The Clientele of "La Maison Nuit"by DesavlosChaptersScotch, Sympathy, and TranspirationsDates, Other Dates, and "The Lettuce Bar"Avoidance, Fear, and Ice-Cream HeadachesOne Good Turn...Scotch, Sympathy, and Transpirations8-B3AT was a good DJ, a great DJ even, and she knew it. The floor was full of ponies jumping, raving, and in some cases even dancing to the sound of her entrancing, electronic beats. Timing became second nature to any good performer; Octavia could tell that her set should be drawing to a close and with a flick of her hoof sent a series of tuneful pulses throughout the club's atmosphere. "La Maison Nuit" was popular: less popular clubs would have had long queues outside extending the length of the street and beyond. Not such here: you either got in or you didn't, and if you had to ask about it then you probably weren't getting in. Even the most persistent of youths had long ago given up on trying to talk, bribe or fight their way inside through the wall of solid, stoic, and highly paid muscle at the doorway on Canterlot's main street. The bouncers knew every permitted pony by name and accepted no half baked excuses from any others. Once they were inside they were Octavia's customers. The club's clientèle, and by extension, hers. Once she was inside her hood went up, her glasses went down, and her name became 8-B3AT. She was a legend. Oh, and her voice fell by about three social classes. The music began to quieten to a steady background throb as 8-B3AT stepped down from her podium, mane falling out of her hood in strands after the exhausting set. Cheers of thanks and moans of disappointment arose simultaneously from the ponies on the dance floor. 8-B3AT gave one last whoop to the crowd and, with a subtle mental shift, Octavia Melody walked slowly towards the bar. With her charcoal grey hair let down she looked completely different from the energetic mare that had whipped the club's ponies into a frenzy only minutes before, for one thing she looked worn out. Had it not been for the distinctive plum coloured hoodie and purple shades she could've passed for just another face, albeit a pretty one. The barkeeped paused in cleaning a glass with his rag to offer Octavia a hoofbump as she sat down at the bar, she took it. She noted that her replacement was already taking his place at the mixing desks and allowed her voice to slip back into its natural, more refined, accent with a sigh of relief. "15-year Glen Fillioch, Blend." The barcolt, Smooth Blend, smiled and nodded. It always amused him to watch Octavia once she'd dropped her stage persona. He knew for a fact that most of the club's customers would expect her to get hammered on pina coladas and pass out on the dance floor. He'd never even seen her drunk, though not for lack of trying. Not for the first time, the luckless stallion wondered if she attributed the extra attention he gave her to her position as DJ. It didn't matter, he reasoned, she'd figure it out eventually. Hopefully, anyway. "Coming right up, Octy. Tiring night?" "Indeed, I love the work but, well, it does seem to take it out of me somewhat doesn't it?" "Oh don't worry about it." The barekeep handed Octavia her whisky with a smile and went back to wiping his glass. "It doesn't show." This was a lie: the mare was visibly sweating, her mane was bedraggled and lay in strands across her forehead and the trademark purple hoodie, that Blend secretly suspected would be worth a fortune if Octavia ever decided to sell it, was crumpled, messy, and fell about the DJ's shoulders like worn cloth. Octavia, however, seemed to believe him. "Why thank you," she smiled at him, seemingly genuinely relieved. "you're a great friend, Blend, you really are." The stallion, as he always did at times like this, died a little inside. Octavia nodded along the bar to another pony, one that she didn't recognise, who was sitting morosely on a barstool nursing a glass of scotch and soda. "I didn't know that we were expecting new clients." Blend turned to the object of Octavia's interest. "Oh, yes." He began. "I've been serving her all evening. A friend of the boss's apparently, though Luna only knows why she came here in the first place, she's been doing nothing but sit and drink depressedly so far tonight." The newcomer's mane was the first shocking detail about her; it shot out from behind her ears in spikes of dark blue and cerulean. Her coat was a pristine white, the overall effect looked like some sort of walking toothpaste ad wearing a tailcoat. Her eyes were red, or purple; they changed as the light struck them and reflected the club's lights making it hard to determine their true colour in any case. The white unicorn's cutie mark was that of a black treble clef; Blend compared it to Octavia's: a pair of purple quavers. "Another musician?" "Looks like it, why's she so down? This is a party for Luna's sake!" Blend shrugged at the question. "You could always ask I suppose, you should know how'ta cheer up somepony right? Didn't you take classes?" "Indeed." Octavia nodded slowly, remembering fondly her tutelage under Pinkie Pie in the subtle, and not so subtle, arts of "partying down". The lessons had proved invaluable: nowadays she could get through an entire night without tiredness, (exhaustion was another matter) and it was far easier to let loose in public, an invaluable skill for a DJ. It was Pinkie that'd taught her the whole fake accent thing too, it'd been so hard not to laugh at first. Shaking her head, Octavia refocussed on the present. "Whu- Sorry, did you say something?" "I just asked if you were ok," Blend replied, concernedly, "you seemed a little spaced out." "Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you." The two sat in silence for a few minutes watching the unicorn at the other end of the bar. Eventually, Octavia could take it no longer. "That does it, that mare needs cheering up." She placed her glass, now bereft of whisky, back on the bartop and climbed down from her stool. "Keep them coming, Blend: I have a feeling that I may have my work somewhat cut out for me." Scotch seemed to make life easier; but Vinyl couldn't help but wish that it could actually solve problems rather than merely numb them. Not for the first time tonight she found herself wondering why she'd taken up Fancy Pants's offer to, as he'd put it, 'Have an enjoyable evening unwinding in the most exclusive club in Canterlot, as you young people do.' "You young people", does he even know me? Vinyl glanced about casually at the madly dressed ponies on the dance floor before returning to stare into her glass. Some famous club DJ was running the dancers ragged; purple laser-light shot overhead in beams and illuminated the expensive attire of the "Maison". Vinyl's inner voice demanded that she calm down. The exam went fine, you know it did. No, I won't know until I get the marks back. True, but you do know what I mean. You're the best pianist in Canterlot, stop worrying! Would you mind if I drank the scotch anyway? Vinyl's conscience shrugged. Not really. With that, the unicorn went back to her drink. The music had stopped briefly, Vinyl didn't care much but having it in the background, however loud, had made her feel more at home. She preferred Trotchovsky, but music was music. At least she'd managed to pace her whisky, Beauty Brass had told her that she was a mean drunk and she'd rather not offend Fancy Pants, however little interest his nightclub held for her. Vinyl was no great connoisseur of spirits but she could tell that her whisky was not only rather good, but rather old. Hmph, she mused, I suppose this is Fancy Pants's club after all. The barcolt had wandered away to serve another customer, Vinyl took a peanut from a bowl on the bar and popped it into her mouth absently. Her leg began to twitch anxiously, she focussed on it and it stopped. Look on the bright side. Her mind insisted, At least nopony's bothering y-. "Hi there!" Vinyl groaned internally, "How's your night going?" She turned to source of the annoyance: a grey mare wearing a dark plum hooded jacket and a pair of purple-tinted shades on her forehead. Vinyl gritted her teeth internally and forced her best, 'talking to strangers' smile. "Oh, just fine, thanks, what about you?" Whoever this mare was she could identify such a blatant deflection, an eyebrow was raised. "Now now, never mind me; I'm not the mare who's been sitting drinking scotch and soda all evening." Vinyl sniffed the air. "Really?" The stranger didn't flinch. "Just one, honestly." Against all odds, her eyebrow rose yet further. "Now what about you?" Vinyl sighed quietly. She couldn't help but appreciate the inquisitive mare despite her own desire for solitude. Reclusive thoughts temporarily cast aside, she submitted to the interrogation. "Two." "Only two this whole evening?" "Yea, my friend, Beauty Brass, says I'm no fun when I'm drunk, which is a pity." The grey mare's purple eyes expressed concern. "Why?" Vinyl hesitated, then knowing full well that she was in the tank already either way, opted for honesty. "Because I could do with being drunk about now." The earth pony sat down next to Vinyl and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with one hoof, smiling as she did so. "Oh, come now. Look, I'll get us some more scotch, 13 year Mount Saddleback is a personal favourite, and you can tell me about things." Vinyl mumbled into the remains of her whisky. "I don't even know your name." "Octavia Melody," The DJ extended a hoof, "nice to meet you." Vinyl looked up at the DJ, who smiled encouragingly, then grasped forwards at her jacket and broke out into loud, messy, and rather gooey, sobs. Octavia held her gently and patted her on the back with a hoof, murmuring generic comforts. She waved a silent request to Blend, it seemed necessary. Then, mind turning, she began to plan. All Vinyl really remembered next morning was a vague peaty flavour and a generic feeling of happiness. Though some further details could be inferred from her headache and exhaustion. No gig today, no problem. She lay in bed for another half an hour before hunger roused her by force from her slumber. Climbing to her hooves, she noticed her tailcoat, clean and pressed, on the back of the door, with a note on the lapel. A quick burst of magic brought it before her. Morning Vinyl, hope you slept well, Apologies for the whole "red wine gets out white wine" thing, I must've been at least three kinds of drunk at that stage. Anyway, I had the barcolt, Smooth Blend, take your tailcoat to an all night dry-cleaners (yes, those exist) and got it fixed up for you. Hope you're hungry! - Octavia Vinyl's brow furrowed for a moment as she read the signature, then fragments of the past began to run their way backwards across her brain, and the name clicked into place. Octavia! That nosy mare with a clubber's dress sense and a posh accent! She- Oh. Even in the confines of her own home, Vinyl blushed. Why did I wind up crying like that? That's not me! I keep calm! Cool! Collected! Was it the scotch? Vinyl pondered this for a moment. Yea. Definitely the scotch. She smiled gently as she set the note down on her bedside table and tried unsuccessfully to remember how she'd gotten home last night. After some musing, she remembered the last line of the note. "Hope you're hungry..." She muttered, "What're you up to now filly?" Opening her bedroom door, Vinyl made her way into her house proper. Two living rooms were linked by a short corridor branching into one bedroom and one bathroom, the walls were painted light grey and decorated with various musically themed trinkets and the kitchen, towards which Vinyl now walked, took up half of one living room, the other half offering a second floor view over Canterlot that was nothing short of stunning. Shielding her eyes from Celestia's sun as she entered the room, Vinyl didn't notice a note tacked to the front of the fridge until she reached to extract milk from it for coffee. Vinyl took this note in her magic like the first and browsed, a smile creeping across her face once more as she read. Morning again Vinyl! I believe that I'm sober at present, though if I'm drunk then of course I would do. Either way I baked some cookies when we got back to your flat (nice place by the way, love the view). Assuming relative sobriety they should be rather good, if I do say so myself. I put them in the fridge for you last night (or was it this morning, whichever) for breakfast (go on, treat yourself!). Do tell me how they turned out next time you see me. - Octavia Vinyl was grinning widely when she lay the note down on the kitchen counter but as she reached for the fridge handle she noticed a second piece of paper behind the first. Withdrawing it curiously revealed a fresh poloroid photograph that turned her cheeks red. The image depicted a crowded dance floor: in its centre were two figures, raised on hind legs, jumping energetically to the music and hypnotic light show of the club itself. A second image, taken a moment later, depicted the same two figures. The first was Octavia, she was reaching confusedly for her forehead and smirking drunkenly. The second dancer was herself. She was wearing Octavia's purple shades and shouting energetically in what appeared to be mid-leap. Her tailcoat was crumpled, her mane a cyan mess, and her eyes a vivid magenta. Vinyl grinned as the memory came back, it'd been too long. She lay the poloroids down beside the note and opened the fridge door. True to her word, Octavia had left a plate of cookies, apparently untouched, inside the cool interior of the machine. Vinyl withdrew them with a smile and decided that Octavia's recommendation that she "treat herself" be taken under serious consideration. Ten minutes later, she felt stuffed. The TV seemed like such an inviting prospect. Wandering between rooms, Vinyl noticed a small package sitting on her TV set and, surprised, levitated it over. It was a box, it was grey, it was wrapped with purple ribbon, and Vinyl knew exactly who it was from. With a grin greater than any she had yet given today, Vinyl unpackaged the box down to its cardboard shell and read the note on top. Hey Vinyl! Hope the cookies were good. I hadn't the heart to take them back, you seemed so attached to them. Besides, I've a dozen pairs at home. - Octavia Puzzlement growing, Vinyl opened the box and gazed on its contents. Inside sat a shining pair of purple-tinted shades. Vinyl began to laugh. Not a chuckle, not a satirical, amused laugh, but the full and mirthful joy of the truly happy. It couldn't have lasted for more than a minute, but the white unicorn had no concerns for time. She laughed until she gasped for air, until her sides hurt and her eyes watered and she went on laughing. When finally it subsided she found herself on her living room floor, tiny droplets of chuckle still escaping from the brimming cup of mirth that she remained. Eventually she could stand. Taking the glasses from the box and placing them on her head with a grin, she noted a third scrap of paper in the box, at the bottom. It was far shorter, and far more affirming, than either of the others. I do hope you like the glasses. Either way, it's Saturday today Vinyl, feel like coming out? Call me. Vinyl turned the note over and saw a number, a mobile number. Without a moment's hesitation, and remembering both her morning's joy and evening's melancholy. She picked up the phone on her deck, and dialled. Fancy Pants swivelled on his chair. Octavia's natural friendliness was the best marketing policy he'd ever had. Author's Note Do you people have any idea how much willpower it takes not to blatantly rip off Terry Pratchett? Thanks again to CyanAeolin for letting me use his art for the cover. More Octavia dude! More! And thanks to you guys for taking time out of your day to read this. And just because I'm feeling particularly power mad; do feel free to comment on any mistakes you may notice and I'll fix them right up. Like all writers my ego is in need of constant validation, and I'm glad you thought to help. As I wrote this I found it becoming more and more a reflection of myself and the happiness that I'd found in the bronyhood. This fandom is so accepting of people of all different backgrounds that I can't help but smile even now, more than a year after my "initiation" as it were. Nevertheless, fanfiction is a first for me, I hope that it pleased. Likes are appreciated, though I'll consider anything other than blatant hatred of my characters a success. Ciao for now, and keep on... reading fanfiction I guess? There are certainly worse ways to spend a day. Dates, Other Dates, and "The Lettuce Bar"Author's Note Note: This chapter was accidentally published pre-proof reading for about thirty seconds. Don't know if anyone saw it in that time. Either way, mistakes should've been altered now but it goes without saying, if you see any, or just think that I'm awesome, comment! Ok everypony. This became way more popular than I'd expected given that it was the first piece of vaguely artistic writing that I've actually shoved down the throat of anyone other than my English teacher (and even she HAD to read it) so I've decided that another chapter might be in order, whatever I said before about not intending to produce one. I've noticed my story in some favourite boxes and it makes me absurdly happy to see it there. To this end, LET THE MADNESS CONTINUE! I won't say "no more chapters" this time, but no new chapters I do make will rely on future ones, I've not the willpower to force myself to write. The result of this is that you'll get stuff when I feel like writing it. For all of you not disgusted by the terms of my continued existence, I shall narrate. *clears throat* For the purposes of this story, it may help your enjoyment to believe that I have a voice indistinguishable from that of Morgan Freeman. You're welcome. For trivia purposes, the word "date(s)" can be found in 16 different locations through this chapter. Excluding this one of course. Dates, Other Dates, and "The Lettuce Bar" Octavia pulled at the edges of the dress uncomfortably, she was sure that it wasn't meant to feel like a fabric-skinned anaconda, but she was hardly an expert. For years the most clothing she'd ever had to wear had been her hoodie, and that only because, well, everypony knew that she wore that hoodie. Two hours in a dress shop was bad enough, having Fancy Pants with her was worse, and knowing what the dress was for was nothing short of excruciating. The b'monocled stallion was watching Octavia's discomfort with sympathy and mild amusement; the moment that they'd walked in Octavia's precious jacket had been whisked from her back and all manner of outlandish and constricting garments had been donned and undonned, stitched, let out, taken in and in one slightly more embarrassing case, torn. Octavia knew that she was being doted on because she was with Fancy Pants, but somehow it seemed unlikely that asking the dressmaker to leave her alone would work. She seemed rather detached from reality in any case. "And how's that feel now?" "Actually, it's a little tight at-" "Good, good... That looks much better with your eyes. Oh you really should do something with that hair, its so naturally glossy!" "Well I do use-" "Oh I could recommend a stylist, if you want." Much to Octavia's irritation, the dressmaker looked up at Fancy Pants with the question. However, the stallion could obviously tell how frustrated Octavia was getting; with a smile to the overattentive assistant, he decreed mercy. "No thank you, Cherry Petal, give us a moment would you?" The unicorn scuttled away, and tried to look busy with her ledgers behind the shop counter. Fancy Pants rolled his eyes with a smile and turned back to the smouldering, frustrated, and rather smartly outfitted earth pony that represented the cream of his nightclub DJs. "Where exactly is it tight?" Octavia blushed. "I'm not that fat." "Of course not, but I do want to make sure that you'll be able to wear the dress, because I get the impression that you're about one more frilly hemline away from storming out in a huff." The old stallion smiled. "I didn't think you'd enjoy this too much." "They're treating me like a doll! Where'd they put my hoodie anyway? I'd better get it back!" Octavia tapped at the cloth around her neck and shoulder. "Why would anypony wear this? It's so uncomfortable! What's wrong with a nice jacket or a shirt?" "It's the Grand Galloping Gala, Octavia, you can't wear your normal jacket however much you like it. Besides, you asked for my help and I say you need a dress." Octavia looked down unhappily and pawed at the carpet with a forehoof. "I know..." Fancy Pants was suddenly concerned. He would expect frustration from Octavia; excitement, drama and exaggeration were all part of her daily routine, but sadness? It wasn't like her at all. "Octavia," Fancy Pants lifted her chin up with a hoof, "don't worry alright? I'm sure I can find something that you'll like." She smiled, hopefully. "Why're you going to the gala this year, Octavia? I've offered you an invitation every year since you started working for me. I know Smooth Blend takes me up on the offers but you've never gone. What changed?" The grey earth pony blushed slightly. Until now she'd managed to avoid actually telling Fancy Pants why she needed his help in readying herself for the gala. He'd seemed to be engrossed enough in preparing her that she hadn't seen any reason to tell him. Octavia had rather hoped that it might stay that way. No such luck, apparently. "It's Vinyl." Fancy Pants looked surprised. "Whatever do you mean? Do you like her?" Octavia spent some time looking concerned, finally, she answered. "Look, we were both kinda drunk..." Vinyl Scratch spun the shades around in her hooves and smiled. She was sitting on her couch in the living room of her apartment and a dose of coffee had done a decent job in warding off the unfavourable effects of an evening of drinking. Said unfavourable effects had been worth it. Unusually, Vinyl's piano had gone untouched so far this morning. Normally she'd be up and playing chords across the keys like a spider but for now she'd left the notes unplayed to ponder her life. Did I just get a date? Well did I? I suppose that it didn't... sound like a date, but, she asked me to a restaurant. That's a date right? Do I want it to be? Will she show up with flowers? Oh, Celestia! Will she expect me to? Vinyl shook her head and her mane fell down over her eyes. she blew it out of the way, it needed combing. I should just call and ask her, that way I'll know what to expect. But what if it's not a date; she'll think I want one. Or what if it is a date; then she'll think that I don't... Do I? The unicorn groaned. "I need help with this one." The phone was levitated in a blue aura and a second number dialled. Beauty Brass. Beauty dates right? She'll know what I should do. Vinyl finished punching in the last numbers on the keypad and dialled, somewhere on the other end of the line a phone rang. It was picked up. "Beauty!" Vinyl blurted out urgently. "Dates!" "Err.. They're a little sweet for my taste but I suppose I like them, kinda chewy. What's going on Vinyl?" "You're saying I should buy her candy?" "What?" "I don't want to come on to strong you know, it's just that I've never had a proper date before, ya know?" There was a moments silence, then a puzzled voice emerged from the earpiece. "Vinyl Scratch, are you asking me out?" It was Vinyl's turn to gawk. "What?" "I mean, I'm flattered really, but you know I don't... Swing that way..." Beauty's blush was practically audible. "Besides, you're my best friend. Who would I bitch to about my coltfriends?" "Beauty, back up. What's going on." "Weren't you asking me out?" "What? No! I mean, no, not that you're not pretty and all that but, just, no." Now both mares were blushing, by virtue of her coat colour Vinyl had turned a rather pleasing shade of pink. "Oh, er... Well that's fine then... Thanks, I guess?" "Sure... I- Look, sorry to bother you, Beauty, speak to you later ok?" "Great! I'll see you round, Vinyl." "See ya!" "Bye!" Vinyl hung up the phone with a sigh and a giggle, blush slowly fading. It took fully fifteen seconds for her face to take on the expression of embarrassed consternation appropriate to her situation. She galloped back over to the phone and redialled. Ok, Vinyl, think this time. *click* "Help meeeeeee!" "La Maison Nuit" was beginning to fill up. Octavia sat at the bar with a glass of whisky; her comfortable, familiar hoodie worn as it always was. She'd breifly considered something more formal, or nothing at all, but had ruled out the former when she realised that she didn't own anything of the sort, and had forsaken the latter when she'd seen the rain. Her wet mane was slowly drying in the warmth of the club and she'd made sure that she didn't have a shift tonight to interfere with her plans. Smooth Blend was off ill and Fancy Pants had had to find a substitute at the last minute. After several minutes of confused discussion, the replacement barcolt had told her that there was no rule stating that DJs got free drinks, and that somepony must've been paying for them in the past. Octavia forked over a handful of bits, and made a mental note to bring it up with Smooth Blend next time she saw him. It wasn't long before Vinyl Scratch (an umbrella held in her magic but with her coat nevertheless just as bedraggled as Octavia's) stepped into the club and shook her mane out inside. The music was currently restricted to a background throb: the night's DJs wouldn't get here before eight at the earliest, and she'd be long gone by then. Walking hesitantly over to the bar, as if afraid that at any moment Octavia might kiss, or for that matter, slap her, Vinyl caught Octavia's eye and smiled at her. "Hey Octavia." she ventured, non-committally. "Hi! Nice to see you!" "Yea, you too." Vinyl thought that the silence that followed was awkward. So did Octavia, she just didn't know why. Finally, Octavia spoke up. "I suppose we should go out then." Vinyl goggled, "Really?" "Uh, I mean, if you want to stay that's fine, but I thought we were eating at seven?" Vinyl replayed the conversation in her head and began to recolour her face pink. "Oh, yea, yea of course. Terrible weather though, right? I mean, it's only natural that I might not want to go outside." Octavia raised an eyebrow. "I suppose so? We may have to if we have any intention of arriving at the restaurant on time..." "Uh, I guess you're right." "Shall we go?" Octavia motioned to the door. Vinyl smiled, and tried to stop thinking. "Sure!" The weather outside was awful. Truly awful. Trout could have swam over the walls of Canterlot castle and in through the windows of the Princess' bedchambers. Why they would want to do so is a matter of great scholarly consideration, but everypony agreed that it was possible. Octavia had immediately pulled up her hood when they left the club but the rain had soaked it through within a minute, both ponies were relieved when they arrived at the restaurant. Golden letters over the door proclaimed it to be, "The Lettuce Bar" and Octavia had picked it out herself on the basis that of the half-a-dozen or so restaurants with which she was familiar this was the one were you were least likely to use the word, "tablecloth" synonymously with the word, "napkin". (With the exception of "Nut Grease's Bulk Diner and Wholesale Butter Emporium", where the word, "napkin" was rarely used at all, and only ever as an insult.) Vinyl wasn't looking overly disgusted yet, insofar as it was possible to tell in the rain, which was probably a good sign. And yet Octavia found that she was far more nervous than she'd expected to be, but she couldn't place a hoof on why. They stepped inside, Octavia hung her jacket up on a peg and waved at a server who made their way towards them. "Hi! I'm Lemon Cloth and I'll be serving you today. Can I ask your name please, miss?" "We have a reservation under "Melody"." Octavia explained, wiping her shades with a hoof. The serving mare checked a list briefly and then nodded. "Great! If you two'd just follow me please." Smiling, she walked into the quiet bustle of the restaurant, and Octavia and Vinyl followed. Both during and after the dinner, Vinyl found herself, despite her best attempts, micro analysing Octavia's every move and word. Dozens of thoughts streaked across her mind every minute as they chatted, each one making it harder to eke any enjoyment out of the dinner itself. A word about the weather could've carried dozens of meanings, or might have carried none, and by the end of the night Vinyl had a headache from trying to determine which it was. Well, it was that or the booze. The rain had subsided by the time the slightly tipsy ponies decided to leave. They split the check, and Octavia left a rather generous tip for the wine waiter. Somehow, Vinyl and Octavia navigated the network of Canterlot's streets back to the Maison and wandered inside. They sat down at a booth connected to the bar and watched the dancers on the floor, music from the stage now fully in swing. "He's not as good as you ya know..." Vinyl remarked, slightly drunkenly. "How'dya know? You never really listened to me." "Ah did so! The whole time I was drinkin' I thought, "That music, that's, that's, that's some darn good music."" Octavia blushed. "Really? That's really nice." Smiling, the two ponies lapsed once again into silence and sat, basking in the noise of the not-quite-so-good-but-still-good music. "Vinyl? You ok?" The white unicorn was fidgeting slightly, her hoof was tapping insistently against the underside of the table. She seemed rather vacant. "Vinyl? Equestria ta Scratchy?" "Whu? Oh, yea I'm fine." "What's wrong Scratchy?" Octavia giggled at the impromptu nickname, then frowned. "Didn't you have fun? I had fun." Vinyl looked uncomfortable. "I..." "Sup?" Calm down, Scratch. Vinyl thought. Remember what Beauty said, what was it? "Kinda chewy"? Uh, probably not, ah heck, what's the worst that could happen. "I... Octavia, was this a date?" There was a pause. When she replied, the grey mare's face took on an expression of drunken puzzlement. "No, Vinyl... A date's a little fruit thing, or is it a nut? Not sure. It wasn't a this though. This was a this, y'know, thingy." "No! No no no, was this, like, a date date. Like you have with a special somepony." This time, when Octavia replied, it was clear that she understood. She was just sober enough to be aware that this wasn't a conversation she should be having while drunk without being sober enough to stop herself from talking. Finally, she realised why she'd been so nervous. "Uh," she ventured, at length. "I'm not sure." "Well... Do you want it to be?" Octavia paused. "Not fair, I picked the restaurant, you tell me what you want!" "Nuh uh, you tell me." "No! You have to s-" Vinyl grabbed Octavia by the neck of her hoodie and pulled her head across the table into the most awkward kiss either pony had ever experienced. After the initial shock, all Octavia could focus on was the idea that the wine still tasted good, even now. Whereas Vinyl was trying hard not to stretch her friend's trademark jacket. A moment later, the two released lips and stared at each other from opposite ends of the table. After some considerable silence, Octavia shuffled around the bench and put her foreleg around Vinyl's shoulders. She whispered into the unicorn's ear. "So yes then?" Vinyl turned back. "Yes." "Vinyl? Vinyl, you there?" Beauty's voice buzzed out of the phone and washed around Vinyl like the wind. Finally, she snapped back, "Hmm?" "I asked whether you'd see her again." Vinyl pondered the question. She wanted to say... something. She wanted to know, really. "Look," She began at length, "we were both super drunk..." Avoidance, Fear, and Ice-Cream HeadachesWas it her, or were the club lights particularly bright tonight? 8-B3AT couldn't concentrate. Normally she would sway to the tones from the synthesisers; the desks would be putty in her hooves and the speakers naught but an extension of her voice. Now, she was sweating, and not because of the heat and energy of the club: it was fear. What if she missed a beat, or forgot a chord; the dancers were unlikely to notice but she knew that she would. Even her timing was off, in the depths of her concern a club assistant had stepped up onto the stage and told her that the next DJ was waiting to get on. Muttering a quick apology, she began to wind down the music. The crowd's disappointment seemed less obvious tonight; maybe they had noticed a change, or maybe she just couldn't focus on them as much as normal. Stepping down from the stage, she gave one last wave to meagre applause. A rest at the bar seemed more and more inviting. Octavia glanced about cautiously, then walked slowly out from behind the speakers towards the bar, shades raised. A tap on her shoulder caused her to turn with a yelp, and Fancy Pants looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "F- Fancy Pants? What're you doing here?" she stammered. The old unicorn recovered quickly and smiled at her. "This is my club, Octavia. I can come here if I want." "W- Well, of course, of course, but you, you don't often do you?" "I must endeavour to make a habit out of it in the future it seems." He looked critically at Octavia. "What, may I ask, are you doing here young mare?" Octavia was always awful at hiding guilt, but she was game for trying. "I'm working, Fancy Pants. I do work here." "Not tonight you don't. I'm sure I told you to go out and find Vinyl tonight. I haven't seen her since last week." "Neither have I, but I wouldn't even know where to start looking!" "You could try her house, did you think of that one?" Octavia looked ashamed. "I-, I didn't want to look." "Why ever not, filly?" When Octavia looked up, Fancy Pants was shocked to see tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before and he couldn't help but want to comfort her. The old stallion steeled himself. You have to let her get it out first old boy. "Because-" Octavia supplied at length. "I might- I might find her." A handful of tears trickled from her nose and splattered onto the club's laminate floor tiles. Fancy Pants knew that he'd heard what he'd come for, and stepped urgently up put a hoof on Octavia's shoulder. He hushed and comforted her as the minutes passed and the business of the club carried on in the background, the two static ponies unheeded. Eventually her sobs subsided and she leant into him silently. The unicorn led her away from the bar without a word and she followed meekly, clinging to his coat like a foal to its mother's dress. Eventually, Fancy Pants lead them through into a back room. The walls had been heavily soundproofed against the noise of the club and various seats and couches surrounded the chamber. A fire burned in a corner fireplace and Fancy Pants let Octavia down gently into a chair beside it, taking the opposite seat. Even in her current state, Octavia noticed two tumblers of whisky on the table between them. He expected this... What does he know? She didn't look Fancy Pants in the eye as she started to talk. She knew he was waiting for her. "I really miss Vinyl, but I can't see her right now." Fancy Pants picked up his whisky, Octavia's had, thus far, remained untouched. "Why's that?" He asked, sipping slowly. "She's my marefriend now, Fancy Pants. I think... I guess that's the problem." "You're unsure where you're standing?" "Yes..." The ponies lapsed into silence temporarily, Fancy Pants sat patiently and sipped his whisky. "I know that the only way to solve this is to talk to her," Octavia began. "but I can't." "You're smart, Octavia. Tell me, what happens if you don't talk to her?" "I never get a marefriend." Fancy Pants frowned, "Possibly true," he conceded. "But not what I was going for." "I know, Fancy Pants, I know. I'll never know if she's with me or not. Then I'll move on and she won't, or she will and I won't, somepony'll be made miserable." "Better." he replied. "That doesn't help me though." Octavia whined. "It just means that every choice is difficult!" Fancy Pants stood, he finished his whisky in one last sip and knelt beside the depressed mare. "Octavia," he began, seriously. "Are you going to drink that whisky?" There was a giggle. It looked like another sob at first, and Fancy Pants wondered if he'd made an error, but it soon resolved itself into a chuckle, then a laugh, and escalated gradually until all of Octavia's tears of misery had been replaced by tears of mirth, albeit grudgingly. She turned to Fancy Pants and for the first time that evening, looked him in the eye. "You know, it's so bucking impossible to be miserable with you around." Octavia swore afterwards that Fancy Pants gave a hoofpump here, but nopony believed her. Either way, a moment later she'd promised him that she'd go to Vinyl's house in the morning and look for her. It was Fancy Pants's gift. Both ponies left the room smiling when they'd come in with a frown. Only his closest friends had known his mirthful side, but they never forgot it. Fancy Pants picked up the second tumbler of whisky and sipped it as Octavia left. She'd keep her promise, of that he was certain. Of course Vinyl had no need to go into the club. She knew that Octavia liked her now, why would she need to see her again to prove that? Vinyl had decided that if she told herself that enough it might become true, which would mean that she wasn't avoiding anypony. That was currently the plan. It wasn't working. Why am I avoiding her? It's not like we've had a fight, we had a kiss for Celestia's sake! That's a good thing! Right? Well? It wasn't the circumstances of her relationship, but the circumstances of its creation that gnawed a guilty crevice into Vinyl's mind. Somewhere in the back of her brain she knew instinctively that a single drunken kiss was no premise for marefriendhood. Now everything felt, well, wrong. "Oh buck up, Vinyl. You wanted this!" Wanted is about right. Replied her thoughts, Vinyl winced. The unicorn tried not thinking about it, she tried thinking about it more. Eventually she resorted to banging her head against the wall. Nothing really helped. This is stupid. She concluded. I'll just call her, she can reassure me. She's good at that. Levitating her phone over with a burst of magic, Vinyl dialled Octavia's number. Suddenly, she remembered who she was calling and looked at the clock. Eleven-AM, hmm, she's probably up by now. Tentatively, she pressed dial, and waited as the phone rang. There was a knock at the door. Vinyl ignored it and waited for Octavia to pick up. *knock, knock, knock*, "Vinyl?" "I'm busy!" She replied. The phone was still ringing, maybe Octavia wasn't there. *knock, knock knock*, "Vinyl?". The unicorn was somewhat past the point of normal mental processing. Had she been in full control of herself, she might have realised who was knocking sooner. She paused, something was telling her that the pony at the door was important... *knock, knock, knock, "Vinyl?". A whir, ratchet and click inside the unicorn's brain accompanied a similar one from the phone in her hoof, which was swiftly dropped to the floor as Vinyl vaulted across her coffee table and landed beside the door, pulling it open with her magic. It revealed a rather surprised and anxious Octavia, plastic bag slung over one shoulder. Vinyl, from her position on the carpet, chuckled. "Come on in." Octavia did so, stopping to pull the unicorn up with a hoof. "What was that all about, Vinyl?" "Oh, I, er, was trying to call you." "Why?" The quiet that followed was vacuum packed full of awkwardness. Octaiva looked at Vinyl in puzzlement as the mare finally stammered a reply. "I- that is we- at least I thought that- er..." The unicorn lapsed back into silence. Octavia could see where this was going, mainly because she'd been looking for it. It was surprising, but it was also a relief. She felt a weight lift from her back as she spoke a summary of the thoughts that had been swirling in her head on her way here. "This's weird right?" Vinyl looked up suddenly. Distress clear on her face. "Yes!" Both ponies began to ramble explanations and apologies at each other, but the more or less identical nature of the two speeches meant that very little explanation was necessary on either side. After several minutes, both mares were out of breath, and felt rather less tense than before. Finally, Vinyl extended a hoof. "Friends?" she offered. Octavia ignored it and grasped Vinyl's neck in a hug. "Of course." The unicorn scrabbled for some purchase on Octavia's arms and eventually prised them off her with a gasp. The DJ blushed. "Oh, uh sorry about that." Vinyl waved her into silence. "What," she wheezed between gasps, "what do we do now?" Octavia smiled, and nodded to the plastic bag on her shoulder. "I brought ice cream. We did both just get dumped." "Hot damn!" Vinyl leapt over the sofa and into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a pair of spoons. She nodded to the TV on the far wall. "You can tell me about how much of a foal your marefriend was!" "Ha!" replied Octavia, "Only if you do too." The pianist nodded and sat down on the couch. Octavia joined her after a moment and extracted a pair of ice cream tubs from the plastic shopping bag by her feet. "Whisky ice cream? They make WHISKY ICE CREAM?" Vinyl yelled. "WHY DIDN'T ANYPONY TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER?!" Octavia stifled a giggle and passed a tub to Vinyl, who ripped the lid off and took a bite. "Agh! Cooold!" The giggling mare stood up after a moment and wandered towards the kitchen. "I'll make you some tea, tea's good when you're upset." "I'm not upset!" Vinyl yelled back, cringing at the sudden ice cream headache. "Well you're meant to be," chuckled Octavia. "So tough luck. Besides, it'll help with the headache." The ice cream was good, Vinyl had turned on some medical soap when Octavia returned, which after a brief argument, in which the phrase, 'I brought the ice cream' was raised, was changed to 'Dr Whooves adventures in Space and Time'. Octavia spent most of the first episode attempting to explain various things to her friend, who, by the end, was deliberately getting stuff wrong just to watch the DJ's reaction. Conveniently, the show was on marathon, and by 11PM even Octavia had given up tying to justify some of the Doctor's antics. It was love. Not sappy, romantic, squishy love, but the other kind. The more reliable kind. Octavia loved Fancy Pants, Vinyl loved Beauty Brass, and they loved each other. Vinyl offered to introduce Octavia to Beauty, and after some confusion the fact that she "didn't swing that way" was clarified, to many giggles. No, Octavia pondered, Romance is overrated. This is the best kind of love; it's so much easier to share. Author's Note To all you OctaScratch fans. I've very sorry. I do support the ship, but some originality was required. For all those who read this, thanks for the support! It's done far better than I'd expected and you've all been instrumental in its success. Particular thanks should be given to "The Grey Pegasus" who let me bounce ideas off his head to see what stuck, and to CyanAeolin from whom the cover art is still derived. There will be a final chapter in the works soon. Until then, comments, likes, and all such are appreciated. P.S. People who never read author's notes are a bit weird. But don't tell them that, they get touchy about it. Ciao for now! One Good Turn...For years, the Grand Galloping Gala had featured, by tradition, a classical concert. This year, said concert was drawing to a close. The room erupted in applause, and Vinyl Scratch leant back from her piano with an invigorating exhalation of breath and anxiety. The last notes of Trotchovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 were lost in the deafening sea of noise and she looked around the grand opulence of the concert hall at the ranks of loving patrons. 'Clientèle' even; she grinned at the thought. Stomping and cheering still echoing around the chamber, Vinyl stood and tapped the conductor's hoof, nodding a thank you and receiving one in turn. Then, finally, she bowed, and drank in the crowd's adoration. It was glorious. As a soloist, an encore had always been on the cards; but it was casual and easy and the pressure was off. Vinyl grinned and waved a flourish as the piece ended to further cries of approval from the enraptured crowd. And when the applause had finally stopped the concert goers began to shuffle their way from the hall happily. Most of them were attending the gala's dance, they didn't want to be late. Vinyl trotted backstage and smoothed out the creases in her dress, she always liked an excuse to get the old thing out. It'd been a gift from Fancy Pants to her, at her foal shower; the old rouge'd somehow known exactly what she'd want, and how she'd fit it. Backstage was a happy place after any concert. Various musicians walked casually between rooms gathering their friends and belongings, and the organised chaos of the pre-concert preparations gave way to post-event happiness. It'd taken some work, but Vinyl had talked Octavia into coming along despite their breakup. After all, the unicorn had said, she'd bought the dress already, and the bars were spectacular. The whisky, oh Octavia, the whisky. It'd worked, just. Octavia sat at the bar in the dance hall sipping a tumbler of the promised whisky, and smiling. The dress still felt odd on her, but it wasn't particularly unpleasant. She watched the dancing couples from her stool as behind her the barcolt, in the manner of barcolts everywhere, wiped some glasses with a rag and relaxed. A string quartet on stage was playing some waltz or another; Octavia listened appreciatively for a while, writing the score inside her head as she listened. Hmm, She mused. It's no Freddy Mercoltry, but it's not bad. Her reverie was disturbed by Vinyl, who, having approached unheard, tapped Octavia on the shoulder and startled her back to reality. The unicorn grinned at her surprise. "How's the whisky then?" "Every bit a as good as you'd promised, Vinyl." The grey mare smiled. Vinyl grinned, "You don't regret coming then?" "No, it's fun here." Vinyl's grin grew wider. "Say it." "Say what?" Octavia looked puzzled. "Saaaaaaay it~." Octavia, feeling put upon, rolled her eyes. "I don't regret coming, Vinyl." "Yay!" Vinyl gave a squeak of excitement before refocussing on her surroundings. "Aren't you gonna dance? Everypony dances here, that's the point." The pianist clearly felt that the idea hadn't come across yet; "It's a dance." she added. Octavia was clearly startled by the idea. "What?" she looked around nervously, then, seeing nopony nearby, leant in towards her friend. "Vinyl," she whispered, "I can't dance." The unicorn gave an uncharacteristic snort, followed by a stifled giggle. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered between chuckles, "but you're a DJ, you must be able to dance. Besides, call this dancing? The hardest part is the standing on two hooves and you've got a partner to lean against for that." "I, I never learned this kind of thing." "I thought your parents were high society types?" "Yes, and I never listened to them." Octavia looked concerned, "This's the first time it's ever been an issue." "Well trust me, Octy: nopony here knows as much about dancing as you do. This's just the first waltz, somepony'll ask you up at some point." Here, the pianist's voice became a teasing sing-song. "It'd be rude to turn them down~." Leaving her to ponder the implications, Vinyl trotted excitedly over to the barkeep at the other end of the bar and ordered herself a drink. She'd never liked the dancing much herself, and had, over the years, become rather good at avoiding invitations. But it'd be funny to watch Octavia squirm. The first dance of the evening concluded, and most of the stallions trotted away from the mares they had accompanied to find others who were willing to dance. Some took the opportunity to buy a drink, or to rest briefly; the room was warm and it would be unbefitting of stallions of such class to be seen to sweat. To Vinyl's glee, it wasn't long before a young stallion had trotted nervously up towards Octavia and proffered a hoof. The DJ took it, warily, and threw a final pleading look at Vinyl as she was lead away. The unicorn raised her whisky, and winked. Soon after, she noticed a rather more self-confident stallion heading expectantly towards her. She pretended not to notice, then looked up suddenly towards the other end of the room as he approached. "Oh, Keeper? Is that you?" She exclaimed, to nopony in particular, "Of course!" she chuckled. "I'll be right over." And with that, she vanished into the crowd. Behind her, the swaggering stallion looked frustrated, but soon set off towards some new target, and Vinyl wandered casually back to the bar. The barcolt offered her a hoofbump as she arrived, which she took. "Nice." He offered. "I feel sorry for whatever mare you've landed him with now though." Vinyl shrugged. "Oh I don't know. If they can't dodge his type then they'd best learn to." The unicorn grinned. "Consider me an educator." Chuckling, the barcolt nodded to Vinyl's glass. "Need another?" "Sure. Why not." The quartet struck up again with a second piece. It was almost indistinguishable from the first, but Vinyl's practised ear recognised it as Schoofmann. With an air of satisfaction and nonchalance, the pianist sipped at her drink and watched Octavia's first forays into the realm of dance. There wasn't the spectacular trips and falls that she'd been expecting: the stallion was clearly being kind and the dance was slow in any case. Nevertheless, Vinyl felt somewhat cheated. Turning her attention away from the complete lack of a scene, she leant back on the bar and sipped her drink. 21-Year Glenlivery, she smiled. "La Maison" hasn't got nothing on this. The music began to close once again, and Vinyl watched Octavia bow gracefully to her partner and trot from the floor, practically glowing with excitement. "I can dance, Vinyl! I'm good at it!" "What?" The unicorn was puzzled. "You said you'd never done it before." "I hadn't! What's next? What kind of dance?" She looked about hurriedly. "Who can I dance with?" Vinyl looked concerned. "Maybe you should take a break..." "No! No I mustn't." Octavia grinned at her, manically, "I'm going to find another stallion," then she winked. "I could go alllllll night." Octavia trotted into the crowd, abandoning a confused Vinyl to wonder what she had unleashed on the event. As new couples began to form, Vinyl watched for anypony that might accost her for a dance. Once the music began, she relaxed. Being the concert soloist seemed to help, she mused; nopony had the nerve to talk to her. As the music began again, the barcolt wiped the bar behind her. "It's a shame huh?" Vinyl turned, surprised. "Hmm?" "Looking Glass over there." He nodded to a wiry stallion, sitting on a barstool some distance away. "He's here every year; poor colt's too afraid to talk to anypony but his parents always drag him along anyway, silly sods." "Why's he so afraid? It's a dance, he should be dancing." Vinyl explained. "Who would he dance with? He doesn't bring a date, never has. I'm fairly sure he's never had one to bring." The barcolt shrugged. "He'll get there, it's just his parents that can't think straight." "Smart is he?" "Proper brainbox. Royal astronomer, or soon to be anyway. Invented some telescope or something." Vinyl pondered something for a while, then nodded to her drink. "Fetch another would you?" she grinned. The barcolt looked at her oddly. "What're you up to now, Scratch?" Vinyl turned her tumbler in her hoof; the whisky had been good. She looked out at the dancing couples and watched Octavia's partner's expression, it alone was worth the work in bringing her here. "You know what they say:" She explained. "One good turn..." "...Deserves another?" Vinyl pondered this. "Nah." She concluded. "I was thinking two. That way you'll get a whole lot more back." She stepped down from the barstool and walked over to the stallion, who looked up in surprise. Vinyl extended a hoof. "I know technically you're supposed to ask me." The mare began, confidently. "But would you care to dance?" And with the tiniest smile on the stallion's lips, the good turns continued on their way. Author's Note Wooh, thanks for sticking with me through the whole thing guys. Sorry to all you OctaScratch fans out there, but this was always the plan. I hope it was an enjoyable story in any case. Kudos once again goes to CyanAeolin on deviantart for the cover art to this piece. As always, likes and comments are appreciated and I'll be sticking around to answer comments when thy're given. Thanks to reader "The Grey Pegasus" for helping me to smooth out the story and letting me bounce ideas off him to see what stuck. It's been fun guys. Ciao.
Scotch, Sympathy, and Transpirations8-B3AT was a good DJ, a great DJ even, and she knew it. The floor was full of ponies jumping, raving, and in some cases even dancing to the sound of her entrancing, electronic beats. Timing became second nature to any good performer; Octavia could tell that her set should be drawing to a close and with a flick of her hoof sent a series of tuneful pulses throughout the club's atmosphere. "La Maison Nuit" was popular: less popular clubs would have had long queues outside extending the length of the street and beyond. Not such here: you either got in or you didn't, and if you had to ask about it then you probably weren't getting in. Even the most persistent of youths had long ago given up on trying to talk, bribe or fight their way inside through the wall of solid, stoic, and highly paid muscle at the doorway on Canterlot's main street. The bouncers knew every permitted pony by name and accepted no half baked excuses from any others. Once they were inside they were Octavia's customers. The club's clientèle, and by extension, hers. Once she was inside her hood went up, her glasses went down, and her name became 8-B3AT. She was a legend. Oh, and her voice fell by about three social classes. The music began to quieten to a steady background throb as 8-B3AT stepped down from her podium, mane falling out of her hood in strands after the exhausting set. Cheers of thanks and moans of disappointment arose simultaneously from the ponies on the dance floor. 8-B3AT gave one last whoop to the crowd and, with a subtle mental shift, Octavia Melody walked slowly towards the bar. With her charcoal grey hair let down she looked completely different from the energetic mare that had whipped the club's ponies into a frenzy only minutes before, for one thing she looked worn out. Had it not been for the distinctive plum coloured hoodie and purple shades she could've passed for just another face, albeit a pretty one. The barkeeped paused in cleaning a glass with his rag to offer Octavia a hoofbump as she sat down at the bar, she took it. She noted that her replacement was already taking his place at the mixing desks and allowed her voice to slip back into its natural, more refined, accent with a sigh of relief. "15-year Glen Fillioch, Blend." The barcolt, Smooth Blend, smiled and nodded. It always amused him to watch Octavia once she'd dropped her stage persona. He knew for a fact that most of the club's customers would expect her to get hammered on pina coladas and pass out on the dance floor. He'd never even seen her drunk, though not for lack of trying. Not for the first time, the luckless stallion wondered if she attributed the extra attention he gave her to her position as DJ. It didn't matter, he reasoned, she'd figure it out eventually. Hopefully, anyway. "Coming right up, Octy. Tiring night?" "Indeed, I love the work but, well, it does seem to take it out of me somewhat doesn't it?" "Oh don't worry about it." The barekeep handed Octavia her whisky with a smile and went back to wiping his glass. "It doesn't show." This was a lie: the mare was visibly sweating, her mane was bedraggled and lay in strands across her forehead and the trademark purple hoodie, that Blend secretly suspected would be worth a fortune if Octavia ever decided to sell it, was crumpled, messy, and fell about the DJ's shoulders like worn cloth. Octavia, however, seemed to believe him. "Why thank you," she smiled at him, seemingly genuinely relieved. "you're a great friend, Blend, you really are." The stallion, as he always did at times like this, died a little inside. Octavia nodded along the bar to another pony, one that she didn't recognise, who was sitting morosely on a barstool nursing a glass of scotch and soda. "I didn't know that we were expecting new clients." Blend turned to the object of Octavia's interest. "Oh, yes." He began. "I've been serving her all evening. A friend of the boss's apparently, though Luna only knows why she came here in the first place, she's been doing nothing but sit and drink depressedly so far tonight." The newcomer's mane was the first shocking detail about her; it shot out from behind her ears in spikes of dark blue and cerulean. Her coat was a pristine white, the overall effect looked like some sort of walking toothpaste ad wearing a tailcoat. Her eyes were red, or purple; they changed as the light struck them and reflected the club's lights making it hard to determine their true colour in any case. The white unicorn's cutie mark was that of a black treble clef; Blend compared it to Octavia's: a pair of purple quavers. "Another musician?" "Looks like it, why's she so down? This is a party for Luna's sake!" Blend shrugged at the question. "You could always ask I suppose, you should know how'ta cheer up somepony right? Didn't you take classes?" "Indeed." Octavia nodded slowly, remembering fondly her tutelage under Pinkie Pie in the subtle, and not so subtle, arts of "partying down". The lessons had proved invaluable: nowadays she could get through an entire night without tiredness, (exhaustion was another matter) and it was far easier to let loose in public, an invaluable skill for a DJ. It was Pinkie that'd taught her the whole fake accent thing too, it'd been so hard not to laugh at first. Shaking her head, Octavia refocussed on the present. "Whu- Sorry, did you say something?" "I just asked if you were ok," Blend replied, concernedly, "you seemed a little spaced out." "Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you." The two sat in silence for a few minutes watching the unicorn at the other end of the bar. Eventually, Octavia could take it no longer. "That does it, that mare needs cheering up." She placed her glass, now bereft of whisky, back on the bartop and climbed down from her stool. "Keep them coming, Blend: I have a feeling that I may have my work somewhat cut out for me." Scotch seemed to make life easier; but Vinyl couldn't help but wish that it could actually solve problems rather than merely numb them. Not for the first time tonight she found herself wondering why she'd taken up Fancy Pants's offer to, as he'd put it, 'Have an enjoyable evening unwinding in the most exclusive club in Canterlot, as you young people do.' "You young people", does he even know me? Vinyl glanced about casually at the madly dressed ponies on the dance floor before returning to stare into her glass. Some famous club DJ was running the dancers ragged; purple laser-light shot overhead in beams and illuminated the expensive attire of the "Maison". Vinyl's inner voice demanded that she calm down. The exam went fine, you know it did. No, I won't know until I get the marks back. True, but you do know what I mean. You're the best pianist in Canterlot, stop worrying! Would you mind if I drank the scotch anyway? Vinyl's conscience shrugged. Not really. With that, the unicorn went back to her drink. The music had stopped briefly, Vinyl didn't care much but having it in the background, however loud, had made her feel more at home. She preferred Trotchovsky, but music was music. At least she'd managed to pace her whisky, Beauty Brass had told her that she was a mean drunk and she'd rather not offend Fancy Pants, however little interest his nightclub held for her. Vinyl was no great connoisseur of spirits but she could tell that her whisky was not only rather good, but rather old. Hmph, she mused, I suppose this is Fancy Pants's club after all. The barcolt had wandered away to serve another customer, Vinyl took a peanut from a bowl on the bar and popped it into her mouth absently. Her leg began to twitch anxiously, she focussed on it and it stopped. Look on the bright side. Her mind insisted, At least nopony's bothering y-. "Hi there!" Vinyl groaned internally, "How's your night going?" She turned to source of the annoyance: a grey mare wearing a dark plum hooded jacket and a pair of purple-tinted shades on her forehead. Vinyl gritted her teeth internally and forced her best, 'talking to strangers' smile. "Oh, just fine, thanks, what about you?" Whoever this mare was she could identify such a blatant deflection, an eyebrow was raised. "Now now, never mind me; I'm not the mare who's been sitting drinking scotch and soda all evening." Vinyl sniffed the air. "Really?" The stranger didn't flinch. "Just one, honestly." Against all odds, her eyebrow rose yet further. "Now what about you?" Vinyl sighed quietly. She couldn't help but appreciate the inquisitive mare despite her own desire for solitude. Reclusive thoughts temporarily cast aside, she submitted to the interrogation. "Two." "Only two this whole evening?" "Yea, my friend, Beauty Brass, says I'm no fun when I'm drunk, which is a pity." The grey mare's purple eyes expressed concern. "Why?" Vinyl hesitated, then knowing full well that she was in the tank already either way, opted for honesty. "Because I could do with being drunk about now." The earth pony sat down next to Vinyl and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with one hoof, smiling as she did so. "Oh, come now. Look, I'll get us some more scotch, 13 year Mount Saddleback is a personal favourite, and you can tell me about things." Vinyl mumbled into the remains of her whisky. "I don't even know your name." "Octavia Melody," The DJ extended a hoof, "nice to meet you." Vinyl looked up at the DJ, who smiled encouragingly, then grasped forwards at her jacket and broke out into loud, messy, and rather gooey, sobs. Octavia held her gently and patted her on the back with a hoof, murmuring generic comforts. She waved a silent request to Blend, it seemed necessary. Then, mind turning, she began to plan. All Vinyl really remembered next morning was a vague peaty flavour and a generic feeling of happiness. Though some further details could be inferred from her headache and exhaustion. No gig today, no problem. She lay in bed for another half an hour before hunger roused her by force from her slumber. Climbing to her hooves, she noticed her tailcoat, clean and pressed, on the back of the door, with a note on the lapel. A quick burst of magic brought it before her. Morning Vinyl, hope you slept well, Apologies for the whole "red wine gets out white wine" thing, I must've been at least three kinds of drunk at that stage. Anyway, I had the barcolt, Smooth Blend, take your tailcoat to an all night dry-cleaners (yes, those exist) and got it fixed up for you. Hope you're hungry! - Octavia Vinyl's brow furrowed for a moment as she read the signature, then fragments of the past began to run their way backwards across her brain, and the name clicked into place. Octavia! That nosy mare with a clubber's dress sense and a posh accent! She- Oh. Even in the confines of her own home, Vinyl blushed. Why did I wind up crying like that? That's not me! I keep calm! Cool! Collected! Was it the scotch? Vinyl pondered this for a moment. Yea. Definitely the scotch. She smiled gently as she set the note down on her bedside table and tried unsuccessfully to remember how she'd gotten home last night. After some musing, she remembered the last line of the note. "Hope you're hungry..." She muttered, "What're you up to now filly?" Opening her bedroom door, Vinyl made her way into her house proper. Two living rooms were linked by a short corridor branching into one bedroom and one bathroom, the walls were painted light grey and decorated with various musically themed trinkets and the kitchen, towards which Vinyl now walked, took up half of one living room, the other half offering a second floor view over Canterlot that was nothing short of stunning. Shielding her eyes from Celestia's sun as she entered the room, Vinyl didn't notice a note tacked to the front of the fridge until she reached to extract milk from it for coffee. Vinyl took this note in her magic like the first and browsed, a smile creeping across her face once more as she read. Morning again Vinyl! I believe that I'm sober at present, though if I'm drunk then of course I would do. Either way I baked some cookies when we got back to your flat (nice place by the way, love the view). Assuming relative sobriety they should be rather good, if I do say so myself. I put them in the fridge for you last night (or was it this morning, whichever) for breakfast (go on, treat yourself!). Do tell me how they turned out next time you see me. - Octavia Vinyl was grinning widely when she lay the note down on the kitchen counter but as she reached for the fridge handle she noticed a second piece of paper behind the first. Withdrawing it curiously revealed a fresh poloroid photograph that turned her cheeks red. The image depicted a crowded dance floor: in its centre were two figures, raised on hind legs, jumping energetically to the music and hypnotic light show of the club itself. A second image, taken a moment later, depicted the same two figures. The first was Octavia, she was reaching confusedly for her forehead and smirking drunkenly. The second dancer was herself. She was wearing Octavia's purple shades and shouting energetically in what appeared to be mid-leap. Her tailcoat was crumpled, her mane a cyan mess, and her eyes a vivid magenta. Vinyl grinned as the memory came back, it'd been too long. She lay the poloroids down beside the note and opened the fridge door. True to her word, Octavia had left a plate of cookies, apparently untouched, inside the cool interior of the machine. Vinyl withdrew them with a smile and decided that Octavia's recommendation that she "treat herself" be taken under serious consideration. Ten minutes later, she felt stuffed. The TV seemed like such an inviting prospect. Wandering between rooms, Vinyl noticed a small package sitting on her TV set and, surprised, levitated it over. It was a box, it was grey, it was wrapped with purple ribbon, and Vinyl knew exactly who it was from. With a grin greater than any she had yet given today, Vinyl unpackaged the box down to its cardboard shell and read the note on top. Hey Vinyl! Hope the cookies were good. I hadn't the heart to take them back, you seemed so attached to them. Besides, I've a dozen pairs at home. - Octavia Puzzlement growing, Vinyl opened the box and gazed on its contents. Inside sat a shining pair of purple-tinted shades. Vinyl began to laugh. Not a chuckle, not a satirical, amused laugh, but the full and mirthful joy of the truly happy. It couldn't have lasted for more than a minute, but the white unicorn had no concerns for time. She laughed until she gasped for air, until her sides hurt and her eyes watered and she went on laughing. When finally it subsided she found herself on her living room floor, tiny droplets of chuckle still escaping from the brimming cup of mirth that she remained. Eventually she could stand. Taking the glasses from the box and placing them on her head with a grin, she noted a third scrap of paper in the box, at the bottom. It was far shorter, and far more affirming, than either of the others. I do hope you like the glasses. Either way, it's Saturday today Vinyl, feel like coming out? Call me. Vinyl turned the note over and saw a number, a mobile number. Without a moment's hesitation, and remembering both her morning's joy and evening's melancholy. She picked up the phone on her deck, and dialled. Fancy Pants swivelled on his chair. Octavia's natural friendliness was the best marketing policy he'd ever had. Author's Note Do you people have any idea how much willpower it takes not to blatantly rip off Terry Pratchett? Thanks again to CyanAeolin for letting me use his art for the cover. More Octavia dude! More! And thanks to you guys for taking time out of your day to read this. And just because I'm feeling particularly power mad; do feel free to comment on any mistakes you may notice and I'll fix them right up. Like all writers my ego is in need of constant validation, and I'm glad you thought to help. As I wrote this I found it becoming more and more a reflection of myself and the happiness that I'd found in the bronyhood. This fandom is so accepting of people of all different backgrounds that I can't help but smile even now, more than a year after my "initiation" as it were. Nevertheless, fanfiction is a first for me, I hope that it pleased. Likes are appreciated, though I'll consider anything other than blatant hatred of my characters a success. Ciao for now, and keep on... reading fanfiction I guess? There are certainly worse ways to spend a day.
Dates, Other Dates, and "The Lettuce Bar"Author's Note Note: This chapter was accidentally published pre-proof reading for about thirty seconds. Don't know if anyone saw it in that time. Either way, mistakes should've been altered now but it goes without saying, if you see any, or just think that I'm awesome, comment! Ok everypony. This became way more popular than I'd expected given that it was the first piece of vaguely artistic writing that I've actually shoved down the throat of anyone other than my English teacher (and even she HAD to read it) so I've decided that another chapter might be in order, whatever I said before about not intending to produce one. I've noticed my story in some favourite boxes and it makes me absurdly happy to see it there. To this end, LET THE MADNESS CONTINUE! I won't say "no more chapters" this time, but no new chapters I do make will rely on future ones, I've not the willpower to force myself to write. The result of this is that you'll get stuff when I feel like writing it. For all of you not disgusted by the terms of my continued existence, I shall narrate. *clears throat* For the purposes of this story, it may help your enjoyment to believe that I have a voice indistinguishable from that of Morgan Freeman. You're welcome. For trivia purposes, the word "date(s)" can be found in 16 different locations through this chapter. Excluding this one of course. Dates, Other Dates, and "The Lettuce Bar" Octavia pulled at the edges of the dress uncomfortably, she was sure that it wasn't meant to feel like a fabric-skinned anaconda, but she was hardly an expert. For years the most clothing she'd ever had to wear had been her hoodie, and that only because, well, everypony knew that she wore that hoodie. Two hours in a dress shop was bad enough, having Fancy Pants with her was worse, and knowing what the dress was for was nothing short of excruciating. The b'monocled stallion was watching Octavia's discomfort with sympathy and mild amusement; the moment that they'd walked in Octavia's precious jacket had been whisked from her back and all manner of outlandish and constricting garments had been donned and undonned, stitched, let out, taken in and in one slightly more embarrassing case, torn. Octavia knew that she was being doted on because she was with Fancy Pants, but somehow it seemed unlikely that asking the dressmaker to leave her alone would work. She seemed rather detached from reality in any case. "And how's that feel now?" "Actually, it's a little tight at-" "Good, good... That looks much better with your eyes. Oh you really should do something with that hair, its so naturally glossy!" "Well I do use-" "Oh I could recommend a stylist, if you want." Much to Octavia's irritation, the dressmaker looked up at Fancy Pants with the question. However, the stallion could obviously tell how frustrated Octavia was getting; with a smile to the overattentive assistant, he decreed mercy. "No thank you, Cherry Petal, give us a moment would you?" The unicorn scuttled away, and tried to look busy with her ledgers behind the shop counter. Fancy Pants rolled his eyes with a smile and turned back to the smouldering, frustrated, and rather smartly outfitted earth pony that represented the cream of his nightclub DJs. "Where exactly is it tight?" Octavia blushed. "I'm not that fat." "Of course not, but I do want to make sure that you'll be able to wear the dress, because I get the impression that you're about one more frilly hemline away from storming out in a huff." The old stallion smiled. "I didn't think you'd enjoy this too much." "They're treating me like a doll! Where'd they put my hoodie anyway? I'd better get it back!" Octavia tapped at the cloth around her neck and shoulder. "Why would anypony wear this? It's so uncomfortable! What's wrong with a nice jacket or a shirt?" "It's the Grand Galloping Gala, Octavia, you can't wear your normal jacket however much you like it. Besides, you asked for my help and I say you need a dress." Octavia looked down unhappily and pawed at the carpet with a forehoof. "I know..." Fancy Pants was suddenly concerned. He would expect frustration from Octavia; excitement, drama and exaggeration were all part of her daily routine, but sadness? It wasn't like her at all. "Octavia," Fancy Pants lifted her chin up with a hoof, "don't worry alright? I'm sure I can find something that you'll like." She smiled, hopefully. "Why're you going to the gala this year, Octavia? I've offered you an invitation every year since you started working for me. I know Smooth Blend takes me up on the offers but you've never gone. What changed?" The grey earth pony blushed slightly. Until now she'd managed to avoid actually telling Fancy Pants why she needed his help in readying herself for the gala. He'd seemed to be engrossed enough in preparing her that she hadn't seen any reason to tell him. Octavia had rather hoped that it might stay that way. No such luck, apparently. "It's Vinyl." Fancy Pants looked surprised. "Whatever do you mean? Do you like her?" Octavia spent some time looking concerned, finally, she answered. "Look, we were both kinda drunk..." Vinyl Scratch spun the shades around in her hooves and smiled. She was sitting on her couch in the living room of her apartment and a dose of coffee had done a decent job in warding off the unfavourable effects of an evening of drinking. Said unfavourable effects had been worth it. Unusually, Vinyl's piano had gone untouched so far this morning. Normally she'd be up and playing chords across the keys like a spider but for now she'd left the notes unplayed to ponder her life. Did I just get a date? Well did I? I suppose that it didn't... sound like a date, but, she asked me to a restaurant. That's a date right? Do I want it to be? Will she show up with flowers? Oh, Celestia! Will she expect me to? Vinyl shook her head and her mane fell down over her eyes. she blew it out of the way, it needed combing. I should just call and ask her, that way I'll know what to expect. But what if it's not a date; she'll think I want one. Or what if it is a date; then she'll think that I don't... Do I? The unicorn groaned. "I need help with this one." The phone was levitated in a blue aura and a second number dialled. Beauty Brass. Beauty dates right? She'll know what I should do. Vinyl finished punching in the last numbers on the keypad and dialled, somewhere on the other end of the line a phone rang. It was picked up. "Beauty!" Vinyl blurted out urgently. "Dates!" "Err.. They're a little sweet for my taste but I suppose I like them, kinda chewy. What's going on Vinyl?" "You're saying I should buy her candy?" "What?" "I don't want to come on to strong you know, it's just that I've never had a proper date before, ya know?" There was a moments silence, then a puzzled voice emerged from the earpiece. "Vinyl Scratch, are you asking me out?" It was Vinyl's turn to gawk. "What?" "I mean, I'm flattered really, but you know I don't... Swing that way..." Beauty's blush was practically audible. "Besides, you're my best friend. Who would I bitch to about my coltfriends?" "Beauty, back up. What's going on." "Weren't you asking me out?" "What? No! I mean, no, not that you're not pretty and all that but, just, no." Now both mares were blushing, by virtue of her coat colour Vinyl had turned a rather pleasing shade of pink. "Oh, er... Well that's fine then... Thanks, I guess?" "Sure... I- Look, sorry to bother you, Beauty, speak to you later ok?" "Great! I'll see you round, Vinyl." "See ya!" "Bye!" Vinyl hung up the phone with a sigh and a giggle, blush slowly fading. It took fully fifteen seconds for her face to take on the expression of embarrassed consternation appropriate to her situation. She galloped back over to the phone and redialled. Ok, Vinyl, think this time. *click* "Help meeeeeee!" "La Maison Nuit" was beginning to fill up. Octavia sat at the bar with a glass of whisky; her comfortable, familiar hoodie worn as it always was. She'd breifly considered something more formal, or nothing at all, but had ruled out the former when she realised that she didn't own anything of the sort, and had forsaken the latter when she'd seen the rain. Her wet mane was slowly drying in the warmth of the club and she'd made sure that she didn't have a shift tonight to interfere with her plans. Smooth Blend was off ill and Fancy Pants had had to find a substitute at the last minute. After several minutes of confused discussion, the replacement barcolt had told her that there was no rule stating that DJs got free drinks, and that somepony must've been paying for them in the past. Octavia forked over a handful of bits, and made a mental note to bring it up with Smooth Blend next time she saw him. It wasn't long before Vinyl Scratch (an umbrella held in her magic but with her coat nevertheless just as bedraggled as Octavia's) stepped into the club and shook her mane out inside. The music was currently restricted to a background throb: the night's DJs wouldn't get here before eight at the earliest, and she'd be long gone by then. Walking hesitantly over to the bar, as if afraid that at any moment Octavia might kiss, or for that matter, slap her, Vinyl caught Octavia's eye and smiled at her. "Hey Octavia." she ventured, non-committally. "Hi! Nice to see you!" "Yea, you too." Vinyl thought that the silence that followed was awkward. So did Octavia, she just didn't know why. Finally, Octavia spoke up. "I suppose we should go out then." Vinyl goggled, "Really?" "Uh, I mean, if you want to stay that's fine, but I thought we were eating at seven?" Vinyl replayed the conversation in her head and began to recolour her face pink. "Oh, yea, yea of course. Terrible weather though, right? I mean, it's only natural that I might not want to go outside." Octavia raised an eyebrow. "I suppose so? We may have to if we have any intention of arriving at the restaurant on time..." "Uh, I guess you're right." "Shall we go?" Octavia motioned to the door. Vinyl smiled, and tried to stop thinking. "Sure!" The weather outside was awful. Truly awful. Trout could have swam over the walls of Canterlot castle and in through the windows of the Princess' bedchambers. Why they would want to do so is a matter of great scholarly consideration, but everypony agreed that it was possible. Octavia had immediately pulled up her hood when they left the club but the rain had soaked it through within a minute, both ponies were relieved when they arrived at the restaurant. Golden letters over the door proclaimed it to be, "The Lettuce Bar" and Octavia had picked it out herself on the basis that of the half-a-dozen or so restaurants with which she was familiar this was the one were you were least likely to use the word, "tablecloth" synonymously with the word, "napkin". (With the exception of "Nut Grease's Bulk Diner and Wholesale Butter Emporium", where the word, "napkin" was rarely used at all, and only ever as an insult.) Vinyl wasn't looking overly disgusted yet, insofar as it was possible to tell in the rain, which was probably a good sign. And yet Octavia found that she was far more nervous than she'd expected to be, but she couldn't place a hoof on why. They stepped inside, Octavia hung her jacket up on a peg and waved at a server who made their way towards them. "Hi! I'm Lemon Cloth and I'll be serving you today. Can I ask your name please, miss?" "We have a reservation under "Melody"." Octavia explained, wiping her shades with a hoof. The serving mare checked a list briefly and then nodded. "Great! If you two'd just follow me please." Smiling, she walked into the quiet bustle of the restaurant, and Octavia and Vinyl followed. Both during and after the dinner, Vinyl found herself, despite her best attempts, micro analysing Octavia's every move and word. Dozens of thoughts streaked across her mind every minute as they chatted, each one making it harder to eke any enjoyment out of the dinner itself. A word about the weather could've carried dozens of meanings, or might have carried none, and by the end of the night Vinyl had a headache from trying to determine which it was. Well, it was that or the booze. The rain had subsided by the time the slightly tipsy ponies decided to leave. They split the check, and Octavia left a rather generous tip for the wine waiter. Somehow, Vinyl and Octavia navigated the network of Canterlot's streets back to the Maison and wandered inside. They sat down at a booth connected to the bar and watched the dancers on the floor, music from the stage now fully in swing. "He's not as good as you ya know..." Vinyl remarked, slightly drunkenly. "How'dya know? You never really listened to me." "Ah did so! The whole time I was drinkin' I thought, "That music, that's, that's, that's some darn good music."" Octavia blushed. "Really? That's really nice." Smiling, the two ponies lapsed once again into silence and sat, basking in the noise of the not-quite-so-good-but-still-good music. "Vinyl? You ok?" The white unicorn was fidgeting slightly, her hoof was tapping insistently against the underside of the table. She seemed rather vacant. "Vinyl? Equestria ta Scratchy?" "Whu? Oh, yea I'm fine." "What's wrong Scratchy?" Octavia giggled at the impromptu nickname, then frowned. "Didn't you have fun? I had fun." Vinyl looked uncomfortable. "I..." "Sup?" Calm down, Scratch. Vinyl thought. Remember what Beauty said, what was it? "Kinda chewy"? Uh, probably not, ah heck, what's the worst that could happen. "I... Octavia, was this a date?" There was a pause. When she replied, the grey mare's face took on an expression of drunken puzzlement. "No, Vinyl... A date's a little fruit thing, or is it a nut? Not sure. It wasn't a this though. This was a this, y'know, thingy." "No! No no no, was this, like, a date date. Like you have with a special somepony." This time, when Octavia replied, it was clear that she understood. She was just sober enough to be aware that this wasn't a conversation she should be having while drunk without being sober enough to stop herself from talking. Finally, she realised why she'd been so nervous. "Uh," she ventured, at length. "I'm not sure." "Well... Do you want it to be?" Octavia paused. "Not fair, I picked the restaurant, you tell me what you want!" "Nuh uh, you tell me." "No! You have to s-" Vinyl grabbed Octavia by the neck of her hoodie and pulled her head across the table into the most awkward kiss either pony had ever experienced. After the initial shock, all Octavia could focus on was the idea that the wine still tasted good, even now. Whereas Vinyl was trying hard not to stretch her friend's trademark jacket. A moment later, the two released lips and stared at each other from opposite ends of the table. After some considerable silence, Octavia shuffled around the bench and put her foreleg around Vinyl's shoulders. She whispered into the unicorn's ear. "So yes then?" Vinyl turned back. "Yes." "Vinyl? Vinyl, you there?" Beauty's voice buzzed out of the phone and washed around Vinyl like the wind. Finally, she snapped back, "Hmm?" "I asked whether you'd see her again." Vinyl pondered the question. She wanted to say... something. She wanted to know, really. "Look," She began at length, "we were both super drunk..."
Avoidance, Fear, and Ice-Cream HeadachesWas it her, or were the club lights particularly bright tonight? 8-B3AT couldn't concentrate. Normally she would sway to the tones from the synthesisers; the desks would be putty in her hooves and the speakers naught but an extension of her voice. Now, she was sweating, and not because of the heat and energy of the club: it was fear. What if she missed a beat, or forgot a chord; the dancers were unlikely to notice but she knew that she would. Even her timing was off, in the depths of her concern a club assistant had stepped up onto the stage and told her that the next DJ was waiting to get on. Muttering a quick apology, she began to wind down the music. The crowd's disappointment seemed less obvious tonight; maybe they had noticed a change, or maybe she just couldn't focus on them as much as normal. Stepping down from the stage, she gave one last wave to meagre applause. A rest at the bar seemed more and more inviting. Octavia glanced about cautiously, then walked slowly out from behind the speakers towards the bar, shades raised. A tap on her shoulder caused her to turn with a yelp, and Fancy Pants looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "F- Fancy Pants? What're you doing here?" she stammered. The old unicorn recovered quickly and smiled at her. "This is my club, Octavia. I can come here if I want." "W- Well, of course, of course, but you, you don't often do you?" "I must endeavour to make a habit out of it in the future it seems." He looked critically at Octavia. "What, may I ask, are you doing here young mare?" Octavia was always awful at hiding guilt, but she was game for trying. "I'm working, Fancy Pants. I do work here." "Not tonight you don't. I'm sure I told you to go out and find Vinyl tonight. I haven't seen her since last week." "Neither have I, but I wouldn't even know where to start looking!" "You could try her house, did you think of that one?" Octavia looked ashamed. "I-, I didn't want to look." "Why ever not, filly?" When Octavia looked up, Fancy Pants was shocked to see tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before and he couldn't help but want to comfort her. The old stallion steeled himself. You have to let her get it out first old boy. "Because-" Octavia supplied at length. "I might- I might find her." A handful of tears trickled from her nose and splattered onto the club's laminate floor tiles. Fancy Pants knew that he'd heard what he'd come for, and stepped urgently up put a hoof on Octavia's shoulder. He hushed and comforted her as the minutes passed and the business of the club carried on in the background, the two static ponies unheeded. Eventually her sobs subsided and she leant into him silently. The unicorn led her away from the bar without a word and she followed meekly, clinging to his coat like a foal to its mother's dress. Eventually, Fancy Pants lead them through into a back room. The walls had been heavily soundproofed against the noise of the club and various seats and couches surrounded the chamber. A fire burned in a corner fireplace and Fancy Pants let Octavia down gently into a chair beside it, taking the opposite seat. Even in her current state, Octavia noticed two tumblers of whisky on the table between them. He expected this... What does he know? She didn't look Fancy Pants in the eye as she started to talk. She knew he was waiting for her. "I really miss Vinyl, but I can't see her right now." Fancy Pants picked up his whisky, Octavia's had, thus far, remained untouched. "Why's that?" He asked, sipping slowly. "She's my marefriend now, Fancy Pants. I think... I guess that's the problem." "You're unsure where you're standing?" "Yes..." The ponies lapsed into silence temporarily, Fancy Pants sat patiently and sipped his whisky. "I know that the only way to solve this is to talk to her," Octavia began. "but I can't." "You're smart, Octavia. Tell me, what happens if you don't talk to her?" "I never get a marefriend." Fancy Pants frowned, "Possibly true," he conceded. "But not what I was going for." "I know, Fancy Pants, I know. I'll never know if she's with me or not. Then I'll move on and she won't, or she will and I won't, somepony'll be made miserable." "Better." he replied. "That doesn't help me though." Octavia whined. "It just means that every choice is difficult!" Fancy Pants stood, he finished his whisky in one last sip and knelt beside the depressed mare. "Octavia," he began, seriously. "Are you going to drink that whisky?" There was a giggle. It looked like another sob at first, and Fancy Pants wondered if he'd made an error, but it soon resolved itself into a chuckle, then a laugh, and escalated gradually until all of Octavia's tears of misery had been replaced by tears of mirth, albeit grudgingly. She turned to Fancy Pants and for the first time that evening, looked him in the eye. "You know, it's so bucking impossible to be miserable with you around." Octavia swore afterwards that Fancy Pants gave a hoofpump here, but nopony believed her. Either way, a moment later she'd promised him that she'd go to Vinyl's house in the morning and look for her. It was Fancy Pants's gift. Both ponies left the room smiling when they'd come in with a frown. Only his closest friends had known his mirthful side, but they never forgot it. Fancy Pants picked up the second tumbler of whisky and sipped it as Octavia left. She'd keep her promise, of that he was certain. Of course Vinyl had no need to go into the club. She knew that Octavia liked her now, why would she need to see her again to prove that? Vinyl had decided that if she told herself that enough it might become true, which would mean that she wasn't avoiding anypony. That was currently the plan. It wasn't working. Why am I avoiding her? It's not like we've had a fight, we had a kiss for Celestia's sake! That's a good thing! Right? Well? It wasn't the circumstances of her relationship, but the circumstances of its creation that gnawed a guilty crevice into Vinyl's mind. Somewhere in the back of her brain she knew instinctively that a single drunken kiss was no premise for marefriendhood. Now everything felt, well, wrong. "Oh buck up, Vinyl. You wanted this!" Wanted is about right. Replied her thoughts, Vinyl winced. The unicorn tried not thinking about it, she tried thinking about it more. Eventually she resorted to banging her head against the wall. Nothing really helped. This is stupid. She concluded. I'll just call her, she can reassure me. She's good at that. Levitating her phone over with a burst of magic, Vinyl dialled Octavia's number. Suddenly, she remembered who she was calling and looked at the clock. Eleven-AM, hmm, she's probably up by now. Tentatively, she pressed dial, and waited as the phone rang. There was a knock at the door. Vinyl ignored it and waited for Octavia to pick up. *knock, knock, knock*, "Vinyl?" "I'm busy!" She replied. The phone was still ringing, maybe Octavia wasn't there. *knock, knock knock*, "Vinyl?". The unicorn was somewhat past the point of normal mental processing. Had she been in full control of herself, she might have realised who was knocking sooner. She paused, something was telling her that the pony at the door was important... *knock, knock, knock, "Vinyl?". A whir, ratchet and click inside the unicorn's brain accompanied a similar one from the phone in her hoof, which was swiftly dropped to the floor as Vinyl vaulted across her coffee table and landed beside the door, pulling it open with her magic. It revealed a rather surprised and anxious Octavia, plastic bag slung over one shoulder. Vinyl, from her position on the carpet, chuckled. "Come on in." Octavia did so, stopping to pull the unicorn up with a hoof. "What was that all about, Vinyl?" "Oh, I, er, was trying to call you." "Why?" The quiet that followed was vacuum packed full of awkwardness. Octaiva looked at Vinyl in puzzlement as the mare finally stammered a reply. "I- that is we- at least I thought that- er..." The unicorn lapsed back into silence. Octavia could see where this was going, mainly because she'd been looking for it. It was surprising, but it was also a relief. She felt a weight lift from her back as she spoke a summary of the thoughts that had been swirling in her head on her way here. "This's weird right?" Vinyl looked up suddenly. Distress clear on her face. "Yes!" Both ponies began to ramble explanations and apologies at each other, but the more or less identical nature of the two speeches meant that very little explanation was necessary on either side. After several minutes, both mares were out of breath, and felt rather less tense than before. Finally, Vinyl extended a hoof. "Friends?" she offered. Octavia ignored it and grasped Vinyl's neck in a hug. "Of course." The unicorn scrabbled for some purchase on Octavia's arms and eventually prised them off her with a gasp. The DJ blushed. "Oh, uh sorry about that." Vinyl waved her into silence. "What," she wheezed between gasps, "what do we do now?" Octavia smiled, and nodded to the plastic bag on her shoulder. "I brought ice cream. We did both just get dumped." "Hot damn!" Vinyl leapt over the sofa and into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a pair of spoons. She nodded to the TV on the far wall. "You can tell me about how much of a foal your marefriend was!" "Ha!" replied Octavia, "Only if you do too." The pianist nodded and sat down on the couch. Octavia joined her after a moment and extracted a pair of ice cream tubs from the plastic shopping bag by her feet. "Whisky ice cream? They make WHISKY ICE CREAM?" Vinyl yelled. "WHY DIDN'T ANYPONY TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER?!" Octavia stifled a giggle and passed a tub to Vinyl, who ripped the lid off and took a bite. "Agh! Cooold!" The giggling mare stood up after a moment and wandered towards the kitchen. "I'll make you some tea, tea's good when you're upset." "I'm not upset!" Vinyl yelled back, cringing at the sudden ice cream headache. "Well you're meant to be," chuckled Octavia. "So tough luck. Besides, it'll help with the headache." The ice cream was good, Vinyl had turned on some medical soap when Octavia returned, which after a brief argument, in which the phrase, 'I brought the ice cream' was raised, was changed to 'Dr Whooves adventures in Space and Time'. Octavia spent most of the first episode attempting to explain various things to her friend, who, by the end, was deliberately getting stuff wrong just to watch the DJ's reaction. Conveniently, the show was on marathon, and by 11PM even Octavia had given up tying to justify some of the Doctor's antics. It was love. Not sappy, romantic, squishy love, but the other kind. The more reliable kind. Octavia loved Fancy Pants, Vinyl loved Beauty Brass, and they loved each other. Vinyl offered to introduce Octavia to Beauty, and after some confusion the fact that she "didn't swing that way" was clarified, to many giggles. No, Octavia pondered, Romance is overrated. This is the best kind of love; it's so much easier to share. Author's Note To all you OctaScratch fans. I've very sorry. I do support the ship, but some originality was required. For all those who read this, thanks for the support! It's done far better than I'd expected and you've all been instrumental in its success. Particular thanks should be given to "The Grey Pegasus" who let me bounce ideas off his head to see what stuck, and to CyanAeolin from whom the cover art is still derived. There will be a final chapter in the works soon. Until then, comments, likes, and all such are appreciated. P.S. People who never read author's notes are a bit weird. But don't tell them that, they get touchy about it. Ciao for now!
One Good Turn...For years, the Grand Galloping Gala had featured, by tradition, a classical concert. This year, said concert was drawing to a close. The room erupted in applause, and Vinyl Scratch leant back from her piano with an invigorating exhalation of breath and anxiety. The last notes of Trotchovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 were lost in the deafening sea of noise and she looked around the grand opulence of the concert hall at the ranks of loving patrons. 'Clientèle' even; she grinned at the thought. Stomping and cheering still echoing around the chamber, Vinyl stood and tapped the conductor's hoof, nodding a thank you and receiving one in turn. Then, finally, she bowed, and drank in the crowd's adoration. It was glorious. As a soloist, an encore had always been on the cards; but it was casual and easy and the pressure was off. Vinyl grinned and waved a flourish as the piece ended to further cries of approval from the enraptured crowd. And when the applause had finally stopped the concert goers began to shuffle their way from the hall happily. Most of them were attending the gala's dance, they didn't want to be late. Vinyl trotted backstage and smoothed out the creases in her dress, she always liked an excuse to get the old thing out. It'd been a gift from Fancy Pants to her, at her foal shower; the old rouge'd somehow known exactly what she'd want, and how she'd fit it. Backstage was a happy place after any concert. Various musicians walked casually between rooms gathering their friends and belongings, and the organised chaos of the pre-concert preparations gave way to post-event happiness. It'd taken some work, but Vinyl had talked Octavia into coming along despite their breakup. After all, the unicorn had said, she'd bought the dress already, and the bars were spectacular. The whisky, oh Octavia, the whisky. It'd worked, just. Octavia sat at the bar in the dance hall sipping a tumbler of the promised whisky, and smiling. The dress still felt odd on her, but it wasn't particularly unpleasant. She watched the dancing couples from her stool as behind her the barcolt, in the manner of barcolts everywhere, wiped some glasses with a rag and relaxed. A string quartet on stage was playing some waltz or another; Octavia listened appreciatively for a while, writing the score inside her head as she listened. Hmm, She mused. It's no Freddy Mercoltry, but it's not bad. Her reverie was disturbed by Vinyl, who, having approached unheard, tapped Octavia on the shoulder and startled her back to reality. The unicorn grinned at her surprise. "How's the whisky then?" "Every bit a as good as you'd promised, Vinyl." The grey mare smiled. Vinyl grinned, "You don't regret coming then?" "No, it's fun here." Vinyl's grin grew wider. "Say it." "Say what?" Octavia looked puzzled. "Saaaaaaay it~." Octavia, feeling put upon, rolled her eyes. "I don't regret coming, Vinyl." "Yay!" Vinyl gave a squeak of excitement before refocussing on her surroundings. "Aren't you gonna dance? Everypony dances here, that's the point." The pianist clearly felt that the idea hadn't come across yet; "It's a dance." she added. Octavia was clearly startled by the idea. "What?" she looked around nervously, then, seeing nopony nearby, leant in towards her friend. "Vinyl," she whispered, "I can't dance." The unicorn gave an uncharacteristic snort, followed by a stifled giggle. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered between chuckles, "but you're a DJ, you must be able to dance. Besides, call this dancing? The hardest part is the standing on two hooves and you've got a partner to lean against for that." "I, I never learned this kind of thing." "I thought your parents were high society types?" "Yes, and I never listened to them." Octavia looked concerned, "This's the first time it's ever been an issue." "Well trust me, Octy: nopony here knows as much about dancing as you do. This's just the first waltz, somepony'll ask you up at some point." Here, the pianist's voice became a teasing sing-song. "It'd be rude to turn them down~." Leaving her to ponder the implications, Vinyl trotted excitedly over to the barkeep at the other end of the bar and ordered herself a drink. She'd never liked the dancing much herself, and had, over the years, become rather good at avoiding invitations. But it'd be funny to watch Octavia squirm. The first dance of the evening concluded, and most of the stallions trotted away from the mares they had accompanied to find others who were willing to dance. Some took the opportunity to buy a drink, or to rest briefly; the room was warm and it would be unbefitting of stallions of such class to be seen to sweat. To Vinyl's glee, it wasn't long before a young stallion had trotted nervously up towards Octavia and proffered a hoof. The DJ took it, warily, and threw a final pleading look at Vinyl as she was lead away. The unicorn raised her whisky, and winked. Soon after, she noticed a rather more self-confident stallion heading expectantly towards her. She pretended not to notice, then looked up suddenly towards the other end of the room as he approached. "Oh, Keeper? Is that you?" She exclaimed, to nopony in particular, "Of course!" she chuckled. "I'll be right over." And with that, she vanished into the crowd. Behind her, the swaggering stallion looked frustrated, but soon set off towards some new target, and Vinyl wandered casually back to the bar. The barcolt offered her a hoofbump as she arrived, which she took. "Nice." He offered. "I feel sorry for whatever mare you've landed him with now though." Vinyl shrugged. "Oh I don't know. If they can't dodge his type then they'd best learn to." The unicorn grinned. "Consider me an educator." Chuckling, the barcolt nodded to Vinyl's glass. "Need another?" "Sure. Why not." The quartet struck up again with a second piece. It was almost indistinguishable from the first, but Vinyl's practised ear recognised it as Schoofmann. With an air of satisfaction and nonchalance, the pianist sipped at her drink and watched Octavia's first forays into the realm of dance. There wasn't the spectacular trips and falls that she'd been expecting: the stallion was clearly being kind and the dance was slow in any case. Nevertheless, Vinyl felt somewhat cheated. Turning her attention away from the complete lack of a scene, she leant back on the bar and sipped her drink. 21-Year Glenlivery, she smiled. "La Maison" hasn't got nothing on this. The music began to close once again, and Vinyl watched Octavia bow gracefully to her partner and trot from the floor, practically glowing with excitement. "I can dance, Vinyl! I'm good at it!" "What?" The unicorn was puzzled. "You said you'd never done it before." "I hadn't! What's next? What kind of dance?" She looked about hurriedly. "Who can I dance with?" Vinyl looked concerned. "Maybe you should take a break..." "No! No I mustn't." Octavia grinned at her, manically, "I'm going to find another stallion," then she winked. "I could go alllllll night." Octavia trotted into the crowd, abandoning a confused Vinyl to wonder what she had unleashed on the event. As new couples began to form, Vinyl watched for anypony that might accost her for a dance. Once the music began, she relaxed. Being the concert soloist seemed to help, she mused; nopony had the nerve to talk to her. As the music began again, the barcolt wiped the bar behind her. "It's a shame huh?" Vinyl turned, surprised. "Hmm?" "Looking Glass over there." He nodded to a wiry stallion, sitting on a barstool some distance away. "He's here every year; poor colt's too afraid to talk to anypony but his parents always drag him along anyway, silly sods." "Why's he so afraid? It's a dance, he should be dancing." Vinyl explained. "Who would he dance with? He doesn't bring a date, never has. I'm fairly sure he's never had one to bring." The barcolt shrugged. "He'll get there, it's just his parents that can't think straight." "Smart is he?" "Proper brainbox. Royal astronomer, or soon to be anyway. Invented some telescope or something." Vinyl pondered something for a while, then nodded to her drink. "Fetch another would you?" she grinned. The barcolt looked at her oddly. "What're you up to now, Scratch?" Vinyl turned her tumbler in her hoof; the whisky had been good. She looked out at the dancing couples and watched Octavia's partner's expression, it alone was worth the work in bringing her here. "You know what they say:" She explained. "One good turn..." "...Deserves another?" Vinyl pondered this. "Nah." She concluded. "I was thinking two. That way you'll get a whole lot more back." She stepped down from the barstool and walked over to the stallion, who looked up in surprise. Vinyl extended a hoof. "I know technically you're supposed to ask me." The mare began, confidently. "But would you care to dance?" And with the tiniest smile on the stallion's lips, the good turns continued on their way. Author's Note Wooh, thanks for sticking with me through the whole thing guys. Sorry to all you OctaScratch fans out there, but this was always the plan. I hope it was an enjoyable story in any case. Kudos once again goes to CyanAeolin on deviantart for the cover art to this piece. As always, likes and comments are appreciated and I'll be sticking around to answer comments when thy're given. Thanks to reader "The Grey Pegasus" for helping me to smooth out the story and letting me bounce ideas off him to see what stuck. It's been fun guys. Ciao.
