The DJ and The Cellist

by psp7master

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Slice of Life, Human
Length: 19683

Vinyl Scratch is a DJ. Octavia Philarmonica is a cellist. Vinyl Scratch loves electronic music. Octavia Philarmonica is a fine apologist of classical. And, somehow, they manage to live together and remain close friends. Or maybe something more.

18+ Vinyl Scratch is a DJ. Octavia Philarmonica is a cellist. Vinyl Scratch loves electronic music. Octavia Philarmonica is a fine apologist of classical. Vinyl Scratch prefers casualwear outfits. Octavia Philarmonica cannot imagine going out without a bow tie. And, somehow, they manage to live together and remain close friends. Or maybe something more.

/It should be noted that I am writing the story with a clear and expressed goal of making it as normal and ordinary as possible. After all the original ideas I have used in my other OctaScratch fics, I feel it necessary to write a standard one.

The picture is by Evil-Within-Me on devianart.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-26 15:26:47 UTC

Chapter One

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter One

***

"Tavi, what'cha'd like?"

Octavia straightened her bow tie, her fingers touching the silk confidently. She sighed. "Nothing, Vinyl. First of all..." The young woman left the bathroom, not without adding a touch of perfume to her neck. "I don't eat Japanese food. Secondly..." She took a brush from a nearby shelf, running it through her long black hair, very carefully, just slightly touching the obedient hairs, caressing each of them. Not to keep the form, no. Just to put a nice finishing touch to the preparation. "I am performing tonight."

"Oh, sure!" Vinyl's voice reached her ears from the 'computer room'. As soon as they'd moved in together, Vinyl and she, all those years ago, they had made an agreement: one bedroom for Octavia, one bedroom for Vinyl, a shared living room, one extra room for Octavia, and one extra room for Vinyl. Very simple, given the spacious five-room flat, right? Wrong. One of the rooms had been claimed by the DJ as her 'DJing room', while Octavia's 'extra room' was made a computer room, with Vinyl proudly putting her old PC there, while her new Mac served the role of her 'music-making boxie'. Thus, no room for the poor cellist.

Octavia sighed once again, walking into the computer room. Vinyl was sitting there, staring at the screen, a menu full of sushis and rolls commanding her utmost attention. The black-haired cellist couldn't help a smile, looking at her flatmate, this cute, wild-haired, tatooed DJ, whom she (with time) had come to consider her closest friend. Despite all the differences between them.

Vinyl looked back, the image of Octavia replacing the image of tasty Japanese food. She had come to value her cellist friend, over all those years they'd shared this (quite amazing) flat. Octavia cooked, cleaned up, washed the dishes, played games with her, and was a wonderful person to talk to. In return, she, Vinyl, contributed her extra awesomeness to the firm, friendly relationship. If she could read Octavia right, it was enough. Right now, though - again, if she could read Octavia right - the cellist was irritated. Or, about to be irritated. One way or another.

"Um... Something wrong, Tavi?" Vinyl chuckled sheepishly. "I'm thinking of ordering extra sauce with that salmon. I'm in an adventurous mood." Don't yell at me don't yell at me don't yell at me-

"Vinyl Scratch!" Octavia roared, making the DJ wince and shift uneasily. "Why on Earth are you still not dressed?" Indeed, all that Vinyl was wearing was a bra that contained her (pretty big) breasts, and white panties, with a proud DJ Pon-3 sign. At least I've taught her not to walk around naked... Yes, that was certainly an achivement for the cellist. While she really didn't mind Vinyl's nakedness (For... reasons), it was for the better that the DJ had learnt to put on at least some clothing. Now, though, Octavia expected her friend to be dressed in the finest sense of the word, that is, in a dress suitable for the occasion. "Don't tell me you're considering skipping my performance!"

"Um..." Vinyl scrunched her face. Not gonna blow it! "Well..." The blue-haired woman rubbed the back of her head slowly. But I'd SO rather stay at home and eat sushis... "I..." Octavia was watching her sternly, her arms crossed, her brows furrowed. What to choose? "Kinda," she admitted, finally. How many points do I receive?

"Vincenza Staccato Scratch!" Octavia yelled, her face lighting up a fine, angry red. Vinyl winced. Apparently, that's not the right choice. "You will get dressed this instant!" The DJ sighed in defeat. If Octavia was using her full name, shit was going to get real unless she obeyed. "And when I say, dressed, I mean, wearing a formal dress!"

Vinyl gasped. She briefly considered using Octavia's full name in return, but quickly condluded that it wouldn't make her arguments more valid. If anything, Octavia could smack her upside the head for that. And that she never hesitated to do. Instead, the DJ opted for puppy eyes and a pleading trembling lip. Seeing Octavia's impression soften a little, Vinyl scored a success to herself. It's super effective! "Taaaaviii. Pleeeease." Octavia kept glaring at her flatmare. "At least make it a suit, not a dress!"

The cellist frowned but nodded reluctantly. "All right. You can wear a suit. Though, I don't see why you don't like dresses. You are a fine lady, Vinyl. Dresses suit you perfectly."

Vinyl grinned. "Nope. Suits suit me perfectly." She put on her trademark purple shades. "Aww y-"

"Don't," Octavia warned her friend, her eye twitching dangerously. "Just don't. Or else."

Vinyl pouted. "Aw well. Still, dresses are for ladies." The young woman puffed out her chest broudly. "I'm a chick. A cool, hot, party-loving chick."

Octavia came up to the DJ and enveloped her in a hug. "For me, you'll always be a lady."

Vinyl couldn't help but blush at the gesture. She'd got used to Octavia being huggy and sappy, but... sometimes, she even liked it. More so than she would admit to herself. The DJ stood up, practically shaking the cellist off, gifting her with a small peck on the forehead. "Thanks, Tavi, you're cool too. Now, I will get dressed and try to sit through your concert without falling asleep. On one condition." Vinyl raised her index finger and held what seemed to her a dramatic pause. The cellist raised her brow. "You're treating me out to dinner after the concert."

Octavia exhaled in relief. Here she was, thinking that Vinyl was about to set some ridiculous condition. But no, thankfully, it was just a dinner. Just like any other time Vinyl agreed to be taken to one of Octavia's performances. And that was rarely. The cellist smiled and offered her hand. "Deal."

Vinyl took the cellist's small, white-ish pink hand in her own veiny, yet soft, hands and kissed it gently, prompting Octavia to blush. "Deal. M'lady." The DJ grinned. "Now lemme get my suit." The blue-haired woman ran off to her room, bouncing on her naked feet. "And no peeking!" Vinyl's voice reached Octavia's ears from the DJ's bedroom.

The cellist giggled. With a warm, content sigh she checked her dress. The concert was going to perfect. The night was going to be perfect.

She knew it.

Chapter Two

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Two

***

"So, where's the popcorn?"

Octavia took a nervous look around the spacious hall stuffed with grey-suited men and black-dressed women, and teenagers in jeans and shirts, who obviously didn't know a thing about proper etiquette, hoping that they wouldn't notice Vinyl's question. "Vinyl, for the love of all that's holy, they don't have popcorn here!" the cellist hissed into her friend's ear. "They didn't have popcorn when you were here last, and they won't have it when you come again!"

"But whyyy?" Vinyl wailed in fake despair. Or was it real? With Vinyl, you could never tell. "How else can I sit through the boring classy gig?"

"Performance," Octavia corrected her, her eye twitching as she dragged the cello case towards the ever-so-familiar set of glass doors, leading to the chamber hall. "Not 'gig', Vinyl." She opened the door, stumbling into the little set of wardrobes, fit for the guests and musicians. It was only obvious for the discrete part of the concert hall to have such a cosy interior, for there were only thirty guests - thirty listeners - per performance.

Octavia took off her furcoat while Vinyl undressed herself  from the overcoat that she had decided on for tonight, "classy as those 40s films", and picked up her cello case again, directing her feet through the small chamber hall, past the tiny stage, towards the door leading to the room where the musicians could prepare for the concert.

Vinyl shrugged. "Yeah, well, whatever."

Octavia didn't even try to argue. She knew it was pointless. "Vinyl, could you please take your seat while we prepare?"

"Sure thing, Tavi," Vinyl replied, not without taking a peek into the musicians' room and waving her hand cheerfully - a gesture that was barely returned by the quartet.

Octavia shut the door behind her and leant against the wooden surface with a heavy sigh. She could still see the grinning DJ, even with her eyes closed. The woman massaged her eyelids gently.

"Vinyl's been giving you a hard time again?"

Octavia opened her eyes, looking at a smiling blonde man, just a little older than her, who, contrary to the other musicians in the room, did not have an instrument. Because, apparently, pianists don't need to rehearse. The cellist sighed. "That's all right, Freddie. She's my best friend."

"I wouldn't mind Vinyl giving me a 'hard time'," Harpo, the quartet's harpist (and, occasionally, lyrist), remarked with a sly grin. "If you know what I mean."

Octavia blushed as her brain inconveniently supplied images of a very naked and sexy Vinyl giving her, Octavia, a 'hard time'. In Harpo's sense of the word. Not that she'd agree... But if Vinyl tied her to the bed and... And stopping right there, Octavia! The cellist frowned. Why was she thinking of Vinyl in that way? She didn't even know if Vinyl was into women... She didn't even know if she, Octavia, was into women... Argh. Just focus on the performace!

"Am I not good for you any more, Harpo?~" Beatrice "Beauty" Brass, a gorgeous brunette, emerged from the corner, her tuba lying on a cushion, her sultry eyes flattering their long eyelashes at the poor harpist, who had turned a fine shade of pink. "Do you really think we need another girl to sate our wild needs?" she whispered hotly into his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, though.

"I-I-I-I I need to take a shower!" Harpo yelled, stammering.

"There are no showers here," Frederic observed flatly, watching the usual exchange between the two lovers with mild curiosity.

Harpo breathed slowly - in, out, in, out - but still took off, quick on his feet. "Any toilet with a sink would do!"

As soon as the harpist disappeared, Beauty giggled. "Did you see his face?"

Octavia groaned as she unpacked her cello, the instrument greeted her with warm energy emanating from the wooden surface - the kind of energy only see, as it seemed, could perceive. "Beauty, I don't really think you should be torturing poor Harpo." She sighed. "No matter what he says about Vinyl." Because she *is** sexy. Objectively. ...Objectively. Yes.*

"It's not about Vinyl-" Beatrice began, but, suddenly, froze in a place as a realisation dawned upon her. A sly grin appeared on her face. "Oh, but it is about Vinyl! Isn't it?" Immediately, the tuba player inched closer to her cellist friend, placing her hands on Octavia's shoulders. "It is. You are mad about the girl. You are molesting her with your eyes every time you see her leaving shower. You desperately want to-"

"I don't want to fuck her into oblivion till she cannot stand, okay?!" Octavia snapped, freeing herself from Beatrice's grasp abruptly.

The little room feel silent for a moment.  Frederic stared at the raven-haired woman evenly, arms crossed, eyes lingering. There was some unspoken sadness to them, something that Octavia could not fully get a grasp on. Beatrice dropped the grin, but in her eyes were dancing wild fires of mockery and mischief, even though surprise was evident too. Damn. Now that wasn't a nice outburst. Octavia sighed and closed her eyes with a hand. Her bandmates could easily assume that she did have a sexual longing for Vinyl. Which she did not have. Because she didn't.

Harpo returned to the ensemble, eyeing his colleagues curiously. "What's the matter? Anything wrong?"

"Nothing, dear," Beauty replied, coming to her senses. "It's just that Octavia-"

"It's just that Octavia thinks we all need to take the stage and perform," Frederic interrupted her swiftly, with Octavia tossing a thanful look towards the pianist. "It's time."

With no instrument at hand, he was the first one to leave the room.

***

Vinyl yawned loudly, covering her mouth with a hand. Need to be classy in a classy place, she reminded herself.

If anything, she did know a thing or two about proper manners. Maybe almost as much as Octavia did. She just didn't want to show it. Just because she liked to see Octavia fume about it. She has such a cute frown when she's furious... Vinyl smiled, Octavia's face before her closed eyelids. Indeed, the cellist was a sweet, beautiful woman... But Vinyl knew that Octavia wasn't interested in her. She could not. She, Vinyl Scratch, was a DJ, a woman of simple needs leading a simple life. Octavia Philarmonica was a lady of elegance, fine taste and... And not into women. Vinyl sighed. At least she had Octavia's friendship. Although she certainly wouldn't mind becoming more... acquainted with that sexy body...

But then... Then wouldn't the magic of their friendship die? Vinyl was not ready to date Octavia. This was not a commitment she was ready to make, for anyone. But simple sex would ruin the-

"Could you stop groaning, please?"

Vinyl turned her head to the left, the source of the disapproving grunt being a fat black woman in a dress so tight that it was impossible to guess just how she managed to breathe. Her hair was made in such a whory fashion that Vinyl could only scrunch her nose. The woman's husband, apparently, looked rather nice: a bald black businessman, if the Brioni suit was any indication, the kind of self-made man who got everything he could want - except for nice, good women.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," Vinyl said in a sickly sweet tone, gifting the woman with a sour smile. "It's just that the cellist is my girlfriend and I was thinking of how I'll be stuffing her with a long thick dildo after the performance." Vinyl grinned as the woman seemed to have chocked on thin air. "Thus the groans."

Satisfied, Vinyl refocused her attention on the empty stage. There was no use considering her future with Octavia, Vinyl concluded. It was clear. They would remain friends. And that was it. And she was glad. And she was happy with that. And she did not seek anything greater than that. No. Yes.

The musicians took the stage, Freddie taking his place at the black grand first - the leader of the quartet, from what Vinyl had gathered; followed by Octavia, who took her cello professionally, not even casting a glance at her, Vinyl - not that the DJ was deeply hurt by that, but... And then came Beauty with the big trumpet-thing... 'sousaphone', they called it?, and her lover Harpo, dragging his enourmous harp with him. Why not leave the instruments on stage in advance? Vinyl wondered. Not like anyone would steal them. She rubbed her chin. Not like anyone would need them.

"Vivaldi, Concerto in A minor, arranged for cello, tuba, harp and piano. With variations. Arrangement by Frederic Horoshevski," the pianist announced in a clear voice, as if it was not him who had made the arrangement: no hint of pride. Professional fella. Vinyl nodded to herself. She took a look about the audience. There were about forty seats in the small chamber hall, and barely fifteen were occupied. Evidently, there were few people who would want to listen to arrangements for such a peculiar quartet. Seriously, though, couldn't they have chosen weirder instruments to match? But Vinyl knew that the music would be good, if a little strange, compared to the classical recordings she was used to. She mustn't know, Vinyl reminded herself. If Octavia learnt that she, Vinyl Scratch, did in fact enjoy some classical music... to some extent... Well, she did want to keep some secrets from her. For some reason. She just so loved... Vinyl looked at the cellist, the beautiful features of her face lost in the music, and the music... It flowed freely, and delightfully, and it ripped her soul apart, every touch of her bow actoss the strings. Vinyl felt her eyes tearing up involuntary as her mouth fell open slightly. I... Love...

The piece ended, and the quartet remained silent, letting the audience give them an applause. "Fantasia in B minor, composed for solo cello. By Harpo Parish Nadermane." The harpist bowed his head with a tiny smile. Vinyl raised a brow. She didn't know Harpo was a composer too... I wonder if it's any good...

Octavia closed her eyes and began to play. It was good. It was better than anything she'd ever heard. The music was not flat; by far not something Vinyl was expecting from a solo cello. The beautiful, haunting downstreams of notes followed barrages of scales, and elongated moans, and tiny accentuated eighths, and tear-jerking halves. Vinyl was openly crying now. She was cursing herself for not attending Octavia's performances more often. She cursed herself for not telling Octavia what she needed to tell her. She cursed herself for not... But she had never heard Octavia perform solo... Now that the cello was not muffled by other instruments, its splendour shone in its full glory. But I can't tell her! No, she couldn't. Octavia finally glanced at Vinyl, upon finishing the piece. Her eyes, those beautiful pools of lavender, locked with the red of Vinyl's eyes, shocked at the tears veiling the DJ's gaze. No, I can't tell her. Vinyl knew it. She had to smile and wave. And so she did.

And, as everyone stood up in a thunderous applause, Vinyl stood up, too, mouthing, as she made sure that Octavia could not see it, what she so desperately wanted - needed - to say:

I love you, Octavia Philarmonica.

Chapter Three

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Three

***

Vinyl woke up, a dull throbbing in her head reminding her about the consumed alcohol.

The DJ closed her eyes immediately upon. The performance had been spectacular. She had confessed... her love... for Octavia's music. Vinyl exhaled in relief. She hadn't confessed her actual feelings. That was good. She was not ready. She was not ready for a relationship. She was, most of all, not ready for rejection. Which would most certainly come immediately.

Then, they had gone off to a bar... Freddie went home... And then, they went to a pub... Then, Harpo and Beauty went home, and then... Then nothing. Vinyl rubbed her eyes. Or, rather, she would have, if her arm were not pinned to the bed by some otherworldly weight. Damn, I got it bad... VInyl sighed, her sleepy brain blaming it all on the hangover, and reached with the other hand for the sacred drawer that held the spazzy anti-hangover pills, her best friends on such mornings.

Her surpise was tremendous, to say the least, as she realised that the drawer wasn't there. She opened her eyes, only to see that she was in Octavia's room. In Octavia's bed. With Octavia's head in her armpit, the cellist snoring quietly with a tiny smile on her face. Vinyl rubbed her eyes. This was too surreal. Too perfect to be true. Too scary to be true. This was something she had craved so deeply, and yet something that she feared so much. This had to be a dream.

Octavia murmured something indistinct as she opened her eyes slowly. "Vinyl?"

This was not a dream. In her dreams, Octavia did not yell on top of her lungs, falling off the bed in a violent motion. Vinyl winced, rolling over to extend her hand towards the cellist. To her relief, Octavia took the offered hand and stood up. "Vinyl, we... Oh shit. Oh shit." Vinyl's mouth fell agape, her mind unable to put two and two and two together. Octavia was swearing. What next? Colourful talking horses?

The cellist's dismay allowed the DJ to regain her cool. She had to be calm and collected, lest her own emotions slip away. Putting on a mask of chilly chillness in three, two, one... "Come on, Tavi, calm down. It's not the first time we've had drunken sex, after all."

"It is!" Octavia shrieked. Damn damn damn! I can't believe I- With Vinyl and- And we- And then I- Oh dammit it all to hell! And the worst thing, the cellist thought, was that she had thoroughly enjoyed it. Her first sexual experience was with a woman, and her best friend, no less, under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. And I enjoyed it. Damn. Goddamn sexes and Vinyls and rums.

"Oh?" Vinyl rubbed her chin in a wide, artificial motion of sheer mockery. "Oh, yeah!" She slapped her forehead. "Got you mixed up with that other girl!"

"Other girl?" Octavia was radiating pure fury by now. Other girl? What the hell is she talking about, fucking other- wait. Wait wait wait. No! No! Bad Octavia! She can have sex with anyone she wants. Because... Because she's not my girlfriend.

"Oh, look who's jealous~" Vinyl cooed as she stood up, her headache still strong.

"I'm not jealous!" Octavia retorted with a blush. "It's just that we, you know?, had sex!"

Vinyl laughed light-heartedly, even though her heart was beating like a hammer. "Come on, Tavi, it's not like you even remember it." She shrugged. "I don't remember anything past that pub." But I so wish I did... "There might have never been-"

"Vinyl, I remember everything." Octavia sighed. "Every. Single. Thing. We got drunk, and, well, came home. And drank a little here. And had sex."

Vinyl gulped. "Tell me more," she said. "Please?" Her first sex with a girl she really loved - and she could not remember it? That was cruel. So cruel. She needed something to keep. Something related to Octavia. Something romantic. Memories that would never faed away even if Octavia decided to break their friendship now. That's probably true. Octavia was way too proper to live with a living reminder of something like... that. And she didn't even remember what 'that' was!

"What?" Octavia took a step back. "Why would you want that?" She scrunched her mouth. "Knowing you, you're probably asking that to brag to your friends. 'Look, Spits, I finally broke that little virgin cellist I told you so much about!'" Octavia was on the verge of crying. That's probably true. Vinyl had... seduced her. Seduced her, only to move on to the next girl. To 'that other girl', and some other girl after that. Octava could not remember Vinyl having a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. She did remember her bragging about her sexual encounters, numerous, vivid, extravagant... She could not check, of course... "Why do you need that information, Vinyl? You'll probably forget about that by tonight and live as if it never happened!" Octavia was clearly crying now.

"Because I love you, you idiot!"

Octavia opened her mouth, trying to say something, but her mind supplied nothing but blank paper. She could not process what Vinyl had just said; only that it was deeply shocking and emotionally explosive. "I... I... I..."

Vinyl took a step towards the trembling cellist, holding out a hand weakly. "Octavia, I..." What have I done? The DJ wanted to hit herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! But, maybe - just maybe - she was a little relieved she'd said that, finally, albeit involuntary? Or... voluntary?

Octavia backed down, unable to comprehend what was going on. Her heart was racing. Her mouth was dry. She was slowly beginning to understand that Vinyl, Vinyl Scratch, had just confessed her love to her, Octavia Philarmonica. And, as with all situations that were so damn confusing, and confused, Octavia did the only thing she could do in such circumstances.

She turned, and ran away.

***

"And then she said she loved me!"

Octavia finally took a deep breath, eyeing the trio of her colleagues as they say quietly in a tiny coffee shop not far from her - and Vinyl's - home. There were no customers on the fine morning, with the wind shivering up the quartet through the open door of the establishment. The counter was empty: the employee had gone off somewhere when he realised the four people were not going to order anything else but a coffee each.

"So, you just had to call us all and gather us here so urgently just because your flatmate has confessed her love for you?" Frederic raised a brow, his expression unreadable. "I am not amused."

Frederic's conclusion brought a frown to Bea's face. "Freddie, stop being so stuck-up! Octavia has found her love, and you-"

"Beauty, wait." Octavia raised her hand in a warning gesture. "Vinyl told me she loved me. That's it. I ran away. I did not say anything." The cellist slammed her fist against the table, still managing to make it a soft, gentle gesture. "I'm not sure I love her back." She frowned. "I'm not sure I have any feelings for her." Apart from her sexy naked body turning you on. mmm? Octavia winced, as if in pain. Shut up, brain. "I didn't even know she was into women!"

"But you knew, Octavia." Beauty placed her hand on the cellist's shoulder. "You told us about VInyl telling you about her sexual adventures with women..."

Octavia glared at the tuba player. "Beauty. Not. Helping."

The woman just huffed. "What kind of help do you need? My advice is: go home, say that you like her too - because I know you do - and try it out. If it works, good. If it doesn't..." Beatrice rubbed her chin. "Well, you can always brag you had sex with her that one time. Better have a quickie before asking, though, just in case..." The brunette grinned slyly.

"No, you cannot." Frederic placed the cup on the table calmly, his expression, as always, unreadable. "You will not date Vinyl Scratch, a famous DJ. You will not tell anyone, especially journalists, that you have had sex with her. You will keep up an impression of a fine woman of fine taste that you are."

Octavia found it hard to believe. "Frederic!" she exclaimed finally. "Since when are you controlling my private life?!"

The pianist reached for his jacket's pocket and took out four pieces of paper, of fine golden colour. "Since I managed to get us to perform at Canterlot's Finest. I don't need to tell you what kind of an event that is."

Harpo immediately grabbed one of the invitations. "Goddamn it! Freddie, you're awesome! It's... It's! It's gonna make us so fucking rich!"

"Harpo, language!" Bea winced, even though it was evident that she was positively surprised by thee news. "My... Canterlot's Finest... So many journalists... So many producers... So many conductors... We'll become famous!" she exclaimed finally.

"Exactly." Frederic nodded. "This is why all of us will withdraw from heavy drinking, smoking, and peculiar sexual affairs," he added pointedly. "Even you being a friend to a DJ damages us as an ensemble. If you want to stay in this quartet - which, as you have already guessed, will soon have gained national fame," the pianist addressed Octavia, who was still staring at him in shock and disbelief, "you will not date Vinyl or openly discuss what you two did."

Octavia worked her jaw. How can he?! How... Freddie, a manipulator? She knew him from kindergarten! She... He was her best friend! ...Until Vinyl came, but- He! "Well, then fuck you, Freddie, and fuck Canterlot's Finest." Octavia got up to her feet sharply. "And fuck your quartet, too." With that, she walked away quickly, tears welling in her eyes. She didn't know what she would do, but she knew one thing: she was walking home, and she and Vinyl would have a talk.

"Octavia, wait!" Casting a mild glare at the pianist that was actually tuned down in the wake of the tuba player's delight in Frederic's ability to have landed them such an event, Beatrice ran after her cellist friend.

"That was harsh, Freddie." Harpo took a sip of coffee, looking at his friend, who was gazing out of the window longingly, his eyes finally gaining some semblance of emotion. "You still love her, after all those years?"

"I do." Octavia was making her way through the street, followed by the short-legged Beatrice, disappearing from the pianist's sight. "And I always will."

Chapter Four

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Four

***

"Vinyl, you and I need to have a talk."

The DJ immediately jumped to her feet, rushing towards the cellist, who had entered the flat silently enough for Vinyl not to notice her appearance. "Tavi, listen, I can explain-"

"No, you listen." Octavia stepped forth, closing the gap between her and her... friend? Lover? What were they now? That's what I need to find out. "We had sex. Then, you said you loved me. And now I'm confused because I don't know if I love you or not and I'm afraid you'd leave me if we started dating and I really liked the sex and you're my best friend and I think I love you because hell I think I just quit my ensemble just to be with you!"

Vinyl blinked, processing the information, while Octavia just breathed - in, out, in, out - in the wake of her tirade. "You... quit your ensemble? Because of me?" Vinyl wanted to hit herself with a frying pan. Hard. Here she was, scared of a relationship, scared that Octavia would come and say, 'I love you too, now let's make it official and tell everyone we're a couple', while Octavia herself, had, apparently, taken such great a commitment! But... why?

"Frederic thinks we can't date each other," Octavia explained in a firm, bland tone. "Because it would break my public image. So, naturally, I told him to fuck off. And left. To see you and find out what we're going to do next."

Shit, here it comes. "Listen, Tavi, I..." The DJ looked into the cellist's soft lavender eyes. She couldn't fail to get lost in them every time she gazed. She knew for sure that this girl, here, was the one for her. The feeling was new. Terrifying. Intensifying both desire, wild longing - and fear. No less wild. "I meant it when I said it," she said honestly. It had been voluntary. She had reached this realisation for sure. Maybe - even - it had been an excuse for her to finally confess her feelings. Maybe her brain knew what was better for her. Or was it her lips? Or something else? "I truly do love you. But I'm afraid of commitment. I'm also afraid I'd hurt you." The DJ gulped a little invisible gulp. "I'm also very afraid you'd leave me." I'm also very afraid of just dating someone.

"Vinyl." Octavia stepped even closer to the wild-haired disk-spinner, putting her hands on the wonderful waist shielded only by the thin fabric of Vinyl's panties. "I quit my job just to be with you. How's that for a commitment? Do you really think I would ever leave you?"

"No," Vinyl said firmly. No. But then... Then I may become bored and leave you myself. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. "Let's... Let's, maybe... Try this whole dating stuff? You know, to see if it'll work? If it does, cool. If it doesn't, we'll still be friends." She grinned. "With benefits."

Octavia felt a familiar urge to smack her fri- girlfriend, but, instead, brought her lips against the DJ's, giving her a soft, breezy kiss. "Yes." The cellist smiled. "Let's try 'this whole dating stuff'."

Vinyl touched her lips. The feeling was so new, and yet... But of course her lips remembered the kisses from the night, even if her mind could not. But now, the feeling was complete. And... to some extent... for a while... It did make her forget about the anxiety that came with her new relationship that she'd just got into. Besides, Tavi *quit her job** just to date me. She also reci- recip- returned my feelings!* Now, Vinyl wanted to both hit herself with a frying pan and dance with joy. I should be happy, dammit! I confessed my feelings for the girl I love and she agreed to date me! Octavia had also said that she 'thought' she loved her... Wasn't it now her task to show Octavia that she, Vinyl Scratch, was worthy of her love? And forget all the angst. Now.

"Sooo." Vinyl rubbed the back of her head. "Want to eat out? We could have a burger or something." Dammit, Vinyl, have some class! So used to the chill, careless demeanour, she could no longer drop the act: she had become her role. "Or, we could go to a fancy restaurant and eat some paellas?" Please tell me I didn't blow it...

Octavia smirked - a gesture unusual for her. But now that she was dating a sexy DJ, she felt her happiness and confidence outweigh the upbringing she'd always prided herself upon. "Oh yes, I'd love to eat out." The cellist brought her lips to the DJ's ear, tossing her hot breath over Vinyl's skin. "Only what I want to eat out is not in a restaurant. It's right in your pants."

Vinyl found herself blushing wildly, Octavia's excited behaviour was so unusual and so... so hot. "Tavi, seems my chillness is rubbing off of you."

"Oh~" Octavia purred. "I want to be rubbing you off right now, so come here, you silly girl."

With that, the cellist locked her lips with the DJ's, dragging the still-shocked woman to her bedroom.

***

"Three times in a row."

Vinyl chuckled at Octavia's dreamy intonation as she held the cellist close, the raven-haired head resting on her naked chest. "Yeah, sorry for the lame performance: I'm a little tired."

"That-" Octavia smiled, seeing mockery in Vinyl's eyes. "Oh, Vinyl." The cellist could not understand why, or how- But she did understand that she was perfectly content with the situation now. In Vinyl's arms, she'd found home again. In Vinyl's arms, she felt safe. In Vinyl's arms, the damn sun was going to shine even in the darkest hours.

"Sorry, Tavi." Vinyl kissed the cellist on the forehead. "Gimme ten minutes, and I'm good to go again. Meanwhile..." She smiled. "I think I have an idea for a date that you'll positively like." Vinyl held what seemed to her a meaningful pause. "In a month, there's this classy event where classy people gather together and listen to music - Canterlot's Finest. I have an invitation to perform and bring a plus-one." Octavia froze as she realised what exactly Vinyl was saying. "Would you like to be my plus-one?"

Octavia raised her eyes to look at her DJ, shock evident in her gaze. Vinyl frowned. Did I say something wrong?.. Damn, that's why I don't like the whole 'relationship' thing! "Tavi, I just wanted to make you happy. If you don't want to, that's-"

"Vinyl." Octavia pressed her finger to the DJ's lips - a gesture that shut Vinyl up immediately. If only because the disk-spinner started to suck on the fingertip. "I do want to go. I just... I was very shocked that you're performing at such an event." And I'm not. But... that could be rectified? Wouldn't that be an abuse of their newfound relationship? At least, it's worth a try. "I would love to go to Canterlot's Finest with you."

Vinyl grinned widely, letting go of Octavia's finger. Yes yes yes! "Tavi, I'm so glad you like the idea!" You can't imagine how.

"Only," Octavia raised her finger with a smile. "I don't want to be your plus-one." Vinyl raised her brow in lack of understanding.

Octavia shifted closer to the DJ. "I want to perform with you."

Chapter Five

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Five

***

"Come on, Tavi, you're doing it wrong."

Octavia huffed indignantly, eyeing the offending contraption sternly. Never in her life would she have thought that working the turntables was so hard. So many different knobs and buttons, so many frequencies she hadn't even known about... Damn, I'm a cellist, not a sound technician! "So, what exactly am I doing wrong this time, Vinyl?" the cellist enquired, not without irritation.

To her surprise, Vinyl placed her hand on top of her, Octavia's, hand, laying her chin on her shoulder. "Tavi, relax, babe," she whispered in a voice that made the raven-haired woman melt. "Just hold the cross-fader gently, like you hold your cello stick. Now, you're holding it like a dick."

Octavia blushed fiercely. "I... Sorry. I never held any... um, well..."

"Oh?" Vinyl purred hotly into the cellist's ear. "Is that an encouragement for me to add some dildo-play to our sexy times?"

"Vinyl!" Octavia's face was completely flushed with pink by that point. "What I mean is, I never held a crossfader!" Yes, Octavia. You obviously meant just that.

"Tavi." Vinyl rubbed her eyes with a thumb and an index finger. "If we want to win, we really need to ace it. Let's try again."

"Win?" Octavia wondered, withdrawing from the instrument - if the turntables could be called an instrument. Now Octavia was sure it was an instrument. 'They'. Turntables. Plural. "As far as I know, Canterlot's Finest isn't a competition. It's just a huge garden party with numerous outdoor sets. It's not even held in a concert hall."

"Exactly." Octavia blinked in lack of understanding at the DJ's claim. "That's it, Tavi. Don't you get it? There's no concert hall. There's a lot of fancy people - all around the place. We will all be competing - for their attention. We'll have to make sure our set stands out and draws the most attention." Vinyl lifted her brow. "More attention - more possible contracts. That's the competition. That's how this business works - didn't you know?"

"I didn't." Octavia lowered her eyes. "Freddie has always done all the negotiations for us. ...Had done," she amended sourly.

Vinyl placed her hand on the cellist's shoulder comfortingly. "Listen, Tavi. If you want to return to your band-"

"Ensemble," the cellist corrected her fri- girlfriend automatically. "It's called an ensemble. And no, I don't want to return. I want to stay with you." Do I? Octavia gifted her DJ with a soft, sad smile. "Let's try again."

Vinyl frowned. She could clearly see Octavia's dismay. Moreover, she - as a professional - could see that it would take months before the cellist had fully got acquainted with the instrument. And they did not have so much time. But who said she should be spinning records? Vinyl smiled. "Tavi, I have a better idea. Grab your cello."

Octavia did not need to be told twice.

***

"So, basically, you want me to play the cello while you lay down the beat, and this is why we are going to compose a classical/electronic suite to perform it at Canterlot's Finest."

Vinyl nodded as she set up a number of microphones about Octavia's cello, which the raven-haired woman was holding firmly in her hands, sitting on a spartan stool instead of the chair Vinyl had offered her. She'd got used to simple accomodation for playing the cello. It made the performance so much better. Or, at least so it seemed to her. Hell, sometimes she'd even play while standing! ...Only at home, of course: that woud simply ruin any performance.

"Okay." Vinyl straightened herself and moved on to the shiny Mac that Octavia was not allowed to touch. Not that she wanted to, of course. Okay, maybe a little. A lot. "Now..." The DJ worked the mouse for a  few seconds. "Give me an A."

Oh, you know how notes are called? Octavia thought, but decided not to voice her exhausted inner irritation, instead drawing the bow across the strings, the cello wailing a perfect A. Always in tune. Octavia smiled proudly.

Vinyl, however, did not seem to find it perfect. The DJ frowned, pressing a few keys. "Up an octave."

Octavia obeyed, her bow producing a finest sound.

Vinyl, however, only winced. "Very low on high frequencies. That A was barely worth a D." Heeey, double pun! Still, the DJ was not in the mood for puns. Instead, her mind was already working on different possibilities. "Don't you have an electric cello or something?"

"Vinyl!" Octavia blushed slightly. "Why would I own a piece of music mockery, a flagrant substitute for a real instrument?"

Vinyl shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe because it's convenient and allows you to explore the sounds you could only dream of?" Octavia averted her eyes shyly. "Come on, Tavi, let's buy you one. I'm not talking top-notch state-of-the-art electric cello, but-"

"Don't." Octavia lifted her head, looking into her DJ's eyes firmly. "I already have one," she explained after a pause, signs of embarrassment evident on her face. "It's in the practice room in the conservatoire we... I used to practice." Now, of course, she would have to find another place to practice, given that Frederic would barely allow her to... Ah, dammit! Freddie is my friend. He... He can't really be that grumpy all the time. If 'grumpy' is the word I want. Could he?

"And why exactly haven't you ever brought it home?" Vinyl wondered, suppressing a grin. I knew it! I knew Tavi had some tech love in her! "You always bring your cellos home, even your cello sticks."

"Bows, Vinyl," the cellist corrected with a grunt. "A 'cello stick' is called a bow. And..." The woman blushed slightly. "I was afraid you'd make fun of me."

"Why break the news now?" Vinyl neared her cellist, standing as close as possible, her fingers brushing Octavia's thighs. "Why aren't you afraid I'll make fun of you now?"

Octavia closed her eyes. You know the answer, Vinyl. She practically jumped at the DJ, almost knocking her precious cello. She didn't care, though: it was only Vinyl that mattered now. And, as she pounced her DJ and pinned the surprised woman to the couch, she whispered in her ear hotly:

"Because I love you, you idiot."

***

"So, is this the room?"

Octavia nodded, casting a look about the small, cramped room. Instruments were lying everywhere - brass, guitars, strings, cymbals, drums, reed. The room had enough space to host it all - but not enough to move freely. So, Octavia had some difficulty squeezing through the little space there was, chiming towards the cello case with a lavender treble clef sign on top. Her case.

"Say, Tavi," Vinyl called out from the doorway. "Don't you think it's kinda risky to leave your instrument in a place that can be visited by anyone with a key?"

Grabbing the case, Octavia let out a belaboured huff. She still had a long way back through the musical debris. With a cello case, no less. How did I even manage to stuff it so far? "Vinyl, we're all fellow musicians here. What are the chances that someone might- put that down, now!" she shrieked as the DJ grabbed an accordion, eyeing it curiously.

"What?" Vinyl dropped the instrument to the ground with a confused shrug. Octavia's eyes widened. "I just wanted to take a look. It's not like I was going to take it, for good." Probably.

The cellist groaned. "Let's go, Vinyl." Mentally, she added, Before you break something. Or steal something. Octavia wasn't sure what she had to fear most. In Vinyl's book, taking something she liked and leaving a huge sum of money in its place counted as a fair exchange, not theft. Even without the owner present to give their consent.

As the two women made their way trough the corridor, sounds of music reached their ears, coming from the chamber hall where Octavia's ensemble used to practice. And there was no doubt: it was her ensemble. Not just because she knew Frederic rented the hall. She could decipher Harpo's sombre tone in the lyre part, and Beauty's tuba sound was unique enough to make it out from a million other sounds, and Frederic's piano skill was, as always, top-notch. The best of the best. Octavia winced. Freddie. "I... That's my quartet," she said weakly, halting to a stop before the door. Octavia glanced at Vinyl weakly. "I... That's my ensemble."

Vinyl didn't say anything. She just stared at the door. If I meet that Freddie bastard, I'll punch him in the face. He had to have some respect for her Octavia! But... wasn't that overprotectiveness? Wasn't such an action doomed to bring about irrefutable consequences?

Octavia winced. Apparently, Vinyl wasn't about to say anything - even though she, Octavia, craved for her to say something, anything at all! Maybe she just... doesn't care? "I'm going to take a look and say hi," she said finally, gathering up the resolve. If Vinyl loves me, she'll say something, she'll stop me, maybe... She'll go with me?

Vinyl nodded. Please, Octavia. Tavi, don't go. I don't want you there. "Sure. Go ahead, I'll be waiting for you."

Octavia gulped and put her hand on the handle, her mind blanking as she tried to come up with something to say. And then, suddenly, she heard the violin. It... It can't be. There could be no mistake. It was her violin. The soft, yet piecing sound, the howls of sorrow that she never knew, and the wails of such artificial elegance that only a heart, not an ear, could distinguish its fault.

And yet, the cellist could not stop herself as she pressed her weight against the handle and opened the door. Inside, the quartet was performing. Or, rather, had been performing: the music ceased in the wake of Octavia's sudden appearance. Harpo was sitting in the corner of the stage, a lyre on his knees. Beauty's tuba was pressed against her lips firmly. Frederic was sitting at the piano, looking at Octavia indifferently. And, next to him, was sitting a violinist, an exact copy of Octavia: same facial features, same complexion, same hair, even the haricut - it was the same too. All but the eyes. These eyes weren't lavender. They were a bright, striking orange. Almost red. Almost Vinyl's eyes.

The violinist raised her head with a smile. "Hello, sister."

Vinyl gulped in astonishment while Octavia just stood in place, unable to comprehend the situation. "Fiona, what are you doing here?" the cellist demanded - and yet, her voice faded by the end of the sentence, rendering the question weak and pathetic.

"She's part of the quartet now," Frederic replied for her. "Now, darling, let's do it from the top, okay?"

"Darling?!" Octavia shrieked, taking a step forth. "What?"

Fiona fluttered her eyelashes at her sister before leaning in and giving the pianist a kiss on the cheek. "Jealous much?" She smiled what seemed to Octavia the most cruel smile in the world. "Freddie and I are dating."

Chapter Six

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Six

***

"I can't believe it!"

Vinyl watched Octavia pace about the room angrily. The clock was ticking calmly on the wall, showing the dawn of evening. And the shadows, indeed, had begun to fall over the city, crawling in meagre, thin layers over the previously-sunlit sky, prompting the lampposts to wake up from their daily slumber. Vinyl sighed. What could she say? What was there to say? "Tavi, I don't think that freaking out and running away was the best course of action." Good job, Vinyl. Make her feel worthless by reminding her that she'd lost face. Good fucking job.

Octavia didn't seem to care, or even have heard, just reaching the far-off wall and turning round immediately, walkng on. "He! He! He found her - my own sister - and he! He took her in!" To the far-off wall and back again. "He started dating the whore!" To the wall and back again. "I can't believe it!"

"Tavi," Vinyl said meekly, finally. "I don't think your sister is a whore." Even though you've never told me anything about her existence.

"She is." Octavia stopped in place, glaring at the DJ. "She ran away from the family to some God-forsaken farm with some goddamn farmer. Then, she left him for a prospering lawyer in Manehattan. As soon as his firm went bankrupt, she flew to Los Pegasus to marry a dentist. And now she's come here, and she's after Freddie!"

Vinyl sighed. "Tavi, it sounds like you're jealous." I knew from the very beginning this wouldn't work out. Vinyl sighed again. How could she be so blind? She must have known that-

Octavia slapped her DJ on the cheek, bringing the disk-spinner back to reality. "Don't you dare say that, Vinyl Scratch!" With that, Octavia collapsed, crying, just as Vinyl caught her and held her close. "Just... I've known Freddie since childhood," the cellist managed inbetween sobs. "He... He always protected me." Octavia sniffed. "He shared lunch with me when my parents put me on a diet. I owe him my place in the ensemble, and she!" The cellist gulped as she buried her face in Vinyl's chest. "I don't want Fiddles to hurt my friend."

Fiddles, Vinyl mused idly as she held her cellist close, stroking her hair gently. Must be a nickname of some sort. What could she do? What could she do now, especially now, now that she wasn't even sure whether Octavia loved her or... or Frederic was more than a friend to her, even if she herself did not realise that? After all, she's known him way longer than she's known me. Vinyl let out an invisible sigh. What can I do?

All she could do, now, was stroke her girlfriend's hair, soothing her with soft, gentle humming. And she did just that.

***

Frederic Horoshevsky rolled over in his large king-sized bed, unable to sleep.

Fiona was there, by his side, looking at him dreamily in the darkness of the room. Her eyes, piercing him with sick, sour orange. Her lips, senseless, wet, flagrant. Her tone, sultry, sly, humourless. Her body, perfect. Making love to her - that's what making love to Octavia probably felt like. But then again, he wouldn't know. You roll with what you have.

"What are you thinking about, Freddie?" Fiona asked, snuggling closer to the naked man. "I thought I exhausted you well enough, didn't I?~" she cooed merrily.

Your sister. I'm thinking about your sister. "Nothing, darling." Frederic smiled his beautiful, white-teeth smile that attracted so many women - but not Octavia. "Just thinking about this and that. Thinking about how I gathered the courage to ask you out, after all these years."

Fiona giggled. "I still can't believe it. When you showed up on my doorstep, with flowers..." The woman sighed dreamily. "I've been in love with you since our childhood, you know that?" The violinist frowned. "But you were always hanging out with Octavia, and not me."

Frederic pressed his finger against the woman's lips. "Shh. It's in the past. I'm with you now, aren't I?"

"Yes." Fiona tilted her head slightly. "But... How would I know you won't leave me for her?"

She's with Vinyl now. And will always be. Frederic smiled and pecked the woman's lips softly. "Stop this nonsense. Go to sleep." He pondered for a moment. "I love you, Fiona."

The violinist yawned, rolling over, her eyes closed. "I love you too, Freddie."

***

Octavia woke up in the middle of the night.

The feeling was not new to her: she would often wake up at night, for various reasons, not the least of which included natural urges. Now, however, the sensation was quite novel, if only because she actually felt well-rested. The remains of sleep were not tugging at her, and the dream was not clinging at her weary consciousness. She could not even remember her dreams, if there had been any. With a yawn - more automatic than born of lack of sleep or oxygen - Octavia rolled over to look at her girlfriend, this beautiful woman who could always soothe her, always make her feel wanted - and loved. At least, that's what she told herself.

Only Vinyl wasn't there.

Octavia frowned and looked around. She was in her bedroom, and the clock was showing quarter to four. Almost morning, Octavia thought automatically as she got to her feet. She could not remember how she'd got to the bedroom. She could remember, though, the feeling of Vinyl's hands carrying her somewhere and laying her on a soft bed. She could remember the felling of deep, rumbling humming soothing her ears, just as dry, confused lips soothed her heart.

As Octavia walked the corridor towards the kitchen, she heard whispering coming from Vinyl's room. Intrigued - or, rather, automatically - the cellist pressed her ear to the door.

"Hey, God?" Vinyl's voice whispered from behind the door. "I... I know I haven't really talked to you... Or prayed. Or believed in you, honestly." For a while, Vinyl fell silent, and Octavia pressed her ear against the door more violently, her heart beating fast, not in the least in the wake of her eavesdropping. "I mean, I hear that you hate lesbians and heavy drinkers and... That's not really helping, is it?" Octavia couldn't help a chuckle. Vinyl is so... Vinyl. "What I mean is... There's this girl, Octavia." The cellist almost backed down. Almost. "She's a very nice girl. She's beautiful, and kind, and caring. And I love her very much." Octavia's heart fluttered. "But she's confused, and... And I think I'm not the one for her. I think she loves Frederic, and... And I think she's right to love him, and not me. I'm afraid I'm not good enough for her. I can't hold responsibility. I can't be romantic all the time. I can't stay with her when I have to go on tour. Just..." Octavia could hear sobs, her feet urging her to rush into the room and comfort her DJ. "Show her the way, okay? I'll go to church or something. Just watch over her. Help her decide. And... Thanks in advance. Amen."

Octavia stood before the closed door for a while before walking to the kitchen.

Somewhere, the clock struck four.

Chapter Seven

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Seven

***

"Vinyl, we need to have a talk."

The DJ winced as she walked into the kitchen, casting a glance at the cellist, who was sitting at the small rectangular table, her fingers dancing on the surface nervously, her coffee cold and untouched. Vinyl poured herself a mug of warm tea and sat down obediently, opposite her cellist. "I'm all ears." Damn. Here it comes. 'We should see other people.' She's breaking up with me. I fucking knew it. But then why did she fear the upcoming words so much? Why was her mind clinging to Octavia, like the last straw of hope in the endless ocean?

"Vinyl, I heard you... praying last night." Octavia immediately winced at her wording, and the way Vinyl frowned in the wake of the sudden revelation. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to overhear! But..." the cellist closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked straight into Vinyl's pools of  deep crimson. "I'm worried about you, Vinyl. Because you're worrying yourself about me."

Vinyl opened her mouth to reply, but Octavia hushed her, bringing a finger to her lips. "Vinyl, let's get this straight, once and for all. I am not in love with Frederic. I am in love with you. It's very simple. Frederic is my childhood friend, and I love him as a friend. Whatever he does. Nothing more, nothing less." The cellist smiled. "And I don't need guidance from the divine. I need you."

Vinyl suppressed an urge to wince again. It was all happening too fast. Or was it supposed to be happening so fast - in a relationship? She couldn't know. But... They had been dating for a couple of days, and Octavia was already claiming to be in love with her. Aren't I claiming the same, though? Then again, they had known each other for years... "Tell me a little about Frederic." As Octavia opened her mouth in a silent inquiry, Vinyl supplied, "Just because. I just want to know a little about him. So that I can be less jealous." The DJ smirked. "You are my lady, after all. I'm protective."

Octavia smiled a little relieved smile. So far, Vinyl was acting all right. Vinyl believed her. And this was good. And obvious. Because the very notion of her, Octavia, dating Frederic... Ludicrous. "Well, let's see." Octavia cleared her throat, taking a sip of cold, tasteless coffee. "Our families were friends even before we were born. The Horoshevski family are immigrants from Stalliongrad, and the Philarmonicos are immigrants from Scoltcilia. Naturally, they emerged on the market, and public relations; and, well, after a few years of conducting business, my father and Frederic's father made friends. Then I was born - and he, too. We share a birthday, by the way, Freddie and I." Octavia smiled sadly, making Vinyl wonder if there really wasn't any romantic background to her girlfriend's story with Frederic. "We have been friends since the day we were born, naturally." The cellist chuckled. "Our mansions were near, and we used to run about the garden. We'd get tired and sleep under the cherry trees, the whole afternoon." Octavia closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind, washing her over.

"We went to the same school. Freddie... We competed for marks, you know." The cellist chuckled. "I always tried to get better grades. Always failed, though. He was a perfectionist, both at school and college. He... He almost saved me once. Back in uni - we attended different universities: he chose Hayward, and I fell short at the entrance exams - back in uni, he walked me home, like a gentleman..." Octavia gulped. "There were four thugs, they... They assaulted us." The woman shut her eyes even tighter, trying to break the unpleasant images of vivid reminiscing. "Of course, Freddie's not a fighter... But he gave me time to run away. They messed him up really bad. The doctors said he'd never play the piano again." For a moment, Octavia fell silent, but then smiled genuinely. "But he did. He recovered and played better than he used to." Finally, the cellist looked into the DJs eyes, pain vanishing from her gaze. "You must understand, Vinyl. Frederic has always been and will always be my best friend. Whatever he does. He may seem emotionally... lacking, but, in fact, he is very emotional, way more than you or me. The Eastern blood. You just get used to it. Like you get used to the Philarmonico blood of the South."

Vinyl nodded. All that talk of blood and heritage... Was she the only one who didn't care? But... God, she does love him. She really does. Vinyl could see it in the cellist's eyes. This painful, elusive realisation. She doesn't know yet, but she loves him. But... Vinyl sighed internally. She also loves me. Seems to love me. What to do?

"I'll set up the stuff for our practice," Vinyl said, getting up and leaving the room silently.

Octavia looked at her DJ's back, drifting away, leaving. I shouldn't have told her all that... Now she must be jealous... The cellist took a sip of her coffee. Was it so hard to understand that there can be friendship between a man and a woman? Mutual friendship, with no claims for something greater? Isn't it? Vinyl's quiet curses could be heard as she set up the wires.

The tea remained on the table, gradually getting colder and colder.

***

"I don't like her."

Beatrice frowned as she placed a large portion of spaghetti in the bowl that she put on the table. Harpo grabbed the meal eagerly, taking a fork and completely disregarding the spoon that Beauty had put next to the fork in false hopes that her boyfriend would finally acquire some manners. Fat chance, the tuba player thought with a sigh as she watched the harpist slurp his breakfast eagerly. And loudly. "Fiona," she elaborated, placing herself on a stool next to Harpo. "I don't like her. She looks like a bitch."

"She looks like Octavia," Harpo slurred pointedly.

"You know what I'm talking about!" Beauty slammed her fist against the table, prompting the man next to her stop his gluttonous feast. "The way she acts. The way she's pulled Freddie all around her." The brunette sighed, leaning against her man. "I miss Octavia."

Harpo rubbed his nose against his Beauty's temple tenderly. "I know, dear. I know. I miss her too." He looked out of the window. The afternoon was setting over the city already. "But what can we do? It's her business. Her, and Frederic's." Which will never be solved.

"I know." Beauty sighed once more. "It's just... They're both our friends, you know? I don't want to lose any friends because of petty quarrels."

Harpo kept staring out of the window. That's not a petty quarrel, far from it. And you know it. The busy bustling of the city penetrated his ears. "I'll talk to him," the harpist promised. "You try to talk to her." A violent yell from the street flew into the room.

With a grunt, Harpo stood up and closed the window.

Beauty nodded. "I'll talk to Octavia."

"Good." Harpo returned to his meal. "Good."

Chapter Eight

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Eight

***

"Octavia, you and I need to have a talk. Alone."

Vinyl got the idea and, anxious as she was, directed her feet out of the kitchen, which remained occupied by Beatrice and Octavia, the two women sitting at the table opposite each other. The clock was showing five, and Octavia's fingers were still sore after the practice - ironically enough, given that she could play for hours without getting tired, dishing out elaborate passages with ease. But, with Vinyl, she played simple scales, and yet, her fingers were exhausted.

They hadn't begun to compose the suite yet - she just played, and played, with Vinyl occasionally changing the settings. The cellist could not get a grip on why they were doing that: Canterlot's Finest was not that far away - but she knew better than to ask. If only because today Vinyl was extraordinarily quiet, almost silent. She must be jealous. Octavia sighed. I really shouldn't have told her that. But that's all right. Vinyl was just... overprotective. It would pass, with time. If I can keep this relationship alive. God, why was it so hard to maintain a relationship, from its very beginning?

"It's about Frederic."

Octavia winced. Marvellous. Just what I needed. "Listen, Beauty. I don't want to hear that."

"He's really, really sorry," Bea lied through her teeth. "He... We just needed... He just needed a violinst and-"

"And this is why he threw me out of the ensemble and started dating my sister?!" Octavia fumed.

Ill, chilly wind came blowing through the open window. Neither of the women made any motion to close it. The neighbourhood was quite peaceful, and, at this time, most residents were at work, so it was all the more bizzare and weird to listen to the wind swishing though the flat and back again, as if it were a messenger from the cemetery, the place of the quiet. Or, it was just a grim and fleeting thought, the kind of thought that always darkens even the brightest day in the city - or the reminiscing of such, usually faulty and fake.

The tuba player sighed. "You quit yourself, you know. It was your decision."

"That's because he made me!" Octavia shrieked, slamming her fist against the table. The collision made her muscles ache. Her skin turned red in the wake of the impact. A little softer, "Why can't he let me date whomever I want to date?"

"It's high society," Beatrice supplied immediately. "You know it, Octavia. One word in the media of you dating a DJ, and with such a reputation..."

"Vinyl," Octavia hissed, "is my girlfriend. Regardless of her job or reputation. And, if Frederic is sorry," she carried on, eager to close the topic, "why doesn't he come here himself, instead sending you in his place?" Checkmate.

He didn't send me. Beatrice groaned, hitting her palm against her forehead. "That's because he loves you, you idiot."

***

"Frederic, you and I need to have a talk. Alone."

Harpo looked pointedly at Fiona, who gave him a disgruntled shrug and stood up. "Well, honey, I'll be in the bedroom while you two discuss your private matters." With that, the gorgeous woman, so perfect, so Octavia-like, left the dining room, leaving the two men sitting next to each other at the huge rectangular dining table made of solid redwood, with fine carving.

Frederic lifted a glass of wine and brought it to his lips eagerly, taking a good sip. "What can be so important  that you rush into my house and interrupt my private time with my beloved?" The pianist downed the glass slowly.

Harpo frowned. 'Beloved'. Riiight. "Freddie, stop," he begged as he saw the pianist fill another glass. "Don't you think that's too much?"

Frederic sipped on the wine, then looked at the clock pointedly. "That's all right. It's quarter past five, for godsake."

"Frederic," Harpo tried again, "I want to talk to you about Fiona. And Octavia."

"And who are you, the proud lord said..." Frederic chuckled. "Seriously, Harpo. Why do you think that's your business?"

"That's the ensemble's business," Harpo said, knowing very well that his words were pointless and lacked the needed determination.

As expected, Frederic just shook his head, rendering Harpo's statement vain. "My relationship with Fiona is none of your concern. As for the ensemble business..." The pianist downed the glass. "Octavia quit. She lost her place in the quartet. Fiona is a great violinist.  She has replaced her and will be performing at Canterlot's Finest as part of the ensemble. End of discussion."

Harpo looked at the pianist's face thoughtfully. He was young. They were all so young; but Frederic looked different. He didn't look old, with the perfect square chin and the short, wavy hair; but the eyes... The eyes were dull. Sad. Worn out. Tired and exhausted. Alcohol-hazed. Trouble-averted. The scar above his brow had not healed - would never heal, remaining a constant reminder of his devotion to one woman. One woman. "You love her," Harpo said. He didn't need to clarify who 'she' was. "You still love her. But you're with her twin, her substitute. Because you know you can never be with her." Harpo held a pause, during which Frederic sipped his red wine calmly. "Fiona isn't part of the ensemble, Freddie," the harpist said in a softer voice.

"She is," Frederic said finally, giving Harpo a sharp, pointed look. "And she will be."

"Freddie, I'm your friend!" Harpo exclaimed in despair. "I want to help. She will be the end of you. Both of them," he added needlessly.

"I know." Frederic glanced at the bottle. It was empty. "I know." With a sigh, the pianist placed the offending bottle on the floor next to his chair. "But Fiona will be performing with us. Full stop. She will be part of the ensemble and she will be performing with us at Canterlot's Finest."

"But why?" Harpo lamented. "Listen, Freddie-"

"Why Fiona?" Frederic stood up and took up the bottle. For a moment, fear crossed Harpo's eyes. A dangerous man with a potential weapon in hand. The pianist placed the bottle in the dust bin. Harpo let out a mental sigh of relief. "Why?" Frederic walked back to the table slowly, steadily, and sat down again. "Why."

"Because," he said, "at Canterlot's Finest, I am going to propose to her."

Chapter Nine

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Nine

***

"I don't understand."

What was there to understand, though? Either Bea lied, or... Or Freddie has been in love with me for a while, and I was too blind to notice. Octavia sighed, placing her head on her elbows, the surface of the table cold and dirty, with little crusts biting their way into the skin of her forehead. She didn't care. God... Maybe she had been too blind to notice. There had been signs, of course, those occasional... Argh. Maybe, she just... She just didn't want to notice... subconsciously? Blame it all on the subconsciouness. Sure. Was she afraid? Of what? Of him? Or... Of falling in love with her childhood friend? And - awful, awful thought! - hadn't she been afraid of the same when she began dating Vinyl?

"You need to leave,"  the cellist heard her girlfriend's voice. She must have been eavesdropping... Not that I can't be accused of the same. The cellist did not lift her head.

"I'm really really sorry!" Beauty's voice, begging, broken, reached the cellist's ears. "I didn't mean to say that! It was an honest slip-"

"Bea, you need to leave," Vinyl reiterated softly, placing her authoritative hand on the woman's shoulder. "It would be better both for you and Octavia." What would be better for me? the DJ wondered as she saw the tuba player to the door. Now... Octavia will... What will she do? Who will she choose? And, Vinyl thought as she entered the kitchen once more, will there be any choice to be made? What were the chances Octavia just wouldn't shrug it off?

"I don't understand," Octavia repeated, looking at her DJ, her chin resting on her hands flatly. "Frederic..."

"If you want to talk to him," Vinyl said, "that's fine." She chewed on her bottom lip a little before adding, "Whatever you decide on is fine."

"What do you mean, 'whatever I decide on'?"

"I mean," Vinyl explained, "that if you choose Frederic over me-"

Octavia pressed her hand against the DJ's lips violently. "Vinyl, you're an idiot," she confessed earnestly. "I have chosen you. Because I love you. The fact that I am deeply confused by this... revelation has nothing to do with the future of our relationship."

Both women fell silent, interrupted only by the clock ticking angrily on the wall, and the wind still howling from the outside. Vinyl walked to the window and closed it. "You... You'll want to talk to him, right?" Vinyl gulpedand closed her eyes. It's all right. It's all right. They'll just talk. And she'll come back home. To me. Oh, how she wanted for the whole thing to be plain and simple! Just a simple relationship, no troubles. No Frederics. No anxiety. Damnation of society, foundation of soicety - anxiety, Vinyl recalled the familiar lyrics.

"No," Octavia said firmly, dragging Vinyl into an embrace, soon followed by a deep kiss that surprised the disk-spinner: her cellist wasn't generous with kisses, and each soft, longing touch of her lips send her mind reeling in the pleasant waves of endorphines. "I want to have my practice. With you." The cellist smiled a little smile. "I think we're ready to compose that suite of ours."

***

"And a lydian scale here," Octavia murmured, scribbling notes on the paper. "What do you think, Vinyl?"

Vinyl raised her head, clinging back to reality. Her mind was still hazy, and her thoughts were roaming dark places. The issue with Frederic had not been resolved; simply avoiding it - the way Octavia seemed to have chosen - would do no good. "I dunno," she shrugged, trying to smile. She did want to smile. She did want for her cellist to be happy. But she was not sure - simply could not be sure - if she was the one to bring Octavia happiness. "I don't really compose music like that, you know."

"Huh?" Octavia raised her brow. "How do you compose music, then?"

Vinyl smiled, sensing tiny notes of arrogance in Octavia's tone. That was the voice of the... old Octavia. Octavia before their relationship. Octavia that didn't fear offending her. Once again Vinyl wondered if this relationship was worth it. But... It was worth it, wasn't it? How can it not be, she thought, gazing at Octavia's wonderful face, piercing with her eyes those beautiful pools of lavender, getting lost in the soft touch of her lips... How can it not be, when Octavia was the best woman in the world, to put it simply? And, Vinyl thought, Octavia is worth fighting for. Worth dying for, even. No - more. Worth living for.

"I just roll with a lot of samples," Vinyl explained. "I don't pay attention to the key or the scale or the mode. I just choose whatever sounds sound good to me and put them together, adding effects." Catching Octavia's bemused look, Vinyl shrugged. "What? I'm a DJ, after all."

Octavia sighed and rubbed her temples. This is harder than I imagined. And yet, Vinyl had cheered up. Somewhat. That has to amount to something. "Vinyl, we need to peruse Music Theory. I am going to write the cello part - and how are you going to 'lay down the beat'," Octavia emphasised the inverted commas with her fingers, "if you don't know what the key is and what scales and modes I'm using?"

Vinyl smiled. "That's easy." She approached the cellist, grabbing her by the waist possessively. She's my girlfriend, Vinyl had to remind herself. Won't hurt to be more... straightforward. "I roll with it, like I roll with you."

Octavia blushed, not even trying to free herself from her DJ's grip. I defintely like the more... aggressive side of Vinyl, she had to admit to herself. "Well, you must possess perfect ears, then."

Vinyl leaned in, her breath falling over Octavia's ear. "Not only ears, babe."

Octavia moaned as Vinyl kissed her neck tenderly. It wasn't a passionate kiss of lust, but rather a kiss of... love? Devotion? Infatuation? Love, definitely love. "Vinyl, let's..." The cellist shrieked as Vinyl planted a soft bite on her neck. Wow. "Let's get to the bedroom." By that moment, Octavia was already squirming in her DJ's embrace. "We can finish that... aah~ later. Let's get to the bedroom," she reiterated mindlessly.

Vinyl nodded in satisfaction. "Let's get to the bedroom."

And they did just that.

Chapter Ten

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Ten

***

"Hmm, that seems to be it."

Octavia took a critical glance at the sheet music before rolling over on the couch. "Vinyl, I think I have finished the cello part."

Vinyl yawned casually as she diverted her eyes from the computer screen. For quite a while already, she had been content. Her relationship with Octavia had been mild, stative, stable. It had been what she had expected it to be, from the very beginning. No talks of Frederic, except for the general ensemble matters. And the ensemble... Octavia had begun to see them as their competitors. Such bonding, be it good or ill, still brought pleasure to Vinyl's heart. Finally, for days upon days, she had experienced a perfect relationship with her cellist. Kind words. Restaurant dates. Fervent sexy times. Kisses on the floor. Roses and violets. Playful jokes and nudges. A perfect life.

"Great, Tavi. After all, it's less than a week till Canterlot's Finest. Our... opponents must be ready already." Ready already. Heh, that rhymes.

Yes. Opponents. Octavia nodded absent-mindedly, casting a glance at the screen. "Vinyl!" she shrieked, almost rolling off the couch. "Are you watching porn?!"

"Huh?" The DJ glanced at the screen and confirmed with a grin, "Yes. Why, yes, I am."

"That..." Octavia flushed red with embarrassment. "That's just distasteful!"

Vinyl wiggled her eyebrow. "Wanna watch it with me?" Hehe, Tavi blushing like a rose. A very pretty rose, she had to admit. Ready for plucking. Hehe. She wanted to share the joke with her cellist, but immediately decided against that: crude humour wasn't exactly something that her girlfriend admired. And, once more, like many times before, the warm word - girlfriend - cheered her up inside. The morning - or, rather, early afternoon - suddenly felt even more beautiful and sunny.

"Absolutely not!" Octavia huffed and crossed her arms, looking away. Are you sure, Octavia? The cellist exhaled and turned her head towards her DJ, a rather sheepish grin on her face. "Maybe?"

Vinyl laughed light-heartedly and, with a devious smile, jumped on the couch, springing from the chair gleefully. Octavia yelped as her DJ's weight pinned her to the sofa, assaulting her neck with small pecks of love. "One porn flick," Vinyl whispered in the cellist's ear hotly. "Coming right-"

"Right after you've made a basic beat for the cello part." Octavia pushed Vinyl away gently, in spite of herself. "And then, I'm all yours~" she cooed, planting a kiss on Vinyl's lips - a breezy one, only to intensify longing, not sate it.

"You're no fun," the DJ grumbled as she took her seat by the computer once more. "So?" she looked at the cellist expectantly. "Gimme the musics, babe."

Octavia took the sheet music and handed it to the DJ. However, to the cellist's surprise, Vinyl refused the paper with a swift shake of her head. "No, babe. I don't need sheet music. I need you to play it. I need to feel it." The disk-spinner smiled her disarming smile that prompted Octavia to get up, grunting, to get her cello. That's just an excuse, Octavia thought as she dragged the instrument with her. She just can't read sheet music, probably. Or, maybe... There was really some higher - spiritual? - side to it?

Octavia sat on the couch, the feeling of softness beaneath her strange, if not entirely unwelcoming. No, I'm *not** going to grab a stool or a chair.* The cellist was tired enough already. Composing music was, strangely enough, an exhaustive experience, not only mentally, but physically too. "Vinyl? Are you ready?" Octavia lifted the bow.

The DJ checked the settings on the computer and nodded. "Born ready."

"Good, because I wrote this piece for you." Octavia took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

With a soft touch of the bow the strings sprung alive, gifting away the sound of a few perfect half-notes in stately succession. The introduction - the preface - consisted of half-notes mostly, with short faster passages. Just like their life before the relationship. This, here, was serenity. Octavia shut her eyes tighter as she dived into the next part. Fervent. Fast. With rough staccato passages. The bow pierced the strings, assaulted them with vigour, assassinated the fading tranquillity of sound. The first steps towards a relationship. Tears welled in Octavia's eyes. This, here, was dismay. Finally, the melody evolved into something greater, both musically and technically - the bow was gripping at two of the strings at an impossible angle, playing intervals, perfects fourths and fifths, easy and pleasant to the ear. Octavia smiled through the tears. The relationship. What is was meant to be. Happiness. With Vinyl. This, here, was love.

All this time, Vinyl watched with her mouth agape. Octavia had composed this for her. She could not believe it. Or, rather, she could, watching the performance - for an audience of one. The only audience Octavia needed. Yes. Now she got it. She could get it. She realised that. Maybe she was just sensitive to music? But how, how, tell me, could it not be love? Such music - such emotion! Such devotion! Tears and happiness, and happiness through tears! Notes dancing, waltzing, rushing, whirling, swishing to and fro, and past, and present, and God, this is what music must feel like! This, here, was music. This, here... was love.

Octavia released a breath she had been holding all this time, taking a teary-eyed look at her DJ, who sat still, not moving, her eyes staring, her mouth slightly open. The cellist smiled as she placed the bow next to her on the couch. "I love you, Vinyl," she whispered, almost mouthed - but loud enough for her DJ to hear.

Vinyl stood up, shaking, and sat next to her cellist. She did not lean in for a kiss, nor did she go for a tight embrace. Instead, she just lay her head on Octavia's shoulder in content, whispering, "Love you too, Octavia."

For a few calm, tranquil minutes the two musicians just sat together, enjoying each other's presence. Octavia yawned. The clock was ticking softly from the kitchen, quietly, approvingly. "So, Vinyl," Octavia said finally. "Did you manage to record this? Or... whatever you need to lay down the beat?"

Vinyl smiled sheepishly as she glanced on the computer screen. "Um, sorry, Tavi. I was just so mesmerised by how beautiful you are."

Octavia blushed slightly, but still straightened herself. "Well, that's very cute, Vinyl, but I could swear you hit Record before... um... getting mesmerised." The raven-haired woman's face turned a deeper shade of red. It's so... nice. So wonderful. Vinyl, being so... open. So romantic.

The DJ averted her eyes. "Um... Yeah. Thing is..." She stood up and took a few steps towards the doorway. "I may or may not have forgotten to connect your cello to the sound processor." Three... Two... One...

Octavia stood up, her eye twitching slightly as she took the bow, holding it firmly in her deadly grip.

"Vinyl," the cellist said sweetly as she neared the DJ.

Vinyl took a step back, standing in the doorway. "Y-yes, Tavi?"

Octavia smiled. "Run."

Chapter Eleven

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Eleven

***

"Tavi?"

The cellist let out a soft 'hmm', without diverting her attention from the sheet music. They had recorded the cello part (at last) and Vinyl had been tinkering with the mixing for a few days already. And Canterlot's Finest is but a couple days away.

"I think that's it." Vinyl smiled: an actual smile, not a grin - a smile that made Octavia warm inside. "I've finished the mixing. Our suite is done."

Octavia stood up and embraced her DJ from behind, kissing her on top of her head gently as her arms snailed past Vinyl's shoulders, resting on the disk-spinner's breasts. How, how could Octavia possibly stay angry at this wonderful woman, whatever she did? Their quarrels had never lasted long - if they could qualify as quarrels. One moment Octavia was running after Vinyl with a kitchen knife or her bow, and the next moment they were rolling on th floor in a loving embrace, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

"So, how does it sound?" Octavia wondered in a murmur, closing her eyes, the warmth of her DJ enough to make her eyelids weary and her body sleepy to no extent. Her mind was still sharp, and that mind was aching for closeness with her girlfriend - and closure, too. Soon, Octavia told herself. The event will be over soon and we can finally take a break. Maybe even go on holiday somewhere, the cellist mused. She had to ask Vinyl later. After Canterlot's Finest.

And that, too, bore certain barriers: who was she, to restrain Vinyl's freedom? Sure, not in a dangerous way - just the contrary. And still: Vinyl had her own life, and she had her own performances to attend, and maybe she wanted to go on tour? No, she, Octavia, could not command every moment of her DJ, despite the relationship. I'll just ask, the raven-haired woman told herself. Just ask. Later.

Vinyl smiled. "Something like this." She pressed the key and the sound of Octavia's cello filled the room.

Octavia opened her mouth to ask. What was this? Sure, her cello sounded a little... reverb-y and with hints of chorus. As if it were being played on a huge stage - or an empty train station - only in a box. Or a glass dome, with specks of wood and plastic. But... It was just her cello. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, though, the music changed. Her cello was still there, the peaceful, serene introduction - but with near-silent, steadily approaching beats of the kick drum.

And - by the end of the introduction - the kick was there, with snares floating aboout in full-surround, highly delayed, breaking the rhythm, and... beautiful. The thick, low sound of sub-bass. The mild pads singing out like a choir. This... This was beautiful. Octavia had never imagined that electronic music could be so... beautiful. There were no other words. Octavia closed her mouth.

The drums grew louder, just as the cello rushed, hissed, painfully howled out - even more than the initial recording. The dismay of this part - first steps of a relationship - was accentuated by the strange array of effects - there was a certain degree of flanger? -  Vinyl had gifted the music with. The drums beat faster, and faster, and faster, creating an illusion of broken tempo - even though Octavia knew that the tempo remained the same - and then...

The silence! Near-second of thick, imperceptible silence, and then an array of bass, and high frequencies - and yes, the cello! Only it was not the same. It could never be the same. Ever again. Not after this... The beat intensified, the pads were screaming now, and her intervals were now full chords! Her cello, solo cello, unable to pick more than two notes with a bow, was now playing full chords! Octavia eyed Vinyl in shock and, well... fear. Yes, fear was there too, lingering in the back of her head. Or the front. She wasn't sure.

How could she be sure of anything any more - after this music?

"So..." Vinyl asked after the music ended. "How was it?" She immediately added, "I... I wanted it to show how... um, how different we are, and how... how we manage to be together." A real expert at talking, Vinyl. The DJ wanted to hit herself. With a stick.

"I loved it. It was..." Octavia fell silent. Did she like the music? Yes, definitely. Was it something she had expected? Not in the slightest. Was it fantastic? Sure. Magnificent? You bet. But it was also something else. Something... out of this world. Something that was perceived by her ears, but something that her mind failed to perceive - at least in the same way. Same manner. It was... something transcending transcendence itself. It was...

Octavia smiled and kissed her DJ on the cheek. "Mind-blowing."

***

"From the top."

Harpo groaned aloud, clasping his hair with his fingers madly. "Freddie, seriously? Seriously? That's the fifteenth time in a row!"

Fiona chuckled, her fingers gripping the bow, untired, unwavering. "That's not a record for Freddie, you know."

Harpo stuffed his index fingers into his ears. "Too! Much! Information!"

Beauty cracked her knuckles wearily, stretching her neck and arms. "Fifteen times?" She raised a brow at the violinist. "How do you guys do that?" Somehow, talking to Fiona had got easier over the time they'd spent together as a quartet. Maybe it was because she hadn't talked to Octavia - mostly in fear of Vinyl: the DJ seemed very... possessive, to say the least. Maybe it was because Fiona had, indeed, turned out rather witty, if prim. But then again, Octavia was prim too. FIona seemed like... she seemed like a friendlier, more open-minded version of Octavia. More... outgoing. Less stately.

Fiona leaned in, covering her mouth in a conspirational manner. "Well, see, there's a certain trick to it..."

Frederic cleared his throat audibly, and Bea could swear that, for a second, a thin blush passed his cheeks. "Ladies, we still have a suite to perform."

Fiona blinked innocently. "Oh, but of course, dear. I'll tell Bea about your... endurance later."

Now the blush was visible on the man's cheeks, if only for a moment. "Ahem, anyway. Harpo." Silence. "Harpo!"

The lyrist opened his eyes for a moment, his ears still shut. "Have you stopped discussing Frederic's dick?"

Beauty placed a hand on her boyfriend's hand, prompting him to uncover his ears. "Yes, dear. We can practice now."

With a powerful intake of breath - a signal - and a nod of his head, Frederic led the ensemble into battle. The piano - the heavy artillery shot heavy seventh chords, merry jazz trained and restrained in a fine classical way. The lyre gave it the needed morale, played by the well-trained military bard, Lieutenant Harpo Parish Nadermane. Fiona's violin - this beautiful medical solace in the middle of the battle! This beauty, this mesmerising skill, this fascination that she gifted him with! And the tuba, the low, grumbling tanks crushing his enemies underneath. Yes... Yes! This, here, was real beauty. Unveiled. Uncovered.

The enemy would be crushed. Mercilessly. Painfully. He would march into her camp and- and take what's rightfully his. By the rule of war. The conqueror takes it all. And- And if she refused- If she refused! She... She would refuse. And- He had his bounty already - poorer, true, but-

Frederic stopped abruptly, to the surprise of his fellow musicians. Fiona, definitely, was the first to notice something was wrong. "I think that's enough rehearsing for today."

Bea got it and began to pack her tuba hastingly. Harpo looked at Frederic and opened his mouth in an attempt to talk to his friend - enquire what was wrong - but Fiona shook her head, mouthing, Not now. Harpo frowned - She dares-! She has stolen my friend! - but obeyed, placing his lyre in its soft sack.

Frederic faked a smile and turned towards the rest of the ensemble. "I think that's enough practice. The suite's perfect. We will have one last rehearsal on the day of the event, but now let's take a few days of rest. Canterlot's Finest is right behind the corner." Seeing Harpo's and Beatrice's uncertain expressions, he raised his hand, waving it in the air. "Everything's all right. My fingers are just a little tired." Then, with an accepting sigh, "Just... Go home. You need your rest." And so do I.

Harpo took a hesitant step towards Frederic, but the pianist waved his hand in the air dismissively. With a sigh, Harpo grabbed Bea's tuba case, his own lyre sack, and followed his girlfriend towards the door.

Frederic closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He felt the familiar presence of Fiona's hands on his shoulders, massaging them, rubbing the sore muscles. "Darling, they've left. Can you tell me what's wrong?" Frederic did not reply, turning his head and burying his face in the violinist's breasts. "You... Have you been thinking of Octavia?"

"Yes." Frederic lingered for a moment and stood up abruptly. "Yes, I have."

"You..." Fiona gulped, shutting her eyes against the tears. "You still love her, after all these years?"

"No." Frederic did not need time to reply. He looked into his woman's eyes. Orange. Bright. Fiery with passion. "I just realised something, Fiona. All this time - all these years... I've loved you. Octavia was the substitute I created. When you left for-"

"Don't mention that." The violinist neared her pianist and embraced him softly. "That's in the past. Like Octavia."

"Like Octavia," Frederic repeated dumbly. "I love you, Fiona," he said, for the first time not in reply to Fiona's call.

"I love you too, Freddie." Fiona kissed the pianist on the lips - a breezy, minute kiss.

"I have a reservation for tonight," Frederic said. "The Gourmet, ten-thirty."

"That's lovely, darling." Fiona smiled. "Lovely."

Chapter Twelve

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Twelve

***

"Are you nervous?"

Octavia nodded as she tried to calm down. Of course she was nervous. How she possibly be not nervous? Octavia looked about the large garden - if the vast empty space filled with round tables and well-dressed people of such wealth and pose that it scared even the well-to-do and rather high-class cellist could ever be called a 'garden'. She glanced at the improvised empty stage - a simple wide postament, really - in the far end of the enormous 'garden', the stage that Vinyl and she were sitting by, or, rather, behind - a stage that she, along with Vinyl, would have to take. And perform. In front of all these people. Suddenly, Octavia's tuxedo felt too warm and itchy.

Vinyl, however, seemed to be pretty tranquil, tinkering with wires connecting Octavia's electric cello - a marvel for the few passers-by who walked past the stage at a leisurely pace - to what the DJ called a 'looper': a device that was meant to make her cello sound exactly like the mix that Vinyl had produced. Naturally, the cello part had been cut by the DJ so that the cellist could actually perform, and not just stand by as Vinyl worked the turntables - which, by the way, had already made their way to the stage. "I... I'm a little nervous, too," Vinyl admitted. "And this tuxedo is itchy," she added with a wince.

Octavia chuckled, covering her mouth with a hand. Somehow, knowing that her partner was nervous too made her less nervous herself.

"Chins up, Tavi," Vinyl rubbed the cellist's cheek with a thumb - a gesture that made Octavia blush, for it was borderline for such an event. Ah, but who cares anyway! Octavia kissed the finger, disregarding any possible response that such behaviour might evoke.

"I'm just..." Octavia chewed on her lip as Vinyl began massaging her shoulders. "I'm thinking about my- about Frederic's ensemble. Harpo, Beauty... I haven't seen them in a while."

Vinyl shrugged. "You'll see them soon. Their performance is right after ours." But talk to them? No, Tavi, you won't talk to them. Because you're mine. You're a part of me. You're mine to keep. Now, Vinyl realised her power. She knew that, by making this pact - choosing this relationship, with all it brought them - she signed a deal. And so did Octavia. And thus, she did have a say in her girlfriend's matters. Without being overprotective - but sometimes, being overprotective. And... I can't lose you to Frederic. She couldn't take chances.

"Speaking of which," Vinyl changed the topic swiftly. "Our performance begins in fifteen minutes. Time to practice the looper."

"Yes." Octavia nodded. "Time to practice."

***

"You're late."

Harpo averted his eyes at Frederic's remark. The quiet corner of the garden was nice and secluded. How would they drag the piano, though? he mused as he eyed the concert grand, white at snow, at which Frederic was sitting, looking at him sternly. "I quit, Freddie."

Silence.

Frederic frowned. "It's not very nice to quit before the performance that we've been practicing so hard for." He pondered for a moment while Fiona just sat next to him, a silent support. Steady. Steadfast. Unwavering. "May I ask why?"

Harpo winced. "There are certain... disturbances in the quartet that I don't like." He cast a quick glare at the violinist, who pretended not to notice. "Moreover, I don't like the way you run the ensemble. So, since I can't change it, I quit."

"You are missing out a lot of fame and fortune," Frederic observed calmly.

Harpo sighed. "I know." He turned his back on the pianist. "But, more than anything, I'm missing out a friend." With that, he walked towards the middle of the garden, now a free part - a particle - of the gathering. He will still achieve much, Frederic realised. He'll talk to a few people here and there and he'll get what he wants. The man nodded approvingly at his vanishing friend. Yes. He has a certain... charisma.

"I quit, too." Beauty winced painfully as she said the words that she so did not want to say.

Frederic smiled sadly. "Et tu, Brute?"

Bea was on the verge of crying, covering her eyes with a hand. "Freddie, Fiona, I- I really like you and the ensemble, but..." She sniffed. "He's my boyfriend. He's the man I love. He's the man I want to marry. I can't leave him hanging like that. I must follow him." The woman smiled through tears. She'll make a good wife, Frederic thought. Gentle, but firm. And yet obedient enough. Obedient, but with an opinion of her own. A perfect soulmate.

"I understand, Bea," Fiona said, sniffing herself, as she hugged the tuba player, crushing her in a tight embrace. "You're free to drop by any time you want, you know?"

Beatrice looked at Frederic: his eyes hazy, his gaze averted, fixed on something beneath the non-existent horizon. "I'll call," she replied vaguely and followed her man to the garden.

Fiona placed her hand on Frederic's shoulder. "We can still perform as a duet. I'll alter the violin parts and-"

"No," Frederic chuckled, shaking his hand. Suddenly, he laughed, his head clear, warm, scary happiness washing over him. But no excitement. "I'll be performing alone. I knew something like that could come up, so I've been working on a solo piece too."

"But-" Fiona started, only for Frederic to shush her with his hand against her mouth, slowly, tenderly.

"I want to perform alone because it's a special song. Also, I believe our judges may be biased if they see the two of us on the stage." He smiled. "They'll think I chose you for your good looks, and..." He paused, his smile directed only at the violinist. "Because of familial relations."

"Familial... relations?" Fiona blinked. "Why would-"

"Because..." Frederic lowered himself to his knee, taking a small box out of the pocket of his trousers. "I want you to become my wife."

***

"Tavi, you ready?"

Octavia wanted to say 'Born ready' or something equally confident, something worthy of her girlfriend. Something brave. Something to match her calm - 'chill', she called it - demeanour. Instead, she just let out a confirming 'eep' that could - she hoped - pass for a 'yep'. Sitting on a chair on the stage, all eyes on her - and Vinyl naturally, but mostly on her, as it seemed. God. So many people who... Who could define my future. Never prone to stage fright, Octavia felt nausea creeping over her, her gut retching and her stomach swirling about her belly. So many people. Each of them more financially successful than her whole en- that the ensemble she used to play in. Octavia shut her eyes. Tight. If she didn't want to lose her career - and she didn't - she had to concentrate.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Vinyl's voice boomed over the garden. "I am very humbled that you invited me to this wonderful event. And even though I initially wanted to provide some background ambience - all on my own, that would be really hard, won't you agree?" A few laughs from the crowd that had already gathered before the stage - apart from the richest and most important ones confirmed Octavia's suspicions that Vinyl, surprisingly enough, did know a lot about high-class society and proper eiquette. I'll need to talk to her about it. The DJ carried on, "It is my honour and privilege to present to you my partner, the cellist Octavia Philarmonica." Octavia took a small bow without standing up, marvelling at how skilfully the DJ had used the word 'partner' to avoid controversy. "We will be performing a suite composed by yours truly and the cellist in question." Octavia could not help but notice thin hints of mockery in Vinyl's words.

Vinyl nodded and pressed the button. For a moment, Octavia felt... frozen. Numb. Unable to move. Oh my god I'm too late now what to do of course Vinyl could make a joke or something and- And the cellist found that her hands, to her incredible surprise, were moving correctly, playing the notes in their stately succession. Automatically. The introduction had begun.

Octavia was feeling more confident. The bow danced across the strings on its own, allowing her to think. Also, she was scared that if she concentrated on her movements, instead of diverting her attention from them, she would fail. Some fifteen minutes ago, she could not believe she would be performing here. And, still, while actually performing, she still could not believe in it.

She was actually playing! With Vinyl! At Canterlot's Finest! Before all these people! In near-orgasmic glee, Octavia grinned as her hands guided the bow, the melody evolving. Yes, she could hear the kick drum now, and boy, she loved it! Vinyl was there, grinning, her eyes covered by the purple shades, so sleek, so beautiful, so unbearably sexy in that tuxedo of hers! Oh, how she wanted to rip it off her right now and make love to her DJ!

The high-heeled foot hit the pedal, bringing the looper to life. She played the intervals and- magic! Magic of music! Forth came full chords! Vinyl's magic worked! Eyes closed, Octavia played the familiar notes, the feeling of creating something uncreatable with a solo acoustic cello tugging at her incredibly.

Lost in time, Octavia did not notice the suite's end. How long had she been playing for? Did it matter?

Silence. Painful, mind-numbing, ear-shattering silence. Her hands ended the piece correctly. Automatically. And then-!

An eruption of applause! People all around her clapping violently, their primness vanishing behind their open mouths, their pose lost as they cheered like a common crowd, their arms above their heads. And- even those who had been occupied with business talk at the tables were here now, applauding like the others!

Octavia felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Following some higher force, she stood up, dropping the bow, and the cello be damned, and ran up to her DJ, who was grinning widely and waving at the audience, and grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her round, and locked her lips with hers in a passionate kiss, a kiss of love, a kiss that drowned out the loud, fervent clapping.

And then - silence.

Chapter Thirteen

The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter Thirteen

***

Octavia stared dumbly at the crowd as she sat next to Vinyl by the stage.

Five minutes since the performace ended - and they were already being avoided. Vinyl did not seem to take it close to heart, but Octavia knew it was her fault. The cellist was on the verge of crying. How could she be so foolish! She knew - she knew! - that... that acting the way she acted! Such ignorance! The high society would never accept her again!

...Not that they had ever accepted her fully.

"Hey, Tavi, you okay?" The weight of Vinyl's hand gifted Octavia's shoulder with its genle touch.

"Yes." Octavia frowned. "No. No, I'm not okay. We... I failed." Octavia shut her eyes, pressing her face into her DJ's shoulder. "The performance was awful."

Vinyl lifted the cellist's chin with her fingers, holding it tight, so that Octavia's teary pools of lavender looked directly into Vinyl's abysses of red. "You were magnificent," the disk-spinner claimed firmly. "The performance was great. The audience failed miserably, that's it."

"They are our judges, Vinyl," the cellist replied sadly. "They are the people who determine the future of the music world. They are the moneybags. Do you see any of them coming up to us, offering contracts?"

Vinyl winced a little. "Well, we scared them a little, with that kiss." Exactly, Octavia thought with a sigh. "But hey, if it weren't for the law, I'd totally fuck you right there on the stage," the DJ purred hotly into her cellist's ear. "And, if you hadn't kissed me then, I would have kissed you anyway. Wouldn't you still do it if you had a chance to go back in time?" Because I would.

"I... I'm not sure," Octavia admitted. "I don't know."

"That's..." Vinyl  paused darkly. "That's not the answer I wanted to hear."

Octavia nodded grimly. "I know."

Vinyl fell silent, grasping at something in the pocket of her trousers. Octavia could swear that the DJ still obeyed her ridiculous habit of keeping her mobile phone in the trousers pocket. But then again, she wasn't exactly male, so...

"A very... bold performance, ladies."

Octavia lifted her eyes, only to a see a very eccentric, yet positively dashing, middle-aged man, his fine moustache, as well as his hair, dyed a fine shade of blue, a monocle on his eye, and a smile on his face. It's him! Him! Francisc Pantomino, the local patron saint of all musicians, a man greater than Maecenas himself, and he was now standing right in front of her, congra-

With a tiny nod, the man departed towards the front of the stage, on which a grand piano now rested, brought conveniently for a performance. His performance. Octavia found herself thinking about Frederic - and her ensemble. His ensemble. Their performance would be valued way more, and contracts would flow like the waters of life... And, of course, Frederic wouldn't be so... expressive. Like Vinyl. He wouldn't be so possessive if... No, that's a ridiculous thought. Octavia wanted to punish herself for such a thought. She had never imagined Frederic as her boyfriend. Right? Right. And she would not. They were... They had been friends. Good friends. The best of friends. And all this time... Frederic had been longing for her? No, she had to ask. She knew Vinyl would not want it, but... she had to talk to him.

Frederic took the stage.

He sat down at the grand piano. Alone. He took the microphone. He spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I am honoured beyond belief that I have been invited to perform at this gathering. I would like to present a few of my favourite works composed by the genius composers of the past generations, as well as several original compositions that my own genii have inflicted upon yours faithfully."

A few laughs from the audience at the skilful wordplay. A few coughs. And then - Frederic began to play.

Not a word of the quartet, Octavia observed idly as she stared, unable to avert her eyes, at the pianist. He was handsome - objectively. He was prim and tall - objectively. He was polite and well-mannered - objectively. He was well-educated and witty - objectively. And yet, he was alone. Now, more than ever, Octavia was sure that they all left him. Harpo. Beauty. And - yes, Fiona. She had poisoned him, exploited his wealth, maybe even - argh, definitely! - made use of his body and then left him. As she had always done before. Octavia gritted her teeth.

Vinyl looked at her cellist. Octavia was drifting away from her - at least mentally. She knew it. Following her gaze to the stage, the DJ once more knew that the issue was still present. There was something between her and Frederic - or had been something. There had to! I'll kill him, Vinyl thought in surprising calmness. Just jump on the stage and strangle him. Because if I can't be with Octavia, no one will be with her. Do the poison trick, maybe? A classic. Poison his cup, and hers, and mine. Vinyl shook her head. No, that was ridiculous.

"Now," Frederic said, upon finishing a few classical pieces followed briefly by some compositions of his own - naturally composed for solo piano, "I would like to finally make use of this microphone here, if you don't mind." The audience pretty much erupted in laughter. As the performance progressed, more and more people kept gathering before the stage, mesmerised by the man's skill. And what a skill it was! His fingers were guided by the divine, Octavia was sure, as he kept playing, his eyes closed, sheet music forgotten. It could not be put to words. If her (and Vinyl's) performance could be put to words - with some difficulty, naturally - this, here... It was indescribable. "I wrote this song - and yes, it is a vocal piece - for a woman that I love. A woman that I have loved all my life. A woman that I want to be with for the rest of my life." Men in the audience clapped approvingly, their hearts softened and their disposition won by the perfect reindition of the classics Frederic had performed, while women, mostly their wives, ooh-ed and aah-ed, teary-eyed.

Frederic began to play - a simple introduction, a simple progression, simple, easy chords. Almost blues. Almost pop. Almost a rock ballad.

All my life, I have searched for you.

All my life, I have been unsure.

Now, my love, I have found you.

Tell me - was it really true?

Octavia's mouth fell agape as she felt Frederic cast a minute, tiny, imperceptible glance at her - even though his eyes were mostly focused on Fiona, who stood not far from the stage, at the side. At the same side she and Vinyl were.

Easy words, I have never heard.

Easy life, I have never sought.

You escaped, never said a word.

Tell me - what have you ever got?

Vinyl stared at Octavia, her breath quickening, her eyelids twitching, dancing a wild dance, her hands sweaty. She had to stop this! She could not lose Octavia! This bastard - he was singing for her girl! No, now that she had realised the power of a relationship, now that she knew her place in the relationship, she would not let Octavia go! Stupid, ridiculous insecurities of pre-relationship Vinyl! Afraid of losing her? Afraid of letting her go? Afraid of breaking up with her? Never!

Tumble down, bring the truth to me.

Then ascend, so that we'll be free.

Now that you will be here with me

Forever after - tell me, is it true?

"Yes!" Fiona exclaimed, unable to hold her tears, which were now streaming freely upon her cheeks. Frederic smiled and finished the song - just in time for Fiona to climb onto the stage and throw herself into the pianist's embrace. Octavia was convinced that this was a well-planned act. Or not.

The cellist observed calmly as the pianist embraced his woman tightly - but respectfully. No funny business. No kisses, even pecks, not to mention make-out sessions. Yes... This was what she and Vinyl had done wrong. This was what Frederic and Fiona had done right. There was no silence. The audience went wild with excitement. The applause was thunderous. This, here, was not perversion. This, here, was not public indecency. This, here, was just a loving embrace of two people in love. A fine, good-looking man and a radiant woman in a stunning black dress. Yes. This, here, was what the audience wanted to see.

Frederic descended from the stage, holding Fiona's hand, smiling at the audience, mouthing, Thank you every time he passed someone, shaking hands back and forth. Finally, he approached Octavia and Vinyl. Fiona glared at the cellist. Octavia glared at Fiona. Vinyl glared at Frederic. Frederic looked at his pocket watch.

"Frederic, can we have a talk? Alone?" Octavia asked finally, gathering up her courage.

Frederic looked at Fiona, who shrugged simplly. Vinyl fumed. No! No, you can't talk, not to mention alone! You will go home with me, Octavia. You will. Because I want you to. "Sure, Tavi, go ahead." The DJ took a few steps away, still near enough to overhear what the two musicians were saying. Fiona vanished in the crowd of well-dressed women who congratulated her with such a stunning breed.

"I don't have much time, Octavia." Frederic's expression was, as always, unreadable. "I have to talk to a few people and choose a contract that'll suit me well."

But of course you do. Octavia chewed on her lip. "You were playing alone. Where are Harpo and Beauty?"

"They quit," Frederic replied simply. "I thought they would have talked to you already."

No, they haven't. Octavia took a deep breath. Keep it short. No ensemble talk. No performance talk. Focus on the truth of the matter. "I know you love me." Again, a blank expression from the pianist. "I know it, Freddie. All these years, ever since we were children. Now I know. But I... I can't. I'm attached. I'm with Vinyl now." Did that sound like a burden? "I know this is why you are dating Fiona. But you don't know her! She's not the same as she was when we were teenagers! You don't need her, that lying bitch!" Now Octavia knew she was losing it. But she couldn't stop.

However, Frederic stopped her. "Why are you speaking ill of my bride?"

Octavia blinked in shock. "I... Your what?!"

"Not 'what'. 'Who'. I proposed to Fiona two hours ago. And she said yes."

Octavia felt like collapsing on the ground. Still, she stood steadfast.

Frederic carried on. "Have you ever thought, Octavia, that I may in fact have loved Fiona all this time? Have you ever thought that, when she left, I fell in love with you too because you reminded me so much of her? And have you ever thought that, no matter who she was, she is my woman and that I have certain feelings for her? Have you thought, Octavia Philarmonica, that maybe - just maybe - I don't love you any more because I have my Fiona now?"

Octavia did collapse to her knees this time, weak and limp. Why was she reacting in such a way? Why was rejection making her so pathetic? She had her Vinyl, and- And this isn't true. Octavia stood up. "I know you still love me, Frederic. And you're marrying a woman that you don't love. It's the song." Octavia smiled. "I knew you sang it for me. It was aimed at me, not her. It could seem otherwise, but-"

"Maestro Horoshevsky!"

Fransics Pantomino approached the two, shaking hands with the pianist. "Such a brilliant performance!" he congratulated the younger man in a slight, thin accent. "May I talk to you for a moment?"

Frederic smiled. "Even for an hour, Senor Pantomino. I am done here."

With that, the two men walked away, laughing and talking.

Octavia stood, unblinking, looking as Frederic Horoshevsky disappeared in the crowd. Vinyl walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Tavi, are you all right?"

Octavia frowned. "Yes. I... I'm all right." I'm not all right, and you know it.

Vinyl winced. Damn you, Frederic! I will kill you for this someday. You son of a- You! If she doesn't- If she... It's your fault, Frederic Horoshevsky, remember that. "Tavi, I want to talk to you for a moment - in private. It's... important." Her hand made its way to the pocket of her trousers nervously.

Octavia sighed. "I'm sorry, Vinyl. Not now. I want to be alone for a while."

With that, the cellist turned around and walked away from the DJ, from the garden, from Harpo and Beauty, from Fiona, and from Frederic Horoshevsky.

Vinyl's fingers squeezed the box in her pocket painfully as her eyes stared lifelessly before her. It'll pass. It'll still be all right, for the two of us. We'll overcome it. Their relationship would still thrive. But, for now... Vinyl squeezed the box again before taking her hand out of the pocket.

Apparently, the ring would have to wait.

Epilogue

The DJ and The Cellist

Epilogue

***

"That seems to be it."

Vinyl eyed the bags one last time before zipping them to a close. That's it. Two weeks. Not long. Definitely not too long. The DJ looked at the cellist. She could not decipher whatever emotion hid behind those lavender walls. She could not know what her girlfriend was truly thinking - and this was driving her insane. "Tavi, are you angry with me?" she asked desperately. "That I'm going on tour without you?"

Octavia smiled. "Not at all, Vinyl. This was my decision after all."

Yes. Vinyl nodded. This was Octavia's decision. The cellist was working on classical pieces that she could sell, and she... she was a DJ. She was going on tour across Equestria - two weeks, approximately - to spin disks and gather crowds. To earn money for her cellist. Vinyl sighed. "Tavi, can you promise me one thing?" Please, Tavi. Please.

Octavia raised her brow questioningly. "Yes, Vinyl?" She looks so cold, Vinyl mused. She has never looked so cold as now. Or maybe it was just her imagination?

"Can you promise me that you won't meet Frederic while I'm gone?"

Again, Octavia merely lifted a brow. "Vinyl, Frederic and Fiona are gone on their honeymoon. You'll be back sooner than they return."

Vinyl nodded again. That's not the answer I wanted to hear. "Tavi, one more thing." The DJ walked towards the drawer, fishing out the sacred box. "I... That'll be two weeks without you, Tavi. Two hard, impossible weeks." Octavia nodded. "I thought... I know same-sex marriage isn't legal and all, and I... There have been troubles..." You're speaking astray, Vinyl. Again. The DJ opened the box. Octavia gasped slightly. "I just thought... I want you to have this ring. It's a symbol, you know? A ring of... ceaseless devotion, I guess." She took the ring and placed herself on one knee clumsily. "I... Octavia Philarmonica. This ring is for you. I want you to wear it... I want to be with you till the day I die. I'll wear a ring too," she added hastingly. "So that people know that I'm yours and you're mine." Please say yes, Tavi... Or else I'll just go insane completely.

Octavia smiled and offered her ring finger. Vinyl put on the ring, her fingers trembling.

"Thank you, Vinyl." Octavia kissed the DJ gently. "I will always wear the ring."

~The End~