Love in all of it’s forms
Part1
Dramatis Personae:
Vinyl Scratch as The White Unicorn
Octavia Philharmonica as The Cello Player
The curtains close, but yet the show begins. The white unicorn is lying on a bed, it’s unclear whether her eyes are closed since they are hidden by her trademark goggles. She isn’t alone in the room, near the end of the bed stands a cello player, resting against her instrument. The tall wooden body gives of the unmistakable smell of aged wood, mixed with small hints of wood polish.
A certain tension lies in the air, and whenever the cello player makes a noise, the white unicorn betrays her relaxed look by shuffling about and further ruffling the white satin covers. Both are trying to keep their breath shallow, but ultimately are fighting a losing battle against their fast beating hearts which scream for air. Primal senses, long forgotten, pick up hints and signs which neither of them has control over. A bit of sweat, a stare that lingers just a second too long, a nervous shuffle when there is nothing to be embarrassed about.
Scents tell a complicated story of excitement, expectation, and a hint of fear.
But now the Cello Player forgets about all these. She rises onto her hind legs, gripping the neck of her instrument in a precarious balance. For her this always was the ultimate symbol for the symbiosis of musician and instrument, the moment where she has to fully entrust herself to the tools of her craft.
Her bow carrasses the strings for a first time, not for musics sake, but to test her partner. She gently guides him to form, her hoof caressing the pegs with a concentration that other musicians reserve for only the hardest scores. Today there must be no mistakes.
While the Cello Player is in dialogue with his instrument the white unicorn is left to her own device. With every passing second the facade of calmness crumbles, and before long she’s turning left and right, fighting with the perfect white cover which match her coat so well. She should be feeling relaxed, she should be feeling safe, but no matter what she does there remains a voice of doubt.
The satin covers are as rough as steel wool, moonlight which shines through closed curtains is blinding, and more and more she feels as if the goggles which have been her companion through so many venues of life are steel vices slowly pressing every calm thought out of her.
As if taken over by a raging demon she grabs the offending eyewear, raising her hoof ready to smash them against the nearest wall. A wailing noise brings her back to reality. At the end of the bed stands the Cello Player, her lilac gaze meeting her own eyes which shine almost red in the dimmed moonlight. Powerless she falls back into the embrace of the bed, her hooves still clutching the goggles tightly.
The Cello Player gives her a moment to calm down. Now to begin the piece. She looks down at the bow as she raises it towards the strings. Weird, for some reason the end of the bow is shivering; has she put too much pressure on the hairs? No, it’s her own hoof which is shaking wildly.
Suddenly the act of raising the bow seems to have become a gargantuan task, her hoof only inching forward millimeter by millimeter as she forces it upwards by sheer force of will. Only when the hairs touch the strings the weight falls of her, her forelegs and the cello forming the magic circle which allows her to bring forth music.
She takes another look at the white Unicorn, but she still lies on the bed as if struck down, the only sign of life her shivering hooves which grip the goggles tightly.
A first stroke, just a simple note, a musical call for attention, and as well as it normally captures the minds of an complete concert hall, it locks those magenta eyes onto her.
The Cello Player plays a few simple notes, nothing fancy, nothing spectacular, today she isn’t the one who is standing on the stage. For the first time since she started playing she opens her eyes, answering the look that’s resting on her. She nods encouragingly.
The white unicorn is taken aback. She had just lost herself in the music. Every other player bored her, every recording she ignored, but when the Cello Player took up her instrument she immediately became entranced. She would have stayed like this the whole night, but that simple gesture reminded her.
She’s unsure where to start, even when the movements should be familiar to her. The moaning protest of plastic, glass, and metal reminds her of the goggles in her hoof. She puts them away and sheepishly looks at the Cello Player. She doesn’t react, her eyes are closed again and she is concentrating on the instrument to which she clings so tightly. A unreasonable feeling of envy fills the white unicorns mind, as she glares at the piece of wood, which has what she longs for.
Only hesitantly her hooves come closer to her body. The one thing in the world which she should know better than anything else, and yet she feels as if her hooves wander over a alien plane of fur and warmth, which she had suspected wouldn’t be there.
The Cello Player begins to change the music, the simple melodies start to become more complex and step by step she weaves them into a carpet of sounds and emotions.
The white Unicorns explorations becomes more fierce as she enjoys the feeling of her own skin and coat. Every time she finds an so far unexplored spot a feeling of joy fills her, driving her to seek further. Her eyes are closed and she doesn’t see the shadows which begin to converge around the bed.
The notes are edging closer and closer as the Cello Player steadily raises her tempo, she watches the white unicorn, her music both guide of, and guided by her actions.
Faster and faster the white unicorns hooves dance across her body, and yet it is if there is something which hinders them, a barrier which they aren’t willing to cross.
The Cello Player finishes the accelerando, only to return to a slower tempo; a rest? or maybe just the calm before the storm? For now it doesn’t matter. Deep soothing notes escape the cello as it’s partner caresses it with the bow.
All movement slowly dies down, and the white Unicorn catches her breath. Her heart is racing and she’s covered in sweat, far more so than the brief burst of action would justify. Her eyes remain closed, but her ears stand alert ready to catch every facet of the song.
A small fast rhythm. Not complex, but repeated over and over again, growing in intensity.
The white unicorns body lies still, but her heart, oh her heart; it is beating ever faster, the theme ensnaring it in it’s musical fangs. Now it has seeped into her veins, and she can feel the blood pulsing in her ears. Unsteadily her hooves creep towards her chest, caressing and petting along the way. Ever deeper they reach past that barrier. She can feel the warmth of her prize, pulsating with that rhythm which is guiding her body. She can feel the eyes of the Cello player resting on her. They are not lustful, or demanding, just acknowledging, just existing.
A mix of picking and steady strokes creates a melody which is both constant and wild, as the Cello Players hoof dance across her instrument. Her eyes never wander off the white unicorn even during the hardest scores.
Nothing can hold her back anymore, almost greedily she reaches for the core of her pleasure, her hooves finding little resistance, the prove of her arousal all too obvious. The feeling is incomparable, made thousandfold better by the knowledge that the Cello Player is nearby. If only… could she dare? As the thrill reaches a new height she just has to try. As a moan leaves her mouth she opens her eyes.
Suddenly HE is upon her! It is dark, but she knows him. Never could she forget him, and neither the veil of darkness, nor the shadows which eat away the white satin like flames, hides his form from her. It’s the smile, nobody smiled quite like HIM. A scream escapes her mouth.
The Cellos Player stands at the end of the bed. Her ankles are showing white as her hoof clutches the bow tightly. The strings protest as she mangles them, and she forces herself to relax her grip around the neck of the instrument. Once again she can do nothing but watch… watch and play her instrument.
His breath stank of alcohol as he whispered to her. His weight rested on her, pinning her to the bed. She struggled to move her forelegs, twisted to her body to escape, but he was bigger, stronger, and fear paralyzed her limbs. He never looks her in the eyes, she doesn’t know why, maybe it’s out of shame, but truth be told, she doesn’t care. All that fills her mind is fear. The smell of alcohol, fear, the smiles of his perfect white teeth, fear, the weight of his body, fear.
She tried to scream, but he stuffs a hoof into her mouth. When she bites him, he lays the other hoof on her neck and presses down. She let’s go of his hoof, but this only changes that he now has two hooves to strangle her with. He doesn’t kill her, whispers that he doesn’t want to. No, he has other plans…
The Cello Player has to fight with her urge to run over and help. Scars on her forelegs remind her what happened the last time, and scars in her mind remind her what the doctor said. But something deep and not rational is hurting when she sees the white unicorn like this, and she knows that it will only ever heal when she can finally embrace her. But now… now she has to be strong, has to fight what seems natural, for she knows that this only would hurt them more.
His scent is everywhere. That sickening mix of alcohol and sweat seemed to seep into the covers of her bed, into the curtains of her window, into her own coat. He grunted a final time, before rolling himself of her. She was too tired, couldn’t move, the crying had taken all her energy.
She has stopped playing music. Now she only sits at the side of bed far out of reach, but never out of sight. Her hooves might be too tired to hold a bow, but she can still watch.
As he goes he takes his cloak of shadows with him.
She stares at the curtains. Through the cloth she can spot the first rays of morning light which touch the window still. But for now the light hasn’t reached into the bedchamber yet, it is still time to rest, to heal. She turns around and spots the grey mare who has been standing watch by her bedside the whole night.
“Tavi, could you hold my hoof.”
She doesn’t question it, just reaches out and lays her black hoof onto her own white.
In the morning light there lies a white unicorn on a bed, but she is not alone. A Cello Player is standing by her side holding her hoof. A small stream of tears has left a trail in the unicorns white coat, and dark rings mark the Cello Player’s exhaustion, but they are holding hooves. It may seem insignificant, but it marks a victory which they have fought hard to earn. They will keep fighting, against the shadows, against HIM, against themselves, not to defeat them, but because they deserve to be happy.
