Face the Music

At a private room in The Haymakers rave club, void of most sound besides the vibration of bass on the walls, Vinyl Scratch sits on top of a sleeping brown pegasus who was on his back, and who still had his ... thing inserted inside of her, the fertile semen already drying in his crotch. Vinyl Scratch sits there on top of him, legs spread and flanks on the stallion's thighs, with her black-rimmed purple glasses off, revealing exotic red eyes set in a sad line. Her very face is a frown, whole and sighing, as the unicorn with multicolored hair finally raises herself off of the steed, juices splashing down onto the violet-colored bed and dripping onto the wooden planks of the floor. Vinyl slowly makes her way to a little table with tiny pills on it at the opposite end of the room, set on a napkin, but then, as if deciding against taking them, she stops and turns around, heading for the door that was next to the bed instead.

"The beats don't feel right anymore.. Time to make 'em mine." Vinyl says to herself, tossing her hair and using her horn's magic to replace her glasses onto her snout, then pushing the door open with a hoof. The DJ exits the room with green wallpaper and wood flooring, and enters into a metallic-silver hallway, with paint drawn onto the walls in an up and down way, supposedly representing a piece of music's beats and drops. But, Vinyl thought for the hundredth time, that music doesn't sound good at all. She had tried out this design on the wall in a dubstep piece, and that was the day Vinyl was kicked out of one of her favorite clubs. The painters had done a poor job of actually capturing the art that was music.

Trotting down the hallway, the walls became more disturbed by the sound of bass smashing down the hall, riveting Vinyl's ears with the wonderful type of music she spent her life working on. Vinyl found herself at a Y-shaped cross in the halls. Turning to the right and following the connecting hallway, Vinyl's ears pounded with the noise of dubstep before she even found herself on stage, the other DJ - a black mare with a red-and-orange mohawk - leaving the scene with Vinyl at the mixing table. The two discs and the mass amount of buttons and other components twinkled in her brilliant red eyes, setting the crowd wild. Taking both discs in her hooves, Vinyl became DJ P0N-3, crushing her audience - the world, as seen in her eyes - with powerful bass drops and huge beats, the vibrations rocking her to her very core. This was Vinyl's ecstasy. Her life.