It's Always Snowy in Manehattan

They say that coincidences don’t happen.

To the contrary, some claim that every happening, every occasion, be it joyful or full of sadness, is a coincidence of some sort. Without advocating either point of view, we can only say that yes, indeed, Octavia Philarmonica did look up Vinyl’s name, and yes, indeed, she was surprised to learn that the woman in question was a DJ of some renown, but that did not help her find a way to connect with her, not that she really wanted it, but then again she thought that it would be a good idea to finish that conversation and let her rage simmer and burst and then finally leave her so it wouldn’t be weird that she decided, a day and what?, a half, more?, after the occasion, let us say two days after the occasion, she decided, two days, decided, after the occasion, to, decided to visit the same bar which she definitely did not frequent as such.

Vinyl Scratch, on the other hand, in the other half of the city, waking up after a gig, filled with thoughts of that hot, deliberately disgusting devil of a woman, deviously decided to dispose of her dissonant longing, lashing out to let fate do the math and decided to visit the very same bar where she had initially met the offending woman, only without her brother to make fun of her.

The fine drinking establishment was situated in the very centre of the old and majestic city of Manehattan, its proprietor a hero strong and mighty, and wittier than any sage of those olden times when the establishment was initially established, if the fair reader would pardon the repetition. Our hero, then, Octavia of the house Philarmonico, the deft cellist maid, rode a long, steely horse all the way to the Central station, where she embarked on a long journey on foot across the barren wilderness, through the forests mighty and thick, and the ruins of antient origin, sought by many an archaeologist…

Tick tock. The clock goes ticking. The underground is never on time. Well, I meant to drink, of course. That’s why. Would’ve taken the car otherwise. A taxi? Maybe back. Why do the best ideas strike me so late?

Vinyl emerged from the underground station, unto the light she emerged, towards the nightlight of the lampposts, towards the unspoken beauty of falling snow. Something like snow in winter- something like that- something like this will never get enough description. Winter snow reflecting in the dim light of the orange-yellow lampposts. It is a beautiful blanket of pure, sinless essence, blanketing the earth. Under the snow Vinyl walked, through the maze of houses, to the middle of the labyrinth, where the bar awaited her…

Knock knock. Who’s there? A cellist, presumably. Ha. Like that chocolate cello I had. Ate it with ice cream. Not a bad chocolate, by the way. Evening to you too. Vinyl took off her overcoat and hat. Brr. So warm here. So homely. Just seven steps, and such a homely basement bar. There she is! It’s she! It’s her! She’s- the cellist- Octavia Philarmonica! At the bar counter! I knew it! I knew that it would be so when I just wanted to drop by this exact bar and she must have been thinking the same because she wants me to fuck her and leave her like a chewed-on toy that she is! Vinyl pranced in agitation.

“Heeey,” Vinyl drawled, drawing the dame’s attention. “If this isn’t Octavia Philarmonica the lesbian-hater.”

Octavia rolled her eyes and, sipping of her drink, demanded at once, trying to suppress the eager feeling in her chest (She came!), “What. Do you want.”

So powerfully Octavia flashed her eyes, so stern was her gaze, so mesmerising was her face as she frowned, that Vinyl’s insults died on her lips, that any bravado that she had mustered died with them, and she buried those, knowing forever that, as long as there were those eyes to glare at her, she would be meek and obey, if only to see those eyes a moment longer. There was nothing in the world that could compare with those eyes. “I… I…” Vinyl stammered - something she had never done before. She opened her mouth, but there were only the eyes. “You have very beautiful eyes…” she whispered to the cellist, who frowned even more.

“Excuse me,” Octavia countered, eager to return to her drink, but even more eager to reprimand the offending lesbian, “I thought we have established that I am not. Interested.” She waited for the rage to simmer, she waited for the usual fury to conquer her and fly her on its wings, but as she looked at the lost, searching face of the DJ, as she took in the subtle hints of a blush on her cheeks, somehow she didn’t feel angry - even though it was anger that was her main emotion through life - she didn’t feel furious - even though fury was her mistress - she just felt… at ease. She wanted to smile and laugh and tell that nervous girl it would be okay. But nothing more than okay. No, how could she think about her that way of course it wasn’t a sign of attraction and yet she initially wanted to slap her and reprimand her why wasn’t she slapping her right now why wasn’t she reprimanding her well for a desperate lesbian she was rather cute maybe that’s why in a total platonic way she had friends so why not just allow this nonfriend to imagine herself as a friend and nothing more and just have a drink? “All right,” Octavia sighed finally. “You can sit here and have a drink. So long as you don’t make attempts to flirt with me.”

Vinyl finally managed a smile. “You have my word.”

***

Vinyl’s word didn’t stand a chance against eight shots of rum.

“If you were a lessssbian,” Vinyl pontificated, her arm across Octavia’s neck, “I would kissss you sssso good you’d be in love with me right now.”

Octavia, who had ingested seven shots of gin, without the soothing tonic, argued, “But I’ll just ssslap ye acrossss the faccce! I’m *hic* nae lesssbi! I am Octaaaa-viii-aa!” she sang drunkenly, pressing her forehead against Vinyl’s forehead. “‘ere, I’ve talked with ye and I c’n sssssay ye’s a great woman, Vinyl!” She reached out for another shot, which was non-existent, for the able bartender had stopped serving the two drunk women and was at the other side of the bar counter, talking to more coherent patrons.

“You’re a homophobe, and an angry bitch,” Vinyl summarised, feeling the heat of Octavia’s face against her. “But that makess me wanna kisss you even more. It’s sssso hot, you know.” She licked her boozy lips. “You could, you know?, punisssssh me. You’d be a good… missstresss…” She tried to reach for Octavia’s lips with hers, but instead faceplanted into the bar counter. “Ow.”

“Vinyl,” Octavia demanded, “What are ye doing. Vinyl. Stahp.” She took the woman by the shoulders. “Come on, we should get home. I’ll take ye home because I’m benevvvvv… grand like that. Come on.”

Sleepily, Vinyl obeyed, trying to regain her balance on the unusually wobbly legs. “Bloody rum,” she swore as Octavia, holding her like a heavy sack, made her way towards the exit. “It’sss jusssst sssso goood!”

“Vinyl, shut ye face,” Octavia suggested, half-carrying the woman outside. “What’s ye addresss.”

“Me adress,” Vinyl mimicked Octavia’s drunken accent, “issss…” For a moment, she almost snoozed on the strong, gentle shoulder. “Uh. Me don’t remember,” she confessed defeatedly. “Can’t I jus?”

“Of course,” Octavia grumbled to herself. “Taking a lessbian home. Doessn’t ssseeem too conspi… consp… muddly.”

The night, yawning with soft snow, sheltered the women on their walk towards the underground. Vinyl, on her side, was somewhat happy that a beautiful woman was taking her home, but, on the other hand, she realised that in no manner would she seduce her and leave her and whatever she had planned for her, because one look from those magenta eyes would kill any notion of dominance. It was her, Vinyl, unspeakably drawn to those eyes, it was her who would not attempt anything with that woman, because with such eyes, she could only wait and hope and pray that Octavia would allow a crumb off her plate, that is, to become merely friends. And that would be enough for her, Vinyl, knowing that she would get to see those eyes ever so often. Did that mean… Vinyl took a breath of sobering air… Does that mean I’m falling in love with her? Does that mean I’m falling in love? Is that what love means? Her drunken mind decided not to dwell on the subject.

Octavia, on her side, felt that she couldn’t get angry with this woman - and that was, probably, the reason why she felt so drawn to her. Yes, she was a lesbian, a lesbian with views on her, but she somehow felt that she, Octavia Philarmonica, would always be in charge if the two were to become friends, that she would always be the strong, the dominant one - and she liked this role. Besides, Vinyl Scratch was making her feel something that psychotherapy couldn’t make her feel: serene and at peace with herself. Not angry. Not furious. Tranquil and mild, like fine wine. She could appreciate that and, maybe, it was a good idea to keep this Vinyl around if not for true friendship then at least for talking - for she was a fine conversationalist, as he drunken mind recognised - and for keeping her fury at bay.

As the drunk women made their way through the city, riding the steel train that would take them home - that is, to Octavia’s home - they felt that yes, maybe such a strange meeting borne of mutual hatred could, maybe, just as well, could turn into a beautiful friendship.