Music Makes The Heart

by TheVulpineHero1

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, DJ P0N-3, Romance, Octavia, Comedy
Length: 29657

Exploring a relationship between a somewhat different Vinyl Scratch and Octavia.

A patchwork story about a somewhat different Vinyl Scratch and Octavia, who learn what it means to be in a relationship, to work, and to live together. Finally complete.

Published 2012-05-07 03:14:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-22 19:11:37 UTC

3) Bad Reputation

Bad Reputation
(The Hit Girls [Kick Ass Soundtrack Version])

Octavia spent the next few days scouring the town for information. As it turned out, few ponies had heard of Vinyl Scratch, but DJ P0N-3 was a name synonymous with scandal, with avant garde philosophies and some of the meanest beats on the audible spectrum. Despite her emerging fame as the hottest disk jockey on the circuit, P0N-3 barely ever spoke; a semi-perceptible nod of her head was all she ever needed. Rumours had it that she'd been seen sharing smouldering kisses with both mares and stallions, sometimes no more than fifteen minutes apart, and the newspapers were often in uproar over her antagonism towards her fellow artists.

The only pony who had any information of note on Vinyl Scratch was Pinkie Pie, who proudly proclaimed that she knew everypony in Ponyville. Over a cup of tea and a suspiciously expensive slice of victoria sponge, Octavia extracted a few drops of information: she lived a little way outside of town, she largely kept to herself, and she didn't speak much. Beyond that, there was nothing useful, although Pinkie had a surprisingly vast wealth of information about the colour of the carpet in Scratch's upstairs bedroom.

After all her sleuthing, Octavia found herself little better than when she started. She still didn't know why Vinyl Scratch or P0N-3 (or whatever she was calling herself) would single her out for an after-concert ultimatum. It didn't make sense.
Despite all her intentions, Octavia found herself... interested in this strange unicorn with the odd chip on her shoulder. There was the scent of mystery about the whole affair. What secrets were hidden behind those purple sunglasses? Why was 'P0N-3' a media darling, whilst Vinyl Scratch was a relative outsider?
Octavia creased her brow as the questions multiplied. It was time for some field research.

4) The Entertainer

The Entertainer
(KT Tunstall)

A four-on-the-floor bass crash rippled through the scuffed wood of the dance floor and up into the legs of every pony stupid enough to get in its way. Four hundred horseshoes vibrated in sympathy before the next beat ripped from the speakers. It was all a pony could do to remain standing under the assault, and with each song it got louder, harder, faster. A blackness thicker than death reigned, lit only by a flotilla of glow sticks that danced and swayed like will o' the wisps. The atmosphere was slick with sweat and energy. The ponies danced as one, closer in the blackness than any of them would dare admit.

Somewhere in the blackness, Octavia reeled. She'd never known anything like it, this pit of darkness and sound and motion. Far away were the concertos and the allegros of her everyday life, drowned in the relentless, pounding beat. The music engulfed her. There was no escaping it. It was too loud to think, too dark to see; all she could do was hear it in the air, and feel it in her hooves. It was an immersion more total than she had ever experienced before, and it left her halfway between fear and euphoria. She looked around wildly for her quarry, before she was swept away.

At her decks, raised above the dancers on a platform illuminated by a flickering strobe pulse, legs sore and hooves scratched, DJ P0N-3 worked her turntable with a fury unknown by ponykind. This was the culmination of her career, the moment when she straddled that fine line between art, science and madness. Every note was pefect, every distortion burnt the mind. What could she do but ride the wave of creation, a mad scientist cackling at her workbench? This was living. This was truth. She allowed the beat to drop, and then the song began again. It all repeated, in the end.

Octavia found her after the show. Midnight had passed; the moon winked down from on high.
"I told you," P0N-3 said, voice as calm and smoky as always. "I'm better."
Octavia said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"Come with me. You can't walk home by yourself at night," the DJ said, removing her glasses. Octavia nodded dumbly. She had forgotten her grace.
"So," Vinyl Scratch asked, a smoky laugh on the edge of her tongue, "did you enjoy it?

5) M!issundazstood

M!issundazstood
(P!nk)

Red eyes through violet lenses peered at the sleeping earth pony on the bed. DJ P0N-3 didn't remove her glasses. Didn't intend to. This time, she needed the confidence, the shield her fame provided. Or would she? It was up to Octavia- gentle Octavia, sleeping peacefully past the broken noon. Graceful Octavia, splay-legged on the sheets.
Behind her glasses, DJ P0N-3 grinned.

She didn't know what had kicked it all off. She'd never heard of Octavia before they first met and she took her glasses off to peer into her eyes (a privilege afforded to precious few). No reason to antagonise her. But where knowledge faltered, instinct took over; just like in music, all she had to do was match the beat. She'd been...pleased. To meet one who didn't shy away, who didn't lash out, but who just stood firm and prideful. And then, that response.
You look better with the glasses off.
It was the first time she'd heard it. Brave, but controlled. She liked it. She liked her. They were good words. Good words were hard to find.

Octavia stirred, and P0N-3 put her thoughts to the back of her head. Settled for analysing every movement.
The earth pony stretched the clumsy, comfortable stretch of the newly awoken. A moment's pause, a realisation. Slight panic at surroundings she wasn't familiar with. A flit across the face of sudden recollection, of annoyance at a debt unpaid. A twitch of the ear, and then a sudden feeling of being watched; a wide-eyed stare, straight into her glasses. Unflinching.

"Good afternoon," P0N-3 smiled. "You slept well."

Octavia waited before answering. Took her time to bounce between anger and manners, decided on a compromise. Fascinating.

"Yes, I did, thank you. Your concert was...was..." Octavia said, and struggled visibly for words. "Admirable."

Admirable. Good words again. The more she heard, the more she liked. Polite, but unwilling to admit defeat. Determined, that was the word.

"Well? Say something. Anything. Enough mind games, Scratch," Octavia said after a few moments of silence. She sounded tired.

P0N-3 took off her glasses, and became Vinyl Scratch once more. The wildness left her, and the quiet, retiring pony with the smoky voice returned.

"You really think I look better with the glasses off?" she asked. Stress on the really, stress on the off. She spoke in beats and rhythms, and the words weren't so hard to find.

"Of course," Octavia shrugged. "You have magnificent eyes."

She has no idea, Scratch thought. She said it like it was nothing at all. It was guileless, motiveless. Blind good will. Amazing.

"Was that all you wanted? If so, I'll be going. I need to practice," Octavia carried on, and looked her square in the eye, jaw set. "I've no intention of losing to you, Miss Scratch."

"Wait," Scratch said, sharply. Almost urgently.

"Yes?"

"You're a good musician," she smiled, calm and smoky. "I like you. Octavia."

Octavia returned her smile. But, somehow, she wasn't sure it was a good thing.

6) The Heart Asks Pleasure First

The Heart Asks Pleasure First/The Promise
(Composer: Nyman, from the film 'The Piano')

"Four," Vinyl Scratch intoned dully, lounging on the cracked leatherette couch with a magazine held loosely under one hoof. "I'm disappointed."

"Your manners haven't improved since yesterday, I see. Normally, a friend would congratulate me on a successful concert, not point out that I hit four bum notes. That I recovered from, might I add," Octavia sniffed, setting about the maintenance of her bow.

"You hit four bum notes. You want friends who lie and say you didn't?" Vinyl asked, an eyebrow raised.

Octavia put her bow gently back into the separate case she reserved for it (if nothing else, she had respect for her instruments) and shut it. "I would like friends who explained to the guards why they need so desperately to wait backstage for me every evening, yes. Security is beginning to grow concerned that you're a stalker."
Vinyl grinned and said nothing. Octavia groaned.

"Come, then. We can discuss my failings over an evening meal, if you're so inclined. A perfect performance is best achieved on a full stomach, my mother used to say."

"Your mother's smart," Scratch replied, and followed her.

The night-time corner café was full of its usual clientèle; the bohemian, the eccentric, the desperate saxophonist pony who busked there night after night and barely made enough to put food in her mouth. Octavia gave her a friendly nod and five bits as she walked in; Vinyl stopped stock still and listened intently for a whole song, her eyes oddly unfocused. The saxophonist, used to somewhat dotty listeners, paid her little mind.

"You're good. Not as good as her," Scratch said, and motioned to Octavia, "but good."

Before emptying her entire purse into the saxophonist's hat.
Octavia widened her eyes, but the saxophonist's reaction was to almost faint. As Octavia duly noted, that purse had been very full. Vinyl grinned at her with but a bare hint of sheepishness, before saying, "Pay for me."
After two salads had been delivered to the their table (out of Octavia's less-than-full pocket), they ate in silence; finally, Vinyl Scratch spoke.
"You're mad at me."

"Not mad. Just...perturbed. You are an awful lot of trouble for a friend I've only recently met. Usually, the way of it is to cement a friendship before calling for monetary favours. And my pay is not so great that I can afford to treat you often," Octavia pointed out, although she wasn't really sure why she was doing it. This fashion of talk seemed pointless when directed at Scratch.

"Money's no good. Can't eat it, can't make good music with it, can't talk to it," Vinyl began, and stopped suddenly. In decidedly cautious tones, she added, "I'll pay you back."

Octavia raised an eyebrow, impressed. It was certainly a starting point, if not a full recompense for Vinyl's erratic habits. "Thank you."

"You hit four bum notes," Scratch carried on, changing the subject in the blink of an eye. "You were distracted. Explain."
Octavia groaned once more. "I saw your glasses glinting in the audience. And again when you made your way backstage."

"I distract you?" Scratch asked, and seemed to be wrestling with an internal dilemma. "...Should I stop coming?"

"That wasn't what I meant."

A moment passed; Vinyl seemed deep in though. Octavia took the time to wipe her mouth primly with a hankerchief.

"Come to my house tomorrow. I'll train you to not be distracted by me," Scratch said finally.

"No," Octavia said softly, and didn't know why. She just didn't feel ready yet.

"I see," Vinyl Scratch sighed, and it came out like smoke. "I see."

7) The Motive (Living Without You)

The Motive (Living without you)
(Then Jericho)

The next day, there was no violet glint in the concert audience.

Despite her initial relief at not having to think about Vinyl during a performance (she didn't hit any bum notes, although the performance was otherwise unremarkable), Octavia felt a little concerned. Vinyl had been attending her concerts almost religiously as of late; the unicorn's obvious disappointment last night cast her absence in a bad light. She went to the café in hopes for clues that night, to find the saxophonist gone and no sign of her friend; she ate alone, and was the worse for it.
The next day, Vinyl Scratch had still neglected to make an appearance. The concert hall security (all of one earth pony) asked Octavia if she'd had a fight with 'her strange friend'.

"Of course not," Octavia snapped brusquely, somehow annoyed at his choice of description (even though strange was probably the word she would have picked, too).

On the third day without Vinyl, Octavia began to worry. The unicorn was almost unpredictable; what if she'd reacted more drastically to rejection than expected? Octavia hadn't meant to offend her; it was just that she still had pride, even if only a little, and she wasn't going to be tutored by a pony she had declared she would beat.

On the fourth day, she couldn't focus on playing at all. She missed more notes than she felt comfortable counting, and the maestro took her to one side and asked her very gently if she would perhaps like to take a few days off instead of playing in the big concert that weekend. In between assuring him that she was fine, Octavia decided that this was no longer a problem she could ignore.

"Come, Octavia. You're clearly not yourself. Take a day, maybe two to yourself, and come back rejuvenated," he said, before adding guiltily, "...At this rate, I simply cannot allow you to play for the patrons. This weekend is one of the most important concerts for the entire year; our name is made and broken by these opportunities."

"I understand," she replied, a little curtly. "And you'll assess whether I can take part after an enforced bedrest, correct?"

"Yes. Normally, I would cut you here and now, but...you really are one of our best, usually. Please, take the rest," he urged, and she found herself nodding. A day or two without concerts gave her time to go and fix whatever mistake she'd made with Vinyl.

The next day, at six am, Octavia found herself standing outside Vinyl's house, stomping and shivering (for it was a cold morning for this time of year) and rapping her hooves on the door. After a half-hour with no response, she gave up, and began searching for her friend in town.

When the sun hit high noon, she finally stopped her investigations to rest. In six hours, she had learned nothing, and found nopony. It seemed she wasn't cut out for life as a private detective. Quietly, she slunk back to the side café which was still missing its saxophonist, and ate a solitary lunch. However, luck was with her.

"Have you heard? They say that DJ P0N-3 is playing again tonight. That's four nights in a row. Usually, she scarcely plays three times in a month!" a passing stallion chattered to his friend. Octavia sighed audibly. Only one thing for it.

"Five", she said in greeting, as P0N-3 came backstage. "Five missed beats."

"Oh," P0N-3 said, and lowered her glasses. "I never did pay you back for the meal."

"It's not about that. Why did you stop coming? Did I insult you?" Octavia asked.

"I distract you. You make better music if I'm not there," P0N-3 replied.

"And? What's the point of good music without anypony to appreciate it?" Octavia asked. "I missed you."

The backstage was empty, but felt crowded; the air was still.

"...I see," DJ P0N-3 said finally, and removed her glasses.

"Tomorrow, I shall visit you at your house, and you may teach me how not to be distracted. If you've no objections," Octavia grinned.

"None," Vinyl Scratch said coolly. But when she nonchalantly wiped her eyes, her hoof came away wet.

8) Strangelove (Blind Mix)

Strangelove (Blind Mix)
(Remix by Daniel Miller & Rico Conning, original by Depeche Mode)

Octavia whistled as she walked, the sun rising behind her into a cloudy sky the colour of milk. It was her second day away from the music hall, and she felt almost guilty that she hadn't held a bow in all that time; however, knowing Scratch, today would be nothing but intensive practice. She looked forward to it.

Vinyl's house was impressive, although far from lovely. It was larger than a single pony needed, but not so large that it attracted attention, and the walls were the dirty white of sea-gull’s wings (and would have matched the lustre of Vinyl's own flanks, had they been washed). There was no doorbell, which struck Octavia as odd; a bell was, after all, an instrument, and Vinyl was all about music.

"You're here," Vinyl said by way of greeting after a few raps on the door, revealing perhaps the worst case of bed-head ever to hit Ponyville. It seemed Equestria's premier DJ was not a morning pony.

"Really? Didn't notice. Good to see you, by the way," Octavia smiled wryly. Vinyl looked unimpressed. "I've asked a friend if they will deliver my instrument. It should arrive within the hour."

"No need. I have an old cello you can use," Vinyl said, disappearing into her house. Octavia rolled her eyes, and followed at what she assumed was a safe distance.

Vinyl lead her upstairs (three at a time), and through a dusty hallway to 'the music room'. It was not a misnomer.

"I wasn't aware you were classically trained," Octavia told her, casting her eye over a collection of cellos, clarinets, kettle drums; all types of instruments.

"Because I'm a DJ?" Vinyl asked with an arched eyebrow. "Music is music."

Octavia nodded, a little impressed; to say a violin and a synthesiser were equal was one thing, but to believe it another thing entirely- and she had no doubt that Scratch believed. Threading her way through the instruments, she took up the cello Vinyl pointed her to; it was well used, but exquisitely taken care of, and had clearly cost somepony a lot of money.

She took it up, and the bow she found with it. "Well, then!" she called. "How are we to practice ignoring distractions? I place myself in your hooves, miss Scratch."

Vinyl sat down, slowly, and said, in her very smokiest of voices, "Play for me, Octavia. Then we'll see."

So she played, as naturally as she knew how; a minuet that became a sonata, a bolero that became a ballad, a vast, meandering cascade of notes and feelings, not all of which she noticed, and not all of which she understood. Vinyl watched her with the same, half-focused gaze with which she favoured the saxophonist. Eventually, she stood, and signalled silently that the piece was to end. It did, with a trembling flourish; to grandstand in the midst of those silent instruments seemed somehow sacrilegious.

A raised hoof, and the performance began again; but this time the unicorn stalked, a predator, through the scattered musician's tools. She came so close that Octavia's skin prickled, and she felt the cold electricity of fear descend upon her, for Vinyl's red eyes now held a curious spell. Then, she retreated, like a snake before a charmer; and it began again.
Closer, then a retreat; a careful, four-hooved waltz was the dance Vinyl chose. In, out, in, out; then, inevitably, the retreat did not come. She tasted warmly of dry ice and fresh cut daisies.

A procession of angry, discordant notes broke the spell.

"You kissed me," Octavia accused, quiet, almost in awe. "You kissed me."

Vinyl sat down at the other side of the room once more. "You got distracted."

"But you kissed me!" Higher pitched, almost as terrible as those last, broken notes; they both winced.

"You can leave if you like," Vinyl replied, and her voice, hard and steady as iron, betrayed her nervousness. "If not, please begin again."

Octavia tried, then, to remember the kiss that had been stolen from her. What was it she had thought? What had she felt? But it was already lost, nothing but a half-second's sensation on the lips.

Vinyl, taking her silence for a refusal, stood and sighed, and for the briefest moment, Octavia saw her legs tremble. Somehow, that was all she needed; to see that her fear was not just her own.

There was much in the world that Octavia did not understand, that made her tremble, that made her weep. But music was something she did understand. For good or for ill, she began to play. So Vinyl Scratch again waltzed the waltzed of the uncertain, retreating as if unsure, drawing closer as if to gathering courage.

But when she finally came close enough to taste, Octavia's music remained unbroken.

9) The Game Has Changed

The Game Has Changed
(Daft Punk, from the Tron Legacy soundtrack)

"Octavia. You're quiet," Vinyl said, and so she was; the earth pony had hardly spoken since their practice session ended.

"I'm just...ah. I'm trying to figure out what I'm feeling, Vinyl," she replied, a hoof to her forehead.

"Good luck," Vinyl snorted brusquely. "But your tea's getting cold."

They were sat in Vinyl's kitchen, which Octavia privately thought looked as though an Ursa Major had crashed into it; she had honestly been surprised when Vinyl had been able to pull out two unbroken (although quite dusty) teacups. They sat opposite each other at the table, tête-à-tête, and whenever Octavia glanced upwards her eyes seemed to settle on Vinyl's lips all of their own accord.

"...Okay, let's take it from the top. I need to know a few things, Vinyl."

The unicorn gave a brief shrug- go on, then- and continued to sip her tea.

"First," Octavia said, and stopped, disliking the helpless tone her voice had taken. She marshalled it back into fighting form; added a note of aggression, of impatience. "Why did you kiss me in the music room? For training, or was there something...well, more?"

A moment's hesitation. "...Pretend I gave you the answer you want most," Vinyl said quietly, and stirred another sugar cube into her tea. "What then?"

Octavia felt like screaming. Now was not the time for mind games. But then she noticed Vinyl staring at her discreetly, with those baleful red eyes, as if daring her to call the bluff; it put her in mind of the way she'd moved in the music room. Half fearful, half yearning.

She took a deep breath, gathered her calm. Made her voice firm and masterful. "The answer I want most, Vinyl, is the one that's true. So tell me what it is."

The unicorn took a deep sip of her tea. Almost as though preparing herself, Octavia thought. "...You're a good musician," Vinyl said finally, like the air escaping from a balloon.

For training, then, the earth pony thought; but the answer didn't help any. Her emotions were still jumbled; it was at once a relief and a disappointment. She didn't want to think about what that meant.

"But...I like you. Octavia."

Suddenly, she had to.

"You like me? A-As in, Romareo and Muleiet like?" Octavia asked, her eyes wide.

Vinyl said nothing, but stirred one more sugar cube into her tea.

"I, ah. That is to say. Well. Um. I didn't expect this," she hedged, flustered. "I don't know what to say, Vinyl."
Vinyl didn't say anything, continued to stir her drink. It was almost like a nervous habit. Exactly like a nervous habit. Octavia frowned.

"...I was wrong. I did it all wrong. I ruined it," Vinyl said heavily after a while, an odd half-smile floating across her mouth. She closed her eyes, and said dreamily, as if to herself: "Wrong tempo."

"...Vinyl?"

The unicorn stood up; the haze of magic around her spoon ceased. "Sorry. For kissing you. I shouldn't have," she said, and her eyes never met Octavia's.

"Now, Vinyl-"

"..At least the training went well. I want to keep coming to your concerts, at least."

Crash. Octavia brought her hoof down abruptly on the table. "Oh, do shut up, Vinyl. If this is how you behave when you think you've made a mistake, I'm almost glad you're arrogant enough to think you don't make them."

Vinyl met her eyes then, and found them flashing with what approached full-fledged anger.

"Now, if you weren't quite so busy wallowing in unwarranted self-pity, you would have realised that at no point did I say I wasn't interested- merely that I didn't know if I like you in the same way you claim to like me. But mark my words, Vinyl Scratch, I intend to find out," Octavia barked with military speed.

"...You're angry at me," Vinyl replied, as if in wonder.

"Yes, I am, because for somepony who likes me enough to kiss me when I'm unawares, you're awfully quick to give up on winning my affections," Octavia glared. "And besides, a good musician learns from her mistakes, as opposed to mourning them."

"...I was scared that you didn't like me," Vinyl said slowly, looking at the floor.

"Oh, boo-hoo. I'm scared of dragons, but I don't just lay down and die when I see one. Good grief...Whatever am I to do with you?" Octavia replied more gently, shaking her head.

"...I wonder," Vinyl replied, because silence was oppressive when the distance between them was so small. "So. Are we..?"

"Yes. Provisionally, you understand," she replied. "I must admit...I'm not used to this sort of situation."

"Dating a mare?" Vinyl asked, eyebrow arched.

"Indeed," Octavia nodded, although more truthfully it was dating in general. Contrary to popular opinion, the music hall was not exactly a hotbed of romance.

"...Get used to it, I guess," Vinyl shrugged, and took a sip of her forgotten tea.

Now she acts cool, Octavia thought, and rolled her eyes. She was interrupted by Vinyl spraying tea all over the table.

"...How much sugar did I put in that, anyway?" Scratch grumbled. Octavia giggled. She wasn't so cool, after all.

Outside, a grey stallion whistled, standing beside Octavia's cello. He was pretty sure this was the right address, but he'd knocked on the door and heard nothing.
He didn't know it, but he was in for a long wait.

10) Cheap Sunglasses

Cheap Sunglasses
(ZZ Top)

"Bravo, Octavia! Back up to your usual magnificence, and in the nick of time, too!" the maestro gushed as the crowd filtered out. The concert had been a success, in as much as no notes were missed. "But the real test begins tomorrow, when the rich patrons attend. I expect you all to be at your best. Dismissed!"

"Your weird friend is waiting for you. Good to see you made up," the security guard smiled as Octavia walked backstage.

"She's not weird, but thank you," she replied, and prepared herself to be confused. It seemed the safest option.

DJ P0N-3 was waiting for her, violet glasses perched on her nose, flicking through a glossy magazine for bored housemares. It seemed she was halfway through a couple's quiz and had gotten stuck.

"You played well," the unicorn commented, discretely stowing the magazine away. "Not amazing, but good."

"High praise indeed. Where shall we go?"

"The Café," Pon3 said, with no further justification.

It felt strange to be walking alongside her in the cold night air. Octavia felt very conscious of the distance between them, very aware of when they moved closer or further away. She also noticed how Vinyl walked differently when she had her glasses on; there was a feel of the stage around her, a showy confidence that one couldn't help but admire.

Upon reaching the café they found that the saxophonist had returned, with a new, shiny saxophone. It could hardly be exaggerated how much the sound had improved, and Octavia found herself agreeing with Vinyl's initial judgement- the pony could play.

"Thank you for paying," Octavia said as they sat down. She could hear the name P0N-3 being whispered around her. It seemed they had drawn attention to themselves.

"I still owed you a meal," Vinyl said, and lifted her glasses. She thought for a moment, before adding, "I mean, no problem. This is, uh, a date after all."

"Oh, it is, is it? Thank you for warning me. I shall have to be on my best behaviour," Octavia teased, and Vinyl put her glasses back on. The murmurs increased.

They ordered; a fresh, green salad for her, and a plate of daisies for Vinyl. Not for the first time, she was struck by how very simple the unicorn's tastes were.

"Octavia. What are your life goals?" Vinyl asked abruptly. Octavia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't know. To have a nice house?"

"...I've got a nice house, so that sort've includes me...Three points?" Vinyl said to herself, very, very quietly. She appeared to have forgotten she was dealing with a trained classical musician who had hearing to match.

Octavia rolled her eyes. A couple's quiz, indeed. Privately (very privately) she thought it was a little cute how helpless the unicorn was; but cute did not a relationship make.

"Now I get to ask you a question," she said. Vinyl's ears pricked up. She took a deep breath, and decided to go for the hard things first. "How does Pinkie Pie know the colour of the carpet in your bedroom?"

Vinyl snorted. "She worked for it."

"By which you mean?" Octavia prompted, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that was dragging her heart quickly to her knees.

"She entered through the laundry hamper, and exited through a third floor window," Vinyl said smokily, and lowered her menu slightly. "If that isn't working for it..."

"Oh, I see. I was a little worried. I heard you'd kissed many a mare."

Vinyl went very suddenly and noticeably still. "So. You heard about that."

"You have?" Octavia asked, willing her voice to be calm, to be reasonable. It wasn't that she was attached to the relationship. Too early for that. But the thought that she was just one of a long line?

"No," Vinyl hedged, before adding, "I had my glasses on. Part of the act. Of the persona."

Octavia fought the urge to press her hoof to her head. Again with the glasses.

"So, you only kissed them because you had your glasses on?" she asked, and Vinyl nodded, perhaps a little anxiously. A waiter was surprised when the cup of tea they were carrying began to stir itself. "So, you don't mind if I, perhaps, borrow those glasses?"

"I need them," Vinyl said, low and fierce. "I get...nervous."

"So you hide behind a pair of glasses?"

Vinyl raised her menu again, and stayed silent. Octavia sighed, and honestly wondered if it all was worth the effort.

"Octavia," Vinyl called, and it would have been a shout had it been any louder.

Her bow clutched in her fetlock, Octavia chastised her viciously. What was she doing backstage before a performance? After was fine, after was good, but before gave her the jitters and they both knew where that led-

She was interrupted when the world turned violet.

"I have a condition," Vinyl said, peering at the glasses with something approaching longing. It'd been years since she'd been without them.

"Go on," Octavia encouraged, a little softer than she usually would.

"This concert. I'll be in the audience. So," and she broke off, to nudge her temple as she would do when adjusting her glasses, "Play like you would to a lover."

"But we're not lovers," Octavia pointed out.

The look Vinyl gave her in return suggested a great many things, most of which were very interesting and which you would hesitate to talk about within earshot of your mother, but the most salient of which was 'Octavia, you are an idiot, in the best possible way.'

Octavia looked at the unicorn through purple lenses, and found her a little smaller, a little more melancholy than before. Purple was not a colour that cheered up the world. She felt sorry, although for what she didn't know. The final calls were made, and she silently dashed off to take her position. Her bow was a little shaky.

Good, she thought as the curtain rose. Nothing says love like vibrato.

11) Let Them Talk

-Let Them Talk-
(Hugh Laurie)

For perhaps only the third time in her life, Octavia felt she'd provided a concert to be remembered. Certainly, the audience were talking about it. Nothing good, but they were talking. As she'd played, two hundred snooty eyebrows had been raised, and a great many of them had not yet deigned to descend to their rightful places; it was a stir, if nothing else. As the maestro tried desperately to manage the outrage of the patrons, she retreated backstage, as did most of the musicians (giving her dirty looks as they did).

"You're crazy," Vinyl greeted her coolly, although she was all but glowing. "I didn't think you'd wear them on stage."

Octavia raised her hoof self-consciously to the glasses, pushed them a little further up her nose. They kept slipping. Not surprisingly, given the nervous sweat she'd broken out into. Still, she couldn't help grinning; she wondered if this was how an athlete felt after winning a race.

"I didn't think you'd give them to me, in all honesty," she replied after a second's worth of thought. "How was the concert?"

"Worst I've ever seen. You were fantastic. Made the rest of the orchestra look like idiots," Vinyl smirked, and took a quick step forwards before she caught herself; a less reserved pony would have broken into a skip.

"Oho. I wondered why the audience were chattering so. Well, I've no doubt the maestro would like to have some words with me, so why don't we escape before he gets around to it?"

Giggling, she led the way, dodging adroitly between the dazed music hall staff who were trying to figure out what had gone so drastically wrong. Vinyl followed her hoofstep for hoofstep, never more than a quarter second behind her, until they finally burst from the softly lit building into the cool, fresh night air. Even from the side exit, they could hear the hum of voices declaiming 'that upstart pony in the purple glasses'; cautiously, they skirted around the building to the back, to lie low until the crowds had dispersed. Up above them, the stars were already peering out curiously from the blanket of the night sky.

There, Octavia gave herself over to a great, shuddering bout of laughter, the first she'd had in a long while. There wasn't much opportunity to laugh, in the bowstring-tight atmosphere of a struggling music hall. Wasn't much room to improvise, either; unity across the orchestra was paramount. She hadn't realised it, but she was sick of keying her own musical aspirations to those of everyone around her, of being afraid to experiment and grow faster than her friends.

She remembered, then, when she first held the cello, the way the golden sound escaped from it and enveloped her, comforted her in her hour of need. Her father had disappeared the week before; he'd been a wayward musician that charmed her mother's innocent tastes. Music, when she first found it, had been a comfort, a friend. Only later did it become work, effort, toil, a job.

Vinyl watched her, with a smile as opposed to a smirk. Every few seconds, she would take an agitated step forward, a nervous canter to the side, as if she might break into dance or song.

Eventually, her laughter broke, and Octavia wiped her her eyes with the back of her hoof. "Oh, Vinyl, you have gotten me into some trouble. However will I introduce you to my mother?"

"I could say the same to you," Vinyl said huskily, and sat down beside her.

"Oh? Why, am I not respectable enough to meet your parents?" Octavia teased gently.

"Other way around," Vinyl smirked, and let it drop. "You look like an idiot in those glasses."

"Like you didn't."

"Usually, people say I look scary without them. Red eyes, take warning," Vinyl replied, and Octavia could just hear the note of wistfulness there. The night breeze trickled down her back, and she realised how cold it was.

Quietly (and with not a little nervousness), she leaned closer to Vinyl, to her warmth. She was gratified when after a moment, Vinyl leaned back.

"I always wondered why you were so concerned about these," the earth pony said, and lifted the glasses up to rest on her forehead. "I really didn't think you'd give them to me."

"I wasn't going to. But I remembered," Vinyl sighed, and Octavia, pressed into her side, felt her deflate as she did. "When I left to stop distracting you, you came looking for me."

"Go on," Octavia urged when she felt her stop, sensed the words drying up on the tip of Vinyl's tongue.

"...To give my glasses away was a risk. But, I thought, maybe for you, it was worth it," the unicorn went, and if it weren't so very dark, Octavia could have sworn she saw the first little tinges of a blush. She pressed herself a little closer; Vinyl was warmer than she had expected her to be.

"About the 'lovers' thing," she began after a moment, and felt Vinyl rearranged herself nervously.

"I meant to say girlfriend. It came out wrong."

"I was thinking, that, well...That is to say...It might not be so bad. Give it a while, and we might see."

"You're blushing," Vinyl told her coolly. She was smiling.

"So are you!" Octavia pouted.

"And?"

Octavia sighed and shook her head. She didn't move away. When she was a filly, she hadn't even expected to date another mare, never mind one so exasperating. But all the best things in life- whether it was cooking, reading, or music- needed a little work, a little understanding. And, of course, to be played by ear once in a while. Life's boring when you can't deviate from the notes on the sheet.

"Octavia?" Vinyl said after a while.

"Yes?" she replied, and felt her eyelids droop. She was beginning to feel sleepy.

"I've never heard you laugh like that before. You sounded really...goofy," Vinyl said. "I really liked it."

"One of these days, Vinyl Scratch, I shall teach you how to give a compliment without sounding like a jerk, and you will thank me for it," she replied, and put her head on Vinyl's shoulder. "Just you wait."

"Hey, Octavia! Nice performance yesterday. Maestro wants to see you. Oh! And you brought your weird friend!" the security guard smiled.

"She's not weird, and she's not my friend," Octavia smiled.

"We're partners," Vinyl finished smokily, walking a few steps behind her. "But thanks. I was impressed with her, too."

He watched them go, and shrugged. He should've known.

12) All The Roadrunning

-All The Roadrunning-
(Dire Straits; Emmylou Harris; Mark Knopfler)

The sun had already passed its zenith when Octavia woke to a house that was surprisingly empty, surprisingly dull. She didn't live a lavish existence, didn't collect fritter away her savings on oakwood end-tables or mahogany-backed mirrors. What furniture she had was simple, hard-wearing, and had been worn hard accordingly. On the top of her dressing-table, touched slightly by the afternoon sun, lay an unfinished letter of- what? Resignation? Protest? Apology? It seemed to veer from one to the other. She groaned even to think of it, rolled over to lay on her back and quiz the ceiling.

The situation, as it was- banished from the orchestra. On remand, technically, sitting out as penance for the crime of actually playing her best for once. Awaiting judgement at the end of a two-week decision making period, her fate held in the uncertain hooves of the board of directors- a board of directors still furiously trying to manage the damage she had caused. She had left the house to buy food, and to make some pitiful efforts at trimming her garden; that was all.

Very distantly, muffled by the closed windows, she could hear the sound of somepony hammering at her door.

"Octavia?" Vinyl's voice said, drifting at the very edge of the audible range. "Octavia? Tavi? We need to talk."

Grudgingly, she dragged herself from her bed and downstairs, nearly knocking over one of her flowerpots as she did so, and opened the door. Vinyl marched in without greeting, swept the room with her eyes. She was carrying saddlebags.

"Hello to you, too, Vinyl. How have you been?" Octavia yawned, all politeness and no content. Vinyl shot her a look, took in her appearance; her eyes were narrowed, flashing, calculating.

"Occupied. Making sure you still have a job at the end of next week. Your maestro's an idiot," Vinyl seethed, before scouring the room again and tossing her head at the collection of bottles on the kitchen counter. "How much did you drink?"

Octavia cast her mind back; the second day, crushing unemployment. A few bottles of wine along with her normal groceries, bought with her last paycheck. Peaceful blackness. "As much as I wanted to, and not a drop less," she hedged for lack of anything better. "I'm a grown mare, anyway. I can do as I like. What's this you say about the maestro?"

"We had words," Vinyl said darkly. Octavia was struck by the thought of her, cool and ruthless, cutting the maestro apart with poorly formed sentences and barely concealed malice.

"And?"

"I told him that if he couldn't handle talent in his orchestra, we'd find somepony who could. Read these," Vinyl said, and took out a bundle of paper from her bags. "I identified eleven places you'd do well in. Pick three to audition for."

Octavia scanned the paper, eyes growing wider with each page. "Canterlot, Fillydelphia, Manehattan...Vinyl, these are all in different towns! I know that needs must if it comes to it, but to just pack up and leave Ponyville? I don't want to abandon everything I've build up here."

"You won't. You'll do three auditions to spread your name and back up the story. Then next week I'll tell the maestro you've been offered a position at the Canterlot Harmonics. The maestro there went to the same school as yours, and they despise each other. He's going to double your paycheck and whip the rest of the Ponyville orchestra into shape, just to spite Canterlot, and you're going to accept it and then play however you want," Vinyl said, shaking her head disdainfully as she rattled it off.

"We're manipulating him? But, Vinyl...That feels like cheating."

"Welcome to the music business," the unicorn snorted.

Just for a second, Octavia imagined a much younger Vinyl Scratch, extroverted, generous and wide-eyed, trying to make it on her own in the music industry.

"So. Do I get a thank you for saving your career?" Vinyl asked, her attention returning to the wine bottles. She was peering at the labels almost academically.

"Of course, Vinyl. I would kiss you, but I've got the most terrible morning breath. Why, pray tell, are you so interested in those wine bottles?" Octavia asked, looking a little more closely at the bundle of papers on the table.

"I like wine. Your taste is terrible," she said. "Invite me next time. I'll bring the good stuff."

"Oh, a connoisseur? Perhaps I should call you Vino. I'm afraid I was rather more interested in the quantity than the quality when I bought it," Octavia replied absently.

"You worried me. Shutting yourself up like this," Vinyl said quietly. Almost cautiously.

Octavia took a moment. Chewed over her thoughts. Honesty or tact, she wondered? How could she explain that, at first, she'd been angry- angry at herself for getting jealous and wanting those stupid glasses, angry at Vinyl for suggesting her 'condition' and ultimately getting her into this mess? But she wanted to avoid hurting her, since she'd gone to such lengths to fix the whole thing. Did she want to avoid that so badly that she would lie to her?

She realised, with a sinking feeling, that the answer was yes.

"Forgive me, Vinyl. I wasn't feeling myself. At least now you know how I felt when you pulled your little disappearing act."

"So I do," Vinyl shrugged. "Can I take a look around while you read? You've got a weird house."

"You mean 'interesting'. I see no harm in it, so long as you stay out of my bedroom. It's a little too much of a mess to warrant showing."

"That so? Fine," Vinyl said, and wandered off towards the stairs. A few seconds later, she came back wearing a smirk. "Just to warn you- if I ever get into your bedroom, I won't waste time looking at the carpet."

Octavia spluttered and felt her cheeks light up. "Very funny," she scowled. "Uncouth DJs these days..."

"Not as bad as boozy cellists," Vinyl finished. "...you look a bit more cheerful, anyway."

"So, the punishment for being gloomy is having to sit through your comedy routine?" Octavia snorted. "One of these days, Vinyl Scratch, I shall have to teach you how to make a joke without propositioning me."

"Not sure that's a skill I want to learn."

"Thanks, Vi. As bad as your jokes are, it's nice that you try," Octavia sighed.

"I'm 'Vi' now...? Fine by me. You finished picking?"

"Well...I probably ought to at least try out for Canterlot, since that's where we say I'm going. Beyond that, I could stand a trip to Manehattan, and my mother lives near Fillydelphia. I'd like to visit," she replied.

"I'll be going with you, you know. Live-in manager."

"All the more reason to visit my mother, then. I can introduce you."

Vinyl looked at her doubtfully. "You're either brave, or crazy."

"Crazy, I expect," Octavia replied. "But that's never stopped anypony."

"Cool with me. I'll try not to wreck your mom's house," Vinyl said with a shrug, and drew a glass of water from the sink. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"Duh. To get rid of your morning breath," Vinyl replied. "I'm collecting on that kiss."

13) Homebound Train

-Homebound Train-
(Bon Jovi)

The moon commanded the night as the train rolled onwards, the rhythmic 'chk-chk' of its wheels on the track almost a lullaby to its overnight passengers. Octavia, relaxed but not yet asleep, let the sound wash over her, set it to a time signature, heard horns and clarinets in her head. She was almost done refining it into a vague sonata before she became aware of the sound of somepony turning the pages of a magazine. With a huff, she opened the curtains of her berth; sure enough, the curtains of the berth opposite were lit with the soft glow of unicorn magic.

"Vinyl, are you still awake?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"DJs keep long hours," the reply came after a second, tinged with amusement. The page flipped again.

Typical, Octavia thought, but held her tongue. The night was too peaceful for verbal sparring, no matter how benign. She had other things to worry about, anyway.

"I don't mean to doubt you, Vinyl, but this scheme of yours-- are you sure it will work? We may be able to influence the maestro, but the board of directors will be another matter," she whispered.

"It's my scheme. It'll work," Vinyl replied, slipping her head out from the curtains. Her eyes didn't contain even a hint of fatigue.

"So, I'll still have my job? But the board--" Octavia began, but was arrested by the click of Vinyl's tongue.

"...Listen, Tavi. How many foals do you think grow up to be music moguls?" Vinyl asked. "It's a difficult job. Advertising, organisation, prediction. Ruthless, too. Some ponies have the talent, but can't stick the market. Get driven out by the veterans. You wanna know the truth? There's maybe ten ponies who decide what flies in the music world."

"That's awfully unfair...but another case of 'welcome to the music business', I suppose?"

"Yeah. Anyway, one of 'em is my manager. I had a chat with her the day after I spoke to your maestro. Turns out that six out of the nine directors for your music hall either owe her big or are straight-up on her payroll. Your job's safe, Tavi," Vinyl said, her voice confident, as though the music industry was just a pile of zeroes and ones that she had solved.

"Really? That's a relief," Octavia sighed, before something caught in her head. "But Vi, if my job is safe, then why are we traipsing all over the country doing auditions?"

"Partly because I don't like your maestro and I want him to sweat. Partly because you could use some exposure," the unicorn said nonchalantly. In the berth behind her, the pages of the magazine flipped.

"...and partly because you want an opportunity to be alone with me in a shared hotel room, I expect. You've somewhat of a tell, Vinyl," Octavia replied, eyes narrowed. "I thought most unicorns grew out of uncontrolled object manipulation."

"I was too busy practising music to practice magic," Vinyl replied, a little petulantly.

Octavia grinned. "You are awfully fond of those magazines, though. I rarely see you without one."

"...Pony's gotta have a hobby."

"Aside from stalking young and promising musicians?" the earth pony teased. Vinyl shot her a scowl, and retreated behind the curtain again.

A few seconds passed without sound. There was a swift rifling of pages, and then Vinyl said, in her very quietest voice, "...'takes interest in hobbies. Three points. Outlook is good. You and your partner have a great rapport. What kind of date does your partner like to be taken on? Answer the quiz in the next issue to find out'...That's the same as what they said about this quiz in the last issue. What a rip."

Unceremoniously, the light of her magic faded, and the cabin was returned to darkness. With only the rumbling lullaby of the train to distract her, Octavia sank down into the quilts of her berth, into a world of softness, and blackness, and sleep.

"Just to warn you, Vi, I expect that Mother will be waiting at the station when we disembark. She's very...vibrant," Octavia explained the next morning after a train's breakfast of stale daisies and bread. Vinyl had ignored the daisies and busied herself with the crusty rolls, carefully using her magic to cut and butter them in mid-air, scowling as she did so. Whether it was because she had something to prove regarding her magical capabilities or just plain morning grumpiness, Octavia didn't ask.

"How does she even know? We only set out yesterday," the unicorn groused, before taking a bite of the roll she'd just cut up. It was stale enough that it crunched.

"You aren't the only one with contacts, Vinyl. I have friends in high places. Specifically, mail ponies," Octavia said with a smile. "You have no idea of the lengths some ponies will go to for a platter of muffins."

"If you say so. What do you mean by vibrant?"

"You'll find out, soon enough," Octavia groaned. "One thing, though. She's very much into classical literature, so if she calls you something and you have no idea what it means, it was probably first said by some poet who died two and a half thousand years ago."

"Oh joy."

"Oh, cheer up. We shall arrive in five minutes. That's more than enough time to brush up on your pre-Equestrian history."

The five minutes of grace passed in a blink. As the rest of the passengers jostled to get free of the train, Octavia allowed herself to brush against Vinyl's flank, as comfortingly as she knew how. She would need it.

"Oh, Octavia! My darling little one!" a voice shouted as they stepped off the train, legs still unsteady. Before Vinyl had chance to react, a pony in a truly magnificent hat launched herself at Octavia and swept her off her feet into a hug that could have crushed concrete. "You haven't changed a bit, my dear!"

Vinyl tried to size this new pony up, but found she couldn't. Her eye kept drifting to her headgear, a feathery, lacy, three-tiered paragon of hat-ness that threatened to block out the sun. She was still reeling from the shock of the thing when Octavia's mother finally deposited her daughter back to the ground.

"I see my friend got the letter to you on time," Octavia groaned, with all the tell-tale signs of an abused windpipe.

"Yes, yes. Although, I shall have to look into fixing the window she crashed into," the mare trailed off absently, before glancing at Vinyl. "Tell me, dear, who is your skinny friend?"

"...skinny?" Vinyl asked icily, returning glare for glance.

"Of course, dear. Look at you, you're all bones and angles! Such a shame, too, with that fine white coat. I ought to subject you to some of my home cooking. We'd soon add a few stately curves to that marble bust!" Octavia's mother fawned.

"Ahaha. She's the friend I told you about, Mother," Octavia said, standing between them as if she were intervening physically rather than verbally.

"Oh, Velvet?"

"No, Mother. Vinyl."

"Like those seat covers? I wonder what exactly her parents were thinking. Oh well," the mare carried on cheerfully. "Come along, you two. I've just had the house cleaned, and I'm pleased to show it off."

As she marched off, Vinyl fixed Octavia with perhaps her most frightening look. "Vibrant, huh?"

"Oh, don't be such a grump, Velvet. I happen to like your bones and angles," Octavia replied, giggling like a schoolmare.

"...and you say I'm a jerk," Vinyl muttered, before rolling up her magazine and playfully bopping Octavia on the head with it. Despite herself, she grinned, and nudged her temple to adjust the glasses that were no longer there. At least her day was going to be interesting.

14) Three Is Family

-Three [3] Is Family-
(Dana Dawson)

The house that Octavia's mother led them to was not large, like the vast manses of aristocrats or even Vinyl's own empty abode, but was big enough to speak of a comfortable existence. Here and there were hung small baskets of hanging flowers, filled with buttery yellows, carrying all the signs of an enthusiastic but untalented gardener. Likewise, the front garden had been lavished plentifully with effort, although there were areas where the pattern of flowers changed conspicuously, as if some hungry pony had been desperate for a snack. In some places, mercifully few, the clean white plaster of the walls had been worn away to reveal a core of red brick. One of the windows had a vaguely pegasus-shaped hole in it.

"I see you've not had chance to put any columns or arches in yet," Octavia remarked dryly, casting an eye about the place. "But daffodils, mother? Really? What happened to that beautiful arrangement of roses and carnations I left you with?"

"Oh, hush. Just because you've got a bit of a green hoof, Octavia, doesn't mean everypony does. Some ponies have to settle for the type of flower that doesn't die quite so easily," her mother replied good-naturedly. "Besides, I have always maintained that daffodils are quite the equal of roses in the flavour department."

"That's because you can cook," Octavia grumbled. "Raw, they're like chewing earwax."

Vinyl didn't say much of anything, but listened intently. From the words that were spoken, she scooped out the information: good at gardening. Doesn't like daffodils raw. Can't cook. She filed it away in her brain for later, the way she did with half-made melodies and potential hooks.

"Vinyl? You seem like you're miles away. Come on. I know my mother's attempts at gardening are...eye-catching, but generally houses are best enjoyed from the inside," Octavia called.

"You got witty all of a sudden," Vinyl answered with studied nonchalance, and followed.

"There truly is nothing like a home field advantage, I suppose. Besides, you like it."

"Mm."

On the inside, the house was of a different character. The wallpaper was chosen with care, discreet and subtle patterns running along the walls. Shelves were dotted around with the randomness that only comes with planning, great slabs of mahogany holding up books as thick as a foreleg. There were loveseats in every room, tucked away into corners as if in case of emergency; they were cushioned in red, backed with wicker, as much art as furniture. Octavia gave a gusty, wistful sigh. This was the house she had grown up in, so long ago, where she had played and slept and lived.

"I kept your room exactly how you left it, dear, against my better judgement," Octavia's mother said, removing 'The Hat', as Vinyl had already begun to think of it, and depositing it on a well hidden hat stand. It rested upon it like the bloom of a great, carnivorous flower, and there was something inherently ridiculous about the whole thing.

"Oh dear. I suppose I'd best clean it out, if we're going to be staying the night. There are probably things growing in there that would be foolish to spend the evening with," Octavia deadpanned.

"Should I help?" Vinyl asked, although the real message was clear: can I get out of being alone with your mom?

"Aha, well, ahem, no. I wasn't the cleanliest of ponies as a teenager, and I wouldn't like you to see the result. Besides, I have a few things I'd like to check on, in privacy if possible," the earth pony replied, with the faintest hints of a blush. Without explaining further, she forged on up the stairs and disappeared from sight, nothing more than a set of hoofsteps on the floorboards above.

Vinyl turned to look at Octavia's mother, to size her up without The Hat to trap her eye. She was the spitting image of an older Octavia, but had a pronounced streak of pink in her mane that the musician lacked. She watched Vinyl with undisguised interest. Neither of them spoke for quite some time.

"So, Velour-"

"Vinyl."

"Yes, yes. I knew it had something to do with chairs. Anyway, you seem to me to be a very practical kind of pony. You don't mind if I cut to the chase, as it were?" the mare asked, with all the sweetness of an ageing matriarch. Vinyl narrowed her eyes. She was familiar with that little trick. It was one of those questions with no right answer. If you protested, you weren't a practical pony, lost points in whatever little test they were about to put you through. If you didn't, you were a pushover, and lost points anyway. In lieu of any better solution, the DJ simply shrugged.

"Well, I wanted to ask you just how far you'd gotten with my daughter," Octavia's mother said. The room suddenly became tense in a way that no amount of soft loveseats and mahogany bookshelves could ever alleviate. A few seconds passed where the only sound was Octavia dropping something upstairs.

"So, she told you in her letter, huh?" Vinyl replied, and nudged her temple. Her postured stiffened.

"No, but I am her mother. We tend to pick up on these things," she explained, not unkindly. "Are you going to answer the question?"

Vinyl considered it. She still felt very much as if she was being tested, being asked to prove something. It wasn't a sensation she liked. It set her hackles rising, so to speak. Worse was the fact that she was currently losing whatever little contest was going on. Her opponent already knew stuff about her, including the relationship with Octavia, but all Vinyl knew about her was that she had a strange taste in hats and couldn't garden to save her life. Vinyl Scratch was not used to not having the edge in a conversation. She wanted it back.

Raising her chin, flaring her nostrils, staring straight into the eyes of the enemy, Vinyl said, in a tone so deliberate that there could be no mistaking her implication, "She snores."

Octavia's mother clopped her hooves together. "Oh, wonderful! I suppose I don't have to tell you to use protection, but between you and me, dear, a little mouthwash before and afterwards never hurt anypony-"

"W...what?" Vinyl spat. Somewhere in the back of her head, a little voice whispered: She didn't miss a beat.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Miss Vinyl. I gave birth to the mare you're kissing, so it isn't as though I don't know the mechanics. From one mare to another, I got up to more than my fair share of horseplay in my college days. I assure you, anything you girls have done, I did backwards in rollerskates," she said conversationally. She didn't even blush.

"I..was just kidding about having slept with her," Vinyl said finally, after finding her tongue. It appeared to have tried to escape to her knees.

"Oh, really? That's a pity," Octavia's mother said, and as far as Vinyl could tell, she absolutely meant it. "Oh well. There's plenty of time. I wasn't kidding about the mouthwash, by the way. When my daughter comes down tomorrow and kisses me on the cheek before she goes to audition, I expect her breath to be minty fresh, regardless of what you two have been up to."

Vinyl sighed. There were times to make a stand, and there were times to accept that somepony had you beat. "Yes ma'am."

She was saved from further embarrassment by Octavia's hoofsteps descending the stairs. "Well, the room's tolerable. A few things have gone missing, though," she called.

"Oh, those magazines under your bed? I was just about to tell Vinyl about those. You wouldn't believe the things she was looking at, dear," Octavia's mom winked.

"I bet I wouldn't. I'll carry our stuff up," Vinyl replied, and disappeared rather sharply to the second floor. Octavia watched her go past, and shrugged. Better to put it down to Vinyl just being Vinyl.

"I like your friend, Octavia," her mother said, very calmly. "She's...gutsy."

"That's...um, well-described. Has she been giving you trouble?" she asked, brow creasing. "She means well, but she's bad at phrasing it."

"Trouble? Oh, no. She's not caused any trouble for me in the slightest," her mother smiled, plopping down on the loveseat. "In fact, it's quite the opposite..."

A/N: Vinyl = pwn'd. This was so. Much. Fun. Octavia's mom is now my favouritest pony forever.

15) Momentary Standstill

-Momentary Standstill-
[Ross Kmet, remixed from Sonic 3, Project Chaos bonus tracks]

"Are you ready for your audition, dear?" Octavia's mother asked, running a comb through her daughter's mane. Again. Vinyl watched with poorly disguised impatience. This had been the second morning in the row she'd had to wake up at normal-pony hours, and she could practically feel her sleep patterns slapping her in the face for being such an idiot.

"Well, yes, mother, but I'm not entirely sure about the dress," Octavia replied, looking down at the fabric. It had been salvaged from her mother's wardrobe, and was exactly the type of dress you would expect from a pony who owned such a magnificent and tasteless hat. Octavia wasn't quite sure there were words for some of the colours on it.

"Oh, don't be silly! It's from a top designer from Ponyville, you know. You are representing your village when you wear it!"

Vinyl's ears pricked up, and she began to look a little more closely at the garment, something she had been honestly avoiding up until now for fear of getting a colour induced headache. After a few moments, she pressed her hoof to her forehead. "I know this...thing. I saw it when I played for a fashion show a while back," she said. "It wasn't tie-dyed back then."

"Oh, you were there? I only saw the event in the newspaper, but when I did I just had to contact the designer about this dress. She was quite happy to get rid of it, very cheaply too, might I add, and I put my own little spin on it when it arrived," Octavia's mother prattled on, quite unaware of the dark looks Octavia and Vinyl were exchanging. "Oh, and did you see the armour on that pegasus? Would that I had the figure for it, I'd have snapped it up as well. Such classical elements in such a modern design!"

"Uh, yeah. Real nouveau chic," Vinyl said, in the tone of voice that indicated that somepony miles away was going to be in very big trouble the next time they ran into her. "Looks like that dress could use some taking in around the hips, though."

"Oh, the hips, hm? A fine eye you have there, Vinyl," Octavia's mom replied in the kind of knowing tone that could make grown stallions blush. "I'll just dash upstairs, then. I've got a needle and some thread around here somewhere."

Octavia looked at her mother, then back at Vinyl. Neither of them looked her in the eye. As her mother retreated to the second floor, she shot Vinyl a glance and asked, "What just happened?"

"Politics," the unicorn replied gruffly, before picking up the brush and running it gently through Octavia's mane. It was softer to the touch than she had expected. "You nervous?"

Octavia snorted. "In this dress? I'd be an idiot not to be."

She winced as the brush hit a clump. Then there was the warm sensation of magic close to the back of her neck, of the tangles being teased and unwound before the brush returned. It was oddly relaxing, even though Vinyl seemed to find every single snag and tangle in her hair before she was done.

"Don't worry," the unicorn said from somewhere just behind her left ear. "You're a good musician, You'll do fine. Just don't slack off. If you're not taking it seriously, I'll know."

"Hm? And how's that?" Octavia asked, and leaned back, just a little. She could feel breath on her ear. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"When you're serious, my hair stands on end," the unicorn said, before pausing. "...don't tell anypony I said that."

"My little audiophile, with all her bones and angles," Octavia teased. "Shall I just play you a song instead of kissing you from now on, then?"

"Hmph. Very funny," Vinyl grumbled, but carried on brushing and untangling. "Actually, I have to ask you something."

"Go on."

"I'm going to need my glasses back soon. I have to play a couple concerts as soon as we get back to Ponyville. Part of the deal with my manager."

"...and I suppose you can't play without them?"

Vinyl didn't say anything. The brush had stopped, now, as had the tiny warmth of magic, and Octavia found herself missing the sensations. She sighed.

"Fine, fine. It was a little unfair of me to take them in the first place," she admitted. "But if I hear so much as a rumour of you kissing another pony, Vinyl Scratch, I'll have your mane to string my bow. Don't think that I won't."

Vinyl gave the tiniest snicker. "Big words from a music hall pony."

"If you think I'm joking, just go and ask Lyra Heartstrings the next time you get chance. She once gave me an impromptu haircut whilst I was sleeping off the after-effects of a mare's night out. Suffice to say, she spent the next two months with half a tail."

"Very scary," the unicorn said, and began brushing again. After a few strokes, she leaned even closer to Octavia's ear and whispered, "Your mom's at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping."

"I know. She's just worried about me. It'll work out, anyway. I haven't figured out how to explain to her than I'm dating a mare, yet. This way, I don't have to," she whispered back.

"Sneaky. I like it. She already guessed, though."

Octavia bit her lip. "What? When?"

"Moment we walked in the house."

"Oh dear. By the way, I meant to ask. What do you think of my mother?"

Vinyl stopped for a second to think. Very carefully, she said: "She's hardcore."

"Is...is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"No idea."

After a good thirty seconds of grace, Octavia's mother came back in, brandishing a needle and thread with reckless enthusiasm. Vinyl bit back a remark about her timing, and instead helped Octavia out of the dress so her mother could begin attacking it with what could generously be described as sewing.

"I'm still not sure about the dress, mother. I feel like it might distract the panel from my performance," Octavia said. Vinyl snorted. She'd seen house fires that were less distracting than that dress.

"Oh, come now. This may be the last time I get to tell my only daughter what she can and cannot wear. Let me savour it. Isn't that right, Vinyl?"

Vinyl almost shot her a glare, but caught herself. It seemed like one of those annoying 'parent tests' that you couldn't really win, again.

"She's right. Too distracting. Besides, if you have to rely on a dress to make you look pretty and confident, you don't deserve to play for an audience anyway," she replied, before realising that what she'd just said was not exactly an endearing sentiment. Had Octavia's mother been paying attention, she would have seen a small purple glow begin to twiddle anxiously with her daughter's mane.

"I agree. After all, a master with a poor instrument can still make a song, but a novice with a great instrument can only make a noise," Octavia interjected smoothly, to Vinyl's relief. "I'd rather rely on my own skill than ornamentation."

"Quite right, quite right. I suppose the dress shall have to remain at home, for now. A pity," Octavia's mom sniffed, before shaking her head and smiling once more. "So, Vinyl! Since you're accompanying my daughter to her audition, may I assume that you are, in a sense, acting as her personal Galliope, her raison de musique?"

"She means a muse, and yes, mother, Vinyl will be providing emotional and creative support for me," Octavia explained, rolling her eyes.

"I'll get real creative if the judges start yapping off. One of 'em has a bit of a mouth on her. I remember from the last time I was here," Vinyl muttered.

Octavia's mother looked at the dress, then at Vinyl, then at the needle. Then, she smiled in a benevolent and terrifying way. "Tell me, Miss Vinyl, would you happen to know your measurements? I may very well have a present for you, in return for taking such good care of my daughter."

Vinyl's eyes widened. "No. I mean, thanks for the generosity, but I can't wear dresses. Skin complaint. Right, Tavi?"

Octavia thought for a second, before her mouth settled into an evil, evil grin.

"You've got to be kidding me," Vinyl moaned. They weren't.

"Oh, don't be so worried, Vinyl. It actually goes quite well with your glasses," Octavia said helpfully. They were sat outside the music hall, waiting for them to call Octavia in.

"If anypony asks, I've been drinking since three in the morning," the unicorn replied.

"You know Mother is only trying to be nice."

"Oh, yeah. It's a great gift," Vinyl said. "In fact, I'm going to treasure this dress. Fold it up real nice, have it shipped back home. And then, when we get back to Ponyville? I'm going to find Rarity, and I'm going to make her eat it."

A/N: Who's surprised that this actually got updated after all that time? Anyway, a couple notes: this will probably be the last chapter which follows the '+100 words every chapter' theme, since I find that once you get to about 1500, you end up having just enough space to create more ideas but not enough to elaborate on them in a satisfactory way. So, from now on, the length of the chapters will be a little more organic.

Also, the dress is probably Twilight's, hence why the hips are so wide. Additionally, for those of you not schooled in Greek Mythology, Galliope is a pun on Calliope, the Greek muse of epic poetry. If you actually got that without me having to tell you, you're probably asking why I didn't use Euterpe or Polyhymnia, who are more connected with music; the answer to that is, simply, that it would be really hard to make puns with them, and Calliope crosses so very nicely with gallop.

16) World Keep On Turning

-The World Keep On Turning-
(Fleetwood Mac)

The last note of Octavia's performance whispered to a close; the judges, silhouetted in the gallery above, clopped their hooves with the generic politeness required of the impartial. Octavia took a deep breath, released it; she distantly wished she'd had a pair of glasses to hide behind. Then, she bowed, packed her instrument with professional efficiency, and left the stage.

Outside, Vinyl greeted her. Her dress was still closer to an impressionist painting than an article of clothing, but she seemed to have moulded to it, somewhat. There was an aura of 'mad artiste' about her, hidden behind her shades.

"Pretty good," the unicorn said smokily. "You're better solo."

"Oh, I forgot that you're DJ Pon3 when you've got the glasses on. I suppose that means we're back down to three word sentences and inconclusive statements?" Octavia asked, rolling her eyes.

"A persona's a persona," the DJ shrugged. "It helps me work."

"Oh, yes. I can imagine why you'd need it, what with all this DJ equipment around," Octavia replied, motioning to the near-empty waiting lounge.

"My turntable's in my head," the unicorn said, faux philosophically. After a second, she pulled down her glasses. "Yeah, right. It's been too long since I've worn these. I feel way less cool than I used to."

"Lukewarm, at best," Octavia agreed. "Is the 'cool' factor important, then?"

"Mm. A persona's a persona," Vinyl replied, and moved her glasses back up to cover her eyes. "You saying you don't like it?"

"Well, a little mystery is fine. You're a better conversationalist without the glasses, though."

"I kiss better with them on," the DJ responded.

Octavia snorted. "Unless you're going to drag me up on stage to make out with you, I should hardly think it would be an issue."

"Don't give me ideas," the unicorn said, smirking. "Here come the judges."

They filed out of the hallway to the balconies in single file, before scattering into a nondescript bunch. The spokespony, a rather large earth pony with a stodgy perm, greeted them with a motherly smile.

"Our apologies for the wait, Miss Octavia. We were conferring," she said, and shifted her gaze slightly. "Hello to you too, Miss P0N3. How goes the DJ business? Are the beats still, ahem, kickin'?"

"They never stop. How goes Esmerelda? Still looking to get kicked?"

One of the ponies in the back of the cluster scowled. "Careful. You might ruin that marvellous dress of yours," she spat.

"Takes your breath away, doesn't it?" the unicorn retorted smoothly.

"Ahem! Esme, Miss Scratch, please settle this on your own time," the spokespony said, suddenly stern and matronly. "We have a judging to deliver."

Octavia raised her chin slightly, and met eyes with the judges. For a moment, her gaze was so steady and serene that she might have been a marble statue.

"Your technical skill is very refined. However, we have concerns over how progressive your style is. The Fillydelphia Philharmonic Orchestra is not a large establishment, and we cannot afford to take the risks a more profitable group like the Canterlot Harmonics could. However," the spokespony said, her motherly smile returning, "we feel that, with a little effort on both our parts, we could happily include you as one of our number."

"I'm very pleased you think so," Octavia replied, fighting the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Cool," Vinyl cut in, lowering her glasses and flashing a look around the room. A stallion in the back of the group flinched as she met his eyes, and looked visibly shaken when she finally moved her gaze to somepony else. "We have several other auditions scheduled for the near future, but we'll be awaiting your offer with interest."

"Other auditions?" the spokespony asked sweetly, although her tone betrayed a businesslike edge.

"Yeah. Obviously, I can't tell you any of the finer details," Vinyl said, with an unconvincing approximation of regret, "but some pretty big players have expressed interest in Octavia here."

"Is that so? If you don't mind my asking, Miss Scratch, what kind of players are we speaking about?"

"Well," Vinyl replied conspiratorially, "Think about it. I'm the manager, and she's the talent. That ought to say everything."

Octavia looked from unicorn to the earth pony, and felt distinctly that she was excluded from something.

"I see. Well, we'll certainly take that into consideration. You'll receive our offer through the usual channels," the spokespony said, any maternal warmth long dried up.

"Good to hear. Well, hate to be impolite, but we're going to have to cut this short. There's a train to Manehatten that we ought to be catching, and neither of us have packed yet. Nice to see you again," she nodded.

"Good riddance," Esmerelda muttered as Vinyl turned.

"Go suck a salt lick, Esme," the DJ called casually, heading towards the exit at a deliberately easy pace. Octavia said a few rushed goodbyes before following in her wake.

"What was that all about?" she whispered, feeling the judge's eyes follow them as they left.

"Politics. Just going through the motions," Vinyl said, smoke in her voice. "Sorry for speaking for you. They wanted to play hardball."

"Hardball?"

"Yeah. They were trying to sweat you out. No way did they take that long 'conferring'. They've been hurting for a good cellist for three months now. Their last one went deaf after thirty years in the industry, so they've been getting by with novices and temps," the unicorn explained. "I'd bet my best decks that they were planning to psych you out, get you to join them there and then for a lower salary."

Octavia frowned. "Really? The head judge seemed polite."

"Seemed is right," Vinyl replied, and pulled her glasses back down. "We have packing to do."

Octavia looked at the train they were meant to be boarding, looked at Vinyl, then back at the train. It was a massive thing, a behemoth of polished steel and smoke and noise. It had more wheels than a unicycle factory, many of them almost as tall as a standing pony and the smallest only half that; the ground itself seemed to tremble beneath its weight. The nose was rounded in a way unlike any of the smaller trains Octavia had seen before. Decorating the whole thing was a coat of sterling silver paint, embellished by patterns of gold that curled around the train like wild flowers.

"It's a little...ostentatious, don't you think?" Octavia whispered.

"All I did was book the tickets. How was I meant to know that the express was being pulled by the disco glitter train?" Vinyl hissed back.

"I must say, dear, you've got an excellent taste in transportation. I love the bold design," Octavia's mother cooed.

"...In other words, yeah, it's ostentatious," Vinyl grumbled. "The HRH Princess Celestia. Tch. It smells like a coal mine and weighs more than a house. Wonder what they were trying to say by naming it after her?"

"Mere mortal ponies shall never know. Regardless, we'd better board. I don't think they'll wait around for us to continue criticising the aesthetic," Octavia shrugged, and began dragging the suitcases on board.

Her mother blew her nose in a hankie the size of a flag. "You know, I almost envy you two. It's been a while since I had occasion to travel in style."

"...it's a style, all right," Vinyl muttered, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Vinyl, leave the train alone. You'll hurt its feelings. Speaking of, can you give me a hoof before I hurt my back?" Octavia called.

"The train's big enough and ugly enough to take care of itself," the unicorn shrugged. Octavia glowered at her. She sighed, and the cases lit up with a pale magical glow. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

Octavia dodged the cases which were now flying towards the luggage department (a little erratically, she noticed), and hopped down onto the platform. Wordlessly, she hugged her mother.

"You know you can always come home if you need to. I've never seen your face quite so troubled as it has been recently, dear," the older mare whispered.

"I know, mother. I know. There's been...complications with my job status, and I didn't take it too well. Vinyl and I are trying to salvage the situation. I don't know if it's going to work. Vinyl's brilliant, but the more we do, the more I realise that the industry is bigger than we might be able to deal with," Octavia said, burying her face in her mother's mane. "I think you've really impressed her, but don't tell her I told you that."

Octavia's mother sniffed. "You know I'm biased, dear, but I think you're talented enough to have the whole industry wrapped around your hind hoof if you wanted to. But there'll always be a place for you here if it doesn't work out."

"Mm. Thank you. I'll try and visit more often, if I can. I've missed you," Octavia said, finally pulling away.

"You're always welcome to. That goes for Vinyl, too. Oh, and I expect letters. From both of you," the mare said, looking pointedly at the unicorn, who had been watching in respectful silence.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Can do. Been nice meeting you, ma'am."

The train whistled and a tinny voice filled the station, warning passengers on the Manehattan Express line to board immediately.

"I'll get a hug out of you next time," Octavia's mother told Vinyl, before looking back at her daughter. "Dear, you'd better get going."

Five minutes later, Vinyl and Octavia were sitting in the plushest seats ever installed on a train, watching as the station moved out of view. The unicorn gave a small sigh, and brought out a pair of magazines. She tossed one to Octavia.

"Cosmarepolitan? Really?" the earth pony chided. "I know ponies who wouldn't use Cosmare for hamster bedding. Well, a pony. She's a little crazy, though. Jumps at her own shadow a lot."

"I wouldn't use it for hamster bedding, either. Too glossy. The quizzes are interesting, though," the unicorn murmured.

"Oh, I bet," Octavia replied wryly. "What are you reading?"

There was a brief rustle as Vinyl turned her magazine to check. "Uh...Horticulturist Horse Quarterly."

"That's a gardening magazine, Vinyl."

"I know that."

"I didn't realise you were into that kind of thing."

"I'm not. I'm just looking into it," Vinyl said, pointedly not looking at the blue glow that was twiddling with Octavia's mane.

"Takes interest in hobbies, three points. Next issue, I get to find out what kind of date you like," Octavia replied with a smirk.

Vinyl went silent for a little while, although her hair-twiddling didn't cease. "Tavi?"

"Yes?"

"Does your mom really expect me to write her letters?" the unicorn asked seriously.

"Yes. And I don't think she was joking about that hug, either."

"That's gonna be a problem," Vinyl sighed.

"Why?"

Vinyl pulled her glasses down to cover her eyes. "Because, honestly, I have no idea what your mom's name is."

A/N: Oh man, I'm so unbelievably rusty right now. This feels nowhere near as good, to me, as previous chapters, but hey. Gotta get my eye in somehow. (Also, I feel like 'salt lick' should be cockney rhyming slang, especially the way Vinyl uses it in this chapter).

17) Long Train Runnin'

-Long Train Runnin'-

(The Doobie Brothers)

The dining car of the HRH Princess Celestia was almost full that evening; a comforting buzz of idle chatter floated around the room, just like the waiter ponies who moved so quietly that it was like being served by ghosts. Whereas the rest of the train had been designed with a certain respectful sumptuousness in mind, the dining car was quite obviously patterned after the style of rustic kitchens. Everywhere Octavia looked there was stained oak, and she got the very distinct impression that if the designers had been able to make the floor our of flagstones without worrying about weight, they'd have done it in a heartbeat. Across the table, Vinyl was occupied with looking down at her plate and scowling at her salad, a colourful arrangement of lilies and snapdragons.

"What's wrong, Vinyl? Not a fan of the menu?" Octavia asked.

"Tch. It's party food for rich ponies. I can never get full on this stuff," the DJ complained. She reached for her wine glass, took a sip, and paused. "It's not bad for train food, I guess."

Octavia smiled. She'd gone for a slightly more down-market meal, since she wasn't paying, but it was still very good. 'Not bad' really was as much of a compliment as Vinyl ever gave, it seemed.

"So, what can you tell me about Manehattan? I've never been, but I've heard rumours. Is it as rough as everypony says it is?" she asked.

Vinyl leaned back in her chair and seemed to consider for a moment. "Manehattan's...cool. I basically grew up there. It's like my hometown."

"Go on," Octavia prompted, and took a sip of wine. It really was good stuff. When the DJ had said she knew about wine, she wasn't kidding.

"...I got an apartment there when I was just starting out as a DJ. On the south side. That's the rough bit. But Manehattan's a town where even the roughnecks appreciate good music. You'd play at a club and every so often some thugs'd come in. They'd usually decide to wreck the place, but they'd wait for you to finish your set and leave the building first. It's that kind've town," Vinyl explained, with not a little fondness in her voice. She caught Octavia's look and added, "Don't worry. We're staying north side. That's the bit with all the chintzy hotels."

"How...comforting, I think. But won't you want to visit all your old friends? I mean, not that I'd stop you or anything, but we can--"

Vinyl shook her head. "Nah. I mean, I sort've miss the old Manehattan crew, but...Things change, Tavi. They knew me when I was young, and that's cool, but I don't want the stuff I did back then."

Octavia put down her fork. Eating was quickly becoming less and less of a priority. "What did you want 'back then'?"

"Parties," Vinyl said smokily. "I just wanted to stay out and either make music or listen to it, the whole night through. I wanted to dance, and drink. But eventually I realised that it was all just...boring."

Octavia giggled. "You find all-night parties boring? I can only imagine how dull you must find a pony like me."

"No. It's not the same thing," Vinyl said, frowning. Then, she went quiet, her attention suddenly consumed by her dinner.

"Is something wrong?" Octavia asked. Her attention went to her hair, waiting for the familiar twiddling of magic to tip her off that Vinyl was feeling troubled. When it didn't come, she scanned the restaurant for spoons stirring by themselves, and found nothing. Despite that, she began to feel worried. She didn't often get so much information about her partner.

"...I suck at explaining stuff," Vinyl shrugged eventually.

"Try?"

"No. I'd get it wrong."

"If you make me beg, I shall be cross later," Octavia joked. Then, more seriously, she continued. "Vinyl. It doesn't matter if it's not a good explanation. I enjoy talking with you. I want to hear what you have to say."

The unicorn took another sip of her wine, swilled it around her mouth, swallowed it. She sighed, then began to talk, so low and quick that Octavia could barely hear it.

"Parties aren't boring. It's the ponies that go to 'em. You make small talk, you dance a bit, and then maybe you kiss 'em and maybe you don't. But it doesn't matter, because that's just what you do at parties, and it doesn't mean anything to them. If you ask 'em out, all they wanna do is go to another party and do it again. Nothing ever changes. I got sick of it. But you? Maybe we don't go out dancing all night, and maybe we don't go on dates all the time, but every time we talk I feel like we get closer. Like we're building something."

She took another swig of her wine, shrugged, drained the whole glass and poured another. "Don't make me do that again."

"I shan't. You explained it well enough the first time. You've come a long way from three word sentences," Octavia replied, smiling. "And, for what it's worth, I feel the same way. Not including the parties, of course, but you know what I mean."

The unicorn didn't look at her, but a subtle warmth behind Octavia's shoulder stood in for a blush.

"Are you done with your magazine, yet?" the earth pony asked, after a few moments.

Vinyl snorted. Apparently, the life cycle of the hydrangea had failed to entertain her.

"In that case, when we're done with dinner, I'll teach you how to braid my hair as opposed to just fiddling with it. Not that I mind the fiddling, of course, but braiding is relaxing."

"Hmph," the unicorn replied. But Octavia couldn't help noticing that she ate her dinner much faster after that.

"Tavi?" Vinyl asked.

Octavia allowed her mind to drift from the comforting rhythm of separate, interweave and unweave that Vinyl had kept up for the last hour or so, and clicked on the light in the berth.

"I need to warn you about Canterlot. Since we were already talking about Manehattan."

Octavia's ears pricked up. She'd always been told that Canterlot was a very safe town-- the safest in all Equestria, in fact. But then, Vinyl didn't seem worried about security in the first place. Maybe she was talking about the orchestra? She'd heard they had incredibly high standards, since they attended to royal events, but nothing worse than that.

"Don't get me wrong. I'll still go to your audition with you," Vinyl murmured, and the pace of her braiding sped up the tiniest bit. "But if you want to look around town, you're on your own. I'll be staying in the hotel room."

Octavia leaned backwards, and rested her head against Vinyl's chest. She felt the unicorn pull her hair out the side of she could continue braiding. "Why not?"

For a moment, it seemed like the DJ would go quiet again.

"My mom lives in Canterlot," she said finally, with no small amount of venom in her voice.

"I...ahem, take that to mean you won't be introducing us?"

"Yeah. I told you a while ago. My mom isn't respectable enough to meet you," the unicorn spat.

"Why ever not? I mean, forgive me for saying this, Vinyl, but you only ever get one mother," Octavia remarked gently. "Is it something she does?"

"What my mom does," Vinyl said with forced evenness, "is sleep with stallions who are richer than her until they aren't anymore, then dump 'em and move on to the next idiot with more cash than brains. She only cares about money. When I was first starting out, she pawned my first ever set of decks, and I had to go begging and borrowing to buy 'em back. I couldn't afford the interest on what I borrowed, so I got ran out of town. Best thing that ever happened to me, since it got me away from her."

Octavia didn't say anything, but reached behind her, found Vinyl's forelegs, and wrapped them around her shoulders. Off to the side, the braiding still continued with the same unbroken rhythm.

"I'm not kidding, Tavi. My mom's bad news. If you ever meet a mare called Nickel Scratch, you turn around and walk away. You'll be happier for it," Vinyl said. The evenness of her tone was gone; there was just the slightest hint of a wobble there. "I know what you meant, though. Heard it a thousand times. You only get one mother. Mine was just a dud."

"...Sorry for dragging all this out of you, Vinyl. I know it's hard for you to talk about it," the earth pony murmured.

Vinyl sighed. "No. It's better like this. I was just planning to play sick when we got to Canterlot. You were right about the braiding, by the way."

"You can share my mother if you like. She won't mind."

"Yeah. I know."

Octavia closed her eyes, and let the sound of the rolling train finally engulf her. When she woke up in the morning, Vinyl's legs were still around her shoulders.

Author's Note

So, yeah, 100% drama chapter.

18) When Darkness Falls

-When Darkness Falls-
(George Shearing)

The skyscrapers of Manehattan dominated the skyline as, far below, Octavia and Vinyl trundled their luggage through the busy streets. As she dodged out of the way of another commuter, Octavia was struck by how differently everypony moved in big cities. From the newspaper sellers to the traffic wardens, everypony walked with purpose, as though there was somewhere they desperately had to be and the whole world was standing in the way. They didn't even turn their heads when called to by the street sellers. In Ponyville, she reflected, ponies tended to meander a little, wish a good day to each other if they passed on the street. The going was slow but you got there, and every walk was a pleasant one. But there just didn't seem time for that here. Vinyl, she noted, had taken to the pace like a duck to water, and had affected the same restless stride that characterised Manehattenites. It was hardly surprising.

"We gotta take a left here. If you see any carts, don't get hit," the unicorn said, before lunging casually out into road. Octavia followed at a run, her case rattling behind her.

"Don't do that!" she hissed. Vinyl looked at her as she honestly didn't know what she'd done.

"I was kidding. Nopony gets hit by carts in Manehattan. Traffic's too bad," Vinyl shrugged after taking a second to ponder it. "Foot traffic, anyway. You couldn't take a cart down three roads without hitting somepony in this city, so nopony does. It's an insurance risk."

"...You're messing with me, aren't you?" Octavia asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Only a little. There truly is nothing like a home field advantage, huh?" Vinyl said, her expression perfectly serious. "Don't worry. This bit's pedestrianised. Mainly because everypony kept getting hit by carts."

In lieu of trying to figure out if she was joking or not, Octavia decided to make sure she was never more than a foot away from Vinyl at any one time. That way, if one of them got hit by a cart, they both would.

Eventually, after a trek that would have taken her clear from one side of Ponyville to the other, they arrived at the hotel. It was an imposing thing, fashioned of bricks in soft yellows and what appeared to be a small cafe out front. Octavia hesitated, but the DJ just walked in without a care in the world and rang the service bell to the tune of the national anthem. After a moment of shuffling in the back room, a large, green stallion with a bellhop's hat appeared.

"Ha-llo. How may I be of service, madam?" he said, in an accent that reminded Octavia very much of little Pip's, except picked up and polished a little.

Vinyl looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, then nudged her temple. "You're Rip Offer's brother."

If the green stallion was surprised, he didn't show it. "Indeed, I am. How might a lady such as yourself be acquainted with my brother?"

"He was my landlord a while back. Tried to charge me extra rent for installing a cutlery draw, called it an extra room."

"Thank bloody goodness," the stallion said, his voice dropping an octave and losing all finesse. "Bloody upper class twits, pronouncin' their aitches like idiots. I swear, puttin' on that posh accent gives me more trouble than the secretary, and she's as thick as a barrel o' treacle to boot. What can I do you for?"

"We got reservations. Octavia and Vee Scratch, two bed room."

"Alright, lemme check up on that. Normally I'd just wave you through, but I gotta look like I'm at least tryin' to do things by the book, you understand," he said knowingly, and disappeared into the back room to find a register.

"We do have a reservation, correct?" Octavia asked from the corner of her mouth.

Vinyl smirked. "Yeah, but if we didn't, odds are our names would mysteriously show up in the book anyway. This town never changes."

"...You actually rented a room from somepony called Rip Offer?"

"He didn't use his first name. Besides, he wasn't that bad so long as you got him a pretzel once in a while," the unicorn said, a touch fondly. "Last time I saw him he was as big as a house."

"Well, whaddaya know. You two actually went ahead and got legit reservations. I thought this was another on the 'ouse job. Pretty classy. 'Fraid I got some bad news, though. We're outta two bed rooms. Lucky for a pair like you two, huh?" the stallion said as he came back.

Octavia gave Vinyl a glare. Vinyl blinked, and look to the stallion in appeal, for a moment almost appearing helpless and lost. He was blank for a second, before his mouth settled into a grin.

"Oh, what, you two got that kind of relationship? Well, much as I 'ate to spoil your lover's tiff, miss, your friend there ain't got nothing to do with it. Only our bloody secretary could have arranged this mess. I tell ya, she's got a picture of the reception-- not any reception, mind you, this reception, right down to the bloody potted plants-- on her 'indquarters, and she still manages to be the most useless employee we've ever 'ad. She booked three different conventions for the same week."

Octavia sniffed. "What conventions would these be?"

"Lemme see...The Spoon Collector's Convention, the Butterfly Enthusiasts, and Jam Jar Jamboree. Ain't many of that crowd want marriage beds, if you know what I mean," the stallion said, quite loudly. "Tell you what, though. We'll upgrade you to one of the fancy suites, free of charge. If you're gonna have to sleep in a double bed, may as well be a nice one, right?"

Vinyl glared at him. "If we could get a room at any other hotel at this kind of notice, we'd be straight out of here."

"You think I don't know that?" he groaned. "I'm gonna-- well, I'm not gonna kill the secretary, but I'm gonna give her a piece of my mind she won't forget. Either of you two want room service, you tell 'em I said you get it for free."

Vinyl closed her eyes and frowned, evidently deep in thought. "You can start by giving us some extra pillows and blankets. What wine have you got? We'll take two bottles of the good stuff..."

All said, it was a very nice room-- light, airy, ridiculous amounts of cushions. It had a balcony, too, which offered the same view of the city as every other window in the hotel, but at least tried to be charming, and thick, heavy curtains made of what Octavia was fairly sure would be called 'the good stuff' in fabric circles. The elephant in the room, however, was the bed. It seemed big enough for four ponies, never mind two, and was soft enough that when Vinyl threw her glasses on the covers they sank. As the unicorn unpacked what they'd need for the night, Octavia hovered at the door awkwardly.

"I'm. Well, I mean, sorry that I jumped to conclusions. I should never have suggested that you had planned this."

Vinyl shrugged, evidently in a bad mood, and tossed the extra bedding down in the corner.

"I...No offense meant, Vinyl, but I'm just not comfortable with, well, you know. Sleeping in the same bed."

The unicorn sighed, her shoulders dropping. "I know. That's why I reserved two beds. I already almost blew it once by being too quick about things. I didn't want to make the same mistake again."

All at once, Octavia remembered that soft, dreamy, defeated tone-- wrong tempo-- and shivered. They'd come so far since then. Here, in this strange room, it seemed they had never had that first discussion in Vinyl's kitchen at all.

"I see. Then things went wrong anyway, and I reacted poorly. You must have been scared," the cellist said softly.

"...I don't want to talk about it," the unicorn replied slowly after a second. "You take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

With that, she trotted over to the mess of covers in the corner and began, for want of a better word, to nest in them.

"Vinyl, no. You're paying for the room, which means you're paying for that bed, too. I can't let you sleep on the floor whilst I'm in a bed you paid for," Octavia said.

"Yeah? Well, if I paid for the room, that means I paid for the floor, which I'm using at the moment. So kindly get off it and onto the bed," Vinyl said matter-of-factly.

"Vi--"

"Listen, Tavi. You have an audition tomorrow. As in, work," Vinyl said (almost snapped), and nudged her temple. "You need a good night's sleep. Me? All I have to do for that audition is sit down at the start and get up at the end. You get in bed, and I'll sleep on the floor."

That was the nasty thing about a sensible argument. It was so hard to refute. "Fine. But I'll have you know that I'm not happy about this."

"If you were, I'd kick you. Night, Tavi," Vinyl yawned, and turned out the light.

For all of half an hour, Octavia tried her best to get comfortable in the gloom. The noises of the city outside got no quieter as the moon rose, and she found herself sorely missing the small-town quietness of Fillydelphia or the dense, palpable silence of Ponyville. The bed was far too large for her alone; even if she lay right in the centre of it, she could still stretch out as much as possible and not reach the ends of it. It lacked the cosiness of her (admittedly quite shabby) single bed back home. After forty-five minutes, the guilt finally got to her.

"This isn't right, Vinyl. I can't do it. I'm sleeping on the floor," she announced, secretly hoping her companion was asleep already, and climbed out of bed.

A blue glow lit the room and bathed Vinyl's face in unearthly discontent. "No way, Tavi. We went over this. You need to be at your best. Besides, I'm already comfortable."

"Well, I wasn't. I can't sleep anyway, knowing you're on the floor."

"You're impossible," Vinyl hissed, and the blue glow faded.

"Say the pot to the kettle," Octavia murmured, and settled down in the opposite corner. She was privately surprised at how soft the carpet was, but she could feel the floor straight through it when she rolled on her back.

"You are aware how stupid you're being, right?" Vinyl asked flatly after a few minutes.

She was rather more aware now of how uncomfortable the floor was, but decided to say nothing of it. "I'm not being stupid. Just fair."

"We're both sleeping on the floor and there's a perfectly good bed going to waste."

"So why not go and get in it?"

"Because it will give you an excuse to stay on the floor."

"Well, as you can see, I hardly need one, so you may as well get in the bed!"

The bickering continued back and forth for a few moments, before Vinyl said, sourly, "Worst part is, since we're both on the floor, it's the same as if we'd both slept in the bed."

Octavia was about to snap back with a sharp response, but instead held her tongue. She took a deep breath. "Well, if we're going to be sleeping together anyway, we may as well be comfortable."

A second ticked by in the blackness. "...What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you get in the bed, I'll get in the bed."

"...Wasn't the whole point--"

"I know what the point was, Vinyl. Truthfully, I probably won't be able to sleep if you're in the bed with me. But I can't sleep if you're on the floor anyway, and I feel like an absolute jerk to boot, and my back already hurts. So frankly I'd rather not sleep in a comfortable bed with you in it, than not sleep on an uncomfortable floor with you on it," Octavia snapped.

"...We'll make a pillow wall," Vinyl said at last.

"Deal," Octavia sighed. "Now get in the bed. I'll follow."

After a second of fumbling around in the darkness and a creaking of bedsprings, they found themselves lying back to back in the centre of the bed. Octavia could feel Vinyl's body heat on her shoulder blades.

"Vinyl, did we really have an argument over that?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"We're idiots, aren't we."

"Yeah. You going to help make that pillow wall?"

"Don't bother," Octavia yawned. "Just sleep with your back to me and we'll be fine. We must have wasted half the night quarrelling."

"If you're tired for your performance tomorrow, don't blame me," Vinyl said, finally.

"I shall blame the hotel, and be done with it. Goodnight, Vi."

"Night."

Octavia was awake long enough to see the stars begin to wink in the cloudless sky. But not much longer than that.

Author's Note

Not gonna lie, I actually like this chapter quite a bit. There's something cute about the little argument they're having, at least in my very biased opinion. Also, British accent hotel pony for the win.

19) Money

-Money-
(Crystal Skulls)

Octavia folded herself onto the bench, and put a hoof to her forehead. The audition was over, and had gone well, all told; better than well. Last time, she had been a touch intimidated by the new styles and rhythms that went with playing at her best, but she was slowly becoming more comfortable with them, exploring the avenues and finding more waiting. This time, the judges had declined to speak to her personally, preferring to speak to her manager; of course, that was Vinyl, so she'd gotten all the information as soon as they were done.

"You tired?" Vinyl asked, returning with two ice cream cones circling her head. Her glasses glinted in the sunlight.

"Perhaps a little," Octavia replied cautiously. She had woken up to find herself curled around Vinyl, who was still catatonic at the time. She assumed that she'd done it whilst tossing and turning in her sleep. The task of extricating herself from her sleeping partner first thing in the morning had been both delicate and, perhaps, a little unwelcome; Vinyl had been very warm, and the temptation had been to simply nod back off and deal with it when the DJ awoke.

"I warned you. At least it hit after your performance."

"Mm. What did you think of it, anyway? Any bum notes?" Octavia asked.

"You're better than you were in Ponyville," Vinyl said, and passed her an ice cream. "When all this is over, you'll have to perform privately for me."

"Ah, a compliment from on high. I must be doing very well indeed," she teased. "Where to next?"

"No idea. Usually when I go on shopping trips to Manehattan, I buy stuff as opposed to just looking in all the windows," Vinyl replied, the faintest touch of playfulness in her voice.

"Some of us mere mortals have to watch our bank balance, you know. Not everypony can shop at Hayrods."

"Well, if you want something and I'm with you, get it. It's not like I care about the money."

"I can't do that. You're already spending too much on getting me to and from these auditions as it is. I'm not comfortable with you spending even more," the earth pony frowned.

"Which is why I'm comfortable with spending it. Shows you're not trying to take me for a ride. Not to say I ever thought you were," Vinyl yawned.

"I know, but--"

"I'm your-- well, fillyfriend sounds stupid. I'm your partner. So don't sweat it," Vinyl said, and directed her attention towards her ice cream.

Octavia frowned. She'd lived alone since the day she left home, and taken care of all her expenses by herself. It hadn't always been easy, but she'd done it. To rely financially on somepony else at this point just seemed alien to her.

"You're sweating it, aren't you?" Vinyl asked, pulling down her glasses and peering at her through red eyes.

"It just doesn't seem right to take your money and spend it on myself," Octavia sniffed.

Vinyl was silent for a second. Then, predictably, a smirk spread itself across her face as she hatched her latest scheme.

"In that case, how about we have a contest? We've got until evening before we need to catch the train anyway. We both get fifty bits, we split up, and we buy each other a present. Best present wins."

Octavia finished her ice cream cone and snorted. "Very clever. I don't want to spend your money on me, so I get to spend it on you. I can see why the irony would appeal to you. I am, needless to say, out."

"Doesn't matter. I'm in," Vinyl said, smoke in her voice, and got off the bench. "Which means I have to go and find you a present, whether you like it or not. Meet me back in the hotel room at six. Here's your fifty bits, just in case you decide to play."

"Vinyl!" Octavia started, but the DJ was already on her way, striding along with that Manehattan walk. Seething, she sat down on the bench and took the purse that Vinyl had thrown to her.

For a second, she considered just going back to the room and forgetting all about it. That would be putting her hoof down on the matter. But then, she'd be getting a gift and Vinyl would be getting nothing, which was even less fair than the alternative.

"Thinks she can play me," Octavia sniffed, knowing full well that she was about to go along with it. "I wonder what Mother would do in this situation."

Half an hour later, Vinyl had found what she was looking for, her hooves guided by habit more than anything else. It was dusty little shop on the wrong side of town, complete with filthy windows and an antiquated bell to let the owner shuffle out of the back room whenever a customer came, which was approximately twice a week. It gave a demure little tinkle as the walked in.

"I'll be right there. Hold your horseshoes!" a crochety voice shouted.

Vinyl took a moment to look around. It was a dimly lit shop, just as she remembered it, with a coating of dust for a carpet and no goods on display. She wondered how anypony ever found out what they sold. She couldn't remember how she had. A custard pie, hilariously dust-free in contrast to the rest of the place, lay in a glass case behind the counter.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'. Crazy whippersnappers, always barging into my shop and tramping their dirty feet around the place like they was customers..." the owner grumbled as he emerged. He was an old unicorn, steel grey, with a pair of glasses a hoof thick. His voice had an audible quaver.

"Hi, Bi. Got any lungs in stock? This place is a health hazard," Vinyl greeted lazily.

"'Hi, Bi'. Very funny, young lady, very funny. You here on business or are you just a comedian? Because if you're a comedian, I've got a custard pie right here with your name on i--"

He adjusted his glasses very slightly, and his face lit up with recognition. "Oh, it's you."

"Phew. Thought your memory had finally gone for a second there."

"Oh, it's all very well for you young'uns. Just wait until your hips start going, and you'll see what it's like," he grumbled. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you back here again anyhow. I told you we have an ordering service. Real discreet."

"I was back in town for a few days, and I wanted something made quickly. Think you're up to it, old man?" she asked, leaning casually against the counter.

"You sure got yappy since I saw you last," he said, not unkindly. "I assume it's the usual. Still the most ridiculous order I ever got."

"Bite me. I need 'em in six hours, Bi."

"Foal's play. I told you years ago I was the best in the business, and by gum I still am, or my name's not Bi Focal," he said grandly and nudged his temple, a mirror image of how Vinyl did it herself. "Lucky I kept spares of all the parts, since stupid kids like you can never take care of the dang things."

"Bite me twice. This pair is still fine," Vinyl said, and motioned to her own shades.

"Ridiculous. I can see the scratches from here. Here, pass 'em over. Shouldn't need to replace the lenses if I give them a decent once-over, and I'm already working today," he said, adding the last part as if it was the worst thing in the world. "I remember back when you played around here every other night. Saw these stupid things on every poster. Utterly ridiculous."

"If you weren't the so-called best in the business, I'd tell you to keep your opinions to yourself. But it's difficult to get a pair like 'em that don't fall apart in two minutes. What'll the damage be?" she asked.

The old stallion mock-sighed. "Much as I hate to let a dang kid like you walk in here and sass me for free, I billed you for the spare parts last time, and any idiot could put 'em together. No charge, Vinyl Scratch."

"You still remember that? You're more on the ball than I thought," she murmured. "Hate to see you starve, though. Call it fifty bits?"

"Fifty bits for some stupid sunglasses? Kids these days don't even know the value of money. You'll end up back on the streets if you keep this up, mark my words," Bi grumbled, taking the payment and beginning his long shuffle to the back room. "I'll throw in some spare lenses to square the cost. Come back in a few hours."

Vinyl nodded. That was her gift done and dusted. She spent a few seconds wondering what Octavia might have gotten her, before remembering that the shop was in fact quite dusty and that she had only been half-joking when she called it a health hazard. As she left, she began to wonder if there were any decent magazines in the city.

When she arrived back at the hotel room (gift in tow, wrapped and boxed by a pair of hooves delicate enough to work with fragile glass) she found Octavia sprawled on the bed like a starfish, snoring quietly with a copy of Horticulturalist Horse Quarterly over her face. Vinyl gave her a gentle nudge.

"Uhm. Wha? Vinyl? I was just taking a nap," the earth pony said, after she'd be jolted awake.

"I'd let you, but we have a train to catch in an hour or two. How did you get on with the shopping?" Vinyl asked.

"Hmph. I like how you just assume I went along with your silly game."

"Did you?"

Octavia sighed and pointed to a gift box in the corner. "Say nothing, Vinyl Scratch."

"Nothing," said Vinyl Scratch, and picked up the box. She shook it and heard something soft hit the sides.

"If I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have gotten you a cake just to see your face when it got smashed against the sides," Octavia yawned, finally dragging herself off the bed.

"For fifty bits, it'd have to be a wedding cake. Don't know if I'm ready for that kind of commitment," the unicorn deadpanned. "Mind if I open it?"

"Please do. If you don't, then I effectively spent an afternoon buying a cardboard box."

Vinyl opened the box, and lifted out the contents: a violet waistcoat and a formal collar much like Octavia's. She looked at them quizzically.

"I asked myself what my mother would do, and the answer was to buy you clothes you didn't want and then force you to wear them," Octavia explained wryly. "I'll help you put the collar on."

"You got all this? For fifty bits? The waistcoat would've been more than that by itself," Vinyl said, shrugging on her new clothes.

Octavia produced a slip of black silk. "Well, fifty bits and some eyelash fluttering. Hold still while I tie the ribbon."

"Y...you tie with your teeth?" the DJ asked, her skin prickling as Octavia's face passed dangerously close to her neck.

"Mmpf. Forgive me for not being a unicorn," she replied, the ribbon still in her mouth. With a few deft movements she had it tied. "There. Now, let me stand back and take a look at you."

She took a long second to appraise her work, then shook her head. "Drat. You don't look nearly as silly as I expected you to. I must lack my mother's talent for the tasteless. Oh well. We can always tie-die the jacket later."

"I like it how it is. Pretty sweet for the formal gigs. Your turn."

Octavia opened the gift box carefully, looked at the contents, and, to Vinyl's surprise and growing concern, began to giggle. Soon it had turned into a full-blown laughing fit.

"Hey, what's the matter? I do something wrong?" Vinyl asked, a little more panic in her voice than she wanted to admit.

"N-no, I just..." Octavia began, then lapsed back into giggles.

"Tavi," she said seriously.

"O-oh. I'm sorry, Vinyl. But you got me a pair of matching glasses," Octavia said, wiping tears from her eyes. "That's adorable."

"Jerk. I only did it because you held on to my other pair so long. I thought you might like a set for yourself," Vinyl muttered darkly.

"I love them. Definitely worth playing this silly game for," she replied, putting them on. The world was suddenly a familiar shade of violet. "I'd say you won, by the way. What do you want for a prize?"

"You to stop stressing about me getting you stuff?"

"We'll see. In the meantime, I believe a kiss is the going rate," Octavia said, and gave her one that was long and lingering. "Now, I ought to get started on packing the luggage."

A hundred bits, Vinyl thought. She'd paid a hundred bits for a single kiss. At that rate, she really might be back on the streets before long. She didn't especially find herself caring. After all, there wasn't anything she'd rather spend the money on. With that in mind, she began to prepare herself for the night's train ride-- and the city of Canterlot that lay beyond it.

Author's Note

There, folks, goes the last of what I would call the 'halcyon' chapters of Music, by which I mean chapters devoted entirely to world/character/relationship building. Every planned chapter from here on out is of some plot significance, so you could say we're going into the endgame here. Man, I'm going to miss this iteration of Vinyl and Octavia when it's done.

20) Perpetuum Mobile

-Perpetuum Mobile-
(Penguin Cafe Orchestra)

By the time the train arrived in Canterlot, it was already apparent that they were due for a sudden shower; despite the cloudless sky, the streets were full of well-bred ponies carrying umbrellas. Soon enough it began to rain in fat, cold drops that slapped noisily against the ground, and everypony who wasn't a resident of the city – Vinyl and Octavia amongst them – scattered wordlessly in search of awnings to hide under. The colours of the city streets slowly became muted by the rainfall, blending into a seamless field of gray.

Vinyl didn't speak as they hurried from ye olde shoppe to ye olde shoppe, her jaw set firm in obvious discomfort. No amount of authentic old time candy and novelty postcards could cheer her up; behind the glasses, Octavia was sure, lay a truly thunderous scowl that would only disappear when they reached the safety of the hotel. She ignored it for the moment; however unhappy Vinyl may or may not have been, letting the luggage get soaked was not the way to cheer her up.

After twenty minutes of ducking and diving, they finally reached the hotel, a two-storey building of red brick with a well-maintained but deliberately unappetising garden. It had a sign outside proclaiming that it offered 'bed and, indeed, breakfast!', as if this was a spectacular thing that nopony had ever thought of doing before, and a big brass knocker appropriated from a castle somewhere nailed to the door.

“Wondered why 'quaint' appeared ten times in the brochure,” Vinyl grunted, once they'd been comfortably installed in a room which seemed to have carpets for curtains and a knit scarf for the carpet. She examined a framed picture of the owner's cat with palpable distaste.

“Oh, it's not that bad. It has character, at least,” Octavia replied, throwing her things on the bed closest to the window.

Vinyl snorted. “Serial killers have character. This place is just a fire hazard.”

“And you're just grumpy because you have history with this city. What time is the audition scheduled for?”

“Eight in the morning, tomorrow,” Vinyl replied flatly, and threw herself down upon her bed, thoroughly ignoring the fact that it was barely mid-afternoon. “So I gotta get up early to boot. Just gotta love this city.”

Octavia sat down next to her, and shook out her mane. “Well, in that case, try to find us a train back home for about ten. That should be more than enough time to get everything done.”

“You don't wanna stick around for the day and see the sights?” the unicorn asked, her ears flicking lazily to attention.

“Well, I'm not going to let you sit in this hotel room by yourself all day, Vi,” she explained gently. “Braid, please.”

“You don't have to hurry out of here just because I don't like it.”

“Well, it isn't as though I have any particular reason for wanting to look around Canterlot. I've seen the castle before, and apart from that there's not much here that isn't in Manehattan. Besides, I'm getting a little homesick.”

“Liar. We've not even been gone a week,” the unicorn retorted. “…Thanks, though. Sorry. I just don't like being in this city.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed,” Octavia teased. “Is there anything I should know about the orchestra here?”

“Fact or opinion?”

“Both, if you have them.”

“On a purely technical level, they're pretty good, but not amazing. The Fillydelphia orchestra used to be better than them in terms of skill, before they started losing their most experienced members. Thing is, Canterlot's where the market's at. Classical is big here, and they're the official court musicians, so economically they're better off. That means they can do things a lot of smaller orchestras can't do, since they have more of a loss cushion if it falls through,” Vinyl explained, her voice flat and analytical. “Because they can afford to do crazy stuff from time to time, they ended up more as performers than technicians. They're flashy.”

“I see,” Octavia nodded. “You certainly know the industry.”

“Duh. I'm in the industry. Those were the facts, give or take. As for opinions…” Vinyl said, before hesitating. “Don't take this the wrong way, but honestly, if you weren't set on getting back into the Ponyville orchestra, I'd tell you to go join Canterlot. They're always looking for the next big thing, and when it comes to cellists, you are the next big thing.”

“I'm afraid that's out of the question. Canterlot's too far to commute, so I'd have to get a house here. Considering how you've reacted to the place thus far, that's not really an option.”

Vinyl paused for a second before saying, in a voice that was far too serious: “What if we weren't in a relationship?”

“Then we'd be friends, and I'd still want to see you regularly,” Octavia replied, a touch sharply. “You can leave that line of thinking well alone, Vinyl Scratch. I won't have you sacrificing what we've got for my career prospects.”

“Right. My bad,” Vinyl murmured. “I wouldn't worry about them rejecting you. Their management has an eye for talent. They just suck at nurturing it. Since they're pretty much the A-list when it comes to orchestras in this country, a lot of their musicians get complacent and stop improving, and the higher ups don't do much about it.”

Octavia sighed. She didn't feel comforted by Vinyl's response, but the unicorn's bad mood had worn off on her, as had the rain; she really had no desire for a protracted discussion about it. What she did have a desire for was lunch, and not the tea and scones that seemed to have been advertised in every shop they'd gone past.

“Shall we have pizza for lunch?” she asked.

“Pizza? We're staying in a town famous for fancy bakeries and high-class restaurants, and you want to order pizza? You have no idea how attractive I find that. Sign me up for green peppers and pineapple,” Vinyl replied, finally cracking a grin.

Octavia smiled. It was easier to cheer Vinyl up than she'd thought it would be. Now she just had to go wandering the streets of Canterlot to find a pizzeria.

“Aha. You must be misses Octavia and Vinyl. Please, come this way,” the receptionist said in a smooth voice, gliding her way effortlessly across polished marble floors. “We've heard some very interesting things about you through the grapevine.”

“What you mean is, you've got flunkies working in Filly and Manehattan,” Vinyl grouched. The early wakeup had not been kind to her, and she'd spent the journey from the hotel to the music hall casting her eyes around in suspicion, as if expecting somepony to lurch around the corner and confront her at any time.

The receptionist gave them a very polite, very fake laugh. “You make it sound as though Manehattan and Filly haven't got – ahem – 'flunkies' working for us. We often take bets on who they are. My money is on Hoofgang and Shoebert, personally.”

Vinyl narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Nice that you're so upfront about it. I guess it's not like you can't outbid them if you hear about somepony you want.”

Octavia trailed along behind them as they walked, trying her best to keep her mind full of music rather than politics. She had all the time in the world to puzzle out what was going on in the music business, but less than five minutes to her audition, and she thought it wiser to think in staccatos and allegros than about inter-orchestral backstabbing.

They were led to a hall which was perhaps the largest Octavia had ever seen, and which had plainly been designed with acoustics in mind. Like everything else in building, every surface had been meticulously polished, and the wooden floors were more like bronze mirrors in their lustre.

“How do you like the room? It can house several hundred ponies, and we had the floor especially made for dancers,” the receptionist told her in glowing tones. “We hold several dedicated dance events a month–”

“Yeah, right. Even the most well-polished dancefloor has scuffs on it. Take it from a professional DJ – nopony dances here,” Vinyl retorted.

“They could if they wanted to,” the receptionist sniffed.

“Obviously they don't. I get that you're paid to deliver the sales pitch, but stick to the facts,” the DJ said coolly. The receptionist shot her a look full of venom, and pointed Octavia to the stage.

“The directors will be watching from the balcony seats. You may begin in your own time, miss Octavia. As for you, miss Vinyl, please take a seat and be quiet.”

“If I thought her performances were bad enough to talk through, I wouldn't be her manager,” she said, but took a seat anyway.

Octavia got out her instrument, cast her eyes respectfully to the balcony seats (she could see nopony waiting there), and began her performance with a flowing, classical refrain that had always put her in the mind of rivers. From there, she simply built, gradually shifting her pace and timbre until the piece was more akin to a lively pastoral jig, the sound of a bustling riverside village; soon, traces of jazz were creeping in, turning the piece into something more urbane, more townlike. She ended with a regal flourish, fitting for hall she was playing in. As she played, she kept her eyes set on her audience, fixed on the purple glint of Vinyl's glasses.

When she had taken her bow, a round of applause (carefully measured and neutral) sounded from somewhere above her. The receptionist had disappeared, evidently slipping out of the room in the middle of the performance. Vinyl gave no indication that she knew the piece had ended save for adjusting her glasses, but wore a strangely satisfied smile.

“I did well?” Octavia asked her.

“It was pretty good. Could have stood to be ten or twenty minutes longer,” Vinyl replied, smoky as always.

“In other words, an encore?”

The DJ didn't reply, but didn't correct her, either.

After a few minutes had passed, the receptionist bustled back in, announcing her presence with a cough. Vinyl coughed back pointedly, and earned herself another sour look for her trouble.

“The directors wish to see you. Both of you. This way, please.”

She escorted them primly to the entrance of the balcony, before turning on her heel and leaving without a word. Octavia permitted herself a roll of the eyes before going ahead, pushing through the curtains and into the most prestigious seats in the hall. There, to her great surprise, she found only one pony: a stallion with a vaguely raffish mane and a gold earring hanging from one ear.

“A-ha! It seems, I must congratulate you on a very fine performance. Very versatile,” he enthused. The way he spoke seemed somewhat odd to her; there was something strange about the way he paced his words.

“Your receptionist said directors. Plural, Clopin. Where's the rest of them?” the DJ asked, bringing up the rear. She spoke with a certain grudging familiarity.

“I am trusted with the responsibility of speaking for those of us who cannot be here today. As you say, though, that number is somewhat disappointing. It has been a long time, Vinyl Scratch,” he replied, drawing out the 'ch'. “I did not expect to see you in this city again.”

Vinyl lowered her glasses and scowled. “Believe me, that's an expectation I tried to live up to. What's the verdict?”

“Guilty, of course. I kid. Your friend certainly lives up to her reputation. Perhaps a little more than that. We don't have many good cellists nowadays; the youngsters, they live by the violins and the guitar,” he said mournfully, before turning to Octavia and giving her a glowing smile. “For such a talented and beautiful lady, I believe we can make a generous offer.”

“Aha. Well, yes. Um. You should probably make it to my talented and beautiful manager. She knows more about the business aspect of these things than I do,” Octavia replied, with a certain amount of discomfort. This was a long way from what she had expected.

“Speaking of,” Clopin said, still with the same smile, “I ran into Mizz Nickel Scratch the other day, at one of Lord Twopenny's soirées. Rumour in town has it that you are seeking a reunion, yes?”

“No,” the unicorn replied, her voice dangerously level. “Get on with the offer.”

“But she is your mother, no? It would be simplicity itself to-”

“Mr. Clopin, I am afraid we simply don't have time to discuss this. Due to various circumstances, we booked an early train back to Ponyville. We'll be out of the city before noon. I hate to be rude, but please can we stick to the business at hoof?” Octavia cut in smoothly. Vinyl gave her a grateful nod.

“A shame,” Clopin sighed. “I had hoped for a chance to guide you around the city. It is our policy at Canterlot to get to know our potential new stars. Oh well. I assume that you are reporting things to Madame Emi, correct? In that case, please inform her that our offer is whatever the next highest offer is...plus, shall we say, half again.”

“Got it. Come on, Tavi. Train to catch and all,” the DJ said, still somewhat sharply.

“Oh, right. It's been a pleasure talking to you,” Octavia nodded towards the stallion, before following in Vinyl's hurried footsteps. “Slow down, Vi. I can hardly keep up. I have an instrument to carry, you know.”

The unicorn slowed, although she didn't entirely stop until she was well out of the building. Octavia felt her hair being played with, in a way that suggested her friend was far too aggravated to bother with the intricacies of braiding.

“Sorry,” Vinyl started, before taking a deep breath. “Didn't think that jerk would be handling the audition.”

“Is he that bad? How do you know him, anyway?”

“I used to live here before my mom ripped me off. He used to be into punk rock, so we got along. Decent guy, but that's what makes him a jerk. Doesn't know when to quit 'helping',” she snorted. “I can't believe he flirted with you.”

“Why not? You don't seem to have any trouble doing it, when you want to,” Octavia remarked lightly, before taking a gentler tone. “Let's go home, Vi. We've done everything we needed to do.”

“Yeah. We have. Now that we've got the offers, my manager will look at them and let the right information trickle down to the right ponies. Your maestro will be begging to have you back,” the unicorn said finally, satisfied that her plan was in motion. “Let's get out of this city.”

Octavia nodded. In her heart of hearts, she was somewhat sad to have this time end; she'd had fun travelling around the country by train, staying at hotels and enjoying her partner's company. Some of the most enjoyable times in recent memory had been spent in a cosy berth, listening to Vinyl read magazines and occasionally having stupid arguments about sleeping arrangements.

However, there always came a time where one needed to go home. While travelling, she thought as they picked their way through the Canterlot streets, they had built a relationship. But when they got home, they could begin building a life.

Author's Note

Oh man, awkward ending ahoy. Oh well. At least the chapter's done. Next time plot happens quite hard.

21) Star Catching Girl

-Star Catching Girl-
(Brother Brown)

When the sun hit her face, Octavia opened her eyes, rolled out of bed, and groaned. She'd gotten barely an hour's sleep in the three days since her return to Ponyville, regardless of how hard she tried. After spending time sleeping in trains and hotel rooms in big cities, the silence of nights in a small village seemed almost deafening to her. Had it always been so quiet? She couldn't tell.

Still, it was refreshing to wake up ('wake up', as if she hadn't been awake for the entire night anyway) alone in the mornings. By some unspoken agreement, she and Vinyl hadn't seen each other since they'd gotten back; after all, they'd been in near-constant contact with each other for almost a week, and everypony needed a little time to themselves. It was telling that Octavia half-expected to find her sitting at the kitchen table when she came down, staring balefully into a bowl of cornflakes and doing the crossword in a glossy magazine. When your imagination started tricking you like that, it was time for a break.

Satisfied that Vinyl had not, in fact, broken into her kitchen and made merry with her cereal supply, Octavia poured herself a bowl, sat down at the table, and started thinking of what she was actually going to do. By far the biggest problem since she'd gotten back was filling the hours until news from Vinyl's manager trickled through; she was, after all, unemployed and unused to it. The first day she'd spent appraising her garden, rigorously feeding, de-weeding and watering, but it was only a small garden, and plants only needed so much attention. By the second day she was already running out of ideas; she'd spent time lounging around the house, cleaning the kitchen that she never used, rereading a few old books she'd inherited from the previous occupant, and eventually just going to bed a few hours early out of boredom. And all of that was after doing her usual practice one-and-a-half times over.

Today, she toyed idly with the idea of seeing if Lyra, Ditzy and perhaps even Cloudkicker were interested in a mare's night out. It had been a while since she'd really gotten together with them, and it was certain to be entertaining. But then, there'd be the obligatory gossiping session halfway through, and she'd have so much to explain – not only had she been fired, but she'd started a relationship and went on a trip around the country.

Happily, the decision was taken out of her hooves when she heard a knock at her door. Octavia fell still for a moment, concentrating on the sound; sure enough, it was a measure for measure percussive rendition of a recent pop song. She smiled. No need for a doorbell when your caller was a musician. She paused to run a brush through her mane before going to greet Vinyl.

“Wow. You're a wreck,” Vinyl greeted.

“Oh, sorry. The correct answer was, 'Good morning, Octavia. You look good today.' Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred bits,” she sighed, waving the DJ in.

Vinyl walked past her into the kitchen, and stared (balefully, of course) at Octavia's cornflakes. After a second, she nonchalantly sat down and began eating them. “Never said I didn't like it. Nothing wrong with a punk aesthetic. Especially not on you.”

Octavia sighed and poured herself another bowl. “Five points for a successful recovery. So, did you just come here to flirt and steal cereal, or has there been any news in regards to the job situation?”

“All of the above. I got word from my manager. She's in town, so I'm gonna meet her later today and get some info on what's happening. She says she wants you to come, too, but I'll leave it up to you.”

“Why wouldn't I want to come?” Octavia asked.

“Usually when I see my manager face to face, we go out drinking. It's like a tradition. Don't know if you're into that kind of thing,” Vinyl said, and momentarily paused, as if annoyed that she didn't.

“Well, I can always just have a glass or two and then beat a hasty retreat. Or we can talk business first and then I can let you two go drinking. I'm not much for it, myself. Outside of extenuating circumstances,” Octavia added, seeing Vinyl's eyes flick to the place on the counter where the wine bottles had been.

“That's cool. She's not free until six, though. You doing anything today? I liked that thing you did with the progressive genre changes back in Canterlot, so I've been working on a track using the idea since we got back. I've just about finished it, so I was looking for an opinion,” the unicorn said, her voice becoming more focused as she got to the subject of music.

“I'd love that. I haven't had the chance to hear you play privately before.”

“Well, it's more of a production track. I won't be mixing anything. I can if you want, though. I also wanted to get you to help me out with a few cello samples.”

“A jam session isn't quite as romantic, but it'll do. Why don't we go out, do something, grab some lunch and then go back to your house?”

“Sounds good,” the unicorn replied, before pausing. “…If I tell you something dumb, will you laugh at me?”

“Not if it's something you don't want me to. If it's a dumb joke, then maybe,” Octavia winked.

“…I never really realised how big my house is until yesterday. I woke up in the morning and the whole place was just empty. I only use the music room and my bedroom, so I never even bothered putting furniture in the rest of the place,” the unicorn shrugged, trying a touch too hard to be nonchalant. “I like your house better.”

“Well, I suppose it is a little more cosy. I'd say we could come back here instead of going to yours, but unfortunately, I have these things called neighbours, and they would almost certainly object to the noise we'd be making,” Octavia said, and pushed her bowl away. “Now, I'm going to go and shower, so I don't have to spend the day looking like a punk rocker. Before you ask, you may not join me.”

Vinyl smirked, and nudged her temple. “I wasn't going to. You're the one with that stuff on the brain.”

Octavia frowned, and looked over the conversation in her head; to her surprise, that was exactly what it looked like. It was probably nothing, she thought. But best to make hers a cold shower, just in case.

Ponyville's tavern (which was most definitely not a bar, the owner insisted, although he never really explained the difference) was...wooden. The floorboards were made of wood, the counter was made of wood, and the stools were made of wood. Some parts, like the darts board and the window frames, were made of a different flavour of wood. The only reason the mugs weren't made of wood was because everypony kept getting splinters in their lips.

To the citizens of Ponyville, however, that was just what their tavern was. If you took away the woodenness, it simply wouldn't be their tavern. And then where would they drink? It was an establishment that was loved for, despite and because of its flaws.

It was also loved for the fact that it was within a stone's throw of the region's best apple orchard, and had a tendency to use them for its own in-house alcoholic cider (served warm or cold as the customer desired). It bought pretzels en masse from Sugarcube Corner and warmed them up on hotplates when the customers rolled in, and there was always a pie of some kind baking in the oven. The barkeeps were strictly local, and paid to guide stragglers back to their houses. As the owner liked to say, you got three things when you came to the tavern: you got dinner, you got drunk, and you got home, which was all anypony could really ask.

It wasn't a busy evening when Vinyl and Octavia walked in. The likely faces were all there (as well as Berry Punch, who seldom wasn't), but the more excitable customers were evidently busy saving the world or some equally important pastime.

“So, what does your manager look like?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl took a moment to snap back to reality, her mind still on the afternoon's jam session, tumbling over notes and beats and chords. “She looks like my manager.”

“How helpful.”

“No, I'm serious. She goes out of her way to be inconspicuous so she can scout new talent easier. I'll know her when I see her,” the unicorn said. The 'probably' was only implied.

For the next few minutes Vinyl made her rounds of the tavern, giving each pony a once over and moving on to the next. She didn't bother being subtle about it. Octavia trailed behind her issuing quiet apologies to anypony who looked offended. After a few circuits, the unicorn pulled out a bar stool, motioned for Octavia to sit at the next one, turned to the mare on her other side and said, in a deliberate tone, “Hey, boss.”

“You got me,” the pony conceded. “Shall we talk business first, or are we drinking?”

Although she took a long, hard look at the mare, Octavia found it nearly impossible to describe her. There was no salient point about her, no one thing to identify her by; she looked a little bit like everypony else. If she were in a crowd, she'd be the one left of the middle with the blurred, nondescript face. She wore earrings, tiny gold ones, but that was the closest she got to standing out.

“Business. Octavia, this is my manager, Emi.”

“Good to meet you. I've seen you play before, but I don't think we've spoken,” the mare said, and extended a hoof for Octavia to shake. “I hear rumours that there's a romance going on between you two.”

“Er-”

“There is,” Vinyl answered bluntly.

Emi gave them a bright smile. “Oh, wonderful! It's been so long since you've had a love life. Do you mind if I tell the tabloids about this? The publicity would be insane.”

“No tabloids. You know the rules, boss.”

“Always worth a try, though,” she replied, still wearing the same smile. “Good luck to you two, by the way.”

“Ah…Thank you,” Octavia said, the uncertainty slipping through in her voice. For such a bland appearance, the impression the mare gave was powerful indeed: kind, very blunt, and cheerfully amoral. Something about the direct way she behaved and spoke was very close to how Vinyl was sometimes; Octavia wondered if the DJ had picked it up from her.

“So, business! I have news,” Emi began.

“Would that be good news, or bad news?” Octavia enquired.

“'All news is bad news for somepony',” Vinyl and Emi said together, Vinyl reciting it like a bored foal reading lines from a blackboard and Emi speaking like a wise old hermit.

“On one hoof, your main plan – getting the maestro to hire you again out of spite for his old schoolfriend in Canterlot – failed completely.”

Vinyl began to frown. Emi saw it and laughed. “I'm always surprised by how badly you take failure. It was nothing to do with you this time. The guy just had other things to worry about.”

“But this still leaves me without a job, does it not?” Octavia asked.

“Well, sort of,” Emi shrugged. “I'm fully capable of pulling a few strings and getting it back for you, and I wouldn't mind doing so, but I'm not going to. You know why?”

Octavia shook her head. Behind her back, she felt the warm glow of magic begin to braid her hair, but got the feeling it was more for her comfort than anypony else's.

“Because you'd only have to look for a new one when the place goes bust in six weeks.”

“Wait, what?” Octavia gasped. She'd known it wasn't exactly an affluent music hall, but bust?

“Oh, yeah. You wouldn't believe how far in the red that place is. Why did you think they made such a fuss about the night with all the rich patrons – the one you got kicked out for? They were trying to get some donations, extend the lifespan a bit.”

“You aren't saying it's Octavia's fault.” It was more a statement than a question, flat and toneless and full of smoke.

“Oh, no. She's not that important. Honestly, the place was beyond all hope. Maybe it would have lasted a couple of weeks more if she she'd stuck to the sheet music, but it was on its way out,” Emi shrugged. She paused and went through the menu, before adding as a belated afterthought: “No offence, of course.”

“None taken,” Octavia replied, more out of habit than anything else; her mind was still on the music hall. There had been no sudden lay-offs, no drop in the maintenance of the site. Certainly, the paint peeled from the walls in places, and the floorboards had been scuffed, and they never quite had enough chairs somehow, but it hadn't seemed in dire straights. “What caused all this?” she wondered aloud.

“Probably mismanagement. I didn't think about it at the time, but I always wondered why you were always playing classical in an area where folk and techno are way bigger,” Vinyl replied, nudging her temple. “Said it before, didn't I? Your maestro's an idiot.”

“I shall miss him. The more idiots there are in the business, the less I have to compete with,” Emi sniffed, before returning to the same easy, cheerful tone she had been using throughout the conversation. “Anyway, I should be getting back to my accommodations. I need to take stock of today's changes in the industry. Do let me know what you decide to do, Octavia; I'm sure I can be persuaded to help.”

She pulled out a business card and wrote an address on it in loopy, elegant hoofwriting, before passing it over to Octavia. Then, she turned to Vinyl. “We should have at least one drink before I go. Tradition.”

“Tradition,” the DJ agreed, and ordered two glasses of Sweet Apple Scrumpy. “You in, Octavia?”

“I'll pass. It's your tradition, after all; I don't want to intrude. What's the story behind it, anyway?” she asked.

“To put it simply, I met Vinyl back when she was quite into the party scene. I wanted to scout her, but when I asked if she was interested in a manager, she told me that she wouldn't work for anypony she couldn't drink with. Long story short, we both went out and got very drunk, and I've been her manager since then.”

“Bottoms up, boss,” Vinyl said, and unceremoniously drained her tankard in one go. After a moment's hesitation, Emi did likewise; upon finishing, she shivered then winced.

“There,” she said, giving her empty tankard a sour, almost paranoid look. “I shall be in town tomorrow, and moving off after that. Keep me informed.” With that, she stood up and left, never looking back.

“Don't worry,” Vinyl said, seeing Octavia's look of concern. “She doesn't actually like the whole drinking thing – before she cleaned up and joined the music industry, she was a pretty bad drunk. When we drink together…it's like a trust thing, I guess. She makes a personal sacrifice to keep me on her payroll, so I know I'm worth more than a payslip. Maybe that's weird.”

“No. It's just the way you two work, I suppose. But, my job… Oh, Vi. What should I do?”

Vinyl nudged her temple, and stared into the bottom of her tankard. The flow of thought through her mind was almost palpable. But, even as the tavern grew ever noisier, Vinyl said nothing. Perhaps, Octavia realised, it was because she didn't like the answer.

Author's Note

I'm using the non-American definition of cider for the purposes of this chapter. Scrumpy, for those unfamiliar, is a term for ciders derived from a certain portion of England, much like champagne is a term for sparkling wine from the Champagne region of France; scrumpy usually carries implications that the drink was made in small quantities and using traditional methods i.e. not mass produced. This ends your booze culture lesson for today.

This is eh to me, mainly because I had to spend most of it doing plot. This is another candidate for a post-story touch up once I've got some distance.

22) She's Got A Way

-She's Got A Way-
(Billy Joel)

Octavia was still awake when the hands of the clock hit seven that morning. She couldn't sleep, and hadn't. The same had not been true of Vinyl, who had fallen into slumber so deep it was like a coma, only the occasional flick of her tail suggesting she was alive at all. She slept curled into herself, as tiny as possible, like a frightened child. The room still smelled of apples from the night before.

Slowly, Octavia let out her breath (which she hadn't even realised she'd been holding) in a great, exhausted sigh. She'd spent most of the night trying to think of a way out of her predicament; when it had been to no avail, she'd moved to watching the hands of the clock move, hoping beyond hope that some wise, unconscious part of her brain would suddenly pop up with the right answer. It hadn't happened.

Shortly after half past eight, the unicorn awoke, snapping upright like a coiled spring. She saw Octavia, blinked, and passed her gaze across the rest of the room, not recognising it. The whirring of her mind was almost palpable.

“Relax. You're in my bedroom. I'd have cleaned it, but I wasn't expecting to bring you back,” Octavia said, and her voice sounded as it always did. The banality, the sheer mundaneness of it, was comforting.

“…I was going to say something about the carpet. But you don't sound like you're up for the comedy routine,” Vinyl murmured, and Octavia wondered what tiny inflection the unicorn had heard that she hadn't. “Let's get breakfast. Then we need to talk.”

The kitchen was chilly when they went downstairs, and Octavia wasted no time in putting the kettle on for tea and coffee, whilst Vinyl rummaged through the cupboards in search of cereal and milk. Then they sat facing each other, silent, waiting for each other's permission to begin.

“You never answered me last night.”

The unicorn lowered her gaze a little. “Didn't know how to phrase it.”

“I don't mind how you phrase it, Vinyl. I'll work it out. I'll ask again: what do you think I should do?” Octavia asked, her voice gentle.

Vinyl took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but a spark of magic shot across her horn. The bowls rattled as the entire table fought to escape the ground, listing slightly on one side; furiously, the unicorn slammed her hooves down and forced it back to the floor. She paused, took another breath and said, in a wretched, defeated voice: “You should go to Canterlot.”

“I thought that was what you'd say. Vi, I-”

“No! No, Tavi. Listen. How long have you known me? Maybe a month, right? Feels longer, but that's all it is. Just a month. Your career's gotta last you your whole life. You can't go throwing it away for… for some relationship that's barely old enough to be a fling yet!” Vinyl spat, and her hatred for the herself for saying it was written in every muscle of her face. “Be smart, Tavi. Nopony could blame you for doing it. It's just how it works out sometimes.”

“Vinyl. Thank you for being honest, but I can always go to Filly or Manehattan-” Octavia began.

“And what? There's hundreds of musicians in Manehattan, Tavi, and most of them are so hard-up they'd kill for a slice of bread. You're good, but you think you can stand out and have your talent recognised in that crowd? What about Filly, huh? You'd be the youngest musician in their orchestra by about ten years. What're you going to do when they all start retiring and the place starts to die on its hooves? You deserve better, Tavi.”

Octavia frowned. “Why? It's not like the extra money would make me happier. I've got no use for fame, either. I'd much rather-”

The table rattled dangerously again, and Vinyl forced it down once more. “Besides,” she said, almost desperately, “who says you'd be leaving me behind? I mean, I'd have to face my mom sooner or later. I'd rather do it with you there, so I'd come along too-”

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said, soft, and firm, and full of smoke. Finally, the unicorn met her eye. In Vinyl's gaze, Octavia saw not sadness, nor anger, but fear; fear that she would actually agree, fear of what would happen if she did. “I am not. Going. To Canterlot.”

Once more the table struggled to leave the ground, but Octavia pushed it gently, irresistibly to the floor. “A career is a career. But it's not my life, and I won't sacrifice the way I feel to better it. I could be rich, famous and unhappy, or I could stay away from Canterlot. I have chosen the latter.”

“But… What are you going to do, then?” Vinyl asked, confused and relieved in equal measure.

Octavia let the question ring in her mind. Something was shifting; that wise, unconscious part of her was finally waking up. It was the part that gambled and won every time. It was the part that spoke in treble clefs and staccatos, that whispered in her ear when she played. It acted on impulse, and let itself be kissed in dusty rooms full of instruments. All she had to do was trust it.

“…I'm going to go and see your manager. No doubt she has a few suggestions, and I have a few questions to ask her,” Octavia replied finally. She hadn't known she had questions, but now she'd said it, she had quite a lot of them.

“You want me to come with?” the unicorn asked.

“No. Call it intuition, but I think she'd rather I came alone. Easier to size me up, I suppose. All I want you to do is be here when I get back,” the earth pony said. “Now, where are my sunglasses? I should be wearing them.”

“…I trust you, Tavi. Whatever you end up doing, I support it,” Vinyl said, her voice finally returning to an approximation of her normal tone. “Be careful. Emi's clever.”

Octavia returned, violet glasses perched on her nose. “Yes, yes. It'll be fine. Could you brush your teeth before I get back? I want to kiss you, and your breath smells of alcohol. Oh, and feel free to use the shower. I'm going now. Wish me luck!”

When the door slammed, Vinyl sighed. Barely nine 'o clock in the morning, and already she was exhausted. The thought that they were relying on luck wasn't comforting in the slightest. But then, the ball was out of her court. Alone in an empty house, it was much harder to trust that everything would be fine. Eventually, she shrugged, and went to brush her teeth.

The address on the business card led to a small cottage a little way outside of town. Ponyville was only a small village, so it didn't have much in the way of hotels. You could hire a cottage for an evening, but there were only a few, so it was never guaranteed you'd have a spot unless you arranged it well in advance.

“Oh, you're very early. I wasn't expecting you to have reached a decision so soon. Please, come in,” Emi said when she opened the door.

The interior of the cottage was much as Octavia had predicted it would be: cautiously neutral, with a few carefully placed pictures and statuettes to give it a rustic feel. In the middle of the room was a desk, on which stacks of paper had carefully been arranged; it was there that Emi seated herself.

“Are you sure you don't want to spend a little more time thinking about things? Only idiots rush decisions,” Emi said, with the same mix of cheerful abrasiveness she'd had the night before.

Octavia smiled politely, and reminded herself: think like Vinyl. “Actually, I haven't made my decision. I was actually hoping to get your take on things. As someone who knows the industry very well, I'm sure your advice would be very helpful.”

“Clever girl. Always good to seek an expert opinion. Of course, in this case, the expert opinion would be 'follow the money', so Canterlot's your best bet.”

“Sadly, I have already decided for personal reasons that Canterlot would not be the ideal solution, but I appreciate your input. May I ask you a few more questions?” she asked, as innocuously as she knew how.

Emi considered for a second, as if weighing the costs and benefits of the action. She shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

“Thank you,” Octavia replied. “Well, then. My first question is, quite simply: why are you in Ponyville?”

Emi's smile did not change. “To deliver the news to you and Vinyl, of course.”

Octavia's smile became chilly. “Miss Emi, I don't believe that at all. There was no reason why you, a busy mare in the music industry with many employees, would have to deliver the news personally. In fact, you had every reason to avoid doing so, seeing as Vinyl makes you drink every time. In addition, you immediately went back to working after you'd told us, so it wasn't as though you didn't have better things to do. Moreover, I happen to know that these cottages need to be booked at least three weeks in advance. You were planning your visit long before I and Vinyl even set out.”

“Well, I don't see what all this suspicion is for. Even if I was in Ponyville for any other reason, it would be my business, wouldn't it?” Emi replied.

“That it would,” Octavia conceded. “My next question is: how did you predict when the Ponyville music hall would go bust? To say it would go bust is nothing special, but to give it the specific timeframe of six weeks would require you to have seen the company's balance sheet. That information is public, but it takes time to request it from the authorities. Time, and a proactive effort. Even if you used your, shall we say, 'connections' to get that information quickly, it isn't the sort of thing you simply stumble across. And I very much doubt you have time to personally look at the finances of every little music hall in the country, especially ones in little villages like this one.”

Emi's smile faded. “What, exactly, are you trying to imply?”

“I'm implying nothing. But do you know what I think? I think you have an interest in our music hall, and have done for a while now. I think your real reason for being here is to take a good, long look at it. I think, Miss Emi, that you're interested in buying it out,” Octavia continued.

Emi's smile returned, but it was a little more sly, a little self-satisfied. “And why, Octavia, would I want to do that?”

“Why not? After all, music halls are expensive to construct, what with having to design around the acoustics. Why not simply pick one up, at greatly reduced prices, when it goes bust? You can renovate it for your own purposes afterwards. Our Maestro has been there for years, and he's always run it the same way; the fact it took so long to go bust, despite his efforts, indicates that a smarter pony could make some profit.”

“Very good, Octavia,” Emi said quietly. “You know, I had some ponies watch you two as you went around the country, and their reports were always the same: you were the pony that stood back and let Vinyl do all the talking. Even when I met you yesterday, you were quite content to look on as we talked, not really contributing anything. I took you for one of those quite, airheaded ponies who can play an instrument and not much else. I'm pleased to see that isn't the case.”

“Yes, I admit that I sat back and watched as Vinyl did the talking for us. But how do you think I learned how to do this?” Octavia asked delicately.

“One of those ponies who observes quietly, then puts what they've learned into action… Good to know,” Emi said, her smile growing wider. “Now, I'll be asking you a question. Where, Octavia, is the real money in the music business?”

“Not in the orchestras?”

“Correct. The real money is in the singers. A good orchestra performance will attract, perhaps, two hundred ponies. Those two hundred ponies will see it as a rare cultural experience, a once-in-a-while treat. That's for an entire orchestra. Get yourself one good star – just the one – and you can attract thousands of screaming fans, who'll buy merchandise, follow them around the country, worship the ground they walk on. If you set up three concerts in a week, those thousand fans will be at all three of them,” Emi explained, standing up. “Second question. Why am I telling you this?”

“Because it relates to your plans for the music hall?” Octavia asked.

“Precisely. That music hall is an investment, Octavia. Even the best singers struggle without instruments to back them up. I want that music hall to be a place where I can collect the best of the best in one place, ready to give my stars the support they need. I want it to be a place where I can have tracks recorded without farming it out to private establishments – and those music hall acoustics will help with that. Lastly, I want it to be a place where I can train the next generation of talented musicians, so I always have an edge on the competition,” Emi finished. “That is why I'm here in Ponyville.”

Octavia frowned. “I see.”

“And now that I've told you, you can leave. I answered your questions. I don't see how it'll help you make your mind up, but there it is,” the mare said, returning to her old cheerful voice. “Unless… You have something else you'd like to say?”

It was a challenge. There was no denying it. If she said just the right words, in just the right way, she could make something amazing happen. But she was talking to one of the biggest names in the business, with uncountable faceless employees behind her; if she got this wrong, there was a chance that life as a musician would be made very, very difficult for her. It might be safer to simply walk away.

"I'm better," Vinyl shrugged, and put down her magazine. It was a statement, not an opinion. "I look forward to beating you."
"My apologies, but you'll be waiting a while," Octavia glared.

Octavia was not in the habit of turning down a challenge. She threw back her shoulders, raised her head, looked Emi in the eye, and said, very clearly and firmly: “Hire me.”

“Better and better,” the mare murmured, her smile growing ever wider. “What do you have to offer my company?”

“Everything,” she said. “If you're aiming to run it as a school, you'll need a manager. For that, you'll need somepony local, who can deal with difficult ponies diplomatically, who knows the premises and who knows how to play music. All those are qualities I possess. Furthermore, I feel your first step will be to recruit promising musicians in the area, most of whom I'm well-acquainted with. And, as I'm sure you'll agree, I'm hardly a pony who should be taken lightly on the intellectual front.”

“Straight to the point. You really did pick up a few things from Vinyl. Well, well. Given your performance today, I think I can certainly find a place for you on my payroll. Now, as for the issue of wages. Will the same wage you had at the Ponyville music hall suffice?”

“With all the new responsibilities? I think not. I think I'd be looking at Fillydelphia's offer for my services, at the very least,” Octavia sniffed.

“That's a fairly big increase you're talking about. Given that I know your priority is to stay in Ponyville, and this post is the only real way to achieve that, I think I can get you for a little bit less,” Emi said, standing up. “But I might be persuaded to stretch to it, with a condition or two.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Which is?”

“I'll be needing a good cellist to support the vocalists. At present, your duties would be limited to management of the premises and employees themselves. If you were to sign a contract with me to act as an in-house musician as well, I could certainly match Filly's offer.”

“Done,” Octavia said. “I wouldn't be satisfied just managing and not playing, anyway.”

“Wonderful. I'll have the contracts sent along by the end of the day. I'm looking forward to working with you, Octavia,” Emi said, and held out a hoof to shake.

“I'm sure. Next time we meet, we really must have a drink together. I understand it's traditional among your employees.”

Vinyl started as the door burst open. She'd looked through Octavia's bookshelves and had selected, at random, The Diaries Of Sam Mule Pepys for some early morning reading.

“How'd it go?” she asked, as Octavia all-but-skipped towards her.

“Fantastic. Couldn't have gone better. The contracts will be along. You were very helpful,” Octavia said.

“Wait. Contracts? What? How was I helpful?” Vinyl asked, blinking.

“You're always helpful. Well, most of the time,” she said, and drew the unicorn into a long, lingering kiss. “Good, you brushed your teeth. Did you shower?”

“Uh, no?” Vinyl replied, very confused and somewhat out of breath.

“Well, come on then. I'm sure there'll be enough hot water for two.”

“Wait. Are you serious?” Vinyl asked, one ear flat.

“Yes. Strictly for hygienic reasons, of course. Once we're done with the admin this evening I intend to take you out for dinner, and I could use an extra pair of hooves to make sure my mane is clean,” she teased.

“Phew. I was getting worried we were moving too fast there,” Vinyl said.

“Don't worry. We don't have to rush, Vinyl. I'm not going anywhere,” Octavia replied, with her very brightest smile. “We have all the time in the world.”

Author's Note

Alternate title: "hide yo kids, hide yo wife, Octavia finally gets proactive about the situation." In my headcanon, Octamom is an Octavia who has learned to use her musician's intuition 100% of the time.

Epilogue: Finished Symphony

-Finished Symphony [Hybrid's Soundtrack Edit]-
(Hybrid)

Dear Mom,
Sorry it took us a while to sit down and write a letter to you. It's been pretty hectic on our end, so we haven't had a whole bunch of time.

In the end, we managed to stay in Ponyville, but it was more complicated than we thought it was going to be. Turned out that the music hall was going bust, so that whole audition thing we were doing was pointless. Then it turned out that my manager was buying the place out, and Tavi somehow managed to swing things so she got a job at the new establishment. Seeing as Emi's got middle-management coming out of her ears, Tavi must've really impressed her. (She got hired as a musician, too, but I saw that one coming a mile away.)

Obviously, since it takes a while for a music hall to go out of business and get remodelled (they only announced liquidation a couple days ago), we've been focusing on the musician side of the contract. Pretty much the first thing Emi did was ship Tavi out of Ponyville to Manehattan, to study under the orchestra there and get some experience in genres that aren't classical. I tagged along, of course. Feels weird after we spent so much effort trying not to end up working in a different town, but it's only temp work. Tavi's got a job to go back to when she's home, and that's the important thing.

(…Honestly, I'm having a little trouble keeping up with her. She's pretty cool-headed most of the time, but every so often I'll say something, and she'll just go crazy and do three days worth of work in a couple of hours. It's insane. You can't even argue with her when she gets like that. I don't mind it, but I always get caught up trying to compete and end up wrecked the next day. Has she always been like this?)

As for me, I've been gigging a lot, and also helping out with the scouting for the new place. We picked up a pretty cool saxophonist we met busking one time, and signed her up. Her name's Brass Horn. Since the job we got for her wasn't ready yet, Tavi talked me into dragging her along to Manehattan with us, and we've had some pretty cool jam sessions. It's surprising what you can do with a cello, a sax and some decent decks. If we can snag a drummer and a vocalist, we might have a band on our hooves. There's a filly in Ponyville who might turn into a great singer, but her cutie mark hasn't shown yet. I know her sister, so I might see if she's interested when the time comes.

In terms of our relationship, I haven't had to use your advice yet. We're taking it slow, getting used to being close to each other. I worry sometimes about screwing everything up. Well, more than sometimes, I guess. A lot of the time. She's pretty important to me. Guess that's something I'll just have to deal with. I feel like, if I did, and we gave it enough time, we could take this relationship to the next level. Maybe even all the way. That's what I want, anyway.

Sorry. That got off topic. It'd be pretty cool if I could talk to you about this stuff, though. You probably know more about relationships than I do. I can understand if you'd rather not, though.

Anyway, sorry we didn't have time to write to you before now. We'll be in Manehattan a little while longer, but we're planning on stopping by Filly on the way back to Ponyville, so we'll see you then. Octavia's looking forward to it, and I am too, I guess. We hope you're well, and that everything's going smoothly on your end.

Sincerely,
Vinyl Scratch

P.S: I didn't actually get your name the first time round, and Tavi won't tell me. She says it's fine if I call you Mom. Feels a little weird to me, but I'll get used to it. You're cool with that, right?

Author's Note

Well, there it is, folks. I didn't really want to hang around with the epilogue, since that implies the story has a definite end; as a slice of life piece, it really doesn't. This was just meant to be a very quiet, simple dénouement for a very quiet, simple story. There's one more thing I'd like to do with this Vinyl and Octavia, but I'll be making that into its own oneshot. I hope you've all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and thanks for all the support.

1) Dare

Dare
(Gorillaz)

With a curt smile, DJ P0N-3 looked Octavia straight in the eye, and removed her glasses. Without the violet lenses to hide it, her gaze betrayed her as a pony who was quietly, ruthlessly formidable. Behind those red eyes lay an unflinching soul.
Octavia held the gaze. If there was one thing she was not afraid of, it was an audience.

"You're a good musician," P0N-3 said quietly, and replaced her glasses. "I enjoyed your concert."

"You look better without the glasses," Octavia replied, walking away. She didn't like her tone.

P0N-3 watched her go, and smiled. Worth looking into.

Author's Note: I am told that, canonically, Vinyl's eyes are magenta. For the purposes of this story, pretend they're not.

2) (Get Off Your) High Horse Lady

(Get off Your) High Horse Lady
(Oasis)

The night after, Octavia found her in the waiting room, reading a magazine. She looked relaxed. Complacent.

"Miss Pon-three," she said, by way of greeting.

"Not without the glasses," P0N-3 replied, and flashed a pair of red eyes. "Vinyl Scratch. You're a good musician."

Octavia narrowed her eyes. "So you said before."

"I'm better," Vinyl shrugged, and put down her magazine. It was a statement, not an opinion. "I look forward to beating you."

"My apologies, but you'll be waiting a while," Octavia glared. She'd never met with such arrogance.

"Not arrogance. Not until you prove me wrong," Scratch said easily. Her voice was like drifting smoke. Octavia almost forgot how very prescient her answer was in the face of it.

"Very well. I accept your challenge, Vinyl Scratch. I shall not hear my art impugned," Octavia carried on, flaring her nostrils.
The unicorn fixed her with those red eyes again, but there was something different there. A little more effort. A little less contempt.

"...You're interesting," she murmured, and began to walk away. "Until next time."

Octavia watched her go with a glare. That pony had a talent for getting under her skin. But next time, she'd be ready.