Vinyl and Octavia’s shared apartment
With a purple, fur-lined dressing gown draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape, with the two arms hanging on either side of her, and charcoal-grey strands of her unbrushed hair falling around her face, the slender-built cellist ambled casually into the apartment’s small but cosy little kitchen, her mind totally absorbed by a little coffee pot on the bench.
She was really no good in the mornings without a hit of the hot brown stuff. Her father had called it ‘liquid muse’, and had relied on it rather heavily on those long nights in his study when that perfect sequence of notes simply refused to leave his head. To her brothers, it had been a best friend after a long night at the cider bars, and to Mother, well, it had been little more than something nasty to clean off the carpet every other day.
Anyway, she worked her way around the table, stopped by the little machine and rose onto her hindlegs, setting everything straight so that she’d have a hot mugful to scull back in a couple of minutes’ time. Leaving the pot to hiss and steam, she leaned against the bench and turned herself towards the window, gazing out at the misty city of Canterlot as a gentle sprinkling of rain pattered softly against the glass.
A nice day to be indoors, she thought to herself, blinking slowly. At least she could look forward to reciting now; while many musicians found it to be a bit of a pain, Octavia loved to play in the rain, or at least, when it was raining outside. It was a soothing noise really.
Around that moment, she did notice something strange in the room; a kind of mechanical tapping sound, repeating itself at random intervals, that sounded like it was extremely close. She turned abruptly to see her roommate, college music rival and current best friend, the fluorescent-white DJ, Vinyl Scratch, sitting at the kitchen table, furiously bashing an old typewriter with her forelegs with an expression of terrible frustration on her face.
“Sup, babe,” Vinyl chirped, not looking up from the battered machine. “You look like hoof wipe.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow indignantly.
“Morning, Vinyl,” she replied coldly. “I’d take that remark with a lick of salt, but for the fact that you’ve yet to so much as glance in my general direction this morning.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vinyl said dismissively. “Talk to the wall, Octopus. I’ve got my hooves full here.”
Octavia studied Vinyl. Her friend looked a little shaggy, or shaggier, than usual, was wearing her rather iconic sunglasses on her forehead and was working the typewriter with a very determined energy. By the looks of her bloodshot eyes, the pale-skinned DJ might not have had any sleep at all last night. Not that that was unusual, but it rarely involved typewriters.
“I can see that much, cherié,” she replied, brushing a strand of her mane from her eyes and trotting around to Vinyl. “And now, I’m more than a little curious. Pray tell, what are you doing with that old thing there? It’s hardly your style.”
Vinyl gave her roommate a hard look. She definitely hadn’t slept.
“What are you saying, horse breath?” Vinyl growled. “What isn’t my style?”
“Words, and writing, aren’t exactly your forte, beloved,” Octavia continued. She stood behind Vinyl and leaned forward slightly, squinting to get a look at the pages. “At least, not like those seismic ear blasts you call Dubstep are. What’s this you’re composing here? Another letter of apology? You never did tell me what you got up to last Saturday night.”
Octavia gave Vinyl a questioning glance.
“Oh dear, you didn’t make out with another underage butler, did you? Not again…”
Vinyl jerked the typewriter sideways, shielding it with her forelegs defensively so that Octavia couldn’t see what was written on the various crinkled white sheets upon it.
“I resent that!” she said indignantly. “It was late, and dark, I’d had a little bit to drink and he looked exactly like that saxophone tutor from college, with those stupid sexy half-rim glasses and the silver streak in his hair. Uh, what was his name?”
Octavia glanced at the ceiling, thinking back to her days at the Academy.
“Brass Blaster?” she suggested.
“That was the one,” Vinyl confirmed. “I mean, I know I wasn’t the only filly on the block who wanted to wrap my lips around his face, but hell, I was feeling especially friendly that night and, well, the kid didn’t complain, did he? Anyway Octopus, can you please trot off now? I really mean it when I say I’m busy here.”
The coffee pot started to whistle. Octavia headed over, and poured the hot liquid out into one of her nicer pottery mugs. Using her hooves I guess.
“Not until I’m done with this,” she replied, sticking a few chocolate biscuits from a jar onto a small plate to have on the side. “And not until you tell me what you’re working on there. It’s really not like you to write stuff, Vinyl. I’d like to know what’s changed your mind.”
Vinyl Scratch was quiet for a moment. She finally let out a short sigh.
“All right,” she finally admitted. “I’ve been up all night working on a f…”
Octavia turned, eyebrow raised.
“Working on a what?” she asked.
“A f…” Vinyl said, clearly struggling with what she was trying to say. “A f… A fa…”
“A family history?” Octavia suggested, a little bit confused. She walked back round to Vinyl, standing straight on her hindlegs behind her roommate, holding her coffee between her front hooves.
“A fanfic,” Vinyl blurted, straightening the typewriter so that the two of them could see it again. “An effing fanfic, all right? I was doing it all night because I’ve got the damn thing in my head and I just can’t beat it out of there. It’s weird, and it’s stupid, and it’s really, really hard, so I’m sorry, but I don’t care, cos this is kinda fun.”
Octavia raised her eyebrow again.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing. “I see now, you were watching Game of Alicorns last night, I remember. How much did you finish?”
“The first two seasons,” Vinyl said wearily. “It was tough.”
Octavia said nothing, simply patting her roommate on the back sympathetically. She bright white DJ put her head in her hooves, looking exhausted.
“It was all wrong,” Vinyl explained. “He died, and then she went crazy and started that war thing, and then she said that, and then that war thing happened, and then she lost those stupid little dragons again… Oh, Octopus, it was all so wrong. I have to fix it. Through fanfic.”
Octavia read a couple of lines, squinting.
“Hold on,” she said. “I don’t remember the Queen having a minigun. And why is she murdering thousands of battle robots outside of Unicorn’s Landing?”
“Oh, that,” Vinyl said casually. “I crossed it over with Pony Fortress 2. It really needed to be done.”
Octavia nodded slowly, posting a biscuit into her mouth and chewing. She’d heard her friend spout weirder before, so, she wasn’t too bothered by the image. From what she’d played of the game herself, she even half approved.
“Okay then,” she eventually said carefully around the crumbs. “Well, what have you got so far?”
“Nothing,” Vinyl said glumly, pushing the papers she’d written a little on off the typewriter and onto the table. “I’ve started over three times and it’s not happening, sis. I dunno what’s wrong. It just isn't working like it does in my head.”
“Well then, how did you first get the idea,” Octavia continued.
“Just came to me, you know? Pony Fortress 2 and Game of Alicorns, mixed up, and written by somepony who doesn’t have a thing for killing all the hottest guys.”
“Well there’s your problem,” Octavia said, pulling out a chair and sitting next to her frustrated roommate. “It’s kinda hard to create characters around a world, but, it can be a lot easier to make a character and then kinda create the world around them.”
“But, my world is awesome,” Vinyl complained. “It has castles and rocket launchers, in the same sentences! All of Equestria must witness my genius.”
“I know, I know. But it’s a lot easier if you write something about a main character that you seriously, seriously like. How about you make your own, original character? Like, some kind of bright-coloured DJ pony with this huge sonic robot suit that can shake stuff to scrap metal with hyper-powered Dubstep blasts.”
Vinyl thought about it.
“Can she be bi?” the DJ finally asked.
“I…guess,” Octavia replied.
“Then we’re doing that,” Vinyl said bluntly. “Hold on, what are we doing here? This isn’t writing a badass action fic, dude. This is just talking.”
“This, my dear,” Octavia said bluntly, “Is planning.”
“That sounds hard,” Vinyl said.
“It’s bloody important, beloved,” Octavia replied. “If we do it right it might even be fun, and who knows, this is probably going to be the easiest part.”
“The easy part?” Vinyl said, not sounding convinced. “You’re tugging me, babe.”
“No I’m not, Vinyl,” Octavia sighed. “I most certainly am not.”
Ten Minutes Later
Vinyl and Octavia were sitting at the typewriter, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with their chairs pushed together. She’d switched on the heater, turned on the light, lit some lemon incense for a little bit of aromatherapeutic inspiration (easily one of Octavia’s favourite things) and gotten themselves as comfortable as possible for the upcoming super-intense brainstorming session. Her twice refilled coffee was steaming, and on Vinyl’s white-furred forehead, little beads of sweat were slowly trickling into her eyebrows. Still riding on the tail end of last night’s energy drink binge, she’d turned down the offer of her own coffee, and was really getting into it.
“Okay, so,” Vinyl said, furiously typing away. “Just to recap real quick, her name is Percussion Explosion, she flies around in a sonic robot pony suit, both her parents are dead, she bangs mares and stallions with equal proficiency and she grew up with her aunt, who’s an Alicorn Empress in space. That it?”
“More or less,” Octavia said, scratching her head as she studied the finished character sheet. “Hold on, wasn’t her boyfriend a dragon who’d been turned into a fire-breathing bat pony?”
“Nah, we dropped that idea,” Vinyl said, waving a hoof. “Are we still planning?”
“Yep. Now comes to part where we figure out what she gets up to. Things happen in a story, and as writers, it’s our job to figure out what those things need to be.”
“Aw. Can’t we just wing it?” Vinyl suggested. “Make up shit as we go along?”
“You…can, but I don’t think you’re that good yet, dear,” Octavia said, screwing up her face. “That art takes a lot of practice, and finesse. And well, to be frank, we’re writing a fan-fiction. It’s not exactly Royal Library of Canterlot material we’re producing here. Anyway, did you have any ideas regarding the introduction, and the basic plotline?”
“My OC flies down in her robot battle armour, lands in the Unicorn’s Landing Castle and kills all the nasty noseblows there that I don’t like,” Vinyl said darkly.
Octavia thought about that, sipping her coffee.
“Well, to be…um…hmm…actually, that might work,” she said. “It’s usually a good idea to start with some action, or at least something that’s happening, to keep readers reading. You’ve got to show other ponies that it’s interesting and worth their time. But what next?”
Vinyl scratched her chin.
“I got nothing babe,” she sighed.
“You should introduce a villain,” Octavia suggested with a smile. “One with style.”
“But Percussive Explosion just killed them all,” her roommate pointed out.
“Well make another,” Octavia suggested. “One that’s harder to kill. If she can just kill anyone she likes then it wouldn’t be much of a story, would it? Your character would be a mindless, violent psychopath with no personality or finesse, and honestly dear, only a certain kind of reader enjoys that kind of thing. A villain is a great way for you to make people wonder if your main character is going to win in the end, which adds an element of suspense, and drama.”
“Those are good, right?” Vinyl asked.
“I think so,” Octavia admitted. “But, I am not every pony, unfortunately. How about you give her an evil twin? Or her best friend’s father owns a gigantic evil corporation and wants to kill her for revenge against her family, perhaps.”
“I’m liking it, but something’s missing,” Vinyl said softly. “Oh! I’ve got it! Her old college roommate, and once her best friend, can’t stand resenting how better Percussion Explosion’s epic techno music is totally more popular than her own fancy classical bullcrap, so, she goes completely crazy and tries to murder the hell out of her! It’s perfect, except… Percussion is kinda hard to kill in giant robot battle armour that shoots Dubstep shock waves. What do, babe?”
“Wow,” Octavia observed quietly. “Déjà vu.”
“De ja what now?” Vinyl said, confused. “Is that a band?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. You could just give this vengeful best friend an even bigger suit of robot battle armour,” Octavia suggested casually. “Tell me, will Percussion end up killing this old classically-trained college rival and roommate character that’s just come to you out of completely nowhere?”
“Brilliant! And maybe,” Vinyl shrugged her shoulders. “If I do, it’ll be tragic and stuff, in between the murdering of huge hordes of PF2 roboponies with big-ass miniguns, of course. I want this to be awesome and beautiful in totally equal measure, you know? Kinda like my music career. Or just me myself and I, heh.”
“But of course,” Octavia said, sneakily rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I think you have enough planned there to start. Well done, Scratchy.”
Vinyl stared at the pages and clopped her hooves together, grinning madly, then turned to give Octavia a sudden bear hug. The slender cellist pony was barely able to put her mug of coffee down in time for it to not be spilled all over her elegant face.
“Ha!” Vinyl explained, releasing her friend. “Thanks, babe! Without you, I’d probably be curled up on the couch right now, crying about not being able to squeeze a single word out onto that stupid little page. How come you’re so good at this, btw? I thought you were just into music.”
“Oh, I wrote something a while ago,” Octavia said, picking up her coffee again and taking a thoughtful sip as she stared out the rainy window. “An absolutely terrible little romance novella about a musician it was, surprise-surprise. No-pony would publish it, you see, but in between hating myself for doing such a bloody awful job, I did learn a few things about how my head works.”
“Did you keep it?” Vinyl asked enthusiastically.
“Yes I did. You can’t throw them away, Vinyl,” Octavia explained with a slight smile. “It’s like you’re holding a whole week of your life in a little wad of writing paper, a tiny little piece of your personal hopes and dreams. If you chuck it in the fire, you’ll probably regret it later. Unless, you know, you did a really, really, really bad job of it, I guess.”
“Uh huh,” Vinyl nodded. “Well, you’ve got to show it some time! There’s no such things as secrets between best friends. Anyway, now what?”
“Now comes the first sentence,” Octavia said, taking a breath. “And it is by far the hardest sentence you will ever write in your life.”
“You’re my best friend and I love you, but lover babe, you’re wrong,” Vinyl said, and with a huge grin, positioned her front hooves over the typewriter, ready to smack the keys. She then froze in that position, sitting still for a few moments. For a while she seemed to be wracking her brains, but eventually, her face just screwed up into a look of pain.
“It’s not easy,” Vinyl stated, tapping her forehead as though she could loosen up a stuck gear somewhere in there. “This is not easy at all.”
Octavia nodded understandingly. It looked like it was going to be a very long morning, by the looks of things, she might be about to enjoy it. She gave her filly friend of a good number of years another friendly pat on the back.
“It really is not,” she explained. “But with things like this, dear, it’s all you can to do try. So let’s have at this monstrous writing block thing together, hmmm?”
“Damn it, Octavia,” Vinyl cussed, putting her hooves on the keys. “Why do you never let me give up on this kinda crap? But, whatever. Let’s try.”
