In a Cello Mood

Dear Diary,

It’s Friday and the exams are over! Finally over! Today’s exam was the hardest, but it was a spoken one, and I got an A! Well, with two ‘A’s and one B, this exam session was overall a nice one.

Now, Diary, you may be wondering about my… private life. (Of course you aren’t, but I’ll pretend you are anyway.) I’ve made Vinyl come! Twice! Huge thanks to Spitfire, who, um, took her time, erm, showing us, that is, demonstrating, uhm, some of the finest techniques. Great, and now I’m blushing.

One way or another, it’s Friday, and it means we are going out drinking again! I have no idea why, but the idea of having drunken shenanigans with Vinyl fills me with glee. I could ponder that alcohol gives me an excuse to be myself, or something of the kind… But, instead, I will happily get wasted!

Spitfire says she knows this special place…

***

“Is this your special place?”

Octavia eyed the little building in front of her, an out-of-place construction in the city centre, hosting a butcher’s, a grocery store, and a bank. She looked around and sighed. “Okay. I give up. I don’t see your special place. It must be a miracle;”

Lyra pointed to the inside of the left part of the building. “Here. There are steps down to the basement.” She nudged Bon-Bon to follow her as well.

As the three mares followed the mint unicorn inside, Spitfire wondered in a low whisper, “Does she really know everything?” Receiving a nod from both Vinyl and Octavia, she sighed and stretched her left wing. “That’s so OP.”

“You get used to it,” Octavia assured her, descending the steps after Bon-Bon, whose nice rump was lingering in her view. Stop that nonsense, brain, Octavia warned, I am not that promiscuous.

The three mares emerged into a large room, elegantly designed, with wooden tables everywhere. There was no stage, but pleasant smooth jazz erupted from the stereo speakers. The walls were adorned with photographs of famous jazz ponies, and zebras, and griffins. There was Frank Sineightra, and Mares Davis, and even Jimi Clawrix. Octavia gasped, seeing as her expectations of a low-brow bar vanished down the drain. “It’s beautiful,” she said, eyeing the complete emptiness of the bar.

“Very cosy,” Vinyl agreed, looking around, her gaze lingering on Spitfire just a moment. Somehow, after the menage a trois, her want of the pegasus faded, replaced by a feeling of camaraderie that, somehow, only intensified her deep, everlasting love towards Octavia. She was no Lyra, but she knew that Octavia felt the same.

“Where are the waiters, though?” Lyra wondered.

Everypony froze. Bon-Bon gasped, looking at her mare, as if she were seeing her for the first time in her life. Vinyl just stared at the unicorn, wide-eyed. Octavia was having trouble closing her mouth as her jaw dropped. Spitfire was the only one looking relatively all right.

“What’s the matter?” Lyra looked around, her gaze lingering on each pony for a few seconds. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You…” Vinyl pointed her hoof at the mint mare. “You just asked a question. The answer to which you didn’t know.” She put the hoof down. “How is that even possible?”

Lyra sighed and rubbed her nose. “Look, if I know everything, that doesn’t mean I know every thing.” She looked at the oblivious faces. “Look, just roll with that.”

Spitfire was the first to shrug. “I’m all right with that. By the way, do you need some sex pointers with your marefriend?”

“No, thank you.” Lyra shook her head. “Your threesome with Vinyl and Octavia was enough.” Again, she looked around. “Where are the waiters, though?”

“There are no waiters,” the bartender replied from the corner, where a small bar counter with two stools rested, with bottles on display and neon lights shining from somewhere beneath the ceiling. “Because there’s no kitchen, and no food. There’s just the drinks.”

“There are,” Octavia corrected in a tiny voice, hoping that she wouldn’t be heard. “Well,” she said louder, “drinks are the reason why we came, right?” She trotted up to the counter. “Good evening,” she greeted the barpony. “What kind of whisky can you offer?”

“Gin for me and Bonnie!” Lyra called out from the table not far from the counter, which the four ponies had just occupied. “And rum for Vinyl.” The white pony nodded in appreciation. “And Spitfire…”

“Just beer,” the pegasus finished for her. “I am not planning on getting wasted tonight.” Catching the mares’ surprised looks, she shrugged. “What? Look, I didn’t just pass all my exams. I have no reason to celebrate.”

“Well,” Vinyl replied, “I am planning on getting wasted tonight, so I’m drinking rum.” The bartender chuckled. Vinyl glared at him. “And I’m gonna drink, like, six shots so-” The bartender chuckled a little louder, shaking his head. “Hey, buddy,” Vinyl addressed the barkeep with irritation evident in her voice. “Is something I’m saying funny?”

“No, ma’am,” the bartender replied, keeping a touch of politeness that didn’t really make it genuine. “It’s just that, you cannot really say you’ve been ‘wasted’ unless you’ve drunk a couple Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters.” He took up a dirty cloth and proceeded to ‘clean’ a dirty glass. Octavia could swear all bartenders had a dirty cloth and a dirty glass, just to look like real bartenders.

“What’s a Pan-whatever?” Vinyl questioned, getting up and trotting up to the counter. She stood by her marefriend and nudged her towards the stool, sitting down on the other one.

“The most potent cocktail that’s been ever mixed,” the barkeep explained with a small smile. “One and a half shots of whisky, half a shot of tequila, half a shot of gin, a shot of Triple Sec, a shot of Blue Curacao, filled to the brim with apple cider. Served cold, drunk in one go.”

Vinyl licked her lips. “Sounds… neat. Very weird, but neat nonetheless.” That’s the opposite of ‘neat’, the little pony in Vinyl’s head tried to explain, but Vinyl told it to go fuck itself. With a stick. “What’s the catch?”

“They’re expensive,” the bartender confessed. “But if you can drink four in a row and walk away on your own legs, without falling once, it’s on the house.”

Octavia frowned. “Have there been precedents?” The bartender shook his head. “As I’ve thought. Well, let’s try just one.” She smiled at Vinyl, who grinned back. “I mean, only one won’t really result in… anything drastic.”

Vinyl waved her hoof in the air. “Of course not.”

***

“N-no, you don’t get it.” Vinyl hiccupped and took off the final painting. “There. Now we know that it’s the metric justice that gives those paintings their essence.” She tried to balance on her three hooves, but stumbled and landed onto the floor. “Metric justice!” she yelled on top of her lungs, much to the dismay of one grey cellist, who was lying in bed and trying to read a book.

“Shush, Vinyl,” Octavia replied angrily. “I am tryin… I mean, this thing here…” She put the book down and looked at the cover. “Oh wait. It’s in Prench.” She glanced at all the paintings lying on the floor. “Vinyl! Clean up this instant those paintings which not nearly enough.”

“You what?” Vinyl got up, with extreme difficulty, and crawled onto the bed. “Ugh! Help me, Tavs.” Octavia extended her hoof, grabbing which, Vinyl ascended. “Thanks.”

For a moment, they just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Finally, Vinyl had gathered enough wits to form a coherent idea: “Don’t you think, sometimes, we’re, like, running away?” She checked her legs. “I mean, not liter- not like. I think we’re drinking because we’d be very sad if we didn’t.” She looked at her marefriend lovingly. “After Melody…” Vinyl sighed and shut her eyes. “Alcohol makes it better, but… I am not a happy pony,” the DJ confessed to her lover, who just lay there, listening. “I drink because I ache. But you.” She tapped Octavia’s side gently. “You make me a happy pony. Thank you.” With that, Vinyl kissed Octavia’s shoulder sloppily.

“Welcome,” Octavia replied, feeling a little more than just dizzy. Was Vinyl right? Did they drink because, otherwise, they would realise how dull their lives will forever be: exams, uni, music. Then work, music, money. Then money, music, problems. Then money and problems. Then just problems. But she had Vinyl. And inserting Vinyl into those equations was exactly the reason to be happy, even for a moment.

“You’re welcome, love,” Octavia repeated, yawning. “You’re welcome.”

***

…

O.P.