The End of Thisby LiechtensteinChaptersA Letter to VinylOne Last RiposteChanging ScenesA Letter to VinylVinyl Scratch rose with the sun at her back, facing the wall in the corner of the room where her bed lay. The familiar warmth of Octavia beside her was absent this morning, but this wasn't a rare occurrence; Vinyl tended to sleep late into the day. She thought no more of it and instead decided to drag herself out of bed and to the kitchen to make her morning cup of bitter coffee. Octavia's apartment, while large and intimidating at first, had grown on Vinyl of late. It began to feel like home to her as much as her own unkempt abode. While setting herself down in the sitting room she noticed a folded note on the coffee table. She ignored it at first, instead focusing on eating her breakfast, but as she went to raise the day's newspaper towards her she realised that the note was addressed to her. It said "To my Vinyl". The white unicorn set aside her bowl and coffee mug; intrigued by the note. As she unfolded it she seen that the note was more substantial than she had previously thought, so she decided to read it immediately. To my Vinyl, I didn't want to say this through an impersonal letter, but as I thought it over I realised that this was the only way I could say what I'm about to say. I don't think I can continue with this relationship. I don't know why, but I don't feel as if I can be with you anymore, I just don't. It's not for the reasons I thought we'd have problems initially; about me and you being almost entirely diametrically opposed. It's not because you and I are so different. Indeed, I do believe that was one of the more exciting aspects of our relationship. It's nothing shallow, either. You are beautiful, and I know that, and you should too. Instead it's something different, something more. Before all I held was love for you, but the love has faded, obscured by other feelings. I used to look into your eyes, your beautiful eyes, and be take aback. I used to feel that when we were together there was nothing else in the world; nothing but you and me. But now, when I look into your eyes I see nothing. No glint of intelligence, no personality, no sparkle in the rubies of your eyes. These things have gone now, replaced by nothing. When I'm around you now I feel nothing. Now every little thing you do, for me, is an excuse for anger; an outlet for emotions that are stockpiled within myself. I see your flaws, the little imperfections you have; your roguishness, crassness, the tomboyish way you carry yourself. I've seen you drunk, complacent, hateful, satisfied and I hate you for being all these little flawed things, and then I realize that I, too, can be each of these little loathsome things. And then I hate myself for realizing that; I hate myself for hating you. I can't ask for perfection, I know I can't; no-one can. But then I realize that I demand perfection from you because anything else gives me a reason to let go. Let go of you, let go of this relationship. I can remember the love that I once felt, I remember when we went to the country to visit my parents. Everyday was a day where I fell in love with you more. This image I have of your face on that day, in front of the lake, lying on the grassy knoll that overlooked the fields and lakes that stretched out around of us, the view that might as well have been the entire world. That image I will cherish forever, your blue hair so perfectly matched the lake and the sky, your flaming eyes contrasting the purity of your white coat. That love that was so clear to me then has gone now. All there is now is apathy. I'm sorry, Vinyl, truly I am. There is a part of me that will forever cherish the time we spent together, a part of me that will always love you, but now I feel that if we continue this resentment inside me will build. I don't want to hate you Vinyl, I want to love you, but I can't, not anymore. Vinyl finished reading the letter, tears flowing freely from her eyes. She had no idea how to take what she had just read; the mare she loved was revealing that she had growing feelings of resentment towards her, that she no longer loved her. Vinyl would do anything to have Octavia love her like she still did. She wanted to forget what she had read; pretend that it wasn't true, that this was all just a dream, but it wasn't, Vinyl knew that. After a couple of minutes the news seemed to settle in, and Vinyl broke down entirely. She just lay there, on Octavia's couch, crying into Octavia's pillows. After a few minutes of near-hysterical crying the emotional pain she felt transcended emotion and became real. As she was still crying the front door opened; Octavia had returned home. Immediately Octavia heard Vinyl's hysteria, the roaring weeping coming from the lounge. Slowly she walked into the sitting room, as silent as she could be, and observed Vinyl as she was, a shell of the pony she normally was. Seeing her like this made Octavia cry as well, but not in a hysterical sort of way, but a more quiet, repressed sort of way. "O-O-Octy, p-p-please say it's not true. Please take it all back, everything. Just say you love me again, please." Vinyl pleaded when she realised that Octavia had returned. She was begging to take the pain away. A solemn figure stared down at the pitiful sight of Vinyl as she was. She looked her in the eyes, and could see the pain within, the pain she caused. "I'm sorry." She said, as a lone tear trickled down her face. One Last RiposteThe cruel sun rose and shone indignantly through the gaps in the curtains. Vinyl rose from her disgusting pit and surveyed her dishevelled room, abundantly populated with crumpled pieces of paper, as well as various albums, mugs and bowls. Taking care not to trod onto anything shatters or malformed by her clumsy morning hoofs, she picked her way to the exit, slowly and somewhat carefully. When she entered the hallway of her tiny apartment she suddenly became concious of a terrible, musty odour, which she decided to put down to any activities that her, or one of her friends, had partaken in over the last week. She had a reasonable idea of what they may have done, but the specifics stayed clandestine, in some far reach of her mind. All that mattered now was that there was an undisclosed number of unsavoury ponies, lying burnt-out somewhere in her flat, that would need to be evicted, sooner rather than later. The disgusting, dank bathroom was in no better shape. The first thing that caught Vinyl's attention was the weirdly high number of beer bottles and kitchen cutlery. Looking into what remained of her mirror, she was left with a pitiful view of herself; her gleaming coat, now lacklustre and grey; her eyes, red and bloodshot, even her iris seemed to have lost its colour. Out of the corner of her eye, Vinyl spotted a solitary, detached piece of toilet paper, with what seemed to be mascara inscribed upon it. Vinyl attempted to read it, but there was very little of it that was legible. Among the smudged, scrawled handwriting she was able to make out one or two lines: I thought you might like to know that you broke my heart/Ripped and tore, tore it apart/When I forgive, I won't forget/But instead hate, abhor, lament/And I will pay for your mistakes/You take and take and take and take. Vinyl read what she could, but the small extract was all she could make out. After setting the paper aside, she decided to leave her bathroom and continue onwards to the living room. She glanced over what was undoubtedly the room that was the worse recipient of abuse. The room smelled exactly like an ashtray, but that was to be expected considering the vast amount of discarded cigarette buts that now covered the room like a carpet. On the centre table was an innumerable amount of bottles, intermittently broken up with a packet of various illicit substances, at least that is what Vinyl assumed it was. She didn't care what it was, who brought it or who had taken it, all she wanted was every single remnant of the past week in her house gone, especially the squatters she seemed to have picked up. She counted four of them, there had been more, but so many ponies had came and gone that she couldn't keep record of them, not that she would've been in any state to. From what she could remember from the trance like week she spent most of her time in her room or the bathroom. In truth she couldn't remember much, and was just thankful that the place seemed salvageable. She spent a short while deciding on how to at least wake the ponies up, before deciding that opening the curtains and letting the sun do the work would probably be the best way to wake them, short of individually screaming at each of them. This had the desired effect on the heliophobic almost immediately, and vinyl was met with a chorus of groans and moans. Luckily the guests seemed to understand this gesture and, after a short period of readjusting, started to prepare their exit. "Take what's yours and leave." Were the simplistic commands ordered by Vinyl. It was too early in the morning for proper etiquette, and the others didn't seem to mind, or pay Vinyl much heed, other than a conciliatory goodbye gesture. At least she assumed it was early, time seemed to cease to matter when the last week had been spent in various states of conciousness, in a largely darkened house. She was sure of one thing, she was too tired to face the seemingly Sisyphean task that cleaning the flat would present. Vinyl wandered into her kitchen, grabbed the cleanest cup she could find, and made a single cup of coffee. Half an hour passed and Vinyl knew she couldn't really procrastinate any longer. Luckily, being a unicorn saved her many of the strains of conventional manual labour, but she would still have the exert herself casting the magic. Preparing enough bin bags, she concentrated entirely, at first, clearing the room of ash and cigarette buds. After this came the clearance of bottles, then eventually the miscellaneous paraphernalia scattered around the place, before finally clearing all the discarded pieces of paper. She continued to clean for around half an hour, before deciding that the place was in as good of a state as it ever was, or indeed ever will be. The only highly visible, extant remains of the lost week was the flame burns on her wooden table, and the fact that her furniture was slightly more battered and worn. Content with her work, Vinyl sat down and relaxed, before confirming that it was, indeed, still morning; ten to noon. With nothing else to do, Vinyl decided to sit and enjoy the silence, for what seemed to be the first time in a long while. The silence was not to last however, as it was broken up by three very precise, distinct, loud knocks on the door. Annoyed by the break in silence, and the interruption of her relaxation, she reluctantly stood up and walked over to address the pony that so rudely stirred her. She took her time in getting to the door, but when she opened the door she was met with an all too familiar face. "He-hello, Vinyl. Is it all right if I come in? I feel as if we need to talk." At first Octavia seemed taken aback at the state Vinyl was in, but she at least pretended to not notice anything. Vinyl's response was a non-committal, nonchalant sound, followed by a gesture that seemingly invited Octavia inside. Octavia knew the way around Vinyl's apartment well enough, and quickly found a chair. "So, Octy, what do ya wanna talk about?" Inquired Vinyl, as she took her seat too. "Well, Vinyl, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry; about the way things en-" "No." Was Vinyl's simple, cutting riposte. "Wh-what did you say, Vinyl?" Clearly disoriented by Vinyl's unprecedented interjection, Octavia stumbled over her words slightly. "I said 'no', Octavia. No. You don't get to be sorry, Octavia, you're free. Free of this, free of me, free of everything. You can walk away, and forget everything we ever shared, forget the love you claim you once felt, but don't come to me and apologise, like I mean something-" "You do mean something, Vinyl-" Octavia attempted to halt the stream of bitter vitriol that Vinyl was spewing, but to no avail. "Do I now? Oh well that's pleasing to know. Why don't you write a letter to explain these feelings, now?" Sarcasm was thick in Vinyl's voice. "Do you know what I've done this past week, Octy? 'Cause I don't. I can remember next to nothing of what happened after you turfed me out. That's how much you meant to me, Octavia, I was- I am- completely destroyed, you were everything to me. But to you I was just 'phase' it seems. Something that comes one day and leaves the next." "That's not what you were, Vinyl, you were everything to me, too. What would you have me do, Vinyl? Pretend to still love you, is that what you propose?" Octavia, however retained she attempted to be, was losing the fight to not show her anger. "I want you to stop lying to me Octy. All I want is for you to tell me what it is you feel, and then I want you to leave my apartment." Vinyl's initial vitriol seemed to have died down, turning instead into impatient loathing. "I've already told you everything I needed to say, you read it yourself, that was the long and short of it, Vinyl, I don't know what you want from me." Vinyl took a pause, trying to calm herself, before she uttered the words "If you can't understand what I'm asking then goodbye, Octavia." Changing ScenesIt was late, very late. Or very early, Vinyl thought, she couldn't tell. Being a reasonably successful disc pony, Vinyl could afford to frequent the more up-scale nightclubs; the kind of places that an old Vinyl would've been turned away from. She even had enough recognition within the night scene to be granted VIP status. Not that she let this relative fame get to her head; she often preferred to go out to the clubs she had always went to, from back when she was an under-age filly with a fake ID. The up-scale nightclubs, to Vinyl, always seemed to be the preserve of the foals of rich ponies. She never liked those sort of nightclubs; they seemed too exclusionary, and were almost invariably filled with the particular type of pony that Vinyl hated. The worst part of these types of clubs was that they were always so clinically clean, to a fault, which never failed to annoy Vinyl. Yet here she was, in the most exclusive nightclub in Manehattan; "näy". The club, for the most part, was a pristine white, in places there was a royal blue and purple trim, though that may just have been the lighting effects, and the music was as loud as one would expect from any nightclub on a Friday night. Vinyl sat at the main bar, relatively separate from the bulk of activity on the dance floor, but still more surrounded than she would've liked. This was the first time Vinyl went out to a club without playing a set since her split with Octavia, and she wanted a somewhat relaxing evening. The music, as loud as it was, still wasn't as aggressive or harsh as it would've been in other clubs, and there was a nice, soft ambience to the place, relatively speaking. She stared at the impossibly expensive cocktail in front of her for several minutes, before downing it in one great swig, as one would drink a shot. Then she ordered and a different, random cocktail and did the same. She had been doing this all night, without saying a word to anyone except the bartender; and even then only to order a drink. The colours of each drink were rich and varied; some multicoloured, some dark and some light. As she stared at her current drink she saw that it was a deep, royal purple, not unlike her eyes, Vinyl thought to herself. A thought which she immediately shook from her head. But the thought kept returning, again and again. It seemed the more she tried to not think of Octavia the more she did. Everything around her seemed to at least provide a passing reference to her. Even the very walls around her seemed to turn a darker shade, becoming grey in certain places. Everywhere she looked all she saw was grey and purple, grey and purple. At one point she was certain she had spotted a treble clef. The room seemed to spin around her; Vinyl lost her bearings and was forced to cover her head with her hooves, and rest on the bar table. This would've been a more conspicuous event, had it not been for the relative crowdedness of the club and the time. What ponies did spot Vinyl sheltering herself just concluded that she'd had too much to drink, which was a fair assessment. Every now and then she heard a passing comment; usually along the lines of "Isn't that that DJ Pony?", but no-one actually bothered to intervene. The bartender did ask if she was alright, but Vinyl muttered something back and he left her alone. After a short while Vinyl become cognisant of how she must've looked and excused herself, to no one in particular, before going to the bathroom. The bathroom, much like the rest of the club, was pristine and white. Vinyl stared at herself in the self in the mirror, out of nothing but a sense of necessity; it seemed like the right, normal thing to do. She was clean, almost as white as the immaculate porcelain. It gave her a sense of reassurance to see herself like this, normality. Not the other day she had looked physically ill, and at least now she looked better. She didn't exactly feel better, but as long as she looked normal than she had won a victory, of sorts. A victory over whom, she did not know, but a victory nonetheless. From what Vinyl could see, she was alone in the bathroom, and so allowed herself to rest and reflect. The loud, repetitive music droned on in the background, and the room was a solid, well-lit colour, and so Vinyl was able to gather her thoughts in relative peace. Despite the time that had elapsed since the split this was the first time she was able to fully think, unhindered. She thought about her anger, an anger that had been nagging her constantly, and she tried to place it. Why was she angry, who was she angry at. Of course this was something she had thought on before, but she was never able to think of an appropriate answer. The obvious target for her anger was Octavia, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that this was not a great answer. She truly had no right to be angry at Octy, she realised this much; it wasn't Octavia's fault that she didn't love Vinyl the way Vinyl loved her. The next obvious target for her anger was herself; for allowing herself to seemingly grow this dependent of Octavia, and even take her for granted at times. For the longest time it seemed as if it would last forever; as if we were meant to be. It just seemed so natural, so right. Maybe it was foalish of me to think this way, but it just seemed to work, me and Octy. Sure, at first we seemed like total opposites, from two different worlds, but she seemed to understand me, in a way that no-one else does; in a way that no-one else can. When she said it was over it was as if half of me had died; in a way half of me did die, the pain was certainly real enough. I couldn't understand how someone I loved and admired so could tell me that she didn't love me any more. I was confused, betrayed, upset; she had wounded me for no good reason. A part of me detached itself entirely, and she didn't even have the heart to tell me to my face why. Of course time has healed the initial wound, but there will always be the scar, constantly reminding me of what I used to have. Vinyl thought these thoughts almost out loud, as if she would be forced to orate her thoughts to someone who cared. Not that anyone would care; her parents stopped caring long ago, as did every other pony she'd ever loved. In the background, during Vinyl's soliloquy, there was a horrible noise, a noise that was all too familiar to her. It was the usual soundtrack of the bathroom of any club late at night; retching. Vinyl initially paid no heed to the noise; it was presumably some unfortunate pony who misjudged how much they were drinking. However, when she stopped thinking the noise infected her mind. There was something about it that made Vinyl unable to concentrate. Whoever it was seemed to be in a bad condition, anyway, and there was something about the situation that made Vinyl feel obliged to intervene. She approached the stall that she had discerned the sound to be coming from and gave a quick shout to the pony inside. "You alright in there?" She asked the as yet unknown pony within the lavatory cubicle. The only response she received was an unintelligible murmur from within, and it didn't seemed to be directed to anyone in particular. Vinyl asked the question again, slightly louder this time, but there was still no direct response. The retching had stopped, so too had the murmuring, so Vinyl assumed that the other pony had passed out. You can't just leave her in there, Vinyl thought to herself, alone and passed out. At least make sure she can get home safely. She pushed the door slightly, to check to see if it was locked. The door moved without much pressure, and so Vinyl decided to go in and check on the other pony. Slowly she crept into the cubicle, making sure not to push the door onto the passed out pony, or trod on her herself. When in the cubicle she was able to get a look at the other pony, whom she recognised instantaneously. Her coat was unkempt, her mane tangled, but Vinyl immidiatelly recognised her. "Octy?" she asked, arbitrarily; she'd recognise Octavia anywhere, plus it was doubtful that Octavia was able to hear her. Octavia was, indeed, unconscious, and she was draped over the toilet bowl in a rather undignified way. Carefully Vinyl pulled her off, and sat her against a wall, hoping to try and wake her up. She shook her, lightly at first but soon picked up pace when Octavia was unresponsive. After a short while she finally regained consciousness, and slowly opened her eyes. Only now did Vinyl actually look at Octavia. Her eyes were blood shot, her make-up smudged and her mascara running down her face; she looked terrible. "Vinyl?" Slurred an obviously drunken Octavia, "What're you doing here?" "Well I wasn't about to leave a pony face down in the toilet now, was I?" She smirked, before attempting to lift Octavia to her feet to leave the toilet. Octavia, however, was not overly cooperative; shrugging off Vinyl's help and opting to stand on her own. Of course, in the state Octavia was in, this proved to be a near impossible task; with Octavia slipping endlessly as she tried to get her bearings. Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, Octavia allowed herself to be assisted, though gratitude was not forthcoming. "So why are you here, Octy? You always used to hate these sort of places." Inquired Vinyl, who was only hoping to end the silence that had reigned for a few minutes, as well as hopefully spurring a real conversation. "My friends, they insisted on it. They said it would help." Slurred Octavia again, who appeared to only be talking in a conciliatory fashion. It was clear to Vinyl that Octavia would much rather be with any other pony in the world besides her. Nevertheless she persevered. "Help with wha-" started Vinyl, before Octavia turned and glared at her, a contemptuous look on her face. "Oh, right. That." She finished, wishing she'd never ask. "So where are your friends now? Would've thought they'd be pulling you of the toilet and not me." "I don't know, Vinyl." Said Octavia, bluntly. "They probably left a long time ago. You can leave, too, Vinyl." "I'm not leaving 'til I know you can get home safely." said Vinyl, softly, hoping to not cause offence. "Why do you care about whether or not I get home safely? What consequence is it to you?" shouted an indignant Octavia, as they made their way closer to the exit, though luckily the music was loud enough so that nopony else really noticed. "Because I still care about you, Octy." Vinyl stopped for a moment in order to look Octavia in the eyes, "And I know you still care about me." These words hung in the air as the two stared at each other, neither pony willing to break eye contact. Eventually Octavia continued walking to the exit, not saying a word. Surprised at this, Vinyl followed Octavia out the door and into the street, she tried to call on her but to no avail. The only words Octavia spoke were the words "Taxi," as she hailed a carriage down. Vinyl watched in despair as Octavia entered the cab and gave the driver his instructions. This despair turned into confusion as the carriage didn't drive away, as Vinyl had assumed it would; instead it stayed stationary. Vinyl trotted up to the cab and when she arrived she saw Octavia motioning her in. Slowly, a bewildered Vinyl opened the door and climbed into the carriage. Octavia looked at Vinyl and merely said, "We need to talk."
A Letter to VinylVinyl Scratch rose with the sun at her back, facing the wall in the corner of the room where her bed lay. The familiar warmth of Octavia beside her was absent this morning, but this wasn't a rare occurrence; Vinyl tended to sleep late into the day. She thought no more of it and instead decided to drag herself out of bed and to the kitchen to make her morning cup of bitter coffee. Octavia's apartment, while large and intimidating at first, had grown on Vinyl of late. It began to feel like home to her as much as her own unkempt abode. While setting herself down in the sitting room she noticed a folded note on the coffee table. She ignored it at first, instead focusing on eating her breakfast, but as she went to raise the day's newspaper towards her she realised that the note was addressed to her. It said "To my Vinyl". The white unicorn set aside her bowl and coffee mug; intrigued by the note. As she unfolded it she seen that the note was more substantial than she had previously thought, so she decided to read it immediately. To my Vinyl, I didn't want to say this through an impersonal letter, but as I thought it over I realised that this was the only way I could say what I'm about to say. I don't think I can continue with this relationship. I don't know why, but I don't feel as if I can be with you anymore, I just don't. It's not for the reasons I thought we'd have problems initially; about me and you being almost entirely diametrically opposed. It's not because you and I are so different. Indeed, I do believe that was one of the more exciting aspects of our relationship. It's nothing shallow, either. You are beautiful, and I know that, and you should too. Instead it's something different, something more. Before all I held was love for you, but the love has faded, obscured by other feelings. I used to look into your eyes, your beautiful eyes, and be take aback. I used to feel that when we were together there was nothing else in the world; nothing but you and me. But now, when I look into your eyes I see nothing. No glint of intelligence, no personality, no sparkle in the rubies of your eyes. These things have gone now, replaced by nothing. When I'm around you now I feel nothing. Now every little thing you do, for me, is an excuse for anger; an outlet for emotions that are stockpiled within myself. I see your flaws, the little imperfections you have; your roguishness, crassness, the tomboyish way you carry yourself. I've seen you drunk, complacent, hateful, satisfied and I hate you for being all these little flawed things, and then I realize that I, too, can be each of these little loathsome things. And then I hate myself for realizing that; I hate myself for hating you. I can't ask for perfection, I know I can't; no-one can. But then I realize that I demand perfection from you because anything else gives me a reason to let go. Let go of you, let go of this relationship. I can remember the love that I once felt, I remember when we went to the country to visit my parents. Everyday was a day where I fell in love with you more. This image I have of your face on that day, in front of the lake, lying on the grassy knoll that overlooked the fields and lakes that stretched out around of us, the view that might as well have been the entire world. That image I will cherish forever, your blue hair so perfectly matched the lake and the sky, your flaming eyes contrasting the purity of your white coat. That love that was so clear to me then has gone now. All there is now is apathy. I'm sorry, Vinyl, truly I am. There is a part of me that will forever cherish the time we spent together, a part of me that will always love you, but now I feel that if we continue this resentment inside me will build. I don't want to hate you Vinyl, I want to love you, but I can't, not anymore. Vinyl finished reading the letter, tears flowing freely from her eyes. She had no idea how to take what she had just read; the mare she loved was revealing that she had growing feelings of resentment towards her, that she no longer loved her. Vinyl would do anything to have Octavia love her like she still did. She wanted to forget what she had read; pretend that it wasn't true, that this was all just a dream, but it wasn't, Vinyl knew that. After a couple of minutes the news seemed to settle in, and Vinyl broke down entirely. She just lay there, on Octavia's couch, crying into Octavia's pillows. After a few minutes of near-hysterical crying the emotional pain she felt transcended emotion and became real. As she was still crying the front door opened; Octavia had returned home. Immediately Octavia heard Vinyl's hysteria, the roaring weeping coming from the lounge. Slowly she walked into the sitting room, as silent as she could be, and observed Vinyl as she was, a shell of the pony she normally was. Seeing her like this made Octavia cry as well, but not in a hysterical sort of way, but a more quiet, repressed sort of way. "O-O-Octy, p-p-please say it's not true. Please take it all back, everything. Just say you love me again, please." Vinyl pleaded when she realised that Octavia had returned. She was begging to take the pain away. A solemn figure stared down at the pitiful sight of Vinyl as she was. She looked her in the eyes, and could see the pain within, the pain she caused. "I'm sorry." She said, as a lone tear trickled down her face.
One Last RiposteThe cruel sun rose and shone indignantly through the gaps in the curtains. Vinyl rose from her disgusting pit and surveyed her dishevelled room, abundantly populated with crumpled pieces of paper, as well as various albums, mugs and bowls. Taking care not to trod onto anything shatters or malformed by her clumsy morning hoofs, she picked her way to the exit, slowly and somewhat carefully. When she entered the hallway of her tiny apartment she suddenly became concious of a terrible, musty odour, which she decided to put down to any activities that her, or one of her friends, had partaken in over the last week. She had a reasonable idea of what they may have done, but the specifics stayed clandestine, in some far reach of her mind. All that mattered now was that there was an undisclosed number of unsavoury ponies, lying burnt-out somewhere in her flat, that would need to be evicted, sooner rather than later. The disgusting, dank bathroom was in no better shape. The first thing that caught Vinyl's attention was the weirdly high number of beer bottles and kitchen cutlery. Looking into what remained of her mirror, she was left with a pitiful view of herself; her gleaming coat, now lacklustre and grey; her eyes, red and bloodshot, even her iris seemed to have lost its colour. Out of the corner of her eye, Vinyl spotted a solitary, detached piece of toilet paper, with what seemed to be mascara inscribed upon it. Vinyl attempted to read it, but there was very little of it that was legible. Among the smudged, scrawled handwriting she was able to make out one or two lines: I thought you might like to know that you broke my heart/Ripped and tore, tore it apart/When I forgive, I won't forget/But instead hate, abhor, lament/And I will pay for your mistakes/You take and take and take and take. Vinyl read what she could, but the small extract was all she could make out. After setting the paper aside, she decided to leave her bathroom and continue onwards to the living room. She glanced over what was undoubtedly the room that was the worse recipient of abuse. The room smelled exactly like an ashtray, but that was to be expected considering the vast amount of discarded cigarette buts that now covered the room like a carpet. On the centre table was an innumerable amount of bottles, intermittently broken up with a packet of various illicit substances, at least that is what Vinyl assumed it was. She didn't care what it was, who brought it or who had taken it, all she wanted was every single remnant of the past week in her house gone, especially the squatters she seemed to have picked up. She counted four of them, there had been more, but so many ponies had came and gone that she couldn't keep record of them, not that she would've been in any state to. From what she could remember from the trance like week she spent most of her time in her room or the bathroom. In truth she couldn't remember much, and was just thankful that the place seemed salvageable. She spent a short while deciding on how to at least wake the ponies up, before deciding that opening the curtains and letting the sun do the work would probably be the best way to wake them, short of individually screaming at each of them. This had the desired effect on the heliophobic almost immediately, and vinyl was met with a chorus of groans and moans. Luckily the guests seemed to understand this gesture and, after a short period of readjusting, started to prepare their exit. "Take what's yours and leave." Were the simplistic commands ordered by Vinyl. It was too early in the morning for proper etiquette, and the others didn't seem to mind, or pay Vinyl much heed, other than a conciliatory goodbye gesture. At least she assumed it was early, time seemed to cease to matter when the last week had been spent in various states of conciousness, in a largely darkened house. She was sure of one thing, she was too tired to face the seemingly Sisyphean task that cleaning the flat would present. Vinyl wandered into her kitchen, grabbed the cleanest cup she could find, and made a single cup of coffee. Half an hour passed and Vinyl knew she couldn't really procrastinate any longer. Luckily, being a unicorn saved her many of the strains of conventional manual labour, but she would still have the exert herself casting the magic. Preparing enough bin bags, she concentrated entirely, at first, clearing the room of ash and cigarette buds. After this came the clearance of bottles, then eventually the miscellaneous paraphernalia scattered around the place, before finally clearing all the discarded pieces of paper. She continued to clean for around half an hour, before deciding that the place was in as good of a state as it ever was, or indeed ever will be. The only highly visible, extant remains of the lost week was the flame burns on her wooden table, and the fact that her furniture was slightly more battered and worn. Content with her work, Vinyl sat down and relaxed, before confirming that it was, indeed, still morning; ten to noon. With nothing else to do, Vinyl decided to sit and enjoy the silence, for what seemed to be the first time in a long while. The silence was not to last however, as it was broken up by three very precise, distinct, loud knocks on the door. Annoyed by the break in silence, and the interruption of her relaxation, she reluctantly stood up and walked over to address the pony that so rudely stirred her. She took her time in getting to the door, but when she opened the door she was met with an all too familiar face. "He-hello, Vinyl. Is it all right if I come in? I feel as if we need to talk." At first Octavia seemed taken aback at the state Vinyl was in, but she at least pretended to not notice anything. Vinyl's response was a non-committal, nonchalant sound, followed by a gesture that seemingly invited Octavia inside. Octavia knew the way around Vinyl's apartment well enough, and quickly found a chair. "So, Octy, what do ya wanna talk about?" Inquired Vinyl, as she took her seat too. "Well, Vinyl, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry; about the way things en-" "No." Was Vinyl's simple, cutting riposte. "Wh-what did you say, Vinyl?" Clearly disoriented by Vinyl's unprecedented interjection, Octavia stumbled over her words slightly. "I said 'no', Octavia. No. You don't get to be sorry, Octavia, you're free. Free of this, free of me, free of everything. You can walk away, and forget everything we ever shared, forget the love you claim you once felt, but don't come to me and apologise, like I mean something-" "You do mean something, Vinyl-" Octavia attempted to halt the stream of bitter vitriol that Vinyl was spewing, but to no avail. "Do I now? Oh well that's pleasing to know. Why don't you write a letter to explain these feelings, now?" Sarcasm was thick in Vinyl's voice. "Do you know what I've done this past week, Octy? 'Cause I don't. I can remember next to nothing of what happened after you turfed me out. That's how much you meant to me, Octavia, I was- I am- completely destroyed, you were everything to me. But to you I was just 'phase' it seems. Something that comes one day and leaves the next." "That's not what you were, Vinyl, you were everything to me, too. What would you have me do, Vinyl? Pretend to still love you, is that what you propose?" Octavia, however retained she attempted to be, was losing the fight to not show her anger. "I want you to stop lying to me Octy. All I want is for you to tell me what it is you feel, and then I want you to leave my apartment." Vinyl's initial vitriol seemed to have died down, turning instead into impatient loathing. "I've already told you everything I needed to say, you read it yourself, that was the long and short of it, Vinyl, I don't know what you want from me." Vinyl took a pause, trying to calm herself, before she uttered the words "If you can't understand what I'm asking then goodbye, Octavia."
Changing ScenesIt was late, very late. Or very early, Vinyl thought, she couldn't tell. Being a reasonably successful disc pony, Vinyl could afford to frequent the more up-scale nightclubs; the kind of places that an old Vinyl would've been turned away from. She even had enough recognition within the night scene to be granted VIP status. Not that she let this relative fame get to her head; she often preferred to go out to the clubs she had always went to, from back when she was an under-age filly with a fake ID. The up-scale nightclubs, to Vinyl, always seemed to be the preserve of the foals of rich ponies. She never liked those sort of nightclubs; they seemed too exclusionary, and were almost invariably filled with the particular type of pony that Vinyl hated. The worst part of these types of clubs was that they were always so clinically clean, to a fault, which never failed to annoy Vinyl. Yet here she was, in the most exclusive nightclub in Manehattan; "näy". The club, for the most part, was a pristine white, in places there was a royal blue and purple trim, though that may just have been the lighting effects, and the music was as loud as one would expect from any nightclub on a Friday night. Vinyl sat at the main bar, relatively separate from the bulk of activity on the dance floor, but still more surrounded than she would've liked. This was the first time Vinyl went out to a club without playing a set since her split with Octavia, and she wanted a somewhat relaxing evening. The music, as loud as it was, still wasn't as aggressive or harsh as it would've been in other clubs, and there was a nice, soft ambience to the place, relatively speaking. She stared at the impossibly expensive cocktail in front of her for several minutes, before downing it in one great swig, as one would drink a shot. Then she ordered and a different, random cocktail and did the same. She had been doing this all night, without saying a word to anyone except the bartender; and even then only to order a drink. The colours of each drink were rich and varied; some multicoloured, some dark and some light. As she stared at her current drink she saw that it was a deep, royal purple, not unlike her eyes, Vinyl thought to herself. A thought which she immediately shook from her head. But the thought kept returning, again and again. It seemed the more she tried to not think of Octavia the more she did. Everything around her seemed to at least provide a passing reference to her. Even the very walls around her seemed to turn a darker shade, becoming grey in certain places. Everywhere she looked all she saw was grey and purple, grey and purple. At one point she was certain she had spotted a treble clef. The room seemed to spin around her; Vinyl lost her bearings and was forced to cover her head with her hooves, and rest on the bar table. This would've been a more conspicuous event, had it not been for the relative crowdedness of the club and the time. What ponies did spot Vinyl sheltering herself just concluded that she'd had too much to drink, which was a fair assessment. Every now and then she heard a passing comment; usually along the lines of "Isn't that that DJ Pony?", but no-one actually bothered to intervene. The bartender did ask if she was alright, but Vinyl muttered something back and he left her alone. After a short while Vinyl become cognisant of how she must've looked and excused herself, to no one in particular, before going to the bathroom. The bathroom, much like the rest of the club, was pristine and white. Vinyl stared at herself in the self in the mirror, out of nothing but a sense of necessity; it seemed like the right, normal thing to do. She was clean, almost as white as the immaculate porcelain. It gave her a sense of reassurance to see herself like this, normality. Not the other day she had looked physically ill, and at least now she looked better. She didn't exactly feel better, but as long as she looked normal than she had won a victory, of sorts. A victory over whom, she did not know, but a victory nonetheless. From what Vinyl could see, she was alone in the bathroom, and so allowed herself to rest and reflect. The loud, repetitive music droned on in the background, and the room was a solid, well-lit colour, and so Vinyl was able to gather her thoughts in relative peace. Despite the time that had elapsed since the split this was the first time she was able to fully think, unhindered. She thought about her anger, an anger that had been nagging her constantly, and she tried to place it. Why was she angry, who was she angry at. Of course this was something she had thought on before, but she was never able to think of an appropriate answer. The obvious target for her anger was Octavia, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that this was not a great answer. She truly had no right to be angry at Octy, she realised this much; it wasn't Octavia's fault that she didn't love Vinyl the way Vinyl loved her. The next obvious target for her anger was herself; for allowing herself to seemingly grow this dependent of Octavia, and even take her for granted at times. For the longest time it seemed as if it would last forever; as if we were meant to be. It just seemed so natural, so right. Maybe it was foalish of me to think this way, but it just seemed to work, me and Octy. Sure, at first we seemed like total opposites, from two different worlds, but she seemed to understand me, in a way that no-one else does; in a way that no-one else can. When she said it was over it was as if half of me had died; in a way half of me did die, the pain was certainly real enough. I couldn't understand how someone I loved and admired so could tell me that she didn't love me any more. I was confused, betrayed, upset; she had wounded me for no good reason. A part of me detached itself entirely, and she didn't even have the heart to tell me to my face why. Of course time has healed the initial wound, but there will always be the scar, constantly reminding me of what I used to have. Vinyl thought these thoughts almost out loud, as if she would be forced to orate her thoughts to someone who cared. Not that anyone would care; her parents stopped caring long ago, as did every other pony she'd ever loved. In the background, during Vinyl's soliloquy, there was a horrible noise, a noise that was all too familiar to her. It was the usual soundtrack of the bathroom of any club late at night; retching. Vinyl initially paid no heed to the noise; it was presumably some unfortunate pony who misjudged how much they were drinking. However, when she stopped thinking the noise infected her mind. There was something about it that made Vinyl unable to concentrate. Whoever it was seemed to be in a bad condition, anyway, and there was something about the situation that made Vinyl feel obliged to intervene. She approached the stall that she had discerned the sound to be coming from and gave a quick shout to the pony inside. "You alright in there?" She asked the as yet unknown pony within the lavatory cubicle. The only response she received was an unintelligible murmur from within, and it didn't seemed to be directed to anyone in particular. Vinyl asked the question again, slightly louder this time, but there was still no direct response. The retching had stopped, so too had the murmuring, so Vinyl assumed that the other pony had passed out. You can't just leave her in there, Vinyl thought to herself, alone and passed out. At least make sure she can get home safely. She pushed the door slightly, to check to see if it was locked. The door moved without much pressure, and so Vinyl decided to go in and check on the other pony. Slowly she crept into the cubicle, making sure not to push the door onto the passed out pony, or trod on her herself. When in the cubicle she was able to get a look at the other pony, whom she recognised instantaneously. Her coat was unkempt, her mane tangled, but Vinyl immidiatelly recognised her. "Octy?" she asked, arbitrarily; she'd recognise Octavia anywhere, plus it was doubtful that Octavia was able to hear her. Octavia was, indeed, unconscious, and she was draped over the toilet bowl in a rather undignified way. Carefully Vinyl pulled her off, and sat her against a wall, hoping to try and wake her up. She shook her, lightly at first but soon picked up pace when Octavia was unresponsive. After a short while she finally regained consciousness, and slowly opened her eyes. Only now did Vinyl actually look at Octavia. Her eyes were blood shot, her make-up smudged and her mascara running down her face; she looked terrible. "Vinyl?" Slurred an obviously drunken Octavia, "What're you doing here?" "Well I wasn't about to leave a pony face down in the toilet now, was I?" She smirked, before attempting to lift Octavia to her feet to leave the toilet. Octavia, however, was not overly cooperative; shrugging off Vinyl's help and opting to stand on her own. Of course, in the state Octavia was in, this proved to be a near impossible task; with Octavia slipping endlessly as she tried to get her bearings. Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, Octavia allowed herself to be assisted, though gratitude was not forthcoming. "So why are you here, Octy? You always used to hate these sort of places." Inquired Vinyl, who was only hoping to end the silence that had reigned for a few minutes, as well as hopefully spurring a real conversation. "My friends, they insisted on it. They said it would help." Slurred Octavia again, who appeared to only be talking in a conciliatory fashion. It was clear to Vinyl that Octavia would much rather be with any other pony in the world besides her. Nevertheless she persevered. "Help with wha-" started Vinyl, before Octavia turned and glared at her, a contemptuous look on her face. "Oh, right. That." She finished, wishing she'd never ask. "So where are your friends now? Would've thought they'd be pulling you of the toilet and not me." "I don't know, Vinyl." Said Octavia, bluntly. "They probably left a long time ago. You can leave, too, Vinyl." "I'm not leaving 'til I know you can get home safely." said Vinyl, softly, hoping to not cause offence. "Why do you care about whether or not I get home safely? What consequence is it to you?" shouted an indignant Octavia, as they made their way closer to the exit, though luckily the music was loud enough so that nopony else really noticed. "Because I still care about you, Octy." Vinyl stopped for a moment in order to look Octavia in the eyes, "And I know you still care about me." These words hung in the air as the two stared at each other, neither pony willing to break eye contact. Eventually Octavia continued walking to the exit, not saying a word. Surprised at this, Vinyl followed Octavia out the door and into the street, she tried to call on her but to no avail. The only words Octavia spoke were the words "Taxi," as she hailed a carriage down. Vinyl watched in despair as Octavia entered the cab and gave the driver his instructions. This despair turned into confusion as the carriage didn't drive away, as Vinyl had assumed it would; instead it stayed stationary. Vinyl trotted up to the cab and when she arrived she saw Octavia motioning her in. Slowly, a bewildered Vinyl opened the door and climbed into the carriage. Octavia looked at Vinyl and merely said, "We need to talk."
