Bottleneck

Chapters

Prologue
Time Moves On
Always

Prologue

Prologue

Octavia was curled up upon the couch in the comfortable confines of her living room. With her legs tucked away under her, and a pillow resting upon her lap, she possessed a warm, large mug of Earl Grey tea where both of her hands were wrapped about, seeking to the purchase of warmth by absorbing the residual heat that escaped the ceramic vessel of her brew. She had been like this, for hours, with a look of apprehension etched deep in her magenta crystalline eyes. The cellist nervously chewed at her lower lip, as her heart painfully ached deep within her chest.

For two years, and six months, she had shared this apartment with Canterlot’s most enigmatic, eccentric; and often at times, the most tomboyish of Disc Jockeys ever to grace the soil of Equestria. By no means was her roommate, Vinyl Scratch, famous. DJ Pon-3 was hardly a household name, but the DJ was most assuredly well known within certain, specific social circles; social circles Octavia hardly had the desire to interact with and purposefully ignored of course, but Vinyl’s name and reputation was perhaps more evidentially infamous, in the eyes of the press.

Not only was the electric two toned blue haired spinner unruly, ill-mannered and nigh on a sexual deviant, but the DJ was also poisoning Octavia’s personal space with her so called horrendous, eardrum splitting ‘music.’

She drunk. She smoked. She often returned in the early hours of the morning in a drunken stupor, stinking of smoke and booze, often crashing out on the living room floor; sometimes the couch, or sprawled out in the hallway on the path to her bedroom, which was annoyingly opposite Octavia’s own.

Despite all of these misgivings and flaws, Octavia finds herself enjoying the woman’s company, even though she was a stark comparison to herself, and the perfect model to everything Octavia found uncivilized and disgusting. But somehow, in the two years she had known her, Octavia never once questioned why she put up with it all. She never once despised the DJ, even if Octavia had to drag her drunken ass to the toilet to be sick, or to even wash the poor woman when she had thrown up over herself.

Not once did she complain, and not once had she properly scolded the spinner about her delinquent attitude. They were both young, and while Octavia felt she was far beyond the need to go out and drink the night away, the cellist also sympathized and understood with Vinyl’s creed.

Gotta make the most of it while you can, you know, Tavie. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow I’d be dead! Might as well have a fricken blast before I kick the bucket, eh?

The words of Vinyl echoing within her head, caused Octavia to jolt from her thoughts, and take note of her surroundings. The clock on the wall, next to the window in front of the couch, showed that it was almost 5:33AM. She had been sitting here for almost two hours, and she hardly noticed the passage of time.

Exhausted magenta orbs of worry, looked down at the now long cold mug of tea, and she lifted it for a sip. She did not care if the contents were now tepid at best, for she needed the caffeine, and the tiny drop of liquid courage she had added to loosen up her stiff, and nervous demeanour. Not a second passed as she swashed down the tea, did she make quite the grimace.

“Maybe I ought to microwave it, just a bit,” the heavy Canterlot accent muttered, as she moved to unfurl her legs from under her, while she moved a hand to grip at the parting of her black dressing gown, pinning the two folds close over her body.

The very moment she had decided to move, did she hear the front door tremble. She swung her gaze to the right of her, and eyed the front door that led into the joined living space of their small city apartment, with a perfectly arched brow.

At first, she thought it was just the building settling, for some times at night she can hear all manner of strange oddities from knocks in the floorboards to the creak of doorframes. It was a natural phenomenon, but it was something that still unnerved her. She hated old buildings, especially this rickety, down trodden apartment block.

However, combined with the oh-so familiar jangle of keys, and the failed attempts of unlocking the door, Octavia surmised that yes, once again, the DJ on the other end of that door, and was blatantly drunk. She always struggled to find the right key, and always struggled to insert the key into the damn lock. Octavia further predicted that the jockey had not taken off her stupid sun glasses, which probably did not help with the whole situation.

Still somewhat leant forward on the couch, undecided if she should stand, finally, the door swung open, unceremoniously crashing into the wall, and allowing the stumbling jockey into the living room.

Octavia frowned, as she inspected the spinner, her gaze of worry and apprehension giving way to a disapproving, almost annoyed expression, her lips thinning as a pang of… Something, awoke within her. Perhaps it was her lack of her sleep, and perhaps it was the fact she had been worrying all night about her friend, but Octavia no longer cared for her usual and well-practiced facade of aloof tranquility and elegance.

This was not meant to be a pleasant conversation, and it took Octavia months, to muster the courage for this intervention.

Silently, she studied the taller woman, adorned in her usual array of ripped jeans, white tank, and heavily worn, blue and black chequered skater shoes, to which Vinyl liked to call her ‘hip and cool stage look.’ Even though she looked like that almost all of the time.

Vinyl had not even seen Octavia, for the olive skinned woman was sitting in the dark, and was far too bleary eyed to notice. Closing the door behind her as quietly as she could – as to not wake Octavia and ignoring the fact she practically erupted through the door in such a fanfare it would had done so anyway, Vinyl sighed, and pressed her forehead against the now closed front entrance, groaning as the room mercilessly spun about her like a centrifuge.

What a party that was! It was perhaps her biggest turnout yet – the club was practically brimming with a sea of dancers, getting down to her wubs and partying on right through the hours of the morning. It was yet another successful night, and DJ Pon-3 was still abuzz with adrenaline, excitement, and above all else, she was completely smashed. How many shots did she have? Seven? Eight? And what the hell was she drinking anyway?

A triumphant, drunken smirk grew over her blue lipstick lips, as she turned finally from the door, only to start at the sudden appearance of Octavia Melody standing before her in her dressing gown, looking none too pleased. “H-Hey!” She slurred, “Ooocty? Whadda’ya… You know?” She could not hardly formulate a coherent sentence, and instead, raked her sun glassed gaze down over Octavia’s body, quite openly, “Doin’ up so late?” Then, she realized, looking quite embarrassed, “Aww, shizz, did I…” She hiccupped, “Did I~waake, yaa?”

Octavia said nothing. She merely kept her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze never unwavering from Vinyl’s face, nor did she even utter a word. If looks could kill, Vinyl knew she would had been blasted through the door in a heartbeat if the diminutive olive skinned woman had the strength.

“List’n, ‘Tavi—”

“No,” Octavia sighed, the single breath shaken, her words laced with a forced authority as a sad expression seemed to overtake the previous, simmering anger a moment ago, “You listen, Vinyl.”

“Look, ya kno’ can we jus’, talk in the morning…” She moved to brush past Octavia, “ ‘M really, reaaallly tired, n’ I just need’a—” She was stopped, by a firm grip on her forearm. The jockey looked at the smaller woman, with a frown, not appreciating the rather unfriendly gesture. “Tav, please. M’ tired and I…” She lifted a set of fingers to reach under her glasses, and moved to press against closed lids as she swayed there upon the spot.

“Vinyl, please, just listen to what I have to say.” The cellist pleaded, moving to put herself before the DJ, her hand still gripping the other woman to keep her in place. She was hardly strong, but gripped with as much force as she could to put forward the severity of the situation. Often, it took a rather direct approach to get Vinyl to understand something was wrong.

“Octy, I gotta really, really, got t’ go bed. I’m smashed, ya kno’w-awright? Probably not ‘member much, if ya wanna talk like right now...”

The cellist steeled her resolve, as she felt her chest constrict. “This cannot wait till the morning because we both know our schedules never allow us to see each other much at all on weekdays. We are going to have this conversation right now, because Vinyl, I’m worried about you.” Her voice was tender and friendly, but she could not help but look somewhat annoyed at the jockey’s response. “I’m your friend, Vinyl Scratch, and your drinking is getting out of control. I will not idly sit by while my friend ruins herself.” She wrinkled her nose a touch, the stench of booze practically invading Octavia’s senses.

Vinyl, looked completely flabbergasted, “Wha-but…” A stupid grin formed upon her lips, as she shook her head, “Don’ be stupid, M’fine. Jus’ a little drunk, thast all…”

“Scratch, you can barely speak or form coherent sentences let alone try and convince me that you are okay.” With her voice raising and irritation quaking her brow, Octavia pressed forward a step, gripping the arm tighter still, “Every night, you come home inebriated to the point where you can barely walk. You stink of booze, smoke, and—” She snatched the DJ’s glasses from off the woman’s face.

“Wha-HEY!” Vinyl watched as Octavia simply threw her prized glasses onto the floor, shocked, and visibly so. “Wha’ gives, Tavi?!” She shouted, right into her best friends face, eyes ablaze with irrational rage.

Octavia felt a sudden pressure behind her eyes, as she stared through the darkness at the DJs once beautiful, crimson eyes. At this present time, all Octavia could feel rather than the usual sensation of herself getting lost in those pools of molten magma, was pity. Tears tinkered at the corners of the cellist eyes, as she shook her head, aghast at how bloodshot Vinyl’s eyes were, and how wide her pupils were. “A-and you’re completely wired, aren’t you?”

Indignant, the DJ, turned her head away, avoiding the cellist’s question by simply changing the subject, “Let go me, Tavi. I wanna go t’bed.”

“Vinyl! Please look at me in the eyes and tell me what it is you are doing to yourself?” She gripped her other hand onto the sleeve of the DJ’s tank, “You were never like this when we first met. I knew you were outgoing, and… ‘Partied hard and played hard’ – as you so eloquently put it, but, Vinyl, don’t you see you are just spiralling out of control?” The cellist shook her head, as tears of anxiety streamed down her features, her exhausted state crumbling the mental barriers Octavia erects to often hide her true emotions from the world.

The DJ fell silent, as her hands worked to bury them into her trouser pockets.

“If this is all about Lyra—”

Something snapped inside of Vinyl at the mere mention of the name. She swung her head about to smoulder a look of pure distaste at the other woman, which caused Octavia to cringe. “Don’ go there, Tavi—”

Octavia, concerned for her friend more than anything else, pushed on. She had to get Vinyl to see that what she was doing, was never going to bring the woman back. “Vinyl, I know you. I know you like to hide yourself up in your rebellious disguise, because I know deep down there is a fragile heart, beating away inside of that chest of yours. I know what Lyra did was wrong, but you have to understand she has moved on from you, and I think it is time you moved on from her—”

“L-Let go of me, Octy.”

“You can’t go destroying yourself over a woman that betrayed you! If you have problems, then come to me and talk about them! Don’t go drowning yourself or taking Celestia knows what!”

“Let, go of me, Octavia.” Vinyl warned.

Octavia’s grip only tightened on both arm, and sleeve, “I’m afraid one day I am going to find you dead because of—”

Never, ever, once in her entire life had Vinyl ever felt such rage towards someone she called a friend. Never had she felt so small, and never had she felt so ashamed of herself. Octavia hit all the right notes, and it reverberated deep within the jockey’s heart that it simply shattered what was left. Inside she screamed, as she clenched her eyes shut, the image of Lyra swirling amongst the chaos of her drug induced high and drunken stupor, garnering a self-loathing and sorrow beyond her control.

By the time she had ripped herself back to reality, the walls of her world would come crashing around her, leaving nothing more than ruins of her former life, in its wake. Confusion washed over her as she regarded her raised, aching fist, then drew her wild eyed attention to the trembling, weeping olive skinned woman, below her.

Vinyl was straddling the cellist, pinning her to the ground with one hand wrapped around the woman’s neck.

“V-Vinyl, p-p-please s-st-stop…” Octavia whimpered, her magenta orbs oozing with terror and pain, as her strangled voice barely made it beyond her lips. The blue ring around Octavia’s puffing right eye glaringly obvious as to what had just happened.

A croaked whisper issued forth from the blue lips of the DJ, “Octy…” Unfurling her fist, the jockey stood up from the cowering visage of her friend, and stumbled backwards until her back cracked against the wall beside the front door. “I… I didn’t mean…”A look of horror now too adorned her face, the jockey unsure as to how it happened, or what, had happened. In a literal sense, all she saw was red, and that much was evident by her aching fist and Octavia’s wounded eye. To which she had little to no memory of doing.

Sliding down the wall, Vinyl moved to curl her fingers into her two toned electric blue hair. Despite the alcohol coursing through her veins, and the dugs to which alighted her mind in its gentle numbness, she had suddenly sobered up, as she watched her best friend curl up on the floor into the fetal position, and weep into her trembling palms.

Author's Note

My first fic, and I have no idea where I am going with it. It came into my head, and I just had to write it down.

I accept hate, flame, corrections and other such mediums. Anything to improve this idea, and its continued evolution.

Time Moves On

“The heart was made to be broken.”
― Oscar Wilde

Time Moves On

The electric alarm clock pierced through the chilled morning air in such a fanfare and with such a shrill it practically jerked the sleeping figure into a confused panic. Her arms and legs flailed for a fraction of a second, wrapping themselves tighter still in the awkward bindings of the thin bed sheet that ensnared the electric blue haired woman in the comfortable and hypnotizing early morning warmth.

As one arm finally shook free of the constricting bed sheet, a hand swiftly extended long slender fingers and an exposed palm to slam down heavily upon the annoying device perched upon a low, bedside cabinet not once, not twice, but numerous times trying desperately to get the damn thing to stop. When that failed she went as far as to throwing the clock across the room to finally kill the noise. It crashed against the wall the batteries came loose, scattering to be lost within the sea of various discarded clothing items that littered floor.

At least the noise stopped.

“I hope I didn’ break it…” She groaned lazily as she made the slow, painful process of fully awakening herself by rubbing her fingertips against her closed eyelids in gradual, wide circles while toned legs thrashed pathetically at the bed sheet to release its capture from about her person. It fell into a pile messily at the soles of her feet, revealing her half naked form wearing nothing more than an all too revealing red thong.

“Urgh...”The pale skinned woman whined at the ray of dazzling sunshine that pierced through the crack in the curtains overlooking her from the foot of the bed; an arm instinctual moving up to block Celestia’s bright rays from her sight.

As much as she loved the Sun Princess, why couldn’t she raise the damn sun a little bit later than usual for once? Surely no sane woman would commit herself like clockwork every day, for thousands of years, without one minor slip-up?

No rest for the wicked, she thought with a growing frown. Best get my hot ass out of bed. With that in mind, she leant up and grabbed out at the discarded blue vest she had worn about the cottage last night. The heavily creased state of it an indication that she had indeed slept on it. Which was rather obvious, considering her shapely rear was practically sitting on half of it at the present moment.

Once prised from under her, she slipped the garment on and swung her legs to plant her feet firmly upon the lush white carpet-no...wait. Something was wrong here. Her toes wiggled as an icy wetness assaulted the underside of her feet and between the wiggling digits. “What now?”

Looking down between her legs, evidently confused as to the odd sensation, she spotted the tipped bottle of red wine just poking out from underneath her bed and the rather ominous looking deep red patch that had stained the immediate vicinity of the open vessel which subsequently, she had stepped in.

Vinyl groaned aloud in protest, which released itself into a crescendo of a single worded shout that pierced the silence of her cottage. “Fuck!” The sight of the stained carpet alone had destroyed any desire she had to get out of bed. Combining that with a light disorientation and the unusual buzzing headache lurking right behind her eyes, it was a clear indication that she was indeed, yet again, hung over.

Weakly, she fell back onto the bed, her arms out wide either side of her; having discarded the thought of getting up for the day. Maybe I should just spend the day in bed? Yeah. That sounds awesome. Fuck this shit. Her hands lazily moved along her length to massage her aching temples while her crimson, half lidded eyes stared up at the ceiling above her.

“That’s going to stain…” She muttered, her thoughts returning to the spilt wine. But worse still, what plagued her more so was the nagging voice now inside of her head. The voice she has had for the past four years; in the guise of a single woman that always drew a misty eyed glaze from the former DJ.

You were never like this when we first met.

Her tongue flicked out across her lips, the neon blue tongue bar raking across her chapped lips.

I’m afraid one day I am going to find you dead.

The sweet taste of the wine, still upon her stained lips, caused her to grimace.

V-Vinyl, p-p-please s-st—

The former disc spinner found her breath hitching in her throat as her teeth nipped upon her lower lip. She shook her head, restraining the usual daily bout of self-loathing welling up inside of her, and simply took a sharp intake of breath through her nose in an attempt to steady her emotions and to prevent any of those tears from escaping.

Forcing herself to prop upright upon her elbows in a second attempt of getting out of bed, her eyes stared emotionlessly out at the open bedroom door that led into the chaotic mess of her living room. The room was possessed by all kinds of discarded microwave meal cartons, empty cans of beer, and a full ashtray of cigarette ends balancing precariously on the arm of the only piece of furniture she owned; an old, leather, squeaky couch that stunk like dried beer and socks.

Silence befell her once again, her crimson orbs glistening over with unshed tears as she blinked them back, her eyes closing, the DJ listening carefully to her surroundings. Maybe the gentle sounds of nature and the clamor of Ponyville would soothe her troubled mind.

The birds sung merrily outside, which was rather pleasant for the DJs nerves. She always did like the countryside; it calmed her. The air was fresh and the scenery was breath-taking, not a single towering building in sight. Well, maybe if you ignore Ponyville Library from that equation. But it was still a tree, and therefore pleasant to look at.

The town however, was not without its idle hustle and bustle. The problem with living in the middle of such a small town was that it meant that everyone had to pass by her small cottage, which was pretty much right smack bang in the middle of the market. She was beginning to wonder if Fluttershy had the right idea living at the edge of town, close to the Everfree Forest. Vinyl figured no one ever really bothered the skittish woman all the way out there.

As she finally drew her thoughts from troubling times for the first time in hours, her peaceful meditation of mindless pondering was broken by a frantic knock at the door. Vinyl’s face morphed instantly into displeasure at the sudden disturbance; the horrendous noise shattering her realm of self-induced confinement and tranquility.

She did not want to deal with people today, and that much was evident when she hardly made a move to answer the door. Silently hoping that whoever it was would get the hint and go away, she fell from her leaning position and laid back down. Normally, it worked. However… the knocks only continued, growing in fervor.

Suddenly resolute in the fact that today she was not going to have her own way, she once again moved to slip from the bed and once again; much to her dismay, slapped both of her feet back onto the wet, red patch of spilt wine that had soaked into the carpet. Vinyl released an annoyed growl, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling as irritation trembled a slender, finely plucked brow, “For fuck sakes… What else can go wrong today…”

Another string of knocks spurred Vinyl into action, her voice raising to let the assailant know of her disgruntled disposition, “Alright! ALRIGHT! Hold your fuckin’ horses!” Stepping over the mess that was her living room Vinyl made for the front door in record time, “I swear to Celestia's sun butt pal, if you’re gonna try and sell me something I am gonna shove your merch’ so far up your ass…” Hastily undoing the deadbolt, Vinyl swiftly swung open the door far more violently than socially acceptable, spilling in a dazzling beam of sunlight to brighten up the shady state of the cottage, momentarily blindingly the former DJ.

The very moment Vinyl’s crimson eyes adjusted, which only took mere seconds, she was graced with the visage of a young woman who stood before her holding a small pile of letters close to her chest. Almost instantly Vinyl’s face fell into an embarrassed shade, her mouth opening up to state her apology as shocked recognition came into her eyes.

“Ditzy-“

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” The diminutive blonde haired woman with a similar pale complexion to Vinyl inquired looking suddenly very worried, and very guilt ridden. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry I just… I tried ringing you… B-but I dropped my mobile on the ground this morning when I was doing my rounds and now it won’t ring anymore.”

Vinyl sucked in a deep breath and allowed a genuine smile to break out across her lips as she sighed away her frustrations. Raising a hand up, she scratched idly into her mane of dual toned electric blue, a light blush garnishing her cheeks as she lifted a finger into the air to silent any further excuses from the wall-eyed beauty. “I’m sorry Ditz, I didn’ know it was you.”

“Oh, that’s okay Vinyl. I know you can get grouchy in the mornings!” Ditzy smiled brightly at the DJ, even as the disc spinner frowned at such a truthful observation. “Oh yeah, I’ve brought you your mail! Through rain or shine, always on time!” The blonde chirped cheerfully, her head tilting to one side, causing those golden locks to cascade down one side of her head.

If we weren’t good friends, I think I would had fucked her brains out by now. She’s just too damn cute for her own good.

That trail of thought got the jockey arching a brow as she received the letters, quickly scanning through the pile. She wrinked her nose at the obvious amount of bills amongst the list. Vinyl threw them aside, joining the rest of the rubble upon the floor just behind her.

“Thanks girl, but why didn’t you just push them through the letterbox?” The DJs eyes scanned the wall-eyed woman’s attire, noting that she was not in her usual uniform, but dressed rather plainly in a grey, sleeveless dress with high heels to match. “Also, Ditz, if that right there is the new uniform for the mail dudettes then I am all for it. Very sexy... though… I much prefer you in the normal uniform blondie; much hotter. I do love a woman in uniform, and most definitely with that cute little hat of yours; it’s totally shway.” Vinyl grinned slyly, winking at the now blushing mailwoman.

Ditzy shifted on her feet nervously, smiling bashfully at the playful gesture and tone coming from the much taller woman. She was used to it by now, but somehow Vinyl still managed to illicit such an embarrassed response from her. The mailwoman flushed beet red, and averted her golden eyes away, nibbling at her lower lip as she spoke. “I was off duty two hours ago, which is why I am not in my uniform.”

Vinyl blinked, clearly confused. “Two hours ago? What time is it?” She craned her neck forward to peer up at the sky and made a noise of dreaded realization as she spotted the sun very high in the clear blue skies.

“It’s about two in the afternoon.” Ditzy stated with a giggle. A giggle that was honey to Vinyl’s ears. “You’re really out of it today, huh?”

An infectious grin broke over the former DJs lips, generally pleased to have the bubbly, happy-go-lucky woman in her company as she stepped aside, holding out a hand to let Ditzy in. “Well then, since I only just dragged my lazy ass out of bed a few minutes ago how about some coffee? I’m gagging for a cup. Or ten.”

“Oh! Sure! But could you… maybe wear something a bit less…” Ditzy avoided her eyes from looking too far down Vinyl’s waistline, “You know? Not that I mind or anything. We’re both girls and everything; It’s just I don’t think I could-”

“Keep ya eyes from ravaging my sexy ass and legs?” Vinyl interjected, “Damn, there goes my plan to seduce one of my childhood friends.”

“W-wha! N-no! Don’t put words in my mouth, and stop teasing me! You know I don’t like it when you do that.” Ditzy covered her mouth with a hand, restraining yet another giggle, trying to feint anger but failing miserably. “You’re such a bad girl. You’re going to get in trouble one day saying those things to people.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah, heard it all before-blah-blah-so anyway if you didn’ like it, why in the hell did you just giggle like a little girl? And are you comin’ in for that coffee or what? I ain’t standin’ here for much longer. I’m practically on display outside in my fricken panties in early autumn freezing my tits off for all of Ponyville to see.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Ditzy exclaimed with a worried frown to Vinyl as she slipped by the woman to enter the cottage, quite happy to step over the mess spread chaotically across the floor. Ditzy was seemingly used to it. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold – I’ll go make some of that coffee for you, so why don’t you go and put something warmer on?” She was already in the conjoined kitchen leading off from the living room well before Vinyl could close the door and turn around to stop her.

The last time Ditzy tried making her coffee the blond had broken two of her favourite mugs.

Vinyl stretched, her arms moving up beyond her head as she released a long, loud yawn, relenting in allowing the wall-eyed beauty to go about her coffee making business. “Yeah-yeah, sure, sure… In a minute. Just need to sit down for a while and get my bearings.”

“And thanks for inviting me in, I need to talk to you about some stuff anyhow!”

“Stuff? What kinda stuff?” Vinyl suspiciously glanced at the kitchen entrance, wincing as she heard a clatter of mugs being moved about. Silently she prayed that she would have at least one mug left by the end of the onslaught.

“Pinkie Pie asked me to speak with you about DJing one of her parties. She would have come here herself to do it, but apparently she needed to do something important… with laughing gas. Not sure what that's about. So she asked me since she knew I was coming over today and…“ There’s a pause from the kitchen. “Um, Vinyl?”

The jockey had just collapsed onto the couch, relaxing into with yet another stretch, and yawned; her fingers moving to itch the side of her neck, “Yeah?”

“I-uh…”

“You-uh-what, Derpinator?”

“I-Is the coffee machine supposed to smoke like that?”

“Smo-Oh for the love of—Damn it D!” Vinyl sprung up from the couch and practically ran into the kitchen, “Are you trying to burn my fucking house down?!”

“Hellllllooo~Equestria! Aaaaand good afternoon you lovely people! This is 195.5 Canterlot FM Radio and this is your host for the time being, Dynamic Wave! Welcome to one whole hour of the greatest pop songs of all time. Have you got an opinion on what you think is the greatest pop song of all time? Visit our website at canterlotradio.com, click the link in the top left hand corner to join in the IRC chat, and talk to me live and give me your choices and what you think is the greatest pop song of all time! Now, let’s get to it and start this crazy train and boy, do have we a show for you this afternoon because we are going to kick it off with an interview by none other than the rising star of the pop world; the so-called rogue classical musician, Octavia Melody! Welcome Miss Melody, we are so glad you can join us here today.”

“That is quite alright, thank you for having me Mr. Wave, it is a pleasure to be on the show. I am quite a big fan.”

“Thank you, Miss Melody, you are too kind.”

“Not at all. You make a great contribution to daytime radio.”

“Gah! Stop, Miss Melody my head; so I am told by my superiors, is quite big enough as it is! Now enough about me, let us talk about you because that is why you are here after all.”

“I’d be delighted to, Mr Wave.”

“We have so many questions not only from myself but from your many, many fans that wrote in over the past week when they heard you would be appearing on the show today. Unfortunately with the sheer amount of letters that did arrive through our letterbox, we could only pick a few to ask you as we know you have a tight schedule, and a gig this evening to prepare for.”

“That is quite correct. I will be playing tonight at the Canterlot Sports Arena; at seven-thirty. I simply can’t wait to perform. Furthermore, if would be acceptable with the studio, I would like to take the fan mail with me. I do love my supporters and I do make time to read each and every letter when I can.”

“There we have it folks – tickets are still on sale now and you can find them on our website – but hurry up! There are not that many tickets left so I am told by the tiny voice in my ear, so get to it, and don’t miss your chance to see Octavia Melody, tonight! So-anyway, Miss Melody, let us kick off with the first question as I can see your agent glaring at me from over your shoulder to hurry up with the questions. Now… This first one comes in from one Melodyfan1287, and she says, ‘I am in love with your fusion of the classical and pop style, and I really want to know what the process is behind making a song.’”

“Oh my, that is quite a tough one.”

“So, how do you do it Miss Melody? How do you start such a process?”

“How do I explain it…? I always find it difficult discussing about my songwriting methods, but… I suppose under most circumstances a majority of my songs are composed and conceived while on the road. Often at times when I am thinking of a melody that really sticks out in my mind, I hum it, and then later if the melody is still there; possessing a real kind of niche, I often develop and translate the melody from my mind to the cello, pretty much soon after.”

“So your inspiration for your songs is pretty hard to explain?”

“Kind of, Mr Wave... To continue, after I attain this melody I commit such pieces to memory. Of course once I return to the studio in Manehatten the talented Neon Lights and myself go about recording the various melody pieces I have invented, locked up in my head, picking and choosing between each take, choosing what we both deem the ‘best of the bunch’ as it were. Sometimes we combine the melodies together; sometimes we chop bits here and there – of course the process from then on is mostly adding layers upon layers upon the original singular melody to create a song that is worthy to be on the album.”

“Speaking of albums and experimentation of melodies, on your big debut album, Electric Blue, there was a lot of diversity there and a lot of melodious riffs going on. A lot of genres were mixed together from Rap to Metal to even Dance. It was one of the reasons why people sat up and listened to you… it was unique and different to what everyone else was doing. Where did such influences come from to create such a blend?”

“… While in the Royal Canterlot Orchestra, I was… subjected to various forms of music by simply opening up myself to the simple fact that music should not be defined by genre. I believe music can be enjoyed by anyone, no matter their preferences. My debut album was made so diverse because I believe, deep down in my heart that someone who loves Death Metal for example, could sit down and listen to a song on that album that has a blend of Classical and Rap and enjoy it for what it is; a well-constructed song and worthy of note.”

“But ever since you started to blend these popular genres together you’ve continued to adopted that classical orchestral style you were raised upon. I take it that the cello and the other instruments used throughout that album were all acoustic and not electric?”

“That is correct. All of my songs feature a true cello – my cello – and various other orchestral instruments, in which the Royal Canterlot Orchestra kindly offer their support, and I can almost guarantee we will never use synthesized mockeries for a single piece of classical instrument.”

“Does that include electric instruments?”

“To be brutally honest, Mr Wave, I cannot even bring myself to use an electric cello. I feel… more connected to an acoustic instrument, and more in control of how it sounds when not plugged into an amplifier or mixing desk. All in all, I suppose it is just merely a matter of personal preference. There would be just too many variables for me to take into account that could potentially mar the sound quality of a naturally beautiful construct that is an analogue instrument when compared to the electric versions.”

“On to the second question, and this one is yet another difficult one. MrStallionOfCanterhot –”

“Oh my…”

“Anyways, he asks, and not surprisingly, ‘Are you single?’

“Heh, I’m afraid Mr. Canterhot that I am indeed single, and am saving myself for a special –”

Bon Bon twisted the volume fader of the old radio she had stashed and hidden away behind the counter until a resounding click indicated that the off position had been achieved. Regarding the empty state of her candy shop with a once over of turquoise eyes the confectioner rushed with a chaos of clicking heels from behind the tending side of her shop, and out into the expanse of no man’s land before the front entrance.

Once there she turned over the sign that hung in the window from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’

“Okay Bon Bon, just relax.” She heaved a heavy sigh between her lips, “You can’t go to the train station like you’ve missed her terribly OR overly excited at the prospect that she is finally moving from Canterlot to live with you here in Ponyville under the same roof!” She giggled her words with glee; unable to physically come up for air during her blind elation.

The sheer excitement was bubbling over to form across her lips the shape of a goofy, lovesick smile while she regarded the reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her plain black skirt and then her pink cardigan followed by tugging hurriedly upon her knee socks so that both were sufficiently covering enough of her legs. “Do I look good?” She took a step back; looking down at herself. “Is this desperate? Do I look desperate? Maybe the socks are too childish. Or plain? Am I plain looking? What am I thinking…? I know she doesn’t mind how I look but… I just can’t help myself – I need to impress her. I want her to swoon when she sees me.”

Wait a minute. Who am I trying to convince here?

Two toned bubble gum pink and dark blue coloured hair bounced with each and every movement she made as she inspected herself frantically; her fingertips finally reaching up into the dual coloured locks. “Does my hair look good? Damn it, my fringe won’t stay where I want it – oh, oh! What is that smell? Is that me? Does my breath smell?” Bon Bon took no chances, she breathed into an open palm and sniffed loudly several times against it.

“I can’t tell!” She exclaimed as she shuffled across the floor in her high heels to the left of the shop; looking to dip a hand into one of the many open lidded jars displayed upon shelf showcasing her handmade candy. “This ought to do it.” Taking out a mint, she plopped it until her mouth and noisily sucked at the hard candy; returning to her original position at the front door. Once there, Bon Bon found herself staring into the turquoise eyes of her own reflection.

“Just calm down Bon. Lyra hates it when you fuss too much. And she is going to especially hate it that I cleaned the upstairs apartment from top to bottom just to make sure everything is perfect for her big moving in day.” Bon Bon smiled at herself; just so happening to glance down at the dainty silver watch around her exposed wrist.

“Oh crap! The train is going to be here in ten minutes!” She squeaked, “I best be going!” Rushing over to the counter, she leant over it to snatch up a small purple handbag hiding back there. Hoisting it up she turned and slung it over her shoulder as she made a quick and hasty exit for Ponyville Train Station.

Author's Note

I am sorry if nothing too terribly exciting happens in the opening chapters, for I really want to expand on this little world I am creating, and really give a try and focus on character development over the course of time, which I have never truly done so before.

Much love to all, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. /)

Always

“The train on Platform B is the 3:58 Canterlot Cross-Country service heading towards Dodge Junction, and is ready to depart. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Please mind the doors. Please mind the closing doors.”

The drone of the station’s automated tannoy system was voiced by a pleasant and rather husky sounding Canterlotian accented woman; announcing quite clearly to the only occupant at the small countryside station that the train the mint and white streaked haired woman had just alighted from was ready to leave onwards to its next destination.

No turning back now, Lyra. Say goodbye to the big city and say hello to peace, quiet, country air… and mind numbing boredom.

Mere seconds into her uncertain thoughts, the doors of the four carriages slid to a close; a loud ear cringing alarm indicating a warning to keep well away as the train shuddered into a slow silent advance before clanking away upon the tracks. The massive engine at the front released its full powered hissing roar; hauling its cargo of passengers away in a plume of dust and hot air, laced with the nose trickling scent of diesel that rushed along behind it.

Golden eyes of apprehension watched on as the train meandered away into the distance, disappearing around a sharp bend into a far off valley minutes later. Then, all too suddenly, a deafening silence permeated the station, a meagre breeze the only disturbance as the invisible force calmly whisked its way across the platform kicking up grains of dust, dragging dead leaves from the surrounding trees. A stray page of a newspaper skittered about in its unseen grasp, pleasantly warding away the horrid stench of hot air that spewed from the belly of the departed metal beast, and replacing it with the crisp, wet aroma of country life within the fall just after a minor rainfall.

“Well Heartstrings, you’re finally here,” she announced to herself with a sigh, turning with a pair of hands to idly place upon her hips as she regarded Ponyville Station’s rather empty indoor lobby through a large window. “Jeez, it’s like a ghost town here,” she grumbled as she took several steps back from the structure and tilted her gaze up to the small clock tower poking out from the centre of the station, frowning rather deeply at the displayed time.

“She’s late. She’s always late. Why am I always the one on time when I am apparently the more—” she made motions with her fingers either side of her head denoting quotation marks as she attempted her best, though mockingly terrible, Bon Bon impersonation, “rebellious, lazy and unpunctual one…” She lifted a hand up to point at the clock tower in an accusing manner, as if it were the source of evil in Equestria, “I mean come on Bon, you’re already almost twenty minutes late... Someone’s getting a spanking later and it ain’t going to be me!”

Lyra flushed red at her rather open, somewhat personal, promise; her head twisting side to side to double check that no one had heard her monologue. Fortunately, for Bon’s and her sake, she was still alone.

Lyra sighed away her frustrations and thoughts of her hand firmly making contact with Bon’s rump, though that telling blush hardly wavering from her cheeks as the thought secretly persisted. She turned to regard the large suitcase filled with all of her earthly possessions; a hand running up through her messily styled, chin length, freshly cropped hair as she regarded what laid next to it. An oddly shaped, somewhat half-moon carry case that contained her pride and joy, her lyre, contained safely within a hard and padded protective shell designed specifically for housing her chosen instrument.

Crossing her arms over chest, the golden eyed woman frowned at it as she voiced her thoughts, “I know I have directions to Bon’s sweet shop from here, but there is no way I can carry all this by myself,” she paused, and then lifted a ring pierced brow, “Well, I could…. but I think I’ll just wait here for her to show up and run the guilt trip on her and get her to help me at the very least.” A moment of realisation struck her; a mischievous grin swiftly spreading across her lips as she glanced about the platform one last time.

Talking to herself was a habit of hers. Lyra could not help but verbally announce whatever it was that was going on inside of her brain. It seemed the filter from thought to speech was near non-existent, and it often got her into all kinds of trouble. To Lyra, it was her greatest of virtues. To others? It just made her seem that little bit awkward to be with. A woman with little to no inhibition to call out bullshit when she saw it.

“And since she isn’t here right now, being so late and all…” Lyra knelt down to the large suitcase and moved to unzip the small front pocket where smaller items could be stored separately from the main compartment. With a frantic fiddle inside the pocket she withdrew a lighter and placed it between her teeth while she dug around the pocket a second time, expertly maneuvering a cigarette out of the packet hidden there, and wedged the stick behind her ear as she closed the zipper.

Lyra had given up smoking, or so Bon Bon thought. The truth of the matter was, at least in her eyes, Lyra could not help it. Having smoked since her teens, during her most rebellious of years, it was not as easy to give up as Bon Bon had made it out to be. Sure, she lasted a week or so without having one or two… but it drove her completely insane every single day. It made her grouchy and, if at all possible, even more sluggish in her actions. Not even the pick me up of several cups of coffee could smooth over the edge of her severe crash and penultimate cold turkey.

Today, alone and without her conscious in the form of her lover, she could resist no longer. Lyra was tired from the travel, and not to mention she sat next to a man that simply reeked of nicotine like the devil of temptation he was. Her urges had won her over and she was going to indulge herself unashamedly. So what if Bon Bon caught her? She was her own woman, and she was going to do with her body as she saw fit.

Licking her lips and procrastinating no longer, she placed the cigarette into her mouth and lit up.

The first inhalation? Lyra almost shuddered as the smoke filled her mouth, then her throat and finally her lungs. She plucked the cigarette from her lips after what seemed like an eternity, and simply sighed out the curling blue-grey smoke from between slightly parted lips. “… Oh yeeaaahh. That hits the spot.”

Lyra was not quite sure why Bon Bon was so against her smoking. It was not like it was going to kill her, was it? Well… technically it could, Lyra thought, but that was something she considered part and parcel of something that could make you feel so good. Addiction never came without its price and funny enough, when it came to Bon Bon and Lyra’s relationship, something similar could be said.

After all, Lyra gave up the city life to move to this backwater town practically in the middle of the countryside, leaving the late night parties, social drinking, great restaurants and her friends behind to which Lyra adored for most of her life, all for the love of one woman. One attractive, amazing woman, Lyra had to admit. Bon Bon was perhaps the greatest single thing that has ever happened to her in her entire life. Bon Bon was Lyra’s greatest of addictions to which she prayed a cure would never be found. She was smitten by her, and would do anything for her.

Such thoughts brought a frown to her face as she glanced at the cigarette, a smidge of guilt gracing her features as she watched the stick burn. She’s going to kill me if she finds out. Better perfume the hell up before she gets here once I finish… I swear, this will be my last one.

There were many regrets that weighted the mint haired woman down; the cigarette she was partaking in just one of many. Lyra knew she had to grow up sooner or later; while she was single, wild and unchained Lyra was a self-destructive force of hormones and youth; right up until three years ago. All that changed in that one fateful morning when she bumped into, quite literally, the woman of her dreams; despite being resigned at the time to be single and free to do what she wanted, when she wanted.

With such a value on life Lyra had to work very hard to get herself, and more awkwardly enough, Bon Bon into a relationship considering she was not exactly batting for the same team; as it were at the time. It took one and a half years for Bon Bon to relent to Lyra’s advances, and Lyra would be damned now if they went back to that lonely long distant relationship, where one lived in Canterlot stubbornly refusing to leave her hometown out of pointless adoration for city life while the other lived in Ponyville working at her own business looking to produce a stable life.

The outcome was a no brainer when it boiled down to it. Lyra loved her sweetie dearly and could no longer bare being apart from her a second longer.

Which is why I’m in the middle of nowheresville right now. Good job, Lyra. You sure pick the one you’d do anything for.

During her thoughts Lyra had zoned out of the world around her; entirely focused on the memories of the past few years with a woman she rarely saw once every two weeks. The long distance relationship a true testament of not only her admiration and love for Bon Bon, but also a test of her own resolve. A test against the demons of temptation that had ruined her previous relationships. Relationships that all ended in disaster, through no fault but her own.

At that departing thought Lyra’s smile dissipated as she suckled upon the cigarette, casually exhaling the plumes as she muttered to herself. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m right for her…” Doubt stitched her features, as did a growing sombreness that blackened her heart. “Maybe she's made a mistake. I really don’t deserve someone so hard working, and so… loving… I’m not exactly the 'responsible' type. She deserves better.”

“Is that so?” Came the nonchalant response from behind Lyra, startling her to turn wide eyed with the half-burnt cigarette still dangling from her lips.

“Bonnie?! When did you –” Lyra paused, taking note of the twitching, finely plucked eyebrow and the rather scarily impassive expression upon the face of her lover. No sooner had the silence cut a canyon of awkwardness between the two did Lyra’s brain kick into gear and instinctively took the failed initiative. Instincts are not always right, for Lyra’s brain; once again without its thought-filter, responded in such a way that it made Lyra cringe almost immediately after speaking. “This isn’t what it looks like… I, uh; y-you look wonderful! Is that a new dress?”

Bon Bon kept a firm grip on her handbag, which was casually slung over her left shoulder, as the confectioner opted for a moments silence to contemplate her reply. The rather pathetic response did manage to make her turquoise eyes solidify its glare at the mint haired one, an irritated expression wrinkling her forehead as both brows went up.

“Do go on.”

“I’m…” She withdrew the cigarette from her mouth hurriedly, flicking it behind her shoulder, and exhaling the smoke that was still trapped in her lungs aside from the corner of her mouth, “I’m—ah—I’m… boned, aren’t I? Look… Sweetie, I’m sorry . I know I said I’d quit but I—”

“That was not what I was hinting at.” Came the stern reply.

The lyrist paled, “O-oh… How long, uhhm, were you standing there?”

“Long enough.” Came the brisk reply, which caused the mint haired one to nibble at her lower lip nervously. The silence only caused Bon Bon to question further. “Is that what you think, Lyra? That you do not deserve me? That you are not right for me? Is that what you truly think?”

Lyra’s fears bubbled beneath the surface, and her eyes shined with moisture, tears formulating as her mind scolded herself for saying such things aloud, for being stupid and for being absent minded of her surroundings. If she had spotted Bon Bon earlier then none of this would had come to light.

Or if you could just keep your big trap shut once in a while.

An iciness slithered about in her gut, causing the lyrist to feel sick to her very core; her words came out in a sorrowful whisper, “Bonnie… I…” How could she lie? It was how she truly felt about the situation. Was this not a perfect example? Was this not the most perfect of reasons why Bon Bon should had found someone better than this sorry sack of regret? “Yes. It’s… It’s what I… I’m, so sorry. You know how things were when we met… I just know, deep down you could had done so much better than—hmph?!”

The lyrist was stunned as a set of hands assaulted her cheeks, dragging her head down towards the slightly smaller woman. What was perhaps more shocking was the set of soft, juicy lips that had crushed themselves against her own. Not a second into the kiss and Lyra’s once tense body began to relax; wide golden eyes falling to a close as she melted into the passionate, and rather sudden, display of affection.

Both women wrapped their arms around the other, fingers digging into the fabric of the other’s attire as their kiss intensified to the point that both were almost groaning and grinding their bodies against each other, longing to satisfy a sudden flare of heat achingly animating within them. Tongues collided in the other’s mouth, battling for supremacy, writhing sloppily without a care as they broke the kiss frequently to dive their tongues back in for another wet assault.

To those who may had spotted the two lovers on the lonely, deserted platform it was safe to say they were having a rather… intimate moment. A passing mailman bicycling on the public footpath at the front of the station had his eyes glued to the scene as he zoomed on by towards Ponyville, only to pedal straight off the path as his attention was firmly upon the two kissing women. He disappeared into wall of hedges as he was launched from his bike and over the handlebars with a distant yelp and curse.

As swiftly as the kiss had started did it end, leaving Bon Bon to open her turquoise eyes to gaze back into the half lidded golden orbs of her girlfriend with a fierce conviction. Their lips barely inches apart as both women panted hot, gasping breaths in between.

Tenderly, Bon Bon’s hands remained cupped about Lyra’s face; the thumbs moving to move over the now sleek, spittle covered lips to which she now observed with a growing lust for more. “Don’t you ever say that again Lyra, okay? I know of your past—you told me when we met, and again when you asked me out, remember? Just let it lie, and forget about the past because right now you have me, alright?” Bon Bon whispered affectionately, nuzzling the lyrist’s nose with her own. “I want nothing more than you, Lyra. I don’t care about your previous relationships or how they ended up because in the end, you came to me, and showed me how much you loved me, and how much you were willing to sacrifice just to be with me. I mean look, you’re here now, yeah? You chased me for months and months until I could not ignore your cute eyes, or your cute laugh, or that sexy little rebellious streak that really got me hooked on you… yet now look at you, Lyra. You left the city, to live with me in Ponyville—you hate the countryside, and yet you did that, all for me... Don't you see, Lyra? I do deserve you. Every bit of you.”

“B-Bonnie…” The previous tears that welled in her eyes from the fear of moments ago spilled down her cheeks as her heart thundered away inside of her chest, transforming into tears of joy. Lyra was touched by the words to the point where she had forgotten how to smile or to even breathe. Despite the touching moment the lyrist began to smile awkwardly, pointing to her mouth as she swirled a very small mint within, “Do you… want it back, by the way?”

The loving features of Bon Bon faded all too quickly as she took a step back, “No. Suck that until that horrible stench of tobacco leaves your breath. You know I hate the taste of it. And for the record? No more kisses until then.”

The lyrist wiped her eyes and cheeks, ridding herself of the hot tears, as she mocked a frown and started to whine like a small child, “Buuuuuut!” At that Bon Bon turned and simply walked off leaving, yet again, the stunned lyrist blinking, “H-hey! What about my bags?!”

“What about them?” Bon Bon called over nonchalantly.

“They’re heavy! At least carry my lyre for me?” Lyra scrambled to pick up her suitcase and the instrument case, sucking on the mint frantically in hopes that it would at least mask the scent of smoke from her breath. By the time she had moved off to follow Bon Bon the woman was already turning a sharp corner onto the public footpath that led towards the distant Ponyville. “Wait up!”

“Consider it your punishment for lying to me about giving up!” Came the loud reply as the woman disappeared around the corner, causing Lyra to hurry up her steps; straining her arms against the combined weight of her luggage.

“Oh come, on, sweetie! I’ll massage your feet! Bon? Booon? You love it when I do that Bonnie! Bon? BON! Wait up! Hold up! Stop your sweet ass one second and give me a hand—ah… fuck it.” She openly protested with a groan; waddling her way along the footpath to catch up to her lover as she passed by a disgruntled mailman who was trying to entangle his bicycle from out of a hedge.

Author's Note

Hello everypony who is still following this story, I am very sorry for the delay... Okay, so it was more than a delay. More like a two week unresponsive promise of posting every Sunday - however, due to the mixture of my own time being VERY, very limited to write, and my editor's unlucky streak of luck trying to get online, all I can offer is my most sincerest apologies, and I hope you all won't hunt me down and gut me like a fish for making you guys wait so long.

I will endeavor to post more frequently! I just won't promise any set day for my stories to be thrown up.

Like. Hate. Flame. Gut me like a fish. All is welcome.