“That was a wonderful performance, Miss Philharmonica.”
Of course it was. “Thank you, I tried my best.”
“You really do have a remarkable talent; I’ve seen accomplished musicians stumble on far less technically challenging pieces, but I did not hear a single sour note in your performance.”
Octavia Philharmonica smiled. The A-flat in measure 253. You’d have to be deaf not to hear it. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it; I spent months practicing.”
“And it shows!” The well-wisher, a pale yellow unicorn whose name Octavia had already forgotten, nodded profusely. “It must have taken years of tutoring and practice to reach your level of mastery.”
Laying the flattery a bit too thickly, don’t you think?
The well-wisher sighed theatrically. “In fact, my son has recently taken up the cello, though it seems to me that he’s slightly lacking in drive. I was hoping that a proper tutor would set him straight, but I’ve yet to find one to my liking.”
There it is. “Have you tried Canterlot Conservatory? I’m sure that there are quite a few talented students who would be more than willing to tutor your son.”
“Ah,” said the unicorn, ratherly obviously disappointed, “yes, I haven’t tried the Conservatory yet. Do you have any other ideas?”
Octavia pretended to think for a moment. “Nothing comes to mind, I’m afraid. But I’m sure that your son will become quite the talented musician.”
The unicorn forced a smile. “Thank you, Miss Philharmonica.”
“Not at all.” Octavia nodded her goodbye, smiling serenely as the unicorn walked away and joined a young, remarkably similar-looking colt. The pair leaned towards each other, exchanging a few words, then glanced back towards Octavia. The cellist nodded again, and smiled.
For Celestia’s sake, go away.
The pair turned away dejectedly, joining another group of ponies and immediately falling into whispers.
Octavia sighed inwardly, shifting her weight slightly, smiling lightly as ponies milled about the lobby. Calm, collected, proper, and the slightest bit shy; more comfortable in the company of her cello than in other ponies. The perfect image of a virtuoso musician.
I’ve finished my performance! I should be at home, working my way through a bottle of scotch, but nooooo. I have to ‘mingle.’ I have to ‘show the public that I’m not a robot.’ I swear, I’m going to strangle Lyra the next time I see her. I won’t even bother saying—
“Hello again, Miss Philharmonica!” greeted a grey unicorn. A sweater lay on his back, its arms tied around his neck, and a pair of spectacles sat on his muzzle. He walked towards Octavia in the Canterlotian fashion: head slightly upwards, eyes locked with his targets’, a bright smile on his lips, and Celestia help anything between him and his destination.
Octavia smiled. “Mister Jet Set,” she greeted warmly.
Inwardly, Octavia grimaced. Mister Jet Set, she thought acidly.
Jet Set came to a stop in front of Octavia, standing perhaps a bit too closely for her comfort. “Did my wife come to greet you earlier? She’s been looking forward to this concert for weeks now.”
You know perfectly well that she did.
“Yes, I spoke with Upper Crust just a few moments ago. Your son is studying the cello?”
“Indeed he is. And rather talented at it, in my opinion—”
Little that it’s worth.
“—but the boy is lacking in practice.” Jet Set sighed dramatically, in almost the exact way that his wife had. “He needs a proper tutor, but we cannot seem to find one. Have you ever considered being a tutor, Miss Philharmonica?”
A more direct route this time.
Octavia shook her head. “It’s never crossed my mind.”
“I think that you’d be a fantastic tutor. You certainly have the talent for it.”
“I’m humbled that you think so,” Octavia replied. “But even if I had the talent, I don’t have the schedule for it.”
“I don’t expect it will take very much time at all! Some two or three hours a week, if anything.”
Three or four hours a week? That’s not enough time to properly learn anything, you fame-obsessed lunatic.
“Even so,” Octavia continued, “I’m never in Canterlot for very long, and I can’t tutor somepony if I’m not with them.”
Jet Set smiled. “Well, then you’d just have to tutor them when you are in Canterlot.”
Stubborn colt.
Octavia shook her head shyly. “I don’t think that would be fair to the student. In any case, I have no plans to work has a tutor any time soon. Canterlot Conservatory is full of musicians who would be more than happy to find some work.”
“I’d rather not trust a student to do a professional’s job.”
You’re starting to piss me off, Mister Jet Set.
“They will be professionals soon enough, Mister Jet Set,” said Octavia in a perfectly reasonable tone.
Jet Set scowled at that.
Octavia smiled lightly.
If I had my cello with me, I’d break it over his head.
“Excuse me,” broke in a voice. A unicorn, her two-tone blue mane brushed into a neat bun, stood off to the side, a nervous smile on her face.
Jet Set turned violently, glaring at the intruder. “And who are you?”
“Vinyl Scratch,” replied the unicorn. “And you’re Mister Jet Set, right?”
“I am, but I am also rather busy at the moment, Miss Scratch.” He turned back towards Octavia.
Octavia, for her part, was too fixated on Vinyl Scratch to pay any attention to Jet Set.
“I didn’t mean to break into your conversation,” continued Vinyl, “but your wife wanted to talk to you.”
A pause. “You’re an acquaintance of my wife’s?”
“I know Upper Crust.”
Jet Set scowled slightly. “And she sent you to find me?”
“She didn’t know where you were. Upper Crust went back into the auditorium to try and find you and she asked me to check the lobby.”
“I see.” Jet Set paused for a moment, thinking this over.
“She said it was urgent,” said Vinyl.
Jet Set’s scowl deepened. He glanced towards Octavia once more, then relented, trotting away without another word. Vinyl watched him go, bright red eyes following Jet Set as he turned into the auditorium and out of sight.
Then Vinyl turned towards Octavia. “How are you doing, Miss Philharmonica?”
“Quite well, Miss Scratch. And yourself?”
“Decently.” A pause. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”
Octavia shook her head. “Mister Jet Set and I were discussing the merits of my becoming a tutor.”
“For his son?”
“How did you guess?”
Vinyl smiled wryly. “They told half of the audience about their son studying the cello. Though the other half probably overheard them.”
“I see.”
Another pause. A few audience members still lingered around the lobby, chatting among themselves, seemingly disinterested in the rest of those in the lobby. Yet, there was more than one ear swiveled towards Octavia and her companion.
“It’s getting rather late,” said Octavia.
“You’re right,” replied Vinyl, glancing up at a clock on the wall. “If I don’t leave soon, I’ll miss my train. It was nice speaking to you, Miss Philharmonica.”
“Likewise.”
Vinyl Scratch smiled, brushing back a stray strand of her mane before calmly walking out of the lobby.
Octavia continued to stand, smiling and nodding whenever she made eye contact with another pony, the dull ache in her hooves growing all the while. She waited until most of the patrons had trickled out of the concert hall, then continued to wait.
A few minutes later, when nearly all of the ponies had quite forgotten that Octavia Philharmonica had ever spoken to a unicorn named Vinyl Scratch, Octavia quietly slipped out of the concert hall and trotted to the train station as quickly as was proper for a Canterlotian in a hurry.
***
There are two sections to Canterlot Station. The first section was dedicated to travel into and out of Canterlot. Those railroads stretched to the furthest reaches of Equestria, carrying all manners of ponies on all manners of business.
Vinyl Scratch’s station sat in the second section, a much smaller section meant for travel within Canterlot. Admittedly, this was not a very commonly used section of Canterlot Station, despite the fact that one could get most anywhere in Canterlot in a very short amount of time; most of the residents of Canterlot preferred private carriages to the perceived bustle of public trains. There had been more than one occasion where Vinyl had had an entire train cart to herself.
Today would not be one of those days.
“Vinyl Scratch.”
Vinyl turned, a look of surprise giving way to a slight smile. “Octavia Philharmonica. I didn’t know you take the train.”
Octavia took a moment, slightly winded from her brisk walk to the train station. “I normally don’t, but I wanted to speak to you.”
Vinyl raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered. What did you want to talk about?”
“DJ-PON3.”
A pause.
Vinyl’s face lit up. “Miss Philharmonica! I didn’t know you were a fan! You should have said something earlier!”
“I’m not a fan.” There was some poison in her tone. “I only recognized you from those flyers plastered all over Canterlot.”
Though you look nothing like the mare in those flyers.
That much was certainly true. The Vinyl Scratch pictured on flyers was unruly, as if she had only just crawled out of bed. Her mane was a mess, sticking out in random points; garish purple sunglasses covered half of her face; and, worst of all, her mouth was upturned in a cocky, self-assured grin, as if Vinyl knew everything there was to know.
Yet, this Vinyl Scratch, the one right in front of Octavia, was none of those things. Her mane was combed in a manner not unlike Octavia’s, her bright red eyes were unobstructed, and a bright smile took the place of her cocky grin.
Vinyl chuckled. “Yeah, advertisement got a bit carried away on that one. Good concert, though.”
“Then you are her!”
“What, wasn’t that obvious?”
No, thought Octavia.
“No,” said Octavia. She blanched. “I-I mean—”
Vinyl laughed. “No, you’re right. I was kidding, Miss Philharmonica. They don’t put this”—she gestured towards her current appearance—“on the posters. It’d be like you without your bowtie. Or if you’d punched Jet Set back in the concert hall.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t do that! I wouldn’t even think of that!”
Vinyl held up her hooves defensively. “It’s just an example, Miss Philharmonica; I can’t imagine you hitting somepony. Though I could name a few ponies who’d happily give Jet Set a beating.”
You could certainly add me to that list.
“He’s troublesome,” said Octavia, “but hardly worth a beating.”
Vinyl smiled. "Miss Philharmonica, that almost sounded like an insult."
Almost?
"I certainly didn't mean for it to sound that way."
A slightly amused look flashed across Vinyl's eyes. "Of course you didn't. There are never any hidden meanings in a Canterlotian's words."
Octavia had to smile at that.
A shrill bell rang through Canterlot Station, announcing the arrival of a train.
"Well," said Vinyl, casting an eye at the clock, "I think that's for me. And you still haven't told me why you followed me to the train station, Miss Philharmonica."
"I didn't follow you," Octavia protested. "I wanted to speak with you, so I walked down to the station."
"And you wanted to speak about my music career."
Well...
"Not exactly," Octavia admitted.
The ground of Canterlot Station rumbled and, a few moments later, a train rolled into view.
Vinyl smiled. "It seems like we're out of time, Miss Philharmonica. But I did enjoy our little talk. I don't suppose you'd like to continue it?"
Octavia glanced at the train. "I don't even know where that train leads, Miss Scratch."
"Not the train," replied Vinyl with a laugh. "I have a set tomorrow evening at a place called Gems that finishes at around eleven o' clock. I'd love to meet with you if you're free."
Octavia blanched. "I-I can't go to Gems! I'd never be able to live it down if anypony saw me!"
"Then don't let anypony know it's you."
The train's whistle sounded, carrying through the relative silence of Canterlot Station.
"I'm not sure," said Octavia hesitantly. "Eleven in the evening is rather late."
Vinyl shrugged. "It's your choice, Miss Philharmonica, though I do hope you'll be there. I'll reserve a ticket for you."
The train's whistle sounded again.
"Goodbye, Miss Philharmonica!" cried Vinyl, bounding into her train car. The doors closed almost as soon as she'd crossed over the threshold and, after a brief smile in Octavia's direction, the train pulled out of the station and whisked Vinyl away entirely.
Octavia waved goodbye, watching the train with an indecisive look on her face. It is a testament to Octavia's willpower and latent acting talent that she managed to maintain that incredulous look until long after the train had pulled out of sight. Then she allowed herself a grin. A very wide, very bright grin that lasted only a moment. Then she turned and walked out of Canterlot Station and onto the streets of Canterlot proper. Only the most astute observer would have noticed the spring in her step.
***
"Well, somepony's in a good mood," noted Lyra Heartstrings. She sat in Octavia's dining room, a half-eaten sandwich levitated in the air before her and more than a few crumbs dotted her mint-green coat. "What's up?"
Octavia sighed. "Hello, Lyra. Are you here on business or are you just going to raid my kitchen?"
"It is well within my rights to do both," replied Lyra, brandishing her sandwich at Octavia. "And don't dodge my question; what's got you so bright and shiny?"
"I am neither bright nor shiny."
I am about one brightness level away from being raised into the sky by Celestia herself!
"It's no use lying to me, you know. I know you far too well."
Comparitively.
"I'm well aware of that, Lyra."
Lyra narrowed her eyes slightly and took a suspicious bite of her sandwich. Then she shrugged. "Well, as long as you're happy. Concert went well?"
"I believe so."
"You're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?"
Define 'stupid'.
"Absolutely not," replied Octavia.
"Nothing that would damage your image? Sabotage your career?"
"No, Lyra."
Lyra scratched at the back of her head. "No, I didn't think you would. But... uh, you'd tell me, right?"
A moment of surprise. Then, Octavia smiled softly. "If I ever plan on doing something stupid, you'd be the first I'd tell. Not that there are many other ponies I could go to."
"You're not just saying that to make me happy, are you?"
Your intuition never fails to amaze me, Lyra.
"Of course not," answered Octavia.
Lyra paused, gazing intently at Octavia. A moment passed. Then another.
"Is... is everything alright?" asked Octavia.
"There's a rumor going around that some unicorns can read minds," said Lyra with a sigh. "I guess I'm not one of them."
"What a shame."
"Yeah, it would make my job a lot easier." Lyra finished off her sandwich, then got to her hooves. "I guess I'll just have to trust you, difficult as you make it. Sorry about the questions; it's just been bothering me lately."
"It's fine. I know that you have only my best interests at heart."
Lyra sighed. "I'm trying to, Octavia, I really am. But you don't make it easy."
***
Lyra stayed long enough to polish off another sandwich and a few cookies Octavia had been saving for herself, but their conversation had moved on to more light-hearted topics and Lyra did not revoice her worries. And Lyra had left, announcing that it had grown too late and that she was no longer hungry.
You're an idiot, are you aware of that?
Octavia sighed wearily, adjusting her seat and biting into one of her few remaining cookies.
Don't ignore me!
"Could do with a bit more butter," Octavia muttered.
I'll just keep pestering you until you respond.
"Well, Octavia, it's finally happened. You've started blackmailing yourself."
It's the only way to get you to do anything.
Octavia leaned back in her seat. "I suppose so. What are we going to talk about, little voice in the back of my head?"
Your total disregard for the ponies close to you.
"The usual, then?"
You should have told Lyra.
"She would have had a heart attack. Octavia Philharmonica at Gems? Sour Note would have a field day if he found out."
But you're still going.
Octavia tossed the rest of the cookie into her mouth. "Of course I am. How often will I get to see DJ-P0n3 perform?"
You own most of her records, isn't that enough?
"Compared to a live performance?"
Fair point.
Octavia smirked silently, getting to her hooves and crossing into her kitchen. She poured a glass of milk, then returned to her dining room and her waiting cookies. "Look at me," she remarked as she slid back into her seat, "having milk and cookies before bedtime as I have a conversation with my imaginary friend."
We're hardly friends.
"And I'm not even friends with myself." Octavia dunked the cookie into her milk, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. "What a strange, sad pony I am, with my hoof always over my heart." She lifted the cookie out of her drink and bit into it.
Isn't that from a book about adultery?
"It's more about hypocrisy than anything else. Or, rather, about maintaining appearances. I thought it was fitting."
Ah.
"Though I suppose that I should feel guilty about not telling Lyra. But should I have? She's the closest thing I have to a friend." Octavia frowned. "How sad, that the closest pony to me is only 'close' to being a friend." Her frown deepened. "How sad, that the only pony I can remember meeting after the concert is the pony that aggravated me most and not one of those who wanted nothing more than to meet me." A strange, tingling pressure built up behind her eyes. "How sad, that the only pony I have to complain to lives in my head."
Octavia blinked rapidly, fighting against the veil of tears. "Right, no more of that," she muttered to herself. "Perhaps another cookie instead. There's nothing sad about a cookie. Well, except running out of them."
Octavia paused then, glancing down at the two remaining cookies. She thought for a moment, then drained her glass of milk and walked into the kitchen. Octavia returned a moment later, carrying a small plastic baggie, just big enough for a pair of cookies.
How sentimental.
"Shut up."
***
Gems was the very image of a nightclub. It had an unassuming exterior, little more than a white rectangular shoebox, sitting on the corner of a street. The word "Gems" was written in large gold lettering just above a set of black double doors. A rather large Earth Pony stood outside the doors, occasionally waving a group of ponies into the club, but more often dismissing ponies from the line.
And what a dreadful line it was. Ponies of all shapes and sizes stood shoulder to shoulder all the way down the street and around the shoebox's corner, chatting among themselves and bobbing their heads to the dull throb emanating from the nightclub.
A grey mare stood on the street just opposite the entrance to Gems, surveying the situation. Her mane hung loose and wild around her shoulders before sweeping into sharp bangs that covered most of her face. A dark purple stripe traced its way up her mane, the same color as the earrings she wore. To top it all off, a black choker had taken the place of her usual pink bowtie.
I'm half certain that the building has a heartbeat, Octavia thought to herself. How terrifying. She stamped her hooves, staving away the chill. Curse my punctuality. And curse Vinyl Scratch for not giving me a way inside! Here I was, expecting the chance to see DJ-P0N3 live and here I am, standing out in the cold. She sighed, a small cloud of her breath rising up and out of sight. I suppose that I should go home.
"Harmonia?"
Octavia started, turning towards the voice. A blue unicorn stood off to the side, black sunglasses covering his eyes despite the late hour. He wore a black button-down shirt and a skinny white tie.
"You're Harmonia Melody, right?" asked the unicorn. "Vinyl's friend?"
Harmonia Melody?
Octavia nodded.
"I'm glad I found you!" said the unicorn with a grin. "Vinyl told me she had a friend visiting today; I'm supposed to make sure you make it inside." He paused slightly, a look of something like concern crossing his face. "I didn't freak you out or anything, did I? I kind of crept up on you."
You don't make any noise when you walk.
Octavia shook her head. "No, not at all. Thank you for coming out, uh..."
"Neon Lights," offered Neon. "And no worries. Come on, Vinyl should be finishing her set soon."
***
Throb Throb Throb Throb
Gems was in upheaval, filled to the brim with jumping, stomping, undulating bodies; a wriggling mass of hooves and manes and glowing lights. The dancefloor was packed with every pony who could dance and many who were pushing at their limits. Those who sat at tables were panting, red in the face, nursing their drinks as they threw wistful glances towards the main floor.
Vinyl Scratch stood above it all, presiding over the dancers from her place on stage, hooves flying over her turntables, mane tangled and matted with sweat. She grinned wildly, a pair of bright white headphones clasped precariously around her bobbing head as Vinyl manipulated the track, adjusting the music as the mood took her, first holding it back, building up tension in the dancefloor, then letting it all rush out.
"Harmonia!" Neon had to shout to be heard over the music, then shout even louder to cut through Octavia's stupor.
Octavia turned, blinking slightly.
Neon smiled. "Vinyl'll finish her set in a few minutes. There's a rest area in the back for the performers; you can wait for her there if you want."
Octavia glanced back towards the stage, her gaze lingering on the dancefloor for perhaps a bit too long.
"I mean," continued Neon, "you could stay out here if you really want to."
I really want to.
Octavia shook her head. "I'll head backstage."
***
Backstage, as it turned out, wasn't much. A few tables, a few chairs, a mirror, a rather comfortable looking table, and a minifridge. It didn't exactly scream "Nightclub" the way the rest of the building did. It reminded Octavia of the community lounge back in the Canterlot Conservatory dorm more than anything else.
"It's not much," admitted Neon, "but it's the best thing after you've been out on stage for a few hours."
"It's very nice."
Neon laughed. "No it's not. But hey, at least we've got a fridge! Speaking of which." He crossed the room, poking his head into the small refrigerator. "Do you want anything? Water? Cider? Cheap beer?"
"Water, please."
Neon nodded, floating two bottles of water out of the fridge, one of which came to rest on the table in front of Octavia. They sat in silence for a time, sipping at their water.
"Soooo," began Neon awkwardly, "how long've you known Vinyl?"
"Not long. But she seems... interesting."
Neon laughed. "Well, that's one way of putting it. I've known her for about two years and she still manages to surprise me. You know, there's a rumor that she went to the Canterlot Concert Hall to listen to some Classical stuff."
Octavia sipped at her drink. "Really?"
"Yeah! Wouldn't expect it, right? I'm not entirely sure if I believe it, but I wouldn't put it past Vinyl."
"Is it really so shocking?"
"Well," Neon paused, scratching at the back of his head. "I mean, I don't really care. To each their own, right? Why the hell should it matter to me if Vinyl listens to Classical stuff. It's not like it's country, right?" He chuckled slightly.
Octavia smiled tightly and continued to drink her water.
"Uh, that was a joke. I don't mind country. I don't really like it either, I guess, but... Well, you get it, right? She's a DJ. Dubtrot, house, trance, that all fits her. Classical and country really don't."
Octavia nodded.
But Neon was, apparently, not satisfied. "Yeah, it's a bullshit reason, but Vinyl's made this image for herself, right, and that's what got her to where she is now. Thing is, she's kind of attached to that image; like a package deal. If you want DJ-P0N3, then you get glowsticks and purple shades and enough bass to bring a house down. You don't get acoustic guitars and violins unless they're sampled and glitched to shit."
Octavia nodded again, sipping slowly from her bottle, here eyes pasted to the floor.
Neon hesitated then, allowing a few beats of silence. "Sorry."
Octavia looked up. "You don't have to apologie."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I don't."
The next few seconds passed in uncomfortable silence.
"WOOOOOOOO!" The door to the waiting room crashed open, rebounding against the wall and slamming closed behind a wildly grinning and very flushed unicorn.
"NEOOOOOOON!" shouted Vinyl Scratch, making a beeline towards Neon Lights. "LET'S SEE YA GRIT THOSE TEETH!"
"Oh fu-" cried Neon.
Vinyl's head reared back, her face pointed towards the ceiling before it cracked savagely downwards, colliding with Neon's head. A dull thud resounded through the waiting room.
"Fucking shit, Vinyl!" shouted Neon, reeling back and clutching at his head. "I told you to stop doing that crap!"
Vinyl shook her head, her grin still going strong. "Fuck that, kid! How else are you going to get your blood pumping?!"
"Any other Luna-damned way!"
"Oh, don't be such a bitch! And get off your ass, it's your set now!" Vinyl's hoof shot out, playfully punching Neon on the shoulder. "Off your ass! Off your ass!"
"Alright! ALRIGHT!" Neon jumped to his hooves, carefully stepping out of Vinyl's reach. "You don't even say hi, you know? You just start beating the shit out of me."
"It's the only way you'll learn, kid! Get out there already, the crowd's fucking awesome tonight!"
Neon shook his head, muttering something under his breath in an attempt to hide the smile on his face. He crossed the doorway and walked out of sight.
Vinyl stayed in place, listening to the sound of retreating hooves. Then she changed. Her head drooped, her shoulders dropped, her legs shook slightly, the very image of a mare at the edge of consciousness. She staggered forward, collapsing on top of the waiting room sofa.
Octavia sat in her seat, dumbstruck by the quick succession of events that had just transpired. She blinked a few times, but was unable to think of any other response. A few moments passed in this way.
Vinyl's voice warbled from the sofa. "Miss Philharmonica?"
"Y-yes, Miss Scratch?"
"Will you bring me a bottle of water? I'd do it myself, but the sofa is spinning very very quickly."
Octavia nodded and got to her hooves, crossing the room and retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She approached Vinyl, hovering awkwardly over the DJ's prone form. Vinyl, for her part, had managed to wedge herself into the sofa and had her face buried into a cushion.
"Thank you Miss Philharmonica," came Vinyl's muffled voice. "Will you just place that against the back of my neck? Yes, there. Perfect."
"Are... are you alright Miss Scratch?"
Vinyl waved her hoof dismissively. "This is normal."
"Is it?"
Vinyl hesitated slightly. "Well, normal for me." She pushed against the sofa, turning so that she now faced Octavia. "Being in a room with too many ponies always tires me out. Don't worry though, I have more than enough energy to hold a conversation. And the water helps." Vinyl smiled, floating the water bottle into the air and giving it a small shake.
"And you're like this after every performance?"
"After every good performance."
Octavia frowned slightly. "I see."
"What are you like after your performances, Miss Philharmonica?"
Not passed out backstage.
"Tired," admitted Octavia.
Vinyl laughed. "That about sums it up, doesn't it? But you still waited in the lobby and talked to your audience. That's awesome."
That's what Lyra told me to do.
"It's the least I could do," said Octavia humbly.
"How noble." A pause. "Miss Philharmonica, I have a question for you."
Octavia tilted her head slightly.
"Why did you want to speak to me? Not that I haven't enjoyed our little talks, but you do realize that you're now sitting in a nightclub dressed in the most garish punk outfit I've ever seen, don't you?"
Octavia shifted in her seat. "How freely can I speak, Miss Scratch?"
"As freely as you'd like. Say whatever's on your mind."
I've never tried that before.
"That... That isn't exactly easy for me."
The room was silent for a time.
Then Octavia heaved a sigh. "I suppose that honesty is the best policy." She shifted again, sitting a bit straighter, an almost challenging look in her eyes. "Miss Scratch, I'm your biggest fan."
Vinyl blinked.
"I own every one of your records and have, on more than one occasion, spent hours in front of a record store, waiting for them to open, for the sole intention of buying your newest album. I have spent entire days doing nothing but listening to your music and it's not funny!"
Vinyl slammed a hoof over her own mouth, shaking slightly from her mirth. Her laughing fit had begun soon after Octavia began her rant, slowly growing in intensity until she couldn't contain it any longer.
"I'm sorry!" cried Vinyl. "I'm sorry!"
"It's not funny!" Octavia's face had gone slightly red.
"I know it's not funny! I'm sorry!" Vinyl's laughter slowly subsided, though bubbles of laughter escaped her every once in a while. "Alright. Alright, you're a fan. You could've just asked for an autograph back in Canterlot Station."
"I didn't chase after you for an autograph! I wanted to talk to you."
"About what?"
"About you! About DJ-P0N3 showing up to one of my concerts! About one of the most well-respected electronic producers, known for her wild nature, mingling with the Canterlot elite!"
"It wasn't just rich ponies there," insisted Vinyl.
"No, but there certainly weren't any other DJs. And not only that, but you weren't you! You were brushed and calm and you call me 'Miss Philharmonica'!"
"Am I not supposed to call you that?"
"No! Well, I mean, yes, but—" Octavia shook her head. "But you wouldn't! DJ-P0N3 would make up some asinine nickname like... like Tavi or something, and that would be my name."
"Do you want me to start calling you Tavi?"
"Oh, shut up." Octavia's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Vinyl laughed lightly. "No, don't apologize. Keep going, Tavi. Or are you finished?"
Octavia paused for a moment, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "I saw you. And it wasn't you, but you seemed so... so comfortable, as if that was Vinyl Scratch and DJ-P0N3 wasn't. But then I go back home and listen to your records and come here and see you performing and headbutting Neon, and it's perfect! As if that were Vinyl Scratch and the mare at my concert were the lie. I can't tell where one Vinyl starts and the other stops. You're—," she paused slightly, looking for the right word, "—you're seamless!"
"Stop it Tavi, you'll make me blush."
"How do you do it, Vinyl? Why is it so easy for you? Because I'm doing the same thing, and I hate every moment of it!" Octavia's voice caught in her throat. "And... and that's it. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Vinyl took a pensive sip of her water bottle. "That's a pretty hefty topic, Tavi."
Octavia frowned.
"But," continued Vinyl, "I've thought about it before. Quite a lot, actually." She paused slightly, collecting her thoughts. "There's this idea that we have to have two seperate personalities, right? Well, I guess we don't have to have them, but a lot of ponies still do. There's the you that you can be in private and the you that you have to be in public."
Octavia nodded.
"Thing is, there are different places in public and you have to act a certain way in every different place. Which means that there's a Vinyl that I have to be in a restaurant, a different Vinyl for a fancy restaurant, a different Vinyl for a fast food place, public park Vinyl, carnival Vinyl, and on and on. And then there's different Vinyl's depending on who you're talking to at each different place, because you have to act differently to different ponies, right?"
Octavia nodded again.
"So what the hell?" Vinyl threw up her hooves. "There's an infinite number of Vinyl's that I have to be and I have to switch between them at the drop of a hat, but that's pretty damn near impossible to do!"
"So what do you do?"
Vinyl shrugged. "I don't. I can't become a different pony in a fraction of a second, so why bother?"
Octavia blinked. "But you are different. You're a different pony every time I see you."
"No I'm not," said Vinyl with a shake of her head. "I never try to be somepony I'm not, I just show different parts of who I am at different times."
A pause. "I don't get it," said Octavia.
"Well, you saw me at your concert and I looked like Classy Vinyl, right? And I was still Classy Vinyl when you met me at the train station when you asked me if I were DJ-P0N3. If I were trying to be somepony else, somepony I'm not, then I would have tried to hide that I was a DJ, because what kind of DJ goes to see Octavia Philharmonica?"
One with actual taste in music, thought Octavia.
"One with actual taste in music," muttered Octavia.
Vinyl grinned. "Exactly. And nopony likes a DJ who actually knows what she's talking about."
"And if somepony asked DJ-P0N3 if she listened to classical music, how would she respond?"
"Fuck yeah I do!" said Vinyl loudly. "Rachmanitrott's piano concertos are the most sublime shit I've ever heard."
Octavia blanched. Then she laughed, a single solitary laugh that bubbled out of her stomach. And she continued to laugh until she was red in the face.
Vinyl sat silently all the while, happly grinning.
"That," said Octavia when she'd regained her composure, "was possibly the worst review I've ever heard."
"I think I got the point across."
Octavia nodded, smiling to herself.
There was silence in the room for a time.
"There's one last thing," said Octavia.
"Shoot."
"When can you be you, Vinyl?"
"I'm always me, Tavi."
Octavia shook her head. "You're always a version of yourself. Classy Vinyl or DJ-P0N3. When are you just Vinyl Scratch?"
Vinyl lifted a hoof, gesturing towards herself. "After a set, when I'm too tired to move properly and having a very nice chat with somepony I've barely met. What about you, Tavi?"
Octavia smiled. "Backstage in a nightclub, speaking to a half-dead DJ who can't even address me by my actual name."
"Harmonia Melody?"
"We really do have to talk about your naming sense."
"I think Harmonia is a good name!"
"It's really not."
Vinyl pouted slightly, hiding her slight smile. "Well, we've got about an hour and a half until Neon finishes his set. Shall we talk until then, Tavi?"
"I'd like that, Vinyl. I'd like that very much."
Author's Note
Octavia and Vinyl's alternate designs are based off of the Mirror universe designs from the IDW comics and this picture in particular.
Thank you for reading. To those of you who have never read my stories before, welcome. To those of you who have read my scribblings, welcome back and forgive me for the hiatus. College is hard.
As always, all likes and favorites are loved and all comments are read, appreciated, arranged by size, and used to cover up the rust in my writing. But not necessarily in that order.
