The Duet

Chapters

Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter One

Chapter Two

“You know, that sounds pretty fucking sweet.”

Octavia grinned, playing a few chords. “You know,” she remarked, “playing full chords, that picking pattern? Playing with your fingers?” She sighed in content, looking at Vinyl, who was tuning her violin. “Haven’t done that for a while, and I can say that sounds fucking swell.”

“Good,” Vinyl corrected automatically. “Not ‘well’. You don’t use an adverb after such verbs as-”

“Swell,” Octavia repeated. “Sheesh, Vinyl, no need to be so fancy all the time. Learn some slang, girl.” The woman leant back in the armchair, happy for the two beer bottles waiting for her on the little round table.

“When pigs fly,” the violinist muttered and almost sighed. No. Not on my watch. A classy little Vinyl in a tuxedo frowned inside her head and shook her baton. No sighing for classy ladies. “All right. I think we could try to play a simple waltz, just see if we feel the tempo and whether the instruments are in tune.”

Octavia gulped, trying to look aside nonchalantly. “Uhm. A waltz?”

“Yeah.” Vinyl nodded. “A simple waltz in A minor. We could even do the one-six-two-five.” She smiled. “You know, from the old jazz days?”

“Yeeeah.” Octavia gulped again, her eyes focused on the beer. “I. I’ve. I’ve never played a waltz before.”

“You what?” Vinyl turned sharply, blinking at the embarrassed woman.

“I’ve never played a waltz before, okay?” Octavia snapped, reaching for the beer. “It’s not a punk thing to do.” She opened the bottle against the table. The cap popped with a quiet hiss.

Vinyl was so surprised that she didn’t even remark on Octavia’s very not-allowed-in-her-household action. “You played jazz!” she reasoned with the punk rocker, who was grimly chugging her beer now.

“Yeah, so fucking what?” Octavia replied in a hurt tone. “You think I played all the difficult shit like five-eighths and seven-eighths and shit?” She chuckled grimly. “I just played the old four-four, just like in punk rock!” Suddenly, Vinyl saw something she had so rarely seen before: tears in Octavia’s eyes. “I’m not even a fucking pro!” The guitarist slammed her fist against the little round table. “I can only do four-four. That’s why I play punk rock, and not, and not, and not metal or whatever!”

Vinyl approached her friend carefully, considering whether to put her hand on her shoulder. “I thought you were punk because of anarchy. And chaos. And getting drunk.” A little punk Vinyl in her head huffed and motioned for her to proceed. “And making a statement.” Vinyl smiled encouragingly.

“Yeah…” Octavia sniffed and drank some more beer. “That too. But I cannot play hard stuff like the waltz or what-the-fuck-else.” The beer was dutifully downed.

“Octavia…” Vinyl smiled kindly, sitting on the sofa next to the upset woman. “It’s all right… Hey. Listen here.” She reached for Octavia with her other hand, slowly, gently turning Octavia’s head towards her. The punk rocked lowered her eyes, escaping eye contact. “Octavia, I don’t say this often, but… I think you are a good musician. You have your niche, but all of us do. No musician is proficient in every genre.” She pondered. “Well, maybe Steven Wilson.”

Octavia chuckled through tears. “Please don’t tell me you listen to that progressive crap they call prog rock.”

“Hey.” Vinyl shrugged. “I grew up on Manfred Mann and Pink Floyd, what do you expect? And,” she said reasonably, “a waltz is very easy. It’s three fourths. You just count one two three one two three one two three in your head, and you’ll never lose the rhythm.” She smiled and stroked Octavia’s cheek lightly. “Just like in dancing.”

Octavia slowly touched her cheek where Vinyl’s fingers had just been. “Vinyl,” she said seriously. “That’s hella gay, you know.”

“Oh, sorry.” Vinyl blushed slightly, touching the top button of her favourite blue waistcoat. “You know that I’m soft like that.”

“Yeah.” A chuckle escaped Octavia’s throat as she poked Vinyl’s belly. “You’re too chubby for a classical posh violin player.”

“Har har har.” Vinyl straightened herself with a huff. “Well. What I mean is, you gotta play the waltz the way you dance the waltz, simple as that.” She stood up, taking up the violin.

“I.” Octavia averted her eyes once again. “You know I can’t dance.”

“Yeah, about that…” Vinyl gave the rocker a tiny smile. “I could teach you how to dance, you know?” She plucked the strings in a firm pizzicato.

“Nah.” Octavia shook her head. “First, that’s gay; second, that sounds like a beginning of a porn film. First touching my cheek, then dancing, then tying me up in your basement and teaching me how to be a good girl.”

What the what. Vinyl merely shook her head, limiting her sighs. Sometimes she just had to deal with her overimaginative flatmate. “Okay, Octavia. Just play A minor. One two three one two three one two three-”

Octavia picked up the tempo and played the chord. A smile crept on her face. Vinyl stopped counting and picked up the violin, taking a few notes. One two three one two three one two- Wait. “Stop.”

Octavia stopped. Vinyl turned to her with her usual polite smile. “Octavia,” she said, “we have a little problem. That’s not quite my tempo.” She waved her hand in the air. “One two three one two three one two three. See? Let’s try again.”

Octavia nodded and placed her fingers on the strings. Vinyl put the bow to the strings. “One two three one two three-” she began counting.

Octavia began to play, and Vinyl took the notes again. Yes, the instruments were in perfect tune, nothing distorted, just the one two three one two three one two- Ugh!

“Stop!”

Octavia stopped, looking up at the violinist in surprise. “What’s the matter, Vinyl? My guitar’s not in tune?” She plucked the E string thoughtfully.

“No, it’s fine.” Vinyl rubbed her eyelids. “You’re just a little off the tempo. Listen to me counting and repeat that in your head: one two three one two three one two three-”

Octavia began to play. Vinyl stopped counting and picked up her bow. She waited. “Fuck!” she yelled, launching her bow at the guitarist. Octavia barely ducked, her eyes wide open in shock. “Octavia! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Vinyl growled, closing the distance.

“I…”

“Why can’t you fucking follow my bloody fucking tempo?” Vinyl shouted. She took a deep breath. “That’s why I never played with you. Because you can’t play for shit!”

“Well, I-” Octavia tried, but Vinyl snapped right in her face:

“You don’t get a say till you can follow the fucking tempo! One two three one two three one two three! One two three! One two three!”

“Well, I’m not a fucking drummer!” Octavia snapped back, resolving not to sit there and be humiliated. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s the fucking drummer who keeps the fucking tempo!”

“A real musician doesn’t need a drummer to keep the tempo!” Vinyl grinned, despite herself, the corners of her mouth taking the Catcher position by themselves. “But you wouldn’t know that! Because you’ve never been a real musician!”

“Oh yeah?” Octavia stood up, breathing heavily, her guitar brenking quietly on the floor. “Well, weren’t you the one who got fired because she couldn’t keep up the fucking tempo?”

“How-!” Vinyl gasped and, with a minute pause, slapped Octavia across the face. “How- How!”

Octavia grinned, rubbing her cheek. Vinyl huffed and ran out of the room. The door to the bedroom slammed shut. Octavia rubbed her cheek again. “Too soon?”

***

“Vinyl.”

Knock knock knock.

“Vinyl, let me in.”

Knock knock knock.

“Please.”

Vinyl sniffed and placed the cigarette in the ashtray. “Go away!” She lit another one using the previous one. Chain smoking, a little Vinyl in a doctor outfit that resided in her head pontificated, is bad for your health.

Knock knock knock.

“Vinyl, please. I’m sorry. I’m here to apologise.”

Vinyl sighed and stood up, puffing on her cigarette. She took a deep drag and opened the door. In the doorway stood a very humble Octavia - if Octavia could ever be described as humble. “May I come in?”

Vinyl took one more drag. “Since you asked so nicely.” She motioned for Octavia to sit. The punk rocker glanced around and sat on the bed.

“I’m sorry, Vinyl.” Octavia chewed on her bottom lip. “I wasn’t thinking. Hey, I know I shouldn’t’ve said that, right after you-” She rubbed her forehead. “I know I can be rough, but that’s just… who I am? If that makes it better, show me that Catcher guy and I’ll kick his dick in.”

Vinyl blinked. “How would that even- You know what.” She put the cigarette in the ‘tray. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I didn’t mean to slap you… Sorry.”

Octavia waved her hand in the air dismissively. “That’s all right. I’m a punk. I’ve been through a lot worse. But,” she pouted, “if you could kiss it to make it all better…”

“Uhm.” Vinyl sat down on the chair. “I thought you said you were against ‘hella gay’ gestures?”

“Well…” Octavia drawled, fluttering her eyelashes. “A girl can always reconsider…”

Vinyl finally sighed aloud. “You’re tipsy, aren’t you. You’ve drunk those beers.”

Octavia nodded. “And one more. Oh!” She took a tube from her back pocket. “I got you a cigar as an apology!”

Vinyl smiled. “That’s so sweet…” She reached for the present. “Wait.” She eyed the cigar closely. “How did you… That’s one of my cigars!”

“Yup.” Octavia beamed. “What did you expect? I don’t have any money. I found your secret stash.”

Vinyl’s eyes widened. “Y-you can’t mean that you…” she stammered in fear.

“Yup,” Octavia confirmed with a huge grin. “I found Sir Morning Glory the dildo.” Vinyl thought that it might be a good time for the earth to swallow her up. “You know, I find it kinda touching, that you’ve named your dildo. It’s sweet.”

Vinyl blushed as thickly as she could. “Y-you haven’t… um…” Oh gods how can I look into her eyes ever again.

“Of course I haven’t,” Octavia reassured her friend. “If I’d used it, it would’ve been indirect gay.”

“Good.” Vinyl nodded, her blush receding. “Good. That’s good to hear.”

“Why do you have a pack of condoms, though?” Octavia enquired, looking around for beer. There was none. “Isn’t it the guy’s responsibility?”

“Oh, Octavia, cut off this femi crap, please.” Vinyl sighed. All right. One more sigh, and I’m calling it a day. “If I don’t want to get pregnant, it’s my responsibility. All right.” She sighed and looked at the cigar. “I don’t exactly think the occasion befits a cigar.”

“You don’t use ‘befits’ like that.” Octavia frowned. “It should be followed by- ah hell, I don’t even know if the word exists.” She rubbed her nose. “All I’m saying is, I’m sorry. I wanna try again.” She paused. “With a metronome this time.”

“Sure,” Vinyl smiled a little. “Let’s go get some tea first and try again.”

***

“See? That’s so much better with a metronome.”

Vinyl sighed. Damn, not again. I should take some anti-sigh medicine or something. The little doctor Vinyl in her head rushed off to search for one. “Yeah. We managed to play a waltz and even change chords. Woohoo.” She almost sighed again. “But when we go on stage, there will be no metronome.”

“Who said that?” Octavia smirked, tapping her ear, for some reason unknown to the violinist. She picked up the tea cup. “Hmm,” the guitarist remarked, “it’s not beer, but it’s great. We should drink tea more often.”

“You don’t go on stage with a metronome,” Vinyl tried to explain, as if to a novice musician, disregarding Octavia’s gastronomical observation. “You don’t see orchestras performing with a metronome. Or bands.”

“Sure.” Octavia nodded, sipping on her tea that was getting barely warm. “But orchestras have a conductor, and bands have drummers. We’re a duet. So we have have a metronome playing in our earbuds while we perform.”

“I cannot agree with that,” Vinyl retorted politely, but still smiled. “Seems like you’re warming up to the idea of playing acoustic?”

“You know, it feels good,” Octavia remarked. “It’s like one of your chamber performances, you know? Like, the orchestra is neat but very prim and boring, and chamber gives off the feel of more, like, a band, I guess? I still don’t get why you quit your chamber ensemble.”

“To play in Catcher’s orchestra,” Vinyl replied wearily and stretched. “And look how that turned out.” She put down the violin and the bow. “But those were the days.”

“We could relive them,” Octavia suggested, chugging on the tea as if it were beer. “I mean, we could go to one of those fancy chamber performances. Or we could go to an orchestra thingy and I could kick Catcher’s dick in.”

Vinyl tried to light a cigarette. The tiny breeze rolling through the window was preventing her from achieving this noble goal. “Octavia,” she said seriously. “Are you inviting me to a classical performance? No, wait.” She dragged on the cigarette as it came alive. “Let me put the stresses. Are you inviting me to a classical performance?”

Octavia shrugged. “Yeah, well, what’s the problem? I used to play jazz, you know.” The tea was depleting at an alarming rate.

“I swear you’re using this as a comeback for anything I say,” Vinyl mumbled, enjoying her smoke. “But you’re right. A chamber performance is just what I need.” The violinist smiled at her friend. “Will you pay for the tickets?”

Octavia laughed. “I have no money, remember? I spend it all on booze and hookers.”

Vinyl frowned. “For some reason, you never invite me when you’re having fun with hookers.” She extinguished the cigarette promptly. “You know I haven’t been close to a penis in forever.” She got up to get the window open.

“Well…” Octavia drawled, stretching and yawning. “It’s ‘cause they are female hookers. And you’re straight.”

“So are you!” exclaimed a very shocked Vinyl, letting in the chilly breeze. She stepped away from the window, cocking her eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re?..”

“It’s not gay when it’s with a hooker,” Octavia claimed. “Also, it’s not gay when it’s in a threeway.” She grinned widely. “Don’t you remember the golden rule? You just have to avoid eye contact. But if your eyes meet, you gotta high-five.”

“What.” Vinyl blinked, a new, unlit cigarette frozen between her fingers. “What the fuck, Octavia. What in the actual world of fuck.”

“Hey, don’t judge me.” Octavia pointed her finger at her friend. “Everyone has their faults. You chainsmoke, I have orgies with hookers.” The guitarist shrugged a little. “What’s wrong with that?”

Vinyl opened her mouth to argue, but, with a pause, closed it shut. She raised a finger, trying to make a point, but lowered it almost immediately. Finally, she decided on yet another sigh. “Octavia. Never change. Please.”

Octavia smiled. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

***

“Dude, pass me the chips,” Octavia asked, reaching out with her hand as she half-lay in the armchair, her legs on one of the arms, her vision upside-down as she turned towards Vinyl, who was sitting regally on the sofa.

Vinyl sighed and grabbed the packet, tossing it to the guitarist. “You did not just call me dude. And it’s ‘crisps’, by the way,” she remarked, relaxing a little as she leant back and returned her attention to the film: some Latin Amareican drama about university life.

“Oh no you don’t get to play this card.” Octavia straightened herself, pointing an accusing finger at the violinist. “You’re from Stalliongrad, not the Uneighted Kingdom.” The rocker opened up the chips with a loud pop. “Hey, you ever notice that our geographical locations sound very…” She paused, unsure what word to use. “Horse-like?” She elaborated, “Like ‘Stalliongrad’ and ‘Uneighted Kingdom’ and ‘Manehattan’?”

“Another one of your pet theories?” Vinyl laughed and lit up a cigar - a special treat for her tonight. She took a brief glance at the screen, where two girls were trying to make out with the same guy. The guy seemed gayer than mozzarella sticks with strawberry jam and latte and didn’t seem like he was enjoying the attention.

“You are a pet theory.” Octavia reached out and poked Vinyl’s belly. She laughed and ate some crisps with loud munching.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Vinyl tried hopelessly, then sighed and shook her head. This was Octavia, and, with Octavia, one had to learn to embrace the bizarre on a daily basis.

“You are chubby.” Octavia poked Vinyl’s belly again, this time with the violinist evading the finger successfully. “Wanna be my pet?” The punk rocker fluttered her eyelashes at her friend. “I’ll put you on a leash and stuff.” Octavia licked her lips contentedly. “You’ll like it, I know it.”

Vinyl sighed, knowing better than to be offended at one of Octavia’s remarks. “Octavia, go home, you’re drunk,” she said simply, taking the packet of crisps and taking a piece elegantly.

“I’m home. And I’m not drunk. I’m boooooored.” She got up suddenly, leaping at the violinist, making Vinyl shake in recoil.

“Octavia? What the-?”

The punk rocker licked her lips. “Can we pretend we’re drunk and make out?”

Suddenly, something in Vinyl’s throat prevented her from speaking out, and only a meek ‘eep’ escaped her lips. Suddenly, she found the room very hot, and the presence of the woman on top of her very hot, and was it hot in here? It definitely was. Suddenly, a swift, flashing image of Octavia on top of her, in the bedroom, flashed through her mind betrayingly, and left her eyes wide open.

Octavia leant closer, and closer… Then booped Vinyl’s nose and, with a laugh, got off the woman. “Just kidding, dude.”

Vinyl put on her best smile. After all, this was Octavia she was dealing with. Not someone else. Not someone she… liked. Just her flatmate. The nasty, beer-drinking, loud-music-on-putting punk rocker. Just… Octavia. Vinyl shook her head. “Of course.”

She cast a swift look at Octavia. The beautiful, awesome-hair, white-teeth, majestic musician. She shook her head again to get rid of such thoughts. “Of course…”

Chapter Three

“Dude, I don’t want to bother you or anything, but this suit fucking itches.”

Vinyl groaned, tightening her bow tie. Sure, now there were clap-on bow ties that didn’t need such excessive tinkering, but she wanted to stick with the traditional black-piece-of-cloth bow ties. “Stop making things up, Octavia. The suit is fine.” She glanced up from the mirror to check the suit for herself, and her heart skipped a beat.

Octavia was… gorgeous. The threepiece suit was so out of place, so unnecessary with her big breasts, the two last buttons on the vest unbuttoned, Octavia’s piercing gone, her hair… Her hair smooth and charcoal-black, a watch in her vest pocket. She was ridiculous in this outfit, the only suit she actually owned, and yet she never looked more beautiful. “You look beautiful,” the violinist let out breathlessly.

“Oh, you can’t mean that.” Octavia tossed her hair in a gesture alien to her, a shade of pink (?) covering her cheeks… Was she blushing? Could this punk rocker, Vinyl mused, this rough, untamed woman actually blush? Of course. Of course she could. She was still Octavia, her friend, and beneath the mask of anarchy and loud music there was a gem, a beautiful, refined… Well, maybe not refined - woman, who also liked being complimented, like we all do, and… “It still itches, though,” she said amicably.

“We need to get going,” Vinyl said, adopting her commanding voice once again. “The bus comes once every twenty minutes.”

“Psh!” Octavia waved her hand in the air with a laugh. “I’ll drive us to the concert hall. In the car,” she quickly supplied, catching a glance of Vinyl’s horrified eyes. “Not the bike. You trust me with a car, right? Besides, I haven’t even taken a beer today. Or yesterday.” She tsked. “With all this rehearsing, I forget my alcohol-soaked roots, though.”

“The last time you drove us somewhere, we ran over the Mayor’s cat. She was quite upset.” Vinyl pondered. “The cat was pretty upset too, I guess.”

“Nah.” Octavia puffed her chest proudly. “I’ve improved! My skills are now majestic as fuck,” she boasted. At Vinyl’s evident disbelief, she squinted her eyes: “As. Fuck.”

“You know what?” Vinyl lit up a cigarette, watching closely for the ashes not to touch her tuxedo. “Okay.” She turned towards the black-haired woman, taking a long, deep drag. “I’ll let you drive me to the city centre.” Vinyl lifted her finger. “On one condition.”

“Hot lesbian sex after the show?” Octavia asked mock-hopefully, fluttering her eyelashes at the suddenly blushing violinist. “Hey, what’s wrong, dude?” She noticed the dismay in Vinyl’s eyes. “You look as if you were secretly hoping for sexy times with yours truly and then I suddenly joked about it and you became embarrassed.” The rocker chuckled and waved her hand in the air. “But that would be totally weird, right?”

“Yes…” Vinyl almost whispered, gathering her composure. “Totally weird. Anyway.” She cleared her throat audibly, the smoke dispersing in the wake of her cough. “My condition is that you drive carefully. Okay. Care-ful-ly.” She stared at the woman expectantly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Vinyl,” the rocker said very seriously, making the violinist’s heart race in panic as she saw those eyes, those beautiful, honest eyes… “For you, I can do anything.” She came up to Vinyl slowly, extending her hand elegantly, in a gesture that to Vinyl was alien.

Vinyl shivered uncontrollably as Octavia traced her chin with her index finger gently. “O-Octavia?” Of course, this was one more practical joke. This was one more gesture that she misinterpreted. Of course. Octavia would never do something as ‘hella gay’ as that. Seriously. Sure, she had done such things before, but it had all been in jest. Right? In jest.

“Maybe I’ve been missing something that has been right before my eyes…” Octavia whispered, leaning in, her lips near Vinyl’s face. Vinyl shut her eyes… “Like this chocolate on your forehead.” Swiftly, Vinyl felt a lick on the top of her forehead, then the back of Octavia’s hand wiping it off. The violinist opened her eyes, staring at the woman before her, who was smiling innocently.

Vinyl lifted her finger and opened her mouth, but Octavia just shrugged. “We good to go?”

***

“Told you there’s no parking spots.” Vinyl groaned, itching in many places as she considered the fact that they may very seriously be late. The traffic on their way to the city centre had been dreadful. Then again, this was the only way to the old Conservatoire.

And the Conservatoire was something to look at indeed. It looked like a dream of a madman: tall columns, a lopsided roof that resembled a horrible Hungarian haircut; and the worst of all, five-metre-high wooden doors that could never close properly, thus rendering climate control inside impossible.

In front of the Conservatoire, the government had invested in numerous benches, mostly to keep away protesters that pressed for rebuilding the Conservatoire. But, by now, Vinyl thought, the Conservatoire had become a landmark of its own, so it was only fair it would be left in its initial condition.

The car raced past the building and slid into the narrow side-street, and, with a sharp turn to the right, re-emerged on the other side. “There are no parking spots.” Octavia corrected, all the while looking for a space to park.

“Oh no, you don’t get to correct me.” Vinyl lit up a cigarette, nervous, and opened the window. “Wait,” she exclaimed, seeing Octavia’s manoeuvre, “you aren’t going to park at the handicapped space, are you?”

“Of course not!” Octavia replied, giving the violinist a stern glance. “What are you taking me for.” We a smile, she guided her car to the empty spot right next to the Conservatoire. “We’re gonna park here.” She closed Vinyl’s window and cut the engine.

“Octavia,” Vinyl said very slowly, taking an even slower drag on her cigarette. “You did not just park at the Mayor’s spot.”

Octavia nodded resolutely, taking out the key from the ignition. “Oh, I did, Vinyl. I totally did.” With that, she left the car and, waiting for Vinyl to get out as well, clicked the button, locking the car. “There.”

“The Mayor’s gonna kill you,” Vinyl said simply, walking with her friend towards the Conservatoire. Passing a trash can, she threw out the remains of her cigarette - and, Vinyl noticed with some sternness, a half still remained. “The Mayor’s gonna kill you dead.”

“Psh.” Octavia waved her head in the air dismissively and held out the never-closing door for her friend. “We’ll see it in the papers if it happens.” A little part of Vinyl wanted to protest and establish some logic, but the woman just sighed and walked into the crowded lobby. Passing through the security tourniquets, the women noted that the majority of people were heading to the Main Hall.

Glancing at one of the posters adorning the walls, Vinyl immediately saw the reason. She winced at the unfairness. “Of course. Catcher’s orchestra performing tonight. Just my luck.” The woman immediately reached for the pack of cigarettes when she remembered that there was a smoking ban.

“Dude,” Octavia addressed her friend, catching a few surprised glances from people who, apparently, was not used to classy ladies addressing other classy ladies as ‘dude’. “If you want me to run on the stage and kick Catcher’s dick in, I’ll be happy to do that.” Idly, Octavia cracked her knuckles, making several people take a huge step away from the rocker.

“No.” Vinyl shook her head as the motioned for Octavia to follow her towards the chamber hall. “I don’t want to ruin today. Frederic Horoshevsky and his quartet are performing tonight.” The violinist smiled dreamily. “They’ve found a new cellist, from what I hear. Their music is very special-”

Vinyl went on and on, while Octavia just shut out the words as unnecessary noise. She didn’t want to hear about Frederic and some harpist and the cello - who in their right mind would play the cello? She just wanted to marvel at Vinyl’s springy step, the way her behind was enveloped in the tightness of the trousers, and maybe she wanted to look into Vinyl’s mesmerising eyes and, and-

Octavia shook her head furiously, just to shrug off those wild, weird, unnecessary thoughts. What the hell is wrong with me? She nodded to the wardrobe lady and followed Vinyl past the plush chairs in the corridor and into the chamber hall.

The hall itself was more modern that the orchestra wing of the Conservatoire, with only three rows to its name and a small stage with a grand piano on it. There was still some time before the concert began, but people had already begun filling the little hall, sitting on their respective places. Vinyl motioned towards the front row, two spots in the centre. “Here, six and seven. These are ours.” As soon as Octavia sat down next to rather plump black woman who wore an extraordinary amount of jewellery, Vinyl whispered into the rocker’s ear, “I’ll go visit the, um, you know, and you stay here and make small talk.” She furrowed her brows sternly for a moment. “Be polite and pleasant.” With that, the violinist took her leave.

Octavia glanced to her left: not a single soul occupied the five seats. To her left, a lean black man, who was bald and perfectly handsome, sat next to the fat woman, kissing her cheek. How could such a man choose such a woman eluded Octavia. But love was love. Some people loved other people. She loved Vi- Beer. Beer. Bitches and beer. That’s what I love. But of course she did love Vinyl. As a friend. Her best friend. That was love too, all right. No homo.

“Your companion’s hair…” the black woman whispered to Octavia, making the rocker shift with unease as soon as she realised the conversation was going to touch on Vinyl. “It’s blue! Outrageous.” The woman tsked and turned away with the expression of a whale who’d just eaten a huge beef steak. Octavia blinked. Wow. My metaphors really are something. The little Octavia in her head sighed. Similes. The word you want is ‘simile’.

“Oh, you know.” Octavia shrugged, trying to be as polite and pleasant as she could. “I usually paint pink streaks in my hair.” The woman turned over to her, an expression of disbelief on her face. “My ‘companion’ likes it,” the punk rocker continued with pleasure. “I also have piercings on my ears, but my ‘companion’, that is, my girlfriend, insisted that I leave them at home.”

“Your…” the woman began, but Octavia interrupted her immediately, her eyes brightening as she imagined the rest:

“Oh yes, my girlfriend. She so likes it when I have those piercings. In fact, I have one down there.” The rocker made a motion of trying to unzip her trousers. “If you wanna take a look-”

“No!” the woman all but shrieked, shutting her eyes. “No, thank you! We’re good. We’re good!” Without opening her eyes, she turned towards her apparent husband and indulged in conversation.

Vinyl walked into the hall again, smiling after dealing with the desires of her bladder. She walked past the couple, noticing that the woman was looking at her very strangely, and sat down to Octavia’s left. “So, how have you been?” She exhaled and focused on the stage, onto which the announcer had just walked.

“Oh, you know,” Octavia whispered back as the din in the audience began to dissipate. “Making small talk. Polite and pleasant.” The rocker leant back, a wide, joyful smile on her lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The announcer, a lean, old woman with a typical short haircut, either blonde or grey (it was impossible to distinguish in such lighting), cleared her throat with a distinct sound that revealed years of practice. “We are very glad to see you here tonight. Bringing music to the masses is all we could ever wish for.”

That, and the payment, Octavia thought critically, eyeing the ‘masses’ that had gathered with enough decorum to fill a royal tea party. The announcer spoke on and on, but all of that floated right past Octavia’s ears as the woman enjoyed a certain view to her left, a view she had to admit to having noticed before, but a view still novel, as if she were looking at her friend for the first time. Vinyl was… radiant. That was the word Octavia settled on as the announcer got off the stage, and the audience began to clap.

Radiant. And mesmerising, the rocker surprised herself with such eloquent vocabulary. Onto the stage walked Frederic Horoshevsky, the famous pianist, who barely noticed the attention, sitting down at the grand piano. She is so calm, so collected. She is right in her element. Following the pianist, on walked a harpist carrying the heavy harp, with the help of a tuba player. Octavia raised her brow, finally diverting her attention to the stage. Now, she wasn’t a particularly well-versed connoisseur of classical music, but a piano, a harp, a tuba, and… “Oh hell no.”

Vinyl turned to her companion in surprise, then glanced at the stage and gasped. Onto the stage walked a doppelganger, an exact replica of Octavia, with the exception of being extremely clean, well-groomed (Vinyl glanced at Octavia’s hair and concluded that today Octavia was pretty well-groomed as well), and lacking those piercings. Her hair was a shade lighter than Octavia’s, but still very noticeable. The black woman next to Octavia kept blinking, stealing glances from both the cellist on the stage and the woman in the audience.

Vinyl frowned. “What the-”

“Fiona,” Octavia said in a low, whispering growl. “My twin sister.” She looked at the pianist disapprovingly, as if criticising him for the choice of cellist. “Haven’t seen her in-”

But the people all around them shushed as the perfect silence enveloped the hall and the musicians began to pluck, press, toot and draw their instruments respectively. Vinyl cast one more confused glance at the cellist, then at her friend, and marvelled at how she had never heard of Octavia’s twin sister before.

But then the ensemble began to play, and all her thoughts evaporated as she, once again, like so many times before, became enveloped in the sound, in the perfect music as performed by the perfect Frederic Horoshevsky, a gentleman and a scholar, and generally a hot stud, and wow was it getting hot here? Vinyl checked her bow tie nervously.

As the ensemble played on and on, the pianist sat there with closed eyes, letting his fingers do the talking. He doesn’t even need sheet music, Vinyl marvelled, her cheeks rosing up as she wondered if he had other… talents. Suddenly, Frederic’s eyes shot wide open, and he looked at the audience. Sure, Vinyl could say he was just about to check out the audience, or maybe it helped him concentrate-

But, at that moment, she knew he was looking just at her.

***

“Hmm. Fish fingers. Not something I would expect from a posh classical establishment.” Octavia poked the food with her finger, eliciting a frown from her companion, who peered her eyes into the crowd, trying to find the pianist. This wasn’t an entracte, and the musicians would have to leave through the crowd anyway. Of course, she had searched for the sexy pianist during the entracte as well, but the urge to smoke had been greater.

Now, she just frowned at her flatmate and eyed the crowd. “Please don’t touch the food, Octavia.” Disgruntled people pressed the women from the back, leaving Vinyl uncomfortable and Octavia… Well, as unperturbed as she had been before.

The rocker disobeyed and poked the food again. “Are you sure they are fresh?”

Before Vinyl could reply - and, preferably, drag her friend away from the food stand, the tender to which was already giving glances - Octavia’s counterpart emerged from the crowd with a cello case.

“Oh, she always was a little uncouth,” the cellist said with a prim accent, smiling knowingly at Vinyl, with whom, it seemed, she had made a perfect contact. And struck a chord in some manner.

“Tell me about it.” Vinyl sighed and extended her head. “Vinyl. I’m this party animal’s flatmate.”

“My condolences.” The cellist shook the violinist’s hand. “I’m Fiona, Octavia’s little sister.”

“You’re not so little anymore,” Octavia remarked, leaving the fish fingers alone and following the two women in her life out of the crowd and towards the exit. “I mean, your boobs are enormous.”

“Thank you, Octy, I’ve noticed.” Fiona smiled radiantly, disregarding Octavia’s bitter attitude. “How have you been? Mom and Dad have been asking about you.”

“Well, good for them,” Octavia mumbled, letting Vinyl exit the Conservatoire, all the while looking around. “I didn’t run away for nothing, though.”

“Well,” Fiona said reasonably as the three walked out in the quiet night. “You do come to family reunions, and we’re thankful for that.”

Octavia mumbled something indistinct in reply. The trio stood there in complete silence, watching the darkness around them cover the city, grab it in its greedy paws. With a sigh, Vinyl lit up a cigarette. What she didn’t want right now was drama. What she didn’t want even more was stupid, unnecessary grudges between siblings. What she did want, however, was a glimpse of Frederic’s nice, attractive face. But, alas, there was no sight of it. But there was sight of a stupid, unnecessary grudge between siblings.

“Why haven’t you ever told me about your twin sister?” Vinyl wondered, getting a good drag on her cigarette, all the more pleasant after the long concert. “Where are you from, Fiona?” she asked, if only just to keep up small talk.

“Because I am not my family,” Octavia replied sternly, turning away from her sibling and crossing her arms defiantly. “And she’s from that back-end hole they call Ponyville.” Each word, Vinyl noticed, bore ill-concealed disgust. Then again, this was Octavia, so the disgust probably had never been concealed to begin with.

“Ponyville,” Fiona argued, peering into the back of Octavia’s head, “is a wonderful, quaint town.” She turned to Vinyl apologetically. “Please don’t listen to her. It’s a great town with great people, if a touch conservative.”

“Oh,” Octavia spoke up, turning round to face her sister, “then why did you leave it to play in an ensemble here? Maybe because there’s no way to make a name in the damn town?”

The two women were about to clash, to go at each other’s throats, and Vinyl had already thrown away the cigarette (mentally excusing herself for littering) and was ready to stop them, when a familiar-looking man in a tailcoat approached the trio. “Fiona, there you are!” Frederic embraced the woman softly. “I’ve been searching high and low for you!” The pianist immediately turned towards Octavia. “And you must be the big sister Fiona has been talking about!” Then, towards Vinyl. “Ah, and you must be the great violinist, Vinyl Scratch! A weird choice of stage name, I’ll admit…” The man shrugged. “But, with your skill, you can choose your name just fine.”

“Oh…” Vinyl blushed as the man shook her hand in turn. “You can’t mean that… And,” she added sadly, “I am no longer part of Catcher’s orchestra.” Somberly, she looked away, expecting the man to take his cellist and leave.

Yet, he didn’t. “But I’ve heard you play several times.” Vinyl looked at him in surprise. “You are perfect, every time you put the bow to the strings.” The violinist’s cheeks reddened, and she thanked the night for concealing her weakness. “And I never liked Mr Catcher anyway.”

Okay, Vinyl thought gleefully, this is a match made in Heaven. However, she reconsidered this idea immediately as Frederic drew Fiona into an embrace and kissed her softly on the lips. “Whaa…” was all Vinyl managed.

“Frederic and I have been dating for a while,” Fiona explained, much to Vinyl’s lament and Octavia’s dispassion. “He decided to introduce me to what used to be the trio. We’re trying to become a real, yet original, ensemble.” She looked into Frederic’s eyes dreamily, and yet with a hint of ‘No, you say it’.

“We’ve been looking for a violinist,” Frederic said simply, smiling that easy smile of his, radiant even in the darkness of the night. “And we think that you are the most fitting candidate, especially now that you are…” The pianist paused, choosing the right word. “Freelance.”

“Oh, I…” Vinyl gulped, unsure of what to say. I would love that? She cast a glance at Octavia, who tried to look dispassionate, but… Vinyl knew when her best friend was worried. She knew when she was anxious, or shaking inwardly with unrest. This was the case. Of course the gruff rocker would never say it out loud, but she needed this whole duet thing. She needed to be appreciated. Even if she could barely play a waltz. Besides, she was her friend. Playing in a dream ensemble versus playing with her best friend? Had there ever been a choice?

“While the opportunity is amazing,” Vinyl said with a tiny smile, watching out of the corner of her eye as Octavia couldn’t help but listen in, “I am sorry to say I already have a side project that, so far, will get all my time. I am sure that, once we get the project on the rails, I will have time for freelance work.” The smile grew bigger as Octavia’s eyes grew wider. “I would really like to be part of your ensemble, but this project is very important for me and…” She glanced at Octavia, whose eyes were still unbelieving. “It’s very personal. So it takes priority.”

“Of course.” Frederic nodded, catching Vinyl’s glances at her friend. He smiled knowingly, dragging Fiona closer to him. “I hope this… project of yours meets success.” The man kissed the top of the cellist’s head. “Let’s go, Fiona.”

“Bye-bye!” The cellist waved at the two women, such a nice, simple gesture that so went against her prim demeanour, that Vinyl couldn’t help but smile.

The violinist lit up another cigarette and watched the pair fade off in the distance, walking side by side. She felt Octavia’s hand on her shoulder. “Vinyl.” The violinist turned towards her friend, still smiling, feeling good about her choice. “Did you just turn down your dream job to play in a duet with me?..”

Vinyl shrugged and nodded. “It seems so. Yes.”

Octavia gulped. “Then you’re not gonna be angry at me for this, right?”

Vinyl raised her brow. “Angry for what?”

Octavia closed her eyes, leant in, and kissed her.

Chapter Four

“What do you think is the biggest lie we tell ourselves?”

Vinyl sighed and, without paying attention to the woman sitting on the sofa, tried once again to form some sort of comprehensible semblance of thought on what had happened. So far the attempt was stuck somewhere between “What was she thinking?!” and “Her lips are surprisingly soft…” Neither ideas were helping. Even though the latter was giving her a pleasant aftertaste, which tasted like… raspberry tobacco? Vinyl blinked. Was there even such a thing as raspberry tobacco?

“The biggest lie is ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’.” Octavia nodded resolutely and chugged on her beer. “We never just ‘do it tomorrow’. We go further and further into the future without doing that thing that we-”

“You kissed me.”

Octavia shut up, looking at her flatmate, who had not said a word prior to that. Had not really reacted in any way when Octavia had taken her home. Had not even lit a single cigarette. “Uh, I, I did?” The rocker scratched the back of her head. “Come on, it was a gesture of appreciation.”

“You kissed me,” Vinyl repeated, not even caring that Octavia suddenly knew the word ‘appreciation’. The violinist touched her lips. “You kissed me on the lips, Octavia. Romantically.”

“Uh…” Octavia looked around nervously - which made Vinyl just a little giddy inside. “Nohomo? Nohomo!”

“Romantically,” Vinyl emphasised, getting up. Somehow, she knew what this was all about. No, she couldn’t quite put it to words, but the scent of raspberry tobacco made her stand up and walk slowly towards Octavia, with a smile on her lips.

“If-” Octavia gulped, watching Vinyl’s every move, every slow, deliberate step she was taking towards the sofa - and her. “If you say ‘nohomo’, it’s not gay!”

Vinyl stopped in front of the sofa and leant over, lifting Octavia’s chin with her index finger. “If you say so, Octavia.” Then, the scent of raspberry tobacco made her close her eyes and lock her lips with the punk rocker. As the two women drowned in the kiss, Vinyl crawled onto the sofa, pinning the usually bold, now submissive, woman under her weight.

Just as she broke the kiss, looking into Octavia’s eyes sensually, the scent of raspberry tobacco, now intensified, made her take off her shirt. Octavia gasped, at the same time wanting to look away and drawn to Vinyl’s beautiful naked skin. “Undo my bra,” Vinyl whispered, smiling as the scent of raspberry tobacco took over her. “I know you want it.”

With trembling fingers, Octavia did just that, clumsily, from the second try, but still did it. Her eyes were drawn to Vinyl’s chest, seemingly flat, but now with two delicious breasts in the free.

Vinyl, in turn, took off Octavia’s shirt, swiftly, powerfully, ferociously. Then, she leant in and, with a motion of her hand, flicked off the lights. “Psst, Octavia.”

The rocker gulped, her eyes adjusting to the dark, the image of Vinyl’s breasts still lingering before them. “Y-yes, Vinyl?”

Vinyl grinned and dove in. “Nohomo.”

***

“I JUST HAD SEX!”

Vinyl opened her eyes. The light from the outside was tinted bordeaux red because of the thin curtains in the “den”. The woman looked to her side. The side of the sofa where Octavia had lain was still very warm.

“AND IT FELT SO GOOD!”

The sound of acoustic guitar, the loud strumming, was not lost on the violinist’s ears. She stood up and shook up. With a yawn, the woman left the den, peeking cautiously into the living room. There, a very happy Octavia was strumming her guitar and singing out loud:

“WHEN SHE LET ME PUT MY TONGUE INSIDE HE-E-ER!”

Vinyl entered the room quietly and sat down on the sofa. “Octavia?” she said softly, with a tiny smile.

“I JUST HAD SE-E-E-EX! AND I’LL NEVER GO BACK-!”

“Octavia!”

The raven-haired woman ceased her song and looked at her friend… her… friend. Octavia blinked. “Heeey, cutie.” She reached boldly for Vinyl and grabbed her by the neck. For a moment, Vinyl wanted to resist, but, remembering how tender Octavia could be, leaned in and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” Vinyl confirmed. “Until you woke me up with that song.” She smiled, signifying that she wasn’t entirely displeased. “Getting back to your punk and bolder self?”

“Well.” Octavia shrugged. “I wanted to sing it right after we had sex, but you were snoozing so peacefully that I just d’awwed and went to sleep.” The rocker smiled.

“Octavia.” Vinyl sighed. Mind the bloody quota, Vinyl. “The sex.”

“Yes.” Octavia nodded. “Hot lesbian sex. It was good! I, uh, thank you for that?” An expression of uncertainty appeared on the rocker’s face for a moment. “Do lesbians do that? Thank each other for sex?”

“I, I don’t know.” Vinyl blushed, averting her eyes. The scent of raspberry tobacco was gone, and all her insecurities had sprung up to the front of her conscious. “I guess… We’re not really gay?”

“Are you kidding me?” Octavia grinned widely, setting the guitar aside. “You called me ‘My little Tavi’ after sex. How is that not gay?”

“What I mean is…” Vinyl opened her mouth for a sigh, but closed it at once. “Won’t it affect our publicity?” she wondered. “I mean, if we… if we begin to date and what-not?”

“Are you kidding?” Octavia huffed. “Vinyl, our country is a rainbow-fucking-fest! If people learn we’re lesbian, album sales are gonna skyrocket!”

“Well,” Vinyl countered, “we don’t really have any albums. We only do concerts, remember? And,” she added reasonably, “we no longer do even that.”

“Well,” Octavia replied, “I suppose it’d do us a lot good if we brought that duet of ours to a live concert.” She pondered. “And then made out on stage.”

“That would make our concerts illegal in Stalliongrad.” Vinyl sighed. “And it’s twice as big as Manehattan.”

“Psh, audience.” Octavia waved her hand at them. “Back when I was in a punk band, I would tell the audience to fuck themselves with a stick, and they still came to our concerts.”

“Well, now you are in a band with me,” Vinyl stressed, “so we do actually care about the audience. And we will not make out on stage. Or in the street. Or in a parking lot. Or in a coffee shop.” Octavia opened her mouth. “Or in a plane toilet. Or in any public toilet. Or in a dark alley. Or anywhere outside our private flat and/or hotel room. Got it?”

Octavia blinked. “Wow, Vinyl. You sure do have a wild imagination.” For a while, the room was silent. Octavia reached for the beer bottle. Vinyl reached for the cigarettes. “So,” Octavia said after another minute of silence, during which Vinyl smoked and smiled, smiled and smoked. “Wanna go for another round?”

Vinyl stopped smoking and smiling. “I thought we were going to talk about what happened between us last night?” she suggested.

Octavia shrugged. “What are we? Characters in a shitty novel? Come on, Vinyl. You like my body. I’m obviously very, very sexy.” Vinyl laughed. “Hey, don’t laugh! I know you dig me. You like my body, I like your personality, why don’t we start dating? So that we can have sex all the time!” she concluded victoriously.

Vinyl lifted her finger and opened her mouth to argue when a thought struck her. “Wait. Why are attracted to my ‘personality’? Is there something wrong about my body?”

“Well…” Octavia drawled. “You do have a chubby tummy…” Seeing murder in Vinyl’s eyes, she quickly reshaped her statement: “Um, but that just makes me like you all the more! I mean. I mean, I’d really dig it if we could date.” She paused. “And have sex. A lot of it. All the time.”

“I guess we could date,” Vinyl agreed slowly, picking up the cigarette. “Since we already had se- feelings for each other…”

And sex, Octavia mouthed.

“But.” Vinyl raised her finger. “We won’t go public about it. I mean, we won’t necessarily conceal it but…” She sighed. Oh come on! “All right. We can date. And if it comes up, I guess, let the world know. But it’s not gonna be a celebrity kind of thing. It’s gonna be a you-and-me kinda thing,” she emphasised. “A personal union of two.”

“Yeah.” Octavia nodded in agreement. “With lots of sex. So, take Sir Morning Glory and let’s go to my bedroom.”

“Why your bedroom?” Vinyl asked a touch defensively.

“Because…” Octavia put on the shades that seemed to have materialised out of nowhere. “I like it when things get dirty.”

***

“Octavia, when I said I wanted wine and roses, I meant wine and roses. Not beer and cigarettes.”

“But these are your favourite cigarettes!” Octavia exclaimed, sitting opposite her… girlfriend at the kitchen table. The very notion of having a girlfriend was filling her with both dread and excitement. Dread that she was, after all, very much gay, or, rather, bi; and excitement that Vinyl could, for once, be so bold, so dominant… at least in bed. “And my favourite beer,” she added with a grin.

Vinyl narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brows. “Octavia. Do you want me to get out the whip?”

The rocker opened her mouth to produce a witty reply, but the only sound that came out upon her realisation of what was being said was a meek ‘eep’. “T-the whip?” Octavia confirmed, flushing furiously, angry at her body for acting so weird. “Y-you have a whip? Why would you have a whip?”

“Because,” Vinyl licked her lips, “sometimes I feel like you are a very naughty girl, my little Tavi, and that I should properly punish you. Which I will certainly - finally - do, now that we are dating.” With that, Vinyl leant back and opened the pack of, indeed, her favourite cigarettes smugly.

“Since when did you get so bold?” Octavia enquired, opening a bottle of her favourite beer. “You were never this bold.” She took a mighty swig, coughing up immediately, evoking a smirk from the woman sitting opposite her.

“Since when did you become such a chicken?” Vinyl taunted, lighting up her cigarette. “You were always the reckless one, you ‘like when things get dirty’-” the violinist emphasised with her fingers, “-and yet when we get down to bed you’re all like ‘Vinyl, can you be on top?’”

Octavia looked around hectically, as if someone could hear them. “I- I’m not a chicken! It’s just that…” She sighed, placing the beer bottle back onto the table. “Look. I… I feel something towards you, Vinyl. I mean, I like you. I really like you. More than a friend. And it’s… I’ve never felt anything like this before. I am afraid of messing up.” There was sheer honesty in the rocker’s voice. “I am afraid of commitment. I’ve never felt so at ease, so serene. I think… I think I…”

“Shh.” Vinyl smiled and leant over the table, pressing her finger against Octavia’s lips. “I know what you want to say. Don’t say it yet. Let’s make it special.”

Octavia fell silent for a moment, then smiled a shy, timid smile that was un-Octavia-like. “Romance movie under the plaid?”

Vinyl nodded. “Romance movie under the plaid.”

Chapter One

“ANARCHY IN THE-”

“No.”

Firmly, with estimated force, the small hand pressed against Octavia’s loud mouth, drowning out the sound. Vincenza Staccato, Vinyl Scratch to her friends - an ironic name at the core - sighed and flicked off the amplifier. “No,” she repeated, taking her hand off Octavia’s mouth. “No you don’t. You promised me you wouldn’t do this after ten.”

Octavia shrugged. Her long, spiky hair, raven-black with lavender stripes, was tangled and messy. Her worn-out T-shirt proclaimed “Crush, kill, destroy, swag”. Her face was heavy from the beer, and her head was just a perfect amount of light. “Punks don’t keep promises,” Octavia explained, unplugging her guitar. “That’s what makes us punks.”

“So deep.” Vinyl rubbed her sleepy eyelids. “In this household, we don’t practise music after ten.” She paused, looking into the mocking lavender of Octavia’s eyes. “So… why don’t we do it?” she nudged her flatmate gently.

“Because,” Octavia sighed, rolling her eyes and putting down the guitar, “there’s a missy I-play-classical-violin who likes to go to bed before midnight.” She pondered. “Which is obviously bad for your health.”

“No, it’s not,” Vinyl protested, sitting down in one of the armchairs. “In fact, drinking beer after beer is bad for your health.” She reached out for the pack of cigarettes.

“And smoking is obviously good,” Octavia remarked, watching Vinyl try to light a cigarette with the lighter. She sighed and took up a matchbox. “Here,” she said, lighting a match.

“Much obliged,” Vinyl mumbled with the cigarette in her mouth. “Well, I should be allowed just a little deviation, shouldn’t I?” She inhaled the smoke blissfully. “At least I’m glad you’re past your Straight Edge phase.” The violinist chuckled and shook her head. “I had to go outside to smoke every day. Fuck.” She chuckled again.

“Well.” Octavia shrugged. “I just realised I can’t be punk enough without beer. You know. The whole anarchy thing?” She sat on the sofa next to Vinyl and took up the beer she’d placed on the little round table before.

“In this house,” Vinyl said very sternly, “order will prevail.” She glared at the wild-haired guitarist. “My order.” Content, she dragged on the cigarette and leant back in the armchair.

“We share this flat on equal terms,” Octavia remarked, chugging the beer gracefully. “My anarchy needs to have a place here too.”

“Oh, ‘equal terms’.” Vinyl laughed, waving her hand in the air. “Don’t mind me, I’m just having the laugh of my life. First, I do the dishes. I iron the clothes. I do the laundry. I buy groceries. No,” she intercepted before Octavia could make a remark, “alcohol does not count as groceries. I clean the flat.” Running out of fingers on one hand, she began counting on the other. “I pay all the bills. I maintain our equipment. I-”

“But I’m so fun to hang out with!” Octavia interrupted with her best smile. “Admit it, Vinyl, you just looove going out to dinner with me to your fancy restaurants and what-not!”

“I do not!” Vinyl put the cigarette in the ashtray. “You make a mess, you make fun of other patrons, and you have that thing on your head that you call a haircut!”

“But I’m your friieeeend~” Octavia cooed and pouted. “You’ve known me for years… Am I not a good friend?”

Vinyl sighed and rubbed her eyelids. “Yes.” She sighed again and reached for the pack. “Though, how we are friends eludes me.” She took the matchbox.

“Well, let’s see. You play violin in a fancy orchestra. I play punk rock in a rockin’ band. Hey.” She beamed.

“Yes, that’s a pun,” Vinyl said tiredly, setting the cigarette alit. “Carry on.”

“You are a prissy sassy rich girl who has manners and shit. I do what feels natural.” Vinyl winced a little. Octavia continued. “You smoke cigarettes but won’t get blasted. I drink beer. And whisky. And rum. And vodka. And gin. And-”

“I get it.”

“So.” Octavia smiled. “What is there preventing us from being friends? Opposites attract or whatever.”

“Yes.” Vinyl nodded, watching the smoke curling up to the ceiling. “Opposites sure do attract, it seems.”

“Which one is that?” Octavia asked, serious, pointing at the cigarette.

“FIfteenth, I think,” Vinyl countered. “Sixteenth, maybe.”

“Don’t you think that’s enough for today?”

“I did think that.” Vinyl furrowed her brows. “I did think that when I was going to bed. When you turned up the damn amp. I have an important rehearsal tomorrow, just so you know.” She placed the cigarette into the ashtray. Then, with a deep, thoughtful sigh, she picked up one more cigarette. “The last one for today,” she promised to the guitarist.

“Hey,” Octavia shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not judging. It’s up to you to find creative ways to kill your health.” She yawned and rubbed her neck. “I have a reh tomorrow too, though.”

“You have a…” Vinyl slapped her forehead with a palm. “Oh, by the gods! Octavia! Are you so lazy as to call a rehearsal a ‘reh’?!”

“Yeah.” Octavia nodded.

“Okay.” Vinyl dragged on her cigarette some more, then picked up the pack. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sure, whatevs.” Octavia followed the woman with her eyes, then, with a sigh, plugged in her guitar and plugged in the headphones. Trying out a couple power chords, she looked over her shoulder and whispered to herself:

“Anarchy.”

***

Vinyl watched, out of the corner of her eye, the conductor’s hand, trembling just a little, ready to lead them into battle. Her bow was a millimetre away from the strings. Her forehead was getting sweaty. With Catcher, the conductor, the pressure was always high. Finally, the hand moved.

The orchestra blared with Summer. Vinyl’s fingers moved in perfect harmony with the bow movements; the notes danced in their proper way; her eyes were closed, the music was inside her. The music was her. She was the music. She was the first violin. In this case, she was basically the soloist. She could do this.

“Stop!” came the yell from the conductor. Vinyl opened her eyes. Mark Catcher, the most renowned conductor in the city, the middle-aged bald man with a beard that made him look like a meth dealer, turned towards her. Vinyl gulped. “Vincenza,” he said calmly, approaching the woman. Suddenly, Vinyl’s tux felt vaguely uncomfortable. The violinist wished for her usual shirt and waistcoat that, now, seemed like so far away. “We seem to have a little problem here,” Catcher addressed the orchestra. “Our little ‘soloist’ here seems to have forgotten the tempo.” He loomed over Vinyl. “What exactly was your mistake, Vincenza? Can you tell the rest of the musicians so nobody repeats that mistake again?”

Vinyl gulped. “I was…” She hadn’t noticed any mistake; but, with Catcher, not noticing a mistake meant immediate dismissal. His orchestra, his core players, were the best of the best. She’d only been in this orchestra for two months, but she knew the demands very well.

“Were you rushing,” Catcher suggested politely, his face inches away from the woman’s, “or were you dragging?” He stood tall, looming over the sitting violinist. The rest of the orchestra seemed to have lost their gift of speech, silently staring at the floor. “Tell me, Vincenza. Were you rushing or were you dragging?”

“I was… dragging,” Vinyl settled.

“Oh.” Catcher pondered for a moment. “Then just count out the rhythm, Vincenza. Presto.”

“One, two, three-” Vinyl began.

SLAP!

Vinyl ouched and touched the cheek she’d just been slapped on.

“Count!”

“One, two, three-”

SLAP!

Vinyl felt tears appear in her eyes. She tried to swallow them up. “One, two, three-”

SLAP!

Vinyl staggered a little in her seat, her cheek blazing with pain. “One, two, three-”

SLAP!

Vinyl broke into tears, by far not for the first time in her career. But she couldn’t fail now. She’d come such a long long way. She’d trained, and played, and rehearsed. She deserved the place of the first violin in Catcher’s orchestra.

“Oh dear.” The conductor lowered his voice, touching the violinist’s cheek. The touch electrified her. “Are you upset, my dear?”

“Yes,” Vinyl mumbled, looking away.

“Do you want me to tell you why you are upset?” Catcher enquired, immediately answering: “Because you are a fucking crappy violinist!” He looked over the orchestra. “All of you are pathetic little fucks, but Vincenza here can’t run her fingers on a fucking piece of wood! Is that because that’s not your girlfriend’s cunt?” he asked, expecting no answer.

“Octavia is my friend,” Vinyl said weakly.

“Friend?!” Catcher turned sharply towards her. “Friend?” He grinned. “Little lazy fuckers like you don’t have friends! So don’t you fucking lie to me!” He took a deep breath, “You. Were. RUSHING!” He pointed at the edge of the stage. “There’s your door. Get the FUCK out of here. If you can’t distinguish between rushing the tempo and dragging the tempo, you don’t deserve to be in my orchestra. Get the FUCK OUT!” he yelled, inducing Vinyl to stand sharply, grab her violin and bow, and run away in tears.

Collapsing against the wall, off-stage, crying her heart out, she could hear Catcher’s dry baritone: “All right, ladies. Summer. Presto. And one, and two-”

***

“Heeeey!”

Octavia raised her hand in a greeting, staggering a little in the door. She took a drag off her beer bottle. “Hey, fellas. Sup?” She stormed into the room, which was, in reality, an attic, and placed her guitar case on the floor. “What are we playing today?”

“Uh…” Pat the drummer looked at Beatrice the bassist, who, in turn, looked at the blond man with a guitar whom Octavia didn’t recognise. “See, Tavs…”

“Who’s this guy?” Octavia asked cautiously, inching closer to the guitarist. “And why does he have a guitar? I thought we didn’t need a second guitar.” She looked at the blond man with animosity.

“We don’t,” Beatrice replied. “It’s just that…” She scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “Look.” She put down the bass. “You rarely attend rehearsals, and when you do, you’re drunk. When we go on stage, you yell profanities at the security and we get our asses handed to us. You throw bottles at the police, and we spend days in custody.”

“You drive under influence,” Pat supplied. “And make hateful remarks about our sponsors.”

“Because they’re fucking capitalists!” Octavia snarked, looking from one face to another. “What the fuck is this about? Tell me straight!”

“We.” Pat pointed at himself and at Beatrice. “Don’t. Need you. You are ruining our band’s chances at becoming great. We’ll never get signed with you on board. But,” he smiled, “with Fred, we can at least give it a try.”

“Pleased to meet you.” The blond guitarist extended his hand with a polite smile.

“Pleased to meet you?!” Octavia growled and spat in the offered hand. “That’s what I think about you! That’s what I think-” She spat on the floor. “-About your whole fucking sellout band! You fucking sellouts! I knew you were a bitch, Pat,” she pointed at the drummer, “but Bea? Seriously? I thought you were a femipunk, crushing those balls and singing truths!”

“There’s no such thing as ‘femipunk’,” Fred the new guitarist said calmly. “Punk is more about equality than it is about gender stereotypes. If you were aware-”

“Punk,” Octavia growled, looming in on the unperturbed guitarist, “is about fucking up with booze, crushing authority and spreading anarchy!” She looked over the attic room again. “That’s what punk is about!”

“Octavia,” Beatrice said in the same calm tone as Fred. “Please leave. We do not want you to be part of our band. We haven’t, for a while.”

“Well, fuck you then!” Octavia yelled, gritting her teeth as she observed the two traitors and the third wheel. “Fuck you and your band!” She pointed at Fred. “And fuck your choice! I’ll bet this little shit here doesn’t even know anything but power chords! I played jazz in a band, I’ll have you know!”

“We know,” Pat said, “ and we do not care.”

“When I become a fucking celebrity,” Octavia warned, picking up her case, “I won’t even look at you dirty fuckers. You’re dirt under my fucking feet!” Flustered, she stormed out of the room.

Pat shrugged. “All right, with that dealt with, let’s actually play some music, for a change.”

***

Vinyl walked along the snowy street, taking deep, painful breaths. The irony was not lost on her. Summer. Presto. One, two, three, slap. Well, this was only to be expected. Sooner or later… Everyone was subject to rotation in Catcher’s orchestra. Catcher. What a stupid name.

Vinyl sighed and tried for the pack. Of course. She’d had her last cigarette ten minutes ago. She walked onto the bridge. What to do now? She couldn’t apply for a lower orchestra. She would not be third violinist ever again. She stopped and looked over. Oh no, I’m not thinking about jumping off the bridge. That’s just fucking stupid. Once more, Vinyl sighed, and breathed in the deep, saturated air. Maybe a chamber ensemble?

Her phone rang. Automatically, Vinyl took off her gloves and took out the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Vinyl,” came Octavia’s inebriated voice. “What’s up, you sexy beast?”

Vinyl sighed, considering whether she had hit her limit of sighs for the day. “Octavia.” She rubbed her forehead. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” came the reply. “But they kicked me out of the band, so I’m totally getting blasted tonight.”

“The proper term would be wasted…” Vinyl sighed, when a realisation dawned upon her. “Wait. You too?!” She almost dropped the phone off the bridge. Her hands were getting a touch cold.

“What do you mean, you too?” Octavia asked. “You mean, like-”

“I mean, bloody Catcher finally fired me.” Vinyl chewed on her lip and touched her cheek. “After slapping me a hundred times.”

“He what?” Octavia’s voice rasped in the phone. “Show him to me and I’ll give him one hell of a beating!”

Vinyl smiled, imagining her best friend kicking Catcher’s ass. “Let’s return to the getting wasted part,” she suggested reasonably.

“Oh, so little miss abstainer is gonna get a couple drinks with her old friend?”

“A couple?” Vinyl chuckled. “Octavia, after what happened today, I’m not sure if I’ll stop at a dozen.”

***

Drinking was very, very fun. Unfortunately, Vinyl did it so rarely that she had almost forgotten the drive of half a dozen whiskies in your belly. And two gin-tonics. And five beers. And four shots of rum.

“Whee!” Vinyl shouted gleefully, taking off her blue waistcoat and waving it in the air. Her shirt was two buttons off from the top, and the male patrons of the bar were doing their best not to stare. “Octavia, come over here, it’s so fun!” She spun and spun about three steps away from the bar counter, where Octavia was cradling her glass.

The guitarist chuckled, watching her friend’s antics. “I definitely should take you out drinking more often.”

“Octavia!” Vinyl yelled, even though the punk rocker was sitting a couple steps away from her and the music was not that loud. “Here, take my waistcoat!”

Octavia chuckled and caught the delicate piece of clothing. “Always thought you look better without it.”

“Come on!” Vinyl urged, approaching Octavia and grabbing her by the arm. “Let’s dance! Fuck your band, and fuck my orchestra! Let’s just dance!”

Octavia obeyed and followed Vinyl into the empty space, but, instead of dancing with her, just watched as Vinyl spun round and round, waving her arms comically. Finally, she could not contain a laugh. “Damn, Vinyl, your dancing skills are… impressive as fuck.”

“You know what we should do?” Vinyl licked her lips seductively as she dragged Octavia close to her, almost collapsing onto the woman. “We should totally make out. Gods, it’s been years since I made out with someone. Come on, Octavia, let’s do it, I’ve been meaning to do it for years.”

“No, you haven’t.” Octavia shook her head and distanced yourself from the woman. “I’m straight. And so are you. Damn,” she swore, “how come I’m the voice of reason? For fuck’s sake!” She glanced at the usually prim, proper violinist, who was trying to light up a cigarette. “Vinyl, there’s been a smoking ban for five years now.”

“Stupid fucking city,” Vinyl swore without ceasing her efforts.

“That’s a national ban,” Octavia tried to explain. “Hell, it’s the same in other countries. It’s banned everywhere.”

“Stupid fucking authorities.” Vinyl finally managed to light up her cigarette and dragged on it victoriously.

Octavia regarded her friend with a degree of respect. “I always knew that, deep inside, you were an anarchist.” She smirked and opened her mouth to say something else, when a waiter approached the pair and said politely to Vinyl:

“I am sorry, ma’am, we are a non-smoking establishment. If you would care to go outside…”

“It’s fucking snowing outside!” Vinyl remarked, staggering a little. She pointed her finger at the waiter accusingly. “If it weren’t for all you waiters telling us nobles what to do-”

“All right, that’s enough.” Octavia grabbed Vinyl by the waist and the shoulders and dragged her away towards the exit. Glancing back, she took a right turn towards the toilets and entered the toilet, Vinyl in her half-embrace.

“I thought we were performing anarchy tonight!” Vinyl complained drunkenly.

“Fuck, I have no idea how you manage to be so beastly drunk, make a fool of yourself, and still retain eloquence.” Octavia pondered. “Fuck. I said ‘retain’. That’s not very punk. Though…” She rubbed her chin. “If Bad Religion do those complicated lyrics…”

“Why are we in a toilet?” Vinyl demanded, freeing herself from Octavia’s grasp. “I don’t need to pee.”

“We aren’t here to pee.” Octavia took a quick look around and, noting that there was no one around, dragged Vinyl into one of the stalls.

“Wha…” An expression of surprise on Vinyl’s face changed into a sultry expression as soon as she found herself in the cramped space, rubbing shoulders with Octavia, quite literally. “Aaah… I see. You wanna sex me!” she proclaimed victoriously. “Great, I haven’t had sex in years. Come on, let’s-”

“No, you silly ugh.” Octavia pressed her palm against Vinyl’s mouth, much like Vinyl had pressed her palm against Octavia’s mouth so many times. “I’m straight. And you are straight. And while I’m all for breaking rules, I’m sure it’d be something we’d seriously regret. We’re here to do this.” With that, the punk rocker fished out something from her pocket.

Vinyl squinted her eyes, then gasped. “Octavia! Is that- is that a joint?!”

“Yup.” Octavia grinned. “High-quality marijuana here. I think we should blaze it, just for the occasion.”

“Octavia,” Vinyl said warningly, “that’s illegal.”

“Much stuff I do is illegal,” Octavia countered boldly. “That’s the punk way. But,” she admitted, “this one’s legal. For your info, there’s been a court ruling you can keep up to three grams of marijuana for private possession if you’re not gonna distribute it. Also, blazing it in a public place will get us a fine at most. Come on.”

“How do you know so much?” Vinyl furrowed her brow.

“I secretly graduated from law school. Come on.” Octavia motioned for her friend. “Gimme the lighter. Let’s blaze this shit.”

“I don’t know, Octavia…” Vinyl took out the lighter reluctantly. “I mean, I’ve never tried drugs, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to start…”

“Oh, since then are you not drunk enough to do stupid things?” Octavia snapped. “Come on! They fired you, they fired me, now let’s fire this joint and make it square!”

For a moment, Vinyl contemplated the joint. Just like a cigarette. Then she touched her cheek. And then she remembered. And gritted her teeth. Then grinned. “Let’s blaze it.”

***

“Hey, Vinyl. Wake up.”

Vinyl rolled over, shielding her ears from the terrible noise that seemed to have taken form of Octavia’s voice. “Mhmhmhgway,” she mumbled, grabbing a pillow and putting it over her head.

The pillow, however, was swiftly taken away in an act of unspeakable betrayal and cowardice. “Vinyl, wake up, it’s four in the afternoon.”

As soon as Vinyl opened her eyes, she felt that the world had conspired against her to deliver a most painful death. A special level of hell, even. One reserved for people who didn’t turn mobile phones off in a concert hall. “Why. Do you. Ugh!” was all she could say before the light murdered any desire to live on this planet anymore.

“I wouldn’t wake you up,” Octavia said, “but you ate everything in the fridge yesterday so we’re out of food. And I’m hungry.”

“Ugh!” It took Vinyl a good five minutes to sit in bed, looking at the dressed guitarist. “What happened yesterday?”

Octavia blinked. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“I remember smoking that joint. Then…” Vinyl chewed on her lip. “Much fun. But nothing substantial comes to mind.”

“We went home,” Octavia said with a grin. “There was nothing ‘substantial’. We went home and you raided the fridge. Then you tried to get me into your bed. Tried to bribe me with beer.” Octavia sighed. “I must say that was fucking tempting.”

Language… Vinyl rubbed her eyes. They felt like going out of the sockets and straight to the moon. “We didn’t…? You know?”

“No,” Octavia replied, “we didn’t. I had to remind you that you’re straight about a thousand times.”

“Okay.” Vinyl nodded. “It’s great that… we are still friends.” She tried to stand up, but, instead, fell down on the bed.

“So…” Octavia smiled. “What about that duet thing?”

“What about what?” Vinyl tried to collect her thoughts, but the little punk Vinyl in her brain told her to fuck off and kept on napping. Why do I even have such a personality in my head in the first place?

“The duet?” Octavia supplied eagerly. “The thing we decided on yesterday? That we’ll make our own act and take the audience by storm and shit?”

“Storm… and shit?” Vinyl reiterated dumbly. “Why shit?”

“Oh come on, Vinyl!” Octavia almost facepalmed. “We talked. About. A new act. Me on guitar. You on violin. We’ll kick ass. And chew bubblegum. And drink beer. A lot of beer. And get hot studs and have a foursome.”

“What.”

“Okay,” Octavia admitted reluctantly, “that last one, I made up. But we could still get hot studs and have sex in the same room. ‘Cause the Golden Rule says that-”

“What.” Vinyl yawned and rubbed her eyelids again. “Uuuh. I need a cigarette.” Thankfully, Octavia had thought about it and handed her one:

“I guess smoking on an empty stomach isn’t pleasant, but since we don’t have food anyway… yeah.”

“We had two steaks. A cake. A whole plate of ham. Half a kilo of cheese. A pack of french fries,” Vinyl counted from memory.

“Yup,” Octavia confirmed. “We ate everything. One of the little side effects of my special joints.”

“Uh.” Vinyl took a drag on the cigarette. “Huh. An act. A duet. You on guitar and me on violin.” She pondered. “Will that even work?”

Octavia shrugged. “We can try. Besides: you don’t have a job, I don’t have a job.”

“You never had a job,” Vinyl made a point. “Your punk band cannot qualify as a job.” She sighed and took another deep drag. “Okay. Theoretically. How would that even work?..” She looked at Octavia, then rubbed her forehead. “You know…” She took the cigarette out of her mouth. “It could work. Of course, you’ll have to play acoustic guitar, not one of your monstrosities.”

Octavia gasped. “What? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What?” Vinyl smiled. “Can’t play acoustic?”

“I can!” Octavia countered. “But acoustic is not punk enough.”

“Oh really?” Vinyl sighed and dragged on the cigarette greedily. I feel like I’m getting addicted to sighing. “Rise Against did acoustic, and Bad Religion did acoustic, and Anti-Flag did acoustic… should I continue?”

Octavia looked at Vinyl attentively for a few seconds. “How the hell do you know about punk bands?” She gasped. “Wait. Don’t tell me… Sissy prissy little miss violinist actually listens to punk rock in secret!”

“Well, my dear Octavia…” Vinyl smirked, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray. “You’ll find out that I’m still full of surprises.”