Rain poured down upon Manehatten as Vinyl trudged along to her first day of work. She would normally enjoy the rain by getting soaked and proceeding to do as she pleased with her time, but her new job demanded her attention. With an umbrella over her head and determination on her mind, the DJ marched on to the recording studio. As the building came into view, Vinyl felt a little more at ease; even if she had to work with some pony she was not currently thrilled to be around, at the very least she would be in some place she enjoyed. The automatic doors parted to allow the mare inside, who promptly shook herself free of the few drops of water that clung to her mane and tail. She snapped her umbrella shut and made her way to the third recording room.

The door was open when Vinyl got there and she found Octavia setting up while Mix talked. She walked in slowly and placed her umbrella in the corner as the other two ponies continued their conversation. After a few moments, Mix stopped to turn to Vinyl.

“Good morning,” he greeted her warmly.

“Mornin',” she replied nonchalantly before turning to Octavia to give her an acknowledging nod of her head – the cellist return the gesture with an air of confidence.

Mix began to walk to the door as he spoke. “The equipment is all set up but I'll expect you'll do a full check yourself before the recording. As per Octavia's contract, you have this room for as long as you wish to record or edit on the days that you've booked it. Other than that, all the best with the recording and come find me if you are in dire need of something important.” With that, the stallion trotted out of the room and left the mares to themselves. Vinyl went to close the door before stepping over to the controls to do a check, as Mix had suggested. As she fiddled with all the little buttons, knobs, and sliders, a small smile crept onto her face.

“I'm not sure how you scored this room,” she said without looking to the other pony, “especially with almost unlimited access too.”

With a slight tilt of her head, though Vinyl could not see it, Octavia replied, “What do you mean by that?”

“This is Mix's personal recording room, though you might not think it 'cause it looks just like all the others, but it's his.” The DJ rested her hooves against the console as she warmly recalled the memories made in this room. Back when Mix was starting out, it had just been a storage room, perpetually filled with boxes until the day he converted it. During that time, the storage room was the common place for the pair to spend time together, musing or simply relaxing. She drifted away from the memories, coming back to the present and Octavia, who had responded to Vinyl's remark but had been completely ignored in favour of pleasant memories.

“If there are no more nostalgic history lessons,” the cellist spoke up, aware that she had been previously ignored, “I would like to get started.”

Vinyl finished with checking the console and turned around. “Sounds good – everything here is good to go when you are.” Octavia entered the sound booth, the door shut behind her while the DJ situated herself in a more comfortable fashion at the console. Switches were flicked, buttons pressed, sliders slid, and the red light lit up brightly. The cellist began to play as Vinyl sat at the controls, silently listening and observing. While classical was a genre she was not very fond of, it was still possible for her to appreciate the talent of a musician – and Octavia definitely had talent. Despite having only listened to her play for mere moments, Vinyl could already say, without a doubt, that the mare she was recording for possessed impressive skill with her instrument.

Inside the booth, Octavia played her music with eyes closed and her form composed. She slid the bow along the strings in fluid movements, as natural to her as breathing and as frictionless as water. The notes weaved together like silk, forming a shawl of musical warmth and comfort, with only a subtle hint of sadness. The cellist imagined the faces of hundreds of ponies, constantly amazed by the sounds she produced for them in such a pleasing fashion. In her mind, she looked out across the theatre as her music ended and their hearts melted. When she opened her eyes to the inside of the sound-booth, she found herself faced with a different sight: she saw Vinyl, relaxed and looking only vaguely interested at the console. Even if she told herself she could care less about what this mare thought of her music, she still felt her heart sink ever so slightly.

“Good take,” the mare at the console said through the speaker. “You want to give 'er another or move on?”

Octavia briefly considered another run at the song, but decided against it. “I would like to move on to the next piece, thank you.” Besides, her subconscious nagged, maybe a different one will capture her attention. The cellist poised herself for another masterpiece and began to play on Vinyl's queue. With the same effortless grace as before, the mare created a tapestry of sound, designed to please those with a discerning ear. This piece was full of subtle tones, meant to pull a pony in to feel the rise and fall of the emotions in her strings – it would leave them pleasantly confused, stuck between a warm joy and a cool sadness. The song faded out, ending with a weighted softness, like a slow, heavy snowfall. Octavia opened her eyes more eagerly this time, anticipation subtly dancing within them, and looked to the mare at the console once more. Again, she stared straight at the machine in front of her, no hint of the usual expression that crowds normally wear when the cellist plays. This time, however, she had her hoof raised to her chin in a thoughtful manner, and Octavia waited for her to speak.

“Pretty good,” she finally remarked, rubbing her chin. “There's something a bit off, but I think it could probably be fixed with a little level adjustment.” Vinyl was trying her best to look natural, afraid that the mare in the booth might see through her guise – she had become rather impressed by the cellist, going as far as to enjoy her music, but she was in no hurry to let that fact be known. Her fear of admission stemmed from her attitude towards classical musicians, whom she viewed as stuffy and conceited ponies, who looked down their noses at ponies such as herself. The belief the DJ currently held was that Octavia would either mock her for being interested when acting as though she were not during their first meeting, or that she would insult her for being somepony that did not have the taste to ever properly appreciate her music. Neither outcome was inviting to Vinyl, so she chose to feign disinterest and act relaxed.

Meanwhile, Octavia was feeling the sting of the other mare's words – 'pretty good'. Not once could she recall being told that her music was only 'pretty good', for even when she was studying under the most critical of musical professors, she had never failed to impress. What gave this mare the right to not be swept off her hooves by her music? The cellist wished to simply say that Vinyl had no taste for music, but something kept her from truly believing that. Even if she thought a pony had no taste, they were at least forced to embarrassingly attempt to avoid commenting on her music, for they could not say anything negative about it without looking a fool. While Vinyl had not said anything particularly negative, she had remarked on the music without being won over, which was as good as an insult to Octavia

“An EQ tweak should do it,” Vinyl noted aloud, taking them both back to the present, “but we could always just re-recorded, if you want.”

With a cool demeanour, Octavia spoke in a slightly passive-aggressive tone, made almost too subtle by her dry accent. “Well, if you-” She made sure to emphasize the 'you', “-believe that it is unnecessary to re-record, then let us continue on.” Unsurprisingly, Vinyl did not pick up on the cellist's tone and carried on with her work, preparing for the next song. With a small huff to herself, Octavia readied her instrument once more and tried to focus on her music. As she played the next piece, however, she could not help but think of how Vinyl acted towards her and, more importantly, her music. All the while the DJ listened on in silence, aware that something was different about her client's playing this time, and scrunched her nose slightly as she thought on it. The cellist made no attempt at subtly when she stared out at the mare working the console, continuing to play as she saw the discontent on the mare's face. Her bow slipped a little in her hooves and cause her to play a series of notes completely foreign to her current piece of music. Fumbling to regain control of her bow, Octavia tried her best to ignore the frown on Vinyl's lips. She finished out the song unconvincingly, aware that there was little chance that the DJ would be impressed now if she had not already been thus far.

Vinyl was desperately thinking of something to say in this situation. While she wanted to simply speak her mind, she knew it would be out of line for her to do so, and she did not feel comfortable banking on her being the only available technician to keep her job safe. Squirming mentally, the DJ frantically searched for something she could do to make this whole scenario better – the cellist had been a great musician thus far, and Vinyl was unsure of what had caused this sudden drop in performance. Perhaps it had just been some very avant-garde piece of music she did not understand? I doubt it, she answered herself. Octavia doesn't seem the type for experimental music. Whatever's the case, I've got to do something, right?

“I think the recording messed up,” she blurted out without another thought. “Yup, definitely screwed up. Looks like we'll have to redo that one.” While she had not consciously planned that idea, she was giving herself a mental pat on the back for the quick thinking. Octavia, for her part, was left a little shocked in the recording booth. She had been all too aware of how poor her last performance must have sounded, and was afraid she would be doomed to face a legitimate insult about her music. However, fate seemed to be on her side – even if she did not believe in such things – and it looked as though she was in the clear. The performance would still leave a sour taste in her mouth, but at least she had hope to move on with today.

“Such is life,” the cellist announced confidently, trying to bolster her own morale. “I will simply play again, and hope there are fewer technical errors.” Had she not be so thankful for this mishap, there would have been more venom in her words, but she was far too relieved to be angry at the moment. Outside the booth, Vinyl was about to retort, not enjoying being accused of making mistakes with equipment, but realized how that would ruin her attempted fix. She kept mostly quiet, offering an affirming hum and nod, focusing on the console again. They set up for another recording, both of them hoping for a better performance this time around.

With determination, Octavia banished the thoughts clouding her mind, breathing deeply before starting her music again. Once she did, she had regained her previous gusto and skillful handle on her craft, performing the piece as it was meant to be. The faint hint of a smile came to the cellist's face as she played on with grace and confidence. At the console, Vinyl was noting the return of Octavia's skill after the brief mishap, and continuing to enjoy herself in secret. Something about the whole thing seemed a little dirty, as if she was not meant to be enjoying herself – at least, not in this way. Never before had she needed to hide her interest in music before; the concept was alien to her, and perhaps that was why she felt as though it was wrong. Vinyl concluded that she did not know how to feel about the situation, but knew that she enjoyed Octavia's music – she could figure out how her demons worked in her free time.

As the cellist played out the end of her song, the door to the studio opened slowly. Vinyl turned to see Mix enter the room and flash her a friendly smile. His attention turned to the booth as he noticed Octavia finishing the current piece just in time to open her eyes and turn to see him.

“How's the recording going?” he asked the DJ casually.

“Oh, pretty good,” Vinyl replied calmly, intent on not saying anything about the one ill-performed take. “Like you said: she's definitely no two-bit hack.”

He laughed a little as Octavia began to exit the booth. “Good to hear. Ah, Octavia, I trust that all is well so far?”

“It is,” she replied in her characteristically cool tone, choosing, like Vinyl, to keep mention of the earlier mishap to as little as possible. “What brings you back so soon?”

“I got a call from a client unable to make it in today, so I figured I'd swing by to see how things were going.” As Mix spoke, his eyes were inclined towards Vinyl, a brotherly concern noticeable behind his relaxed demeanour. Octavia caught sight of this and understood that he was here to check up on the mare at the console, worried about how she would be handling her job. This reminded the cellist of her previous uneasiness about the Vinyl's employment, and she now also cast a look to the mare. Aware of the other ponies' gazes, the DJ spoke with the intent of freeing herself from them.

“Well thanks, Mix,” she tried not to sound nervous with their eyes on her, “but we've only gotten a few tracks recorded, and I'm sure Octavia wants to keep working.” The other two ponies shared a quick glance before Mix nodded and excused himself while wishing the mares good luck. Octavia and Vinyl looked to each other briefly, gazes quizzical but hardly telling, before returning to their work.

* * * * * * * * * *

Vinyl yawned and looked up to a clock mounted upon the wall: 1:17 – she had not noticed noon come and go. A growl in her stomach helped her realized that not only would she need some more coffee, but that her body was also seeking nourishment. Octavia had just finished out the second take of the album's final song and was setting her cello upon its stand. The booth door opened effortlessly as she stepped outside and turned immediately to the mare at the console.

“I was thinking of going for lunch,” Vinyl announced as she swung herself free of her chair. She looked at the other mare for a moment, silent before she continued. “Do you want to come with me?”

The cellist stared back for a moment, slightly taken aback by the question. “Is that really proper procedure for a sound technician?”

“Meh, maybe not.” The DJ regained her confidence, trotting by Octavia and opening the door to the hall. “But I figure that while we're on break, we don't have to be professionals.”

“I believe we may have slightly different concepts of professionalism, but I see no harm in having lunch together.”

Vinyl stepped out into the hallway and waited for Octavia before closing the door behind her. “So where do you want to go?”

“I'm not terribly familiar with the area, but a quaint bistro with a patio would be lovely if while the weather allows it.” As they walked down the halls the DJ began to regret asking the cellist to lunch. What in Equestria was I thinking? she scolded herself. I was just going to grab a sandwich and hay fries or something at a fast food place, but there's not way Octavia would even step anywhere near there. Part of her began to question why she cared so much about what this other mare thought of her choice of eating establishments – it was no pony's matter except her own. Once again, Vinyl did not have a clear cut answer as to why these thoughts were plaguing her, so she set them aside to deal with the problem at hoof.

“Well,” she began nervously, “we could swing by and see if Mix has a suggestion – he's always going out for lunch and stuff with clients.”

“If he's not too engaged in any work, I would like to hear his suggestion.” The pair turned a corner and made for the studio's head office. When they reach their destination, they found the door open, looking in to see Mix sitting at his desk with a stack of paper work. Octavia tapped on the opened door gingerly as she waited to enter. Quickly, but in no rush, the beige stallion lifted his head, looking to the door to give a small smile.

“What can I do for you two?” he asked casually.

The two mares entered and Vinyl took the lead. “We were going to go get lunch-” Mix raised a eyebrow. “-and were wondering if you could recommend somewhere good nearby.”

“Of course,” Octavia chimed in, “if you have not take lunch already, we would be more than welcome to have you as well.”

Mix was silent for a few moments before answering, giving the DJ an inquisitive stare. “Thank you for the offer, but I had already had my lunch – perhaps I can take you up on the offer another time. There's an excellent cafe called Bridle Bites just a block south of here – it has a wonderful selection of lunch options and a patio that is quite lovely this time of the year.” He looked out of his window at a now clear summer sky. “Especially when the rain lets up.”

“That sounds lovely indeed,” Octavia responded, the slightest hint of warmth in her voice. “We appreciate the information.”

“Not a problem. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do have a fair amount of paperwork to get done, and even if that wasn't the case, I wouldn't want to keep you from lunch.”

“Thanks, Mix,” Vinyl chimed in happily, relieved to no longer be stuck in that predicament. Mix nodded as the mares left his office and made their way to the exit doors. As they walked through the reception room, Vinyl noticed a few sets of eyes on her and Octavia as they left together. The DJ may have been used to being the centre of attention in clubs, but the way ponies had been looking at her today had not made her incredibly comfortable. Feels like I'm being constantly judged, she thought. What, am I in high school again?

When the pair had finally left the studio, Vinyl took a breath and revelled in the warmness of the air. She turned her head south could already see the patio of the cafe down the street. They started down the street, passing by a few other restaurants and retail stores as they went. As they walked by them, Vinyl recognized most of the fast food places that she had been to, specifically noting a rundown looking redish-brown building then her and Mix had eaten more than a couple of hay fries at during late nights.

“I take it you don't come here that often either?” Octavia asked, breaking Vinyl's thought.

“Hm?” was the only response the DJ made.

“Seeing as you immediately decided to ask Mix for suggestions, I thought that perhaps you were, like me, not too familiar with this area.”

Hooves clicked on the ground as the two walked in silence, Vinyl giving her response after a few moments of though. “I guess that does make sense.” Octavia was slightly flustered by the other mare's inability to actually answer her question but let it slide as they approached the cafe. A bright-eyed young mare greeted them as they stepped onto the premises and asked them if they'd like a table inside or on the patio. The cellist asked for a patio seat and Vinyl nodded along. They were quickly shown to a table, the waitress giving them menus as they sat and asked them if they'd like a drink while the decided on their orders. The pair ordered coffee and then turned their attention to the menus as they wait for the waitress to return. When she did, both mares placed their orders and thanked the waitress as they returned the menus.

“Really, Vinyl,” Octavia groaned, “do you need that much sugar?” As another cup of sugar plopped into the dark brown liquid, Vinyl looked up at the cellist with a small scowl.

“What's wrong with sugar?” she grumbled, placing her shades upon the table.

The cellist sighed and sipped her coffee, which remained black and sugarless. “There is nothing wrong with a bit of sugar, for ponies who cannot appreciate the flavour, but the amount you've put in is simply appalling.”

“This is how my brain likes coffee, so it's how I make coffee – I have no control over what I like and how I like it. If you have some way of changing your tastes, good for you, but I'm perfectly fine with the way mine are.” With a bit of a huff, the DJ took a swig of her coffee as Octavia sat silently. She stopped to consider Vinyl's words – something she had surprised herself by doing more than once lately. When she thought about it, the mare across from her really did have a point: ponies cannot control how their brains are wired, and insulting somepony for the tastes was akin to insulting them for their eye colour – they were simply born with it. She could argue on the grounds of acquired tastes, but even that was within the brain's limit, and often only reaching tolerance – eating dirt for years is likely to make you hate it less, but it would hardly make one grow fond of it. The two mares drank their coffee in silence for a few moments before Vinyl found the will to strike up a new conversation.

“So how are you feeling about the album so far?” she asked casually.

“It's coming along quite well,” Octavia's collected response came.

“Despite that little hiccup?” The coffee cup that had been calmly moving to the cellist's lips stopped abruptly. She looked at the dark liquid and realized that the mare across from her very likely had noticed her poor perform earlier that day. For Vinyl's part, she was not entirely sure why she had brought this up – the whole point of the initial lie of a recording error was to avoid allowing Octavia to be aware that she knew she slipped up. She had the chance to pretend that she meant the fake recording error, but she would have to act upon it now, if that was her choice.

“Not everything goes perfectly,” Octavia responded, holding her cup firmly as she looked at Vinyl. “I would not be where I am if I assumed everything always worked out as plan.” She was lying to herself, blatantly: if she had truly believed that, she would have never became flustered by the DJ's seeming lack of interest in her music. A part of her still hoped that the other mare was simply referring to the recording error, and worded her response ambiguous enough to work for either option.

Vinyl nodded, deciding that her demons would only continue to win if she held back. “That's true, but saying that it didn't go perfectly is underselling it a bit.”

“Well, the recording-”

“I lied about the recording.” There it was – Octavia knew now that, without a doubt, Vinyl was aware of how lacking her performance had been. She had not, however, even considered that the recording error was a lie, and had thought it to simply be a relieving coincidence. Both mares remained silent as they considered their next words in this conversation. Before they could get there though, the bright-eyed waitress from before returned with their food in tow, placing it on the table and wishing them a pleasant meal. They put on their happy faces, smiling and thanking her, waiting until she was long gone to return to each others' attention. Vinyl lifted her sandwich up to her lips and took a bite, chewing fully before saying a word.

“I'm sorry about lying,” she said, as if offering her condolences. “I just didn't want you to feel worse about it.”

“Worse?” Octavia replied curiously, not yet touching her meal.

“Yeah, you obviously had something bad on your mind to be slipping up like that, and I knew you were probably beating yourself up about it afterwards.”

The cellist scowled, a facial expression she was not used to making. “And how do you know all this? We've just met, and you aren't a musician like me, so what makes you think you are so entitled to be able to know my emotions?”

“I'm not a classical musician, and I play in a much different setting than you, but I perform all the same. Having negative thoughts messes up anypony trying to perform their art.” 'Their art' – those words struck Octavia and made her realize that Vinyl did have some concept of how she might feel. When she remembered how the DJ asked her about what she played, but she had never returned the question – she never stopped to consider that Vinyl ways involved with music passed just recording.

“I never considered...”

Vinyl took another bite from her sandwich, her head hung slightly. “I didn't mention it, so you couldn't have known.”

“I am terribly sorry for taking that tone with you, Vinyl – it was incredibly rude, and not at all proper of me.”

“Hey, don't be down about it – I was the one acting like I knew you and talking about personal shit when we barely know each other.” The pair became silent as Octavia finally began eating her meal. For a time, they simply listened to the sounds of the city; the birds twittered in the distance, ponies trotted this way and that, and the hum of life buzzed gently in their ears. When the cellist finished her food and found herself staring into the clear blue sky, she looked back and the mare across from her.

“Why did you lie about the recording?” she asked candidly, no attempt at her cool demeanour.

Also looking away, Vinyl brought her gaze back to the pony questioning her. “Because I liked hearing your music when you played it well.” A small smile found its way to Octavia's lips, and the two found themselves happily relieved of the day's burdens.

Author's Note

A month on the dot from the last one -- I'm not planning to make this a trend, but notice how no one can tell me it took more than a month this time!

Any ways, the edits are just from me, as I was too excited to wait on getting this one out. If anyone would like to, you're free (and completely encouraged!) to send me edits for this, or any other chapter, current or past (excluding the old ones) to me as a message on FimFiction.

I like this new author's notes section, by the by -- it's a good way to have them without taking up word count.

Any whooooo, hope you all enjoy some more Scratches!