Bridges

Bridges

The First Bridge

"Tonight, we will be drinking."

The usually cheerful, carefree phrase that Vinyl had always used to get hype before a performance turned out bleak and meagre, spoken in a soft, sorrowful voice. These weren't words of self-encouragement. The were sad, accepting words. These were words of admitting defeat to an enemy greater than the DJ, an enemy of her own device. Whether she wanted it or not, tonight, she would be drinking.

Vinyl looked at her wild, dishevelled blue mane that was hanging limply, falling onto her shoulders. The gel could never teach the rebellious hairs to fall in line - or, rather, in spikes. Her eyes were redder than usual, screaming lack of sleep at her worn-out, exhausted reflection. Her sourly-white fur was messy and tangled. Her shades sported cracks and grease. Her throat was sore, a desperate, invisible lump blocking it so much that it was hard to breathe - or was it her heavy heart that prevented her breath from gaining a normal pace?

It was just another Saturday, and, this Saturday, just like any Saturday, she would be drinking. A bottle a week kept her life sad and bleak. A bottle a day would keep the problems away - but she couldn't bring herself to drink on a daily basis. In the past years, she had been drinking either to drive into the vivid, sweaty mood of the crowd while she scratched her disks and pressed her buttons - or to savour the drink and have a nice talk with her friends. Now, for a few months already, she had been drinking to get drunk and forget how pitiful and miserable her life was. It was, wasn't it? She had all she wanted: fame, and fortune, and friends, and everything. The only thing she did not have was a future - any kind of future. And that was driving the mare straight into a depression, out of which she could see no escape.

Apart from consuming alcohol in large amounts. Her body, however - this sick, slender traitor - didn't want to cooperate: Vinyl knew how to hold her liquor, and she could never get wasted enough to feel happiness simply because of the alcohol, or just pass out because of the same reason. When she drank, she drank silently, even with her friends around her. She drank pointedly. Sombrely. Solemnly. She didn't drink: she just consumed her drinks in short, fervent gulps.

The doorbell rang in a sleek, round chime that reverberated across the wide hall. Vinyl glanced at the clock automatically, as she would often do before a performance, to check whether she was late or not (being a little late had always been encouraged in the industry), but quickly reminded herself that, this evening, it was just a get-together. No clubs, no performances, no reservations, no tickets. She trotted towards the door.

"Took you long enough, Scratch!"

Vinyl couldn't help a smile as a ridiculously dressed stallion rushed into the hall, crushing  her in a bone-shattering hug: a tuxedo with a clip-on tie and a top hat with a hole for his horn were certainly most bizarre.

"I'm usually the one who's waiting for you and Harpo, you know," Vinyl retorted with a playful nudge, happy for the momentary distraction from dark and sombre thoughts. In the company of her friends, she could truly feel carefree, if only for a short while. "And dammit, Neon, there's this thing called a 'mobile phone', you know?" the DJ reprimanded her friend, who was already looking in the mirror and checking his tie. "They invented those to give calls. You could, you know?, give me a call in advance."

"Are you going or not?" Neon wondered innocently, seemingly disregarding Vinyl's remarks, used to them only too well. "Harpo's waiting for us outside, and you know how cold of an autumn it is."

Yeah, more like a winter, Vinyl observed mentally and followed the stallion with a sigh.

"And no staring at my flank~" Neon cooed as Vinyl closed the door and followed him to the lift.

Vinyl chuckled. Sure thing, Neon. She loved him. She really did. Just as she loved Harpo. Just as, she knew, the two absolutely straight stallions loved each other. For ponies like them, those who were weird, differnt, by society's verdict; for those who were strange, liberal outcasts, friendship and friendly love was all that made life worth living. Because finding a romantic love is impossible for me.

Vinyl sighed as she left the lift, catching up with the stallion. Tonight, we will be drinking.

***

"Tonight, we will be drinking."

Octavia offered her friend a small smile as she checked her bow tie, looking in the mirror. Her mane was perfectly groomed. Her collar was perfectly set. Her pink bow tie was perfectly accurate. She looked perfect.

Octavia was living for nights like this. She did not always live for nights like this, the nights of jazz and drinking; but she did enjoy it immensely, more so than any evening concert or performance. "Come on, Beauty, the point of the evening is to listen to some smooth music and have a few, not get wasted." While the cellist needed to say that aloud, both she and her friend knew that, after a week of exhaustive practice, rehearsals, and keeping up face within the part of the society they involuntarily belonged to, they just needed to unwind. And ordinary, moderate drinking wasn't enough.

"Octavia, my dear Octavia..." Beauty Brass chuckled, doing her mane thoroughly. "Pay heed to thy elderly and keep it in mind - and you have a stray mind indeed, my dear Melpomene of cello and whisky - that the only purpose booze serves on this poor, scorched planet is getting its recipients wasted." She placed the comb onto the nighttable.

Octavia chuckled at the blue mare's antics. Beauty Brass was a fine tuba player, well-read, well-educated, and never hesitated to make a mockery out of the cultural grandiloquence she had been raised in. "Well, if it is your wish for us to get wasted..." Octavia bowed lightly. "Then I guess that I am in no position to disappoint." She dropped the pretense with a smile. "Come on, Beauty, your hair is perfect. We have a reservation for eight. It's half seven already."

"Well," Beauty Brass concluded aloud, not dropping the act, as she put on her saddlebags, "seeing as we have but half an hour to make our way to the noble tavern, let us hurry and may the gods of booze watch over us. Amen."

***

"And here I was, thinking that we would be drinking tonight."

Harpo breathed on his hooves apologetically, taking off his own top hat. Late evening was already in full bloom, and the near-empty street of North Manehattan assaulted the trio with lunges of ill, freezing wind. "You know, I think we overdid it. Sure, that was a classy place, but..."

"It's my fault, guys," Vinyl said with a sigh, watching the two comically dressed stallions tiptoe in the cold street. "I'm not decently dressed or groomed. That was a fancy place. They would've let you two in if I hadn't been with you."

"Rubbish," Neon protested, visibly not concerned about having just been denied access to the fancy club, along with the rest of the trio. "That was just one of Harpo's ridiculous spur-of-the-moment ideas. You couldn't know they had a dress-code or something like that."

Harpo cast a glare at the unicorn. "Well, Neon, this is why they invented mobile phones, you know? To be in touch." To prove that, he extracted his very own iPone from his saddlebags. Vinyl chuckled at that: Harpo, who didn't even use the word 'mainstream' because it was too mainstream, was now a proud owner of the latest piece of technology.

"Dammit, Harpo!" Neon cursed. "Stop showing your state-of-the-art tech in my face! I have a long dick, but I don't go showing it in your mouth, do I?" Once more, Vinyl couldn't help a chuckle at the poor, bawdy joke.

The purple stallion wiggled his eyebrow. "Why, Neon, honey, you need but ask~" he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes as he evaded an immediate punch from the unicorn.

Vinyl giggled, watching the two stallions exchange playful, friendly nudges. She let out a sigh, but this one was a sigh of ease and content. It was good to have friends. The world was dark and scary, ever-changing, oppressive and intense, and it was good to know that there was always a light in the darkness, for her. For all of us. "All right, guys, don't sweat it," she said finally. "We could do this another time." And I'll just go back home. Alone.

"Rubbish," Neon retorted, ceasing his beating of Harpo, giving his friend a chance to land the last punch. "Come on, Harpo, you know all the cool places in town. Think of something!"

Harpo didn't need to be asked twice. Rubbing his chin for a moment in a mocking build-up of suspense that neither of his friends were feeling, he finally said with his trademark "Harpo grin", the grin of a kind, generous, happy madpony, "Yes. I think I know a place."

***

"Come on, Beauty, hop, skip, and jump!"

Octavia giggled at her own cheers as she watched her silly friend scrunching her face in disgusted disapproval at the sight of a particularly large puddle that simply could not be avoided. Finally, Beauty Brass sighed with a headshake. "Let's take the long way round. If there's a way not to stomp into a puddle, I'd rather not stomp into a puddle."

"Come on, Beauty, you aren't a sugarmare, you can do it," Octavia teased, watching their destination, the jazz club that was clearly visible, in some twenty steps, with longing. "We're almost late. Come on! Chop chop!"

"Chop chop," the blue mare grumbled, taking a ridiculously graceful leap across the puddle, landing precisely on the other side, near Octavia, who just chuckled in amusement. Beauty frowned, noting that one of her hind hooves had indeed got into connection with the murky autumn water. "Confound those puddles, they drive me to wet," she cursed.

"Told you you are no sugarmare," the cellist reiterated with a smile as she climbed over a pipe blocking their way. One had to be careful in this district, lest they stumble upon something, or, Celestia forbid, receive a bottle on their head from one of the windows.

"Well, maybe I am," Beauty Brass retorted, out of habit, as she followed the grey mare. "You can't say for sure."

Octavia smiled at her best friend's attitude. Throughout the years she'd known Beauty Brass, she'd got used to the mare's grumpy, sour attitude, knowing very well that, deep inside, she was calmly, eerily compassionate - and could always hear her, Octavia, out, without taking sides. "Well... If you were a sugarmare, I'd love to taste that sugar." Octavia licked her lips with a small wink, delightfully watching the tuba player blush.

"Shut up, Octavia, you aren't lesbian," Beauty muttered. "And neither am I." Suddenly, the blue mare eeped due to a particular grey mare tossing her hot breath on her ear.

"Oh..." Octavia made sure that her breath was hot. "But that would never stop us, would it?~" she cooed into the quickly reddening blue ear, prompting Beauty to quicken her pace and swiftly move towards the old building that housed the club.

Octavia smirked, satisfied with her joke, as she watched the blue mare approach the rusty steel of the club door, and rubbed her hooves, balancing for a few seconds. Tonight, we will be drinking.

***

"What's a Knock-out? Ah, who gives a damn! Give us two!"

Vinyl laughed madly as Neon ordered yet another drink at the bar counter, his hoof wrapped around her neck, a grin on his drunken face. Vinyl herself didn't feel drunk; but she wanted to; and she played the part, if only to keep up with her friends. Or because somepony had once told her that make-believe could become real. Rarely.

"C'mon, Scratch! One, two-" Neon downed the shot while Vinyl yelled, "Three!" and gulped down her own Knock-out as well. She wasn't quite sure what was in it, never having been a fine connoisseur of alcohol, besides having consumed at least ten drinks already. Not that she cared. She waited for the alcohol to hit her head. The (already drunk) bartender had promised that a Knock-out was the hardest stuff they had - and Neon was visibly under the effect already, staggering slightly as he leant onto Vinyl's shoulder. The DJ herself felt no different. Her mood was fading, just as it had been rising for the last few hours, in the wake of her following her friends to this dirty, obscure place, and forgetting her worries to the crazy, insanity-provoking atmosphere of sour booze and angry music.

The mare practically dragged Neon through the bizarre establishment, with drunken bartenders and weed-smoking students, and the whole towers of beer, and a thousand menus that served as everything: tissues, coasters, dishes; and the wooden tables covered by knife cuts, and a very drunken Harpo talking on the phone. Vinyl let Neon slip off her shoulder and straight onto his seat.

"Yeah, sure! The more the merrier!" Harpo chirped, his tongue slurring as he downed his sixth Jager. "Glad you called, Beauty; I'll text you the address and meet'cha outside."

"You can't step on the ants, you see." Neon was gesticulating wildly, while Harpo, wincing, tried to hear out what he was being told on the phone. "You just don't step on the damn ants!" He slammed his hoof against the table and lowered his head onto his front hooves.

Vinyl sat next to the unicorn and brushed his mane aside, stroking his head with a sigh. Harpo rose from his seat. "Octavia who? Yeah, yeah! Sure, bring 'er in! Hold on a sec, I'm gonna go outside: better reception."

Vinyl placed her chin on the table, looking at a fly that was slowly crawling across the wooden surface. Her mood wasn't in the best condition. Now that Harpo had left and Neon was asleep, she didn't even have anypony to drink with. She closed her eyes, thinking of all the times these two wonderful ponies had pretty much saved her life, not to mention saving her flank. They had delivered her from apathy, if but for a short period of time. They had always been there for her. They, as cliche and film-ish as it sounded in her mind, were her only true friends.

One of whom had just rushed back into the bar, grinning madly, waving his iPone in the air. "A drink, buddy! Pour me a drink!" he yelled at the bartender, drowning the loud music.

"What's your poison, though?"

"Do I look like I give a damn?!" Harpo grabbed the gin with a cheer and downed it in one gulp, tossing a hoofful of bits on the counter. He flew towards Vinyl, needlessly manoeuvring in the empty space. "Guess what, Scratch? We're getting company! Beauty Brass and Somepony Octavia!"

Vinyl managed a weak, fake smile. "Who're they?"

"Well, Beauty is..." Harpo paused a little. "A friend. A good friend of mine. Very personal. And Octavia..." He snickered. "Hell if I know! Now." He took a swig of Vinyl's whisky leftovers, making the mare flinch a little: drinking whisky after gin was worse than drinking gin after rum. And Harpo had done both. Several times throughout the evening. "I need to meet 'em. Be back real soon. Don't get wasted without me, Scratch!"

Vinyl chuckled sadly as she watched the stallion trot away. She ruffled Neon's mane with a long, thoughtful smile.  "Tonight we will be drinking, eh?"

***

"And here I was, thinking we'd be drinking tonight."

Octavia pretty much buried her muzzle into the menu at her friend's remark. While not getting wasted seemed like a pleasant option, in contrast to what they usually did every Saturday, not drinking at all just didn't seem like an option. "I'd like a cup of Earl Grey," Octavia let out with a sigh, her hopes for a nice evening collapsing like Equestrian economy.

"I'd like a whisky," Beauty Brass said pointedly, glaring at the waiter. "Which you don't have."

The waiter offered a weak, apologetic smile. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, it's not our fault. Every once in a while, we have to renew our license." He shrugged meekly.

"Yes, we know that already." Beauty frowned, looking at the menu choices, which, without alcohol, seemed very meagre. "But you could've told us in advance, you know?" she hissed, drawing attention from several adjacent tables, which were occupied, while most tables stood lonely and empty, save for a sad vase sine flora for each. "When we called. Seems that every once in a while, we have to change our club of choice."

"Beauty, stop making a scene," Octavia said with a tired sigh. "At least the band will be there soon. Do you want tea?"

The waiter shifted from hoof to hoof uneasily. "Um... Ma'am? I'm sorry to break the news, but the band can't make it." Octavia's eye twitched. "However, we have a wonderful DJ performing tonight-"

"We're leaving." Octavia stood up. "Come on, Beauty." She didn't even cast a look at the waiter, facing the exit.

"Who's making a scene now?" Beauty whispered to her irritated friend, following her outside.

"It's one thing to lack alcohol." Octavia took a deep breath of chilly autumn air. "It's entirely another thing to substitute live music with a DJ."

"What's your deal with DJs, anyway," Beauty grumbled, feeling the early night frost assaulting her nostrils.

"Both you and I know how hard it is to actually perform, and not spin vinyl records." Octavia sighed, looking up, a thick grey cloud cover meeting her eyes. "The day I enjoy a DJ's performance, I'll kiss his flank," she concluded, scrunching her face.

"Or her flank," Beauty supplied eagerly.

"Or her," Octavia agreed with a chuckle.

"All right, I think you need a drink. I know I do." Beauty fished out her phone out of her saddlebags. Octavia nodded. Don't we all, though? The whole of Equestria needed a drink, as it seemed. "I'm calling Harpo."

"Who's Harpo?" the cellist wondered with a smile. "Your booze dealer?"

Beauty pressed the phone against her ear with a blush. "A friend." Before Octavia could tease her about their 'friendship', the tuba player seemed to get through. "Hello, Harpo! How are you tonight?" The blue mare smiled. "Oh, is it so? Well, how about we pay you a visit, me and my friend Octavia? Yes, sure! I'll write it down."

Beauty covered the phone speaker with her hoof, grinning at Octavia. "Tonight, we will be drinking."

***

"Come on, Neon, digest a little the wine, of which thou hast taken too much." Harpo moved the glass in the direction of the unicorn, who, by now, was already inebriated enough to pass out, and it was only the presence of two unfamiliar mares that kept him awake and smiling. And drinking.

"It's from the Book of Kings," Harpo explained to the blue mare sitting next to him, smiling warmly, a little blush on his cheeks as he inched closer to Beauty Brass, who in turn, leaned a little at him, whispering, "I know."

Octavia sighed, taking in the surroundings, for she had no desire to watch her friend failing at showing her affection towards a stallion she obviously admired and who, in return, obviously admired her. The dirty, mediocre bar with ugly, drunk ponies didn't appeal to her. The cellist didn't pride herself on being upper-class: she loved the sour smell of the suburbs and the rusty walls of downtown jazz clubs, but not the crowds that frequented such establishments.

"The flamethrowers, they're using damn flamethrowers," Neon kept repeating, lost in the drunken insanity of the night.

"I didn't quite catch your name," Octavia addressed a bored-looking white unicorn mare sitting next to her, staring at the wall.

"Vinyl Scratch," came the sour, lifeless reply, as Vinyl diverted her attention from a fly crawling the wall to look at the grey mare sitting next to her, Somepony Octavia, a cellist, as Harpo had introduced her.

"How are you liking the night, Vinyl?" Octavia wondered, resolving on a small talk, especially given that Beauty was very occupied with drinking with Harpo, and the other stallion - what was his name? - was, apparently, either insane or incredibly drunk. Maybe both.

"It goes," Vinyl replied vaguely. She didn't mean to offend the newcomer; if anything, the mare looked very nice and had a friendly disposition. However, she didn't want a friendly talk either. She wanted to get drunk. The DJ downed another glass of whatever was in it. Her tongue had long ceased to tell the difference.

Octavia groaned internally. The one sane pony in this hellish shrine of booze and loud, terrible music, and she wasn't up to conversation. "I have an impression that you don't like it here."

"I don't like it anywhere," Vinyl replied, mostly out of spite, just to shut both the grey mare and her brain up. If the alcohol was having an effect on her, it was negative: growing irritation swelling in her chest, an irritation born due to her stupid inability to drink her problems away.

Neon leaned aside and vomited.

"Shit!" Vinyl grabbed a napkin, trying to clean the mess as Harpo let go of Beauty, whom he was holding in an embrace, oblivious as to what to do. "Harpo, help me drag Neon outside." She tossed an indifferent, yet apologetic look to Octavia. "Seems it's time to go home." She tossed several bits on the table as she grabbed the drunken, mumbling unicorn and, with Harpo's help, began dragging him towards the exit.

"Vinyl, your saddlebags!"

The DJ looked back, watching Octavia run up to her and place her saddlebags on her back. "Thank you, Octavia," she said with a weak smile, and carried on with her task.

Octavia stood in place, her eyes fixed on the white mare. Stupid... That was stupid... She won't even see it. Why did I do that? She'll just use up that napkin and... Octavia shook her head, surprised with her sudden, ridiculous action, and walked back to the table.

The crowd returned to their drinks.

***

Vinyl looked at Neon, who was snoozing peacefully on the couch, and sighed, closing her eyes. Vague, obscure shapes appeared before her closed eyelids, dancing in the night. She opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. A certain part of her was concerned about Neon: it wasn't the first time he had vomited or passed out due to excessive drinking. Another part of her wanted to go to sleep. Yet another, strange, sudden, maybe unwanted, even, part of her thought about Octavia.

Vinyl got up and went to the kitchen. Her flat was big enough to hold both her and Neon. It was big enough to hold parties. It was big enough for her to feel terribly, horribly alone.

Vinyl took a mug and poured herself a tea. It was mildly warm and satisfactory enough for her. She reached for her saddlebags to take out her phone: it probably needed charging. Opening the sturdy leather bag, she fished out the phone and... napkins? Probably put them there to wipe off Neon's mouth, she concluded, putting them on the table. However, one of the napkins - the topmost one - drew her attention. On it, in the late, dying moonlight, were three lines, written in a fast, fervent attempt at penship.

A phone number.

A name.

And... Call me any time you want.

Vinyl chuckled at the surrealism, but decided to copy the number to her phone nevertheless. "Seven-oh-five..." she mumbled, tinkering with the device. "Octavia... Philarmonica."

With that, she finished her tea, reached her bed and went off to a calm, tranquil, emotionless sleep.