Lady Octavia's Lover

~To Patrick, a professional in the field of music and flipping burgers~

“Another day older and deeper in debt~”

Vinyl counted the greasy bills with her fingers, humming the tune that blasted from the lo-end speakers in the corner - her most prized possession, or, at least, the most costly one - and tiptoeing around the only room on the hard wooden floor. Still not enough for a carpet.

The tall, slender woman sighed, humming as she placed the money in the shady drawer resting in the corner of the room, creaking with olden effort. Two hundred fifty. Seventeen pence. Ugh. Vinyl sighed once more and trod towards the sound system, shutting it off. “Sorry, Ford. For now, free mp3s for your songs. Not enough to buy your vinyls.” She diverted her attention to the kitchen-corner. Or a vinyl player, for that matter. Vinyl approached the table. But that money should be enough to buy food for a month and a half, if I’m cautious and if Mr Darcy-

There was a loud, painful, ear-shattering knock at the door. Vinyl groaned in despair. For fuck’s sake. Speak of the Devil’s name…

With a fake smile, Vinyl opened the door. "Good morning, Mr Sat- I mean, Mr Darcy. What brings you to my humble flat?"

"It's my flat." The old man gritted his surprisingly good teeth. "Yer renting it. And ye won't be renting it if you don't pay me by next month. I'll get that eviction order in no time." With that, he slammed the door shut.

Vinyl sighed. "Another day older... and deeper in debt."

***

"Okaaaay..." Vinyl's finger tapped the screen as she cursed the damn browser and the damn phone and the damn Mr Darcy. "Job, now, quickly, my region..."

Several minutes were spent in silence as she searched. Then, "A-ha!" - and she read the ad aloud to herself. "Octavia Philarmonica, 18YO..." Hehe, YO. Like whisky. "Looking for a personal servant. Must also cook. Must be female, Italian. Pay per month... Is that per month?! I could do with that a year!.. Probably. Address... Phone... Apply by..." Vinyl gasped. "That's today!"

Grabbing her old coat, she ran out.

***

"So, what happened to your previous maid?" Vinyl asked, cursing herself immediately. Not a fine way to start a conversation.

"Her hair was too green," came the reply. Vinyl gulped. "Blue is okay, don't worry."

"How many peopleare there in your family?" Vinyl wondered in awe, looking around the big mansion that rested proudly on a hill by a river. "There are, like, twenty rooms here!"

"Twenty-three," Octavia, the mistress from the ad, a petite eighteen-year old girl with long charcoal hair, stern brows on her face, and haunting lavender eyes, countered. "And I live alone. My family is dead, Miss... Scratch, was it?"

Call me Vinyl. And please don't use past tense. And please don't kill me. I'm sorry. "I'm very sorry. I didn't know. I am sorry."

"Now you know," Octavia remarked coldly and put a note of some sort in the yellow notebook she was holding.

Sheesh. I lost points before gaining any. Octavia sat down, and, at her urge, so did Vinyl.

The interview had begun.

***

“Do you do drugs, Miss Scratch?”

Vinyl fought an urge to let out a giggle. This…. this girl is trying to lecture me? “Does weed count as a drug?” she asked playfully, winking with obvious exaggeration. Octavia’s lack of amusement - or reaction - told her that the stick in the girl’s ass was probably set way too tight up there. “No, I don’t.” Pausing, she added, “Ma’am.”

“Good.” Octavia nodded, taking down some notes in that awfully-yellow notebook of hers. She then took the tip of her pencil to her lips - an innocent gesture that contrasted so much with the stately, dominant, stick-in-the-ass attitude of hers. Now, Vinyl could not hold a snicker. “What if I told you, Miss Scratch, that I wanted to smoke some weed?”

Vinyl almost did a spit-take on thin air. She looked at the girl’s impassionate face in disbelief. I would put you across my knee and spank you till you stopped demanding things that are bad for little girls! Then again, Octavia’s petite figure did not particularly show childishness. She is just eighteen, for God’ sake. She is a child. “I would seek out some Indians and buy some weed for you… Ma’am.” I guess. For a moment, Vinyl shut her eyes tight. She couldn’t be sure if this was the point of the question - obedience. Or, rather, she was asking about-

“Are you a racist, Miss Scratch?”

Now, Vinyl did do a spit-take on thin air. Wat. “What, why do you think I’m-” Glancing at the plain, yet disapproving, expression of the young woman, she amended her tone: “Why do you think I’m a racist, ma’am? I just pointed out that Indians are more likely to have the… requested recreational drug.” That was horrible alliteration, Brain, and you know it. Always. Avoid. Alliteration.

Once again, Octavia scribbled down a note. Damn. Vinyl winced. I’ve just lost soooo many points. “For your information, Miss Scratch, Indians are unlikely to have the aforementioned drug.” She glanced up from the notebook, taking off her spectacles. “It is the niggers who tend to have it.”

Vinyl’s mouth slightly opened and closed. “The…”

Octavia smiled. “I am a racist.” She took a walk towards the window, slowly tapping her feet against the floor of the study. “I hire only Italians. We are a better nation, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

Vinyl shrugged. I choose not to give a fuck. How about that? “You lived in Russia,” she countered, only to realise her folly a moment too late. “Uh. Ma’am,” she added pathetically.

“Yes.” Octavia turned round sharply, her face unsmiling. “Yes, I did. But I never forgot what it was like to be an Italian. And when my… when they died, I didn’t go to Italy.” She frowned and huffed pointedly. “Not because I don’t like my homeland. But because in Italy one does not forget what it is like to be an Italian. Abroad, one does. And I will never forget.”

“Wow.” Vinyl blinked in awe.Mussolini would be proud, I guess. “Ma’am.”

“You can drop the Ma’am,” Octavia said finally, with a deep sigh, rubbing her eyelids. “Now make me a bath.”

Vinyl blinked once again, this time in surprise. “How do you mean? So, am I hired or?”

“I mean,” Octavia repeated slowly, “make. Me. A bath. If I hadn’t hired you, would I have told you to do your job?” Finally, she smiled a little, as if allowing herself to be so ostensibly frivolous.

Vinyl’s face broke into a grin. I’m hired! Money, here I come! She was just about to leap at the prim girl and ruffle her hair when she remembered that such behaviour would probably (most likely) to result in her immediate termination, both in the way of firing and, well, subsequent physical extermination. Instead, Vinyl nodded eagerly. “Sure thing, m- Octavia. This bath will be the best you’ve ever had.”

Octavia nodded as well. “I hope. I want the rose petals to be floating on the water, not in the water. And the oil should give off the smell but not be too oily on the skin.”

What the fu- “Okaaay.” Vinyl took a breath. “Where is the bathroom again?”

Octavia scrunched her nose. So cuuute~ Vinyl squeed mentally. Scrunchy scrunchy! “The master’s bathroom is on the second floor, third door to the left.”

Eeee~ That ‘I will murder you’ tone is so cuuute~ Vinyl kept digging her grave by admiring her new mistress’s wrath. “And the petals? Where are those?”

Octavia’s face turned a deep pink. “Miss Scratch!” she finally yelled at the cuteness-adoring Vinyl. “I don’t pay you for taking what’s there and making it work! Go to a store and buy some roses, Santa Maria! Take the money from the table over there.” With that, she pointed her small, slender finger at the brown-ish coffee table in the corner.

Vinyl quickly skidded over to the table, noticing a stack of paper- money- much money there. Twenty, fifty- a hundred! “Octavia, there’s a hundred here,” she said carefully. Stupid! I should’ve just taken it and-

“Yes, yes, yes.” Octavia waved her hand in the air. “Buy some roses and oil, and you can buy candy or whatever on what’s left.” Vinyl grinned. Sweeeeet… I’ll go buy some boo- “Just don’t buy booze,” Octavia noted. Ah, dammit. “My maid won’t be drinking alcohol.” What what what what- “If she wants to stay my maid, that is.” The girl smiled. Vinyl frowned. You little devious fucker. "So, do we have a deal, then?"

Vinyl smiled and extended her hand. "We have a deal."

"Good." Octavia smiled. "I'll be leaving written instructions for you on that very table from now on."

***

Vinyl gulped. Octavia sat down at the table, sniffing her nose at the meal. "Is it what I asked?" she asked with such intensity that Vinyl immediately felt an urge to call her "Ma'am" again. She gulped once more and attempted to fake a smile. "Whyyy..." she began. "Of course, Octavia!" Her heart leaped to her throat. "Three slices of duck meat with roast oranges, six slices of Gruyère with caviar, and Earl Grey, straight, no sugar, no lemon."

"This is not what I asked for," Octavia said after close inspection of the meal.

The little Vinyl in Vinyl's head fell to a pit in the middle of an abyss inside a canyon. "B-but-" In her imagination, she was back in her downtrodden state, goin' under to the land of poverty.

"I wanted black caviar," Octavia remarked coldly. "I specifically wrote it out."

"There was no black caviar!" Vinyl tried in desperation. "Octavia, we're not in Russia, caviar's rare here..."

For a while, Octavia merely observed the food in silence. Then, she smiled. "Yes, sometimes I forget." Then, primly, she took a bite of her duck meat. Vinyl shut her eyes. "It's delicious," the mistress concluded finally. "Very tasty. I never knew you were such a good chef."

"Merely a neat cook, Octavia." Vinyl exhaled in relief. For a few minutes, she observed the girl chew on her meal. It's getting late. “All right, time for me to go home.” Vinyl yawned. And get evicted. Woohoo.

“What do you mean?” Octavia frowned, crossing her hands under her breasts, her thin robe tightening. Damn, girl. Your nipples are showing. Get a sports bra or something. Or, rather, don’t. Uhm. “You are to live here and tend to my every need,” she continued in a tone that showed clearly that she was merely stating the obvious. “What if I want a glass of warm milk at night? What if I have an urge to have a meal at three in the morning?” She huffed. “Miss Scratch-”

“Vinyl,” the new maid countered. “Call me Vinyl. Please. Puh-leese.”

“Vinyl,” Octavia carried on. “I have a bell that I’ll ring if I need something from you. And your quarters are adjacent to my bedroom. So you’ll hear me. In other words,” Octavia concluded, “you are living here now, and that’s no subject of discussion.”

For a few moments, Vinyl could not comprehend what was happening. Then, as she realised that she now had a place of her own (kinda), that she didn’t have to fear the landlord (true), that she could now live in luxury (relatively), her face broke into a widest grin as she tried to throw her hands around Octavia’s neck in an embrace. However, a flash of evil from the girl’s lavender eyes told her that, if she valued her life, that wasn’t a wise choice.

"That sounds..." Amazing. Great. Awesometastic. ...That's not even a word. "Lovely," Vinyl settled on. "Very lovely."

***

Vinyl thought she’d wake up to the sound of a bell. Instead, she woke up to the sound of sobbing. Sobbing was coming in short spurs from the adjacent room. The master's bedroom. Octavia's bedroom. Vinyl rose from the bed and trod carefully across the carpet into the corridor. The sobbing intensified. Taking a deep breath, Vinyl entered the room without knocking. Old habits die hard.

Before her, the simple room unveiled a royal bed, several cupboards and small round tables, a desk, several cellos (about six, all different) and sheet music - everywhere: whole books of it, stacks of scribbles on the floor, and the desk, and the cupboards, and the little tables: a peculiar mess for someone so organised. Seems like my little mistress here likes a formal approach to her music.

"What's the matter, Octavia?" Vinyl asked carefully, so as not to disturb the already crying girl.

“It’s this nightmare,” Octavia sniffed, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her pyjamas. “It never stops. T-there’s Daddy, and M-mommy, and they-” She broke down again, crying into the pillow.

Vinyl looked at her painfully, not knowing what to do, how to help. She’s just a little girl. A fragile little girl who had to grow up early, she said to herself. She may act all thirty, but she’s still just eighteen. And here I am, an adult, unable to soothe her cries. “Hey,” she said finally, carefully planting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right. It was just a dream. It’s gone now.”

Octavia jerked up, and Vinyl was ready to take off her hand, but, instead, the young pyjamaed mistress buried her face into Vinyl’s chest, crying on and on. Vinyl, awkwardly, kept patting her shoulder and stroking her back. “Hey,” she kept saying. “It’s all right. I promise it’s all right.”

“Sing me a lullaby,” Octavia sniffed, at last. “Sing me a lullaby Mom and Dad would sing me.”

Vinyl felt greatly at unease. “Uh… Octavia, I don’t know any Italian lullabies…”

Octavia sniffed again. “It was in Russian.” Without any restraint, she started singing in a fine, opera-tier soprano that, Vinyl was sure, neither her father nor mother could ever match:

Спи, моя радость, усни~

В доме погасли огни~

Рыбки уснули в пруду~

Птички уснули в саду~

Месяц на небе блестит~

Месяц в окошко глядит~

Глазки скорее сомкни~

Спи, моя радость, усни~

***

“Nothing happened last night,” Octavia preceded. “Not the- nothing. It was all a dream.”

“What happened last night?” Vinyl blinked in oblivion.

“Well, when I crie-” Octavia stopped short, scrutinising the oblivious face expression. “You’re good, Miss- Vinyl. Very good.”

I am. Instead of boasting, Vinyl took out the plate. “Toast with eggs and cheese, topped with spring onions, and, as per your note, your favourite cocoa with marshmallows.”

Octavia sighed in relief. “That sounds lovely."

***

"When I'm cleanin' windows~" Vinyl sang as she, contrary to the song, cleaned bookshelves. Her inner self soon felt at unease due to the evident contradiction, so she changed the lyrics: "Tadatada-tada-ta tada-tada-tadata tada-tada-tada-ta When I'm cleaning bookshelves~" Soon, as she moved from the library to one of the studies, it became "When I'm cleaning desktops," and she was already beginning with "When I'm cleaning tables~" as she readied herself to move into the kitchen, just as she heard a melody - a melody different from the bawdy jazz in her head, a prim classical melody, something from Bach, if Vinyl's ear wasn't betraying her. A melody resonating all the way from the master's bedroom.

Quietly, Vinyl tiptoed towards the closed door of the room, the single cello luring her with sound like Orpheus's lyre, the four-stringed angel crying with happiness from... No, actually not, Vinyl realised as she listened closely. The piece was supposed to be happy, but the performance felt too... austere. Too detached. Not that it wasn't emotional. It was, but... it felt that the performer could not cry with happiness as this music required, and so couldn't her instrument.

Silently, Vinyl peeked into the room. Octavia was sitting on a chair near the bed, her eyes closed, whether in bliss or tension, Vinyl couldn't tell. It seemed that, at least, she wasn't crying, either from happiness or grief. When the music ended, Vinyl began to clap, smiling, holding an urge to cheer for the artistic girl. "That was amazing, Octavia," she said honestly.

Octavia opened her mouth, searching for words as she recognised her audience. "Thank you," she said at last. "I... I am not used to audience," she confessed. Growing used to the feeling, she suggested, "Would you like me to play a favourite of yours?"

"Well..." Vinyl pondered. "I'm a fan of Vivaldi's Four Seasons but it's for violin and-"

Without a word from the performer, drowning out Vinyl's explanations, the room filled with the sound of Spring.

***

The bell rang. Vinyl grunted and rolled over. The bell rang again. Vinyl swore under her breath and tried diving into the pillow. Once more the bell rang, accompanied by a high soprano: “Vinyyyyyl~”

“Oh, for the sake of holy Fuck…” Vinyl grumbled and stood up from the bed, yawning the sleep away. Groggily, she entered Octavia’s bedroom.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Octavia complained, her arms crossed as she sat in bed. “If you don’t know any lullabies, tell me a tale.”

“A tale?” Vinyl blinked. I go to sleep. You go to sleep. Here’s your tale.

“A story,” Octavia elaborated. “A story so I can go to sleep. Tell me a story.”

“Uh.” Vinyl closed her eyes. Likewise. I go to sleep. You go to sleep. End of story. “Well,” she smiled, sitting on the chair by Octavia’s bed. “I’ve heard an interesting story about Shaolin monks.” She cleared her throat as Octavia lay her head on the pillow and prepared to listen. Vinyl smiled. List, my child, list! “A young apprentice came up to his master one day and said, ‘Master, I’ve finally found out what Buddha is!’ So the master says, ‘Very well, then. What is Buddha?’ ‘Buddha,’ says the apprentice, ‘is the essence of all living souls in the universe.’ Immediately, the master hits him with a discipline stick. ‘Fool!’ he yells. ‘Buddha is nothing but a pile of shit!’ ‘What?’ the apprentice wonders, tearful. ‘Master, is it true? Is Buddha just a pile of shit?’ Angry, the master hits him once more. ‘How dare you?!’ he screams. ‘How dare you call Buddha a pile of shit?’ The end.” Cautiously, Vinyl glanced at the girl, who wasn’t sleeping, but instead listening attentively, her lavender eyes wide open.

“You are very smart for a maid, Vinyl,” she said finally, after a few moments of silence. Gee, thanks. Dunno how to take this one. “But I wanted a story for good sleep, not a philosophic one,” the young mistress clarified. “Tell me another one.”

You little- “Uh. Fine.” Vinyl rubbed her eyelids. What makes eighteen-year-old girls sleep? Ah. Vinyl smiled. “Once upon a time, in a magical land of… Ponyland,” she began, smiling as she saw wonder in Octavia’s eyes, “lived a very beautiful little pony called Octavia.”

“Like me!” Octavia exclaimed childishly.

“Yes,” Vinyl confirmed indulgently, “like you.” Boy, Octavia, you really had no childhood, did you. “She was very pretty and smart, and she liked classical music and playing the cello. She lived in a wonderful mansion on a hill, and played her cello every day. She also loved cocoa with marshmallows and tasty crackers. When she had baths, she liked the rose petals to float on top of the water. For all of this to happen, there was an older little pony living with her, called Vinyl. She did all that, and Octavia paid her shiny little golden bits so Vinyl could buy herself clothes and food and music. And they were very happy together.” She glanced at the now-deep-breathing form of Octavia and smiled. “AndthentheyhadsexTHE END,” she finished quickly and stood up, heading for the door.

“That was a sweet ending,” she heard Octavia’s voice. “MmgoodnightVinyl.” With that, she dozed off.

Vinyl blinked. What the what. “Uhm. Good night to you too, Octavia.” She shrugged. “Good night to you too.”

***

Vinyl woke up at quarter past six, the usual time which now had become much less inconvenient. Now, after spending weeks at Octavia's place, she could wake up so early and not experience a terrible urge to destroy the world, but instead, happily rise and shine. Quite literally: rise and shine shoes. Octavia's shoes. Yet, today she didn't even mind any tasks that Octavia might (rather, would) bestow upon her. All because it's Christmas! And because Vinyl was going to ask her mistress for a day off.

"Joy to the world, the Lord is come~" Vinyl sang as she braved the corridor towards Octavia's bedroom. Entering it, as usual, without knocking (evidently, Octavia didn't mind), she saw Octavia sitting in bed, her arms, as usual, crossed. Girl. Stop that. That's creepy. "Merry Christmas, Octavia!" the maid greeted her mistress.

Octavia smiled back. Girl, I like that. You should smile more. "Merry Christmas, Vinyl."

"Sleep well, Octavia?" Vinyl asked warmly.

"Yes, I did, thank you." Of course you did. It was I who made the bed, after all. ...Wait where did this come from?

"I was wondering..." Vinyl began, drawing circles with her toe. "Maybe, just maybe..." She shut her eyes. "MaybeIcanhaveadayoff?" she rapped out, daring to open her eyes.

Octavia blinked. "Sure... It's understandable... You want to spend Christmas with your... family."

Vinyl gulped. Of course... she doesn't have a... But hey, neither do I. "Not really," Vinyl confessed. "I only have an aunt, and she's in a mental asylum. I was, more or less, planning to hit the market, maybe buy something." The maid smiled at her mistress. "After all, thanks to you, I have enough money now."

"Don't mention it." Octavia smiled again. "Of course you can have a day off. Just run one errand for today, and off you go, okay?"

"Okay!" Vinyl exclaimed cheerfully. "What errand?"

"Drop by the confectioner's to grab my usual birthday cake, please," Octavia instructed. "It should be ready."

Something clicked in Vinyl's mind. "Birthday?"

"Yes, I'm turning nineteen today," Octavia replied with barely-concealed glee.

"You share a birthday with Jesus?!" Vinyl blurted out. The little Vinyl in a maid outfit that resided in her head facepalmed.

"Please don't blasphemise Christmas," Octavia urged with a tiny smile.

"Uh. Sorry." Vinyl scratched the back of her head. "Um. Happy birthday! Are you throwing a party?"

Octavia shook her head. "I celebrate my birthdays alone, ever since..." She gulped the sadness away. "Anyway, I don't have friends, so..."

"What about me?" Octavia blinked. Vinyl repeated, this time less hurt in her voice, "What about me? Am I not your friend?" Yikes. Grammar. So ancient.

Octavia blinked again. "But... You are my servant..."

"So what?" Vinyl shrugged. "We're not in times of Jeeves and Wooster. I can also be your friend."

"Really?" Octavia asked, hope in her voice.

"Really," Vinyl smiled. "You don't need to spend your birthdays alone any more."

"Th-thank you, Vinyl." Octavia's voice almost broke down with tears. "Thank you."

***

"Yes, I want that cello bow engraved with, To Octavia, from Vinyl," Vinyl confirmed, reeking from the cramped smell of the workshop. Sheesh. Living with Octavia has made me fear all things plebeian. ...like workshops. And walruses.

"Can do, can do." The master took a glance at the bow. "Good wood."

"Yes, yes." Vinyl tapped her foot against the floor impatiently. "When will it be ready?"

"I say drop by tomorrow morning," the master drawled. "An' she'll be ready."

"No, no, no." Vinyl pressed her fingers against her temples. The blood was pulsing. "I need it today, two hours tops." So I can tell Octavia I was busy running errands. Don't want to ruin the surprise till we cut the cake.

"Lady, I 'ave lotta other orders, ye know?" The master frowned. "I can't jes' give yours priority."

"What if I pay a thousand? Right now." Wait. What the fuck did I just suggest it's literally all the money I have left and- and it's for Octavia. She needs to feel this friendship cannon fire. "What do you say? I pay a thousand and you do my order right now. Top priority."

The master, a middle-aged, yet grey and wrinkled, man, laughed with a cough and nodded. "Miss, for a thousand in cash, you can even watch."

***

Once more, the bell invaded Vinyl’s sleep.

Sleepily, Vinyl dragged her weary body into the room. “Yes, Octavia?” she said as sweetly as it was possible at four in the morning after a restless evening of cooking, cleaning, and washing.

Octavia was sitting on the bed, in her pyjamas (squee), her arms crossed, as usual (double squee), not sleepy in the slightest. Does this girl ever need to sleep? Vinyl thought, struggling to stand upright. Or is she a cyborg whose only function is to abuse me by waking me up at night? “I want an orange,” the young mistress said demandingly. “A ripe, delicious orange.”

Vinyl yawned. “Sure… Uh.” She rubbed her eyes with a nod. “In the morning, I’ll hit the market and-”

“I want an orange now,” Octavia countered, frowning. “And it better be ripe and delicious.”

“Seriously?” Vinyl could not hold the remark, blinking into that despot’s gaze. “Seriously?”

Octavia flashed her eyes.

***

“Stupid silly Octavia,” Vinyl grunted, roaming the snowy street in the vain hopes of finding an open supermarket. “Does she want me to freeze here till the market opens up?” She pondered for a moment. “Or, I guess if I don’t return with an orange by five, she’ll burn me alive.” Somehow, in the below-zero cold of the early morning, being burned alive did not seem all that menacing. At last, she reached the 24/7 supermarket.

“Hello!” she greeted the cashier immediately as she stepped inside, waking him up, a middle-aged Indian. “Say, do you have any oranges?” Please say yes, puh-leese-

“Oranges?” the cashier asked, blinking dumbly.

Oh hell. “Listen, padre. Uh. O-ra-nges.” She gesticulated. “Orange, ripe, tasty. Fruit. O-ra-nge. Om nom nom. English. Do you speak it?”

“Ma’am!” the cashier exclaimed, visibly hurt. “English is my native language!” Vinyl blushed. Damn. Should never listen to Octavia’s racist jokes before breakfast. “I was just surprised that you’d want one, given that there’s none! It is holiday season, and, in addition, the middle of the night! There are no oranges here, ma’am, or anywhere in the city!”

God fucking damn it. “Thaaaaaanks…” Vinyl drawled. “Oh, and sorry.” Those Indians, always making a fuss out of- waaaaait a minute. Stepping aside, she dialed Octavia.

“Listen, Octavia, there are positively no oranges here. No oranges whatsoever,” Vinyl repeated. “Maybe you’d like an apple?” she suggested hopefully. “A ripe, delicious green apple?”

“I want an orange,” came the reply.

“Octavia, oranges are not the only fruit! Besides, that’s the only store that’s open at half past four, and they don’t have any oranges,” Vinyl tried to reason with the girl. “It’s holiday season, and it’s way past midnight, and there’s been no fresh-”

“I want an orange,” Octavia reiterated. “And I want it now.”

Vinyl groaned deeply. “A pear?” she suggested. “A pear? A ripe, delicious-”

“I hate pears, Vinyl,” the mistress replied coldly. “Please remember that. An orange. Now.” With that, she hung up.

“You little whipper-ugh-er,” Vinyl semi-cursed as she put the phone back into her pocket. “Well… I guess I’ll have to check the…” The little Vinyl in her head put on her shades. “Black market…”

***

Proudly, exhausted, at goddamn quarter to six, she fished out the orange and presented it to the girl, who, it seemed, had not moved from the bed all that time. “Here. Here, Octavia. You won’t believe it when I tell you what I had to go through to get you this-”

“It’s an orange,” Octavia observed flatly.

“Yes, yes,” Vinyl beamed. “A ripe, delicious orange, just like you wanted!” Just like I got.

“Just like I wanted an hour ago,” Octavia said simply. “Now I don’t want it.” She yawned. “You can eat it. Or make juice. Come on, it’s quarter to six. Time to make breakfast. Also, I want a pear. Go get one at the market after you’ve cooked.”

Vinyl’s eye twitched. Then it twitched again. “You… You said you hated pears.” Her mind drew a blank, and the orange trembled in her hand.

“Yes.” Octavia nodded. “I hate pears early in the morning. I’m fine with pears after breakfast. Now, I’d like cocoa with marshmallows for breakfast. After all, it’s been a cold night.”

“Yes.” Vinyl gritted her teeth. “A very cold. Night. Ugh.” She contemplated throwing the orange at Octavia, ready to launch it into that smug face, up until the very smug face in question rose with its owner from the bed, tiptoed towards her, stood on her toes cutely to reach Vinyl’s ear, and kissed her on the cheek, whispering, Thank you, Vinyl. With that, the giggling face disappeared into the hallway.

Vinyl blinked dumbly, still holding the goddamn orange in her hand, her cheek burning red on that exact spot. Finally, she blinked, snapping out of this daze. “What the hell was that all about?!”

***

The Diary of Vinyl the Maid, Entry [n1]

Mistresses - who can understand them?! If I were God Almighty, I am sure I would still be puzzled at their behaviour sometimes. Just today, Octavia made me go on a search for a bloody orange - at four in the morning! After all my trials and tribulations, after I bring her the goddamned orange in question - she turns it down, claiming she doesn’t want it any more! Well, as soon as my righteous indignation hits a hundred degrees, she runs up to me and kisses me (albeit on the cheek) and thanks me and runs off giggling! What the hell?

Is it just childish humour? Possible. But she is nineteen, and- not that she isn’t a child inside… Outside, she… She is quite. Attractive. And I don’t know if I want to spank her because of her behaviour or because-

I’ll strike this out later. I knew this diary was a bad idea.

***

This morning, there was no bell ringing. For once in her recent life, Vinyl woke up fully rested and even happy. Something told her - probably the clock that boasted ten - that this fine winter day was off to a good start. Then, of course, she remembered that she had to cook breakfast four hours ago, and do the cleaning three hours ago, and so on, and she was probably getting her ass fired, and the fine winter day promised to be a living nightmare.

Hastily, she jerked up in bed and ran off, without putting on her pants, towards Octavia’s bedroom, her heart drumming in her throat. With a deep breath, she knocked at the thick wooden door. No reply. She knocked again. No reply. Finally, with a sweep of courage, Vinyl opened the door and peeked in. The snoring form of Octavia Philarmonica (She does have a terribly cure snore~) brought warmth to her heart, and she approached the bed gently. True, Octavia was still asleep- Wait a minute. According to Vinyl’s estimations, the girl had a thick scheduled routine to to follow, and she was never asleep at ten in the morning. Besides, the snoring form didn’t look peaceful: she was snaking wildly, shivering restlessly, and mumbling something quite incoherently in her sleep. Vinyl put a hand on her forehead. It burned.

“Shit. Shit shit shit crap crap fuck fuck fuck.” The gears in Vinyl’s mind rolled fast, shifting through possibilities and options. What the hell should I do? Hopelessly, she looked around for guidance.

“Vin,” Octavia mumbled in her sleep. “Come. On. Take off your. Uhgmhm.” With that, she rolled over and continued with her fervent (and possibly erotic) dream. However, Vinyl did not notice the implication, the little Vinyl in her head running about, yelling at the walls, What to do? What to do? What to do? Vinyl shut her eyes. Call a doctor, dumbass! she realised with a snap and rushed towards the phone on the tea table. Near it, in Octavia’s neat handwriting, was a list of phone numbers, through which Vinyl shifted without looking at Lester, Cheese Shop or Montgomery, Taylor, until she found Dr Ralph, Physician and dialed the number as quickly as she could, given that the phone was an antiquity, with the bloody ring instead of good, modern buttons. “Doc?”

***

“And then I…” Octavia began snoozing through her fever. “I felt that you are so, what I. I mean you.” She snoozed again, then her eyes shot wide open. “Your eyes, the magenta. I. I fell in love with them,” she said suddenly, much to the surprise of the maid, who, quite reluctantly, brushed it off on the fever speaking. “And then I. When you did so much for. Kept up with my whining and.” Octavia began snoring, and didn’t stop for ten minutes, when she woke up again. “When Dad would sing at the. Mommy played the piano so nice… We would all dance, the kids.” Finally, Octavia seemed to fall asleep for good, and Vinyl released the breath she’d been holding and began snoozing herself. About ten or fifteen minutes passed, maybe more, for Vinyl was already preparing to see her first dream, when Octavia spoke again, panting from the fever and the flu. “Thank you. Vinyl. You. I saw you just as a maid but then. I feel good with you. You make me love and.” Vinyl gasped. Laugh, she mentally corrected herself with relief. Laugh. Not love. Make her laugh. We hear what we expect to hear, she chided herself. “You are so great. And. Cute and I like the way. And when you. I like you much and.” Octavia shut her eyes. “I don’t want you to be. Maid any more.” Are you firing me? Vinyl’s eyes shot wide open, sleep forgotten. Is it even valid, given the fever? She must not even realise what she’s talking about. “You are more than my maid.” Octavia smiled through the pain. “I’ve grown to really love you.” Vinyl gulped. “Vinyl, will you marry me?”

Vinyl performed a fine and difficult gesture of doing a spit-take on thin air, and coughed a lot. What the? For a while, she paused, hoping Octavia would fall asleep and she wouldn’t have to say anything. But then she saw that the girl was struggling to stay awake - which wasn’t good for her health - waiting for the answer. “Sure, Octavia,” Vinyl said gently. “Whatever you say,” she replied, avoiding a direct answer.

“Kiss me,” Octavia demanded, pursing her lips comically. She obviously hasn’t ever been kissed. Smiling, Vinyl kissed the girl on the forehead. Maybe… One on her lips?

With a content smile, Octavia finally fell asleep.

***

“What I said that night...” Octavia took a sip of her orange juice, blushing.

“Never happened,” Vinyl confirmed, not without pity. “Was the fever speaking.” I guess. No use making speeches over spilled milk.

“I was speaking,” Octavia said suddenly, but firmly. “I… I guess… No that’s.” She carried on with sipping on her juice, giving Vinyl a good opportunity to scrutinise the pink face, the face she so wanted to kiss on the lips that night, but restricted herself, lest she have taken advantage of the sick girl. Woman, Vinyl corrected herself. A very beautiful, characteristic woman.

“You what?” Vinyl asked back, tossing the egg from hand to hand proficiently.

“You know,” Octavia whispered, puffing on the air. “What I said. What I. About you. I really, um. Like you. Not as a. But well. As a woman. If that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Vinyl assured, reminding herself that a) Octavia was a strict Catholic, and b) Octavia lived in Russia for a while. “It just…. Why me? Not that I don’t like you… the face, and, uh, the hips, and the way you abuse me with your smile, but. Why me? I’m not rich.” She pondered. “I’m not even educated.”

“You’re rich in character,” Octavia countered. “And smart.” She pondered. “And you have a good sense of humour. And you are very cute when you frown.” By the by, Octavia was turning redder and redder. “And, um, your, uh, breasts, are, well, spectacular… And your, h-h-hips are…”

“Octavia,” Vinyl interrupted with a smile. “Can you forget the status quo for once and let me give you a tiny order?”

Octavia gulped, unsure. “Well… Of course, Vinyl…”

Vinyl opened her arms widely, placing the egg away. “Come over here and kiss me, you silly girl.”

Octavia didn’t need to be asked twice.

***

The bell, this time, rang from an unusual location, and earlier than expected. Vinyl lifted her head from DJing and You: It’s a Business and listened closely and attentively. The sound of the bell was muffled by the sound of rushing water and Vinyl’s heart did a leap. The bathroom! What if Octavia- she didn’t even want to consider something terrible, especially after their… get-together that morning. Still, as Vinyl rushed towards the master’s bathroom, she wasn’t sure what they were now, but she knew that they definitely were a mistress and a maid, and now she was rushing to the aid of her mistress, who…

She opened the door - which was, luckily, unlocked - and felt her jaw fall agape. Octavia was standing in the shower, the transparent walls fully showing her in her glory: the breasts, the hips, the tiny belly. Vinyl felt her mouth water and dry and the same time.

“Oh, Vinyl~” Octavia cooed, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “I was wondering if you could maybe help me wash my back?”

For about half a minute, Vinyl tried to remember any English words, but then succeeded: “Uuuuuh.” Not very English, but oh well.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Vinyl could feel Octavia’s smile from there. Slowly, the maid made her way towards the shower, taking up the soap automatically and searching for the sponge. “I was thinking that maybe you could wash me with your hands?” Octavia suggested in an innocent voice. Girl. Wat are you doing. Octavia. Continue.

Slowly, Vinyl soaped her hands and touched Octavia’s shoulders, feeling a burst of electricity at her fingertips. Shutting her eyes close, she carried on, unable to help feeling excitement and pleasure. “Lower, Vinyl, if you will.” Vinyl began caressing Octavia’s back, learning the curves, memorising them, in case she… well, maybe if they would... later, of course… “Lower, Vinyl, please…” It seemed like Octavia was enjoying herself too.

“Uhm, Octavia?” Vinyl finally decided to speak up. “Lower, it’s… it’s your…”

“My butt, yes,” Octavia replied slyly. “Is there a problem, Vinyl, dear?”

The Vinyl, dear did it: Vinyl opened her eyes and, with passion, began kissing Octavia’s neck from the behind as she moved her soapy hands around Octavia’s ass in round motions. Octavia moaned. Vinyl let one of her hands tickle the lovely hips as Octavia continued moaning. “Vinyl~” The maid, with her other hand, took Octavia’s chin gently and lifted her head, locking them in a passionate kiss. “Do you like it, Octavia?” she wondered anxiously.

“Yes!” Octavia breathed out. “Now let’s have sex!” She inched closer to the maid, trying to reach her with her lips and hands.

However, Vinyl evaded skilfully. “Uh-uh.” She shook her head with a smile. “I don’t take orders in the bedroom.” Bathroom, the little Vinyl lin her head corrected. Suddenly, she had a splendid and helpful idea. “You’ll have to beg.” Teasing her won’t hurt. Besides, she really needs to have some arrogance blown off her. Hehe. Blown.

Octavia crossed her arms, which in itself seemed to Vinyl a comical attempt, given that the woman was naked, and in the shower. “I will not be the one to ask for favours!”

“I did not say ask,” Vinyl replied, making a move to take off her shirt, which was the only item she had decided on taking off as of now. “I said beg. I want you to beg me to take off my panties and allow you to lick my pussy.” Confidently, Vinyl smiled.

Octavia’s face turned a deep, reddish pink. She took a deep breath, embarrassment, arousal, and indignation mixing in various proportions. “Never!” she said finally; still, shifting a little closer to the stunning maid. “I-I-I… I’m a noble! Nobles d-d-don’t…”

“Oh?” Vinyl lifted her brow, finally taking off the item, revealing her breasts to the mistress. “Even for these?”

Octavia panted, her wet hand inching towards Vinyl’s chest.

Vinyl took a step back from the shower. “Say ‘Mistress’.”

“...Mistress.” Octavia turned pink.

“Mistress what?” Vinyl prompted, letting the girl to finally explore her upper body.

“Mistress, pl-please allow me t-to…” Octavia began, gasping for air.

Vinyl stepped impossibly close to the cubicle. “What should I let you do, Octavia?”

“Let me… s-suck your pussy, please,” Octavia breathed out.

With a smile, Vinyl, victoriously, finally stepped into the shower.

***

“Now that we are dating,” said Octavia, putting the mug against her lips and taking a warm sip, “I believe that you have to find a job.”

Vinyl almost did a spit-take on her cocoa. “What? I already have a job.” She pointed at the girl. “I’m your maid, remember? I do the cleaning, and the cooking, and all that you want, and you pay me for that.”

Smiling, Octavia shook her head. “You used to do that for money. Now you’re doing it all because you looooove me.” She fluttered her eyelashes at the maid - a gesture that, ultimately, was more cute than seductive.

“Uh!” Vinyl wanted to argue, but, upon careful consideration, agreed that, if she were to stop receiving pay, she would still do all the chores for Octavia’s sake. She’s so tender, the woman told herself gently. She can’t tend to herself. But I can. She paused mentally. In more than one way. After all, in bed, the nineteen-year-old girl was definitely no inexperienced, helpless child that she seemed to act like in other circumstances. “Huh.” An idea arose. “What if you pay me for being your… escort?” Vinyl grinned slyly, her brow dancing up and down.

“My…” Octavia frowned. “What do you-” Suddenly, her face lit with pink in realisation. “Vinyl! I will not pay you for sex!”

“Aww damn.” Vinul puffed on the cocoa, disliking the hotness of the drink. Octavia being in the room is hot enough. Huehuehue. “Hey, maybe we’ll just live on your budget? Families do that.”

While Vinyl did not quite realise what she’d just said - and returned to her drink, which was now significantly less hot - Octavia did, and she almost dropped the mug, her mouth opening on its own accord. “Mmm?” Vinyl wondered, raising her head at the shocked expression.

“A…” Octavia gulped. “A family?..”

Vinyl was ready to kill herself at that moment, and only Octavia’s love and the delicious cocoa were stopping her from doing just that. Stupid, stupid, stupid! she chided herself. I shouldn’t have mentioned that word! She… lost her… and now I… Suddenly, Vinyl realised that there was another side to this coin. And smiled. “Octavia. I know I will never replace your family…” Octavia gulped. “And I am not treading where I am not welcome. But I want to become your family. I want to live with you, and care for you, and love you.” She paused. “And sleep with you. It’s… a different kind of family.” Octavia giggled brightly. “Thing is, you, uh, I mean, it’s not like we’re getting married or anything but hey.” Vinyl scratched the back of her head. “I want to be your family.”

Octavia placed the mug on the table and, suddenly, sprang from the chair and leapt at her newfound family, crushing her in an embrace. Vinyl, unused to such outbursts from the petite girl, coughed in a sudden fit. “Thank you! Thank you, Vinyl. I…” Vinyl could hear the tears in Octavia’s eyes. “I really want to be your *sniff* family, and *sniff* live with you, and *sniff* care for you, and, um, um, *sniff*, s-sleep with you too.”

“I’m so happy,” Vinyl confessed. “For us.” She was honest that, at this minute, this moment, it, it was the perfect moment. She really loved, she did, she loved the girl, and their newfound family-

“You still have to get a job,” Octavia said, not breaking the embrace.

“Goddammit.”

***

“Vinyl, I… I want to have a talk with you.” Octavia was sitting at the table, and, judging by the very black coffee, that seemed to be the girl’s substitute for alcohol, was in a sombre mood.

Oh shit. Vinyl approached her and took a seat as well. “Are you… Are you breaking up with me, after just a few a days?” she joked, but the joke turned dull as her heart skipped a beat in fear that it might be true.

“What?” Octavia blinked. “No, you silly- No, of course not. It’s. It’s.” She downed the cold coffee as one might down whisky. “It’s about my family.” Vinyl decided to wisely stay silent. “I think I can trust you, Vinyl. More than that, I love you. I want to tell you what happened to them.”

Octavia used to have two brothers, she said. And a mother and a father. They were rich, richer than most in Russia, but moderate compared to the billionaires of Moscow. They were a happy Italian family of cheerful emigres. But there was always something… You see, Vinyl, it was like… When Octavia’s father played the piano, his fingers moved mechanically. When her mother sang, it felt automatic. Her little brothers danced like puppets. When she grew older, she grew to understand that there were certain ties holding them captive in that place. They couldn’t just leave, and it was, frankly, a terrible place. Don’t get me wrong, Vinyl, she said, there are worse places, but that was awful. Worse than…

Day by day, her parents grew more and more sombre. They talked less. They smiled less. Octavia began to fear for them. Until one day, Octavia came from school and found no one at home. The window in the living room, the big one, was open. They lived on the twentieth floor. It was a long fall.

Apparently, Octavia’s mother and father each took a baby boy of theirs, while Octavia was out getting good marks in a school that reminded them to love their friends and hate them if they were homosexuals or anti-patriots or punks or hippies - and they opened the big window in the living room on the twentieth floor.

And then they jumped.

***