An Odyssey

Octavia Philarmonica adhered to a strong diet. She did not allow herself a piece of fish; she ate twice a day; she did athletic exercises that kept her in form. She liked to observe her firm, yet slender form in the mirror, her muscles that shone with youthful vigour that, for her age, was exemplary.

Just now she was returning from the market, having bought a fair amount of lettuce to sustain her breakfast. She closed the backdoor behind her and put the lettuce on the kitchen table. Time for some tea.

Deftly, she put the kettle onto the burner and struck a match. Why doesn’t Vinyl do all that, I wonder. Those unicorns! I have to do all the housework with my hooves when she can just levitate things. Races! Belong to the unfortunate, like. But then again: equality. In Her, all three races. Equality my flank!

Octavia Philarmonica fiddled with the toaster, skilfully withdrawing the dark, blackened crusts, and placed two slices of bread within. Yes. Vinyl should like it. She likes it a bit underdone. Like the pancakes, the thin ones. Hehe. Silly Vinyl. I wonder.

The bread sprung up with a resounding click, and Octavia Philarmonica grabbed the hot slices with a fork, placing them on the plate. But the palate can’t be full without. She turned on the radio, searching in the refrigerator for some jam. As she grabbed the strawberry jar, the radio wept some lazy blues:

Oh, did you never see my baby get home?

No, we ain’t never seen you baby get home!

You, they sing, not your. The griffins. But what of it? The feathered don’t even get a decent employment, not to mention living conditions. But then again, it must fuel their blues. I wonder what kind of bluesbuck would sing the blues if he was rich? Rich buck’s blues? Celestia, please.

The juice contraption came next, and Octavia pressed the halves of an orange against it with formidable force, watching the juice slurp into the glass. How can she drink this sludge? Orange juice. Why not buy a carton of normal apple juice instead?

I said, did you never see my baby get home?

No, we ain’t never seen you baby get home!

Tadam.

Tadam.

Tadam.

Tadadadam.

Tadada-

Tadam.

Tadada-

Off clicked the radio, on the benevolence of the grey hoof, and Octavia placed the glass next to the plate on the metal tray. Picking it up in her strong, earth pony teeth, she began her ascent up the stairs into the bedroom.

As she opened the door, balancing on three hooves, harsh sunlight blinked into her eyes through the unshielded window. Ack! That Vinyl. How she can sleep like that, I’ll never understand. Then again, when you’re out all night, spinning disks… drinking… smoking… probably even kis… No. No. Shoo. Not touching that.

Gently, Octavia Philarmonica, balancing on three hooves, placed the tray next to the bed of the sleeping form of a female unicorn, snoring softly on top of the blankets. “Vinyl, I brought you breakfast,” Octavia said quietly, kissing the unicorn on the ear.

“Mmhm,” Vinyl replied, burying her head deeper into the pillows. “Mhm ffm.”

“I’m going to the concert hall to practice,” Octavia said, nudging the tray next to the bed gently. “I’ll buy you a bagel.” A bagel for my sweetness. A sweet sweet bagel for my sweet baby. Tadam. Tadam. Didn’t you never see my baby get home? Tadam.

“Mmhm, thanks, Tavi.” Vinyl rolled over sleepily. “Wake me up at mmhm.”

Octavia cast a glance at the table. The phone. One new message. Should I? No. No. You don’t want to know. It’s better not to know. Can do without another scandal. Can do without a quarrel. Let her. Hah. Today.

Today, then. Today she defiles the marriage bed. No. The unmarriage bed. Can never get married. Samesex marriage will never be allowed here, despite the world trends, the columnists say. The public is ninetypercent against samesex marriage. The public is sixtypercent for outlawing homosexuality. The public is fortypercent for keeping gays in concentration camps.

Octavia Philarmonica descended the stairs calmly, trying to get her mind off the letter. The concert, tonight. Ah, and no payment again. Need to see SIlver Quill to get the legal advice for that. They’ll pay, those morons. I swear they only skip me because I’m a filly-fooler. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll tickle their catastrophe.

Octavia passed by the table, taking a sip of cooling tea. Calm now. All calm. Can eat the lettuce now. She separated the outside leaves of the lettuce, and placed the remains in the sink, turning the tap to run cold water. Wonder what’s in the papers today. Prime Minister denying any involvement in the recent attacks on zebra borders. The Caesar imposing sanctions. No, shouldn’t look. Will only make me angry. Tadam tadam. Pss the water goes. Oh! Pss I should go too. The waters of life to run freely.

Octavia Philarmonica turned off the tap and, leaving the lettuce in the sink, pranced towards the bathroom, locking the door behind her once she was inside. On the stool now. Ah, yes. Pss. Come on. Pss goes the water. No? Think about something. Trick it. Didn’t you never see- Pss. Ah. There it goes. So freely. Tadam tadam. Now for that lettuce. She stood up and flushed.

Done.