that. “Yes. I do.” “Then you should probably try and say something. You don’t have to apologize, or anything like that. But it isn’t healthy to be so mad at someone you see all the time. Like, maybe agree to disagree and just not spend time together? I mean, a hello in the mornings won’t kill you, right?” Brass always had a tendency to be the voice of reason. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that none of us really tried. Well, I might have. I was usually more focused on being right. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. I’m NOT apologizing to her, but you do have a point. Being this angry at somepony I’m going to see every... day... ever...” I tried not to think about it really at all. “Is NOT good for me, nor is it very ladylike. SO yes, I shall have a talk with her. Especially if we may have to work together, being who we are.” The thought disturbed me a little. I should have considered that an omen. So after I finally get off the phone with Neon, and finish eating, I realize I have a whole hell of a lot of time to kill. Like 6 whole hours. I’m already set up, and it’s not like I need to practice how to change songs on a sound system. I mean, really. I even have a little screen that tells me what to play, when. If not for the fact that I was actually involved in some of the performances that evening, they could probably have just paid some random dork to do this job. It just wouldn’t have been anywhere near as cool. SO I tried to think. What could I possibly do in Canterlot for six hours? I don’t really know any good clubs, even if it is the middle of the day. I just ate, and I don’t really like shopping. I tried to think of anypony I might know who lived in Canterlot... Like my best friend on the planet, Spitfire. Duh. I called her up, or, more specifically, called the Wonderbolts Hotline, and waited. Now, you’re probably wondering why I’d be calling the lame, not-being-best-friends-with-the-captain way. Well... “Hello, and thank you for calling the Wonderbolts. If you’d like times and locations for future shows, please press 1. If you’d like-” I just held down 0 for a while. Beep. Some cheesy hold music. “Thank you for holding. How may I help you?” Bingo, just who I thought it would be. “Yes, I’d like to speak to Spitfire.” The ‘operator‘ got all snooty at that. “I’m sorry, the CAPTAIN of the WONDERBOLTS is currently very busy and-” “I know where you hide all your toys at work, Wind Whistle.” Silence. I waited for a moment. “OH! Miss Vinyl! Why didn’t you SAY it was you? Just a second!” Really, it’s just to easy, sometimes. It rang a little more, and clicked. “Hello?” “Guess who lives in CANTERLOT now?!” I all but yelled into the phone. Spitfire gasped. “No. Way.” “Yes way. ALL the way. I’m on the 31st floor of the Blueblood complex. You have ten minutes.” “Please.” I knew she couldn’t resist a challenge. I heard Wind Whistle in the background as Spitfire took off, forgetting to hang up, again. There was some nervous muttering, then Wind Whistle came on the line. “You’re an evil pony, Vinyl Scratch.” “I love you, too. Bye.” Click. Not even four minutes later, I heard a tap on my window. Moving large amounts of loose boxes and furniture out of the way, I cleared a path between the window and the farthest wall. Then I opened the window. One disaster-averted-tackle-hug later, Spitfire is pinning me to the wall on the opposite side of my living room. “Why didn’t you TELL me you moved here?!” I tapped her shoulder. “Can’t... air... off...” She relaxed a little, and I gasped for air. “How long have you been in town?” “All of like, two days.” She looked ‘offended’. “And you didn’t call me? Oh, how cruel!” she threw herself onto the floor in despair. Now, here’s something you might have figured out by now: Spitfire is weird. You’ve probably seen her be all calm and relaxed at a party, schmoozing with guests. Or watched her be all military hard-ass over her cadets. But the real Spitfire? The honest-to-Celestia, right-at-home, being herself Spitfire? She’s a total drama queen, and probably has more energy than I do. How she maintains herself during shows I have NO idea. “Oh, you know you love it. Besides, the only ponies I’ve talked to since I got here are Neon Lights (he just called), and the girl across the hall from me.” Spitfire sat up and gave me a big pleading look. “Girl? Really? Is she hot?” Why yes, my best friend is a lesbian, why do you ask? Little fun fact: in a matriarchal society, being a fillyfooler is actually a lot more common than you think. When pretty much everypony on the planet looks up to and adores a Princess who has nothing but love for her subject, (and if you believe some of the history, has had her fair share of either gender over the millennium), being fond of mares isn’t that uncommon. Not to mention most of my friends are gay. How do you think I met them all? “Yes, she’s hot. But before you get any ideas, allow me to enlighten you, my dear Spitfire...” and I told her everything I told Neon, except without all the yelling. I think. By the time I was done, Spitfire looked more than peeved. “Why that... Pinkie Pie is great. She’s the Element of Laughter! I mean, I have the Element of Loyalty in boot camp right now, is she joking?” “...I don’t see how that means anything to her... How is that new recruit, anyway?” “You know how I’m totally not this amazing all the time? Like, when I’m being all Captain Flankstick or sucking up to the Hoity-Toity’s of the world?” “No. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder if I tried. And I tried. Ow. “Well, she’s like me. A little. The real me, not any of those masks I wear or whatever. Which is as exhausting as ever, thanks for asking. But anyway, she’s totally all about flying and being cool to your teammates and stuff. She’s just... really REALLY enthusiastic. I want to be annoyed, but she reminds me so much of who I want to be ALL THE TIME that I just can’t bring myself to admonish her for it.” She looked almost wistful. Weird. “So what do you do?” Then she smiled like a maniac. That’s better. “Oh, that’s what I have Drill Instructors for.” “...you’re a horrible pony.” “I know, isn’t it great?!” I had to give her a hug. It was good to see her again. Of course, Spitfire being Spitfire, she translated the hug as meaning ‘nibble on my ears.’ “H-hey! Spitfire!” “What? Didn’t you say you had like, 6 hours or something before work?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I gave her a look. Or tried to. Sometimes the shades get in the way of the snark. It’s a necessary evil. “Just because I’m back in town and have free time doesn’t mean we automatically become ‘friends with benefits’ again.” “Yes it does, stop lying.” “... yeah, it totally does.” I ended up having lunch with my ensemble (a civilized meal for once), and made my way back to the apartment to talk to Vinyl. Beauty Brass said I should clear up any hostility before tonight’s show, just to make things easier on everypony else. However, when I got to her apartment, the door was locked. And there was a... Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle. I could also hear noises coming from the apartment. Best not to disturb her... I was a little incensed by the situation, but decided to approach it rationally. You already know she’s a fillyfooler. She’s a much more... sociable and enthusiastic pony than you. She’s also a famous DJ with lots of fans. It just makes sense that she’d have somepony to... spend time with during the day. I still didn’t want to leave things as they were, so I wrote her a quick note, taped it to her door, and went back to practice. That should have cleared things up. The results... MAY not have been my fault. Spitfire and I lay panting on the floor, completely tired. “Hey. Hey Spitfire... what time is it?” She groaned a little, and tilted her head back to look at the wall clock. “It’s only like, 3 or something. Why? Wanna go again?” “No. I mean, not yet. Too tired. But I gotta go... talk to this mare across the hall before the... before the show.” Damn I was exhausted. “What? Why?” SPitfire rolled over and looked at me. “Neon’s idea. I mean, I agree with him. We may not like each other really at all, but I live literally 5 feet from her. And we’re already working together, on the Grammy’s or whatever. So he said I should talk to her, cause being all mad at somepony you see all the time isn’t healthy.” “Pfft, where does Mr. Anderhoof get off being right all the time?” “...Mr. Anderhoof?” “You know. From the Maretrix. Neon Lights? Neo? Mr. Anderhoof?” I rolled my eyes as much as a I could. Which wasn’t a lot. “Try harder, Spitfire.” I rolled over and stood up, and walked over to the shower. It shower helped. A lot. I actually had some energy back. Spitfire climbed in after me, smelling almost as bad. Or good, depending. “So what are you gonna say to this girl?” She yelled over the sound of rushing water. I worked on getting my mane to it’s natural spiky levels of rocktitude. “Don’t know yet. Probably something like ‘Hey, I know we don’t like each other, but let’s NOT be total flankwholes to each other all the time?” She choked on some water laughing. “Sounds legit.” By the time we were both clean it was almost four. I might as well get this over with. Spitfire followed me across the hall, where I knocked on the door. And waited. And knocked again. I was about to knock a third time when Spitfire pointed out, “Hey, Vinyl, you got a note or something.” I turned around to see what she was talking about, and there it was: a little piece of paper with my name on it, folded in half and taped to by door. I peeled it off with magic and read it out loud. “Dear Ms. Vinyl, While I may not condone your actions, and indeed some of mine were regrettable, I have come to the conclusion that us staying mad at each other the entire time we are neighbors would be unhealthy, and could cause some serious problems for each other, and ponies we know. So, it is with hope that we can be amicable to each other in the future that I write this note. I expect we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future, so I would like to clear the air once and for all, and be the bigger pony here. I want you to know that I forgive you. I know some of my behavior was less than acceptable, and I ask that you forgive me, too. I believe that, even if we cannot be friends, we can at least be neighborly. So it is with this hope that I would like to say that I hold no animosity towards you or the company you keep. Respectfully, Octavia P.S. Please get some soundproofing for your door.” I was full of mixed emotions. For the most part, the letter said everything I wanted to. It was basically the same thing I was going over to her place to say. But SHE forgives ME? The bigger pony?! Oh, hell no. Spitfire looked about as mad as I did. “She forgives YOU?! Are you joking?! You know what this means, right?” I did. “THIS. Means WAR.” Author's Note Shit’s about to get real, son. I’m trying to get a good baseline of chapters up so that people new to the story have at least something substantial to read once I get into a more solid update schedule. I have absolutely NO idea how long this story is going to be. Also, you may not agree with how I portray some of the characters. That’s ok. This story is just for fun. Now Where Did I Leave All That Ordinance?Chapter 4: Now where did I leave all that ordinance? I’d put up with quite a few obnoxious, full-of-themselves ponies in my lifetime. Mostly by taking them down a peg or two. It’s what I do best (along with being Equestria’s premiere DJ). Now, I have a tried and true method of doing things. If someone agitates me, I’ll usually pull a prank or two, and then wait and see what happens. There was no reason for this to be any different. Well, that’s what I thought at first, anyway. “Ok, so do we want to be nice and subtle, or do we do something outright unruly?” Spitfire seemed a little eager to get in on the fun. Mainly because that’s all we did when we were kids. I think she misses that. I kind of do, too. But everypony has to grow up. Just... not all at once. “Patience, my pupil. These things take a certain... touch of class.” ‘Class’ being what I’d ironically nicknamed the Sharpie I used for defamation of public property. Also known as writing on people’s stuff. I scribbled a few words on Tavi’s front door, and, satisfied with my work, moved along like a good little vandal. Spitfire stood around long enough to read it, and burst out laughing. I had to clamp a hoof over her mouth. “Silence, ya shmoe! The coppas will be here any minute!” I scolded her using my best gangster voice, dragging her back into the apartment. It probably would have been much harder to do if I couldn’t just levitate her. Even then... she’s wriggly. This part? Ok, I’ll admit, this whole next part was totally my fault. I regret nothing. I like to see myself as a rational person. I believe I’ve said this before. My band mates, however, may not always be. Beauty Brass? She can be the voice of reason when she wants to, but she becomes irrational and... twitchy about the strangest things. Like her sousaphone. Frederick, while rather self-important, always maintained the same stance on things; he, and by association his friends, were above reproach. He considered anyone close to him to be of the highest caliber of pony and made a point of only associating with people of a similar demeanor. Parish? Well, Parish I believe is the only pony I’ve ever met who could have prepared me for Vinyl Scratch. He is an... unorthodox fellow. Even if he’s maybe uttered all of ten words around me in the years I’ve known him. Now, many ponies often ask me why I chose to play the cello. I give them a variety of answers. But the real reason is that, given how I stand when I use it, and how I have to hold it when I do, that it requires absolute concentration. Pure focus. I can let nothing else in the world interfere. Which has taught me incredible self-control and some rather interesting meditation techniques. I will admit, I do forget to... exercise some of that control in certain situations, but as soon as I have my cello in my hoof I am usually rather calm, serene, and clear minded. The absolute picture of clarity. I- “Dear god, Octavia, what are you doing to that cat?” -was none of those things right now. “I’m sorry, Frederick. I can’t... I can’t focus at all. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s... It’s been a long couple of days. But I can do this. We still have time before the rehearsal. I can do this.” Beauty Brass stared at me with concern. “Is there something we can help you with? Maybe you need a drink?” “NO!” Frederick and I overlapped our protests perfectly. “I mean... no. Drinking on the day of a performance is a rather... uncouth idea.” She seemed hurt after I’d yelled, so I tried to be a bit softer. “Not to mention, you’ve never seen her drunk. There is a reason for this.” Frederick deadpanned, staring at me. I had reason to blush. Thus, I did. “O-oh...” Her voice was soft, understanding. She really was a good mare. “Well, can you think what the problem might be?” “She’s probably horny.” Parish said. If somepony had told me at any point in my life that Parish would say those words, ever, I would have laughed in their face. “...what?!” Having finally processed the fact that, not only did Parish say words, he said THOSE words, the incredulity of the statement finally sank in. “What are you talking about?!” Frederick looked very well like somepony had punched him in the face. “Parish, what was that?” The normally quiet stallion looked from Frederick, back to me, and then sighed heavily. Then he proceeded to say more in the next few minutes than I have ever heard him say before or since. “Look, it’s like that time that kid Noteworthy wouldn’t stop leaving her alone two or three years ago. Octavia, I like you, and you’re gorgeous, but you’re also very hard to approach. My guess is that, aside from the few ponies we have to talk to for work, the three of us make up the majority of your social interaction. Dare I say we dominate it. Now, with that comes two very unfortunate side effects: you have almost no romantic experience whatsoever, and whenever something even remotely romantic does happen, not only are you ill-equipped to deal with it, you very likely don’t recognize your own feelings in the matter. How long has it been since anypony expressed an interest in you, physically? Since Noteworthy? How about before that? The truth is, you have almost no exposure to your own emotions when it comes to matters of the heart. Or other parts of your anatomy. Now I’m not saying you like this mare, it’s rather clear that you don’t. But she’s the first pony in a long time to express that kind of interest in you, and from what I understand, she doesn’t beat around the bush. I’m willing to bet that popped a cork in something, and for as long as you’ve been pent up, having somepony all but throw themselves at you has you in the mood. It’s just so uncommon to you that you don’t recognize it when it happens, and have absolutely no idea how to go about doing something about it. Now, we have at least a few hours before we’re absolutely needed. I know you don’t need more practice, you just need more focus. So as a friend, I’m telling you: GO. GET. LAID.” You could have knocked me over with flower petals. “I- wha- that’s... that’s absurd! I don’t need to... to debase myself and go find somepony I don’t know... or...” Beauty and Frederick had also been rather shell shocked at the torrent of information put forth by somepony most ponies assumed was mute. But as I trailed off in half-hearted protests, they stared at me much like Parish was doing: sternly, much like someone who’s watching their friends not taking their medication. I had no idea WHAT to say about any of this. But they obviously wouldn’t be satisfied until I did... something. So I went home. It wasn’t that far away. I figured I’d go home, take a hot shower, meditate a little like I do when I’m practicing at home, and then leave for the rehearsal. I’d just tell them all they were wrong and that I was fine. Then, I arrived at my front door. “...wat. What. WHAT?!” I screeched. I’m not proud of it. I heard laughing from the apartment behind me as I read and reread the vandalism on my front door. ‘For free sex and cake, apply within.’ I immediately turned around and pounded on the culprit’s door. She answered, opening the door with a rolling “Yeeeessssssss?” Some pegasus I didn’t recognize stood right beside her. Obviously the one she’d been... engaged with earlier. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do things to her that would end my career. But then something happened. I got a good, proper look at her. She’d obviously recently showered. She was still wearing her shades, but they were set up on her forehead. And I could finally see what color her eyes were. A bright, contrasting red to her cobalt and cyan blue mane. Her hair wasn’t pointed every which way this time. It hung in little loose ringlets around her face and shoulders. She leaned against the door with all the ease in the world. She was obviously waiting for me to retaliate. And something snapped. Oh, I’d retaliate alright. I grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and slammed her against my door. Before she could so much as get out a “wha-”... I kissed her. Hard, aggressive. Untrained. But when I pulled back, she was thoroughly confused. I pointed to the scrawl on my door, and she followed my hoof, her eyes going wide. “Say no. I bucking DARE you.” (parts of this story have been omitted because I’m WAYYY to lazy to change the rating) There was no part of me at all whatsoever in the world that could make sense of what just happened. I mean yeah, I’ve had plenty of angry sex before. Most of it really good. Outright hate sex? That was a new one to me. I rolled over on the bed, and saw Octavia already getting ready to leave. She turned around and shoved a hoof in my face. “Alright, look. I don’t like you and you don’t like me. We’re both going to have to live with that. But if the short time I’ve spent anywhere near you has been any indication, we’re both attracted to each other. Physically, I mean. This does NOT mean that you can come knocking whenever you want. Try it and see what happens. But we’re obviously not going to get anywhere if we keep arguing and pulling petty pranks on each other.” I raised a hoof. “I have a question.” “...what?” “WHAT the HELL?! Do you have any idea how confusing you are?! I was all ready for you to start screeching incoherently like some bass-wielding howler monkey, or call the cops for vandalism. Or at least the building manager. How did we get HERE?!” I was short on breath, for more than one reason. “Listen... Vinyl.” She said my name like she was ripping it off her tongue. “I have been under more stress than you can possibly imagine. And more... pent up that I’d care to admit. But I’m not the kind of girl who walks up to somepony on the street and presents herself. So I asked myself, who’s the easiest, closest, most obviously experienced pony I know?” “Easy? Excuse me?!” She just raised an eyebrow at me. “Ok, fine. I’m... more open to sex than most ponies. I get that. But no mare likes to hear that. At least Spitfire is an old friend, I don’t just throw myself at random ponies either. Like I said, I have rules.” She scoffed. “Oh please. The three date rule? That just means you’re willing to-o-o-aaaa SPITFIRE?! THAT was SPITFIRE?!” She was totally freaking out. YES. “Oh, yeah. You know, Captain of the Wonderbolts. One of the most influential pegasi in Canterlot? My oldest friend ever?” “Oh my god. I just threw you against a wall like a common trollop and basically DEMANDED that you have sex with me. I front of Spitfire!” Then something weird happened. I was watching her eyes, cause I thought they were going to pop out of her head, and that’d be funny. But then she just stopped. She got all serious again, and glared at me. Oh boy. (I may end up writing these scenes out in a side story some time down the line, but for now, here’s a nice censorship sentence. Enjoy.) A large part of me could not believe what had just happened. After cleaning myself up and leaving Vinyl outside to wonder what in Tartarus was going on, I made my way back to the auditorium. On the way, I decided a few very important things. One, nopony must know about this. I’d been extremely clear on that to Vinyl (after begging Spitfire not to tell anyone and apologizing for my behavior). Two, I had to do something about all this pent up tension, and fast. Yes, the two (or was it three) round with Vinyl had done much more than take the edge off, but I could still feel more of what Parish had noticed earlier, and it took me pinning a mare I didn’t like against a wall to realize: I was a very frustrated pony. Emotionally and physically. I did my damnedest to sort out my thoughts on the way, taking the long way around to give myself time to think. What kind of mare was I turning into? I knew I’d had... anger issues, but I did my best to avoid them, or approach irritating situations with a mask of indifference and superiority. It’s true that id had been a rather long time since I’d been intimate with someone. Even the last several years I’d gone into heat I’d simply hidden away in my apartment for a week and... tended to myself. Maybe... maybe it was a bit of both? I’d just had sex, but I was still tense all over. Maybe I needed to address all of this un-tended anger? I did seem to have a great deal more than I realized. That must be it! I just needed a good outlet for all of my frustration. Yes, I’d yelled at Vinyl good and thoroughly. And the other thing, that had happened. But all it did was create more problems. I wasn’t getting anywhere on the anger management front. I’d gotten to the stage door of the auditorium at this point, but stopped myself outside to think just a little longer. All I needed to do was find a good way to express all this negative emotion before it got out of hand, and I would be fine. I’d be in control again. I opened the door. “Oh, good.” Frederick looked up and sighed. “You had sex. Let’s get to playing.” I was going to KILL somepony. Author's Note Well, that pops the cork on one plot development. (So many jokes.) Yes, I’d actually been planning on this, well, as much planning as actually goes into this story. By which I mean, I sat down for like a minute a few days ago and said “Hate sex. I’m totally making that a thing.” Then I had some more alcohol. Then I sobered up, and it was STILL a great idea. Oh don’t worry. This is still far from over. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the property damage. That’s all for now. The Calm Before the Storm?Chapter 6: The quiet before the storm? I woke up to a relatively familiar scene: a bedroom I didn’t recognize. At first, anyway. After the fog cleared from my head I put two and two together: I was back in Octavia’s room. Holy crap that mare had some issues. I mean, wow. I’d never seen anyone Jeckyll and Hoof their way into hate sex before. I’ve seen some bipolar ponies before, even dated one once. But there was something about that chick that was just… damn. Now, usually I do one of two things. Either A, I tiptoe my way out of the apartment before they wake up (which I’m not saying is a good thing, but sometimes the mare you wake up next to ain’t the one you went to bed with), or B, I stay ‘asleep’ till they either nudge me out of bed, yell at me, or go for a round two. So this was new to me. I’d woken up alone. I mean, I’m used to sleeping alone, but I’m not used to waking up when I went to bed with somepony and that pony not be right where I left them. I got up and looked around, expecting to see a letter or something, but nada. So I rolled out of bed and went for the bathroom. Or, tried. I got all four hooves on the ground, then fell over. I guess that’s what I get for not taking a break between sex, sex, a major rehearsal performance, and sex. Not a first for me, but I can usually plan these things ahead. So I crawled my flank across the floor to the bathroom, set the shower for as hot as it would go, and just laid down in the scalding water for a while. Awhile meaning I fell back asleep. I woke up I had no idea how much later, but it couldn’t have been that long, because the water was now just lukewarm instead of cold. I dragged my soaking coat out of the tub, and with what little energy I had, levitated a towel over and dried myself off. Fortunately, at that point I had enough umph in me to walk around a bit. But I was most definitely going home to sleep some more. Well, eventually. I did have her place all to myself, after all. I wanted to explore. So I did. Her apartment was much like what I’d expect it to be. Art everywhere, with a smaller not-quite-bedroom sized room off to the side. I peeked in and saw all of her musical stuff in there. Sheet music, her cello (I think that’s what it was. Might be a bass.), and a music stand. Plus all kinds of old records and a player in the corner. Everything was rather tidy. I peeked back into her room, thinking that somehow I’d missed something, and noticed a rather big difference: her bedroom was a mess! How had I missed that? I looked around, and saw that there was clean floor from the bed to the bath and from the bed to the door, but that was about it. Records, clothes, and a bunch of other stuff littered the whole damn room. Hell, the only reason I knew what the carpet looked like was because I fell into it trying to get out of bed. The bed was a mess, too, but that was to be expected. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t really… dirty. Sure, there was stuff everywhere, but it was at least clean. No food, or trash, or dust. Just… stuff. I wonder if she knew where everything was in her place? I moved on, having seen most of the apartment, and wandered about her kitchen. Then I saw it. A big piece of paper with my name written in very obvious lettering stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Oh, here we go. “Vinyl. I know you’re probably exhausted, and by now have used up all my hot water. Grab something to eat and get out of my apartment. I will see you this afternoon. Like it or not, we need to talk. Octavia.” Well, at least it wasn’t as backhanded and insulting as the last one. Really much like I would expect from her, now. I made sure to eat till I was stuffed, then left. But I’m a decent pony, so I locked the door first. With everything that had happened yesterday at the rehearsal, and beforehoof, I couldn’t even think about going outside. There was no way I was going to face down anyone in public after the fiasco last night. I’d gotten a look at the papers this morning, and they didn’t make things any better: OCTAVIA VS. VINYL SCRATCH! A LOVER’S QUARRELL? Had I not been thoroughly exhausted myself I would have shaken Vinyl awake and had another go at her. Which, in all honesty, surprised the Tartarus out of me. A week ago I simply would have eaten the paper and had something heavy to drink. I needed to talk to somepony. Within a matter of days I’d devolved into a sexual deviant and predator. This was very much not right. So I tracked down the most rational, emotionally stable pony I knew in all of Canterlot who DIDN’T believe everything they read in the papers. “Thank you for meeting me, Fancy Pants.” We were sitting on his veranda, talking over a nice soothing cup of coffee. “Oh, my pleasure. While I am dying with curiosity, I too have been a victim of the media. And I’m always happy to help somepony who needs it. Now, I understand you’ve been having some… problems with your neighbor?” His demeanor was calm, friendly, everything everypony expected about him. But I couldn’t expect to get some help without divulging at least one or two juicy details. So I told him about how I’d met Vinyl, and the attempts we’d had at civilized discourse. And how that had gone south really rather quickly. I told him about the conversation I’d had with Harpo, and my friends. It felt good to have somepony just listen, for once. He sat there and drank it all in. “And now, every time I reach a boiling point, my first thought is to track her down and… do something rather unladylike!” I admitted. He seemed to mull this over. “Hmmm, let’s see. Are you attracted to her? Not emotionally, of course. But physically?” He seemed rather practical about his questions. I hadn’t thought about it much. I assumed I must be. Her coat was rather nice, a brilliant shade of white. And her hair… well, there was no accounting for style, but the blue was nice. I did really like her eyes, I admitted to myself. And her voice was somewhat endearing, even if I didn’t like what she had to say. She did make cute noises, too. And her flank… I sighed, giving up. “Yes. Yes I am.” “And can you think of anypony else you know that you’re attracted to?” That question caught me by surprise. I’d known for a while that I was attracted to mares. I’d figured that out when Noteworthy had caused me nothing but confusion all those years ago. But how many mares did I know personally, let alone saw on a regular basis? Yes, I had acquaintances, and contacts. I knew ponies in high society. But I never really hung out with them. The only female I spent any time around on a regular basis was Beauty Brass. And yes, she was rather pretty, but she was straight as an arrow, and… well… not my type, I guess. “No… I don’t think so. I mean, there are celebrities I find attractive, but I don’t… I don’t KNOW any of them.” “And how do you feel after having… been with Ms. Vinyl?” He looked at me pensively. I had to think about that one. But not for long. I remembered how I’d felt after the first time. Distracted, a little confused. Frustrated. But I was at least a little relaxed. Vinyl said I didn’t know what I wanted out of sex, that time. I hadn’t really had a purpose. But once I’d figured that out… The second time I was much more relaxed. I was clear headed, even a little happy. And last night was no different. In fact, those two moments were the only time I could remember being at all happy since I’d met Vinyl. Well, ok, that isn’t true. I was happy when I was performing. And when I had lunch with my friends. So I guess I could say… satisfied? Yes. “Satisfied.” He smiled at me. “Well, in that case, let me ask you one last question: When was the last time you felt satisfied?” “Oh, that’s easy. When I… when I… um…” I couldn’t think of anything. Of course I was happy when I played. Exhilarated, even. I was proud of my work. And I was proud when others enjoyed it. But was I satisfied? Well, yes, in a sense. I was satisfied that I’d done a good job. I was satisfied that ponies had enjoyed what I’d written. And what I performed for them. But there was always more to do. As soon as I was done, I had to think about what the next performance was. What the next piece was. There wasn’t really any stopping. But when I was with Vinyl, when we were done, all I felt was happy. And satisfied. Yes, it’s selfish, and I know I was only doing it for myself, but it was there. I didn’t have to think about anything else. I just laid there and enjoyed it. Even after I’d kick her out or leave her lying there, I wasn’t thinking about the next time I’d see her. Or what else I had to do that day. I just… felt good. And having thought all of that, I looked at Fancy Pants. “I don’t know.” “Well there’s your answer.” He smirked. Like a wise old sage talking to his pupil. I didn’t get it. “…what?” He took a sip of coffee, adjusted his monocle, and looked at me. “The sense of satisfaction we get from something or somepony that makes us feel good for the sake of feeling good is unlike anything in the world. Yes, there is always a sense of fulfillment and joy when one completes a work of art. But then the artist realizes his work is not done. What you’re experiencing is a sensation similar to somepony who has retired near the end of their life. Or made a long journey only to reach the end. There isn’t any worrying about the next step. Or the next day. It’s the kind of happiness you get from a moment of pure calm and, like I’ve said, satisfaction. You’ve found something that makes you feel, even for a moment, no worry, or stress, or apprehension. Just the pleasure of the thing and the relaxed, tranquil state afterword. For a lot of ponies, that’s exactly what lovemaking is for. You know, aside from the obvious biological imperative. But I don’t think that’s really relevant. And for most everypony, that’s what love is about, too.” “Love?! Now hold on-“ He raised a hoof. “Now, I’m not saying you’re in love. From what I’ve heard I’d have no reason to suspect you are. But here’s what I think: you’ve found something that brings you pleasure, joy, and tranquility. And then the world gives you pain, stress, and anguish. So you take the fastest route back to that calm, warm place in your mind: riding Vinyl like a roller coaster.” “FANCY!” I blushed. He grinned at me. “The way I see it, you have two options: find somepony who makes you feel like that all the time, even without sex. Now, mind you, this is the hard road. Some ponies spend their whole lives looking for it. Or, you can explain everything you’ve learned today with Vinyl, and work something out. I’m sure she’s just as confused as you are.” I thought about it a little, and realized I’d have to think about it a lot. “Thank you, Fancy. That… that is a great help. This might take some time, though.” “Oh, of course! The only great things in life that are fast are cars and cheeseburgers.” “Fancy!” I tried to be stern, but ended up laughing, Fancy pants joining in. Eventually, I did get home. Most ponies assume that my job does nothing but take up my time. Being the Captain of the Wonderbolts sounds like the most demanding job in the world without being royalty. But in all honesty, aside from running the camps, training, and the actual performances, I spend a surprisingly large amount of time in my office pretending to do paperwork that I had done hours ago. So when Vinyl had called me yesterday I was nothing short of ecstatic. There are a few ponies in the organization who don’t like her very much. And that’s fine. Not everypony has to like everypony. But I did like her. A lot. And I hadn’t heard from her in a long time. So I took any chance I could to see her. Which is why I’d given her my direct line yesterday before I left, so she didn’t have to blackmail my secretary just to talk to me. Here’s the thing about Vinyl: she has never, ever cared about who you are or what you do. It’s always about the pony, not the position. I’ve seen her have conversations with Princesses that were practically identical to her talking to fans. Ponies are just ponies to her. She gets to do what she loves, and doesn’t really have room in her head for any of that social status garbage. It’s really nice to have a friend who doesn’t care that you’re the Captain of the Wonderbolts when that’s all anypony ever sees you as. It’s also really easy to fall in love with somepony like that. I don’t think she knows, and that’s ok. I was mulling over this very subject while leaning on a pile of unsigned reports when my phone rang. “Hello, thank you for calling the Wonderbolts, this is Captain Spitfire speaking.” “Greetings, Admiral Fireflank. Got a moment.” Vinyl. My heart leaped around. “Oh sure, Noise Pollution. What do you want?” “I want you to go out with me.” When I woke up a few minutes later the papers were everywhere and I was surrounded by ponies. Apparently feinting makes a lot of noise. Author's Note What’s this? A cliffhanger?! NOOOOOOO! Oh, wait. It’s MY cliffhanger. I did that on PURPOSE. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA. It's Serious Business, Yo.Chapter 7: It's Serious Business, Yo. I’d only been home for a few moments when I’d passed out. Finally being in my own place with nothing to do gave me the perfect excuse to fall over. Yesterday had been totally freakin’ crazy. I had like, no idea what to make of it. So I slept for a few hours. I probably would have slept longer, but my body decided I needed to be awake for some reason. I wish I knew. I’d tell it to knock that shit off and let me sleep. But no. I was awake. Still exhausted, but at least a little closer to feeling rested. So I just lay on the floor where it just so happened I’d passed out earlier, thinking. Ever do that? Just like, stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander for no reason whatsoever? If you ever need proof that your brain hates you, try it. I spent the entire time thinking about all of the crazy crap I was doing my damnedest not to remember. And not just yesterday, either. The last year, as a whole. Yeah, surprise. My life didn’t exactly start three days ago, I’ll tell you that. Though at that point I kind of wish it had. Would make things easier. I spent a lot of time remembering why I’d moved out of Ponyville. Sure, having the bits helped, but honestly, I could have just stayed there and used all the extra cash to get me places. But what the money really did was give me the perfect excuse to leave. Not that I don’t love that town. But some of the ponies in it? I could do without, thanks. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friend, but when you’re a... an enthusiastic dater in a small town, you see almost all of your exes everyday. Yeah, how’s that for Tartarus on earth? There was a bunch of stuff aside from that, too. Of course. That’s how it works. But then I got to thinking about how my life was turning out in Canterlot, and I’d only been here like a week or so. I’d waited till the last possible minute to move before it would have screwed with the rehearsal, just cause I’m still the best there is and not doing what I don’t want to do. I mean sure, I needed to get out of Ponyville. That doesn’t mean I actually wanted to move. But I think it was the best choice. Anyway, sidebar, back on topic. I’d been here all of three days and already my neighbor was using me for sex and I was on the front page of the tabloids. AGAIN. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a normal date. Just dinner. Maybe a movie. Walking around and talking. All that sappy romantic stuff that nopony cool would ever admit that they like but secretly all of us want. I mean, the last time that happened was years ago. When Spitfire still lived in Ponyville. Yeah, how lame is that? The last decent romantic encounter I’d had that wasn’t about cheap sex and parties was a goodbye date with my best friend. All in all, it was a good memory. We’d done it weeks before she actually moved, so that neither of us would have to put the two together and spoil the memory. More of that sappy crap. It worked, I guess. But I honestly couldn’t remember any other time I’d had just a normal dinner-and-movie date. I knew why, obviously. I didn’t want to feel like I was replacing Spitfire. Every time I’d thought about doing the same thing with somepony else I’d felt guilty. I mean, I could probably call her up and we could go out on a date again whenever. She’d probably be down for it. I don’t know if she still liked me the same way, but if yesterday was any indication she was at least physically attracted to me. Then that little voice in the back of my head popped up. You know, the one that hates you? ‘What if that’s all she wants? What if it turns into every other girl you’ve had in the last three years? What if...’ So I stared at the ceiling and thought about that for a while. And I tried to remember why I hadn’t just gone out with her back when I knew she liked me. I mean, I knew she was going to leave. Everypony knew: she was the rising star. No way she wasn’t getting into the Wonderbolts. I’d told myself that I didn’t want something so awesome to just get cut off like that. All the usual excuses cropped up, too. Like, ‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship.’ Or ‘What if she’s just teasing and she doesn’t really like me?’ See, this is why we cool people don’t think. It gets all serious and broody. I think this is how emos are made. So I tried being positive. I started talking to myself out loud, to get that voice in my head to shut up. “Well, she lives close now, right? I mean, she literally got here in like 4 minutes. And it’s not like she’s going anywhere. Or me. I just got here. Why would I leave?” My inner voice spoke up again. “No, I don’t just want a cheap date and some girl to roll around with.” I stopped for a moment. Really? Cause that’s all I’d been going for for the last few years. That’s why I hit on Tavi. She was just some pretty mare I happened to run into. Really pretty, mind you, but still. And look how that turned out. Even if the sex was decent, I usually felt like crap right after. Probably because there wasn’t anything to it. And then it clicked. “Wait, holy shit. Is that what I’ve been DOING to ponies this whole time? Just USING them?” Not cool. That was it. That was why I didn’t enjoy it, even if it was just cheap, decent sex. I didn’t like being used. I mean, I know I’d been using other mares like that, but truth be told, nine times out of ten it worked both ways. So here I was. Sitting on my floor talking to myself, in an new apartment I’d sprung for to get away from all the drama and bad taste I’d left in Ponyville, basically doing it all again. I didn’t want to let that happen. I wanted to have like, a normal relationship for once. New town,new life, new gigs. Maybe time for a new Vinyl. Sweet Celestia, how tired was I? And I tried to think, who could I possibly know that would still want to hang out with me like a normal mare? Spitfire. Who do I know that could keep up, and PUT up, with me and the crazy shit I did? Spitfire? Who was still into me, even a little, after all these years? Spitfire. Who did I miss like crazy? Spitfire. Who was the most stable, competent, rock awesome mare I knew? Spitfire. “Oh for... pick up the phone, Vinyl.” I scolded myself, dragging my less-than-half-dead body over to the phone. I was about to call the hotline when I remembered Spitfire had given me her direct number so that I would stop harassing her teammates. I dug it out of the nightstand drawer, one of the few places I could put stuff and remember where it was, and called her up. “Hello, thank you for calling the Wonderbolts, this is Captain Spitfire speaking.” “Greetings, Admiral Fireflank. Got a moment?” I always made sure to give her some guff when I called her. She’d probably think something was wrong otherwise. “Oh sure, Noise Pollution. What do you want?” And that’s something I always liked about her. No matter what anypony dished at her, she was ready. “I want you to go out with me.” A slight pause, and then... CRASH. “Spitfire? Spitfire!” I waited for a moment while I heard a whole bunch of noise on the other end, then somepony picked up the phone and said, “She’ll have to call you back..” Then he hung up. I sat there for a good five minutes or something (or years, I couldn’t tell. I was panicky) before my phone rang. “Hello?!” “Vinyl, never, ever, do that again. You made me fall out of my chair.” She sounded a little pained. It must have hurt. “Do what? All I said was-” “I know what you said, Vinyl. Not funny.” Pained? Hell, she sounded pissed. I took a deep breath. Coming from me, it probably did sound like a joke to her. And given... yeah. “I’m not joking, Spitfire. Look, when you have some time, call me. Or come over. Or something. We need to talk.” Now, Vinyl has done some pretty strange and not-cool things for laughs. Most of them either involving me, aimed at me, or somehow I’d hear about it and help clean it up. Either way, she’s done some stuff. But this was new. I wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t joking, mostly because I didn’t want to believe she’d kid around about something like this. She knew how I felt when I had to move: it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And she wasn’t the kind of pony to go for a week spot when pulling a prank. She’d go right for the hardest part of your armor and crack it. So I took the first chance I got to go home, and went straight to Vinyl’s instead. I knocked on her window, and it opened right away. Apparently she’d been waiting for me. “Look, Spitfire, I just want to-” “Vinyl, shut up for a moment. Now, you’ve done some pretty risky things for a laugh, and I try to believe you when you say you’re not joking, but you’d better tell me right now if you are. Because if you don’t... and this turns into some big laugh...” I wasn’t going to cry. No. She gave me a hug, and I almost did. “No way, Spitty. I wouldn’t laugh about this.” She let go, and led me over to the couch, or what part of it wasn’t covered in records, anyway. “Like I said, we need to talk. Or rather, I think I should talk, and you listen for a bit. Or something...” and she went off. Not Like she was mad. She just started talking. About how she’d felt when I left. About why we never went out when she knew I liked her. And the last three years. All the stuff I didn’t know about. I’d never seen Vinyl so serious about this kind of thing. Yeah, I’d seen her pretty serious, when it came to work or family. She wasn’t always the kind of pony that laughed her way through everything. But she tended to avoid romantic problems like back bluegrass. (Or, any bluegrass.) Then she started to talk about Octavia. How she’d only known her for three days and already it was Ponyville all over again. How She’d made the front page of the tabloids again within a week of moving. She sounded exhausted. “...and I can’t do it anymore, Spitfire. I woke up this morning and I could barely move. And I wasn’t even the first one up, or whatever. I’ve never... woken up alone. Not like that. I didn’t like it. And I tried to go home and sleep for like a bazillion hours and I got like two and I laid on my floor and thought for a whole bunch more hours. And I thought about you.” I really didn’t want her to be joking. I didn’t. She wouldn’t go that far. But at the same time, it didn’t sound like Vinyl. It was kind of scary. “What did Octavia do to you?” Vinyl sat and thought about that. “She... I guess the best way to say it is she used me. I mean, I’ve been used before, done my fair share of using, but this was different. At least before me and the other mare were just looking for a good time. Octavia, she... it’s like a fix. She just goes total Jekyll and Hoof on me. At first I thought it was kind of cool, cause hey, I’d done angry sex before. But I’ve never had sex with somepony that outright couldn’t stand me. I mean, she takes her time to remind me that ‘we don’t like each other’. She left me a note this morning saying we need to talk. That should be fun. I can’t say it was rape or anything like that, cause I never really turned her down. I mean, it’s still kind of exciting. But I don’t like how I feel afterwards. I don’t know how to describe it. It really... lonely.” I looked at her for a bit before I said anything. She’d obviously been through a lot in just a little amount of time. Octavia probably had, too. But I didn’t know anything about her aside from what Vinyl told me. “So, what did you want to do?” She looked at me with what could only be called an earnest expression. Something I wasn’t used to. “I just want a normal relationship. I want to be with somepony who doesn’t just want to leave when she wakes up. Like, dinner and a movie and all that normal stuff. And to be honest... I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon, too...” which is a pretty long time for her, I thought. “And I can’t think of anypony anywhere that isn’t you that fit in there, you know? Like I think about all this stuff I’d rather do instead of how I’ve been doing it, and I just keep seeing you there, you know? I don’t know if that makes any sense...” I had to stop, and laugh for a little bit. Then I laughed harder. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I just couldn’t stop. Vinyl looked a little hurt. “Hey, Spitfire! I’m being serious here!” “I...I know. That’s why it’s funny. I mean, when was the last time you were this serious? It’s just so not like you!” I think she sat there and thought about it. Cause she started laughing. “Ok, yeah. I guess I was a little bit totally not cool there for a moment. But anyway, what do you think?” “Well.” I stopped, and thought about it. “It’s not like we can’t try, you know?” “Right?!” She got all exited. THERE was the Vinyl I knew. “See, that’s the awesome part. We could just like, test it out! A dry run, or something-” “Vinyl, NOTHING about the two of us going out would be dry.” I chuckled, thinking about it. She blushed, and smiled. “Yeah, ok. Anyway. Shut up. Like I was saying, we could try it out, and if it doesn’t work, or if I’m just being all emo and stuff, we can just look at each other and go, ‘Nope.’.” I nodded. “Alright, Vinyl. We can give it a try. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” I like to think the following events were not my fault. Author's Note Well, that was a bit more serious than I wanted it to. I’m not going to spoil anything, but this fic has a long way to go, so take anything I write with a grain of salt. Or wheat. Or whatever. Anyway, I’ve been wanting to do at least one mildly serious chapter throughout this thing, and there might be more, but the overlying theme is comedy and romance, so shit’s gonna happen. Ideas or criticism welcome. Well, Okay ThenChapter 8: Well, Okay Then While getting to and from Fancy Pants’s home was easy enough, getting anywhere else without being the troublesome topic of gossip was proving to be rather difficult. Even my friends, my fellow ensemble members, were being harassed because of some dirty gossip and a reporter with a stick up her- No no. I am a lady, and I shall prove myself nothing less. Of course, doing so involves going out in public. As of now, my friends and I were holed up in Beauty Brass’s house. Reporters came and went from the front door, trying to get interviews, and there didn’t seem to be any end to them We weren’t exactly swarmed, usually just three or four people at a time, but still. Bothersome is bothersome.. Why these people had nothing better to do than harass me and my friends about some cheap romantic gossip, I had no idea. “This is ridiculous.” I’d probably said it a thousand times, but it bared repeating. To me, at least. The rest seemed to ignore the comment. They were too busy talking about how to get out of the house without being bothered. “We could always just walk out the back door.” Frederick’s deadpan made it seem less like a suggestion and more like a bad punchline. Harpo just shook his head. “What if we just distract them somehow?” Beauty Brass seemed hopeful. Not one to lose faith, her. Frederick rubbed his chin. “Well, how do we do that? The reporter out there right now is that ridiculously nosy reporter mare from last night.” Then, Harpo surprised us all by getting up, and walking towards the front door. And proceeded to say the most frightening thing we’d ever heard. “I have a plan.” None of us moved. None of us wanted to. Harpo talking was rare enough that you never missed a word, but him volunteering for anything meant something was about to happen. He didn’t say anything after that, he just nodded his head and smiled. I’d never been more motivated to NOT follow him. But we did, and I believe all for the same reason: morbid curiosity. He opened the front door, and in an instant, that nosy, manipulative- no, no. Be polite, I told myself. That... reporter was in his face, asking him a series of questions. I felt myself laugh inwardly, entertaining the thought of Harpo answering questions for a newspaper. Or, really, anyone. Then, he put his dubious plan into action. Giving us a hoof wave to move forward, we all trotted towards the door. The reporter spotted me and instantly tried to squeeze past to interrogate me, but Harpo was ready. He grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her. For a moment, just a moment, I felt jealous. I know Beauty Brass did, too. We’d both been on the receiving end of that kiss. The true mark of Harpo’s reputation as a gentleman wasn’t that he never spoke: it ws that he never needed to. He could say a lifetime of pleasantries in a single gesture. More than once he’d kissed Brass and I, when we were down, or lonely. When we needed it. It was obvious the mare he was kissing now hadn’t felt that kind of compassion before. She didn’t even fight back, she just melted. And the reporting crew she was with went nuts. Her assistant mare took a bunch of notes while the stallion with the camera went berserk taking pictures. It was the easiest thing in the world for the three of us to just mosy past. They didn’t even notice us. When we were halfway across the block, we heard a soft moan, which meant that the reporter had her lips to herself again. I turned and saw Harpo trotting up to us, a satisfied smile on his face, while the crew regained their composure. Or, rather, the mare Harpo had sucked face with tried to stand up while the other two either laughed or ‘helped’ her to her hooves. I applauded Harpo, stamping my hooves on the concrete. “Well done, my friend. Now, I would LOVE to go home.” The others nodded their agreement. Well, except for Brass. She just followed Harpo around for awhile. Spitfire and I had just been sharing small talk and giggling at each other like schoolgirls for the last few minutes. “So, ok, how do we actually DO this. I mean, saying ‘Yeah, she’s my marefriend’ is easy enough. Hell, it’s kinda fun to say.” I laughed again. “You think I know?” Spitfire smiled. “If you’d asked me like four years ago I’d just say we’d go out on a date and all that cheesy romance stuff you were talking about. But I mean, we’re not exactly small-town fillies, are we?” I had to think about that. “Yeah, you’re right. The paper practically exploded when they were talking about Octavia and me this morning. Imagine what they’d say next?” Then I say it. That classic Spitfire grin. The kind of smile you see on that one pony you know at the top of the halfpipe they usually wore right before they said ‘Watch this.’ “Well, why don’t we give them something to talk about? I can’t imagine you being the type to hide your relationships.” I was liking this idea. “Your fanbase will explode, you know this.” “So will yours. I can’t imagine all those fillies you’ve been with or who wanted to will take kindly to you going steady with a Wonderbolt instead of another musician.” “Ah, let ‘em sweat. Dating other musicians sucks. They always want to collaborate and it always turns sour. Bad karma.” I shuddered. Experience was a nasty teacher. Like a Colthlic School Nun. “Ok, so do you just want to... go out on a date? I’m totally cool with that.” “Sure, we could...” she still had that grin. “Or we could make something of it.” I saw where she was going, but something bugged me. “Why don’t... why don’t we save it for later. This is still an experiment, or something like it, at least. What if we make a big deal about it and then it goes all south?” Spitfire nodded sagely. Something she really shouldn’t do. “Ok, I get ya. I mean, I don’t think it will go south on us-” “Neither do I!” I waived my hooves defensively. “I’m just saying-” “I know, I know. But,” she rapped her hoof on the coffee table, “Knock on wood, if it does go south, we don’t want to make it worse than it could be. So what are you thinking?” “I say we make a big deal out of it. But not right away. We wait till it feels right. One of those ‘We’ll know it when we know it’ moments. I know it sounds all sleazy and Made-For-TV-Movie, but... you know?” She nodded. “I do. So... what do you want to do until then? We could always...” she waggled her eyebrows. Even still, for the first time in a while, I didn’t want to. “Not... not after the last couple of days. Let’s just go get something to eat.” She seemed a little disappointed, but if it’s one thing she’s always been, it’s understanding. “I got ya. Besides, I’m starving. PASSING OUT does that to you.” “You’re not gonna leave that alone, are you?” “Never.” I’d finally made my way back to my apartment. After everything else, it was good to be home. And then I remembered the note I’d left for Vinyl. I hadn’t even unlocked my door when the realization hit me. SO instead, I turned around and knocked on hers. I wasn’t looking forward to this. It took a few moments for her to open it. When she did, I saw Spitfire in the living room behind her. She didn’t look particularly happy to see me. Then again, neither did Vinyl. “Listen, Vinyl, I’d mentioned that we need to talk-” “You’re right. We do. Get in.” She didn’t seem angry. Just... determined. I didn’t argue. I just walked in, and sat on the couch, where Vinyl pointed. Vinyl sat on the floor, facing me, and Spitfire stayed where she was, in a little beanbag chair. I can’t really say I’d paid attention to Vinyl’s apartment before, and honestly, I don’t think I’d even been in it yet. The place was the same size as mine, but seemed a lot smaller. I guess it had to do with a large quantity of stereo and sound equipment set up in one whole half of the living room. Everywhere else was scattered records, music memorabilia, and some stuff I didn’t even recognize. It was like living in a recording studio. Which at some times it probably was. VInyl just looked at me, expecting me to say something. So I did. I told her all about my conversation with Fancy Pants. It took me a while, as I stumbled over some of the more embarrassing parts, and kept looking around, waiting to be interrupted. But they didn’t. They just listened while I unloaded a whole afternoon’s worth of revelations over years worth of distress. It was rather surreal, to be honest. When I was done, Spitfire looked less agitated and more confused. Vinyl looked like she understood a little better, but no less tense. “So, um... does that... clear things up a bit?” Vinyl thought for a moment. A very tense moment. A moment I thik that lasted much longer than it should have, at least to me. “Ok. So I get the whole finding me attractive thing. REALLY I do.”She smiled a bit. A good sign, at least. Spitfire just rolled her eyes. “And the whole satisfaction thing. I can’t say I haven’t been there. Well, not like this, obviously... maybe not obviously... nevermind. Anyway, what I wanted to know is, what the hell set you off?” That was something I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask me, but I was at least a little ready for it. “Part of me wants to say I have no idea. But another part of me does. Know, I mean. That first night, when you hit on me... that was the first time in years that anypony had expressed an interest. Part of me... wanted. No. Needed to take advantage of that. I needed something. It’s been years since I’ve had anything even close to a romantic encounter. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess it got to the point where I didn’t really care. I mean, I don’t honestly know what I’d have done if you’d said no any of those times, but you didn’t. SO part of me rationalized that I could just take it... you... whenever I wanted.” Spitifre looked like she’d been reading some poor pony’s psych file. Vinyl just look pensive. “Well, I’m going to tell you know, so I don’t have to tell you later. No.” I wasn’t getting it, at first. “No?” “No. We’re not doing it again. I’m... current circumstances aside, I can’t. You may have felt satisfied, and I’ll admit, at some point, I did too. But mostly? I felt used.” I wasn’t expecting that. It ht me harder than I’d like to admit. “I... used? ...I guess I can’t say I don’t understand why. Can I at least say, I’m sorry?” At that, she smiled. Even Spitfire grinned a little, too. “Yes. That I am totally okay with.” I let myself smile a little. Okay, more than a little. “Okay. So... what do we do now.” For the first time, the Wonderbolt in the room spoke up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to take my marefriend to dinner.” She walked up to Vinyl and gave her a hug, and Vinyl nodded for me to get up. As we made our way out of the apartment, Vinyl locked the door behind us. It wasn’t until they turned the corner down the hall that it hit me. “MAREFRIEND?!” Author's Note I do like splicing some humor and drama together. I hope I’m at least doing a decent job of that. Parts of this story do feel a bit rushed, I’ll admit. But it’s still fun. And now that we’ve gotten past a few different serious scenes, I think it’s time we got back to the solid comedy of the thing. Property Damage, HO!Chapter 9: Property Damage, HO! (Author’s Note: I bet you thought I forgot, didn’t you? Guess what time it is.) I can’t really say actually being in a relationship with Vinyl was that different from just hanging out with her. Actually, no. I totally CAN. It had been a month or so since we’d started our little ‘experiment’, as Vinyl had called it. HAD. At this point we just called it dating. Which was great. It also freaked everpony the hell out. Which was fantastic. The actual awards ceremony had gone off well enough. With nothing really going on between Vinyl and Octavia, the media just kind of drifted off to other things. Namely the supposed romance of two of Octavia’s bandmates. I don’t know, I hadn’t really met them. I mean, it wasn’t really uneventful (one of these days I’ll have Vinyl tell you the story about the not-so-missing underwear), but nothing that really was relevant to the whole reason we’ve all been telling this story. Octavia and Vinyl had found a simple, if uneasy, way to settle their issues. They stayed the hell away from each other. I mean yeah, they said hi to each other and stuff. And it wasn’t like that begrudging, angry ‘hi’ you give to the pony who drew rude stuff on your face while you were passed out in the locker room from too much alcohol and totally thought that stallion was a mare and how the hell was I supposed to know- Anyway. They were chill. I guess it was a good thing, but more than once I’d wondered, and Vinyl had too, what Octavia was doing about her recently surfaced emotional issues. This kind of thing doesn’t really resolve itself in a few days, you know? But anyway, I’m getting off topic. Like I said, the fact that we were dating freaked ponies out. Well, not all ponies. We weren’t exactly going public and making out in the streets. But we weren’t hiding it either. Truth be told, we were still both pretty busy. So most of our time was spent with phone calls, and me flying off when nopony was looking (you’d think they’d pay more attention when their captain flies off, right?), and work. I mean, I may be a master of procrastination and maximizing my free time, but I’m still a Wonderbolt. Still a Captain. And I still have a lot of work to do. Likewise with Vinyl. She can’t just up and ignore all the smaller gigs she has lined up. Not to mention she’s got an album in the works, and Luna knows how much time that must take. Even if she does a bit of the recording in her own home. So you’re probably wondering why we skipped ahead a whole month? Well, as much as we’d love to tell you about every day, and all the awesome crazy shenanigans that happened all the time, in that month the status quo really hadn’t changed. Until Vinyl and I got some letters in the mail. Ones we’d really hoped we could conveniently ignore. Little gold-sealed scrolls. With shiny tickets in them. Oh, yes. They were tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala. Again. Now, I was no stranger to the Gala. I’d been to a couple (the last being the most memorable), and figures out pretty quick it was just a way to gladhoof ponies with a lot of money to get them to shell out for causes they probably weren’t aware of or just plain ignored. Sometimes it was for a good cause. Mostly it was just publicity. And each and every time I got invited I had the same conversation. “Soarin, pleeeeaaaassssseee. Don’t make me go. Please please please please puh-lee-hee-hee-heese.” I was sprawled out on the floor like a schoolfilly and didn’t care. “Sorry, Captain. You have to go. None of us can go without you and they’d raise hell if the Wonderbolts missed the Gala.” Curse him and his mildly feminine attractiveness and voice of reason. “Besides, I doubt the Elements of Harmony will be attending this year.” I know he was trying to be supportive. “What? NO! They were the ONLY COOL THING last year!” I was at least hoping I’d get to see some destruction again. I wasn’t BORED then. Soarin raised an eyebrow at me. “…are you serious? They almost took down the castle!” “And it was GREAT!” He gave me a flat glare. “Except for the ponies in danger thing. That was not cool. Nope.” “,,,you’re going.” “…dammit.” I was just about to have another go at begging when the phone rang. …what? Oh! It’s my turn to tell the story. Ok. Um, yeah. It’s Soarin. What? Ok, ok, I’m telling it! So anyway, Spitfire looked like she was about to start crying crocodile tears again when the phone rang. I thanked my lucky stars. Spitfire crying was more than a little pathetic. Like a puppy. A sad one. Like I said, she answered the phone. “Hello, Captain Spitfire speaking.” I heard some loud rumbling on the other end and what sounded like a voice. “Oh hey, Public Disturbance! What’s up?!” Oh yay. Vinyl. Again. Now, I didn’t really have any issue with Vinyl. She seemed kind of cool. But Spitfire kind of lost all sense of professionalism around her. Come to think of it, crying on the floor saying ‘I don’t wanna go!’ wasn’t really professional either. The boss was weird. They talked back and forth for a bit, and slowly, Spitfire’s expression changed. Now before I go on, let me explain something about my boss. She’s a very good flier. She’s a great Captain. And when it comes down to it, she can suck it up and do damn near anything. I knew she’d eventually go to the Gala, which she knew she had to. And thank god for that, because I was not going without her. Buck that idea. It was boring enough as it is. She even has a decent poker face. She has to, to train the new recruits. But the one thing she does best, aside from flying, is change her mood. Not her mind, she’s way too stubborn for that. If she’d actually decided she wasn’t going to the Gala we wouldn’t have had this conversation. But she’s an honorable, if quirky, leader. But I swear to Celestia I was going to get her a mood ring one of these Heart’s Warming Eve’s. It was as if a switch in her head just flipped. She did it when practice was over, or when she was done with a show, or when she left a particularly droll conversation with a noblepony of some kind. She just… flipped. I’d seen it happen a million times, and it never ceased to amaze me. The conversation wrapped up with a few joking insults and some ‘See ya laters’, and Spitfire hung the phone up a different pony than when she started. Namely, she was practically humming. Actually, she was humming. “Um, boss. What was that?” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Soarin. Now, we were talking about the Gala. I was thinking we go in formal wear this year instead of our costumes. Like, we could take our costumes with us, and wear them when we perform and stuff, sure. But I really want a dress this year.” I could have sworn she said all that in Fancee. “…what? Weren’t you just begging me to let you stay?” She had trotted away from her desk towards the door, but stopped to look back over her shoulder at me. “Oh come now, Soarin. How can you expect me to say no to the Gala? I mean, I certainly don’t want to disappoint my maaarrreefriiieeennd.” She dragged out the word and shook her hips a little, then walked out of the room. Needless to say I was distracted. Just long enough for her to have gotten halfway down the hall before something in my head clicked. “MAREFRIEND?!” “MAREFRIEND?!” I heard Soarin yelling from down the hall. I laughed out loud to myself as Soarin came running up to me, walking in step with me while I made my way to the changing rooms. “Spitfire, that was Vinyl just now, right?” “Yeeeesssss.” I could almost here the pleading denial in his voice. It was delicious. “And you said you were going to the Gala with your ‘marefriend’, right?” “Mm-hmm.” I stopped outside the dressing room to wait for him to connect the dots. “…you… and Vinyl… are… dating?” He got out the words slowly, and tentatively. I leaned in, getting my mouth close to his ear, and in my best ‘I want you right now’ voice, I whispered, “Yes.” He looked ready to cry. But to his credit, he didn’t. He just turned a lighter shade of blue (which, with his coloration, was mildly impressive), and turned around. “I have somewhere to be.” And he ran off. I laughed my way into the changing room, knowing full well he was about to spread the news to the rest of the team. I couldn’t believe it when I got my invitation. The Grand Galloping Gala! I mean, I’m totally not into that high-society fru-fru stuff, but come on! All those bigwigs with money to spare? There was no way in Tartarus I was going to miss that. I mean, yeah, I had a contract with a local record company. And I was making good money. But all those ponies who had, no doubt, a laundry list of social gatherings year round? One good night at a party like that and I could be booked for a year! Not to mention the fact that I was going with my… hehehe… marefriend. At first, it had felt weird to say. I wasn’t entirely sure how it’d work out. And I was kinda worried that it’d get into the newspapers like the thing with Octavia did. But the two of us were so busy (and way too used to sneaking around), that keeping it private was easy as pie. Not that we were hiding it. Spitfire had been clear she didn’t want it to be a secret. We just… weren’t broadcasting it. I know it was a little like showing off, but still. I was proud of her. Proud to be with her. It was a pretty radical feeling. Of course, there was the slight damper that the Gala was HALF A YEAR FROM NOW. And the tickets were basically absolutely making sure that those who were invited, (and those who weren’t) were damn well informed. I’d already talked to Spitfire and told her I was going, cause it was basically second nature that she was, too. I had just been in the middle of mixing a new set when the mail arrived, and when I realized what it was, I called her right away. (Although they weren’t letting me DJ, I was just a guest. Which was cool, I guess.) Then a thought sprang to mind. Was Octavia going? I hadn’t talked to her in a while, and I thought maybe it would be a good thing to break the ice with. Unless, of course, she DIDN’T get an invite. Which would just prove to piss her off. I’d been trying to avoid upsetting her lately. Which usually means avoiding her. I felt bad about it, yeah. But it seemed like she was doing okay. She was smiling a bit more. I decided to bite the bullet and go say hi, at least. I’d talk about the Gala if she did, I figured. And she’d probably only talk about it if she got an invite. So it was all good. I was already knocking on her door when I’d come to this conclusion, which surprised me. I had meant to turn the sound system off before I left, but I shrugged. I’d get back to it. What surprised me more was what happened AFTER I knocked. The door swung open, and it wasn’t Octavia. “Oh, hey there. I’m Vinyl. Sup?” “Ah, so you’re the infamous DJ Pon-3. How do you do? My name is Fancy Pants.” I heard knocking. I was coming from the front door, and I was currently in the shower. “Fancy, could you get that, please?” I called over the sound of running water. The next thing I heard the door click open, and some mumbled conversation. Whoever it was, Fancy Pants deemed it necessary to invite them in. I heard hooves trotting into the living room. I turned the water off, having finished a while ago, and was just soaking. Giving myself a thorough dry, and re-affixing my collar, I made my way into the living room. “Who is it, Fancy? I heard you bring them- Oh! Hello, Vinyl.” “Hey, Tavi.” Vinyl was sitting on my couch, next to Fancy Pants. “What’s up?” “We were just getting ready to go out for lunch. Would you care to join us-“ BOOM. Something had exploded. That was my first thought. We all sat in shocked silence, then suddenly, Vinyl jumped up and screamed “MY RIG!” and ran out. Out of concern, and morbid curiosity, Fancy and I followed her back to her place. What we saw amazed, well, me, at least. I had no idea what Fancy’s thoughts were. There, in the middle of the room, was a large circle of ceiling. And a big shipping crate in the middle of it. A few feet away, Vinyl was hugging all her equipment. She checked wires, and switches, and plugs, and apparently, everything was ok, because she started crying over her turntables. “Oh thank goo-hoo-hoo-dnes!” She took a moment to expel her emotions, then ran to the mess in the middle of the floor. Climbing onto the shipping crate, she glared up. “WHO THE BUCK BROKE MY CEILING?!” In response, a mare popped her head out. Blonde hair, and a grey coat. And a lazy eye. I had seen her before, but couldn’t place it. “That was SO not my fault!” She shouted. Author's Note Ho yes. It’s happening. I totally just wrote that. You'll thank me later. Or now, if you like. In other news, the update schedule for this story (if you can call it a schedule) will be slightly off, as I am now working on another story. Starlight Over Detrot: The Detection Chronicles. It's a side story set in the universe of Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale by CEOKasen and Chessie. Go read their story if you haven't. It's absolutely brilliant and I'm honored that CEOKasen (or Chessie, or both) is(are) letting me write for it. It's a lot of fun and includes serial murderers, detectives, and ponies. All good things. ...that didn't come out right. Shipping and Handling (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge)Chapter 10: Shipping and Handling (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge) I had never seen Vinyl so livid. “Are you insane?! You could have KILLED somepony! Not to mention my coffee table is completely trashed! Are you listening?! My security deposit is SCRAP!” The blonde mare looked around the room, as if she were trying to process the entirety of the situation. “Um... hold on... I have something...” she muttered while digging through... something nearby. I couldn’t see her very well. Eventually, her head popped back up, and she dropped a piece of paper on top of the crate. I half expected it to fall through the floor again, and keep going till it hit the basement, in true cartoon fashion. Instead, Vinyl took a look at the paper. “Derpy Mail Customer Service Hotline? The buck am I supposed to do with this?!” The blonde touched a hoof to her head, and all of a sudden I recognized her: Derpy Hooves. Owner of one of the few inter-city package delivery services in Equestria. Owner, of course, by virtue of being it’s ONLY employee. Nopony else wanted to deal with the liability. “Derpy?” I pointed the question at the ceiling. “Yeah?” “Could you be a dear and come down here, please?” I tried as soothing a voice as I could. She shook her head. “No way. She’s gonna kill me.” She pointed a gray hoof at Vinyl, currently burying her face in the pamphlet, reading it over. I couldn’t argue that. “Well, at least tell us what we’re supposed to do with this information,” I said, gesturing to the pamphlet she dropped. “Huh? Oh, yeah! Just call that number, and tell them what happened, and they’ll reembarrass, I mean repurse, I mean... pay you back and stuff for the broke things.” She smiled and nodded. Vinyl looked up at Derpy, glared for a moment, then looked back at the paper. “This better work...” She growled and walked over to her phone. Gracefully, it seems only her coffee table and ceiling had been damaged. I don’t think she really saw it that way, though. She picked up the phone, and dialed a number. Then I heard a phone ring. “Oh, ‘scuse me a sec, I gotta take that.” I looked up just as Derpy disappeared from the hole again. “Hello?” Now, I know it’s not very polite to say, but I very mush wanted to laugh right then. So much so that I thought I might burst. Because the expression on Vinyl’s face as she realized who exactly she was talking to could have melted steel were it so brave enough to walk into her line of sight. “DERPY!” The gray mare poked her head into the hole again. “Exc~use me, I’m on the phone.” I don’t remember much after that, because I think I passed out laughing. Which really wasn’t very ladylike. “And then Octavia just sits there and laughs, can you believe that?!” I was thankful once again that Vinyl’s voice wasn’t one of those that hit really high octaves when she yelled. It sounded more like primal screaming. We were in the Wonderbolt’s headquarters, in a small waiting room that led to my office. “Hey, Vi, you know she wasn’t trying to be mean.” I tried to be placating. Thankfully, it worked. “Yeah, your right. I’m sorry Spitfire, it’s just... I shelled out major bits for that apartment, right? And I’ve only had it a few months! You’d think a place that spendy would be a bit sturdier, at least.” I had to ask. “Um, what was in the big box, anyway?” She’d been telling me this story for the last ten minutes or so having called me once everything settled down. They were currently cleaning her apartment out of all the rubble and stuff. Vinyl looked up like she’d forgotten she was telling me a story in the first place. “Oh, right, the box...” I was so absolutely p.o.’ed I thought I was gonna die. This... mare comes out of nowhere and breaks my ceiling, almost destroys my sound system, and wrecks my totally new and show-offy coffee table. I hadn’t even broken it in yet! I gave Vinyl a look. “Um, what do you mean ‘broken in’?” She waved a hoof at me matter of factly. “Oh, I was just gonna rut you over it first chance I got.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, is that all?” “Anyway, stop interrupting me.” So the table’s trashed and there’s a hole in my ceiling. And ‘customer service’ isn’t being any help. So eventually I just hang up and wait for Derpy to do something about the box. It doesn’t take long. “Hey, um, can I have my box back?” She asks me, like nothing happened. Well, not exactly. She’s kind of cowering behind her floor at the moment, cause I think I was shooting sparks I was so mad. I think I remember smiling or something at that point, cause she hid a little more. “Oh, you want it back? Ok.” So I levitated the thing. Or, tried. I got it right the second time. And I lifted it up and dropped it on her floor again. In hindsight, that wasn’t the best move, because it could have caved the floor in again. But it didn’t. Instead, I see the box wobble a little bit, cause I can see partway into her apartment from where I am, right? I see it wobble a bit, and then it lifts up. And she’s carrying the thing on her back. I swear to Celestia, she’s just standing there with it. “Oh, thanks!” She says. The thing could have killed her and she says thanks. “I thought you were gonna be mad!” I can’t believe this. “What? No way. You’re totally making that up.” Vinyl throws her hooves in the air. “I wish I was! I’d be less confused! But, no, she bucking Tankbuster McEatsgrenades the thing onto her back, and walks off. Octavia was all passed out and stuff, but Fancy was still there. I think he’d just decided not to but in, or whatever. But then...” “Miss Scratch?” The guy sounds pretty cool. Kind of prissy, but not like snobby or anything. If that makes sense. He seems ok. “Would you like help cleaning this up?” It was like the third best thing I’d heard today. “Uh, sure, but do you know any repair spells?” He looks at me all wide-eyed, and laughs. “Oh, goodness, no.” Then he pulls out a cell phone and dials a number. “That’s what money is for.” I laughed at that. “He didn’t!” “He totally did! Like, five really beefy unicorn dudes showed up in minutes. They’re working on the place now. I gave him your direct line so he could let us know when he’s done.” Oh no she didn’t. “Vinyl...” Then she busts out laughing. “Bah! Yeah, right! Like I’d give that number away for free. Nah, he’s just gonna call the front desk and let her know. Should be any-” Just then, a knock on the waiting room door. “Come in.” The door opens, and it’s Wind Whistle. She hands a phone to Vinyl, looking both completely baffled and absolutely indignant. “It’s Fancy Pants. For you. HOW did you get FANCY PANTS to call you HERE?!” Vinyl just smiles at her and takes the phone. “Hey, Fancy Pants. Thanks for all the help, dude! What’s up?” Wind Whistle just shakes her head while Vinyl listens to Fancy Pants talk, and walks off. “Holy mother of Luna she’s crazy I swear to the stars...” her grumbling follows her down the hall. I wait patiently for Vinyl to wrap up, and she’s giving little “Yeahs” and “Uh-huhs”. Then her expression drops. “...what? ...how long? ... are you sure? Yeah, ok. Thanks so much, dude. Bye. Oh, tell Octavia hi for- Oh! She wants to talk to me? ...yeah, ok. I’ll be right over.” She hangs up and puts the phone down on an end table. “Vinyl, are you ok?” I reach a hoof out to her and pat her on the shoulder. She looks ready to cry. She turns her face up to look at me, then throws her arms around me. “Oh Spitfire, it’s terrible! It’s just the worst!” I reciprocate the hug, and pat her on the back. “What’s wrong? Are they kicking you out? Did they break something? Is somepony hurt?!” “No! I... I..., they...” she tries to make a sentence, but nothing’s coming out. “Vinyl, what is it?!” I yell, pulling her back to look her in the eye. “...I have no POWER! Waaaaahhhhhh!!” she throws herself around me and cries. “...what.” “Sorry about crying like a little filly back there, Spitfire.” Vinyl apologizes as we walk down the hall to her apartment. There’s still some dust and stuff in the hall being swept up by a rather masculine unicorn. Mmmmm. No, bad Spitfire. “It’s ok. It’s nothing rally major though, right? You’ll have it back in a few days. They just need to rewire your ceiling. Just be grateful she didn’t take out and plumbing, your whole living room would have been flooded.” Vinyl stops in her tracks, and shudders. “Jeez, talk about horror stories. My entire rig, soaked? I’d DIE.” I just roll my eyes. “Come on, let’s go talk to Octavia. Maybe there’s SOME good news lying around here somewhere.” She knocks on the door, and waits a moment. “Just a second!” Octavia’s voice calls out from the other side of the door. I don’t really have a lot of interaction with her, but I have to say, she’s got a pretty voice. Vinyl keeps saying mine’s the sexiest she’s ever heard. At least, when I’m not barking at recruits and stuff. Octavia opens the door, and her eyes widen. “Miss Spitfire! I didn’t realize you’d be joining us!” I shrug. “Just here for moral support.” “And to look sexy.” Vinyl smiles over her shoulder at me. “And to look sexy.” Octavia coughs. “Yes, well, do come in.” She leads us into a rather posh, unsurprisingly music themed living room. We take seats on her couch while she props herself up on a lounge chair. “So, Vinyl, I know we haven’t been talking much lately, but the last few months have been... rather an improvement over that first week.” Vinyl rolls her eyes. “You got that right. Hoh boy.” Octavia blushes slightly. She’s obviously still a little sore on the subject. “Yes, well. I’ve been, working on some... issues since then, and I’ve put some thought into what I’m about to ask you, so please at least consider it before you disagree, ok?” Vinyl looks a bit surprised. I guess I do, too. But Vinyl just motions for her to continue. “Ok, I’ll do my best.” It’s the charcoal mare’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, well. Seeing as how you’re... out of power, and everything in this complex runs on electricity, including hot water, I was thinking maybe you might need someplace to stay for the next few days...” “Yeah...” Vinyl agrees slowly. “So I was thinking maybe you could stay here with me for the time being.” “No.” I hadn’t intended to say it. I wasn’t even thinking about saying it. It just happened. This is SO not my fault. Author's Note Sorry guys, didn’t mean to take so long with a new chapter for this story. It's also a shorter-than usual chapter. I try and write to a specific word count, but I thought this part was pretty well-contained. So here ya go. Also, this story needs cover art. Get CheckedChapter 11: Get Checked “What?” Vinyl sounded more than a little indignant, and I could really blame her. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say what she could and couldn’t do. So I back-pedaled. “I’m just saying I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I mean, the last time you guys did anything more than say hi to each other it wasn’t exactly hours of fun for the whole family.” I smiled weakly while Vinyl seemed to mull it over. “You do... have a point.” I was surprised that Octavia was the one to say it. “B-but I’m not like that! I... well, I can’t say I don’t have an idea of what came over me, but my therapist has yet to make a decision between daddy issues or identity repression. Either way, it hasn’t exactly happened since then, has it? And it’s not like my life is any less stressful.” I waved my hooves in front of my face defensively. “Oh, no, I’m not saying you are! I’m just... you two aren’t exactly a stable compound. I can’t imagine what sharing living space would be like.” Vinyl smirked at me, and even behind those enormous shades I could tel she was waggling her eyebrows. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll come to visit and find me in the throes of passion with a newfound love? DO you not want to chance my heart being stolen away by a beautiful classy lady of the upper crust?” “Vinyl!” Octavia leaned back in her chair, but still looked a bit bemused. We could tell Scratch was just kidding. I think. “No, I’m more worried the next time I’ll see you will be on the front page of the paper or the side of a milk carton.” They both apparently found something amusing in my deadpan tone, and laughed. I tried to look serious for a while, but ended up joining in. Vinyl was the first to recover and speak. “Look, Spitfire, it’s either I crash with her.” She nodded to Octavia, then leaned in and nuzzled my neck. “Or I stay with you...” I thought about that for a moment. Vinyl in my house. More than likely in my bed. Sharing time together. Showers, long nights. It was a pleasant thought. It was almost a chore to think practically, what with her moving on from rubbing her muzzle into my shoulder to nibbling on my ear. Ok, sharing food. And a bed. Hot water. And a shower. She wouldn’t be there all the time. She had a job. She’d just be home to hang out, or eat, or... practice... on her sound system. Her enormous thousands of dollars loud as buck sound system. “As much as I would love to.” Vinyl took that as a cue to nip the back of my neck, and I let out a groan. “I need sleep. You know, that thing normal ponies do where they don’t move for hours at a time and get well-rested?” Vinyl leaned back and scoffed. “Pfff. Please. Sleep is for the week. At least Tavi can handle that.” Before Octavia got a chance to retaliate, or protest, or really process anything, Vinyl had jumped over to the side of her chair and thrown her arm around the charcoal mare. “Looks like we’re roomies by default! I’ll go get an overnight bag and stuff!” She ran off without giving either of us a chance to utter another word. Octavia looked like she’d just chosen door number three and opened it to find a colt with a gun pointed at her. “Um... sleep is... for the weak?” My shoulders slumped in sympathy. “I’m sorry.” No, it couldn’t be that bad. I mean yes, we’d had our disagreements. But I’d long come to terms with the fact that she was just sticking up for her friends or defending herself. She wasn’t an instigator or anything. I’d seen her apartment, and it looked... clean. There was no trash or old food. Just... stuff everywhere. and she wasn’t taking all of her stuff over to my place anyway. Just a bag or two and using my shower... and my kitchen... and sleeping in my apartment because hers wasn’t heated and it was now fall going on winter... I leaned against the back of my chair. “Oh Celestia what have I done?” Spitfire looked at me apologetically. “Again, I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can keep my schedule with her around. I mean, I love her to bits, and it’s not like our schedules conflict, but... I think I’ve maybe seen her sleep once or twice when she didn’t absolutely need to. She’s very much an... all-nighter pony.” I looked at the pegasus seriously. “I... guess I can understand. And I did make the offer myself... but what about later?” “Later?” She seemed confused. “Isn’t this just a short-term fix while they work on her wiring?” I shook my head. “Not for me. For you. If you can’t live together even for a few days, what are you going to do when you two get more serious?” She seemed a little confused at that. Then her befuddled look moved on to one of concern. “I... I hadn’t thought about that. She’s been totally serious about this ‘us’ thing. And I couldn’t be happier about it, especially after all these years and... no. I will figure this out. WE will figure this out. You’re right. You’re right! I need to be able to prepare for that when it happens.” Her confidence rose as she spoke, and when she was done she looked downright determined. Then she rounded on me. “So... I have to ask. Why did you offer in the first place?” I’d kind of been hoping she wouldn’t ask me that. “I... I want to say it’s just for saying I’m sorry for how we... met. Part of me always did think that I never properly apologized. But I’m not that naive. There’s more to it, and as selfish as it may seem, I want to be able to prove to myself that I’m not the pony she knew for that one rather unpleasant week. I’ve been avoiding her because part of me is afraid that there’s always going to be that other little piece of me that will always be like that. I still don’t know what all happened, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I might never know, but I feel like, and here’s the selfish part again, like I owe it to myself and to Vinyl to prove that I’m a better pony than I started out as when she first met me.” “I always did wonder if that was a ‘just me’ thing.” I jumped around and saw Vinyl standing in the doorway smiling at us. Over her shoulder I saw a few worker ponies reading schematics and pointing. “Oh, um, Vinyl! I... uh...” Stupid words, why won’t you work? “Did the... did the electricians say anything while you were in there?” Vinyl nodded. “Yeah, but the conversation out here is more... stimulating.” Her smile looked like a cobra’s. “Stimulating?” Spitfire’s tone and expression were all confusion. The white DJ looked back and forth between myself and her marefriend. “...oh come on! You have to admit having two beautiful mares argue over who gets to keep me at their place is totally hot.” My hoof met my face in a time-honored expression of exasperation. “Vinyl... Look, what did the electricians say?” She huffed while Spitfire chuckled into her hoof. “You’re no fun. They said it might be a few days cause it tug some wires out. Hard. I think he said there should be a few neighboring apartments without... power...” Vinyl’s voice trailed off as her gaze moved to a lamp on a nightstand. That was flickering. Oh please... no. You know that sound when all the power goes out? Like, all at once? That heavy click as some circuit or another trips and the winding down of electrical currents? Yes, it’s terrifying. My whole room went dark. “Oh no. No no no no no....” I sprung to my hooves and ran into Vinyl’s apartment, where a rather frustrated electrician was staring at the ceiling. I followed his gaze to see a pegasus in work clothes fuddling with some wiring. They shouted back and forth using a lot of terms I didn’t understand, until I finally coughed lightly to get the electrician’s attention. He looked down at me, and must have seen something in my admittedly panicked expression, because his face softened. “You don’t... happen to live across the hall, do you?” “...yes?” My answer was timid and blindly hopeful. “Do you have a place you can hang out for a few days?” I have to admit, Spitfire’s place was totally cool. I thought she lived in a cloud like a bunch of other (ok, one other) pegasi I know. But it was actually this two-story thing built into the side of this big-ass rock that wasn’t quite attached to the mountainside. I mean, it was, that’s how it got there, but it wasn’t... oh you know what I mean. Spitfire, the awesome, sexy, wild mare that she is, agreed to let us both stay here while the apartment got fixed. She made me leave my recording equipment and speakers and stuff, though. At least I still had my laptop and some headphones and stuff. I had to fight for the turntable. Or rather, ear-nibble my way to victory. It was a fierce battle. Casualties on both sides. The casualty being I didn’t get to sleep in her bed. Octavia and I would be sharing a room. Which was ok, I guess. “Alright, there are a few rules here, you two.” Spitfire talked over her shoulder while she worked the key with the lock. “I’ve got to get up in the morning. I can usually go with only a few hours or so of sleep, but there is going to be some kind of mandatory bedtime. Or at least a set hour where you two need to be quiet.” She kept saying you two, but I was pretty sure she was talking about me. She was using her Captain Voice and looking over at me every once in a while. “Yes, ma’am!” I saluted, earning me a shadow of a smile. “Damn right. No using all the hot water. No parties unless we plan them first. Actually, you’re only here like a week or so. So no parties. At least not here. I don’t care if you go party somewhere else, but not in my house. I don’t need to be on the news.” She led us inside and Octavia and I put our bags down, taking a moment to look around. Her whole house was like a Wonderbolts Museum. Now, I’d always thought it was awesome that she was the Captain of the team and they were the best fliers in Equestria and all of that jazz. But aside from the times I went to her shows I never really saw that part of her life. She was always a different pony around me. Being here, in her home, seeing all of the memorabilia... I realized at least a little how much a part of her her job really was. I guess this is how ponies feel when they see all my equipment when they first walk into my place. Of course I’d been here before. But usually just to pick her up, or when we got in late at night. You don’t pay as much attention to your surroundings then as you do when you look around the place you’re going to be living, even just for a little while. As I glanced around, I noticed Octavia taking in the individual displays, making rather cute “Oohs” and “Aahs” as she walked. But Spitfire wasn’t done. “Help yourself to food and stuff, I know you guys brought some from your house so it didn’t go bad, and honestly, I’d prefer you eat that first. Don’t roughhouse, and for the love of Luna don’t break anything.” She looked back and forth between both of us as she said that. I tried my best to be offended. “Hey, name the last time I broke something-” “The table in my office.” Spitfire had an answer ready. I smiled, though. “That was a group effort and you know it.” She blushed, and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Seriously though, I’m totally careful with other ponies stuff.” “Now.” Again with the retorts. Then she looked at Octavia. “And you. I know you’ve been doing all this therapy and self-help and what have you, but I feel it bears repeating- please try not to lose your marbles in my house.” The charcoal mare blushed, and looked a bit sheepish, but her gaze didn’t falter. “That’s the plan.” My marefriend smiled, and her voice returned to it’s sexy, sexy rasp. Sweet moon in the sky I’d had dreams about that voice. “Ok, let’s get this party started.” Author's Note Yay, plot progression! I’m trying to tie up some loose ends from early on in the story, as well as lead to the conclusion I have somewhat written down in my head maybe somewhere. ...plot! The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1)Chapter 12: The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1) I could not believe my eyes. Nothing in this scenario made sense. I’d been listening to music, or, more specifically, making it more awesome than it already was, when I heard a noise downstairs. Through noise-cancelling headphones. With the dial at 11. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I ran downstairs, two at a time, and noticed that DAMN there’s a lot of stairs in Spitfire’s house. Why are there so many stairs in Spitfire’s house?! She FLIES! WHAT. Anyway, I get down there, and stop at the ground floor, cause I can’t tell where the noise came from. Then I hear some scuffing and yelps and stuff, and start following the noise. Eventually, I trace it back to the kitchen. And I, being the heroic and amazing mare that I am, throw the door open. “Nopony move! I’m here to save you!” My yell seemed instantly redundant, however, as I saw what had caused all the noise. Namely, Spitfire lying on top of Octavia, both of whom were covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Spitfire looked from me to Octavia back to me. “I can explain.” She sounded like a foal with her hoof in the cookie jar. I crossed my forelegs and leaned against the door frame. “Oh, please do.” Ok, backing up for a minute, this whole scenario actually started much earlier this morning when I came down to have something for breakfast. I thought about waking you up, Vinyl, but it was only like 9 A.M. So I went downstairs and had breakfast. Or, tried. There was an Octavia in the way. Namely, I couldn’t get to the fridge, because she was practically climbing into the thing. I coughed to get her attention, then flinched when her head hit the shelf above her. I half expected something to break. “Owww, Vinyl...” She turned around, and seeing it wasn’t in fact Vinyl, started to stammer out an apology. “Oh-Miss Spitfire! I’m so sorry, I... I was looking for eggs and I-” “I don’t have any eggs.” I gave her a bemused look. “Can’t eat ‘em.” Her eyes got wide like I’d told her she’d killed my dog. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know... I-” “YOU are apologizing way to profusely for my lack of eggs and your head injury. Or maybe you should be apologizing for calling me Vinyl. That’s a rather serious grievance, you know.” That got her to loosen up, and she laughed. “Yes, I can imagine so.” “Hey!” I said from the doorway. Spitfire and Octavia had by now separated, and Octavia was cleaning herself off with a wet rag. Spitfire rolled her eyes at me. “You want me to tell you the story or not?” She gave me a grin and waved me off. “Fine.” Anyway, after we stopped laughing at your expense, I showed her where all the breakfast stuff was. Namely, the protein shakes and high-fiber cereals. She said she wasn’t hungry anymore, so I shrugged and got myself some of each. A nice, balanced breakfast for any athlete. At least, that’s what I explained to her. “You do remember I’m an artist, right?” Octavia gave me a quizzical look while peeking around my cupboards for something artsy to eat. “So what, you live on croissants and lattes?” I was halfway through a bite of cereal when I saw the look on her face. I almost choked. “Oh my god you do! HA! I thought that was just a thing college kids did!” She blushed and laid her face on the counter. “I... never really grew out of it. They were just so tasty!” I rolled my eyes, again, and took pity on her. Throwing her a banana from the fruit bowl, I came up with a solution. “Alright, tell you what. I’ll finish eating my real food, then we can go down to this little coffee shop and grab you something to eat. Why didn’t you bring any of that with you when you moved in yesterday?” I took another bite while waiting for her to answer. She pawed at the ground. “Well, actually, I don’t really keep much food in my house. I usually eat out with friends, and I have this regular coffee shop that I go to, so...” Her voice trailed off as she looked at me sheepishly. I had to let out a sigh. “Right. We’re so going grocery shopping. You-” I jabbed a hoof at her, “-are going to learn the value of home cooking and saving money. I-” I jabbed a hoof at myself, “-am looking for an excuse to eat something I really probably shouldn’t.” She stopped for a second and laughed a little. She was pretty cool, and didn’t seem very tightly wound. “Ok, fair enough.” She finally conceded, and ate the banana. It wasn’t long after that that we ended up walking down to this quaint little cafe up the road from the house. I was rather charmed with it- “Whoa, hey. Why are you telling the story?” I asked Octavia, as she finished toweling off. I looked over to Spitfire, her head in the sink, and all I got from her was “Gurgle gurgle.” I nodded sagely as Octavia gave me a placating smile. “Right, go on.” As I was saying, this cafe was rather... cute. Not like the hustle and bustle of the chain restaurants I usually visit. There were very few ponies around, but they all seemed to recognize Spitfire. And not in the celebrity way. There were hoofshakes, and tipped hats, it was all rather sweet. Finally, Spitfire sat us down at this little counter separating the dining room from the kitchen. This older mare in an apron, I believe Spitfire said she was the owner, leaned on the counter and gave Spitfire and I a hello. “Well, hi there.” She seemed a little... rustic. It was quite charming. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Who’s this, Spitfire?” Spitfire nodded, and gestured towards me. “This is Octavia. She’s... living with me till they fix her apartment up.” Apparently the waitress caught on to that little pause, and gave Spitfire a knowing look. “So what happened?” Her voice was stern and motherly. If not for the fact that she looked nothing like Spitfire, (she was off-white with a light tan mane, and a cup of coffee for a Cutie Mark, as well as... matronly plump), I’d swear she WAS her mother. Spitfire sighed. “Ok, you know how I told you Vinyl and I finally started dating?” The waitress mare nodded, and Spitfire explained the whole situation. Well, enough of it to explain my presence. She was considerately vague on certain details, which I appreciated. “...and that’s where we are now.” Spitfire took a sip of a drink I hadn’t notice she’d received. I looked down and, in fact, I too had a cup of coffee to drink. I was about to ask for cream and sugar when I felt Spitfire’s elbow in my side. I looked over at her, and her expression said quite plainly, ‘Just drink the coffee.’ It was, in short, delicious. “Now where are my manners!” The exclamation caught me by surprise, and had I not just finished my drink, I probably would have spilled some. I looked up to the waitress giving me a warm expression. “I haven’t even introduced myself. Name’s Cafe Latte! Pleasure to meet a friend of Spitfire’s!” I was about to protest that we aren’t... exactly friends, but her expression was too warm and welcoming for me to have the hart. Instead, I shook her extended hoof, and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve never had a cup of coffee like this before.” I thought complimenting her brew was a good start to a conversation that I had the feeling was going to last a while. Latte nodded, and smiled proudly. “Best brew in Canterlot. And none of that sissy milk and sugar, neither! Glad to see a mare who can take it black as night!” I nodded knowingly, figuring that this was why Spitfire had wanted me to drink the coffee straight. The rest of the visit was uneventful, save for some delightful conversation and a rather tasty croissant, but immediately after, we went to the grocery store. “And this is where it all goes downhill.” Spitfire’s voice caught my attention, as I looked over to the freshly clean, and deliciously soaking wet, mare leaning on the counter. “May I?” Spitfire asked. Octavia nodded and blushed. “Please... do.” I dropped down from my standing position against the door, and instead took a seat at the counter. The girls followed suit. “This should be good.” Spitfire tilted her head. “Well...” Ok, so we got out of Cafe Dusty, and walked down to the grocery store. I think you know the place. Huge supermarket thing like five blocks away. Coltway or something. Anyway, we get there, and right away I can tell this one hasn’t been in a grocery store like this. Ever. I know, I couldn’t believe it either. The first thing we see is the grocery aisle, cause that’s how it’s put together. And for a while, it’s just walking around, looking for the bakery and the coffee aisles and anything else Octavia needs. I have to say, though, she looked adorable. Pushing that cart around and trying to look at everything at once. It was kind of funny. But then... then we get to the frozen foods aisle. At first it was just like every other aisle. She was looking around in total amazement at the things ponies invent to shove in their mouths. And to be honest, sometimes it amazes me too. Then, I heard four little words. Perfectly innocent. And I thought I was going to cry. “Spitfire, what’s ‘Rocky Road’?” I couldn’t stop myself. I did a total 180 and stared at her. She could have grown a second head and I’d be less surprised. More disturbed? Yes. But less surprised. “What?!” She flinched, and pointed quietly to a display case. “Um, I was wondering what Rocky Road was?” I take a moment to compose myself, and walk over to the display. It’s the ice cream section. Then a thought occurs to me. “Octavia, please tell me you know what ice cream is.” I almost beg. “Of course I do! It’s a vanilla flavored dairy dessert.” She smiled at me. Smiled. Like she hadn’t just said what I wish she hadn’t just said. I facehoofed. The only appropriate response. “Octavia, you are familiar with flavors, yes?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course I know what flavors are, I... oh.” she looked at me, then at the display case. Then at me. “I’m sorry. I’d... well I’ve never had anything other than Vanilla... flavored ice cream. My parents were rather stringent about sweet things, and to be honest I’d never really had the occasion to eat it since I was a filly. I wasn’t especially a fan.” I thought my heart was gonna break. “That’s... the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. A kid who doesn’t like ice cream? Who’s only ever had vanilla?!” I decided right then and there to right this wrong. “That’s it. We’re making sundaes. YOU are going to try as many flavors of ice cream as I can make you before you get sick and I am going to forget my diet for a whole day to make this happen.” I put my muzzle up to hers. “You better understand the sacrifice I’m making here, Octavia.” She nodded. Of course a high-society girl understood the importance of a diet. So we pile it in the cart. Like, 15 different flavors. I’m even sure there was one in there I couldn’t pronounce. Octavia looked at the cart and frowned. “Are you sure you have enough room in your freezer?” I laughed. “Please! Half this won’t make it into the freezer anyway. and I’ll just build up some snow in the backyard and bury the rest. For... later.” We were on our way out of the store when I forgot something really important. “Oh, snap!” Octavia turned around and almost fell down she spun so quickly. “We almost forgot chocolate sauce! and whipped cream! And nuts!” She looked at me like I’d lost it. “Um, nuts?” I gave her a look. “Oh, you don’t even KNOW.” I looked back and forth between Spitfire and Octavia. Then at the rest of the kitchen, which was a total mess. Ice cream lay everywhere. Dessert toppings lined the walls and floor like confetti and streamers. “So?! What happened?!” Spitfire gave Octavia a sideways look, and the grey mare spoke up quietly. “Well, as it turns out... there was a reason I wasn’t allowed many sweets, let alone ice cream, as a child.” I wait for her to finish, and she looks up at me with a guilty smile. “I believe they’re called... sugar rushes?” [TO BE CONTINUED] Author's Note I wanted to make this story all into one big chapter, but I realized it would get pretty damn big by the time I was done. So it’s going to be a two (or three) parter. CLIFFHANGERS, HO! The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 2)Chapter 13: The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part II) So, as we carried our large amounts of groceries back to the house, Spitfire kept talking about all of the wonderful combinations you could make with ice cream. Having never had more than vanilla, I couldn’t very well understand or imagine most of what she was talking about, so I just nodded along. It was much like listening to somepony explain hoofball to me. Again. Once we got to the house and put everything away, I’d assumed that we’d merely wait until after dinner and have a small to-do about it, making some of these rather interesting-sounding concoctions for dessert. Spitfire wasn’t having any of that. I’d only gotten halfway to the freezer with the first carton of ice cream when she almost yelled at me, “What do you think you’re doing?!” I stopped, taken aback. “I was... I was going to put the ice cream away? We don’t want it to melt before dinner, do we?” She looked at me like a crazy pony. ME! A crazy pony! ...shut up. Anyway, I put the carton back on the counter, and watched as she arranged all of the ice cream in neat rows with the toppings and utensils and other assorted paraphernalia surrounding it. Then she made it snow. She’s somehow smuggled a cloud into her house, which, given that the house was made of clouds on the outside, didn’t surprise me that much. What did surprise me was watching her pound on it vigorously until snow came out, covering the counter. “What?” she asked, looking at me like she was doing nothing out of the ordinary like precipitating all over the counter, “We don’t want it to get warm, do we?” “That’s what a freezer is for!” I yelled, exasperated. I could tell I wasn’t going to win this one, so I merely trotted over to stand beside her while she worked, waiting for her to finish her elaborate setup. Once she was done, she gestured grandly to the display. It was rather nice and tidy, I’ll give her that. Even with the snow. “I give you, the ice cream bar! Well, more like a buffet. Ice cream bars are actually a specific dessert,” she elaborated. I could tell I was going to get lost rather quickly. “I’ll start you out with something simple. We’ve got a lot of ice cream to try, and I don’t want you getting full, so here’s a bowl and spoon for sampling.” She handed me what looked like a toy plastic spoon and what I’m pretty sure was a small cup. “Now, there’s three basic flavors that everypony should try. Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. The most common application of these is Neapolitan ice cream, shown here,” she gestured to a three-striped style of ice cream she’d set aside. She dug a small scoop out of the snow, and served be a rather tiny portion of Neapolitan. I tried the vanilla section first, having had it before. I was curious to see if it still tasted like I remembered. It did. Mild, sweet, but mostly unimpressive. Rather ordinary. In a word, vanilla. Then, I sampled the strawberry- I sighed, waving a hoof to get Octavia to stop. “Wait, hold on. Are you going to give me a step by step of this whole thing? Cause as much as I would LOVE to know why you two were living out one of my favorite dreams on the kitchen floor, I do have stuff to do.” Spitfire smiled, placating, at me. “Oh, don’t worry. It gets better.” “Right” Octavia huffed. “As I was saying...” I tried the strawberry next, and was pleasantly surprised. It was sweet and soft, like the vanilla, but the flavor was a bit more bold. I’d always been rather fond of strawberries, so I enjoyed it quite a bit. I had a few more bites of it, and smiled. “That’s not bad at all!” I exclaimed. I looked up to Spitfire to seek her opinion, but she just grinned devilishly at me. “Try the chocolate,” was all she said. So I did. “...and?” I asked, looking from the pegasus to the Earth pony. “What happened?” Spitfire patted Octavia on the back. “Let me tell this part, ok?” Octavia just nodded. So Octavia was pretty happy with the Strawberry. I wasn’t surprised. She seemed like the type to like fruity stuff. So I figured, her being more of a girl than both of us put together, she’d love the chocolate. “Try the chocolate,” I said. I thought she’s love it. I never thought she’d explode. “Oh my Celestia that’s DELICIOUS!” she yelled, after just a bite. She mauled the rest of the sample cup and practically dove for the carton. Fortunately I, being the fastest pegasus ever, caught her before she face-planted all over everything. “Whoa, girl. We have PLENTY of others to try. Chocolate isn’t even the half of it.” She stared at me like I’d told her the princess was coming over. Her eyes got wide and her pupils dilated like crazy. “There’s more?!” she asked. She sounded like a schoolfilly. It should have been a warning sign. I took it as a challenge. “Oh yeah. There’s more,” I told her, scooping up a personal favorite, Doublin-Bank Mud Slide, into another sample cup. She’d destroyed the first one. I handed it over, and she bore no hesitation in taking a bite. Now, since you look confused, Vinyl, allow me to explain what’s in Doublin-Bank Mud Slide ice cream. Chocolate. Shirish Cream. Chocolate cookie dough mix. Chocolate fudge. And, for added flavor, chocolate pieces. It was like giving a five year old a backpack nuke. She went off like a bomb and almost ATE the cup. Like, I had to tug it out of her teeth, she was still chewing on it. “Give me... Octi-stop... give-me-the-cup!” I shouted, and she let go. I tumbled flank-over-heels. Thus, I was unable to stop her from getting to the rest of the Mud Slide. Thank Luna it was just a pint. “Hey!” I shouted. apparently it was just loud enough. She seemed to snap out of it, staring at the ice cream then at me. “Oh, dear,” she muttered, looking back at the ice cream. “Um... I can explain?” I leaned on the snowbank on my counter, after finally righting myself. “Please do.” She stopped for a second, and put down the now-demolished pint. “Well, I-” “Hold on a second,” said Octavia. “Let me talk about this for a moment, Spitfire.” I watched them stare at each other for a few seconds, then Spitfire nodded. Then Octavia turned to me. “Vinyl, you know how I’ve been in therapy for the last few months?” “Yeah...” I said hesitantly. “Wait, are you about to tell me you had another episode?” “Well, kind of. It wasn’t sexual, though!” she added hastily, apparently seeing my expression. At that point I was just confused. “Well, my therapist, for all the good he’s worth, has a running theory. It isn’t a final diagnosis yet, but he has a strong suspicion that I might have a moderate case of Manic Histrionic Disorder.” I had no idea what that meant. “What?” “To put it simply, I have a, oh what was the phrase, ‘dramatic, underlying need to be the focus of attention, sometimes displaying erratic, unsuitable behavior for attention, including aggressive or hyperactive displays of emotion and affection,’” she explained. “So, basically, you’re a crazy attention horse?” I asked. Right away I knew I could have been more delicate. She didn’t do more than flinch, though. “Well, yes. He thinks I have this underlying need for attention that’s gotten so severe that I’m lashing out at odd times. When I come across something I want, or, in some cases, convince myself I need, I have a tendency to act out to get it, sometimes either taking it or drawing attention to myself until it’s given to me.” I was still a little confused. “And ice cream falls into that category?” She tilted her head, looking a little apprehensive. “Well, yes and no. Large amounts of stimulants do it. My body is accustomed to coffee, since I’ve been having it every day since I can remember, so caffeine is nothing new or worrisome. Large amounts of sugar, however...” “-and you go off like a firecracker,” I finished for her. “But I thought you’d only had a couple of sample cups?” She nodded, and glanced over to Spitfire, who seemed to be content watching us talk. With a nod from the pegasus, she continued on. “Yes, I did. I also had plenty of caffeine earlier, which, on it’s own, isn’t enough to set me off. In all honesty I should have stayed away from the ice cream, but I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did. I enjoyed it so much and ate it so fast that I kind of flipped.” I paused for a moment, looking around the kitchen, and back and forth between the two mares. “So, let me get this straight. This whole mess was because you flipped out over some frozen dairy goodness?” Spitfire nodded for her. “Yeah. I called her shrink while she was plugging away at the quart of chocolate, and apparently she isn’t allowed to have any stimulants at all. He’s been trying to get her to not drink coffee,” she accented the last few words with a knowing stare at Octavia, “and when I told her about the ice cream he just sighed and told me to calm her down and take her somewhere else..” That all sounded about right, but something was amiss. “So hold on, where’s the rest of the ice cream? She didn’t eat the whole damn thing, did she?” Spitfire seemed to think for a moment. “Oh! Yeah, no. She got like halfway through the chocolate before I stopped her. It took her a bit to get her away from it, but eventually I got her into the living room and calmed her down. Then we started cleaning up...” So after her little episode, we started to put away all the ice cream. Well, I put away ice cream. She did dishes and put away toppings. I had to talk her out of eating the chocolate syrup from the bottle, though. That was the easy part. Then we had to clean the counters and stuff. See, when I was getting the ice cream away from her, we kind of wrestled a bit. And stuff got... well, everywhere. and the snow had melted while I was talking her down in the living room. So the whole kitchen was a total wreck. It was when I’d set her to clean up the counter that we started making all the noise that I’m assuming dragged you down here. See, she’s knocked over a can of whipped cream, which had spilled a little. And, well, she’d apparently never had THAT before either. “Octavia,” I said, when I saw what she had in her hoof. Or, more appropriately, was licking off of it. “Put that down. We talked about this.” “Oh, come on, Miss Spitfire, it’s just some cream. How bad can it be?” she asked innocently. I wasn’t buying it. I dove for the can before she could start chugging it, and kind of miscalculated. When I hit her instead of the cream, we crashed into a cupboard, and accidentally set off the whipped cream can. And the chocolate syrup in the cupboard above us, which fell over and splattered both of us. I was just wrestling the can from her when you came down. I looked over the mess still left behind in the kitchen, and the two now slightly dry ponies at the counter. “And I thought I was going to be the trouble here.” Spitfire giggled. “Actually, so did I,” she threw a look at Octavia, which I copied. She looked back and forth from me to my marefriend, and sighed. “I should have stayed in Ponyville.” Author's Note This one’s a bit short, being the second half of a two-parter, but it answers some questions I’ve been wanting to clear out for a while. The Amora Crescendo (Part 1)Chapter 14: The Amora Crescendo (Part 1) One of the things about sharing a room with somepony you aren’t sleeping with is that you’re always very aware of exactly how much space they take up on the bed. Namely, despite how much I may appreciate staring at her flanks, Octavia’s rear end takes up so much room when she’s sleeping I’ve woken up more than once thinking I took somepony home last night. So, for the most part, I either stay as far on my side of the bed as possible, or sleep somewhere else. Well, I was. Today is the day we finally go home. FINALLY. So, foregoing making the snarky remark about Octy’s hind end, I roll myself out of bed soon as I wake up (which is far from normal, let me tell you), and trot downstairs for breakfast. We’d been here about a week and a half. They kept coming up with more stuff to fix, but eventually we got a call last night saying to get ready to move tomorrow. I was so stoked I hardly slept. Well, I hardly sleep anyways, at night. I think I got all of two hours. I make my merry way into the living room, and lo and behold, my athlete marefriend is already awake. “Morning, Sunshine,” she whistles, taking a look at me. I must look a mess, but I’m used to it. “I will never understand how you crazy ponies get up so damn early. What is wrong with you athletic types?” I grumble, not having all of my voice back from snoring all night. Yeah, I snore, so what? She flips her hair at me and winks. Hello. “It helps keep us super sexy. Speaking of which, why are you up so early?” “You know, I was going to make a comment about how the whole getting up early thing to stay sexy was totally working, but now you’ve gone and done it.” I trot right past her without looking at her, and fish some cereal out of a cupboard. “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.” She flies over the countertop, and lands almost on top of me. Her hooves snake around my neck and her muzzle rubs against my ear. “You don’t need sleep to be sexy. The rest of us mere mortals are just trying to keep up.” Her normally sexy voice is like liquid honey with all that sexy husk she’s pouring on. But I’m more than practiced in keeping my cool. “Nice recovery, but nope. I’ve got way too much to do today to let my awesome self be distracted by such-” I quickly forget what I was going to say as her teeth find purchase on my ear, then my neck, as she sucks on my jawline. “Oh, come on.” “That’s what I was thinking.” Her breath on my ear is like hot, musky torture. I gotta have it. “Quicky in the kitchen?” “Oh, no~. I plan on taking my time.” Oh sweet baby Luna. I awake feeling rather refreshed, for the first time in days. It took me by surprise, really. Usually I wake up when Vinyl jumps in bed, or when she starts snoring, or when she kicks. These don’t happen very often, mind you, but enough that I haven’t slept as soundly as I’d like for over a week. My practice was suffering, as well. I even played a few wrong notes the other day. Me! Wait, that sounds a little conceited. But still, I’m very practiced. And how many wrong notes could you possibly expect during warm-up pieces? That was all out of my mind this morning, as I get up and stretch properly. I can never understand how Vinyl goes anywhere and dances and moves so much without stretching first. Her bones are going to run screaming for the hills one of these days. My mind rolls over a little as I ponder where exactly it is Vinyl has gone off to. It’s not like her to not be here when I wake up- she sleeps like a log through basically anything. We’ve proven this. I wish I had that talent. But, as of today, I won’t need it. It will be back to my normal bed, my normal schedule, and my normal Vinyl-free world. As much as I may have grown to not despise her lately, and in fact sort of like being around her, she’s the kind of pony best taken in small doses. You know the type. Either way, I have quite a bit of work to do. Not as much as Vinyl, mind you, but I still have a few things to move. I also have some things in town to take care of, and I am rather excited about the day, overall. Especially sleeping in my own bed. Ah, my bed. I can’t wait to see it again. It may only have been a week, but it was a week I was unprepared for, and thus it dragged on much longer than I believe it had any right to. The first thing I do is put all of my stuff together. Not much, just my cello and my music sheets and some amenities and necessities. I try not to pack too heavy, especially since I take my cello with me everywhere. I really do adore my little Chessie. What? Well, as I was saying, I’m packing up my materials, when I notice some... noises from downstairs. Rather familiar noises, although I couldn’t tell you where I recognize them. At first. All I can hear is shuffling, and some vocalization. It isn’t until I opened the bedroom door that I realize what I’m listening to. Vinyl and Spitfire having sex. Again. Really, I can’t wait to leave. I’m about to close the door when a particular exclamation catches my ear. “No... slower... don’t...” I should just close the door and leave well enough alone. But I know that voice to be Vinyl’s. And, surprisingly, I can almost envision what it is they’re doing. I’d heard her talk like that before, when I... no. No, I am not going to think about that. I am going to close my door and finish packing and ignore it like a polite and sophisticated mare. Eventually. I feel exhausted. Which is totally not fair. I’d gotten this great night’s sleep and I was all ready to pack up my stuff and get going back to my house. But no, my marefriend has to lay me out on the kitchen floor and... you know what? None of your business. But still. That happened. And then she goes off with a smile on her face and flies out the door to work to leave me recovering on the cloudnoleum. The bitch. The sexy, sexy bitch. I decide to try standing, at first, which seems pretty easy. Just put myself on my hooves and balance. I mean, I’ve got four, right? What could go wrong? Ow. Aside from gravity, I mean. So I try again. Successfully this time, I might add. I trot over to a cool, clean countertop and lean on it like a life raft. “Oh countertop, you’re my best friend.” I stroke it gently, still feeling more than a little amorous after... breakfast. Sex and breakfast. Sexfast. Actually, that doesn’t work. We weren’t fast about it at all. I’ll work on it. So I’m trying to come up with a clever way of combining euphemisms for sex and other words for breakfast into something catchy to use later when I hear a noise. A noisy noise. The kind of noisy noisy that sounds... noisy. I turn my head with much effort, and look over at the door to the kitchen, just in time to see what I believe to be the source of the noise scamper away. At least, part of it. I catch a glimpse of one grey hoof disappear around the frame, and a few scattered pieces of what I think is a vase. Wait, what? Was Octavia watching us? That’s kind of hot. NO. BAD Vinyl. Anyway, I figure I should go address the issue before it gets too out of control. Again. So I slowly make my way up to Octy’s room. One. Step. At. A. Time. Oh, hello gravity. The door slams behind me as I run back into my room. I can’t believe myself at this point. Watching my friends have sex? What is wrong with me? Don’t answer that, brain. I need something to distract myself. Something to drown out the images. All I can see right now is Vinyl and Spitfire, tangled on the floor. Spitfire’s wings stretched out and fully extended as she arches her back. Vinyl’s eyes glazed over. Spitfire’s tail twitching back and forth furiously. Vinyl writhing around. Vinyl moaning, digging her muzzle into Spitfire’s mane. Vinyl screaming for more. Vinyl.... NO. Not again. I won’t let myself be consumed like this again. My eyes dart around the room as I search for some kind, any kind of reprieve. And they land on my cello. Perfect. Nothing is better than expressing emotion and untapped passion than music. Fortunately, I hadn’t packed it all away yet. I trot hurriedly over to the case, but slow my motions as I open it, and pull the instrument out. I pull out an assortment of sheet music, not really paying attention to what songs they are, and lay them out on the bed. Standing myself upright with my instrument, my hoof holding my bow maybe tighter than it should, I study each sheet, looking for just the right notes. Something to play that matches this beat in my heart. Whether it’s from my shameful voyeurism, or the rush back into my room, I won’t think about. But nothing jumps out at me. Nothing sticks. It’s all to slow, too bland. Too... me. It’s all professional, falsely deep music with little effort and a lot of output. Performance pieces, made to please and entertain a crowd who pays top dollar for ponies to not question whether or not they know any better the pieces they’re listening to. My bow twitches on the strings as my hooves grow impatient. Tired of staring down this bland repertoire of notes and bars, my hoofs start playing on their own. Almost, at least. I just start playing, not really paying attention. I turn my attention from the bed and the papers and just hold my head high, playing whatever it is I can think of. There’s no order to my rhythm, no sense of organization or discipline. But there’s something else. Passion. I feel, passionate about what I’m playing. Which isn’t entirely new, I feel the same way when I’m in front of a crowd. But this seems more... fun. I think it’s working. Until I look up and see the door wide open. I’ve only made it halfway up the stairs when I hear Octavia start to play. My first thought is that she’s just doing it to make it sound like she’s been up here the whole time. An old trick, but I can’t fault her for it. At least she won’t be scrambling to keep up the illusion when I open the door. It’s not till I hit the landing that the music itself catches my ear. Yeah, I’ve heard Octavia play before. At the rehearsal and the actual performance for the award show. I know she’s good. But she didn’t play anything like this. It’s all raw emotion and disorganized thought. She’s just playing to play. Which is something I’ve done myself, plenty of times. I reach the door, and toss it open, not bothering to knock. It’s my room too, for now. I glance around the room and find Octavia standing by the bed, her head hung down and her eyes closed, and she’s just going at it. It’s almost crazy. I ant to interrupt her, but I can’t. I can’t move. The music is so primal, so full of need and intensity that I can’t bring myself to interrupt it. And it doesn’t help that all that amorous warmth in my head hasn’t flown away yet. I just stare like I’m hypnotized, and part of me probably is. It’s one thing to recognize an artist by seeing their finished work. Enjoying it, reading or watching or listening to it. It’s another to meet them, to hear them talk about their craft and to see the life in their eyes when they talk about doing what they love. But watching them create? Watching them bring something out of nothing and become nothing more than a conduit through which raw creativity flows into raw, imperfect creation? It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen. They’re nowhere near the pony you know them as, when they create. Sometimes, it’s scary. Sometimes, it’s crazy and fun and inspiring. And sometimes, it’s beautiful. And then she looks at me. I freeze. My bow drops out of my hand and all of the warmth and crazy passion I had been building up as I play floods my head like a freshly shaken cola, just waiting for someone to crack the can. It’s in that moment that I realize I haven’t done anything to forget the events from only moments ago. Each note, each line, I was reliving them. Refreshing them. Changing them. All I’d thought about while I played was how I felt. How I wanted to feel. What I’d seen. And what about it I wanted to change. And here all of it is just staring at me like I’m some kind of work of art. Vinyl’s eyes shine as her mouth hangs open. I can’t stop staring at her mouth. Those soft lips, as the echo of her voice from mere minutes before loops in my head. There’s nothing funny about it. Nothing amusing, or anecdotal. There’s also nothing hateful, or angry, or vengeful about it. Nothing that I’d built up all those times I’d used her months before. I just... want her. Her bow drops, and she stares at me for a moment. More than a moment. It feels like forever. She’s staring at me like she plays. Like the song she was just playing hadn’t stopped, except this time she was the instrument. Hungry, wanting, and warm. Hot, even. I don’t move when she puts down her cello, or walks towards me. I don’t move when she stops, moments from my face. I just... want her. I know I shouldn’t. She isn’t mine. It’s not my place. It’s just a fleeting emotion. It will pass. I know I shouldn’t. I should say something. I should move. I have Spitfire. I’ve been down this road with Octavia before. It’s nothing I want. But this time, it’s different. It’s not hate or anger I see in her. I don’t see anything in her eyes that I don’t feel myself. I should move. So, I do. I know I shouldn’t. But, I do. [To Be Continued] Author's Note Yes, another multi-parter. But this is a very important arc. Sorry it took so long to update. I’ve been working towards this chapter for a while, and I’ve been playing over these events in my head like a million times. (Not like that you pervs. Well, not ALL one million times.) But I think I finally have it the way I want it. I hope you enjoy. The Amora Crescendo (Part 2)Chapter 15: The Amora Crescendo (Part 2) As soon as Octavia gets within a hair’s breadth of me, I react. And step back into the hall, nearly tumbling over the banister. “Whoa, hey now. What’s going on with you?” I try to seem mildly composed, and not at all like I was considering kissing the mare who’s been all kinds of trouble since day one. While I already have a working relationship for once in my life. Octavia blinks, and takes a step back. She looks like I just hit her or something. “I-I thought that... maybe you... I don’t know. I just... it’s what I wanted to do?” Her last statement is both a question to me and herself, I can tell. Like she isn’t entirely sure. I do my best to help her laugh it off and lighten the mood. “Hey, no problem, I totally get it.” She looks up timidly. “Really?” “Sure.” I wave a hoof nonchalantly in her direction. “I’m totally hot, I just had a bunch of sex and smell like every mare in heat ever, and you obviously had something going between you and that cello. Heat of the moment, right?” Octavia blinks, taken aback. I can tell that’s not what she thought I was going to say, but she doesn’t seem to have any kind of retort to it. “Yes, yes I suppose it must have been. I... apologize, for being so forward. Especially given our... history.” I silently congratulate her on bringing it up first. She’s normally not one to talk about it if at all, even when it’s relevant. “No biggie. Listen, I’m gonna go pack up and get ready to move home. You want some help with your stuff?” Octavia smiles, seemingly grateful for the change in topic. “No, thank you. I was actually almost done before I started playing. I just have to resort all of my sheet music, and put my cello back.” “Wait, there was sheet music to that?” She chuckles slightly. “Not exactly. I was looking over all of my songs, looking for something... intense to play, when I realized most everything in my collection is practiced showpieces. Nothing that really incites... emotion.” “What, like musical masturbation?” “Vinyl!” I laugh loudly. “Hey it’s not like I don’t do the same thing. Why do you think I like bass so much?” She gets all indignant and huffy at me being to ‘callous’, and rushes me farther down the hall. “Go finish packing, you ingrate!” she yells, but I can practically hear her smile. Spitfire and I must be rubbing off on her. I happily trot down the hall, situation defused and homeward bound. After shoving Vinyl out of my personal space, I quietly close the door, and lean against it. Even so, I can’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles after only a few seconds. I guess if Vinyl feels comfortable enough around me to make jokes like that, then we must be rather close to being completely over our earlier troubles. Having laughed myself dizzy, I look about the room, and instead of seeking an outlet for my... pent-up emotions, all I see is a mess that needs to be cleaned. Which is a much more manageable situation. The cello itself is rather easy to put back, although I do flinch at the sight of my bow on the ground. I’m usually insidiously more careful with it than that, but I decide not to dwell on such things, as there is work to be done. The papers take a bit more work than I’d hoped, as many of the sheets have become scrambled. After carefully arranging them into their proper stacks, and organizing them enough to fit back into my suitcase properly, I stack all of my luggage and the few boxes I bothered with out in the hall for when we leave later. I took the time to arrange a moving cart for the afternoon, which I believe will go much more smoothly than everything else thus far. I also try not to dwell on that, lest I jinx it. With not much else to do, I decide that maybe I should go out to lunch with a friend. I track down the phone at the end of the hall, and dial up Beauty Brass. “HELLO?!” she screams at the phone. ...after I stop the shaking, I gather up the phone from the floor, and say, in a rather controlled and slow voice, “Hello, Beauty. It’s Octavia. How was practice?” I hear her inhale to talk again, and somepony in the background say something. She makes a sheepish squeaking noise, and when she returns to the phone, she’s much quieter. “Hi, Octavia. Sorry. Practice was good. How have you been? We haven’t seen you outside of practice for a while.” “I’ve been well. I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch with me.” I hold the phone away from my head in anticipation. “WOULD I?!” I wait a few seconds, then return it to my ear. “Oh, sorry. Yes, Octavia, I’d love to. Would you like to meet at our usual restaurant?” I mull it over, and come up with another idea. “Actually, there’s a small place nearby that I would love to share with you.” I’d just finished with my packing, and decided to call up the apartment complex to see if there was gonna be somepony there that could help us get all our stuff up the stairs, unlike last time. It rang through to voicemail, so I decided to just leave a quick message and try again later. Food sounded pretty good right about now, as Tavi had left only half an hour before, saying she was going to lunch with a friend of hers. I scrounged around the kitchen for something left of the food I’d brought with me, which wasn’t much. As it turned out, I hadn’t had much in my fridge when I’d left, and I wasn’t privy to the shopping spree. So I decided to peruse the other girls’ food supplies. That didn’t last long, as all of their food amounted to healthy athletic stuff and dainty good-for-you foods. Boring. I wanted something so not good for me. With like, a bunch of salt. Hayfried potatoes sounded delicious. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any with me. Fortunately, I know my marefriend well. I made my way back to the hall with the phone, and dug around the space between the endtable and the wall. While Spitfire may have a knack for eating healthy, and a reputation to uphold, there is one thing she absolutely can’t resist. Take out. And, feeling my hoof brush the edge of a piece of paper, my suspicions were confirmed: she always, for as long as I have known her, hides a take-out menu somewhere near the phone. I browsed the list, seeing a bunch of stuff guaranteed to make a cardiologist cry, and found what I was looking for: hayfried potatoes. Also just called hayfries. I dial up the joint Spitfire refuses to acknowledge she frequents, Greasy Geese, and order a huge batch of them. And a chocolate shake, because I can and Octavia’s not home to freak out. With my order placed, I decide to try calling the apartment complex again. And again, it goes to voicemail. I look up at the clock, and almost facehoof. Of course nopony’s answering the phone. It’s lunch hour. There’s probably nopony at the desk. So now I have food on the way, and time to kill. I’d work on mixing some tracks if I could, but all that’s been packed up. So, I go to the next possible solution for my boredom. I sneak around my marefriend’s room. Now, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been in her room plenty of times before, and I know where most everything is anyway, but there are still places I haven’t found yet, little nooks and crannies I just haven’t thoroughly sniffed around. Under her bed? Please. First place I checked. Hell, I helped her move her mattress. The closet? Oh, honey. Closet sex is amazing. No, there’s only two places I have yet to completely violate the privacy of, like a good curious troublemaking marefriend: her dresser drawers and her safe. Now, the safe I leave completely alone. There are boundaries, of course. I’m no hooligan safecracker. Her dresser, however, is completely unlocked. Totally free game. The top two drawers are basically what you’d expect. The stuff she goes for first: spare uniforms, workout clothes, sweatbands. She’s not really one for clothes. The next drawer down is more seasonal stuff. Scarves, shirts for when it’s cold but not sweater cold, sweaters, and a little beanie I remember her wearing years and years ago, that I think I actually bought her. Yup, it’s in my colors, all right. The bottom drawer, however, is interesting. Not in the least because it’s hard to open. There’s no obvious lock, it feels more like it’s jammed, so I sniff around the edges. And bingo, a nice little button underneath. With a satisfying click, I hear the drawer unlock, and I slide it out. And It’s awesome. It’s all lingerie and nighties and stuff. Most of which I’ve seen her wear. A few ones I haven’t, but that are little more than palette swaps of other outfits. Then there’s the little black box. Innocuous, and actually kind of hard to see, tucked away in its corner. It’s unlocked, so I just tilt the lid a little bit, just a peek. I don’t wanna disturb things too much. And what I see amazes me. It doesn’t surprise me, as much, because I had my suspicions already, but having confirmation is another thing. I’m about to pull out the whole stash when I hear the doorbell ring. Oh, right, food. FOOD! I do my best to put everything back the way it was, knowing I’ll probably have to explain myself later, and close the drawer. I make sure it clicks shut before I leave, and I close her door behind me, racing down the stairs. The delivery guy is your usual pasty-faced teenager just trying to make a few bucks. he’s also apparently a fan, as he freaks out when he sees me. I give him a smile, an autograph, and a tip, and take my precious precious fries and slam the door shut. I am SO hungry right now. I don’t think I could ever properly describe the delight of a good plate of hayfries. Greasy, salty, heart-attacky goodness in almost crunchy kinda mushy delicious carbo-heavy amazingness. The plate doesn’t last the hour. After having thoroughly gorged myself, and setting some aside for later, I make sure to put the take-out menu back where I found it, and make plans to tease Spitfire with the leftover fries. Hopefully as a way of getting out of her being mad at me for snooping in my room, cause I just know she’s gonna find something. I take some time to make another call to the apartment complex, and this time, I actually get somepony on the line. “Hello?” Figures. The secretary never cared much. “Yeah, I had a question. I’m moving my stuff back in tonight and I was wondering if you had a couple of hired mooks I could use to take all my stuff upstairs?” “Move your stuff back in? Oh, honey, haven’t you heard?” ...uh oh. I meat Beauty Brass outside the cafe that Spitfire took me to. She looks obviously out of place, much like I must, but she greets me with a smile. “HI OC- I mean, hi, Octavia.” I can’t help but grin at her infectious enthusiasm. “Hello, Beauty. Shall we?” She gives the cafe an inquisitive look, but doesn’t seem to find anything quite wrong with it. “Sure, I guess.” “Oh, trust me. They are delicious. Come on in.” The two of us sit ourselves down at a booth in the corner, and Beauty seems absolutely entranced by the surroundings. It’s such a quaint and homey place, much different than the high society restaurants we make ourselves frequent, that the drastic difference in environments is quite amazing. It’s also significantly more welcoming and cozy here, and within moments Beauty looks absolutely at home. “This is so cool.” Her voice is awed and quiet, and she’s got this big childish smile. It’s rather endearing. It kind of reminds me of Vinyl’s smile, actually. I stop myself, shaking my head of the thought, and pick up a menu. “The last time I was here I just had some coffee and a croissant, but I’m rather more hungry than that.” Before Beauty has time to respond, Cafe Latte walks right up to us. “Well, hi, Octavia! Good to see you again! This another friend of yours?” Beauty Brass gives a tiny wave to the owner. “Hello! I’m Beauty Brass. Octavia and I work together in an ensemble in Upper Canterlot.” Cafe Latte looks politely impressed. “Well how about that! We have a few musicians around here, too. Matter of fact, one of our regulars is a DJ!” Beauty thinks about that. “You mean Vinyl?” Latte nods. “So you know her, huh?” Beauty looks ready to say something, but I know the dangers of letting her ramble on. “Vinyl was working at the awards ceremony several months back. Our ensemble played during the intermission, and I introduced her to my friends then.” Latte gave off the aura of someone who wants to listen but has work do so, so we gave her our orders, and she trotted off. Beauty looked back at me. “She seems really nice.” “She’s a sweetheart. She’s also good friends with Spitfire and Vinyl, so please don’t say anything that might give her a poor impression of us, ok? I do like it here.” Beauty nodded knowingly, and decided to change the subject. “So how are things with you and the girls? I know you were pretty nervous about sharing a roof with them.” I sigh, leaning back in my seat. But it’s a happy sigh. “It’s much better. I’m making some progress, personally, but it’s like none of it happened. I know there’s still some... tension, and unresolved issues.” I decide not to tell her about the incident this morning. I can still feel Vinyl’s breath on my muzzle- NO. “But we’re becoming... friends, I think. It’s nice. They’re really very good ponies, Beauty.” She nods approvingly, and we talk back and forth amongst ourselves, sharing anecdotes and laughs. Even when our food comes, we still find time between bites to catch up. “So what do you think of Vinyl, anyway? I know you were pretty upset with her when you first met. How’s that working out?” Beauty asks around the lip of her coffee mug. I’d made sure she didn’t put anything in it, and it shows. She flinches slightly when she sips. “Much better. She’s actually quite fun to be around in small doses. Although she does snore.” Beauty almost spits out her coffee. “You’re SLEEPING TOGETHER?!” I practically jump out of my seat. Whipping my head around, I see Cafe Latte giving me a stern, unhappy look. “NO! No.” I readjust my voice to NOT match hers. “We’re just roommates. Spitfire’s house doesn’t have a lot of guest room. We just share a room.” Beauty taps her chest. “Oh, Sweet Celestia, I thought you were gonna tell me you were fooling around with a Wonderbolt’s marefriend!” I bury my face in my hooves, and can practically feel it when Cafe Latte trots up to the table. “What’s this about fooling around?” I look up to her in earnest. “It’s nothing. Just a bad choice of words. We’re sharing a room at Spitfire’s, and I happened to mention that Vinyl snores.” Latte’s expression goes from one of a mother lion protecting her cubs to a jovial smile. “Oh, yeah! I love her to bits but she’s like a lawnmower! You girls enjoying your meal?” Beauty nods enthusiastically, somehow completely recovered from the near heart-attack I seem to have given her just moments before. “It’s delicious!” Latte nods approvingly, and trots off. “Well, it’s great that you get along so well, now. I’m glad.” Beauty takes another healthy bite of her scone. “Yeah, they’re both great. Spitfire is rather relaxed and collected, and Vinyl’s just... fun. Once you get past the culture differences between the two of us, it’s really rather pleasant to be around her. She’s great, I love her.” I hear Beauty Brass choke on her food. “You what?!” “What?” The walk home from the cafe, which we left soon after my easily-misunderstood comment, is spent assuring my friend that I am not, in fact, in love with Vinyl Scratch. Just because she’s fun to be around, and attractive, doesn’t mean I’m in love with her. Beauty Brass still doesn’t entirely buy it by the time we get to my house, but all the same, we find her a cab home, and I make my way inside. Waiting for me in the living room, almost predictably, is Vinyl Scratch. I giv her a once over, as it seems she’s showered recently. Big red pretty eyes, stylish blue mane, nice white coat. Yes, she’s attractive, but I’m not in love with her. Just because I want to have sex with her- -ed. Want-ED. Oh, bloody hell. I flinch slightly as part of me somehow quietly possible admits I might have feelings for this erratic DJ. Well, at least we’re moving out tonight, so I don’t have to worry about being around her all the time. Before I can so much as say hello, however, Vinyl seems to have found her voice. It’s at this moment that I realize she’s been trying, and failing, to say... something since I walked in. “Vinyl, are you ok?” “Yeah, I’m fine, I... ok, look. Before you ask, this is SO not my fault...” Author's Note Well, this arc is looking promising. It's going in the direction i want it to, at least. The Amora Crescendo (Part 3)Chapter 16: The Amora Crescendo (Part 3) I stare off into space for a little while, trying to process everything that’s happened today. My job was fine, nothing new outside of a few routine changes and yelling at some relatively new recruits. Nothing I hadn’t done dozens of times before. Coming home, however, was a different story. I’d somehow gotten used to my housemates by now, and I knew they were moving out tonight, or sometime today. I expected them to either be leaving, have left, or, knowing Vinyl, be throwing some kind of three-pony farewell party. I almost expected to be able to hear wubs from the street corner. But when I got home, the house had been really very quiet. Almost too quiet. My first thought was that they’d left already and I’d find a note or something. Then, thinking about it more, I came to the conclusion that Vinyl must be hiding somewhere from me, waiting to spring out and say goodbye. Both of those thoughts had been vanquished when I saw the pile of luggage and equipment at the base of the stairs. Still not hearing hide nor hoof of my two “roommates”, I started running through other possible scenarios. Maybe they’d gone out to dinner as a last hurrah. Maybe they were out shopping, getting me a farewell present. I felt a little egotistical at that last thought, but I still considered it. Part of me wondered if they were arguing with some kind of moving company or grabbing a cart to haul all of their stuff. Then I found them. Octavia and Vinyl, huddled on the couch together. Once again, I ran through possible scenarios. Doing my damnedest to avoid the obvious, jealousy-driven fantasy in my head that they were cuddling or doing something romantic, before I flipped off the handle and started accusing them, I ran through some observations. It was still very quiet, although, straining my ears now I could hear very tiny sobs coming from the couch. I wasn’t sure who it was that was crying, but I was certain of one thing. Something must have gone wrong. I edged my way around the couch, approaching from a wide angle so that I didn’t surprise the two of them. Vinyl noticed me first, as Octavia’s face was scrunched and very red. Vinyl looked like she’d done her fair share of crying, herself. “Hey, Spitfire.” No nicknames, no jumps at me or sexy remarks. Just a “hi”. “What’s wrong, Vi?” I leaned forward and laid a hoof on her knee. She reciprocated the gesture by laying her hoof on top of mine. “Spit... it’s our home. The... uh... the apartment complex Tavi and I were living in, it’s been... it’s been closed down.” She took small gasps of air around her words as she tried not to cry again. “When they were doing the reconstruction on my room, and the rewiring, it turns out they found a whole bunch of building code violations. They shut it down days ago. When they called letting us know we could move our stuff, they were talking about moving OUT, not back IN.” The more she explained the more I understood. Why they hadn’t gone anywhere despite all of their bags being backed. It certainly explained the crying. “Do you... are they letting you go back for all of your stuff?” Vinyl smiled lightly, and nodded. “Yeah. We worked some stuff out with the ponies clearing out the place. They’re letting us drag everything out tomorrow. I’ve got a storage locker picked out. Octavia, too.” Octavia seemed to choke around her quiet sobbing. “I-I’ve never b-be-been homeless be-before...” I looked from her, back to Vinyl, and sighed. “Well, it’s not like most of your stuff isn’t already here. I’ve got a bunch of room in the basement you guys can use, within reason. So don’t feel like I’m kicking you out just yet.” Of course, as soon as I said them I knew there would come a time when I’d regret doing so. Vinyl’s reaction was about what I expected. Or, half of it. She made an attempt to leap out of the couch to tackle me in an appreciative hug, but didn’t get very far as she realized mid-motion that Octavia was still hanging onto her. So all I got out of her was a small lurch, and a grateful smile. “You’re the best, Spits. I promise we’ll find someplace new soon enough. You hear that, Octavia? Spitfire’s letting us stay.” She patted the grey mare’s head lightly. Who, in turn, leaped out of her seat and shrieked, “No!” I landed at the end of the couch as I jumped, slightly panicked. The thought of spending more time in such close confinement with Vinyl seemed like a very bad idea, especially given my small revelation earlier this evening. Seeing both of their downtrodden faces, I hastily added, “I mean, no, I couldn’t. We’ve imposed for far too long and...” I tried to think of something, any excuse as to why I’d oppose so vehemently. “I just want to sleep in my own bed again!” Vinyl seemed to mull this over, and find it acceptable. For about the half second it took her to turn it into a joke. Quickly changing gears and feigning over-exaggerated heartache, she flung herself over the back of the couch. “Oh, for shame! You don’t want to sleep with me anymore! Such scorn, such heartbreak!” Despite the torrent of panic, sorrow, and other rather negative emotions, I still found room to laugh. “Well maybe if you didn’t snore like a Hydra being run through a wood chipper I might be more amicable.” Spitfire, who it seemed had spent no time dwelling on negative emotions, chuckled slightly. “That’s fine, too. We’ve got options, Octavia. Since both of you have beds you can contribute I’m sure we can turn at least some of the ridiculous amount of space in here into another living quarters.” Well, that just wouldn’t do. She was shooting down my carefully thought out and brilliantly executed logic! I had to think fast. “But surely you can’t want us to hang around forever?” I asked, almost pleadingly. She waved off my concern with a lazy hoof. “Please. It’s not that bad. and as long as you guys are looking for a place to stay, or places, whatever, I’m good. You both have paying jobs and lives of your own. I don’t exactly expect you to spend all your time freeloading.” Stop being so nice and smart, you... you... benevolent pegasus! “No, really, I just want my own space as soon as I can.” Vinyl raised an eyebrow at me. “Look, Octavia, the way I see it, you’ve got five options. Option one: you stay here and suck it up till you get your own place. Option two: homeless. Until you get your own place. Option three: you get a hotel, until you get your own place. Option four, you crash with another friend, until you get your own place.” “...what’s option five?” It couldn’t be anything good. “Fancee Foreign Legion.” Spitfire laughed. “Until you get your own place. Come on, Octavia, either way you’re going to have to do something until you can secure a home for yourself again. Why not go with the most obvious, easy, and immediately available option? “I...” I looked back and forth between Vinyl and Spitfire, honestly defeated. I couldn’t come up with any proper excuses without telling them the truth. Which was the last thing I wanted to do. But, as my counselor has told me frequently, the last thing I want is usually the first thing I should do. To get it out of the way. I heaved a great sigh, and climbed off of the couch. “Spitfire, could you come with me for a moment? We need to talk.” I motioned for her to follow me, and led her into the kitchen. I trotted after Octavia, letting her lead me into my kitchen. Whatever it was she had to say, she seemed to not want to say it. Which meant it probably couldn’t be good. She pulled up a stool and took a seat, leaning forward on the counter. I sat opposite her, so I didn’t have to turn my head to look at her while we talked. “So, um, what’s up?” She looked ready to say... something, for a moment, then stopped. This process repeated itself a few times, her opening her mouth to speak, then closing it, as if finding the best way to say whatever it was. Finally, she just seemed to let it out. “I think I’m falling in love with your marefriend.” Which, by the way, is nowhere even remotely close to the ballpark of what I thought she’d say. I thought it was going to be like, some unfortunate habit that one or both of us had that she just couldn’t stand and didn’t want to be rude about. Or something about her lifestyle or something that she couldn’t avoid but didn’t want to talk to us about. I was starting to get the feeling that I should just stop trying to predict anything ever. I seemed to be really bad at it. “...what?” “Well, maybe not love, but something like it. It’s not like I can’t stop thinking about her or something cheesy like that. But whenever I do it’s... well, rather inappropriate. Especially since this morning,” She still was not really meeting my gaze. I still hadn’t found anything unique or intelligent to say. “What happened this morning?” She smiled guiltily and rolled her eyes away from me like she had a dirty secret. Then she explained everything that had happened this morning. How she’d watched me and Vinyl have sex. How she’d tried to ignore it and go upstairs and play her cello. And how she tried to kiss my marefriend. MY. Marefriend. “She backed away before I could, though, and we just kind of waved it off as a heat of the moment thing. That’s all I thought it was, too. Not having had... any kind of romantic interlude for a while, I figured that stumbling upon you two... doing that just drove me over the edge or something. I was rather, ooh, what’s the phrase, ‘hot and bothered’? By it all. So I packed up my things, and called a friend to go to lunch, and let myself forget about it. But then lunch happened.” I was doing my best to remain very steady while she spoke, and most of what she said made sense. She hadn’t actually kissed Vinyl, and had moved on and been nice and polite like she always was. And Vinyl seemed to just laugh it off. So no real damage done. “Ok, so what happened at lunch?” My voice spiked a high note at the end of my sentence, as I tried to keep myself steady and failed. If she noticed, she was polite enough not to say anything. “Well, I was having a conversation with Beauty Brass at the time...” and she talked about her verbal slip-up, and how she’d spent the whole time telling her friend, and Latte, about how she didn’t have feelings for Vinyl and they weren’t doing anything untoward. “We even had a laugh about Vinyl’s snoring, actually. She’s a rather nice lady. But then we walked home, and Beauty Brass was still convinced I had feelings for Vinyl. So we talked, more like argued, actually, the entire way home. And, I mean, she did make some sense, but I was convinced it was just an amicable slip of the tongue. I mean, saying ‘I love her’ in polite conversation isn’t a confession of emotions, it’s an appreciation of character! But then I got home, and talked to Vinyl a little, and realized that maybe Beauty was right. I mean, I don’t love her, that would be absurd. But I can’t help but acknowledge that I’m attracted to her, and it’s only been getting worse since we started living together. I’m afraid of what will happen if I stay too close to her.” I didn’t really know what I should have been feeling at the time. Jealousy, sure. That was there. I was also a little angry. But it’s not like she’d done anything bad. In fact, telling me as soon as she thought it could become a problem was actually the appropriate thing to do. So I tried not to be mad at her, and instead discuss things rationally. “Ok. I can see why you don’t want to stay here. So how about this: you hang around long enough to get your stuff into storage, and call some of those friends of yours. I’m sure you can find someplace to stay while you look for an apartment, and from what I understand you have a decent budget to work with. That shouldn’t take you long.” Octavia nodded. “Thank you. For... listening, and not getting mad.” “Oh, I’m plenty mad. You tried to kiss my marefriend, and you’re sitting here telling me you’re attracted to her? I’m more than a little peeved. BUT,” I added, as she opened her mouth to defend herself. “I’ve been spending all day yelling at recruits, and have no energy left to yell at you. Especially since you’re basically homeless right now. You’re also handling this very responsibly. So as long as you don’t try anything else, and find someplace new, I can move past this. You’re a good pony, Octavia. I like you just fine. Vinyl thinks of you as a friend. And there was no actual kissing involved, so I don’t think there’s really any damage done. Now, I’m going to go up to bed. You and Vinyl do your best to get yourselves independent again, and we’ll look back on this and laugh. But right now? I need to sleep.” Octavia nodded, thought about saying something else, then thought better of it. “Thank you, Spitfire. Goodnight.” “Good night, Octavia.” I looked up from the couch, mostly composed by now, as Octavia walked into the room. “So, what was that about?” She looked up at me in mild surprise, as if forgetting I was there. “Oh! Nothing special. Just some... work stuff I’m dealing with that might make our arrangement... difficult. I didn’t want to talk about it too much, it’s kind of embarrassing. But I figured she ought to know before I... before she extended the offer to stay.” “So are you gonna?” I laid myself out on the couch lazily while she took up an armchair. Octavia shook her head. “Mmm. Not too long. Just enough to get my stuff into storage. I’m going to try to stay with a friend of mine for a while. It just makes things easier on... me. And other ponies.” I nodded, slightly bummed we couldn’t hang out more, but that’s life. “So where’s my amazingly sexy marefriend?” “Oh, she said something about going to bed early. It’s been a long day for her.” The cogs turned in my head. “Going... to ... bed?” From upstairs: “VINYL!” Octavia leveled a disapproving stare at me. “Ok, maybe this time it is my fault.” Author's Note Well, that's the end of this arc. The next one should be rather busy. Stay tuned. Fallout! at the DiscoChapter 17: Fallout! at the Disco I really don’t say enough how much I hate cleaning. I mean, I really, really hate cleaning. I hate the smell of disinfectants. I hate mops and brooms and buckets of soapy water. Hell, it’s almost enough to make me hate sponges. But I mean, come on. That’s ridiculous. How can you hate sponges? They’re so cool. They’re all squishy and they’re great for baths and you can tie ‘em to your hooves and skate across the floor. Which I wish I could do right now, but that requires magic. And Spitfire said no magic. So maybe I should back up just a little bit. That part where I rifled through my marefriend’s stuff? Well, after she went through the painstaking task of using that entire collection in that little box I found on me, she punished me by making me clean the house. Without magic. I tried to argue that I had a gig and needed to sleep and all that, but as it turns out the thing about having a marefriend with such a busy schedule as to constantly conflict with yours is that she checks your schedule to see when you’ll both be free. So yeah, right now, I’m all about cleaning the kitchen floor. Which Tavi is enjoying just a little bit too much. “Vinyl, you seem to have missed a spot,” she jeered from her coffee-sipping perch on a nearby stool. “Yeah, I forgot to wipe that smirk off your face,” I growled back, digging at a stubborn piece of god-knows what stuck to the tile. “Look, Tavi, just because I have work to do doesn’t mean you can sit there and make fun of me for it. We’ve both gotta find new places to live, and when I’m done here we have to move all our shit into storage.” “My stuff isn’t shit, Vinyl Scratch, it’s-” “-an expression. Sweet Celestia it’s just a catch-all word. And I did say ‘our’ shit. I’m not about to go admitting that my seven thousand bit turntable system is a piece of crap,” I countered, finally digging out the piece of... what the hell is this?... out from between the tiles. “Aha!” I kept scrubbing for a little while when I realized it had gotten really quiet. I couldn’t even hear sips. So I turned to look at Octavia, who for all of Equestria had the expression of one who’d recently been assaulted by a donkey fart. “Ok, what?” “...that turntable costs seven thousand bits?!” she finally spat out. The disbelief on her face would be priceless if I weren’t mildly insulted. “Um, yes? Did you really think I’d do what I do for a living with anything less than the best I could find? That turntable’s not even on the market yet. It was a gift from the manufacturer after my last album doubled their sales.” Exposition, why do you feel so good? “A... gift? A seven thousand bit gift? But... how?! Who would just hand over that much money’s worth of equipment for free?!” she cried, the coffee mug in her hoof shaking. “Because it makes them more money, duh.” Jeez, it’s like she doesn’t get how marketing works. “How does that work?!” ...oh sweet baby Luna give me strength. “Ok, it’s like this. I get new, high-end, unreleased equipment, and use it in al of my gigs. With me so far?” Octavia nodded, setting her cup down. “Then, once it’s actually available on the open market, every wannabe DJ and underground spinster who listens to me and aspires to be better buys the same thing. Then, when they develop a new model, they ship one to me so I can test drive it til it cries. Then I send it back with a list of all the stuff that’s wrong with it. And they fix it, send it back, and I use it to make an album. Lather, rinse, repeat.” She seemed to consider this for several moments, at which point I went back to cleaning. After a small silence filled only by the sound of scrubbing, I heard from behind me, “So you get the newest models to make other ponies want them? And to... ‘test drive’ them?” “Yup. And when I get the new model I hock the old one, with my signature on it, for about fifteen large a pop.” Wait for it. Pbbththtbththtbth. There it is. Coffe everywhere. “Dammit Tavi I have to clean that!” “Fuh-fuh-fuh-fifteen THOUSAND?! What do you DO with all that money?!” I turned to look at her, again, and gave her a disbelieving expression. “I live in Canterlot.” “...oh. But wait, even I don’t make that much! Where does it all go?!” she put her mug down again and got off the stool. I think she might be worried she’d fall off of it. “You make it sound like I make that much every month or so. I only sell my tables once every year and a half. They don’t exactly churn out new models like crazy, you know,” I sighed, putting my rags down. “But... they’re always talking about new models! The whatever 5000 or 6000, or-” I cut her off with a hoof. “That’s not newer models. That’s the same model with new stuff. I only ever run the first in any model series. They come out with the 5xx and 6x crap when they want to milk the market. Any pony worth his salt behind the tables knows the first model they release is always the best in it’s class. All the extra stuff just makes the job harder. And even if it wasn’t, with all the time I spend getting used to each new deck, if I tried to keep up one upgrade at a time I’d be out on my ass in a week.” Octavia nodded, looking like she was trying to understand. “Ok, I guess that does make a sort of sense. I mean, making fifteen grand in a month would be a bit ridiculous.” I smiled, happy to have this conversation over with. “Yeah, I mean, if I made the extra fifteen on top of the fourteen a month I get it’d be pretty absurd.” “FOURTEEN?!” Hoh boy. I half expected the house to be a wreck when I got back. I partially expected them to be gone when I got home. I had also prepared myself for fighting, laughing, eating me out of house and home, or ridiculously loud music. What I did not expect was quiet. Psychic, I am not. I looked around the rather still house, and saw that Vinyl had, indeed, cleaned it. I’d ask Octavia in a bit if she’d used any magic, but honestly I didn’t care that much. I just didn’t want to do it myself. I figured Vinyl would swindle Octavia into being lax about it or something. I could tell they hadn’t left because the front door was unlocked, and lights were on. I looked around the first floor, and saw not a lot of anything. Just a clean house. They must be taking a nap. Or Octavia’s gone and Vinyl’s sleeping. I ran through a bunch of scenarios. I work around locker rooms, drill sergeants, and training courses all day. I also live with Vinyl Scratch. Quiet makes me paranoid. “Vinyl?” I asked tentatively, when I got to the top of the stairs. “Over here,” I heard, and I looked down the hallway. She was standing outside her bedroom door, staring at it pensively. Which worried me more than the silence did. “You ok?” I asked quietly, as if not to startle her. “Huh?” she glanced over to me. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe. It’s Octavia that’s being weird. She locked me out of the room.” I sighed. Now this, I could understand. “What did you do?” “Nothing!” she said defensively. Then paused. “Ok, I may have told her how much I make a month.” I was confused. “...how is that a bad thing?” She shrugged. “Tartarus-sauced if I know. She just-” And then the door swung open. “It’s offensive! You make twice my salary, Vinyl! TWICE!” I looked from Octavia to Vinyl and back. “Really? You only make nine thousand a month? How?!” Her eyebrow twitched, and her eyes shrunk dangerously. She glared at Vinyl. “You said it was only fourteen.” Vinyl raised an eyebrow, then the other one, as her eyes went wide. “Um... I may have forgotten royalties?” “Raaaaagh!” Octavia screamed, slamming the door again. I heard the distinct sounds of locking. I felt my eyebrows trying to decide if they wanted to be raised or not. “How... how does she survive in Canterlot on seven thousand bits a month?! Isn’t she a socialite? In therapy?!” Vinyl looked just as confused as I was. “I have no idea. I mean, I have maybe a thousand left over after paying my insurance, my rent (no thanks for that, by the way), my equipment upkeep, my transportation, my contract fees, all the studio costs, and food, utilities, and miscellaneous crap.” “Right? My health insurance is obscene. Not to mention the maintenance costs on a cloud home, my Stunt Flying license every year, and all the non-music-y stuff you just said. Who the hell can afford to live on seven k here?!” Vinyl was about to respond when the door slowly swung open. “You... really have all those expenses?” Octavia asked sheepishly, from behind the door. “Well, yeah? Don’t you? I mean, being a professional and attending all of those socialite gatherings can’t be cheap? Who pays for all of that?” “...mm mdr,” she mumbled. Vinyl tilted her head. “What?” Octavia looked at both of us, and sighed, looking more resigned than I’d seen her in a while. “My mother.” Now, I know that my mother’s identity is no secret. Treble Melody is a name most everypony in the music industry knows. Once a beautiful and successful singer and actress, she ruled over the stage and screen like it was made simply because she’s asked for it. She was talented, gorgeous, influential. Now she’s rich, crazy, and bored. Both of which are extremely dangerous combinations in Canterlot. The three of us sat in the living room while I explained things. “I honestly thought you two had somepony covering your expenses like I did mine. I’d always been brought up around ponies who’s lives were literally in somepony else’s hoof the entire time. It’s... rare to see somepony who’s come this far and been this successful entirely on their own. And stayed there.” They both looked mildly insulted, but I kind of expected that. Seeing it on Vinyl’s face, though, was almost painful. My ‘crush’ was getting worse. “So, what are you saying?” Spitfire asked, rather smoothly. I could tell she wasn’t entirely pleased by my explanation. I sighed, staring in to my lap. “When I was growing up, money was never an issue. I had all the things I ever wanted. I won’t bore you with yet another ‘my parents were never around’ story. That’s bread and butter around here. But When I first started out the only thing I had to trade on was my mother’s name. Eventually, I was able to maintain my reputation on my skill alone, but I’ve still had to rely on the family fortune to pay for everything but my bare necessities. I was rather adamant that I pay my own rent and utilities. But my mother, the... eccentric individual that she’s become, has been adamant that I make use of the family fortune. ‘A Melody should not be ashamed of their accomplishments, or their background,” she’d say. She takes it as an insult when I don’t actively utilize our money. Vinyl stared at me for a long time. Finally, she said, “Can we trade parents?” “...what?” “I’m totes serious. You have a mom that is actively disappointed when you don’t mooch. How the hell did you pull that off?” she laughed. I felt some of the tension leave the room at her joke. “Well, it’s not exactly easy. I’m not really a big fan of all those parties, but my mother’s biggest stipulation is that if I’m going to use the family fortune I’m going to contribute to the family reputation. She basically parades me around, and in return, I get to live at what is apparently half the cost of living in Canterlot as normal.” Spitfire nodded sagely. “I can understand how that would be a bit of an annoyance. It’s like, they’re trying to make your accomplishments their own, right? My dad’s like that. Ex-military type, he is.” I could only partially agree. “Kind of. She does flaunt my success, but somehow makes it all about me. She turns me into the biggest deal in the room whenever we go anywhere together. It’s more like it’s hard to live up to the reputation somepony like Treble Melody has built up for you every day.” Vinyl smiled that wicked ‘I know something you don’t’ smile of hers. Part of me melted. I was getting used to her mischievousness. Even worse, I was growing to like it. “So I bet she totally flipped her wig when you told her about the Pony Pokey incident, right?” I cringed. “Actually, she... laughed. It was kind of scary. She thought it was the funniest thing in the world.” Vinyl’s eyes widened as Spitfire rolled hers. “I’d heard Treble had gone off the deep end in her later years.” “Truer words never spoken,” I muttered. God, if she were to meet these two. If she met Vinyl and Spitfire... “Tavi? What’s wrong? You have that look Vinyl gets whenever she has a ‘bright idea.’” I smiled at both of them, and got down from the couch. “Girls, pack a bag. We’re going to visit my mother.” Spitfire and Vinyl paused for a moment, then turned to glare at each other. “This is all your fault,” they said in unison. Author's Note Yeah! Did you miss me? I missed you! You people are going to love Treble Melody. I've read so many stories where Octy's parents are either stuck up themselves to the point they collapse into a quantum event, or homebody hick types. Nuh-uh. Not. This. Time. A Disaster Waiting to HappenChapter 1: A Disaster Waiting to Happen Now, I’d like to think of myself as a reasonable pony. I’m calm, collected, well-bred and polite, or so I try. A large part of me wants to believe that I can keep my temper under any circumstances (outside of having my performances blatantly interrupted). Lately, that has not been the case. I don’t know where things went wrong. I really don’t. I’d like to say it all started with my performance at the Grand Galloping Gala that started my life going downhill, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, I actually started making MORE money, and playing more and in greater venues. Apparently, as an apology, Princess Celestia mentioned to somepony that our ensemble was the best she’d heard in awhile, and it was a shame we didn’t get to finish. If you’ve never had a Princess vouch for you personally, go out and make that happen. It’s rather ridiculous how effective it is. No, that wasn’t the start. I was making more money, like I said, and as a reward decided to move myself into a nicer apartment uptown. A rather cozy, spacious one bedroom on the 31st floor of the building, it was more than enough room for me, and just short of being enough room for two. If that makes sense. I thought it was perfect. For the first time, I felt like I was living as a member of high society. And then my neighbor happened. I like to think I’m a pretty chill mare. Colts like me, I play great music. I play AWESOME music. I host outrageously amazing parties and get invited BY THE PRINCESS to play AT WEDDINGS. Hence all the cash. Princesses ROCK. But anyway, like I said. I’m a cool cat. Er... pony. Whatever. Ponies love me. Well, most ponies. I think it all went South of the border when I decided to get a new apartment thanks to all the popularity, cash, and outright swag I was carrying around. Had to have a better place to put it all. Really, a girl can only carry so much awesome without having to put it down every now and then. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ponyville was sweet. Great ponies, folks who really knew how to PARTY, and a bunch of crazy-awesome stuff happened ALL the TIME. Like once, the God of Chaos showed up. Discord. He turned my amps into giant bowls of pasta. I was so stoked. I’d probably have been more upset if everything hadn’t gone back to normal in like, a day. Like it usually does. I didn’t need to eat for a week. But I thought it was time to move on. I was getting some really fancy gigs, which usually meant going to Canterlot, either to play there or take an airship somewhere else. An AIRSHIP. How cool is that?! Then that snooty-tooty across the hall happened. My first impression, and I’m ashamed to admit this, but it’s true, was that someone had hired a working girl for the evening. Surely someone as boorishly put-together as this didn’t live in such a high-rent locale? Then she asked me, “Hey, you my new neighboor? Sweet.” I was shocked. However, I like to think I maintained my composure. But really, who wears hoodies in the summer? And what the devil was with those sunglasses? “Um, yes, I am. My name is Octavia Melody. It’s... it’s nice to meet you.” Courteous, punctual, to the point. A proper introduction. And then, “Oh, that’s cool. Octavia Melody? That’s a sexy freakin’ name. I’m Vinyl Scratch. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Best DJ in Equestria? Turntable Mistress to the STARS?” Oh my god she’s a crazy pony. “Um, no, I’m sorry, I can’t say I have. I don’t really... listen to music that requires a... a DJ.” Just be cool, be calm. “Oh, no sweat. You probably like Jazz and Classical stuff, right? That’s cool. I love jazz.” Oh, thank god. She has some taste. Finally. “Yes, I’m rather fond of jazz-” Then her eyes lit up. I don’t know how I could tell behind those shades, but I could. It was the eyebrows, I think. “THAT is super sexy. You are without a doubt the prettiest mare I’ve seen in Canterlot for like, the entire time I’ve been here.” “Um...” I honestly didn’t know what to say. “Th-thank you?” She giggled a little. “Hey, you wanna go out for dinner or something? I haven’t actually lived here that long, but I’ve visited a bunch of times. Never got a chance to try any of the restaurants or bars here.” Be polite, she’s just being sociable. “I... guess we could do that...” “SWEET! I have like a flankload of stuff to unpack, so how about later tonight? I sooo don’t feel like cooking after moving all this bunk.” She seemed rather excitable, but genuinely happy. I thought maybe it was a good idea to go along with it. I was very, very, wrong. At first, I thought life was super AWESOME. My neighbor’s a total hottie and I already had a date that night. Life was turning up the volume to eleven. Then we actually WENT somewhere. It was cool at first. Nothing super fancy-shmancy but it wasn’t a total dive. ‘So she’s got some class’, I thought. ‘That’s pretty cool. She looks classy.’ I’d never gone with anyone classy before. Mostly groupies and girls I’d met at bars and stuff. There was that one time with this blue pegasus, but she was a little too athletic and not enough music. I was all excited to be going out with a girl who knew the finer points of music. I mean sure, she didn’t listen to techno or anything, and probably didn’t like rock that much, but jazz was plenty cool. I’d listened to enough of it while trying to put together some Electroswing. I even had like, two albums. TWO. So we end up at this place called Dusky’s. It sounded a little like a bar, but Tavi ( that’s what I call her) told me that it was named after the owner, who’s special talent was... something night-related. I wasn’t really paying attention to details. I did like the ambiance. At least, it didn’t suck. It was all dark and kind of moody, but not like those crappy emo clubs. Just candlelight and smooth jazz in the corner. I wanted to fall asleep. Not my fault. So we get a table or whatever, and we sit down. So far, so good, right? I’ve been kicked out of similar places much faster. It’s usually the hair. I think they knew Tavi or something, cause they just gave me a look, then talked to her and sat us down. Hey, as long as I got food, right? Then we started talking. It was okay at first, just normal conversation stuff. How long have you been in Canterlot? Where do you play? What are you having for dinner? Then she asked me a harder question. “Um, Ms. Scratch-” “Vinyl, please,” I hate Ms. anything that isn’t a cool stage name. “Oh, ok. Um, Vinyl, can I ask you something?” She seemed kind of timid, or something. I thought it was just nerves. I am pretty cool. Or maybe it was the whole of the restaurant giving us looks. Whatever. “Sure, go ahead.” Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? “Why do you wear sunglasses everywhere?” Ding ding ding. The million dollar question. Literally everypony EVER has asked me that question. But she couldn’t have known that, so I decided to be cool about it. “Well, the fancy answer I give everyone is that they’re AWESOME. But really?” “Mm-hmm?” she leaned forward. I figured I’d tell her the truth. Classy girls really dig honesty, you know? “I’m partially colorblind. These lenses are tinted to help me compensate. With the kind of work I do, reading levels on audio equipment and working with laser lights and all that, being able to see the whole spectrum is kind of important. I don’t like taking them off because the change is so drastic it usually causes me problems trying to readjust.” “Oh, I had no idea. That’s...” she seemed a little off-put. I guess she saw it as more of a personal question than I did. “Nah, nah, it’s ok. Besides, it’s kinda cool to wear em wherever I want. Freaks some people out, you know?” True story. “You... um, like freaking people out?” She raised an eyebrow. So cute. “I like keeping ponies on their toes. Everypony is so complacent nowadays. I think people should be more focused on the world than their own heads, you know?” Then she got a little huffy. “Surely there’s a better way to do that than dressing so... weird all the time.” Excuse me? “Weird? It’s not like I get a whole lot of choice. Sure, I could change the frames and stuff, but who’d want to. These are great.” She gave me a once-over, and all of a sudden seemed... disapproving. “You’re wearing a hoody. I’m pretty sure THAT isn’t prescription.” “Ok, what? I just happen to like this hoodie. I feel confident in this hoodie. I thought that might be important when I’m on a date.” Jeez, what was her problem? “A date?! You think this is a date?!” She shrieked. Like bad microphone feedback. Oh, boy, here we go. I couldn’t believe she thought we were on a DATE. The nerve! “I agreed to go to dinner with you because you were new in town. I was being POLITE.” “You’re joking, right? I spend like, five whole minutes hitting on you, then I ask you to dinner and you say yes? How am I supposed to NOT think that this was a date?!” I could feel a rather large migraine coming on. Something I wasn’t used to. “Hitting on me? That was more like sexual harassment! But of course you wouldn’t recognize someone just being polite. I doubt you have any experience in the matter.” That might have been a bit harsh, but I was angry. “Oh, sure! Just because our jobs and lifestyles are different I don’t know how to be courteous? I was going to pay here, treat you to a nice dinner at a restaurant you said you liked, and walk you home!” “Walk me home?! We live ACROSS THE HALL from each other!” I couldn’t believe this mare. She obviously thought I was going to... do... things... with her. “You’re just trying to get me into bed, aren’t you?” “Excuse me?! I HAVE a three-date rule, you know. Obviously that doesn’t mean anything now, so let me save you the trouble of walking all the way back to the apartment with me. I’m leaving!” And she did. She slammed her hoof on the table to punctuate her sentence, and stormed out. I ended up having dinner alone that night. It wasn’t very comfortable. But it’s not my fault. Author's Note Ok, so I’ve been floating around the Internet looking for good Octavia/Vinyl stories, because they’re my favorites. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy is brilliant, and of course The Vinyl Scratch Tapes are a favorite, especially since they started doing an audio show of it on Youtube. But there just wasn’t enough. Either it had OC’s (which I’ve grown to dislike greatly, even my own), or they were too short, or the Octavinyl was an afterthought. So I have decided to do at least a little something about the disturbing lack of Octavia/Vinyl fanfictions. Namely, writing one. Now, if you are a regular reader of mine, you’ll know that I have a tendency to not finish my books. Except that one. Which I’m not a fan of. But instead of trying to create a great big epic story that spans chapter after chapter and has a bunch of different people doing different adventurous things, I’m just going to put these two in a room and see what happens. Well, not literally, but that’s basically the gist of it. Have fun. This Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really.Chapter 5: This Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really. Tavi was gone, I was back in my apartment, and I was thoroughly confused. We both were. “What just happened?” Spitfire looked almost as dazed as I did. And she wasn’t even IN the room at the time. “I, have no idea. I think... no, I’m pretty damn sure that was hate sex.” “...wow. Who knew she was that kind of pony?” Spitfire seemed to be contemplating something. “Heck, I don’t know if SHE knew. Did you see how much she apologized? And not to be mean (ok, totally to be mean), she was completely amateur the first time.” I rolled me eyes. “You could tell she hadn’t had much, if at all-” “Wait, wait, wait. The first time?!” Her eyes got wide. “OH yeah. When she found out she’d just thrown me against a wall in front of the Captain of the Wonderbolts it was like watching Jekyll and Hoof. She did a total 180 and went at me again.” “...so how was it the second time?” I still couldn’t believe the first one had happened. It was like telling a science fiction story around a campfire. “Totally much better. The first time, I swear, she had no idea what she wanted. I think she just thought sex was sex and that was it. But when we actually got down to it it was like she didn’t know whether or not she wanted to punish me or satisfy herself. Awkward.” “So what did she settle on?” “Just gettin’ her jollies on. I can’ pretty much guarantee she doesn’t know enough about sex to properly punish someone, but EVERYPONY knows enough to have fun.” Spitfire laughed at that. “Ok, look, the rehearsal thingy is in like, an hour and a half or something. I’m pretty sure they need you there early. And besides, my team’s probably freaking out without me there. Either that or they’re doing Field Day again.” “Gonna go rain on their parade?” “Like a badass.” I grinned at her, and gave her a hug. “Keep in touch. Something tells me I’ll need somepony with their head on straight to survive this place.” “Then you are truly and thoroughly screwed. I’ll see you later, Vinyl,” she squeezed one last time, and flew out the window. Alright, time for rehearsal. Time to get busy. Time. To be AWESOME. “Frederick, I swear to Luna, if you talk about this to anypony I will string you up with piano wire and play the theme to Titanic with your teeth.” That came out in more of a growl than I’d like, but it had the desires effect. He obviously wasn’t going to tell anyone. We made our way backstage, meeting up with the other half of the quartet, and everypony else who was filing in for the rehearsal. I recognized a couple of big names, but didn’t see Vinyl yet. Beauty Brass took one look at me and was about to say something, when I shoved a hoof in her mouth. “One word. ONE. And you will live in that sousaphone. And how does everypony know, anyway?” Beauty Brass muffled through my hoof. “Oh, sorry.” “Pah! It’s you’re bowtie.” She pointed at my neck. “Hey, bowties are cool!” I argued, looking down. “They’re also... on... upside down. Oh, dammit.” I took a moment to correct my fashion error, and looked myself over in the mirror. I hadn’t had a chance to fix my mane, so it was down around my eyes a little, and looking a little shaggy. Not like it’s usual pomf on the top of my head. “Oh, for the- I don’t have time to fix this!” Frederick grinned. “I like it better this way.” “Oh shut up. I’ll be in the dressing room, doing what I can to save it.” I trotted my way down a hallway off to the side, and found a large dressing room that, as of current, was absolutely packed. A stylist walked by me with part of a glance, then froze and rushed back. “Oh, my, darling! What happened to you?!” I tried to think of a good excuse. I couldn’t. “Um... it’s... sex hair. I had sex.” She cheered up a little. Curious, where had I seen her before? “Oh, well that’s all well and good, darling. Celestia knows even the best of us need to relieve some stress before a big shindig like this. Here, let me help you.” Before I could argue, she dragged me off and threw me into a chair. “Now, how shall we do this?” “Um, I’m a cellist in a quartet, so-” “OH! Say no more! I have the perfect thing!” And she rushed off. She came back with a little wooden box and some mane care products, she went to work. And she was done faster than I could believe. I loved it. Instead of my usual poof of hair up top, she’d tied the whole thing into a little oriental bun, with two little sticks pointing out of it. I don’t remember what they’re called. But it looked perfect. “That... that is wonderful. Thank you so much.” I marveled at my reflection. “Absolutely. Now, let me get you some literature.... here!” She dropped a magazine in my lap, the cover of which featured a mare with the same hairstyle. “You can keep those pins, and if you ever want to do it yourself, just read up in there. It takes a little styling product, but it’s very effective.” I got up and shook her hoof. “Well thank you very much, Ms...” “Rarity! Ms. Rarity! Please do tell everypony you feel like about me!” I knew it. I KNEW I’d seen her. “Thank you, Ms. Rarity, I will.” I trotted politely out of the room, then made a little more haste than usual returning to the group. The less exposure I had to any of the Element Bearers the better. They were all, by reputation and experience, completely insane. The group at least seemed to approve of my new style. “Oh, that looks great!” Beauty Brass cheered. Harpo and Frederick just nodded knowingly. About that time, a coordinator called for attention, and we all started getting to work. I hadn’t been at the rehearsal for more than twenty minutes before a hundred ponies were talking to me all at once. Well, really, it was like three, but they didn’t shut up. There was this coordinator that was running me through the schedule like I didn’t know how to run my own equipment, this A/V guy who kept asking questions about the specs on my rig, and this reporter mare who’d snuck in and was badgering me with questions. Probably because I still had that after-sex look. I somehow wriggled past all of them and got to my battlestation. Good. Nopony had touched anything. Everything was on, working properly, and I had all my records. This one stage stylist walked by and gave me a look, sighing heavily. She didn’t like the glasses. “Well, at least you did something about the spiky in your hair.” She huffed, and trotted on. Wait, what? My spikes? I didn’t have my spikes?! This. Was. Awful. I tore my way down the hall, and rushed into the dressing room. I grabbed the first stylist I could, and told her (more like yelled in her direction) “I NEED MY SPIKES.” She seemed a little dazed, but shook out of it in no time. Then she seemed to recognize me. And I her. “Vinyl!” “RARARA!” “... I HATE that name.” She grumbled. “Listen, no time to chat. My spikes are gone. Long story. Can you fix it?!” She pulled out some styling gel and a pair of scissors. “Oh, it. Is. ON.” (insert manecare montage here) Rarity spun me around in the mirror, and BAM. Just like new. “Excellent, thanks, Rara- I mean Rarity.” Hey, she still had scissors in her hoof. “So what happened to you?” She asked. Ever the gossip. I figured I’d feed her something. “Ok, I’m not telling who, or details, cause I gotta go, but I totally had sex like an hour ago. Twice. Later!” And I ran back to my battlestation. I probably should do something about how much I like to gossip. Even back in Ponyville I was notorious for it. But it’s so much FUN. And Vinyl?! Well, I knew she liked a little bit of fun more than other ponies, but right before a big rehearsal? That would make two ponies I get to gossip about! That had sex! ...at about the same time. “Oh. MY. GOD!” We had just finished our performance, about halfway into the rehearsal, when it happened. Up to that point, nothing bit had occurred. Everypony knew their place, and was doing their job. Even Vinyl was doing remarkably better than I’d have given her credit for. Of course, she WAS DJ Pon-3. Even Frederick had admitted, “Ok, now I can see it.” But after my performance, we were still all expected to hang around in the audience. A courtesy to the other musicians. Even if we weren’t nominated. Oh well. You can’t win at everything. We were sitting at our table when somepony I think I should have known, a lead singer for a rock band or something like that, walked by our table. He winked at me. I didn’t think much of it at first. I’d been getting approving looks and comments on my mane randomly throughout the night. I would have to keep it like this. Then Beauty Brass chimed in, “Ooh, that stallion was giving you a look, Octavia! You should go talk to him.” “A look? Please. A wink, yes. That did happen. But it wasn’t that kind of look.” The thing about denial is that you usually deny being in denial. “Besides, he... wasn’t my type.” “Oh, right, right. I forgot, you-OOF.” I kicked her under the table. “Ok, ok.” And I thought that was the end of that. But throughout the night, I would get looks, comments, and some rather unladylike gestures from all sorts of people. I had no idea what was going on. And it was getting very annoying. Nothing really major occurred, however, until after the rehearsal. Ponies got they’re awards, gave their speeches, and played their pieces, just like usual. It was when everypony was filling out of the building at the end of the night did I finally put together what had happened. Or rather, somepony else told me. Namely, a reporter. I hadn’t gotten more than ten paces out the front door when somepony shoved a camera and microphone in my face, and bombarded me with questions. At first it was all lights and noise. Then I heard Vinyl’s name mentioned, and I snapped my head around to look at the reporter. “What? Could you repeat that?” “I SAID, what’s it like dating the infamous DJ Pon-3?!” What. She did NOT just ask that. I haven’t told ANYONE here about that. And the few who guessed I threatened violently. ...except Vinyl. I never told Vinyl not to tell anypony. “Rrrrrrrr.......” I started to growl. I felt like an engine revving up. “Miss Octavia, what was it like bedding the most voracious DJ in Equestria?” “Is this a continued relationship, or has Octavia Melody become another conquest of the infamous Vinyl Scratch?” They just kept throwing questions at me, until I finally snapped. “rrrrrRRRRRRR VINYL SCRATCH!” I roared. I felt righteous. Furious. Filled with a violent passion like nothing I’d ever been privy to. I charged through the audience, knocking over some rather unfortunate souls on the way out. I tore down the streets of Canterlot, right up to my apartment. I didn’t even wait for the elevator. I took the stairs two at a time. I got to our floor just in time. She was just putting the key in the lock. “VINYL!” “Huh? Wuh-oh!” She tried to run, but I had some much momentum at that point I tackled her just as she turned around. Then, the tried and true method of getting her attention, I pinned her to the wall. “WHAT is your problem! Telling everypony we had sex! I look like an absolute TRAMP! ON NATIONAL TELEVISION!” Then she had the gall to get defensive. “Hey, I didn’t tell anypony about you! The only ponies that know I had sex are Spitifre, you (duh), and Rarity. And ol’ Rarara doesn’t even know who it was I had sex with!” “Why you... you... you know Rarity?” I was so confused all the wind had gone out of my sails. “And you... told her... you had sex...” “Yeah, duh. She loves gossip. But I didn’t tell her your name! I mean, come on. Even I’M not THAT petty.... most of the time.” “Oh... oh my god. And I told her I’d had sex. She’d put that together in a heartbeat. Oh my god. We just told the worst gossip in Equestria all about our sex life!” I wanted to cry. I let go of Vinyl and sat down in the middle of the hall. “Wait, so this is YOUR fault, too?! AWESOME!” I was starting to recognize a pattern. There were certain moments when I would just get so angry, and so frustrated, that there was only one thing I could think about. I... well, the best word for it is that I snapped. I grabbed her by the collar in one hoof and pinned her to the wall again. She must have seen something in my eyes, because she said “... hate sex?” “Hate sex.” Author's Note Author’s note: Shit has hit the fan, folks. There’s a storm a’comin’. So, I have a few of you following this train wreck as it happens, so please, let me know what you think. Like, actual criticism. I am braced for impact. GO.
Stormfront AheadChapter 2: Stormfront Ahead I couldn’t believe how pissed off I was at that snobby elitist mare. Nopony’s ever been that rude during a date with me. ...I mean, I might have, others have told me so, but I’ve never argued like that on the first date. That usually takes months. I’ve never admitted to being great at the whole dating thing. But still, I was pissed. I hadn’t had anything to eat yet, and I was freakin’ exhausted from moving all my stuff in. At least most of it was unpacked, so I just microwaved something. Compared to what I thought I was going to be eating (heh) that night, my frozen dinner tasted like cardboard. But I wasn’t about to let this ruin things for me. Sure, I had one stuffy neighbor that didn’t like me. I’m used to that. More than I’d like to admit. But I still had a whole building’s worth of ponies to talk to, and hang out with, and stuff. I mean really, how many of them could be like HER? All stuck-up and rude. Yells a lot. Makes a big deal out of little things. Can’t read the atmosphere. Stupid poofy hair. Stupid pristine coat. Great flank. Pretty eyes. ...dammit. Now I was MORE mad. I’d never been so humiliated. Eating alone? Having your date (which it was so very NOT a date), walk out on you before the appetizer even arrives? Who does that to a pony. Honestly, the sheer gall of that girl. It was rather astounding how presumptuous she was. I mean yes, she did make several remarks that could probably only be read as “coming onto somepony”, but she never once used the word date. It was just dinner. I’d only known her for maybe ten minutes, sure. But it wasn’t a date. Even if she did have every reason to suspect otherwise. I hadn’t even opened the door to my apartment before that thought struck me. Even if I hadn’t thought so, she clearly did. And I’d given her no reason to suspect otherwise. Not to mention, my behavior was rather appalling. I’d never lost my temper like that before. So, instead of turning my key in the lock and opening my door, I turned around and knocked on hers. After all, it’s not like I can just live across the hall from somepony, see her everyday, and be so... so... FURIOUS with her. I needed to be the better mare and apologize. It took her a little while to open the door, but there she was. Still wearing those shades. Mind you, I understood why she did, now, so it’s not like I could be mad about it (even though I was, for some stupid reason). “Yeah, what do you want?” She had good reason to be upset. “I... listen, I came back to apologize. Even if I didn’t think it was a date-” “Which it WAS”, she interrupted. “EVEN IF I didn’t think it was a date, I hadn’t taken into account how you felt. I’d given you every reason to think it was, and then treated you very poorly. So... I came to apologize.” I wouldn’t let myself get riled up by her. I was trying to be nice. She looked taken aback, to my surprise. “Oh... um, ok. Wow. Nopony’s ever... I mean... thank you. I appreciate that. Listen, I know trying this whole date thing again probably isn’t going to work-” “EVER.” I interjected. She smiled a little “Yeah, yeah. Even if that doesn’t work, I do appreciate you coming over and apologizing. And taking me somewhere nice for dinner.” I must have had a look on my face, because she quickly corrected herself “ACCOMPANYING me to a nice restaurant where we could have dinner as friends. I never thanked you properly for that. And besides, it would be TOTALLY uncool if we were to like, glare at each other whenever we opened the door at the same time, or whatever, right?” She seamed rather earnest, which I remember thinking was very nice of her. “Yes, that would be a little troublesome.” “So yeah, I should maybe say I’m sorry, too? I did yell at you and stuff, and that’s also so very uncool of me. I mean, come on. I’m the coolest DJ in Equestria. I can’t go around being lame like that all the time!” She puffed up a little in pride, which I was starting to see was a regular trait of hers. “Hey, how about this. We go to lunch tomorrow. NOT a date, just two friends sitting down and having a meal. Like, food-friends. Or something.” I thought about it for a bit. What was the worst that could happen, now that we were on even footing? “Sure. Ok, I think that’s fine.” “Great. Ok, I gotta get some sleep. I have like a BUNCH of work tomorrow morning setting up for a gig tomorrow night. But I should be back here like a little after noon or something.” “Well, aside from practice I have a few days off before a recital this weekend, so I should be around.” “Awesome. Good night, Tavi.” “...good night, Vinyl.” Really, what WAS the worst that could happen? I woke up that morning feeling amazing. I was totally expecting to go to sleep like, really angry last night, but that so did not happen. I was stoked. I had a huge party that night, I had lunch with a crazy gorgeous girl (“EVER”, my flank. I’d get a date out of her eventually. I’m awesome like that.), and the morning view from my apartment was total sunrise GREATNESS. Today was going to be amazing. At least, I thought so. Ok, so it started exactly like I thought it was going to. I got up at sunrise, had breakfast, and went down to the ginormous auditorium I was performing at. It was an invite-only preshow for a huge concert they were having this weekend (which I was ALSO DJing for), some really big party for all kinds of rock and pop artists or something. I think it was an award ceremony or whatever. I stopped paying attention when they showed me the check. Sooooo many zeros. Ok, maybe not that many. But it was awesome. Anyway, that’s not where it started. Like most of what’s gone wrong lately, it started when Octavia showed up. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was going to start hating that name. Now, I’d thought that I was going to wait until I got home to see her, or whatever. But right when I’m getting the last finishing touches on my console set up, she walks in. I recognized her right away. I’d been staring at that flank WAY too long. (Pfft, that’s a lie. No such thing.) So, being the polite and courteous lady that I am (oh shut up), I walked up and said hi. “Hey, Tavi, what’s up?” “Oh, Vinyl! I had no idea you’d be here. Um... what are you doing here?” She raised an eyebrow at me, and I noticed the other three ponies she’d walked in with. They also gave me weird looks. Not like “What’s her problem?” looks, more like, “Who is this AWESOME pony Octavia is talking to?” Obviously. “I’m setting up. We’re doing a preshow tonight for some huge thing this weekend. I gotta make sure everything works right, y’know?” Her eyebrow twitched. “Some... huge... thing?” “Yeah, it’s some kind of award ceremony or whatever. Pretty fancy, huh?” I knew she’d be impressed. The ponies behind her seemed less so, but Octavia just asked calmly, “Vinyl, do you know what award ceremony this is?” I had no idea. “Nope. I just looked at the check and said OK.” There she goes again with the eyebrow twitching. “Well, it’s called the Grammy Awards. It’s one of the most prestigious accomplishments for a musician. And you say you’re... DJ-ing?” She was starting to get all snooty again. But I’d learned my lesson last night. “Well, yes and no. Kind of no. I’m just responsible for all the music that plays when they hand out awards and stuff. There’ll be some live performances and all that that I’ll be helping out with, too. But mostly I’m just getting paid to sit around and play the right music at the right time. Pretty sweet, huh?” Then this stuffy stallion spoke up. “And WHO, exactly, is this... mare you’re talking to, Octavia?” “Her name is Vinyl Scratch. She’s... well, I don’t exactly know WHAT she does aside from DJ-ing. She lives across the hall from me. We’re having lunch later.” She seemed all tense and stuff. I guess she was keeping up appearances or something. “Vinyl Scratch? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.” What a tight-flank. But he gave me a great opening to just knock him off his hooves. “Well, you probably wouldn’t. Most ponies know me as... DJ Pon-3.” I could not BELIEVE what I had just heard. DJ Pon-3? The DJ for Princess Cadence’s wedding? The rising star in the pop music industry? THIS was HER?! “...um, wow, Vinyl. I had no idea you were DJ Pon-3.” I tried to sound rather nonchalant. I think. “That’s ok, Tavi. You already told me you don’t listen to music that requires a DJ. A lot of ponies don’t. Wouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t recognize the shades.” She had that slowly-becoming-familiar arrogance about her. Frederick, or, I should say, the stallion who’d been talking just a moment ago, spoke up. “YOU are DJ Pon-3? I find that rather hard to believe. You expect me to buy that YOU DJ’ed for the PRINCESS?” I hindsight, I should have stopped him talking earlier. Vinyl was getting agitated. “Tavi, please tell me these... ponies aren’t coming to lunch with us.” That had actually been my original plan, but I hadn’t said anything. I’d wanted them to be there so that I had somepony to lean on if things went south again. “Um, no. I just had them come with me, because we’re giving our recital during the awards ceremony. We’re one of the performances.” She raised her eyebrows at that. Which just barely made it over the top of her sunglasses. “Oh, really? That’s pretty cool. Good luck and all. Listen, I gotta finish up. I saw a cafe like a block away this morning, how about we meet there for lunch?” She obviously wanted this conversation to be over. I was inclined to agree. :Yes, that sounds nice. I will see you later.” So far, so good... right? Ok, so she had some stick-in-the-mud friends. They’d warm up to me once they saw my AWESOME performance tonight and this weekend. If they were playing during the awards show, they were going to be there tonight. I’d show them. And totally impress Tavi. My master plan was foolproof. So what happened next was TOTALLY not my fault. Ok, so I got done setting up and stuff, right? Then I went to the cafe. I found Octavia sitting at a table outside, and she waved me down. “Oh, hey, were you waiting long?” I am SO smooth. She smiled politely. “Not very, I just got here myself.” “Great. Let’s see what they have.” I pulled up a menu and perused. (I was getting used to this whole high society thing. Perused. Great word. Just say it for no reason for a while. It’s great. Perused.) We were silent for a bit while we looked at our menus, then Tavi spoke up. “Listen, Vinyl, I’m sorry about Frederick. He’s always very conscious about the ponies he spends time with. His reputation means a lot to him.” “Hey, it’s no biggie. I haven’t played a whole lot in Canterlot, so I’m not surprised he hasn’t seen me before. He must not have gone to the wedding.” He’d know me after tonight, though. “Well, yes. After the Grand Galloping Gala, the Princesses saw it fit to look for more... contemporary music for the wedding. I think the groom had something to do with it, too. Do you know him? Your mane looks a little like his. And your coat...” “Nah. I got that a bit at the wedding. He’s actually Princess Twilight’s older brother. But yeah, no relation.” That’d be sweet, though. Being a Prince’s sister? Heck yeah. “Oh, I see.” She went back to her menu, but something buged me a little. “You said you performed at the Grand Galloping Gala?” She lowered the menu a little. “Um, yes?” “You wouldn’t happen to be... the Canter Quartet, would you?” She paused a little, then put the menu down. She was blushing. “Heh heh... yes. Yes we are.” “I KNEW it!” I smacked my hoof on the bale. A few ponies glared at me for the noise. “My bad. Anyway, you guys are like, really big, aren’t you? Even I’ve heard of you, and I SO don’t do classical.” She seemed to brighten up after that. “Well, I wouldn’t say that... but thank you. That’s... rather sweet.” I mean, I only heard about what happened at the Gala from a friend of mine in Ponyville. She didn’t seem impressed. But then again, I can see her not wanting to sit still for classical music at a party.” A cloudy look came over her face. “A... friend? What would her name be, exactly?” “Huh? Oh, her name’s Pinkie Pie. She’s this awesome party planner. Bit of a sugar addict, but she’s totally cool.” “Totally COOL?!” Uh oh. “She RUINED the biggest performance of my LIFE!” “Hey, hey, calm down. She was just trying to be nice. I mean, she IS the Element of Laughter, right? Not a lot of people laughing during a quarter performance.” She practically rumbled. “WHY am I not surprised you’re FRIENDS with her?! It took me MONTHS to get over that, and even then we barely made it as a performance for the Grammy’s!” Now I was a little miffed. Nopony talks about my friends like that. ESPECIALLY not my friends who have also SAVED the WORLD. “But you’re FINE now, right?! Big ol’ fancy apartment in uptown Canterlot. Playing award shows-” “And ANOTHER thing. It’s not just an ‘Award Show.’ It’s the bloody GRAMMY’S! The most prestigious musical accomplishment possible, and you don’t even know what it’s called! And you’re PART of the CEREMONY! How can ANYpony be this dense?!” She had officially gone nuclear. “Are you kidding? I have more right to be there than you do! If anyone should be at a music awards ceremony, it's a musician who DIDN'T get kicked out of Canterlot and WASN'T made to play for Halloween festivals in Ponyville! I should thank you, by the way. It's entirely because of you and your group I got to DJ that wedding! Think about THAT the next time you decide to yell at me for no reason!" I didn't give her a chance to respond, I just stormed off, and went home. NOT my fault. Author's Note Author’s note: Ok, so the first chapter was surprisingly fun to write. I think I could get quite a bit out of this story as long as I don’t try to drive it too hard. Nice, short chapters (like the last one, maybe a bit longer) should work fine. Especially for this narrative type. This story gives me a lot of wiggle room to just be a total ass. Not to you guys, of course. To them ^ And why is writing arguments so much damn fun?
Ground ZeroChapter 3: Ground Zero I could not BELIEVE how pissed off I was at that high and mighty... whatever-the-hell-instrument-she-played... -ist. Didn’t care. I’d gone straight home and made myself something to eat. AGAIN. All the while vocalizing my disapproval (others call it bitching, but who cares?) to the unlucky soul who had called me right as I walked in the door: Neon Lights. “I’m telling you, dude, it’s not even cool. She totally trashed on my friends, made fun of my career, ooh, I just wanna strangle somepony!” I yelled in his general direction as I ate, floating the phone around my head. Magic makes everything better. Because MAGIC. “I heard you the first time, Vinyl. Look, you live next door to her, right? You’re going to see a lot of her. The least you could do is find some kind of common ground, or at least call a truce.” I opened my mouth to yell some more, but he cut me off. Somehow, he just knows. “I’m NOT saying you have to like her. Just lay out some ground rules so that you don’t yell at her every time you see her, or something, ok? I’ll be honest. I don’t want every phone call to be about how bitchy your neighbor is. AGAIN.” “...fine. So, listen, about the set tonight.” “Yeah?” he seemed happy to change the subject. “Are the Grammy’s really that big a deal? I mean, I’ve never gotten one.” I could hear the headdesk from over the phone. “I... but... yes. Yes Vinyl, the Grammy’s are a big deal. It is a very huge gig. All those zeros? Yes. It is a BIG. DEAL.” “...Neon, do YOU have a Grammy?” I was curious. I was more interested in the Golden Table awards, anyway. You know, the one for DJ’s? Biggest musical accomplishment for anyone who’s ever touched a turntable? “NO I do NOT have a Grammy because that NO TALENT MOTHERFU-” I won’t talk about the rest of his rant. It goes on for a while and there’s more important stuff to talk about. So like, after 5 minutes of this, he calms down. “...huff...huff... no. I do not have a Grammy, Vinyl. Although I am going to the awards ceremony.” “Oh, sweet? Are you performing?” I loved working with Neon. He had some of the best gear. We played off each other really well. And to be honest, if I liked stallions, I’d have pinned him to a wall already. “NO I’m not performing! That HACK of an artist Headstone Alive took my-” and off he went some more. It’s good to know you can always have friends to yell at for no apparent reason. It’s therapeutic. I had decided to forgo eating alone at a restaurant I’d been ditched at for the second time, and went back to the auditorium to regroup with my ensemble. They were approximately where I’d left them, getting ready for practice for the invite only rehearsal tonight. I must have looked rather distraught, or at least upset, because Beauty Brass picked up on it right away. “Oh, Octy, are you alright?” She was really a very sweet girl. Much more polite than SOMEpony I know. Parish and Frederick were paying at least some attention. Those two really could be all work. I heaved a much-needed sigh, and told them all the whole story. How I met Vinyl, the dinner that was NOT a date, me apologizing, and the lunch. “WHY am I not surprised she’s friends with that boorish pink disaster?” Frederick’s drawl was filled with disdain. None of us very much liked that pony, but Frederick always made his opinions... readily available. Beauty Brass tried to smile. “Well, it’s not all bad. We’re playing the Grammy’s, right? Anyway, You said you lived across the hall from her?” I tried not to think about that. “Yes. I do.” “Then you should probably try and say something. You don’t have to apologize, or anything like that. But it isn’t healthy to be so mad at someone you see all the time. Like, maybe agree to disagree and just not spend time together? I mean, a hello in the mornings won’t kill you, right?” Brass always had a tendency to be the voice of reason. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that none of us really tried. Well, I might have. I was usually more focused on being right. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. I’m NOT apologizing to her, but you do have a point. Being this angry at somepony I’m going to see every... day... ever...” I tried not to think about it really at all. “Is NOT good for me, nor is it very ladylike. SO yes, I shall have a talk with her. Especially if we may have to work together, being who we are.” The thought disturbed me a little. I should have considered that an omen. So after I finally get off the phone with Neon, and finish eating, I realize I have a whole hell of a lot of time to kill. Like 6 whole hours. I’m already set up, and it’s not like I need to practice how to change songs on a sound system. I mean, really. I even have a little screen that tells me what to play, when. If not for the fact that I was actually involved in some of the performances that evening, they could probably have just paid some random dork to do this job. It just wouldn’t have been anywhere near as cool. SO I tried to think. What could I possibly do in Canterlot for six hours? I don’t really know any good clubs, even if it is the middle of the day. I just ate, and I don’t really like shopping. I tried to think of anypony I might know who lived in Canterlot... Like my best friend on the planet, Spitfire. Duh. I called her up, or, more specifically, called the Wonderbolts Hotline, and waited. Now, you’re probably wondering why I’d be calling the lame, not-being-best-friends-with-the-captain way. Well... “Hello, and thank you for calling the Wonderbolts. If you’d like times and locations for future shows, please press 1. If you’d like-” I just held down 0 for a while. Beep. Some cheesy hold music. “Thank you for holding. How may I help you?” Bingo, just who I thought it would be. “Yes, I’d like to speak to Spitfire.” The ‘operator‘ got all snooty at that. “I’m sorry, the CAPTAIN of the WONDERBOLTS is currently very busy and-” “I know where you hide all your toys at work, Wind Whistle.” Silence. I waited for a moment. “OH! Miss Vinyl! Why didn’t you SAY it was you? Just a second!” Really, it’s just to easy, sometimes. It rang a little more, and clicked. “Hello?” “Guess who lives in CANTERLOT now?!” I all but yelled into the phone. Spitfire gasped. “No. Way.” “Yes way. ALL the way. I’m on the 31st floor of the Blueblood complex. You have ten minutes.” “Please.” I knew she couldn’t resist a challenge. I heard Wind Whistle in the background as Spitfire took off, forgetting to hang up, again. There was some nervous muttering, then Wind Whistle came on the line. “You’re an evil pony, Vinyl Scratch.” “I love you, too. Bye.” Click. Not even four minutes later, I heard a tap on my window. Moving large amounts of loose boxes and furniture out of the way, I cleared a path between the window and the farthest wall. Then I opened the window. One disaster-averted-tackle-hug later, Spitfire is pinning me to the wall on the opposite side of my living room. “Why didn’t you TELL me you moved here?!” I tapped her shoulder. “Can’t... air... off...” She relaxed a little, and I gasped for air. “How long have you been in town?” “All of like, two days.” She looked ‘offended’. “And you didn’t call me? Oh, how cruel!” she threw herself onto the floor in despair. Now, here’s something you might have figured out by now: Spitfire is weird. You’ve probably seen her be all calm and relaxed at a party, schmoozing with guests. Or watched her be all military hard-ass over her cadets. But the real Spitfire? The honest-to-Celestia, right-at-home, being herself Spitfire? She’s a total drama queen, and probably has more energy than I do. How she maintains herself during shows I have NO idea. “Oh, you know you love it. Besides, the only ponies I’ve talked to since I got here are Neon Lights (he just called), and the girl across the hall from me.” Spitfire sat up and gave me a big pleading look. “Girl? Really? Is she hot?” Why yes, my best friend is a lesbian, why do you ask? Little fun fact: in a matriarchal society, being a fillyfooler is actually a lot more common than you think. When pretty much everypony on the planet looks up to and adores a Princess who has nothing but love for her subject, (and if you believe some of the history, has had her fair share of either gender over the millennium), being fond of mares isn’t that uncommon. Not to mention most of my friends are gay. How do you think I met them all? “Yes, she’s hot. But before you get any ideas, allow me to enlighten you, my dear Spitfire...” and I told her everything I told Neon, except without all the yelling. I think. By the time I was done, Spitfire looked more than peeved. “Why that... Pinkie Pie is great. She’s the Element of Laughter! I mean, I have the Element of Loyalty in boot camp right now, is she joking?” “...I don’t see how that means anything to her... How is that new recruit, anyway?” “You know how I’m totally not this amazing all the time? Like, when I’m being all Captain Flankstick or sucking up to the Hoity-Toity’s of the world?” “No. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder if I tried. And I tried. Ow. “Well, she’s like me. A little. The real me, not any of those masks I wear or whatever. Which is as exhausting as ever, thanks for asking. But anyway, she’s totally all about flying and being cool to your teammates and stuff. She’s just... really REALLY enthusiastic. I want to be annoyed, but she reminds me so much of who I want to be ALL THE TIME that I just can’t bring myself to admonish her for it.” She looked almost wistful. Weird. “So what do you do?” Then she smiled like a maniac. That’s better. “Oh, that’s what I have Drill Instructors for.” “...you’re a horrible pony.” “I know, isn’t it great?!” I had to give her a hug. It was good to see her again. Of course, Spitfire being Spitfire, she translated the hug as meaning ‘nibble on my ears.’ “H-hey! Spitfire!” “What? Didn’t you say you had like, 6 hours or something before work?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I gave her a look. Or tried to. Sometimes the shades get in the way of the snark. It’s a necessary evil. “Just because I’m back in town and have free time doesn’t mean we automatically become ‘friends with benefits’ again.” “Yes it does, stop lying.” “... yeah, it totally does.” I ended up having lunch with my ensemble (a civilized meal for once), and made my way back to the apartment to talk to Vinyl. Beauty Brass said I should clear up any hostility before tonight’s show, just to make things easier on everypony else. However, when I got to her apartment, the door was locked. And there was a... Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle. I could also hear noises coming from the apartment. Best not to disturb her... I was a little incensed by the situation, but decided to approach it rationally. You already know she’s a fillyfooler. She’s a much more... sociable and enthusiastic pony than you. She’s also a famous DJ with lots of fans. It just makes sense that she’d have somepony to... spend time with during the day. I still didn’t want to leave things as they were, so I wrote her a quick note, taped it to her door, and went back to practice. That should have cleared things up. The results... MAY not have been my fault. Spitfire and I lay panting on the floor, completely tired. “Hey. Hey Spitfire... what time is it?” She groaned a little, and tilted her head back to look at the wall clock. “It’s only like, 3 or something. Why? Wanna go again?” “No. I mean, not yet. Too tired. But I gotta go... talk to this mare across the hall before the... before the show.” Damn I was exhausted. “What? Why?” SPitfire rolled over and looked at me. “Neon’s idea. I mean, I agree with him. We may not like each other really at all, but I live literally 5 feet from her. And we’re already working together, on the Grammy’s or whatever. So he said I should talk to her, cause being all mad at somepony you see all the time isn’t healthy.” “Pfft, where does Mr. Anderhoof get off being right all the time?” “...Mr. Anderhoof?” “You know. From the Maretrix. Neon Lights? Neo? Mr. Anderhoof?” I rolled my eyes as much as a I could. Which wasn’t a lot. “Try harder, Spitfire.” I rolled over and stood up, and walked over to the shower. It shower helped. A lot. I actually had some energy back. Spitfire climbed in after me, smelling almost as bad. Or good, depending. “So what are you gonna say to this girl?” She yelled over the sound of rushing water. I worked on getting my mane to it’s natural spiky levels of rocktitude. “Don’t know yet. Probably something like ‘Hey, I know we don’t like each other, but let’s NOT be total flankwholes to each other all the time?” She choked on some water laughing. “Sounds legit.” By the time we were both clean it was almost four. I might as well get this over with. Spitfire followed me across the hall, where I knocked on the door. And waited. And knocked again. I was about to knock a third time when Spitfire pointed out, “Hey, Vinyl, you got a note or something.” I turned around to see what she was talking about, and there it was: a little piece of paper with my name on it, folded in half and taped to by door. I peeled it off with magic and read it out loud. “Dear Ms. Vinyl, While I may not condone your actions, and indeed some of mine were regrettable, I have come to the conclusion that us staying mad at each other the entire time we are neighbors would be unhealthy, and could cause some serious problems for each other, and ponies we know. So, it is with hope that we can be amicable to each other in the future that I write this note. I expect we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future, so I would like to clear the air once and for all, and be the bigger pony here. I want you to know that I forgive you. I know some of my behavior was less than acceptable, and I ask that you forgive me, too. I believe that, even if we cannot be friends, we can at least be neighborly. So it is with this hope that I would like to say that I hold no animosity towards you or the company you keep. Respectfully, Octavia P.S. Please get some soundproofing for your door.” I was full of mixed emotions. For the most part, the letter said everything I wanted to. It was basically the same thing I was going over to her place to say. But SHE forgives ME? The bigger pony?! Oh, hell no. Spitfire looked about as mad as I did. “She forgives YOU?! Are you joking?! You know what this means, right?” I did. “THIS. Means WAR.” Author's Note Shit’s about to get real, son. I’m trying to get a good baseline of chapters up so that people new to the story have at least something substantial to read once I get into a more solid update schedule. I have absolutely NO idea how long this story is going to be. Also, you may not agree with how I portray some of the characters. That’s ok. This story is just for fun.
Now Where Did I Leave All That Ordinance?Chapter 4: Now where did I leave all that ordinance? I’d put up with quite a few obnoxious, full-of-themselves ponies in my lifetime. Mostly by taking them down a peg or two. It’s what I do best (along with being Equestria’s premiere DJ). Now, I have a tried and true method of doing things. If someone agitates me, I’ll usually pull a prank or two, and then wait and see what happens. There was no reason for this to be any different. Well, that’s what I thought at first, anyway. “Ok, so do we want to be nice and subtle, or do we do something outright unruly?” Spitfire seemed a little eager to get in on the fun. Mainly because that’s all we did when we were kids. I think she misses that. I kind of do, too. But everypony has to grow up. Just... not all at once. “Patience, my pupil. These things take a certain... touch of class.” ‘Class’ being what I’d ironically nicknamed the Sharpie I used for defamation of public property. Also known as writing on people’s stuff. I scribbled a few words on Tavi’s front door, and, satisfied with my work, moved along like a good little vandal. Spitfire stood around long enough to read it, and burst out laughing. I had to clamp a hoof over her mouth. “Silence, ya shmoe! The coppas will be here any minute!” I scolded her using my best gangster voice, dragging her back into the apartment. It probably would have been much harder to do if I couldn’t just levitate her. Even then... she’s wriggly. This part? Ok, I’ll admit, this whole next part was totally my fault. I regret nothing. I like to see myself as a rational person. I believe I’ve said this before. My band mates, however, may not always be. Beauty Brass? She can be the voice of reason when she wants to, but she becomes irrational and... twitchy about the strangest things. Like her sousaphone. Frederick, while rather self-important, always maintained the same stance on things; he, and by association his friends, were above reproach. He considered anyone close to him to be of the highest caliber of pony and made a point of only associating with people of a similar demeanor. Parish? Well, Parish I believe is the only pony I’ve ever met who could have prepared me for Vinyl Scratch. He is an... unorthodox fellow. Even if he’s maybe uttered all of ten words around me in the years I’ve known him. Now, many ponies often ask me why I chose to play the cello. I give them a variety of answers. But the real reason is that, given how I stand when I use it, and how I have to hold it when I do, that it requires absolute concentration. Pure focus. I can let nothing else in the world interfere. Which has taught me incredible self-control and some rather interesting meditation techniques. I will admit, I do forget to... exercise some of that control in certain situations, but as soon as I have my cello in my hoof I am usually rather calm, serene, and clear minded. The absolute picture of clarity. I- “Dear god, Octavia, what are you doing to that cat?” -was none of those things right now. “I’m sorry, Frederick. I can’t... I can’t focus at all. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s... It’s been a long couple of days. But I can do this. We still have time before the rehearsal. I can do this.” Beauty Brass stared at me with concern. “Is there something we can help you with? Maybe you need a drink?” “NO!” Frederick and I overlapped our protests perfectly. “I mean... no. Drinking on the day of a performance is a rather... uncouth idea.” She seemed hurt after I’d yelled, so I tried to be a bit softer. “Not to mention, you’ve never seen her drunk. There is a reason for this.” Frederick deadpanned, staring at me. I had reason to blush. Thus, I did. “O-oh...” Her voice was soft, understanding. She really was a good mare. “Well, can you think what the problem might be?” “She’s probably horny.” Parish said. If somepony had told me at any point in my life that Parish would say those words, ever, I would have laughed in their face. “...what?!” Having finally processed the fact that, not only did Parish say words, he said THOSE words, the incredulity of the statement finally sank in. “What are you talking about?!” Frederick looked very well like somepony had punched him in the face. “Parish, what was that?” The normally quiet stallion looked from Frederick, back to me, and then sighed heavily. Then he proceeded to say more in the next few minutes than I have ever heard him say before or since. “Look, it’s like that time that kid Noteworthy wouldn’t stop leaving her alone two or three years ago. Octavia, I like you, and you’re gorgeous, but you’re also very hard to approach. My guess is that, aside from the few ponies we have to talk to for work, the three of us make up the majority of your social interaction. Dare I say we dominate it. Now, with that comes two very unfortunate side effects: you have almost no romantic experience whatsoever, and whenever something even remotely romantic does happen, not only are you ill-equipped to deal with it, you very likely don’t recognize your own feelings in the matter. How long has it been since anypony expressed an interest in you, physically? Since Noteworthy? How about before that? The truth is, you have almost no exposure to your own emotions when it comes to matters of the heart. Or other parts of your anatomy. Now I’m not saying you like this mare, it’s rather clear that you don’t. But she’s the first pony in a long time to express that kind of interest in you, and from what I understand, she doesn’t beat around the bush. I’m willing to bet that popped a cork in something, and for as long as you’ve been pent up, having somepony all but throw themselves at you has you in the mood. It’s just so uncommon to you that you don’t recognize it when it happens, and have absolutely no idea how to go about doing something about it. Now, we have at least a few hours before we’re absolutely needed. I know you don’t need more practice, you just need more focus. So as a friend, I’m telling you: GO. GET. LAID.” You could have knocked me over with flower petals. “I- wha- that’s... that’s absurd! I don’t need to... to debase myself and go find somepony I don’t know... or...” Beauty and Frederick had also been rather shell shocked at the torrent of information put forth by somepony most ponies assumed was mute. But as I trailed off in half-hearted protests, they stared at me much like Parish was doing: sternly, much like someone who’s watching their friends not taking their medication. I had no idea WHAT to say about any of this. But they obviously wouldn’t be satisfied until I did... something. So I went home. It wasn’t that far away. I figured I’d go home, take a hot shower, meditate a little like I do when I’m practicing at home, and then leave for the rehearsal. I’d just tell them all they were wrong and that I was fine. Then, I arrived at my front door. “...wat. What. WHAT?!” I screeched. I’m not proud of it. I heard laughing from the apartment behind me as I read and reread the vandalism on my front door. ‘For free sex and cake, apply within.’ I immediately turned around and pounded on the culprit’s door. She answered, opening the door with a rolling “Yeeeessssssss?” Some pegasus I didn’t recognize stood right beside her. Obviously the one she’d been... engaged with earlier. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do things to her that would end my career. But then something happened. I got a good, proper look at her. She’d obviously recently showered. She was still wearing her shades, but they were set up on her forehead. And I could finally see what color her eyes were. A bright, contrasting red to her cobalt and cyan blue mane. Her hair wasn’t pointed every which way this time. It hung in little loose ringlets around her face and shoulders. She leaned against the door with all the ease in the world. She was obviously waiting for me to retaliate. And something snapped. Oh, I’d retaliate alright. I grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and slammed her against my door. Before she could so much as get out a “wha-”... I kissed her. Hard, aggressive. Untrained. But when I pulled back, she was thoroughly confused. I pointed to the scrawl on my door, and she followed my hoof, her eyes going wide. “Say no. I bucking DARE you.” (parts of this story have been omitted because I’m WAYYY to lazy to change the rating) There was no part of me at all whatsoever in the world that could make sense of what just happened. I mean yeah, I’ve had plenty of angry sex before. Most of it really good. Outright hate sex? That was a new one to me. I rolled over on the bed, and saw Octavia already getting ready to leave. She turned around and shoved a hoof in my face. “Alright, look. I don’t like you and you don’t like me. We’re both going to have to live with that. But if the short time I’ve spent anywhere near you has been any indication, we’re both attracted to each other. Physically, I mean. This does NOT mean that you can come knocking whenever you want. Try it and see what happens. But we’re obviously not going to get anywhere if we keep arguing and pulling petty pranks on each other.” I raised a hoof. “I have a question.” “...what?” “WHAT the HELL?! Do you have any idea how confusing you are?! I was all ready for you to start screeching incoherently like some bass-wielding howler monkey, or call the cops for vandalism. Or at least the building manager. How did we get HERE?!” I was short on breath, for more than one reason. “Listen... Vinyl.” She said my name like she was ripping it off her tongue. “I have been under more stress than you can possibly imagine. And more... pent up that I’d care to admit. But I’m not the kind of girl who walks up to somepony on the street and presents herself. So I asked myself, who’s the easiest, closest, most obviously experienced pony I know?” “Easy? Excuse me?!” She just raised an eyebrow at me. “Ok, fine. I’m... more open to sex than most ponies. I get that. But no mare likes to hear that. At least Spitfire is an old friend, I don’t just throw myself at random ponies either. Like I said, I have rules.” She scoffed. “Oh please. The three date rule? That just means you’re willing to-o-o-aaaa SPITFIRE?! THAT was SPITFIRE?!” She was totally freaking out. YES. “Oh, yeah. You know, Captain of the Wonderbolts. One of the most influential pegasi in Canterlot? My oldest friend ever?” “Oh my god. I just threw you against a wall like a common trollop and basically DEMANDED that you have sex with me. I front of Spitfire!” Then something weird happened. I was watching her eyes, cause I thought they were going to pop out of her head, and that’d be funny. But then she just stopped. She got all serious again, and glared at me. Oh boy. (I may end up writing these scenes out in a side story some time down the line, but for now, here’s a nice censorship sentence. Enjoy.) A large part of me could not believe what had just happened. After cleaning myself up and leaving Vinyl outside to wonder what in Tartarus was going on, I made my way back to the auditorium. On the way, I decided a few very important things. One, nopony must know about this. I’d been extremely clear on that to Vinyl (after begging Spitfire not to tell anyone and apologizing for my behavior). Two, I had to do something about all this pent up tension, and fast. Yes, the two (or was it three) round with Vinyl had done much more than take the edge off, but I could still feel more of what Parish had noticed earlier, and it took me pinning a mare I didn’t like against a wall to realize: I was a very frustrated pony. Emotionally and physically. I did my damnedest to sort out my thoughts on the way, taking the long way around to give myself time to think. What kind of mare was I turning into? I knew I’d had... anger issues, but I did my best to avoid them, or approach irritating situations with a mask of indifference and superiority. It’s true that id had been a rather long time since I’d been intimate with someone. Even the last several years I’d gone into heat I’d simply hidden away in my apartment for a week and... tended to myself. Maybe... maybe it was a bit of both? I’d just had sex, but I was still tense all over. Maybe I needed to address all of this un-tended anger? I did seem to have a great deal more than I realized. That must be it! I just needed a good outlet for all of my frustration. Yes, I’d yelled at Vinyl good and thoroughly. And the other thing, that had happened. But all it did was create more problems. I wasn’t getting anywhere on the anger management front. I’d gotten to the stage door of the auditorium at this point, but stopped myself outside to think just a little longer. All I needed to do was find a good way to express all this negative emotion before it got out of hand, and I would be fine. I’d be in control again. I opened the door. “Oh, good.” Frederick looked up and sighed. “You had sex. Let’s get to playing.” I was going to KILL somepony. Author's Note Well, that pops the cork on one plot development. (So many jokes.) Yes, I’d actually been planning on this, well, as much planning as actually goes into this story. By which I mean, I sat down for like a minute a few days ago and said “Hate sex. I’m totally making that a thing.” Then I had some more alcohol. Then I sobered up, and it was STILL a great idea. Oh don’t worry. This is still far from over. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the property damage. That’s all for now.
The Calm Before the Storm?Chapter 6: The quiet before the storm? I woke up to a relatively familiar scene: a bedroom I didn’t recognize. At first, anyway. After the fog cleared from my head I put two and two together: I was back in Octavia’s room. Holy crap that mare had some issues. I mean, wow. I’d never seen anyone Jeckyll and Hoof their way into hate sex before. I’ve seen some bipolar ponies before, even dated one once. But there was something about that chick that was just… damn. Now, usually I do one of two things. Either A, I tiptoe my way out of the apartment before they wake up (which I’m not saying is a good thing, but sometimes the mare you wake up next to ain’t the one you went to bed with), or B, I stay ‘asleep’ till they either nudge me out of bed, yell at me, or go for a round two. So this was new to me. I’d woken up alone. I mean, I’m used to sleeping alone, but I’m not used to waking up when I went to bed with somepony and that pony not be right where I left them. I got up and looked around, expecting to see a letter or something, but nada. So I rolled out of bed and went for the bathroom. Or, tried. I got all four hooves on the ground, then fell over. I guess that’s what I get for not taking a break between sex, sex, a major rehearsal performance, and sex. Not a first for me, but I can usually plan these things ahead. So I crawled my flank across the floor to the bathroom, set the shower for as hot as it would go, and just laid down in the scalding water for a while. Awhile meaning I fell back asleep. I woke up I had no idea how much later, but it couldn’t have been that long, because the water was now just lukewarm instead of cold. I dragged my soaking coat out of the tub, and with what little energy I had, levitated a towel over and dried myself off. Fortunately, at that point I had enough umph in me to walk around a bit. But I was most definitely going home to sleep some more. Well, eventually. I did have her place all to myself, after all. I wanted to explore. So I did. Her apartment was much like what I’d expect it to be. Art everywhere, with a smaller not-quite-bedroom sized room off to the side. I peeked in and saw all of her musical stuff in there. Sheet music, her cello (I think that’s what it was. Might be a bass.), and a music stand. Plus all kinds of old records and a player in the corner. Everything was rather tidy. I peeked back into her room, thinking that somehow I’d missed something, and noticed a rather big difference: her bedroom was a mess! How had I missed that? I looked around, and saw that there was clean floor from the bed to the bath and from the bed to the door, but that was about it. Records, clothes, and a bunch of other stuff littered the whole damn room. Hell, the only reason I knew what the carpet looked like was because I fell into it trying to get out of bed. The bed was a mess, too, but that was to be expected. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t really… dirty. Sure, there was stuff everywhere, but it was at least clean. No food, or trash, or dust. Just… stuff. I wonder if she knew where everything was in her place? I moved on, having seen most of the apartment, and wandered about her kitchen. Then I saw it. A big piece of paper with my name written in very obvious lettering stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Oh, here we go. “Vinyl. I know you’re probably exhausted, and by now have used up all my hot water. Grab something to eat and get out of my apartment. I will see you this afternoon. Like it or not, we need to talk. Octavia.” Well, at least it wasn’t as backhanded and insulting as the last one. Really much like I would expect from her, now. I made sure to eat till I was stuffed, then left. But I’m a decent pony, so I locked the door first. With everything that had happened yesterday at the rehearsal, and beforehoof, I couldn’t even think about going outside. There was no way I was going to face down anyone in public after the fiasco last night. I’d gotten a look at the papers this morning, and they didn’t make things any better: OCTAVIA VS. VINYL SCRATCH! A LOVER’S QUARRELL? Had I not been thoroughly exhausted myself I would have shaken Vinyl awake and had another go at her. Which, in all honesty, surprised the Tartarus out of me. A week ago I simply would have eaten the paper and had something heavy to drink. I needed to talk to somepony. Within a matter of days I’d devolved into a sexual deviant and predator. This was very much not right. So I tracked down the most rational, emotionally stable pony I knew in all of Canterlot who DIDN’T believe everything they read in the papers. “Thank you for meeting me, Fancy Pants.” We were sitting on his veranda, talking over a nice soothing cup of coffee. “Oh, my pleasure. While I am dying with curiosity, I too have been a victim of the media. And I’m always happy to help somepony who needs it. Now, I understand you’ve been having some… problems with your neighbor?” His demeanor was calm, friendly, everything everypony expected about him. But I couldn’t expect to get some help without divulging at least one or two juicy details. So I told him about how I’d met Vinyl, and the attempts we’d had at civilized discourse. And how that had gone south really rather quickly. I told him about the conversation I’d had with Harpo, and my friends. It felt good to have somepony just listen, for once. He sat there and drank it all in. “And now, every time I reach a boiling point, my first thought is to track her down and… do something rather unladylike!” I admitted. He seemed to mull this over. “Hmmm, let’s see. Are you attracted to her? Not emotionally, of course. But physically?” He seemed rather practical about his questions. I hadn’t thought about it much. I assumed I must be. Her coat was rather nice, a brilliant shade of white. And her hair… well, there was no accounting for style, but the blue was nice. I did really like her eyes, I admitted to myself. And her voice was somewhat endearing, even if I didn’t like what she had to say. She did make cute noises, too. And her flank… I sighed, giving up. “Yes. Yes I am.” “And can you think of anypony else you know that you’re attracted to?” That question caught me by surprise. I’d known for a while that I was attracted to mares. I’d figured that out when Noteworthy had caused me nothing but confusion all those years ago. But how many mares did I know personally, let alone saw on a regular basis? Yes, I had acquaintances, and contacts. I knew ponies in high society. But I never really hung out with them. The only female I spent any time around on a regular basis was Beauty Brass. And yes, she was rather pretty, but she was straight as an arrow, and… well… not my type, I guess. “No… I don’t think so. I mean, there are celebrities I find attractive, but I don’t… I don’t KNOW any of them.” “And how do you feel after having… been with Ms. Vinyl?” He looked at me pensively. I had to think about that one. But not for long. I remembered how I’d felt after the first time. Distracted, a little confused. Frustrated. But I was at least a little relaxed. Vinyl said I didn’t know what I wanted out of sex, that time. I hadn’t really had a purpose. But once I’d figured that out… The second time I was much more relaxed. I was clear headed, even a little happy. And last night was no different. In fact, those two moments were the only time I could remember being at all happy since I’d met Vinyl. Well, ok, that isn’t true. I was happy when I was performing. And when I had lunch with my friends. So I guess I could say… satisfied? Yes. “Satisfied.” He smiled at me. “Well, in that case, let me ask you one last question: When was the last time you felt satisfied?” “Oh, that’s easy. When I… when I… um…” I couldn’t think of anything. Of course I was happy when I played. Exhilarated, even. I was proud of my work. And I was proud when others enjoyed it. But was I satisfied? Well, yes, in a sense. I was satisfied that I’d done a good job. I was satisfied that ponies had enjoyed what I’d written. And what I performed for them. But there was always more to do. As soon as I was done, I had to think about what the next performance was. What the next piece was. There wasn’t really any stopping. But when I was with Vinyl, when we were done, all I felt was happy. And satisfied. Yes, it’s selfish, and I know I was only doing it for myself, but it was there. I didn’t have to think about anything else. I just laid there and enjoyed it. Even after I’d kick her out or leave her lying there, I wasn’t thinking about the next time I’d see her. Or what else I had to do that day. I just… felt good. And having thought all of that, I looked at Fancy Pants. “I don’t know.” “Well there’s your answer.” He smirked. Like a wise old sage talking to his pupil. I didn’t get it. “…what?” He took a sip of coffee, adjusted his monocle, and looked at me. “The sense of satisfaction we get from something or somepony that makes us feel good for the sake of feeling good is unlike anything in the world. Yes, there is always a sense of fulfillment and joy when one completes a work of art. But then the artist realizes his work is not done. What you’re experiencing is a sensation similar to somepony who has retired near the end of their life. Or made a long journey only to reach the end. There isn’t any worrying about the next step. Or the next day. It’s the kind of happiness you get from a moment of pure calm and, like I’ve said, satisfaction. You’ve found something that makes you feel, even for a moment, no worry, or stress, or apprehension. Just the pleasure of the thing and the relaxed, tranquil state afterword. For a lot of ponies, that’s exactly what lovemaking is for. You know, aside from the obvious biological imperative. But I don’t think that’s really relevant. And for most everypony, that’s what love is about, too.” “Love?! Now hold on-“ He raised a hoof. “Now, I’m not saying you’re in love. From what I’ve heard I’d have no reason to suspect you are. But here’s what I think: you’ve found something that brings you pleasure, joy, and tranquility. And then the world gives you pain, stress, and anguish. So you take the fastest route back to that calm, warm place in your mind: riding Vinyl like a roller coaster.” “FANCY!” I blushed. He grinned at me. “The way I see it, you have two options: find somepony who makes you feel like that all the time, even without sex. Now, mind you, this is the hard road. Some ponies spend their whole lives looking for it. Or, you can explain everything you’ve learned today with Vinyl, and work something out. I’m sure she’s just as confused as you are.” I thought about it a little, and realized I’d have to think about it a lot. “Thank you, Fancy. That… that is a great help. This might take some time, though.” “Oh, of course! The only great things in life that are fast are cars and cheeseburgers.” “Fancy!” I tried to be stern, but ended up laughing, Fancy pants joining in. Eventually, I did get home. Most ponies assume that my job does nothing but take up my time. Being the Captain of the Wonderbolts sounds like the most demanding job in the world without being royalty. But in all honesty, aside from running the camps, training, and the actual performances, I spend a surprisingly large amount of time in my office pretending to do paperwork that I had done hours ago. So when Vinyl had called me yesterday I was nothing short of ecstatic. There are a few ponies in the organization who don’t like her very much. And that’s fine. Not everypony has to like everypony. But I did like her. A lot. And I hadn’t heard from her in a long time. So I took any chance I could to see her. Which is why I’d given her my direct line yesterday before I left, so she didn’t have to blackmail my secretary just to talk to me. Here’s the thing about Vinyl: she has never, ever cared about who you are or what you do. It’s always about the pony, not the position. I’ve seen her have conversations with Princesses that were practically identical to her talking to fans. Ponies are just ponies to her. She gets to do what she loves, and doesn’t really have room in her head for any of that social status garbage. It’s really nice to have a friend who doesn’t care that you’re the Captain of the Wonderbolts when that’s all anypony ever sees you as. It’s also really easy to fall in love with somepony like that. I don’t think she knows, and that’s ok. I was mulling over this very subject while leaning on a pile of unsigned reports when my phone rang. “Hello, thank you for calling the Wonderbolts, this is Captain Spitfire speaking.” “Greetings, Admiral Fireflank. Got a moment.” Vinyl. My heart leaped around. “Oh sure, Noise Pollution. What do you want?” “I want you to go out with me.” When I woke up a few minutes later the papers were everywhere and I was surrounded by ponies. Apparently feinting makes a lot of noise. Author's Note What’s this? A cliffhanger?! NOOOOOOO! Oh, wait. It’s MY cliffhanger. I did that on PURPOSE. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
It's Serious Business, Yo.Chapter 7: It's Serious Business, Yo. I’d only been home for a few moments when I’d passed out. Finally being in my own place with nothing to do gave me the perfect excuse to fall over. Yesterday had been totally freakin’ crazy. I had like, no idea what to make of it. So I slept for a few hours. I probably would have slept longer, but my body decided I needed to be awake for some reason. I wish I knew. I’d tell it to knock that shit off and let me sleep. But no. I was awake. Still exhausted, but at least a little closer to feeling rested. So I just lay on the floor where it just so happened I’d passed out earlier, thinking. Ever do that? Just like, stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander for no reason whatsoever? If you ever need proof that your brain hates you, try it. I spent the entire time thinking about all of the crazy crap I was doing my damnedest not to remember. And not just yesterday, either. The last year, as a whole. Yeah, surprise. My life didn’t exactly start three days ago, I’ll tell you that. Though at that point I kind of wish it had. Would make things easier. I spent a lot of time remembering why I’d moved out of Ponyville. Sure, having the bits helped, but honestly, I could have just stayed there and used all the extra cash to get me places. But what the money really did was give me the perfect excuse to leave. Not that I don’t love that town. But some of the ponies in it? I could do without, thanks. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friend, but when you’re a... an enthusiastic dater in a small town, you see almost all of your exes everyday. Yeah, how’s that for Tartarus on earth? There was a bunch of stuff aside from that, too. Of course. That’s how it works. But then I got to thinking about how my life was turning out in Canterlot, and I’d only been here like a week or so. I’d waited till the last possible minute to move before it would have screwed with the rehearsal, just cause I’m still the best there is and not doing what I don’t want to do. I mean sure, I needed to get out of Ponyville. That doesn’t mean I actually wanted to move. But I think it was the best choice. Anyway, sidebar, back on topic. I’d been here all of three days and already my neighbor was using me for sex and I was on the front page of the tabloids. AGAIN. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a normal date. Just dinner. Maybe a movie. Walking around and talking. All that sappy romantic stuff that nopony cool would ever admit that they like but secretly all of us want. I mean, the last time that happened was years ago. When Spitfire still lived in Ponyville. Yeah, how lame is that? The last decent romantic encounter I’d had that wasn’t about cheap sex and parties was a goodbye date with my best friend. All in all, it was a good memory. We’d done it weeks before she actually moved, so that neither of us would have to put the two together and spoil the memory. More of that sappy crap. It worked, I guess. But I honestly couldn’t remember any other time I’d had just a normal dinner-and-movie date. I knew why, obviously. I didn’t want to feel like I was replacing Spitfire. Every time I’d thought about doing the same thing with somepony else I’d felt guilty. I mean, I could probably call her up and we could go out on a date again whenever. She’d probably be down for it. I don’t know if she still liked me the same way, but if yesterday was any indication she was at least physically attracted to me. Then that little voice in the back of my head popped up. You know, the one that hates you? ‘What if that’s all she wants? What if it turns into every other girl you’ve had in the last three years? What if...’ So I stared at the ceiling and thought about that for a while. And I tried to remember why I hadn’t just gone out with her back when I knew she liked me. I mean, I knew she was going to leave. Everypony knew: she was the rising star. No way she wasn’t getting into the Wonderbolts. I’d told myself that I didn’t want something so awesome to just get cut off like that. All the usual excuses cropped up, too. Like, ‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship.’ Or ‘What if she’s just teasing and she doesn’t really like me?’ See, this is why we cool people don’t think. It gets all serious and broody. I think this is how emos are made. So I tried being positive. I started talking to myself out loud, to get that voice in my head to shut up. “Well, she lives close now, right? I mean, she literally got here in like 4 minutes. And it’s not like she’s going anywhere. Or me. I just got here. Why would I leave?” My inner voice spoke up again. “No, I don’t just want a cheap date and some girl to roll around with.” I stopped for a moment. Really? Cause that’s all I’d been going for for the last few years. That’s why I hit on Tavi. She was just some pretty mare I happened to run into. Really pretty, mind you, but still. And look how that turned out. Even if the sex was decent, I usually felt like crap right after. Probably because there wasn’t anything to it. And then it clicked. “Wait, holy shit. Is that what I’ve been DOING to ponies this whole time? Just USING them?” Not cool. That was it. That was why I didn’t enjoy it, even if it was just cheap, decent sex. I didn’t like being used. I mean, I know I’d been using other mares like that, but truth be told, nine times out of ten it worked both ways. So here I was. Sitting on my floor talking to myself, in an new apartment I’d sprung for to get away from all the drama and bad taste I’d left in Ponyville, basically doing it all again. I didn’t want to let that happen. I wanted to have like, a normal relationship for once. New town,new life, new gigs. Maybe time for a new Vinyl. Sweet Celestia, how tired was I? And I tried to think, who could I possibly know that would still want to hang out with me like a normal mare? Spitfire. Who do I know that could keep up, and PUT up, with me and the crazy shit I did? Spitfire? Who was still into me, even a little, after all these years? Spitfire. Who did I miss like crazy? Spitfire. Who was the most stable, competent, rock awesome mare I knew? Spitfire. “Oh for... pick up the phone, Vinyl.” I scolded myself, dragging my less-than-half-dead body over to the phone. I was about to call the hotline when I remembered Spitfire had given me her direct number so that I would stop harassing her teammates. I dug it out of the nightstand drawer, one of the few places I could put stuff and remember where it was, and called her up. “Hello, thank you for calling the Wonderbolts, this is Captain Spitfire speaking.” “Greetings, Admiral Fireflank. Got a moment?” I always made sure to give her some guff when I called her. She’d probably think something was wrong otherwise. “Oh sure, Noise Pollution. What do you want?” And that’s something I always liked about her. No matter what anypony dished at her, she was ready. “I want you to go out with me.” A slight pause, and then... CRASH. “Spitfire? Spitfire!” I waited for a moment while I heard a whole bunch of noise on the other end, then somepony picked up the phone and said, “She’ll have to call you back..” Then he hung up. I sat there for a good five minutes or something (or years, I couldn’t tell. I was panicky) before my phone rang. “Hello?!” “Vinyl, never, ever, do that again. You made me fall out of my chair.” She sounded a little pained. It must have hurt. “Do what? All I said was-” “I know what you said, Vinyl. Not funny.” Pained? Hell, she sounded pissed. I took a deep breath. Coming from me, it probably did sound like a joke to her. And given... yeah. “I’m not joking, Spitfire. Look, when you have some time, call me. Or come over. Or something. We need to talk.” Now, Vinyl has done some pretty strange and not-cool things for laughs. Most of them either involving me, aimed at me, or somehow I’d hear about it and help clean it up. Either way, she’s done some stuff. But this was new. I wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t joking, mostly because I didn’t want to believe she’d kid around about something like this. She knew how I felt when I had to move: it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And she wasn’t the kind of pony to go for a week spot when pulling a prank. She’d go right for the hardest part of your armor and crack it. So I took the first chance I got to go home, and went straight to Vinyl’s instead. I knocked on her window, and it opened right away. Apparently she’d been waiting for me. “Look, Spitfire, I just want to-” “Vinyl, shut up for a moment. Now, you’ve done some pretty risky things for a laugh, and I try to believe you when you say you’re not joking, but you’d better tell me right now if you are. Because if you don’t... and this turns into some big laugh...” I wasn’t going to cry. No. She gave me a hug, and I almost did. “No way, Spitty. I wouldn’t laugh about this.” She let go, and led me over to the couch, or what part of it wasn’t covered in records, anyway. “Like I said, we need to talk. Or rather, I think I should talk, and you listen for a bit. Or something...” and she went off. Not Like she was mad. She just started talking. About how she’d felt when I left. About why we never went out when she knew I liked her. And the last three years. All the stuff I didn’t know about. I’d never seen Vinyl so serious about this kind of thing. Yeah, I’d seen her pretty serious, when it came to work or family. She wasn’t always the kind of pony that laughed her way through everything. But she tended to avoid romantic problems like back bluegrass. (Or, any bluegrass.) Then she started to talk about Octavia. How she’d only known her for three days and already it was Ponyville all over again. How She’d made the front page of the tabloids again within a week of moving. She sounded exhausted. “...and I can’t do it anymore, Spitfire. I woke up this morning and I could barely move. And I wasn’t even the first one up, or whatever. I’ve never... woken up alone. Not like that. I didn’t like it. And I tried to go home and sleep for like a bazillion hours and I got like two and I laid on my floor and thought for a whole bunch more hours. And I thought about you.” I really didn’t want her to be joking. I didn’t. She wouldn’t go that far. But at the same time, it didn’t sound like Vinyl. It was kind of scary. “What did Octavia do to you?” Vinyl sat and thought about that. “She... I guess the best way to say it is she used me. I mean, I’ve been used before, done my fair share of using, but this was different. At least before me and the other mare were just looking for a good time. Octavia, she... it’s like a fix. She just goes total Jekyll and Hoof on me. At first I thought it was kind of cool, cause hey, I’d done angry sex before. But I’ve never had sex with somepony that outright couldn’t stand me. I mean, she takes her time to remind me that ‘we don’t like each other’. She left me a note this morning saying we need to talk. That should be fun. I can’t say it was rape or anything like that, cause I never really turned her down. I mean, it’s still kind of exciting. But I don’t like how I feel afterwards. I don’t know how to describe it. It really... lonely.” I looked at her for a bit before I said anything. She’d obviously been through a lot in just a little amount of time. Octavia probably had, too. But I didn’t know anything about her aside from what Vinyl told me. “So, what did you want to do?” She looked at me with what could only be called an earnest expression. Something I wasn’t used to. “I just want a normal relationship. I want to be with somepony who doesn’t just want to leave when she wakes up. Like, dinner and a movie and all that normal stuff. And to be honest... I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon, too...” which is a pretty long time for her, I thought. “And I can’t think of anypony anywhere that isn’t you that fit in there, you know? Like I think about all this stuff I’d rather do instead of how I’ve been doing it, and I just keep seeing you there, you know? I don’t know if that makes any sense...” I had to stop, and laugh for a little bit. Then I laughed harder. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I just couldn’t stop. Vinyl looked a little hurt. “Hey, Spitfire! I’m being serious here!” “I...I know. That’s why it’s funny. I mean, when was the last time you were this serious? It’s just so not like you!” I think she sat there and thought about it. Cause she started laughing. “Ok, yeah. I guess I was a little bit totally not cool there for a moment. But anyway, what do you think?” “Well.” I stopped, and thought about it. “It’s not like we can’t try, you know?” “Right?!” She got all exited. THERE was the Vinyl I knew. “See, that’s the awesome part. We could just like, test it out! A dry run, or something-” “Vinyl, NOTHING about the two of us going out would be dry.” I chuckled, thinking about it. She blushed, and smiled. “Yeah, ok. Anyway. Shut up. Like I was saying, we could try it out, and if it doesn’t work, or if I’m just being all emo and stuff, we can just look at each other and go, ‘Nope.’.” I nodded. “Alright, Vinyl. We can give it a try. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” I like to think the following events were not my fault. Author's Note Well, that was a bit more serious than I wanted it to. I’m not going to spoil anything, but this fic has a long way to go, so take anything I write with a grain of salt. Or wheat. Or whatever. Anyway, I’ve been wanting to do at least one mildly serious chapter throughout this thing, and there might be more, but the overlying theme is comedy and romance, so shit’s gonna happen. Ideas or criticism welcome.
Well, Okay ThenChapter 8: Well, Okay Then While getting to and from Fancy Pants’s home was easy enough, getting anywhere else without being the troublesome topic of gossip was proving to be rather difficult. Even my friends, my fellow ensemble members, were being harassed because of some dirty gossip and a reporter with a stick up her- No no. I am a lady, and I shall prove myself nothing less. Of course, doing so involves going out in public. As of now, my friends and I were holed up in Beauty Brass’s house. Reporters came and went from the front door, trying to get interviews, and there didn’t seem to be any end to them We weren’t exactly swarmed, usually just three or four people at a time, but still. Bothersome is bothersome.. Why these people had nothing better to do than harass me and my friends about some cheap romantic gossip, I had no idea. “This is ridiculous.” I’d probably said it a thousand times, but it bared repeating. To me, at least. The rest seemed to ignore the comment. They were too busy talking about how to get out of the house without being bothered. “We could always just walk out the back door.” Frederick’s deadpan made it seem less like a suggestion and more like a bad punchline. Harpo just shook his head. “What if we just distract them somehow?” Beauty Brass seemed hopeful. Not one to lose faith, her. Frederick rubbed his chin. “Well, how do we do that? The reporter out there right now is that ridiculously nosy reporter mare from last night.” Then, Harpo surprised us all by getting up, and walking towards the front door. And proceeded to say the most frightening thing we’d ever heard. “I have a plan.” None of us moved. None of us wanted to. Harpo talking was rare enough that you never missed a word, but him volunteering for anything meant something was about to happen. He didn’t say anything after that, he just nodded his head and smiled. I’d never been more motivated to NOT follow him. But we did, and I believe all for the same reason: morbid curiosity. He opened the front door, and in an instant, that nosy, manipulative- no, no. Be polite, I told myself. That... reporter was in his face, asking him a series of questions. I felt myself laugh inwardly, entertaining the thought of Harpo answering questions for a newspaper. Or, really, anyone. Then, he put his dubious plan into action. Giving us a hoof wave to move forward, we all trotted towards the door. The reporter spotted me and instantly tried to squeeze past to interrogate me, but Harpo was ready. He grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her. For a moment, just a moment, I felt jealous. I know Beauty Brass did, too. We’d both been on the receiving end of that kiss. The true mark of Harpo’s reputation as a gentleman wasn’t that he never spoke: it ws that he never needed to. He could say a lifetime of pleasantries in a single gesture. More than once he’d kissed Brass and I, when we were down, or lonely. When we needed it. It was obvious the mare he was kissing now hadn’t felt that kind of compassion before. She didn’t even fight back, she just melted. And the reporting crew she was with went nuts. Her assistant mare took a bunch of notes while the stallion with the camera went berserk taking pictures. It was the easiest thing in the world for the three of us to just mosy past. They didn’t even notice us. When we were halfway across the block, we heard a soft moan, which meant that the reporter had her lips to herself again. I turned and saw Harpo trotting up to us, a satisfied smile on his face, while the crew regained their composure. Or, rather, the mare Harpo had sucked face with tried to stand up while the other two either laughed or ‘helped’ her to her hooves. I applauded Harpo, stamping my hooves on the concrete. “Well done, my friend. Now, I would LOVE to go home.” The others nodded their agreement. Well, except for Brass. She just followed Harpo around for awhile. Spitfire and I had just been sharing small talk and giggling at each other like schoolgirls for the last few minutes. “So, ok, how do we actually DO this. I mean, saying ‘Yeah, she’s my marefriend’ is easy enough. Hell, it’s kinda fun to say.” I laughed again. “You think I know?” Spitfire smiled. “If you’d asked me like four years ago I’d just say we’d go out on a date and all that cheesy romance stuff you were talking about. But I mean, we’re not exactly small-town fillies, are we?” I had to think about that. “Yeah, you’re right. The paper practically exploded when they were talking about Octavia and me this morning. Imagine what they’d say next?” Then I say it. That classic Spitfire grin. The kind of smile you see on that one pony you know at the top of the halfpipe they usually wore right before they said ‘Watch this.’ “Well, why don’t we give them something to talk about? I can’t imagine you being the type to hide your relationships.” I was liking this idea. “Your fanbase will explode, you know this.” “So will yours. I can’t imagine all those fillies you’ve been with or who wanted to will take kindly to you going steady with a Wonderbolt instead of another musician.” “Ah, let ‘em sweat. Dating other musicians sucks. They always want to collaborate and it always turns sour. Bad karma.” I shuddered. Experience was a nasty teacher. Like a Colthlic School Nun. “Ok, so do you just want to... go out on a date? I’m totally cool with that.” “Sure, we could...” she still had that grin. “Or we could make something of it.” I saw where she was going, but something bugged me. “Why don’t... why don’t we save it for later. This is still an experiment, or something like it, at least. What if we make a big deal about it and then it goes all south?” Spitfire nodded sagely. Something she really shouldn’t do. “Ok, I get ya. I mean, I don’t think it will go south on us-” “Neither do I!” I waived my hooves defensively. “I’m just saying-” “I know, I know. But,” she rapped her hoof on the coffee table, “Knock on wood, if it does go south, we don’t want to make it worse than it could be. So what are you thinking?” “I say we make a big deal out of it. But not right away. We wait till it feels right. One of those ‘We’ll know it when we know it’ moments. I know it sounds all sleazy and Made-For-TV-Movie, but... you know?” She nodded. “I do. So... what do you want to do until then? We could always...” she waggled her eyebrows. Even still, for the first time in a while, I didn’t want to. “Not... not after the last couple of days. Let’s just go get something to eat.” She seemed a little disappointed, but if it’s one thing she’s always been, it’s understanding. “I got ya. Besides, I’m starving. PASSING OUT does that to you.” “You’re not gonna leave that alone, are you?” “Never.” I’d finally made my way back to my apartment. After everything else, it was good to be home. And then I remembered the note I’d left for Vinyl. I hadn’t even unlocked my door when the realization hit me. SO instead, I turned around and knocked on hers. I wasn’t looking forward to this. It took a few moments for her to open it. When she did, I saw Spitfire in the living room behind her. She didn’t look particularly happy to see me. Then again, neither did Vinyl. “Listen, Vinyl, I’d mentioned that we need to talk-” “You’re right. We do. Get in.” She didn’t seem angry. Just... determined. I didn’t argue. I just walked in, and sat on the couch, where Vinyl pointed. Vinyl sat on the floor, facing me, and Spitfire stayed where she was, in a little beanbag chair. I can’t really say I’d paid attention to Vinyl’s apartment before, and honestly, I don’t think I’d even been in it yet. The place was the same size as mine, but seemed a lot smaller. I guess it had to do with a large quantity of stereo and sound equipment set up in one whole half of the living room. Everywhere else was scattered records, music memorabilia, and some stuff I didn’t even recognize. It was like living in a recording studio. Which at some times it probably was. VInyl just looked at me, expecting me to say something. So I did. I told her all about my conversation with Fancy Pants. It took me a while, as I stumbled over some of the more embarrassing parts, and kept looking around, waiting to be interrupted. But they didn’t. They just listened while I unloaded a whole afternoon’s worth of revelations over years worth of distress. It was rather surreal, to be honest. When I was done, Spitfire looked less agitated and more confused. Vinyl looked like she understood a little better, but no less tense. “So, um... does that... clear things up a bit?” Vinyl thought for a moment. A very tense moment. A moment I thik that lasted much longer than it should have, at least to me. “Ok. So I get the whole finding me attractive thing. REALLY I do.”She smiled a bit. A good sign, at least. Spitfire just rolled her eyes. “And the whole satisfaction thing. I can’t say I haven’t been there. Well, not like this, obviously... maybe not obviously... nevermind. Anyway, what I wanted to know is, what the hell set you off?” That was something I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask me, but I was at least a little ready for it. “Part of me wants to say I have no idea. But another part of me does. Know, I mean. That first night, when you hit on me... that was the first time in years that anypony had expressed an interest. Part of me... wanted. No. Needed to take advantage of that. I needed something. It’s been years since I’ve had anything even close to a romantic encounter. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess it got to the point where I didn’t really care. I mean, I don’t honestly know what I’d have done if you’d said no any of those times, but you didn’t. SO part of me rationalized that I could just take it... you... whenever I wanted.” Spitifre looked like she’d been reading some poor pony’s psych file. Vinyl just look pensive. “Well, I’m going to tell you know, so I don’t have to tell you later. No.” I wasn’t getting it, at first. “No?” “No. We’re not doing it again. I’m... current circumstances aside, I can’t. You may have felt satisfied, and I’ll admit, at some point, I did too. But mostly? I felt used.” I wasn’t expecting that. It ht me harder than I’d like to admit. “I... used? ...I guess I can’t say I don’t understand why. Can I at least say, I’m sorry?” At that, she smiled. Even Spitfire grinned a little, too. “Yes. That I am totally okay with.” I let myself smile a little. Okay, more than a little. “Okay. So... what do we do now.” For the first time, the Wonderbolt in the room spoke up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to take my marefriend to dinner.” She walked up to Vinyl and gave her a hug, and Vinyl nodded for me to get up. As we made our way out of the apartment, Vinyl locked the door behind us. It wasn’t until they turned the corner down the hall that it hit me. “MAREFRIEND?!” Author's Note I do like splicing some humor and drama together. I hope I’m at least doing a decent job of that. Parts of this story do feel a bit rushed, I’ll admit. But it’s still fun. And now that we’ve gotten past a few different serious scenes, I think it’s time we got back to the solid comedy of the thing.
Property Damage, HO!Chapter 9: Property Damage, HO! (Author’s Note: I bet you thought I forgot, didn’t you? Guess what time it is.) I can’t really say actually being in a relationship with Vinyl was that different from just hanging out with her. Actually, no. I totally CAN. It had been a month or so since we’d started our little ‘experiment’, as Vinyl had called it. HAD. At this point we just called it dating. Which was great. It also freaked everpony the hell out. Which was fantastic. The actual awards ceremony had gone off well enough. With nothing really going on between Vinyl and Octavia, the media just kind of drifted off to other things. Namely the supposed romance of two of Octavia’s bandmates. I don’t know, I hadn’t really met them. I mean, it wasn’t really uneventful (one of these days I’ll have Vinyl tell you the story about the not-so-missing underwear), but nothing that really was relevant to the whole reason we’ve all been telling this story. Octavia and Vinyl had found a simple, if uneasy, way to settle their issues. They stayed the hell away from each other. I mean yeah, they said hi to each other and stuff. And it wasn’t like that begrudging, angry ‘hi’ you give to the pony who drew rude stuff on your face while you were passed out in the locker room from too much alcohol and totally thought that stallion was a mare and how the hell was I supposed to know- Anyway. They were chill. I guess it was a good thing, but more than once I’d wondered, and Vinyl had too, what Octavia was doing about her recently surfaced emotional issues. This kind of thing doesn’t really resolve itself in a few days, you know? But anyway, I’m getting off topic. Like I said, the fact that we were dating freaked ponies out. Well, not all ponies. We weren’t exactly going public and making out in the streets. But we weren’t hiding it either. Truth be told, we were still both pretty busy. So most of our time was spent with phone calls, and me flying off when nopony was looking (you’d think they’d pay more attention when their captain flies off, right?), and work. I mean, I may be a master of procrastination and maximizing my free time, but I’m still a Wonderbolt. Still a Captain. And I still have a lot of work to do. Likewise with Vinyl. She can’t just up and ignore all the smaller gigs she has lined up. Not to mention she’s got an album in the works, and Luna knows how much time that must take. Even if she does a bit of the recording in her own home. So you’re probably wondering why we skipped ahead a whole month? Well, as much as we’d love to tell you about every day, and all the awesome crazy shenanigans that happened all the time, in that month the status quo really hadn’t changed. Until Vinyl and I got some letters in the mail. Ones we’d really hoped we could conveniently ignore. Little gold-sealed scrolls. With shiny tickets in them. Oh, yes. They were tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala. Again. Now, I was no stranger to the Gala. I’d been to a couple (the last being the most memorable), and figures out pretty quick it was just a way to gladhoof ponies with a lot of money to get them to shell out for causes they probably weren’t aware of or just plain ignored. Sometimes it was for a good cause. Mostly it was just publicity. And each and every time I got invited I had the same conversation. “Soarin, pleeeeaaaassssseee. Don’t make me go. Please please please please puh-lee-hee-hee-heese.” I was sprawled out on the floor like a schoolfilly and didn’t care. “Sorry, Captain. You have to go. None of us can go without you and they’d raise hell if the Wonderbolts missed the Gala.” Curse him and his mildly feminine attractiveness and voice of reason. “Besides, I doubt the Elements of Harmony will be attending this year.” I know he was trying to be supportive. “What? NO! They were the ONLY COOL THING last year!” I was at least hoping I’d get to see some destruction again. I wasn’t BORED then. Soarin raised an eyebrow at me. “…are you serious? They almost took down the castle!” “And it was GREAT!” He gave me a flat glare. “Except for the ponies in danger thing. That was not cool. Nope.” “,,,you’re going.” “…dammit.” I was just about to have another go at begging when the phone rang. …what? Oh! It’s my turn to tell the story. Ok. Um, yeah. It’s Soarin. What? Ok, ok, I’m telling it! So anyway, Spitfire looked like she was about to start crying crocodile tears again when the phone rang. I thanked my lucky stars. Spitfire crying was more than a little pathetic. Like a puppy. A sad one. Like I said, she answered the phone. “Hello, Captain Spitfire speaking.” I heard some loud rumbling on the other end and what sounded like a voice. “Oh hey, Public Disturbance! What’s up?!” Oh yay. Vinyl. Again. Now, I didn’t really have any issue with Vinyl. She seemed kind of cool. But Spitfire kind of lost all sense of professionalism around her. Come to think of it, crying on the floor saying ‘I don’t wanna go!’ wasn’t really professional either. The boss was weird. They talked back and forth for a bit, and slowly, Spitfire’s expression changed. Now before I go on, let me explain something about my boss. She’s a very good flier. She’s a great Captain. And when it comes down to it, she can suck it up and do damn near anything. I knew she’d eventually go to the Gala, which she knew she had to. And thank god for that, because I was not going without her. Buck that idea. It was boring enough as it is. She even has a decent poker face. She has to, to train the new recruits. But the one thing she does best, aside from flying, is change her mood. Not her mind, she’s way too stubborn for that. If she’d actually decided she wasn’t going to the Gala we wouldn’t have had this conversation. But she’s an honorable, if quirky, leader. But I swear to Celestia I was going to get her a mood ring one of these Heart’s Warming Eve’s. It was as if a switch in her head just flipped. She did it when practice was over, or when she was done with a show, or when she left a particularly droll conversation with a noblepony of some kind. She just… flipped. I’d seen it happen a million times, and it never ceased to amaze me. The conversation wrapped up with a few joking insults and some ‘See ya laters’, and Spitfire hung the phone up a different pony than when she started. Namely, she was practically humming. Actually, she was humming. “Um, boss. What was that?” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Soarin. Now, we were talking about the Gala. I was thinking we go in formal wear this year instead of our costumes. Like, we could take our costumes with us, and wear them when we perform and stuff, sure. But I really want a dress this year.” I could have sworn she said all that in Fancee. “…what? Weren’t you just begging me to let you stay?” She had trotted away from her desk towards the door, but stopped to look back over her shoulder at me. “Oh come now, Soarin. How can you expect me to say no to the Gala? I mean, I certainly don’t want to disappoint my maaarrreefriiieeennd.” She dragged out the word and shook her hips a little, then walked out of the room. Needless to say I was distracted. Just long enough for her to have gotten halfway down the hall before something in my head clicked. “MAREFRIEND?!” “MAREFRIEND?!” I heard Soarin yelling from down the hall. I laughed out loud to myself as Soarin came running up to me, walking in step with me while I made my way to the changing rooms. “Spitfire, that was Vinyl just now, right?” “Yeeeesssss.” I could almost here the pleading denial in his voice. It was delicious. “And you said you were going to the Gala with your ‘marefriend’, right?” “Mm-hmm.” I stopped outside the dressing room to wait for him to connect the dots. “…you… and Vinyl… are… dating?” He got out the words slowly, and tentatively. I leaned in, getting my mouth close to his ear, and in my best ‘I want you right now’ voice, I whispered, “Yes.” He looked ready to cry. But to his credit, he didn’t. He just turned a lighter shade of blue (which, with his coloration, was mildly impressive), and turned around. “I have somewhere to be.” And he ran off. I laughed my way into the changing room, knowing full well he was about to spread the news to the rest of the team. I couldn’t believe it when I got my invitation. The Grand Galloping Gala! I mean, I’m totally not into that high-society fru-fru stuff, but come on! All those bigwigs with money to spare? There was no way in Tartarus I was going to miss that. I mean, yeah, I had a contract with a local record company. And I was making good money. But all those ponies who had, no doubt, a laundry list of social gatherings year round? One good night at a party like that and I could be booked for a year! Not to mention the fact that I was going with my… hehehe… marefriend. At first, it had felt weird to say. I wasn’t entirely sure how it’d work out. And I was kinda worried that it’d get into the newspapers like the thing with Octavia did. But the two of us were so busy (and way too used to sneaking around), that keeping it private was easy as pie. Not that we were hiding it. Spitfire had been clear she didn’t want it to be a secret. We just… weren’t broadcasting it. I know it was a little like showing off, but still. I was proud of her. Proud to be with her. It was a pretty radical feeling. Of course, there was the slight damper that the Gala was HALF A YEAR FROM NOW. And the tickets were basically absolutely making sure that those who were invited, (and those who weren’t) were damn well informed. I’d already talked to Spitfire and told her I was going, cause it was basically second nature that she was, too. I had just been in the middle of mixing a new set when the mail arrived, and when I realized what it was, I called her right away. (Although they weren’t letting me DJ, I was just a guest. Which was cool, I guess.) Then a thought sprang to mind. Was Octavia going? I hadn’t talked to her in a while, and I thought maybe it would be a good thing to break the ice with. Unless, of course, she DIDN’T get an invite. Which would just prove to piss her off. I’d been trying to avoid upsetting her lately. Which usually means avoiding her. I felt bad about it, yeah. But it seemed like she was doing okay. She was smiling a bit more. I decided to bite the bullet and go say hi, at least. I’d talk about the Gala if she did, I figured. And she’d probably only talk about it if she got an invite. So it was all good. I was already knocking on her door when I’d come to this conclusion, which surprised me. I had meant to turn the sound system off before I left, but I shrugged. I’d get back to it. What surprised me more was what happened AFTER I knocked. The door swung open, and it wasn’t Octavia. “Oh, hey there. I’m Vinyl. Sup?” “Ah, so you’re the infamous DJ Pon-3. How do you do? My name is Fancy Pants.” I heard knocking. I was coming from the front door, and I was currently in the shower. “Fancy, could you get that, please?” I called over the sound of running water. The next thing I heard the door click open, and some mumbled conversation. Whoever it was, Fancy Pants deemed it necessary to invite them in. I heard hooves trotting into the living room. I turned the water off, having finished a while ago, and was just soaking. Giving myself a thorough dry, and re-affixing my collar, I made my way into the living room. “Who is it, Fancy? I heard you bring them- Oh! Hello, Vinyl.” “Hey, Tavi.” Vinyl was sitting on my couch, next to Fancy Pants. “What’s up?” “We were just getting ready to go out for lunch. Would you care to join us-“ BOOM. Something had exploded. That was my first thought. We all sat in shocked silence, then suddenly, Vinyl jumped up and screamed “MY RIG!” and ran out. Out of concern, and morbid curiosity, Fancy and I followed her back to her place. What we saw amazed, well, me, at least. I had no idea what Fancy’s thoughts were. There, in the middle of the room, was a large circle of ceiling. And a big shipping crate in the middle of it. A few feet away, Vinyl was hugging all her equipment. She checked wires, and switches, and plugs, and apparently, everything was ok, because she started crying over her turntables. “Oh thank goo-hoo-hoo-dnes!” She took a moment to expel her emotions, then ran to the mess in the middle of the floor. Climbing onto the shipping crate, she glared up. “WHO THE BUCK BROKE MY CEILING?!” In response, a mare popped her head out. Blonde hair, and a grey coat. And a lazy eye. I had seen her before, but couldn’t place it. “That was SO not my fault!” She shouted. Author's Note Ho yes. It’s happening. I totally just wrote that. You'll thank me later. Or now, if you like. In other news, the update schedule for this story (if you can call it a schedule) will be slightly off, as I am now working on another story. Starlight Over Detrot: The Detection Chronicles. It's a side story set in the universe of Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale by CEOKasen and Chessie. Go read their story if you haven't. It's absolutely brilliant and I'm honored that CEOKasen (or Chessie, or both) is(are) letting me write for it. It's a lot of fun and includes serial murderers, detectives, and ponies. All good things. ...that didn't come out right.
Shipping and Handling (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge)Chapter 10: Shipping and Handling (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge) I had never seen Vinyl so livid. “Are you insane?! You could have KILLED somepony! Not to mention my coffee table is completely trashed! Are you listening?! My security deposit is SCRAP!” The blonde mare looked around the room, as if she were trying to process the entirety of the situation. “Um... hold on... I have something...” she muttered while digging through... something nearby. I couldn’t see her very well. Eventually, her head popped back up, and she dropped a piece of paper on top of the crate. I half expected it to fall through the floor again, and keep going till it hit the basement, in true cartoon fashion. Instead, Vinyl took a look at the paper. “Derpy Mail Customer Service Hotline? The buck am I supposed to do with this?!” The blonde touched a hoof to her head, and all of a sudden I recognized her: Derpy Hooves. Owner of one of the few inter-city package delivery services in Equestria. Owner, of course, by virtue of being it’s ONLY employee. Nopony else wanted to deal with the liability. “Derpy?” I pointed the question at the ceiling. “Yeah?” “Could you be a dear and come down here, please?” I tried as soothing a voice as I could. She shook her head. “No way. She’s gonna kill me.” She pointed a gray hoof at Vinyl, currently burying her face in the pamphlet, reading it over. I couldn’t argue that. “Well, at least tell us what we’re supposed to do with this information,” I said, gesturing to the pamphlet she dropped. “Huh? Oh, yeah! Just call that number, and tell them what happened, and they’ll reembarrass, I mean repurse, I mean... pay you back and stuff for the broke things.” She smiled and nodded. Vinyl looked up at Derpy, glared for a moment, then looked back at the paper. “This better work...” She growled and walked over to her phone. Gracefully, it seems only her coffee table and ceiling had been damaged. I don’t think she really saw it that way, though. She picked up the phone, and dialed a number. Then I heard a phone ring. “Oh, ‘scuse me a sec, I gotta take that.” I looked up just as Derpy disappeared from the hole again. “Hello?” Now, I know it’s not very polite to say, but I very mush wanted to laugh right then. So much so that I thought I might burst. Because the expression on Vinyl’s face as she realized who exactly she was talking to could have melted steel were it so brave enough to walk into her line of sight. “DERPY!” The gray mare poked her head into the hole again. “Exc~use me, I’m on the phone.” I don’t remember much after that, because I think I passed out laughing. Which really wasn’t very ladylike. “And then Octavia just sits there and laughs, can you believe that?!” I was thankful once again that Vinyl’s voice wasn’t one of those that hit really high octaves when she yelled. It sounded more like primal screaming. We were in the Wonderbolt’s headquarters, in a small waiting room that led to my office. “Hey, Vi, you know she wasn’t trying to be mean.” I tried to be placating. Thankfully, it worked. “Yeah, your right. I’m sorry Spitfire, it’s just... I shelled out major bits for that apartment, right? And I’ve only had it a few months! You’d think a place that spendy would be a bit sturdier, at least.” I had to ask. “Um, what was in the big box, anyway?” She’d been telling me this story for the last ten minutes or so having called me once everything settled down. They were currently cleaning her apartment out of all the rubble and stuff. Vinyl looked up like she’d forgotten she was telling me a story in the first place. “Oh, right, the box...” I was so absolutely p.o.’ed I thought I was gonna die. This... mare comes out of nowhere and breaks my ceiling, almost destroys my sound system, and wrecks my totally new and show-offy coffee table. I hadn’t even broken it in yet! I gave Vinyl a look. “Um, what do you mean ‘broken in’?” She waved a hoof at me matter of factly. “Oh, I was just gonna rut you over it first chance I got.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, is that all?” “Anyway, stop interrupting me.” So the table’s trashed and there’s a hole in my ceiling. And ‘customer service’ isn’t being any help. So eventually I just hang up and wait for Derpy to do something about the box. It doesn’t take long. “Hey, um, can I have my box back?” She asks me, like nothing happened. Well, not exactly. She’s kind of cowering behind her floor at the moment, cause I think I was shooting sparks I was so mad. I think I remember smiling or something at that point, cause she hid a little more. “Oh, you want it back? Ok.” So I levitated the thing. Or, tried. I got it right the second time. And I lifted it up and dropped it on her floor again. In hindsight, that wasn’t the best move, because it could have caved the floor in again. But it didn’t. Instead, I see the box wobble a little bit, cause I can see partway into her apartment from where I am, right? I see it wobble a bit, and then it lifts up. And she’s carrying the thing on her back. I swear to Celestia, she’s just standing there with it. “Oh, thanks!” She says. The thing could have killed her and she says thanks. “I thought you were gonna be mad!” I can’t believe this. “What? No way. You’re totally making that up.” Vinyl throws her hooves in the air. “I wish I was! I’d be less confused! But, no, she bucking Tankbuster McEatsgrenades the thing onto her back, and walks off. Octavia was all passed out and stuff, but Fancy was still there. I think he’d just decided not to but in, or whatever. But then...” “Miss Scratch?” The guy sounds pretty cool. Kind of prissy, but not like snobby or anything. If that makes sense. He seems ok. “Would you like help cleaning this up?” It was like the third best thing I’d heard today. “Uh, sure, but do you know any repair spells?” He looks at me all wide-eyed, and laughs. “Oh, goodness, no.” Then he pulls out a cell phone and dials a number. “That’s what money is for.” I laughed at that. “He didn’t!” “He totally did! Like, five really beefy unicorn dudes showed up in minutes. They’re working on the place now. I gave him your direct line so he could let us know when he’s done.” Oh no she didn’t. “Vinyl...” Then she busts out laughing. “Bah! Yeah, right! Like I’d give that number away for free. Nah, he’s just gonna call the front desk and let her know. Should be any-” Just then, a knock on the waiting room door. “Come in.” The door opens, and it’s Wind Whistle. She hands a phone to Vinyl, looking both completely baffled and absolutely indignant. “It’s Fancy Pants. For you. HOW did you get FANCY PANTS to call you HERE?!” Vinyl just smiles at her and takes the phone. “Hey, Fancy Pants. Thanks for all the help, dude! What’s up?” Wind Whistle just shakes her head while Vinyl listens to Fancy Pants talk, and walks off. “Holy mother of Luna she’s crazy I swear to the stars...” her grumbling follows her down the hall. I wait patiently for Vinyl to wrap up, and she’s giving little “Yeahs” and “Uh-huhs”. Then her expression drops. “...what? ...how long? ... are you sure? Yeah, ok. Thanks so much, dude. Bye. Oh, tell Octavia hi for- Oh! She wants to talk to me? ...yeah, ok. I’ll be right over.” She hangs up and puts the phone down on an end table. “Vinyl, are you ok?” I reach a hoof out to her and pat her on the shoulder. She looks ready to cry. She turns her face up to look at me, then throws her arms around me. “Oh Spitfire, it’s terrible! It’s just the worst!” I reciprocate the hug, and pat her on the back. “What’s wrong? Are they kicking you out? Did they break something? Is somepony hurt?!” “No! I... I..., they...” she tries to make a sentence, but nothing’s coming out. “Vinyl, what is it?!” I yell, pulling her back to look her in the eye. “...I have no POWER! Waaaaahhhhhh!!” she throws herself around me and cries. “...what.” “Sorry about crying like a little filly back there, Spitfire.” Vinyl apologizes as we walk down the hall to her apartment. There’s still some dust and stuff in the hall being swept up by a rather masculine unicorn. Mmmmm. No, bad Spitfire. “It’s ok. It’s nothing rally major though, right? You’ll have it back in a few days. They just need to rewire your ceiling. Just be grateful she didn’t take out and plumbing, your whole living room would have been flooded.” Vinyl stops in her tracks, and shudders. “Jeez, talk about horror stories. My entire rig, soaked? I’d DIE.” I just roll my eyes. “Come on, let’s go talk to Octavia. Maybe there’s SOME good news lying around here somewhere.” She knocks on the door, and waits a moment. “Just a second!” Octavia’s voice calls out from the other side of the door. I don’t really have a lot of interaction with her, but I have to say, she’s got a pretty voice. Vinyl keeps saying mine’s the sexiest she’s ever heard. At least, when I’m not barking at recruits and stuff. Octavia opens the door, and her eyes widen. “Miss Spitfire! I didn’t realize you’d be joining us!” I shrug. “Just here for moral support.” “And to look sexy.” Vinyl smiles over her shoulder at me. “And to look sexy.” Octavia coughs. “Yes, well, do come in.” She leads us into a rather posh, unsurprisingly music themed living room. We take seats on her couch while she props herself up on a lounge chair. “So, Vinyl, I know we haven’t been talking much lately, but the last few months have been... rather an improvement over that first week.” Vinyl rolls her eyes. “You got that right. Hoh boy.” Octavia blushes slightly. She’s obviously still a little sore on the subject. “Yes, well. I’ve been, working on some... issues since then, and I’ve put some thought into what I’m about to ask you, so please at least consider it before you disagree, ok?” Vinyl looks a bit surprised. I guess I do, too. But Vinyl just motions for her to continue. “Ok, I’ll do my best.” It’s the charcoal mare’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, well. Seeing as how you’re... out of power, and everything in this complex runs on electricity, including hot water, I was thinking maybe you might need someplace to stay for the next few days...” “Yeah...” Vinyl agrees slowly. “So I was thinking maybe you could stay here with me for the time being.” “No.” I hadn’t intended to say it. I wasn’t even thinking about saying it. It just happened. This is SO not my fault. Author's Note Sorry guys, didn’t mean to take so long with a new chapter for this story. It's also a shorter-than usual chapter. I try and write to a specific word count, but I thought this part was pretty well-contained. So here ya go. Also, this story needs cover art.
Get CheckedChapter 11: Get Checked “What?” Vinyl sounded more than a little indignant, and I could really blame her. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say what she could and couldn’t do. So I back-pedaled. “I’m just saying I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I mean, the last time you guys did anything more than say hi to each other it wasn’t exactly hours of fun for the whole family.” I smiled weakly while Vinyl seemed to mull it over. “You do... have a point.” I was surprised that Octavia was the one to say it. “B-but I’m not like that! I... well, I can’t say I don’t have an idea of what came over me, but my therapist has yet to make a decision between daddy issues or identity repression. Either way, it hasn’t exactly happened since then, has it? And it’s not like my life is any less stressful.” I waved my hooves in front of my face defensively. “Oh, no, I’m not saying you are! I’m just... you two aren’t exactly a stable compound. I can’t imagine what sharing living space would be like.” Vinyl smirked at me, and even behind those enormous shades I could tel she was waggling her eyebrows. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll come to visit and find me in the throes of passion with a newfound love? DO you not want to chance my heart being stolen away by a beautiful classy lady of the upper crust?” “Vinyl!” Octavia leaned back in her chair, but still looked a bit bemused. We could tell Scratch was just kidding. I think. “No, I’m more worried the next time I’ll see you will be on the front page of the paper or the side of a milk carton.” They both apparently found something amusing in my deadpan tone, and laughed. I tried to look serious for a while, but ended up joining in. Vinyl was the first to recover and speak. “Look, Spitfire, it’s either I crash with her.” She nodded to Octavia, then leaned in and nuzzled my neck. “Or I stay with you...” I thought about that for a moment. Vinyl in my house. More than likely in my bed. Sharing time together. Showers, long nights. It was a pleasant thought. It was almost a chore to think practically, what with her moving on from rubbing her muzzle into my shoulder to nibbling on my ear. Ok, sharing food. And a bed. Hot water. And a shower. She wouldn’t be there all the time. She had a job. She’d just be home to hang out, or eat, or... practice... on her sound system. Her enormous thousands of dollars loud as buck sound system. “As much as I would love to.” Vinyl took that as a cue to nip the back of my neck, and I let out a groan. “I need sleep. You know, that thing normal ponies do where they don’t move for hours at a time and get well-rested?” Vinyl leaned back and scoffed. “Pfff. Please. Sleep is for the week. At least Tavi can handle that.” Before Octavia got a chance to retaliate, or protest, or really process anything, Vinyl had jumped over to the side of her chair and thrown her arm around the charcoal mare. “Looks like we’re roomies by default! I’ll go get an overnight bag and stuff!” She ran off without giving either of us a chance to utter another word. Octavia looked like she’d just chosen door number three and opened it to find a colt with a gun pointed at her. “Um... sleep is... for the weak?” My shoulders slumped in sympathy. “I’m sorry.” No, it couldn’t be that bad. I mean yes, we’d had our disagreements. But I’d long come to terms with the fact that she was just sticking up for her friends or defending herself. She wasn’t an instigator or anything. I’d seen her apartment, and it looked... clean. There was no trash or old food. Just... stuff everywhere. and she wasn’t taking all of her stuff over to my place anyway. Just a bag or two and using my shower... and my kitchen... and sleeping in my apartment because hers wasn’t heated and it was now fall going on winter... I leaned against the back of my chair. “Oh Celestia what have I done?” Spitfire looked at me apologetically. “Again, I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can keep my schedule with her around. I mean, I love her to bits, and it’s not like our schedules conflict, but... I think I’ve maybe seen her sleep once or twice when she didn’t absolutely need to. She’s very much an... all-nighter pony.” I looked at the pegasus seriously. “I... guess I can understand. And I did make the offer myself... but what about later?” “Later?” She seemed confused. “Isn’t this just a short-term fix while they work on her wiring?” I shook my head. “Not for me. For you. If you can’t live together even for a few days, what are you going to do when you two get more serious?” She seemed a little confused at that. Then her befuddled look moved on to one of concern. “I... I hadn’t thought about that. She’s been totally serious about this ‘us’ thing. And I couldn’t be happier about it, especially after all these years and... no. I will figure this out. WE will figure this out. You’re right. You’re right! I need to be able to prepare for that when it happens.” Her confidence rose as she spoke, and when she was done she looked downright determined. Then she rounded on me. “So... I have to ask. Why did you offer in the first place?” I’d kind of been hoping she wouldn’t ask me that. “I... I want to say it’s just for saying I’m sorry for how we... met. Part of me always did think that I never properly apologized. But I’m not that naive. There’s more to it, and as selfish as it may seem, I want to be able to prove to myself that I’m not the pony she knew for that one rather unpleasant week. I’ve been avoiding her because part of me is afraid that there’s always going to be that other little piece of me that will always be like that. I still don’t know what all happened, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I might never know, but I feel like, and here’s the selfish part again, like I owe it to myself and to Vinyl to prove that I’m a better pony than I started out as when she first met me.” “I always did wonder if that was a ‘just me’ thing.” I jumped around and saw Vinyl standing in the doorway smiling at us. Over her shoulder I saw a few worker ponies reading schematics and pointing. “Oh, um, Vinyl! I... uh...” Stupid words, why won’t you work? “Did the... did the electricians say anything while you were in there?” Vinyl nodded. “Yeah, but the conversation out here is more... stimulating.” Her smile looked like a cobra’s. “Stimulating?” Spitfire’s tone and expression were all confusion. The white DJ looked back and forth between myself and her marefriend. “...oh come on! You have to admit having two beautiful mares argue over who gets to keep me at their place is totally hot.” My hoof met my face in a time-honored expression of exasperation. “Vinyl... Look, what did the electricians say?” She huffed while Spitfire chuckled into her hoof. “You’re no fun. They said it might be a few days cause it tug some wires out. Hard. I think he said there should be a few neighboring apartments without... power...” Vinyl’s voice trailed off as her gaze moved to a lamp on a nightstand. That was flickering. Oh please... no. You know that sound when all the power goes out? Like, all at once? That heavy click as some circuit or another trips and the winding down of electrical currents? Yes, it’s terrifying. My whole room went dark. “Oh no. No no no no no....” I sprung to my hooves and ran into Vinyl’s apartment, where a rather frustrated electrician was staring at the ceiling. I followed his gaze to see a pegasus in work clothes fuddling with some wiring. They shouted back and forth using a lot of terms I didn’t understand, until I finally coughed lightly to get the electrician’s attention. He looked down at me, and must have seen something in my admittedly panicked expression, because his face softened. “You don’t... happen to live across the hall, do you?” “...yes?” My answer was timid and blindly hopeful. “Do you have a place you can hang out for a few days?” I have to admit, Spitfire’s place was totally cool. I thought she lived in a cloud like a bunch of other (ok, one other) pegasi I know. But it was actually this two-story thing built into the side of this big-ass rock that wasn’t quite attached to the mountainside. I mean, it was, that’s how it got there, but it wasn’t... oh you know what I mean. Spitfire, the awesome, sexy, wild mare that she is, agreed to let us both stay here while the apartment got fixed. She made me leave my recording equipment and speakers and stuff, though. At least I still had my laptop and some headphones and stuff. I had to fight for the turntable. Or rather, ear-nibble my way to victory. It was a fierce battle. Casualties on both sides. The casualty being I didn’t get to sleep in her bed. Octavia and I would be sharing a room. Which was ok, I guess. “Alright, there are a few rules here, you two.” Spitfire talked over her shoulder while she worked the key with the lock. “I’ve got to get up in the morning. I can usually go with only a few hours or so of sleep, but there is going to be some kind of mandatory bedtime. Or at least a set hour where you two need to be quiet.” She kept saying you two, but I was pretty sure she was talking about me. She was using her Captain Voice and looking over at me every once in a while. “Yes, ma’am!” I saluted, earning me a shadow of a smile. “Damn right. No using all the hot water. No parties unless we plan them first. Actually, you’re only here like a week or so. So no parties. At least not here. I don’t care if you go party somewhere else, but not in my house. I don’t need to be on the news.” She led us inside and Octavia and I put our bags down, taking a moment to look around. Her whole house was like a Wonderbolts Museum. Now, I’d always thought it was awesome that she was the Captain of the team and they were the best fliers in Equestria and all of that jazz. But aside from the times I went to her shows I never really saw that part of her life. She was always a different pony around me. Being here, in her home, seeing all of the memorabilia... I realized at least a little how much a part of her her job really was. I guess this is how ponies feel when they see all my equipment when they first walk into my place. Of course I’d been here before. But usually just to pick her up, or when we got in late at night. You don’t pay as much attention to your surroundings then as you do when you look around the place you’re going to be living, even just for a little while. As I glanced around, I noticed Octavia taking in the individual displays, making rather cute “Oohs” and “Aahs” as she walked. But Spitfire wasn’t done. “Help yourself to food and stuff, I know you guys brought some from your house so it didn’t go bad, and honestly, I’d prefer you eat that first. Don’t roughhouse, and for the love of Luna don’t break anything.” She looked back and forth between both of us as she said that. I tried my best to be offended. “Hey, name the last time I broke something-” “The table in my office.” Spitfire had an answer ready. I smiled, though. “That was a group effort and you know it.” She blushed, and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Seriously though, I’m totally careful with other ponies stuff.” “Now.” Again with the retorts. Then she looked at Octavia. “And you. I know you’ve been doing all this therapy and self-help and what have you, but I feel it bears repeating- please try not to lose your marbles in my house.” The charcoal mare blushed, and looked a bit sheepish, but her gaze didn’t falter. “That’s the plan.” My marefriend smiled, and her voice returned to it’s sexy, sexy rasp. Sweet moon in the sky I’d had dreams about that voice. “Ok, let’s get this party started.” Author's Note Yay, plot progression! I’m trying to tie up some loose ends from early on in the story, as well as lead to the conclusion I have somewhat written down in my head maybe somewhere. ...plot!
The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1)Chapter 12: The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1) I could not believe my eyes. Nothing in this scenario made sense. I’d been listening to music, or, more specifically, making it more awesome than it already was, when I heard a noise downstairs. Through noise-cancelling headphones. With the dial at 11. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I ran downstairs, two at a time, and noticed that DAMN there’s a lot of stairs in Spitfire’s house. Why are there so many stairs in Spitfire’s house?! She FLIES! WHAT. Anyway, I get down there, and stop at the ground floor, cause I can’t tell where the noise came from. Then I hear some scuffing and yelps and stuff, and start following the noise. Eventually, I trace it back to the kitchen. And I, being the heroic and amazing mare that I am, throw the door open. “Nopony move! I’m here to save you!” My yell seemed instantly redundant, however, as I saw what had caused all the noise. Namely, Spitfire lying on top of Octavia, both of whom were covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Spitfire looked from me to Octavia back to me. “I can explain.” She sounded like a foal with her hoof in the cookie jar. I crossed my forelegs and leaned against the door frame. “Oh, please do.” Ok, backing up for a minute, this whole scenario actually started much earlier this morning when I came down to have something for breakfast. I thought about waking you up, Vinyl, but it was only like 9 A.M. So I went downstairs and had breakfast. Or, tried. There was an Octavia in the way. Namely, I couldn’t get to the fridge, because she was practically climbing into the thing. I coughed to get her attention, then flinched when her head hit the shelf above her. I half expected something to break. “Owww, Vinyl...” She turned around, and seeing it wasn’t in fact Vinyl, started to stammer out an apology. “Oh-Miss Spitfire! I’m so sorry, I... I was looking for eggs and I-” “I don’t have any eggs.” I gave her a bemused look. “Can’t eat ‘em.” Her eyes got wide like I’d told her she’d killed my dog. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know... I-” “YOU are apologizing way to profusely for my lack of eggs and your head injury. Or maybe you should be apologizing for calling me Vinyl. That’s a rather serious grievance, you know.” That got her to loosen up, and she laughed. “Yes, I can imagine so.” “Hey!” I said from the doorway. Spitfire and Octavia had by now separated, and Octavia was cleaning herself off with a wet rag. Spitfire rolled her eyes at me. “You want me to tell you the story or not?” She gave me a grin and waved me off. “Fine.” Anyway, after we stopped laughing at your expense, I showed her where all the breakfast stuff was. Namely, the protein shakes and high-fiber cereals. She said she wasn’t hungry anymore, so I shrugged and got myself some of each. A nice, balanced breakfast for any athlete. At least, that’s what I explained to her. “You do remember I’m an artist, right?” Octavia gave me a quizzical look while peeking around my cupboards for something artsy to eat. “So what, you live on croissants and lattes?” I was halfway through a bite of cereal when I saw the look on her face. I almost choked. “Oh my god you do! HA! I thought that was just a thing college kids did!” She blushed and laid her face on the counter. “I... never really grew out of it. They were just so tasty!” I rolled my eyes, again, and took pity on her. Throwing her a banana from the fruit bowl, I came up with a solution. “Alright, tell you what. I’ll finish eating my real food, then we can go down to this little coffee shop and grab you something to eat. Why didn’t you bring any of that with you when you moved in yesterday?” I took another bite while waiting for her to answer. She pawed at the ground. “Well, actually, I don’t really keep much food in my house. I usually eat out with friends, and I have this regular coffee shop that I go to, so...” Her voice trailed off as she looked at me sheepishly. I had to let out a sigh. “Right. We’re so going grocery shopping. You-” I jabbed a hoof at her, “-are going to learn the value of home cooking and saving money. I-” I jabbed a hoof at myself, “-am looking for an excuse to eat something I really probably shouldn’t.” She stopped for a second and laughed a little. She was pretty cool, and didn’t seem very tightly wound. “Ok, fair enough.” She finally conceded, and ate the banana. It wasn’t long after that that we ended up walking down to this quaint little cafe up the road from the house. I was rather charmed with it- “Whoa, hey. Why are you telling the story?” I asked Octavia, as she finished toweling off. I looked over to Spitfire, her head in the sink, and all I got from her was “Gurgle gurgle.” I nodded sagely as Octavia gave me a placating smile. “Right, go on.” As I was saying, this cafe was rather... cute. Not like the hustle and bustle of the chain restaurants I usually visit. There were very few ponies around, but they all seemed to recognize Spitfire. And not in the celebrity way. There were hoofshakes, and tipped hats, it was all rather sweet. Finally, Spitfire sat us down at this little counter separating the dining room from the kitchen. This older mare in an apron, I believe Spitfire said she was the owner, leaned on the counter and gave Spitfire and I a hello. “Well, hi there.” She seemed a little... rustic. It was quite charming. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Who’s this, Spitfire?” Spitfire nodded, and gestured towards me. “This is Octavia. She’s... living with me till they fix her apartment up.” Apparently the waitress caught on to that little pause, and gave Spitfire a knowing look. “So what happened?” Her voice was stern and motherly. If not for the fact that she looked nothing like Spitfire, (she was off-white with a light tan mane, and a cup of coffee for a Cutie Mark, as well as... matronly plump), I’d swear she WAS her mother. Spitfire sighed. “Ok, you know how I told you Vinyl and I finally started dating?” The waitress mare nodded, and Spitfire explained the whole situation. Well, enough of it to explain my presence. She was considerately vague on certain details, which I appreciated. “...and that’s where we are now.” Spitfire took a sip of a drink I hadn’t notice she’d received. I looked down and, in fact, I too had a cup of coffee to drink. I was about to ask for cream and sugar when I felt Spitfire’s elbow in my side. I looked over at her, and her expression said quite plainly, ‘Just drink the coffee.’ It was, in short, delicious. “Now where are my manners!” The exclamation caught me by surprise, and had I not just finished my drink, I probably would have spilled some. I looked up to the waitress giving me a warm expression. “I haven’t even introduced myself. Name’s Cafe Latte! Pleasure to meet a friend of Spitfire’s!” I was about to protest that we aren’t... exactly friends, but her expression was too warm and welcoming for me to have the hart. Instead, I shook her extended hoof, and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve never had a cup of coffee like this before.” I thought complimenting her brew was a good start to a conversation that I had the feeling was going to last a while. Latte nodded, and smiled proudly. “Best brew in Canterlot. And none of that sissy milk and sugar, neither! Glad to see a mare who can take it black as night!” I nodded knowingly, figuring that this was why Spitfire had wanted me to drink the coffee straight. The rest of the visit was uneventful, save for some delightful conversation and a rather tasty croissant, but immediately after, we went to the grocery store. “And this is where it all goes downhill.” Spitfire’s voice caught my attention, as I looked over to the freshly clean, and deliciously soaking wet, mare leaning on the counter. “May I?” Spitfire asked. Octavia nodded and blushed. “Please... do.” I dropped down from my standing position against the door, and instead took a seat at the counter. The girls followed suit. “This should be good.” Spitfire tilted her head. “Well...” Ok, so we got out of Cafe Dusty, and walked down to the grocery store. I think you know the place. Huge supermarket thing like five blocks away. Coltway or something. Anyway, we get there, and right away I can tell this one hasn’t been in a grocery store like this. Ever. I know, I couldn’t believe it either. The first thing we see is the grocery aisle, cause that’s how it’s put together. And for a while, it’s just walking around, looking for the bakery and the coffee aisles and anything else Octavia needs. I have to say, though, she looked adorable. Pushing that cart around and trying to look at everything at once. It was kind of funny. But then... then we get to the frozen foods aisle. At first it was just like every other aisle. She was looking around in total amazement at the things ponies invent to shove in their mouths. And to be honest, sometimes it amazes me too. Then, I heard four little words. Perfectly innocent. And I thought I was going to cry. “Spitfire, what’s ‘Rocky Road’?” I couldn’t stop myself. I did a total 180 and stared at her. She could have grown a second head and I’d be less surprised. More disturbed? Yes. But less surprised. “What?!” She flinched, and pointed quietly to a display case. “Um, I was wondering what Rocky Road was?” I take a moment to compose myself, and walk over to the display. It’s the ice cream section. Then a thought occurs to me. “Octavia, please tell me you know what ice cream is.” I almost beg. “Of course I do! It’s a vanilla flavored dairy dessert.” She smiled at me. Smiled. Like she hadn’t just said what I wish she hadn’t just said. I facehoofed. The only appropriate response. “Octavia, you are familiar with flavors, yes?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course I know what flavors are, I... oh.” she looked at me, then at the display case. Then at me. “I’m sorry. I’d... well I’ve never had anything other than Vanilla... flavored ice cream. My parents were rather stringent about sweet things, and to be honest I’d never really had the occasion to eat it since I was a filly. I wasn’t especially a fan.” I thought my heart was gonna break. “That’s... the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. A kid who doesn’t like ice cream? Who’s only ever had vanilla?!” I decided right then and there to right this wrong. “That’s it. We’re making sundaes. YOU are going to try as many flavors of ice cream as I can make you before you get sick and I am going to forget my diet for a whole day to make this happen.” I put my muzzle up to hers. “You better understand the sacrifice I’m making here, Octavia.” She nodded. Of course a high-society girl understood the importance of a diet. So we pile it in the cart. Like, 15 different flavors. I’m even sure there was one in there I couldn’t pronounce. Octavia looked at the cart and frowned. “Are you sure you have enough room in your freezer?” I laughed. “Please! Half this won’t make it into the freezer anyway. and I’ll just build up some snow in the backyard and bury the rest. For... later.” We were on our way out of the store when I forgot something really important. “Oh, snap!” Octavia turned around and almost fell down she spun so quickly. “We almost forgot chocolate sauce! and whipped cream! And nuts!” She looked at me like I’d lost it. “Um, nuts?” I gave her a look. “Oh, you don’t even KNOW.” I looked back and forth between Spitfire and Octavia. Then at the rest of the kitchen, which was a total mess. Ice cream lay everywhere. Dessert toppings lined the walls and floor like confetti and streamers. “So?! What happened?!” Spitfire gave Octavia a sideways look, and the grey mare spoke up quietly. “Well, as it turns out... there was a reason I wasn’t allowed many sweets, let alone ice cream, as a child.” I wait for her to finish, and she looks up at me with a guilty smile. “I believe they’re called... sugar rushes?” [TO BE CONTINUED] Author's Note I wanted to make this story all into one big chapter, but I realized it would get pretty damn big by the time I was done. So it’s going to be a two (or three) parter. CLIFFHANGERS, HO!
The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 2)Chapter 13: The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part II) So, as we carried our large amounts of groceries back to the house, Spitfire kept talking about all of the wonderful combinations you could make with ice cream. Having never had more than vanilla, I couldn’t very well understand or imagine most of what she was talking about, so I just nodded along. It was much like listening to somepony explain hoofball to me. Again. Once we got to the house and put everything away, I’d assumed that we’d merely wait until after dinner and have a small to-do about it, making some of these rather interesting-sounding concoctions for dessert. Spitfire wasn’t having any of that. I’d only gotten halfway to the freezer with the first carton of ice cream when she almost yelled at me, “What do you think you’re doing?!” I stopped, taken aback. “I was... I was going to put the ice cream away? We don’t want it to melt before dinner, do we?” She looked at me like a crazy pony. ME! A crazy pony! ...shut up. Anyway, I put the carton back on the counter, and watched as she arranged all of the ice cream in neat rows with the toppings and utensils and other assorted paraphernalia surrounding it. Then she made it snow. She’s somehow smuggled a cloud into her house, which, given that the house was made of clouds on the outside, didn’t surprise me that much. What did surprise me was watching her pound on it vigorously until snow came out, covering the counter. “What?” she asked, looking at me like she was doing nothing out of the ordinary like precipitating all over the counter, “We don’t want it to get warm, do we?” “That’s what a freezer is for!” I yelled, exasperated. I could tell I wasn’t going to win this one, so I merely trotted over to stand beside her while she worked, waiting for her to finish her elaborate setup. Once she was done, she gestured grandly to the display. It was rather nice and tidy, I’ll give her that. Even with the snow. “I give you, the ice cream bar! Well, more like a buffet. Ice cream bars are actually a specific dessert,” she elaborated. I could tell I was going to get lost rather quickly. “I’ll start you out with something simple. We’ve got a lot of ice cream to try, and I don’t want you getting full, so here’s a bowl and spoon for sampling.” She handed me what looked like a toy plastic spoon and what I’m pretty sure was a small cup. “Now, there’s three basic flavors that everypony should try. Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. The most common application of these is Neapolitan ice cream, shown here,” she gestured to a three-striped style of ice cream she’d set aside. She dug a small scoop out of the snow, and served be a rather tiny portion of Neapolitan. I tried the vanilla section first, having had it before. I was curious to see if it still tasted like I remembered. It did. Mild, sweet, but mostly unimpressive. Rather ordinary. In a word, vanilla. Then, I sampled the strawberry- I sighed, waving a hoof to get Octavia to stop. “Wait, hold on. Are you going to give me a step by step of this whole thing? Cause as much as I would LOVE to know why you two were living out one of my favorite dreams on the kitchen floor, I do have stuff to do.” Spitfire smiled, placating, at me. “Oh, don’t worry. It gets better.” “Right” Octavia huffed. “As I was saying...” I tried the strawberry next, and was pleasantly surprised. It was sweet and soft, like the vanilla, but the flavor was a bit more bold. I’d always been rather fond of strawberries, so I enjoyed it quite a bit. I had a few more bites of it, and smiled. “That’s not bad at all!” I exclaimed. I looked up to Spitfire to seek her opinion, but she just grinned devilishly at me. “Try the chocolate,” was all she said. So I did. “...and?” I asked, looking from the pegasus to the Earth pony. “What happened?” Spitfire patted Octavia on the back. “Let me tell this part, ok?” Octavia just nodded. So Octavia was pretty happy with the Strawberry. I wasn’t surprised. She seemed like the type to like fruity stuff. So I figured, her being more of a girl than both of us put together, she’d love the chocolate. “Try the chocolate,” I said. I thought she’s love it. I never thought she’d explode. “Oh my Celestia that’s DELICIOUS!” she yelled, after just a bite. She mauled the rest of the sample cup and practically dove for the carton. Fortunately I, being the fastest pegasus ever, caught her before she face-planted all over everything. “Whoa, girl. We have PLENTY of others to try. Chocolate isn’t even the half of it.” She stared at me like I’d told her the princess was coming over. Her eyes got wide and her pupils dilated like crazy. “There’s more?!” she asked. She sounded like a schoolfilly. It should have been a warning sign. I took it as a challenge. “Oh yeah. There’s more,” I told her, scooping up a personal favorite, Doublin-Bank Mud Slide, into another sample cup. She’d destroyed the first one. I handed it over, and she bore no hesitation in taking a bite. Now, since you look confused, Vinyl, allow me to explain what’s in Doublin-Bank Mud Slide ice cream. Chocolate. Shirish Cream. Chocolate cookie dough mix. Chocolate fudge. And, for added flavor, chocolate pieces. It was like giving a five year old a backpack nuke. She went off like a bomb and almost ATE the cup. Like, I had to tug it out of her teeth, she was still chewing on it. “Give me... Octi-stop... give-me-the-cup!” I shouted, and she let go. I tumbled flank-over-heels. Thus, I was unable to stop her from getting to the rest of the Mud Slide. Thank Luna it was just a pint. “Hey!” I shouted. apparently it was just loud enough. She seemed to snap out of it, staring at the ice cream then at me. “Oh, dear,” she muttered, looking back at the ice cream. “Um... I can explain?” I leaned on the snowbank on my counter, after finally righting myself. “Please do.” She stopped for a second, and put down the now-demolished pint. “Well, I-” “Hold on a second,” said Octavia. “Let me talk about this for a moment, Spitfire.” I watched them stare at each other for a few seconds, then Spitfire nodded. Then Octavia turned to me. “Vinyl, you know how I’ve been in therapy for the last few months?” “Yeah...” I said hesitantly. “Wait, are you about to tell me you had another episode?” “Well, kind of. It wasn’t sexual, though!” she added hastily, apparently seeing my expression. At that point I was just confused. “Well, my therapist, for all the good he’s worth, has a running theory. It isn’t a final diagnosis yet, but he has a strong suspicion that I might have a moderate case of Manic Histrionic Disorder.” I had no idea what that meant. “What?” “To put it simply, I have a, oh what was the phrase, ‘dramatic, underlying need to be the focus of attention, sometimes displaying erratic, unsuitable behavior for attention, including aggressive or hyperactive displays of emotion and affection,’” she explained. “So, basically, you’re a crazy attention horse?” I asked. Right away I knew I could have been more delicate. She didn’t do more than flinch, though. “Well, yes. He thinks I have this underlying need for attention that’s gotten so severe that I’m lashing out at odd times. When I come across something I want, or, in some cases, convince myself I need, I have a tendency to act out to get it, sometimes either taking it or drawing attention to myself until it’s given to me.” I was still a little confused. “And ice cream falls into that category?” She tilted her head, looking a little apprehensive. “Well, yes and no. Large amounts of stimulants do it. My body is accustomed to coffee, since I’ve been having it every day since I can remember, so caffeine is nothing new or worrisome. Large amounts of sugar, however...” “-and you go off like a firecracker,” I finished for her. “But I thought you’d only had a couple of sample cups?” She nodded, and glanced over to Spitfire, who seemed to be content watching us talk. With a nod from the pegasus, she continued on. “Yes, I did. I also had plenty of caffeine earlier, which, on it’s own, isn’t enough to set me off. In all honesty I should have stayed away from the ice cream, but I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did. I enjoyed it so much and ate it so fast that I kind of flipped.” I paused for a moment, looking around the kitchen, and back and forth between the two mares. “So, let me get this straight. This whole mess was because you flipped out over some frozen dairy goodness?” Spitfire nodded for her. “Yeah. I called her shrink while she was plugging away at the quart of chocolate, and apparently she isn’t allowed to have any stimulants at all. He’s been trying to get her to not drink coffee,” she accented the last few words with a knowing stare at Octavia, “and when I told her about the ice cream he just sighed and told me to calm her down and take her somewhere else..” That all sounded about right, but something was amiss. “So hold on, where’s the rest of the ice cream? She didn’t eat the whole damn thing, did she?” Spitfire seemed to think for a moment. “Oh! Yeah, no. She got like halfway through the chocolate before I stopped her. It took her a bit to get her away from it, but eventually I got her into the living room and calmed her down. Then we started cleaning up...” So after her little episode, we started to put away all the ice cream. Well, I put away ice cream. She did dishes and put away toppings. I had to talk her out of eating the chocolate syrup from the bottle, though. That was the easy part. Then we had to clean the counters and stuff. See, when I was getting the ice cream away from her, we kind of wrestled a bit. And stuff got... well, everywhere. and the snow had melted while I was talking her down in the living room. So the whole kitchen was a total wreck. It was when I’d set her to clean up the counter that we started making all the noise that I’m assuming dragged you down here. See, she’s knocked over a can of whipped cream, which had spilled a little. And, well, she’d apparently never had THAT before either. “Octavia,” I said, when I saw what she had in her hoof. Or, more appropriately, was licking off of it. “Put that down. We talked about this.” “Oh, come on, Miss Spitfire, it’s just some cream. How bad can it be?” she asked innocently. I wasn’t buying it. I dove for the can before she could start chugging it, and kind of miscalculated. When I hit her instead of the cream, we crashed into a cupboard, and accidentally set off the whipped cream can. And the chocolate syrup in the cupboard above us, which fell over and splattered both of us. I was just wrestling the can from her when you came down. I looked over the mess still left behind in the kitchen, and the two now slightly dry ponies at the counter. “And I thought I was going to be the trouble here.” Spitfire giggled. “Actually, so did I,” she threw a look at Octavia, which I copied. She looked back and forth from me to my marefriend, and sighed. “I should have stayed in Ponyville.” Author's Note This one’s a bit short, being the second half of a two-parter, but it answers some questions I’ve been wanting to clear out for a while.
The Amora Crescendo (Part 1)Chapter 14: The Amora Crescendo (Part 1) One of the things about sharing a room with somepony you aren’t sleeping with is that you’re always very aware of exactly how much space they take up on the bed. Namely, despite how much I may appreciate staring at her flanks, Octavia’s rear end takes up so much room when she’s sleeping I’ve woken up more than once thinking I took somepony home last night. So, for the most part, I either stay as far on my side of the bed as possible, or sleep somewhere else. Well, I was. Today is the day we finally go home. FINALLY. So, foregoing making the snarky remark about Octy’s hind end, I roll myself out of bed soon as I wake up (which is far from normal, let me tell you), and trot downstairs for breakfast. We’d been here about a week and a half. They kept coming up with more stuff to fix, but eventually we got a call last night saying to get ready to move tomorrow. I was so stoked I hardly slept. Well, I hardly sleep anyways, at night. I think I got all of two hours. I make my merry way into the living room, and lo and behold, my athlete marefriend is already awake. “Morning, Sunshine,” she whistles, taking a look at me. I must look a mess, but I’m used to it. “I will never understand how you crazy ponies get up so damn early. What is wrong with you athletic types?” I grumble, not having all of my voice back from snoring all night. Yeah, I snore, so what? She flips her hair at me and winks. Hello. “It helps keep us super sexy. Speaking of which, why are you up so early?” “You know, I was going to make a comment about how the whole getting up early thing to stay sexy was totally working, but now you’ve gone and done it.” I trot right past her without looking at her, and fish some cereal out of a cupboard. “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.” She flies over the countertop, and lands almost on top of me. Her hooves snake around my neck and her muzzle rubs against my ear. “You don’t need sleep to be sexy. The rest of us mere mortals are just trying to keep up.” Her normally sexy voice is like liquid honey with all that sexy husk she’s pouring on. But I’m more than practiced in keeping my cool. “Nice recovery, but nope. I’ve got way too much to do today to let my awesome self be distracted by such-” I quickly forget what I was going to say as her teeth find purchase on my ear, then my neck, as she sucks on my jawline. “Oh, come on.” “That’s what I was thinking.” Her breath on my ear is like hot, musky torture. I gotta have it. “Quicky in the kitchen?” “Oh, no~. I plan on taking my time.” Oh sweet baby Luna. I awake feeling rather refreshed, for the first time in days. It took me by surprise, really. Usually I wake up when Vinyl jumps in bed, or when she starts snoring, or when she kicks. These don’t happen very often, mind you, but enough that I haven’t slept as soundly as I’d like for over a week. My practice was suffering, as well. I even played a few wrong notes the other day. Me! Wait, that sounds a little conceited. But still, I’m very practiced. And how many wrong notes could you possibly expect during warm-up pieces? That was all out of my mind this morning, as I get up and stretch properly. I can never understand how Vinyl goes anywhere and dances and moves so much without stretching first. Her bones are going to run screaming for the hills one of these days. My mind rolls over a little as I ponder where exactly it is Vinyl has gone off to. It’s not like her to not be here when I wake up- she sleeps like a log through basically anything. We’ve proven this. I wish I had that talent. But, as of today, I won’t need it. It will be back to my normal bed, my normal schedule, and my normal Vinyl-free world. As much as I may have grown to not despise her lately, and in fact sort of like being around her, she’s the kind of pony best taken in small doses. You know the type. Either way, I have quite a bit of work to do. Not as much as Vinyl, mind you, but I still have a few things to move. I also have some things in town to take care of, and I am rather excited about the day, overall. Especially sleeping in my own bed. Ah, my bed. I can’t wait to see it again. It may only have been a week, but it was a week I was unprepared for, and thus it dragged on much longer than I believe it had any right to. The first thing I do is put all of my stuff together. Not much, just my cello and my music sheets and some amenities and necessities. I try not to pack too heavy, especially since I take my cello with me everywhere. I really do adore my little Chessie. What? Well, as I was saying, I’m packing up my materials, when I notice some... noises from downstairs. Rather familiar noises, although I couldn’t tell you where I recognize them. At first. All I can hear is shuffling, and some vocalization. It isn’t until I opened the bedroom door that I realize what I’m listening to. Vinyl and Spitfire having sex. Again. Really, I can’t wait to leave. I’m about to close the door when a particular exclamation catches my ear. “No... slower... don’t...” I should just close the door and leave well enough alone. But I know that voice to be Vinyl’s. And, surprisingly, I can almost envision what it is they’re doing. I’d heard her talk like that before, when I... no. No, I am not going to think about that. I am going to close my door and finish packing and ignore it like a polite and sophisticated mare. Eventually. I feel exhausted. Which is totally not fair. I’d gotten this great night’s sleep and I was all ready to pack up my stuff and get going back to my house. But no, my marefriend has to lay me out on the kitchen floor and... you know what? None of your business. But still. That happened. And then she goes off with a smile on her face and flies out the door to work to leave me recovering on the cloudnoleum. The bitch. The sexy, sexy bitch. I decide to try standing, at first, which seems pretty easy. Just put myself on my hooves and balance. I mean, I’ve got four, right? What could go wrong? Ow. Aside from gravity, I mean. So I try again. Successfully this time, I might add. I trot over to a cool, clean countertop and lean on it like a life raft. “Oh countertop, you’re my best friend.” I stroke it gently, still feeling more than a little amorous after... breakfast. Sex and breakfast. Sexfast. Actually, that doesn’t work. We weren’t fast about it at all. I’ll work on it. So I’m trying to come up with a clever way of combining euphemisms for sex and other words for breakfast into something catchy to use later when I hear a noise. A noisy noise. The kind of noisy noisy that sounds... noisy. I turn my head with much effort, and look over at the door to the kitchen, just in time to see what I believe to be the source of the noise scamper away. At least, part of it. I catch a glimpse of one grey hoof disappear around the frame, and a few scattered pieces of what I think is a vase. Wait, what? Was Octavia watching us? That’s kind of hot. NO. BAD Vinyl. Anyway, I figure I should go address the issue before it gets too out of control. Again. So I slowly make my way up to Octy’s room. One. Step. At. A. Time. Oh, hello gravity. The door slams behind me as I run back into my room. I can’t believe myself at this point. Watching my friends have sex? What is wrong with me? Don’t answer that, brain. I need something to distract myself. Something to drown out the images. All I can see right now is Vinyl and Spitfire, tangled on the floor. Spitfire’s wings stretched out and fully extended as she arches her back. Vinyl’s eyes glazed over. Spitfire’s tail twitching back and forth furiously. Vinyl writhing around. Vinyl moaning, digging her muzzle into Spitfire’s mane. Vinyl screaming for more. Vinyl.... NO. Not again. I won’t let myself be consumed like this again. My eyes dart around the room as I search for some kind, any kind of reprieve. And they land on my cello. Perfect. Nothing is better than expressing emotion and untapped passion than music. Fortunately, I hadn’t packed it all away yet. I trot hurriedly over to the case, but slow my motions as I open it, and pull the instrument out. I pull out an assortment of sheet music, not really paying attention to what songs they are, and lay them out on the bed. Standing myself upright with my instrument, my hoof holding my bow maybe tighter than it should, I study each sheet, looking for just the right notes. Something to play that matches this beat in my heart. Whether it’s from my shameful voyeurism, or the rush back into my room, I won’t think about. But nothing jumps out at me. Nothing sticks. It’s all to slow, too bland. Too... me. It’s all professional, falsely deep music with little effort and a lot of output. Performance pieces, made to please and entertain a crowd who pays top dollar for ponies to not question whether or not they know any better the pieces they’re listening to. My bow twitches on the strings as my hooves grow impatient. Tired of staring down this bland repertoire of notes and bars, my hoofs start playing on their own. Almost, at least. I just start playing, not really paying attention. I turn my attention from the bed and the papers and just hold my head high, playing whatever it is I can think of. There’s no order to my rhythm, no sense of organization or discipline. But there’s something else. Passion. I feel, passionate about what I’m playing. Which isn’t entirely new, I feel the same way when I’m in front of a crowd. But this seems more... fun. I think it’s working. Until I look up and see the door wide open. I’ve only made it halfway up the stairs when I hear Octavia start to play. My first thought is that she’s just doing it to make it sound like she’s been up here the whole time. An old trick, but I can’t fault her for it. At least she won’t be scrambling to keep up the illusion when I open the door. It’s not till I hit the landing that the music itself catches my ear. Yeah, I’ve heard Octavia play before. At the rehearsal and the actual performance for the award show. I know she’s good. But she didn’t play anything like this. It’s all raw emotion and disorganized thought. She’s just playing to play. Which is something I’ve done myself, plenty of times. I reach the door, and toss it open, not bothering to knock. It’s my room too, for now. I glance around the room and find Octavia standing by the bed, her head hung down and her eyes closed, and she’s just going at it. It’s almost crazy. I ant to interrupt her, but I can’t. I can’t move. The music is so primal, so full of need and intensity that I can’t bring myself to interrupt it. And it doesn’t help that all that amorous warmth in my head hasn’t flown away yet. I just stare like I’m hypnotized, and part of me probably is. It’s one thing to recognize an artist by seeing their finished work. Enjoying it, reading or watching or listening to it. It’s another to meet them, to hear them talk about their craft and to see the life in their eyes when they talk about doing what they love. But watching them create? Watching them bring something out of nothing and become nothing more than a conduit through which raw creativity flows into raw, imperfect creation? It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen. They’re nowhere near the pony you know them as, when they create. Sometimes, it’s scary. Sometimes, it’s crazy and fun and inspiring. And sometimes, it’s beautiful. And then she looks at me. I freeze. My bow drops out of my hand and all of the warmth and crazy passion I had been building up as I play floods my head like a freshly shaken cola, just waiting for someone to crack the can. It’s in that moment that I realize I haven’t done anything to forget the events from only moments ago. Each note, each line, I was reliving them. Refreshing them. Changing them. All I’d thought about while I played was how I felt. How I wanted to feel. What I’d seen. And what about it I wanted to change. And here all of it is just staring at me like I’m some kind of work of art. Vinyl’s eyes shine as her mouth hangs open. I can’t stop staring at her mouth. Those soft lips, as the echo of her voice from mere minutes before loops in my head. There’s nothing funny about it. Nothing amusing, or anecdotal. There’s also nothing hateful, or angry, or vengeful about it. Nothing that I’d built up all those times I’d used her months before. I just... want her. Her bow drops, and she stares at me for a moment. More than a moment. It feels like forever. She’s staring at me like she plays. Like the song she was just playing hadn’t stopped, except this time she was the instrument. Hungry, wanting, and warm. Hot, even. I don’t move when she puts down her cello, or walks towards me. I don’t move when she stops, moments from my face. I just... want her. I know I shouldn’t. She isn’t mine. It’s not my place. It’s just a fleeting emotion. It will pass. I know I shouldn’t. I should say something. I should move. I have Spitfire. I’ve been down this road with Octavia before. It’s nothing I want. But this time, it’s different. It’s not hate or anger I see in her. I don’t see anything in her eyes that I don’t feel myself. I should move. So, I do. I know I shouldn’t. But, I do. [To Be Continued] Author's Note Yes, another multi-parter. But this is a very important arc. Sorry it took so long to update. I’ve been working towards this chapter for a while, and I’ve been playing over these events in my head like a million times. (Not like that you pervs. Well, not ALL one million times.) But I think I finally have it the way I want it. I hope you enjoy.
The Amora Crescendo (Part 2)Chapter 15: The Amora Crescendo (Part 2) As soon as Octavia gets within a hair’s breadth of me, I react. And step back into the hall, nearly tumbling over the banister. “Whoa, hey now. What’s going on with you?” I try to seem mildly composed, and not at all like I was considering kissing the mare who’s been all kinds of trouble since day one. While I already have a working relationship for once in my life. Octavia blinks, and takes a step back. She looks like I just hit her or something. “I-I thought that... maybe you... I don’t know. I just... it’s what I wanted to do?” Her last statement is both a question to me and herself, I can tell. Like she isn’t entirely sure. I do my best to help her laugh it off and lighten the mood. “Hey, no problem, I totally get it.” She looks up timidly. “Really?” “Sure.” I wave a hoof nonchalantly in her direction. “I’m totally hot, I just had a bunch of sex and smell like every mare in heat ever, and you obviously had something going between you and that cello. Heat of the moment, right?” Octavia blinks, taken aback. I can tell that’s not what she thought I was going to say, but she doesn’t seem to have any kind of retort to it. “Yes, yes I suppose it must have been. I... apologize, for being so forward. Especially given our... history.” I silently congratulate her on bringing it up first. She’s normally not one to talk about it if at all, even when it’s relevant. “No biggie. Listen, I’m gonna go pack up and get ready to move home. You want some help with your stuff?” Octavia smiles, seemingly grateful for the change in topic. “No, thank you. I was actually almost done before I started playing. I just have to resort all of my sheet music, and put my cello back.” “Wait, there was sheet music to that?” She chuckles slightly. “Not exactly. I was looking over all of my songs, looking for something... intense to play, when I realized most everything in my collection is practiced showpieces. Nothing that really incites... emotion.” “What, like musical masturbation?” “Vinyl!” I laugh loudly. “Hey it’s not like I don’t do the same thing. Why do you think I like bass so much?” She gets all indignant and huffy at me being to ‘callous’, and rushes me farther down the hall. “Go finish packing, you ingrate!” she yells, but I can practically hear her smile. Spitfire and I must be rubbing off on her. I happily trot down the hall, situation defused and homeward bound. After shoving Vinyl out of my personal space, I quietly close the door, and lean against it. Even so, I can’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles after only a few seconds. I guess if Vinyl feels comfortable enough around me to make jokes like that, then we must be rather close to being completely over our earlier troubles. Having laughed myself dizzy, I look about the room, and instead of seeking an outlet for my... pent-up emotions, all I see is a mess that needs to be cleaned. Which is a much more manageable situation. The cello itself is rather easy to put back, although I do flinch at the sight of my bow on the ground. I’m usually insidiously more careful with it than that, but I decide not to dwell on such things, as there is work to be done. The papers take a bit more work than I’d hoped, as many of the sheets have become scrambled. After carefully arranging them into their proper stacks, and organizing them enough to fit back into my suitcase properly, I stack all of my luggage and the few boxes I bothered with out in the hall for when we leave later. I took the time to arrange a moving cart for the afternoon, which I believe will go much more smoothly than everything else thus far. I also try not to dwell on that, lest I jinx it. With not much else to do, I decide that maybe I should go out to lunch with a friend. I track down the phone at the end of the hall, and dial up Beauty Brass. “HELLO?!” she screams at the phone. ...after I stop the shaking, I gather up the phone from the floor, and say, in a rather controlled and slow voice, “Hello, Beauty. It’s Octavia. How was practice?” I hear her inhale to talk again, and somepony in the background say something. She makes a sheepish squeaking noise, and when she returns to the phone, she’s much quieter. “Hi, Octavia. Sorry. Practice was good. How have you been? We haven’t seen you outside of practice for a while.” “I’ve been well. I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch with me.” I hold the phone away from my head in anticipation. “WOULD I?!” I wait a few seconds, then return it to my ear. “Oh, sorry. Yes, Octavia, I’d love to. Would you like to meet at our usual restaurant?” I mull it over, and come up with another idea. “Actually, there’s a small place nearby that I would love to share with you.” I’d just finished with my packing, and decided to call up the apartment complex to see if there was gonna be somepony there that could help us get all our stuff up the stairs, unlike last time. It rang through to voicemail, so I decided to just leave a quick message and try again later. Food sounded pretty good right about now, as Tavi had left only half an hour before, saying she was going to lunch with a friend of hers. I scrounged around the kitchen for something left of the food I’d brought with me, which wasn’t much. As it turned out, I hadn’t had much in my fridge when I’d left, and I wasn’t privy to the shopping spree. So I decided to peruse the other girls’ food supplies. That didn’t last long, as all of their food amounted to healthy athletic stuff and dainty good-for-you foods. Boring. I wanted something so not good for me. With like, a bunch of salt. Hayfried potatoes sounded delicious. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any with me. Fortunately, I know my marefriend well. I made my way back to the hall with the phone, and dug around the space between the endtable and the wall. While Spitfire may have a knack for eating healthy, and a reputation to uphold, there is one thing she absolutely can’t resist. Take out. And, feeling my hoof brush the edge of a piece of paper, my suspicions were confirmed: she always, for as long as I have known her, hides a take-out menu somewhere near the phone. I browsed the list, seeing a bunch of stuff guaranteed to make a cardiologist cry, and found what I was looking for: hayfried potatoes. Also just called hayfries. I dial up the joint Spitfire refuses to acknowledge she frequents, Greasy Geese, and order a huge batch of them. And a chocolate shake, because I can and Octavia’s not home to freak out. With my order placed, I decide to try calling the apartment complex again. And again, it goes to voicemail. I look up at the clock, and almost facehoof. Of course nopony’s answering the phone. It’s lunch hour. There’s probably nopony at the desk. So now I have food on the way, and time to kill. I’d work on mixing some tracks if I could, but all that’s been packed up. So, I go to the next possible solution for my boredom. I sneak around my marefriend’s room. Now, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been in her room plenty of times before, and I know where most everything is anyway, but there are still places I haven’t found yet, little nooks and crannies I just haven’t thoroughly sniffed around. Under her bed? Please. First place I checked. Hell, I helped her move her mattress. The closet? Oh, honey. Closet sex is amazing. No, there’s only two places I have yet to completely violate the privacy of, like a good curious troublemaking marefriend: her dresser drawers and her safe. Now, the safe I leave completely alone. There are boundaries, of course. I’m no hooligan safecracker. Her dresser, however, is completely unlocked. Totally free game. The top two drawers are basically what you’d expect. The stuff she goes for first: spare uniforms, workout clothes, sweatbands. She’s not really one for clothes. The next drawer down is more seasonal stuff. Scarves, shirts for when it’s cold but not sweater cold, sweaters, and a little beanie I remember her wearing years and years ago, that I think I actually bought her. Yup, it’s in my colors, all right. The bottom drawer, however, is interesting. Not in the least because it’s hard to open. There’s no obvious lock, it feels more like it’s jammed, so I sniff around the edges. And bingo, a nice little button underneath. With a satisfying click, I hear the drawer unlock, and I slide it out. And It’s awesome. It’s all lingerie and nighties and stuff. Most of which I’ve seen her wear. A few ones I haven’t, but that are little more than palette swaps of other outfits. Then there’s the little black box. Innocuous, and actually kind of hard to see, tucked away in its corner. It’s unlocked, so I just tilt the lid a little bit, just a peek. I don’t wanna disturb things too much. And what I see amazes me. It doesn’t surprise me, as much, because I had my suspicions already, but having confirmation is another thing. I’m about to pull out the whole stash when I hear the doorbell ring. Oh, right, food. FOOD! I do my best to put everything back the way it was, knowing I’ll probably have to explain myself later, and close the drawer. I make sure it clicks shut before I leave, and I close her door behind me, racing down the stairs. The delivery guy is your usual pasty-faced teenager just trying to make a few bucks. he’s also apparently a fan, as he freaks out when he sees me. I give him a smile, an autograph, and a tip, and take my precious precious fries and slam the door shut. I am SO hungry right now. I don’t think I could ever properly describe the delight of a good plate of hayfries. Greasy, salty, heart-attacky goodness in almost crunchy kinda mushy delicious carbo-heavy amazingness. The plate doesn’t last the hour. After having thoroughly gorged myself, and setting some aside for later, I make sure to put the take-out menu back where I found it, and make plans to tease Spitfire with the leftover fries. Hopefully as a way of getting out of her being mad at me for snooping in my room, cause I just know she’s gonna find something. I take some time to make another call to the apartment complex, and this time, I actually get somepony on the line. “Hello?” Figures. The secretary never cared much. “Yeah, I had a question. I’m moving my stuff back in tonight and I was wondering if you had a couple of hired mooks I could use to take all my stuff upstairs?” “Move your stuff back in? Oh, honey, haven’t you heard?” ...uh oh. I meat Beauty Brass outside the cafe that Spitfire took me to. She looks obviously out of place, much like I must, but she greets me with a smile. “HI OC- I mean, hi, Octavia.” I can’t help but grin at her infectious enthusiasm. “Hello, Beauty. Shall we?” She gives the cafe an inquisitive look, but doesn’t seem to find anything quite wrong with it. “Sure, I guess.” “Oh, trust me. They are delicious. Come on in.” The two of us sit ourselves down at a booth in the corner, and Beauty seems absolutely entranced by the surroundings. It’s such a quaint and homey place, much different than the high society restaurants we make ourselves frequent, that the drastic difference in environments is quite amazing. It’s also significantly more welcoming and cozy here, and within moments Beauty looks absolutely at home. “This is so cool.” Her voice is awed and quiet, and she’s got this big childish smile. It’s rather endearing. It kind of reminds me of Vinyl’s smile, actually. I stop myself, shaking my head of the thought, and pick up a menu. “The last time I was here I just had some coffee and a croissant, but I’m rather more hungry than that.” Before Beauty has time to respond, Cafe Latte walks right up to us. “Well, hi, Octavia! Good to see you again! This another friend of yours?” Beauty Brass gives a tiny wave to the owner. “Hello! I’m Beauty Brass. Octavia and I work together in an ensemble in Upper Canterlot.” Cafe Latte looks politely impressed. “Well how about that! We have a few musicians around here, too. Matter of fact, one of our regulars is a DJ!” Beauty thinks about that. “You mean Vinyl?” Latte nods. “So you know her, huh?” Beauty looks ready to say something, but I know the dangers of letting her ramble on. “Vinyl was working at the awards ceremony several months back. Our ensemble played during the intermission, and I introduced her to my friends then.” Latte gave off the aura of someone who wants to listen but has work do so, so we gave her our orders, and she trotted off. Beauty looked back at me. “She seems really nice.” “She’s a sweetheart. She’s also good friends with Spitfire and Vinyl, so please don’t say anything that might give her a poor impression of us, ok? I do like it here.” Beauty nodded knowingly, and decided to change the subject. “So how are things with you and the girls? I know you were pretty nervous about sharing a roof with them.” I sigh, leaning back in my seat. But it’s a happy sigh. “It’s much better. I’m making some progress, personally, but it’s like none of it happened. I know there’s still some... tension, and unresolved issues.” I decide not to tell her about the incident this morning. I can still feel Vinyl’s breath on my muzzle- NO. “But we’re becoming... friends, I think. It’s nice. They’re really very good ponies, Beauty.” She nods approvingly, and we talk back and forth amongst ourselves, sharing anecdotes and laughs. Even when our food comes, we still find time between bites to catch up. “So what do you think of Vinyl, anyway? I know you were pretty upset with her when you first met. How’s that working out?” Beauty asks around the lip of her coffee mug. I’d made sure she didn’t put anything in it, and it shows. She flinches slightly when she sips. “Much better. She’s actually quite fun to be around in small doses. Although she does snore.” Beauty almost spits out her coffee. “You’re SLEEPING TOGETHER?!” I practically jump out of my seat. Whipping my head around, I see Cafe Latte giving me a stern, unhappy look. “NO! No.” I readjust my voice to NOT match hers. “We’re just roommates. Spitfire’s house doesn’t have a lot of guest room. We just share a room.” Beauty taps her chest. “Oh, Sweet Celestia, I thought you were gonna tell me you were fooling around with a Wonderbolt’s marefriend!” I bury my face in my hooves, and can practically feel it when Cafe Latte trots up to the table. “What’s this about fooling around?” I look up to her in earnest. “It’s nothing. Just a bad choice of words. We’re sharing a room at Spitfire’s, and I happened to mention that Vinyl snores.” Latte’s expression goes from one of a mother lion protecting her cubs to a jovial smile. “Oh, yeah! I love her to bits but she’s like a lawnmower! You girls enjoying your meal?” Beauty nods enthusiastically, somehow completely recovered from the near heart-attack I seem to have given her just moments before. “It’s delicious!” Latte nods approvingly, and trots off. “Well, it’s great that you get along so well, now. I’m glad.” Beauty takes another healthy bite of her scone. “Yeah, they’re both great. Spitfire is rather relaxed and collected, and Vinyl’s just... fun. Once you get past the culture differences between the two of us, it’s really rather pleasant to be around her. She’s great, I love her.” I hear Beauty Brass choke on her food. “You what?!” “What?” The walk home from the cafe, which we left soon after my easily-misunderstood comment, is spent assuring my friend that I am not, in fact, in love with Vinyl Scratch. Just because she’s fun to be around, and attractive, doesn’t mean I’m in love with her. Beauty Brass still doesn’t entirely buy it by the time we get to my house, but all the same, we find her a cab home, and I make my way inside. Waiting for me in the living room, almost predictably, is Vinyl Scratch. I giv her a once over, as it seems she’s showered recently. Big red pretty eyes, stylish blue mane, nice white coat. Yes, she’s attractive, but I’m not in love with her. Just because I want to have sex with her- -ed. Want-ED. Oh, bloody hell. I flinch slightly as part of me somehow quietly possible admits I might have feelings for this erratic DJ. Well, at least we’re moving out tonight, so I don’t have to worry about being around her all the time. Before I can so much as say hello, however, Vinyl seems to have found her voice. It’s at this moment that I realize she’s been trying, and failing, to say... something since I walked in. “Vinyl, are you ok?” “Yeah, I’m fine, I... ok, look. Before you ask, this is SO not my fault...” Author's Note Well, this arc is looking promising. It's going in the direction i want it to, at least.
The Amora Crescendo (Part 3)Chapter 16: The Amora Crescendo (Part 3) I stare off into space for a little while, trying to process everything that’s happened today. My job was fine, nothing new outside of a few routine changes and yelling at some relatively new recruits. Nothing I hadn’t done dozens of times before. Coming home, however, was a different story. I’d somehow gotten used to my housemates by now, and I knew they were moving out tonight, or sometime today. I expected them to either be leaving, have left, or, knowing Vinyl, be throwing some kind of three-pony farewell party. I almost expected to be able to hear wubs from the street corner. But when I got home, the house had been really very quiet. Almost too quiet. My first thought was that they’d left already and I’d find a note or something. Then, thinking about it more, I came to the conclusion that Vinyl must be hiding somewhere from me, waiting to spring out and say goodbye. Both of those thoughts had been vanquished when I saw the pile of luggage and equipment at the base of the stairs. Still not hearing hide nor hoof of my two “roommates”, I started running through other possible scenarios. Maybe they’d gone out to dinner as a last hurrah. Maybe they were out shopping, getting me a farewell present. I felt a little egotistical at that last thought, but I still considered it. Part of me wondered if they were arguing with some kind of moving company or grabbing a cart to haul all of their stuff. Then I found them. Octavia and Vinyl, huddled on the couch together. Once again, I ran through possible scenarios. Doing my damnedest to avoid the obvious, jealousy-driven fantasy in my head that they were cuddling or doing something romantic, before I flipped off the handle and started accusing them, I ran through some observations. It was still very quiet, although, straining my ears now I could hear very tiny sobs coming from the couch. I wasn’t sure who it was that was crying, but I was certain of one thing. Something must have gone wrong. I edged my way around the couch, approaching from a wide angle so that I didn’t surprise the two of them. Vinyl noticed me first, as Octavia’s face was scrunched and very red. Vinyl looked like she’d done her fair share of crying, herself. “Hey, Spitfire.” No nicknames, no jumps at me or sexy remarks. Just a “hi”. “What’s wrong, Vi?” I leaned forward and laid a hoof on her knee. She reciprocated the gesture by laying her hoof on top of mine. “Spit... it’s our home. The... uh... the apartment complex Tavi and I were living in, it’s been... it’s been closed down.” She took small gasps of air around her words as she tried not to cry again. “When they were doing the reconstruction on my room, and the rewiring, it turns out they found a whole bunch of building code violations. They shut it down days ago. When they called letting us know we could move our stuff, they were talking about moving OUT, not back IN.” The more she explained the more I understood. Why they hadn’t gone anywhere despite all of their bags being backed. It certainly explained the crying. “Do you... are they letting you go back for all of your stuff?” Vinyl smiled lightly, and nodded. “Yeah. We worked some stuff out with the ponies clearing out the place. They’re letting us drag everything out tomorrow. I’ve got a storage locker picked out. Octavia, too.” Octavia seemed to choke around her quiet sobbing. “I-I’ve never b-be-been homeless be-before...” I looked from her, back to Vinyl, and sighed. “Well, it’s not like most of your stuff isn’t already here. I’ve got a bunch of room in the basement you guys can use, within reason. So don’t feel like I’m kicking you out just yet.” Of course, as soon as I said them I knew there would come a time when I’d regret doing so. Vinyl’s reaction was about what I expected. Or, half of it. She made an attempt to leap out of the couch to tackle me in an appreciative hug, but didn’t get very far as she realized mid-motion that Octavia was still hanging onto her. So all I got out of her was a small lurch, and a grateful smile. “You’re the best, Spits. I promise we’ll find someplace new soon enough. You hear that, Octavia? Spitfire’s letting us stay.” She patted the grey mare’s head lightly. Who, in turn, leaped out of her seat and shrieked, “No!” I landed at the end of the couch as I jumped, slightly panicked. The thought of spending more time in such close confinement with Vinyl seemed like a very bad idea, especially given my small revelation earlier this evening. Seeing both of their downtrodden faces, I hastily added, “I mean, no, I couldn’t. We’ve imposed for far too long and...” I tried to think of something, any excuse as to why I’d oppose so vehemently. “I just want to sleep in my own bed again!” Vinyl seemed to mull this over, and find it acceptable. For about the half second it took her to turn it into a joke. Quickly changing gears and feigning over-exaggerated heartache, she flung herself over the back of the couch. “Oh, for shame! You don’t want to sleep with me anymore! Such scorn, such heartbreak!” Despite the torrent of panic, sorrow, and other rather negative emotions, I still found room to laugh. “Well maybe if you didn’t snore like a Hydra being run through a wood chipper I might be more amicable.” Spitfire, who it seemed had spent no time dwelling on negative emotions, chuckled slightly. “That’s fine, too. We’ve got options, Octavia. Since both of you have beds you can contribute I’m sure we can turn at least some of the ridiculous amount of space in here into another living quarters.” Well, that just wouldn’t do. She was shooting down my carefully thought out and brilliantly executed logic! I had to think fast. “But surely you can’t want us to hang around forever?” I asked, almost pleadingly. She waved off my concern with a lazy hoof. “Please. It’s not that bad. and as long as you guys are looking for a place to stay, or places, whatever, I’m good. You both have paying jobs and lives of your own. I don’t exactly expect you to spend all your time freeloading.” Stop being so nice and smart, you... you... benevolent pegasus! “No, really, I just want my own space as soon as I can.” Vinyl raised an eyebrow at me. “Look, Octavia, the way I see it, you’ve got five options. Option one: you stay here and suck it up till you get your own place. Option two: homeless. Until you get your own place. Option three: you get a hotel, until you get your own place. Option four, you crash with another friend, until you get your own place.” “...what’s option five?” It couldn’t be anything good. “Fancee Foreign Legion.” Spitfire laughed. “Until you get your own place. Come on, Octavia, either way you’re going to have to do something until you can secure a home for yourself again. Why not go with the most obvious, easy, and immediately available option? “I...” I looked back and forth between Vinyl and Spitfire, honestly defeated. I couldn’t come up with any proper excuses without telling them the truth. Which was the last thing I wanted to do. But, as my counselor has told me frequently, the last thing I want is usually the first thing I should do. To get it out of the way. I heaved a great sigh, and climbed off of the couch. “Spitfire, could you come with me for a moment? We need to talk.” I motioned for her to follow me, and led her into the kitchen. I trotted after Octavia, letting her lead me into my kitchen. Whatever it was she had to say, she seemed to not want to say it. Which meant it probably couldn’t be good. She pulled up a stool and took a seat, leaning forward on the counter. I sat opposite her, so I didn’t have to turn my head to look at her while we talked. “So, um, what’s up?” She looked ready to say... something, for a moment, then stopped. This process repeated itself a few times, her opening her mouth to speak, then closing it, as if finding the best way to say whatever it was. Finally, she just seemed to let it out. “I think I’m falling in love with your marefriend.” Which, by the way, is nowhere even remotely close to the ballpark of what I thought she’d say. I thought it was going to be like, some unfortunate habit that one or both of us had that she just couldn’t stand and didn’t want to be rude about. Or something about her lifestyle or something that she couldn’t avoid but didn’t want to talk to us about. I was starting to get the feeling that I should just stop trying to predict anything ever. I seemed to be really bad at it. “...what?” “Well, maybe not love, but something like it. It’s not like I can’t stop thinking about her or something cheesy like that. But whenever I do it’s... well, rather inappropriate. Especially since this morning,” She still was not really meeting my gaze. I still hadn’t found anything unique or intelligent to say. “What happened this morning?” She smiled guiltily and rolled her eyes away from me like she had a dirty secret. Then she explained everything that had happened this morning. How she’d watched me and Vinyl have sex. How she’d tried to ignore it and go upstairs and play her cello. And how she tried to kiss my marefriend. MY. Marefriend. “She backed away before I could, though, and we just kind of waved it off as a heat of the moment thing. That’s all I thought it was, too. Not having had... any kind of romantic interlude for a while, I figured that stumbling upon you two... doing that just drove me over the edge or something. I was rather, ooh, what’s the phrase, ‘hot and bothered’? By it all. So I packed up my things, and called a friend to go to lunch, and let myself forget about it. But then lunch happened.” I was doing my best to remain very steady while she spoke, and most of what she said made sense. She hadn’t actually kissed Vinyl, and had moved on and been nice and polite like she always was. And Vinyl seemed to just laugh it off. So no real damage done. “Ok, so what happened at lunch?” My voice spiked a high note at the end of my sentence, as I tried to keep myself steady and failed. If she noticed, she was polite enough not to say anything. “Well, I was having a conversation with Beauty Brass at the time...” and she talked about her verbal slip-up, and how she’d spent the whole time telling her friend, and Latte, about how she didn’t have feelings for Vinyl and they weren’t doing anything untoward. “We even had a laugh about Vinyl’s snoring, actually. She’s a rather nice lady. But then we walked home, and Beauty Brass was still convinced I had feelings for Vinyl. So we talked, more like argued, actually, the entire way home. And, I mean, she did make some sense, but I was convinced it was just an amicable slip of the tongue. I mean, saying ‘I love her’ in polite conversation isn’t a confession of emotions, it’s an appreciation of character! But then I got home, and talked to Vinyl a little, and realized that maybe Beauty was right. I mean, I don’t love her, that would be absurd. But I can’t help but acknowledge that I’m attracted to her, and it’s only been getting worse since we started living together. I’m afraid of what will happen if I stay too close to her.” I didn’t really know what I should have been feeling at the time. Jealousy, sure. That was there. I was also a little angry. But it’s not like she’d done anything bad. In fact, telling me as soon as she thought it could become a problem was actually the appropriate thing to do. So I tried not to be mad at her, and instead discuss things rationally. “Ok. I can see why you don’t want to stay here. So how about this: you hang around long enough to get your stuff into storage, and call some of those friends of yours. I’m sure you can find someplace to stay while you look for an apartment, and from what I understand you have a decent budget to work with. That shouldn’t take you long.” Octavia nodded. “Thank you. For... listening, and not getting mad.” “Oh, I’m plenty mad. You tried to kiss my marefriend, and you’re sitting here telling me you’re attracted to her? I’m more than a little peeved. BUT,” I added, as she opened her mouth to defend herself. “I’ve been spending all day yelling at recruits, and have no energy left to yell at you. Especially since you’re basically homeless right now. You’re also handling this very responsibly. So as long as you don’t try anything else, and find someplace new, I can move past this. You’re a good pony, Octavia. I like you just fine. Vinyl thinks of you as a friend. And there was no actual kissing involved, so I don’t think there’s really any damage done. Now, I’m going to go up to bed. You and Vinyl do your best to get yourselves independent again, and we’ll look back on this and laugh. But right now? I need to sleep.” Octavia nodded, thought about saying something else, then thought better of it. “Thank you, Spitfire. Goodnight.” “Good night, Octavia.” I looked up from the couch, mostly composed by now, as Octavia walked into the room. “So, what was that about?” She looked up at me in mild surprise, as if forgetting I was there. “Oh! Nothing special. Just some... work stuff I’m dealing with that might make our arrangement... difficult. I didn’t want to talk about it too much, it’s kind of embarrassing. But I figured she ought to know before I... before she extended the offer to stay.” “So are you gonna?” I laid myself out on the couch lazily while she took up an armchair. Octavia shook her head. “Mmm. Not too long. Just enough to get my stuff into storage. I’m going to try to stay with a friend of mine for a while. It just makes things easier on... me. And other ponies.” I nodded, slightly bummed we couldn’t hang out more, but that’s life. “So where’s my amazingly sexy marefriend?” “Oh, she said something about going to bed early. It’s been a long day for her.” The cogs turned in my head. “Going... to ... bed?” From upstairs: “VINYL!” Octavia leveled a disapproving stare at me. “Ok, maybe this time it is my fault.” Author's Note Well, that's the end of this arc. The next one should be rather busy. Stay tuned.
Fallout! at the DiscoChapter 17: Fallout! at the Disco I really don’t say enough how much I hate cleaning. I mean, I really, really hate cleaning. I hate the smell of disinfectants. I hate mops and brooms and buckets of soapy water. Hell, it’s almost enough to make me hate sponges. But I mean, come on. That’s ridiculous. How can you hate sponges? They’re so cool. They’re all squishy and they’re great for baths and you can tie ‘em to your hooves and skate across the floor. Which I wish I could do right now, but that requires magic. And Spitfire said no magic. So maybe I should back up just a little bit. That part where I rifled through my marefriend’s stuff? Well, after she went through the painstaking task of using that entire collection in that little box I found on me, she punished me by making me clean the house. Without magic. I tried to argue that I had a gig and needed to sleep and all that, but as it turns out the thing about having a marefriend with such a busy schedule as to constantly conflict with yours is that she checks your schedule to see when you’ll both be free. So yeah, right now, I’m all about cleaning the kitchen floor. Which Tavi is enjoying just a little bit too much. “Vinyl, you seem to have missed a spot,” she jeered from her coffee-sipping perch on a nearby stool. “Yeah, I forgot to wipe that smirk off your face,” I growled back, digging at a stubborn piece of god-knows what stuck to the tile. “Look, Tavi, just because I have work to do doesn’t mean you can sit there and make fun of me for it. We’ve both gotta find new places to live, and when I’m done here we have to move all our shit into storage.” “My stuff isn’t shit, Vinyl Scratch, it’s-” “-an expression. Sweet Celestia it’s just a catch-all word. And I did say ‘our’ shit. I’m not about to go admitting that my seven thousand bit turntable system is a piece of crap,” I countered, finally digging out the piece of... what the hell is this?... out from between the tiles. “Aha!” I kept scrubbing for a little while when I realized it had gotten really quiet. I couldn’t even hear sips. So I turned to look at Octavia, who for all of Equestria had the expression of one who’d recently been assaulted by a donkey fart. “Ok, what?” “...that turntable costs seven thousand bits?!” she finally spat out. The disbelief on her face would be priceless if I weren’t mildly insulted. “Um, yes? Did you really think I’d do what I do for a living with anything less than the best I could find? That turntable’s not even on the market yet. It was a gift from the manufacturer after my last album doubled their sales.” Exposition, why do you feel so good? “A... gift? A seven thousand bit gift? But... how?! Who would just hand over that much money’s worth of equipment for free?!” she cried, the coffee mug in her hoof shaking. “Because it makes them more money, duh.” Jeez, it’s like she doesn’t get how marketing works. “How does that work?!” ...oh sweet baby Luna give me strength. “Ok, it’s like this. I get new, high-end, unreleased equipment, and use it in al of my gigs. With me so far?” Octavia nodded, setting her cup down. “Then, once it’s actually available on the open market, every wannabe DJ and underground spinster who listens to me and aspires to be better buys the same thing. Then, when they develop a new model, they ship one to me so I can test drive it til it cries. Then I send it back with a list of all the stuff that’s wrong with it. And they fix it, send it back, and I use it to make an album. Lather, rinse, repeat.” She seemed to consider this for several moments, at which point I went back to cleaning. After a small silence filled only by the sound of scrubbing, I heard from behind me, “So you get the newest models to make other ponies want them? And to... ‘test drive’ them?” “Yup. And when I get the new model I hock the old one, with my signature on it, for about fifteen large a pop.” Wait for it. Pbbththtbththtbth. There it is. Coffe everywhere. “Dammit Tavi I have to clean that!” “Fuh-fuh-fuh-fifteen THOUSAND?! What do you DO with all that money?!” I turned to look at her, again, and gave her a disbelieving expression. “I live in Canterlot.” “...oh. But wait, even I don’t make that much! Where does it all go?!” she put her mug down again and got off the stool. I think she might be worried she’d fall off of it. “You make it sound like I make that much every month or so. I only sell my tables once every year and a half. They don’t exactly churn out new models like crazy, you know,” I sighed, putting my rags down. “But... they’re always talking about new models! The whatever 5000 or 6000, or-” I cut her off with a hoof. “That’s not newer models. That’s the same model with new stuff. I only ever run the first in any model series. They come out with the 5xx and 6x crap when they want to milk the market. Any pony worth his salt behind the tables knows the first model they release is always the best in it’s class. All the extra stuff just makes the job harder. And even if it wasn’t, with all the time I spend getting used to each new deck, if I tried to keep up one upgrade at a time I’d be out on my ass in a week.” Octavia nodded, looking like she was trying to understand. “Ok, I guess that does make a sort of sense. I mean, making fifteen grand in a month would be a bit ridiculous.” I smiled, happy to have this conversation over with. “Yeah, I mean, if I made the extra fifteen on top of the fourteen a month I get it’d be pretty absurd.” “FOURTEEN?!” Hoh boy. I half expected the house to be a wreck when I got back. I partially expected them to be gone when I got home. I had also prepared myself for fighting, laughing, eating me out of house and home, or ridiculously loud music. What I did not expect was quiet. Psychic, I am not. I looked around the rather still house, and saw that Vinyl had, indeed, cleaned it. I’d ask Octavia in a bit if she’d used any magic, but honestly I didn’t care that much. I just didn’t want to do it myself. I figured Vinyl would swindle Octavia into being lax about it or something. I could tell they hadn’t left because the front door was unlocked, and lights were on. I looked around the first floor, and saw not a lot of anything. Just a clean house. They must be taking a nap. Or Octavia’s gone and Vinyl’s sleeping. I ran through a bunch of scenarios. I work around locker rooms, drill sergeants, and training courses all day. I also live with Vinyl Scratch. Quiet makes me paranoid. “Vinyl?” I asked tentatively, when I got to the top of the stairs. “Over here,” I heard, and I looked down the hallway. She was standing outside her bedroom door, staring at it pensively. Which worried me more than the silence did. “You ok?” I asked quietly, as if not to startle her. “Huh?” she glanced over to me. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe. It’s Octavia that’s being weird. She locked me out of the room.” I sighed. Now this, I could understand. “What did you do?” “Nothing!” she said defensively. Then paused. “Ok, I may have told her how much I make a month.” I was confused. “...how is that a bad thing?” She shrugged. “Tartarus-sauced if I know. She just-” And then the door swung open. “It’s offensive! You make twice my salary, Vinyl! TWICE!” I looked from Octavia to Vinyl and back. “Really? You only make nine thousand a month? How?!” Her eyebrow twitched, and her eyes shrunk dangerously. She glared at Vinyl. “You said it was only fourteen.” Vinyl raised an eyebrow, then the other one, as her eyes went wide. “Um... I may have forgotten royalties?” “Raaaaagh!” Octavia screamed, slamming the door again. I heard the distinct sounds of locking. I felt my eyebrows trying to decide if they wanted to be raised or not. “How... how does she survive in Canterlot on seven thousand bits a month?! Isn’t she a socialite? In therapy?!” Vinyl looked just as confused as I was. “I have no idea. I mean, I have maybe a thousand left over after paying my insurance, my rent (no thanks for that, by the way), my equipment upkeep, my transportation, my contract fees, all the studio costs, and food, utilities, and miscellaneous crap.” “Right? My health insurance is obscene. Not to mention the maintenance costs on a cloud home, my Stunt Flying license every year, and all the non-music-y stuff you just said. Who the hell can afford to live on seven k here?!” Vinyl was about to respond when the door slowly swung open. “You... really have all those expenses?” Octavia asked sheepishly, from behind the door. “Well, yeah? Don’t you? I mean, being a professional and attending all of those socialite gatherings can’t be cheap? Who pays for all of that?” “...mm mdr,” she mumbled. Vinyl tilted her head. “What?” Octavia looked at both of us, and sighed, looking more resigned than I’d seen her in a while. “My mother.” Now, I know that my mother’s identity is no secret. Treble Melody is a name most everypony in the music industry knows. Once a beautiful and successful singer and actress, she ruled over the stage and screen like it was made simply because she’s asked for it. She was talented, gorgeous, influential. Now she’s rich, crazy, and bored. Both of which are extremely dangerous combinations in Canterlot. The three of us sat in the living room while I explained things. “I honestly thought you two had somepony covering your expenses like I did mine. I’d always been brought up around ponies who’s lives were literally in somepony else’s hoof the entire time. It’s... rare to see somepony who’s come this far and been this successful entirely on their own. And stayed there.” They both looked mildly insulted, but I kind of expected that. Seeing it on Vinyl’s face, though, was almost painful. My ‘crush’ was getting worse. “So, what are you saying?” Spitfire asked, rather smoothly. I could tell she wasn’t entirely pleased by my explanation. I sighed, staring in to my lap. “When I was growing up, money was never an issue. I had all the things I ever wanted. I won’t bore you with yet another ‘my parents were never around’ story. That’s bread and butter around here. But When I first started out the only thing I had to trade on was my mother’s name. Eventually, I was able to maintain my reputation on my skill alone, but I’ve still had to rely on the family fortune to pay for everything but my bare necessities. I was rather adamant that I pay my own rent and utilities. But my mother, the... eccentric individual that she’s become, has been adamant that I make use of the family fortune. ‘A Melody should not be ashamed of their accomplishments, or their background,” she’d say. She takes it as an insult when I don’t actively utilize our money. Vinyl stared at me for a long time. Finally, she said, “Can we trade parents?” “...what?” “I’m totes serious. You have a mom that is actively disappointed when you don’t mooch. How the hell did you pull that off?” she laughed. I felt some of the tension leave the room at her joke. “Well, it’s not exactly easy. I’m not really a big fan of all those parties, but my mother’s biggest stipulation is that if I’m going to use the family fortune I’m going to contribute to the family reputation. She basically parades me around, and in return, I get to live at what is apparently half the cost of living in Canterlot as normal.” Spitfire nodded sagely. “I can understand how that would be a bit of an annoyance. It’s like, they’re trying to make your accomplishments their own, right? My dad’s like that. Ex-military type, he is.” I could only partially agree. “Kind of. She does flaunt my success, but somehow makes it all about me. She turns me into the biggest deal in the room whenever we go anywhere together. It’s more like it’s hard to live up to the reputation somepony like Treble Melody has built up for you every day.” Vinyl smiled that wicked ‘I know something you don’t’ smile of hers. Part of me melted. I was getting used to her mischievousness. Even worse, I was growing to like it. “So I bet she totally flipped her wig when you told her about the Pony Pokey incident, right?” I cringed. “Actually, she... laughed. It was kind of scary. She thought it was the funniest thing in the world.” Vinyl’s eyes widened as Spitfire rolled hers. “I’d heard Treble had gone off the deep end in her later years.” “Truer words never spoken,” I muttered. God, if she were to meet these two. If she met Vinyl and Spitfire... “Tavi? What’s wrong? You have that look Vinyl gets whenever she has a ‘bright idea.’” I smiled at both of them, and got down from the couch. “Girls, pack a bag. We’re going to visit my mother.” Spitfire and Vinyl paused for a moment, then turned to glare at each other. “This is all your fault,” they said in unison. Author's Note Yeah! Did you miss me? I missed you! You people are going to love Treble Melody. I've read so many stories where Octy's parents are either stuck up themselves to the point they collapse into a quantum event, or homebody hick types. Nuh-uh. Not. This. Time.
A Disaster Waiting to HappenChapter 1: A Disaster Waiting to Happen Now, I’d like to think of myself as a reasonable pony. I’m calm, collected, well-bred and polite, or so I try. A large part of me wants to believe that I can keep my temper under any circumstances (outside of having my performances blatantly interrupted). Lately, that has not been the case. I don’t know where things went wrong. I really don’t. I’d like to say it all started with my performance at the Grand Galloping Gala that started my life going downhill, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, I actually started making MORE money, and playing more and in greater venues. Apparently, as an apology, Princess Celestia mentioned to somepony that our ensemble was the best she’d heard in awhile, and it was a shame we didn’t get to finish. If you’ve never had a Princess vouch for you personally, go out and make that happen. It’s rather ridiculous how effective it is. No, that wasn’t the start. I was making more money, like I said, and as a reward decided to move myself into a nicer apartment uptown. A rather cozy, spacious one bedroom on the 31st floor of the building, it was more than enough room for me, and just short of being enough room for two. If that makes sense. I thought it was perfect. For the first time, I felt like I was living as a member of high society. And then my neighbor happened. I like to think I’m a pretty chill mare. Colts like me, I play great music. I play AWESOME music. I host outrageously amazing parties and get invited BY THE PRINCESS to play AT WEDDINGS. Hence all the cash. Princesses ROCK. But anyway, like I said. I’m a cool cat. Er... pony. Whatever. Ponies love me. Well, most ponies. I think it all went South of the border when I decided to get a new apartment thanks to all the popularity, cash, and outright swag I was carrying around. Had to have a better place to put it all. Really, a girl can only carry so much awesome without having to put it down every now and then. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ponyville was sweet. Great ponies, folks who really knew how to PARTY, and a bunch of crazy-awesome stuff happened ALL the TIME. Like once, the God of Chaos showed up. Discord. He turned my amps into giant bowls of pasta. I was so stoked. I’d probably have been more upset if everything hadn’t gone back to normal in like, a day. Like it usually does. I didn’t need to eat for a week. But I thought it was time to move on. I was getting some really fancy gigs, which usually meant going to Canterlot, either to play there or take an airship somewhere else. An AIRSHIP. How cool is that?! Then that snooty-tooty across the hall happened. My first impression, and I’m ashamed to admit this, but it’s true, was that someone had hired a working girl for the evening. Surely someone as boorishly put-together as this didn’t live in such a high-rent locale? Then she asked me, “Hey, you my new neighboor? Sweet.” I was shocked. However, I like to think I maintained my composure. But really, who wears hoodies in the summer? And what the devil was with those sunglasses? “Um, yes, I am. My name is Octavia Melody. It’s... it’s nice to meet you.” Courteous, punctual, to the point. A proper introduction. And then, “Oh, that’s cool. Octavia Melody? That’s a sexy freakin’ name. I’m Vinyl Scratch. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Best DJ in Equestria? Turntable Mistress to the STARS?” Oh my god she’s a crazy pony. “Um, no, I’m sorry, I can’t say I have. I don’t really... listen to music that requires a... a DJ.” Just be cool, be calm. “Oh, no sweat. You probably like Jazz and Classical stuff, right? That’s cool. I love jazz.” Oh, thank god. She has some taste. Finally. “Yes, I’m rather fond of jazz-” Then her eyes lit up. I don’t know how I could tell behind those shades, but I could. It was the eyebrows, I think. “THAT is super sexy. You are without a doubt the prettiest mare I’ve seen in Canterlot for like, the entire time I’ve been here.” “Um...” I honestly didn’t know what to say. “Th-thank you?” She giggled a little. “Hey, you wanna go out for dinner or something? I haven’t actually lived here that long, but I’ve visited a bunch of times. Never got a chance to try any of the restaurants or bars here.” Be polite, she’s just being sociable. “I... guess we could do that...” “SWEET! I have like a flankload of stuff to unpack, so how about later tonight? I sooo don’t feel like cooking after moving all this bunk.” She seemed rather excitable, but genuinely happy. I thought maybe it was a good idea to go along with it. I was very, very, wrong. At first, I thought life was super AWESOME. My neighbor’s a total hottie and I already had a date that night. Life was turning up the volume to eleven. Then we actually WENT somewhere. It was cool at first. Nothing super fancy-shmancy but it wasn’t a total dive. ‘So she’s got some class’, I thought. ‘That’s pretty cool. She looks classy.’ I’d never gone with anyone classy before. Mostly groupies and girls I’d met at bars and stuff. There was that one time with this blue pegasus, but she was a little too athletic and not enough music. I was all excited to be going out with a girl who knew the finer points of music. I mean sure, she didn’t listen to techno or anything, and probably didn’t like rock that much, but jazz was plenty cool. I’d listened to enough of it while trying to put together some Electroswing. I even had like, two albums. TWO. So we end up at this place called Dusky’s. It sounded a little like a bar, but Tavi ( that’s what I call her) told me that it was named after the owner, who’s special talent was... something night-related. I wasn’t really paying attention to details. I did like the ambiance. At least, it didn’t suck. It was all dark and kind of moody, but not like those crappy emo clubs. Just candlelight and smooth jazz in the corner. I wanted to fall asleep. Not my fault. So we get a table or whatever, and we sit down. So far, so good, right? I’ve been kicked out of similar places much faster. It’s usually the hair. I think they knew Tavi or something, cause they just gave me a look, then talked to her and sat us down. Hey, as long as I got food, right? Then we started talking. It was okay at first, just normal conversation stuff. How long have you been in Canterlot? Where do you play? What are you having for dinner? Then she asked me a harder question. “Um, Ms. Scratch-” “Vinyl, please,” I hate Ms. anything that isn’t a cool stage name. “Oh, ok. Um, Vinyl, can I ask you something?” She seemed kind of timid, or something. I thought it was just nerves. I am pretty cool. Or maybe it was the whole of the restaurant giving us looks. Whatever. “Sure, go ahead.” Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? “Why do you wear sunglasses everywhere?” Ding ding ding. The million dollar question. Literally everypony EVER has asked me that question. But she couldn’t have known that, so I decided to be cool about it. “Well, the fancy answer I give everyone is that they’re AWESOME. But really?” “Mm-hmm?” she leaned forward. I figured I’d tell her the truth. Classy girls really dig honesty, you know? “I’m partially colorblind. These lenses are tinted to help me compensate. With the kind of work I do, reading levels on audio equipment and working with laser lights and all that, being able to see the whole spectrum is kind of important. I don’t like taking them off because the change is so drastic it usually causes me problems trying to readjust.” “Oh, I had no idea. That’s...” she seemed a little off-put. I guess she saw it as more of a personal question than I did. “Nah, nah, it’s ok. Besides, it’s kinda cool to wear em wherever I want. Freaks some people out, you know?” True story. “You... um, like freaking people out?” She raised an eyebrow. So cute. “I like keeping ponies on their toes. Everypony is so complacent nowadays. I think people should be more focused on the world than their own heads, you know?” Then she got a little huffy. “Surely there’s a better way to do that than dressing so... weird all the time.” Excuse me? “Weird? It’s not like I get a whole lot of choice. Sure, I could change the frames and stuff, but who’d want to. These are great.” She gave me a once-over, and all of a sudden seemed... disapproving. “You’re wearing a hoody. I’m pretty sure THAT isn’t prescription.” “Ok, what? I just happen to like this hoodie. I feel confident in this hoodie. I thought that might be important when I’m on a date.” Jeez, what was her problem? “A date?! You think this is a date?!” She shrieked. Like bad microphone feedback. Oh, boy, here we go. I couldn’t believe she thought we were on a DATE. The nerve! “I agreed to go to dinner with you because you were new in town. I was being POLITE.” “You’re joking, right? I spend like, five whole minutes hitting on you, then I ask you to dinner and you say yes? How am I supposed to NOT think that this was a date?!” I could feel a rather large migraine coming on. Something I wasn’t used to. “Hitting on me? That was more like sexual harassment! But of course you wouldn’t recognize someone just being polite. I doubt you have any experience in the matter.” That might have been a bit harsh, but I was angry. “Oh, sure! Just because our jobs and lifestyles are different I don’t know how to be courteous? I was going to pay here, treat you to a nice dinner at a restaurant you said you liked, and walk you home!” “Walk me home?! We live ACROSS THE HALL from each other!” I couldn’t believe this mare. She obviously thought I was going to... do... things... with her. “You’re just trying to get me into bed, aren’t you?” “Excuse me?! I HAVE a three-date rule, you know. Obviously that doesn’t mean anything now, so let me save you the trouble of walking all the way back to the apartment with me. I’m leaving!” And she did. She slammed her hoof on the table to punctuate her sentence, and stormed out. I ended up having dinner alone that night. It wasn’t very comfortable. But it’s not my fault. Author's Note Ok, so I’ve been floating around the Internet looking for good Octavia/Vinyl stories, because they’re my favorites. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy is brilliant, and of course The Vinyl Scratch Tapes are a favorite, especially since they started doing an audio show of it on Youtube. But there just wasn’t enough. Either it had OC’s (which I’ve grown to dislike greatly, even my own), or they were too short, or the Octavinyl was an afterthought. So I have decided to do at least a little something about the disturbing lack of Octavia/Vinyl fanfictions. Namely, writing one. Now, if you are a regular reader of mine, you’ll know that I have a tendency to not finish my books. Except that one. Which I’m not a fan of. But instead of trying to create a great big epic story that spans chapter after chapter and has a bunch of different people doing different adventurous things, I’m just going to put these two in a room and see what happens. Well, not literally, but that’s basically the gist of it. Have fun.
This Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really.Chapter 5: This Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really. Tavi was gone, I was back in my apartment, and I was thoroughly confused. We both were. “What just happened?” Spitfire looked almost as dazed as I did. And she wasn’t even IN the room at the time. “I, have no idea. I think... no, I’m pretty damn sure that was hate sex.” “...wow. Who knew she was that kind of pony?” Spitfire seemed to be contemplating something. “Heck, I don’t know if SHE knew. Did you see how much she apologized? And not to be mean (ok, totally to be mean), she was completely amateur the first time.” I rolled me eyes. “You could tell she hadn’t had much, if at all-” “Wait, wait, wait. The first time?!” Her eyes got wide. “OH yeah. When she found out she’d just thrown me against a wall in front of the Captain of the Wonderbolts it was like watching Jekyll and Hoof. She did a total 180 and went at me again.” “...so how was it the second time?” I still couldn’t believe the first one had happened. It was like telling a science fiction story around a campfire. “Totally much better. The first time, I swear, she had no idea what she wanted. I think she just thought sex was sex and that was it. But when we actually got down to it it was like she didn’t know whether or not she wanted to punish me or satisfy herself. Awkward.” “So what did she settle on?” “Just gettin’ her jollies on. I can’ pretty much guarantee she doesn’t know enough about sex to properly punish someone, but EVERYPONY knows enough to have fun.” Spitfire laughed at that. “Ok, look, the rehearsal thingy is in like, an hour and a half or something. I’m pretty sure they need you there early. And besides, my team’s probably freaking out without me there. Either that or they’re doing Field Day again.” “Gonna go rain on their parade?” “Like a badass.” I grinned at her, and gave her a hug. “Keep in touch. Something tells me I’ll need somepony with their head on straight to survive this place.” “Then you are truly and thoroughly screwed. I’ll see you later, Vinyl,” she squeezed one last time, and flew out the window. Alright, time for rehearsal. Time to get busy. Time. To be AWESOME. “Frederick, I swear to Luna, if you talk about this to anypony I will string you up with piano wire and play the theme to Titanic with your teeth.” That came out in more of a growl than I’d like, but it had the desires effect. He obviously wasn’t going to tell anyone. We made our way backstage, meeting up with the other half of the quartet, and everypony else who was filing in for the rehearsal. I recognized a couple of big names, but didn’t see Vinyl yet. Beauty Brass took one look at me and was about to say something, when I shoved a hoof in her mouth. “One word. ONE. And you will live in that sousaphone. And how does everypony know, anyway?” Beauty Brass muffled through my hoof. “Oh, sorry.” “Pah! It’s you’re bowtie.” She pointed at my neck. “Hey, bowties are cool!” I argued, looking down. “They’re also... on... upside down. Oh, dammit.” I took a moment to correct my fashion error, and looked myself over in the mirror. I hadn’t had a chance to fix my mane, so it was down around my eyes a little, and looking a little shaggy. Not like it’s usual pomf on the top of my head. “Oh, for the- I don’t have time to fix this!” Frederick grinned. “I like it better this way.” “Oh shut up. I’ll be in the dressing room, doing what I can to save it.” I trotted my way down a hallway off to the side, and found a large dressing room that, as of current, was absolutely packed. A stylist walked by me with part of a glance, then froze and rushed back. “Oh, my, darling! What happened to you?!” I tried to think of a good excuse. I couldn’t. “Um... it’s... sex hair. I had sex.” She cheered up a little. Curious, where had I seen her before? “Oh, well that’s all well and good, darling. Celestia knows even the best of us need to relieve some stress before a big shindig like this. Here, let me help you.” Before I could argue, she dragged me off and threw me into a chair. “Now, how shall we do this?” “Um, I’m a cellist in a quartet, so-” “OH! Say no more! I have the perfect thing!” And she rushed off. She came back with a little wooden box and some mane care products, she went to work. And she was done faster than I could believe. I loved it. Instead of my usual poof of hair up top, she’d tied the whole thing into a little oriental bun, with two little sticks pointing out of it. I don’t remember what they’re called. But it looked perfect. “That... that is wonderful. Thank you so much.” I marveled at my reflection. “Absolutely. Now, let me get you some literature.... here!” She dropped a magazine in my lap, the cover of which featured a mare with the same hairstyle. “You can keep those pins, and if you ever want to do it yourself, just read up in there. It takes a little styling product, but it’s very effective.” I got up and shook her hoof. “Well thank you very much, Ms...” “Rarity! Ms. Rarity! Please do tell everypony you feel like about me!” I knew it. I KNEW I’d seen her. “Thank you, Ms. Rarity, I will.” I trotted politely out of the room, then made a little more haste than usual returning to the group. The less exposure I had to any of the Element Bearers the better. They were all, by reputation and experience, completely insane. The group at least seemed to approve of my new style. “Oh, that looks great!” Beauty Brass cheered. Harpo and Frederick just nodded knowingly. About that time, a coordinator called for attention, and we all started getting to work. I hadn’t been at the rehearsal for more than twenty minutes before a hundred ponies were talking to me all at once. Well, really, it was like three, but they didn’t shut up. There was this coordinator that was running me through the schedule like I didn’t know how to run my own equipment, this A/V guy who kept asking questions about the specs on my rig, and this reporter mare who’d snuck in and was badgering me with questions. Probably because I still had that after-sex look. I somehow wriggled past all of them and got to my battlestation. Good. Nopony had touched anything. Everything was on, working properly, and I had all my records. This one stage stylist walked by and gave me a look, sighing heavily. She didn’t like the glasses. “Well, at least you did something about the spiky in your hair.” She huffed, and trotted on. Wait, what? My spikes? I didn’t have my spikes?! This. Was. Awful. I tore my way down the hall, and rushed into the dressing room. I grabbed the first stylist I could, and told her (more like yelled in her direction) “I NEED MY SPIKES.” She seemed a little dazed, but shook out of it in no time. Then she seemed to recognize me. And I her. “Vinyl!” “RARARA!” “... I HATE that name.” She grumbled. “Listen, no time to chat. My spikes are gone. Long story. Can you fix it?!” She pulled out some styling gel and a pair of scissors. “Oh, it. Is. ON.” (insert manecare montage here) Rarity spun me around in the mirror, and BAM. Just like new. “Excellent, thanks, Rara- I mean Rarity.” Hey, she still had scissors in her hoof. “So what happened to you?” She asked. Ever the gossip. I figured I’d feed her something. “Ok, I’m not telling who, or details, cause I gotta go, but I totally had sex like an hour ago. Twice. Later!” And I ran back to my battlestation. I probably should do something about how much I like to gossip. Even back in Ponyville I was notorious for it. But it’s so much FUN. And Vinyl?! Well, I knew she liked a little bit of fun more than other ponies, but right before a big rehearsal? That would make two ponies I get to gossip about! That had sex! ...at about the same time. “Oh. MY. GOD!” We had just finished our performance, about halfway into the rehearsal, when it happened. Up to that point, nothing bit had occurred. Everypony knew their place, and was doing their job. Even Vinyl was doing remarkably better than I’d have given her credit for. Of course, she WAS DJ Pon-3. Even Frederick had admitted, “Ok, now I can see it.” But after my performance, we were still all expected to hang around in the audience. A courtesy to the other musicians. Even if we weren’t nominated. Oh well. You can’t win at everything. We were sitting at our table when somepony I think I should have known, a lead singer for a rock band or something like that, walked by our table. He winked at me. I didn’t think much of it at first. I’d been getting approving looks and comments on my mane randomly throughout the night. I would have to keep it like this. Then Beauty Brass chimed in, “Ooh, that stallion was giving you a look, Octavia! You should go talk to him.” “A look? Please. A wink, yes. That did happen. But it wasn’t that kind of look.” The thing about denial is that you usually deny being in denial. “Besides, he... wasn’t my type.” “Oh, right, right. I forgot, you-OOF.” I kicked her under the table. “Ok, ok.” And I thought that was the end of that. But throughout the night, I would get looks, comments, and some rather unladylike gestures from all sorts of people. I had no idea what was going on. And it was getting very annoying. Nothing really major occurred, however, until after the rehearsal. Ponies got they’re awards, gave their speeches, and played their pieces, just like usual. It was when everypony was filling out of the building at the end of the night did I finally put together what had happened. Or rather, somepony else told me. Namely, a reporter. I hadn’t gotten more than ten paces out the front door when somepony shoved a camera and microphone in my face, and bombarded me with questions. At first it was all lights and noise. Then I heard Vinyl’s name mentioned, and I snapped my head around to look at the reporter. “What? Could you repeat that?” “I SAID, what’s it like dating the infamous DJ Pon-3?!” What. She did NOT just ask that. I haven’t told ANYONE here about that. And the few who guessed I threatened violently. ...except Vinyl. I never told Vinyl not to tell anypony. “Rrrrrrrr.......” I started to growl. I felt like an engine revving up. “Miss Octavia, what was it like bedding the most voracious DJ in Equestria?” “Is this a continued relationship, or has Octavia Melody become another conquest of the infamous Vinyl Scratch?” They just kept throwing questions at me, until I finally snapped. “rrrrrRRRRRRR VINYL SCRATCH!” I roared. I felt righteous. Furious. Filled with a violent passion like nothing I’d ever been privy to. I charged through the audience, knocking over some rather unfortunate souls on the way out. I tore down the streets of Canterlot, right up to my apartment. I didn’t even wait for the elevator. I took the stairs two at a time. I got to our floor just in time. She was just putting the key in the lock. “VINYL!” “Huh? Wuh-oh!” She tried to run, but I had some much momentum at that point I tackled her just as she turned around. Then, the tried and true method of getting her attention, I pinned her to the wall. “WHAT is your problem! Telling everypony we had sex! I look like an absolute TRAMP! ON NATIONAL TELEVISION!” Then she had the gall to get defensive. “Hey, I didn’t tell anypony about you! The only ponies that know I had sex are Spitifre, you (duh), and Rarity. And ol’ Rarara doesn’t even know who it was I had sex with!” “Why you... you... you know Rarity?” I was so confused all the wind had gone out of my sails. “And you... told her... you had sex...” “Yeah, duh. She loves gossip. But I didn’t tell her your name! I mean, come on. Even I’M not THAT petty.... most of the time.” “Oh... oh my god. And I told her I’d had sex. She’d put that together in a heartbeat. Oh my god. We just told the worst gossip in Equestria all about our sex life!” I wanted to cry. I let go of Vinyl and sat down in the middle of the hall. “Wait, so this is YOUR fault, too?! AWESOME!” I was starting to recognize a pattern. There were certain moments when I would just get so angry, and so frustrated, that there was only one thing I could think about. I... well, the best word for it is that I snapped. I grabbed her by the collar in one hoof and pinned her to the wall again. She must have seen something in my eyes, because she said “... hate sex?” “Hate sex.” Author's Note Author’s note: Shit has hit the fan, folks. There’s a storm a’comin’. So, I have a few of you following this train wreck as it happens, so please, let me know what you think. Like, actual criticism. I am braced for impact. GO.
