The City

Chapter Three

The evening sky had taken on a deep purple cast, and as Octavia gazed at it, she felt a kind of serenity that she hadn’t known in many years. Not only did she feel at peace, but it seemed that her companion did as well. Nearly an entire day of sleep – as well as waking up in a warm embrace – had done Vinyl well, and she seemed quite stable now, if still a bit fragile from the previous night’s fever dreams.

The two mares reclined upon a bench in the same garden they had sat in the previous night. The ethereal, lamp-lit melancholy that had pervaded it then had been replaced by a pastel wash of tranquility as they bathed in the balm of both a beautiful sunset and a clearer state of mind.

“Vinyl?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Octavia began, sipping her drink thoughtfully, “about what you said the other day…about my parents.”

“Yeah?”

“You were right,” the gray mare sighed. It was not a sad sound, but rather one of acceptance. She snuggled into her partner’s chest as they basked in the lingering warmth of the sun’s fading rays. “I’m going to go see them tomorrow, and I hope you’ll come along.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

“Tonight, however,” she continued with an ever-so-slightly mischievous smile, “I think we should do something for us,” she could feel Vinyl’s heartbeat quicken, “so what do you say we go out to dinner?” The DJ was silent, and Octavia began to worry that she’d made a misstep at some point. “If you want to, that is.”

“Of…of course I do!”

“You don’t much sound like it.”

“I-it’s not that,” the unicorn stammered slightly, “I just…I don’t leave the house much, anymore. It makes me a little nervous.”

Octavia blinked internally, wondering just what had become of the rowdy mare who would try to drag her out to a bar or restaurant at every available opportunity. Being the first one to suggest that they go out was a surreal experience in and of itself, but Vinyl being reluctant to do so only added to the strangeness. “Don’t even think on it, love,” she reassured, “we can just stay in.”

“No,” Vinyl protested with unexpected intensity, “let’s do it. Let’s go out. I’m not some pathetic shut-in who can’t handle eating at a restaurant.” Exactly whom the last statement was meant to convince was unclear.

“Sweetie, you don’t have t–”

“Nah,” the DJ interjected again, “we’re going out. Go get ready.”

Octavia stood and trotted off, almost giddy in complying with the order. The command carried with it a vestige of the nonchalant yet forceful personality that Vinyl had possessed in their past life.

Vinyl Scratch waited until she heard the sliding glass door close behind her, then sank down into herself, rubbing her temples, heart thundering in her chest. She tried to imagine what her younger self might do in such a situation, yet the only thing she could imagine a twenty-year-old Vinyl doing at the moment was slapping her across the face.

She looked up, staring straight into the sunset and thinking of the goddess that was creating it at that very moment. She wished she hadn’t prayed to her so much when she was young, so that she might still believe such prayers could be answered.

Vinyl Scratch sighed heavily as she heard the door latch behind her.

“Are you sure you want to go out, love?” Octavia asked as their hooves clopped against the flagstone path that lead away from their estate and into the outskirts of Canterlot.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go!” Vinyl flashed a grin, her words accompanied by a tinny treble emanating from the headphones draped around her neck, her eyes obscured by rose-colored shades. She was wearing her armor, and though Vinyl Scratch may or may not have wanted to stay home, DJ Pon-3 was up for a long-overdue night on the town.

“Vinyl, a–”

“Stop overthinking things, Tavi.”

No sooner had the two mares stepped onto Canterlot’s Mane Street than heads began to turn. Octavia was slightly overwhelmed at being back in an actual city again, but her senses were sharper than they’d ever been, and she caught everything, a good portion of it being about the mare she was walking behind.

She heard the names “DJ PON-3” and “Vinyl Scratch” more than a few times.

She heard Vinyl laugh and shout, voice carrying a confidence she hadn’t witnessed in ages. The spiky-maned unicorn was greeting and hoof-bumping mares and stallions at every street corner, exchanging pleasantries with enthusiastic passers-by and even signing several autographs as they made their way to the restaurant.

When they reached the establishment in question, a place that the average pony would have to make reservations for months in advance, Vinyl received a warm embrace from the proprietor before she and Octavia were escorted to a private booth. Once there, behind a thick red curtain that separated them from the rest of the patronage, an eager waitmare came to take their drink orders.

“What can I start you off with tonight?” She asked, smiling a bit too widely.

“I’ll have a gin and diet tonic,” Vinyl gestured at herself, “and she’ll have a…” there was a pause in which Octavia knew she was supposed to order her own drink, but she kept silent, curious as to what would happen, “…a white griffon,” the unicorn finished with a roguish smile.

“Very good!” The blonde-maned waitress beamed, “I’ll be back in just one moment!” She ducked under the curtain, leaving the two mares alone.

“Vinyl?” Octavia prompted hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s...going on?”

“Just think about what you want to eat,” Vinyl said, keeping a perfect rock star smile on her face. Their waitress returned momentarily with drinks. The DJ took a long draught of hers and leaned back in her seat.

“So, what would you ladies like tonight?” The blonde pegasus tittered, ruffling her wings ever-so-slightly. She seemed more than a bit nervous.

“Ehhh…” Vinyl pretended to stare at her menu before she proceeded to order the same thing she ordered at almost every restaurant she and Octavia had been to since they met, “I’ll have an oatburger.”

“And you, ma’am?”

“The same,” the gray mare stated flatly, folding her menu and hoofing it over.

“Okay!” The young pegasus grinned with entirely too much enthusiasm, “back in a moment!” As soon as the waitress had disappeared beyond the curtain Octavia wheeled around on her counterpart, unnerved by the casual smile she was met with.

“Vinyl…?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re frightening me a bit,” she admitted.

“Me too,” the DJ told her, the confidence in her voice wavering almost imperceptibly. Octavia elected not to reply. Despite her partner’s apparently relaxed demeanor, there was a palpable tension in the room, as if they were waiting for something. She decided to simply wait and see what it was. After a bafflingly short amount of time, the waitress returned with their food. This was clearly some VIP service they were receiving.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” She asked after setting the plates down.

“Nah,” Vinyl shrugged, “just make sure nopony bugs us, including you. I’ll come get ya if we need anything. No offense, we just need some privacy.”

“Oh, okay…I mean, of course!” The blonde pegasus sounded sad but quickly recovered for professionalism’s sake. She turned to leave but stopped when Vinyl spoke.

“Hold up,” the unicorn called, causing the waitress to turn around, “maybe I’m just self-absorbed and delusional – in fact I know I am – but I could’ve sworn I saw you at a show one time.” The mare’s face lit up like a filly’s on Hearth’s Warming, and she began to chatter excitedly.

“Omigosh, I’ve been to like, so many of your shows! I’ve been a fan of you since I was a kid!” She practically squealed, abandoning all pretense, “Octaves was like, the first album I ever owned! I have them all! You’re the one who made me love music in the first place! And now here you are, like, talking to me! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I must sound like such a dork!”

“Wow,” Vinyl actually sounded impressed, “that album came out over eleven years ago…how old were you?”

“I was seven, hehe,” the waitress tried forcing a laugh, probably in an attempt to not sound like a ditzy idiot, but it achieved the opposite effect. Her whole body was trembling and her face looked like it was about to split in half from the enormous, nervous grin plastered on it.

“Not to sound presumptuous,” the DJ began with a disclaimer, “but I could sign something if you want.”

“Eep!”

“Uh…you okay?”

“I’m sorry!” The waitress attempted to collect herself, only partially succeeding “but I didn’t want to be annoying and ask for an autograph, but oh yes please and…oh damnit I don’t even have anything here for you to sign except napkins!” She looked genuinely distraught, eyes darting back and forth, attempting to locate any item suitable for an autograph and finding only less-than-ideal options.

“I’ve got an idea,” Vinyl said with a wry smile, “you got a marker on you?”

“I-I do,” the pegasus removed a black permanent marker from her apron, “here.” Vinyl took the pen in her aura, then magicked the shades off her eyes and set them on the table, blinking a few times at the change in lighting.

“Oh wow!” The waitress gasped, staring intently at the newly revealed pair of cerise eyes, “almost everypony I know thinks they’re red!”

“Pretty sure I started that rumor myself,” the DJ chuckled.

“Aww man,” the young mare lamented, “they’ll never believe I saw your eyes, though, not even with the autograph.”

“Actually, I think they will,” Vinyl countered with a winning smile “what’s your name?”

“L-Lightheart.”

She uncapped the pen and began to write on one lens of her shades, then the other. Though the private booth was dimly lit, Octavia could still make out her surprisingly elegant penmanship: For Lightheart, my most dedicated fan – Vinyl Scratch/DJ PON-3. “Here,” she said when she was done, levitating the glasses over to Lightheart, “I think they’ll believe you.”

Lightheart took them in her forehooves as one might hold an ancient family heirloom: with reverence, awe, and utmost care. She tried to say something, but all that came out were squeaky throat noises. When she finally found her voice, she sounded fairly distressed.

“But…but you…y-you can’t! You can’t give me these! Th-they’re your trademark! I can’t…I mean…”

“Don’t sweat it,” Vinyl waved a hoof dismissively, “I have two other pairs. Those are the originals though. I mean, the frames are; the lenses I’ve probably broken about two hundred times.”

More squeaky noises.

“Anyway, me and my lady friend are gonna chow down, but it was cool to meet you, and I hope to see you at my next show.”

“O-of course…of course I’ll be there,” Lightheart whispered hoarsely before hurrying out of the room. Octavia watched her go, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Vinyl,” she said, turning around slowly, “that was…” she stopped mid-sentence, for the mare she saw when she looked back was entirely different from the one that had sat in the same spot just moments ago. Vinyl was slumped over the table, her head cradled in her hooves, breathing uneven and ragged. “Vinyl…?”

“Gimme a sec here,” the unicorn said, simply inhaling and exhaling with deliberation for a few moments longer. At length, she opened her saddle bag and produced a small orange bottle with her aura. Removing the cap, she took a tiny, blueish capsule from within and put it on her tongue, washing it down with a hefty gulp of gin and tonic, then sinking back in her seat with a sigh, eyes closed. “Well,” she said finally with a mirthless chuckle, “at least I can still play the part.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

“I never meant for this to happen,” Vinyl sighed, voice cracking, “I just needed to make music to keep myself sane, and I just kept hoofing it over to the record label because it was the only way I knew how to make money…and somewhere along the way…”

Octavia said nothing, rising from her seat and walking around the table to sit down by her partner, putting a comforting hoof around her shoulder. Though it seemed obvious now, she’d given no thought to the fact that Vinyl might continue her musical career over the course of her absence, or to what effect it might have.

“I…I don’t care what the papers and magazines say…it’s them. It’s the ones like her, who grew up listening to this garbage I just churned out to keep myself from going crazy and thought it was the best thing they’d ever heard. It’s these kids that spill their guts to me at the drop of a hat and tell me I changed their lives. What would they think…what would happen if they found out what I’m really like?”

Octavia just squeezed her harder. “You just showed her what you’re really like, love. You were generous, you were exceedingly kind, and you made her feel special. Do you really think somepony who adores you like that would begrudge you the fact that you’re a living, breathing creature with actual feelings?”

“I guess not,” Vinyl sniffled, “I just don’t want to disappoint anypony.”

“You could never disappoint, love,” the earth mare reassured, stroking that electric blue mane. “Even when you’re wearing a mask, your heart shines through.” Vinyl didn’t respond verbally, instead pulling Octavia into a tight embrace. They stayed that way for a long while, surrounded by flickering lights and red velvet curtains. Beyond those curtains could be heard the murmur and clatter of the restaurant’s other patrons – close in proximity, yet a world away at the same time; they were both surrounded and isolated.

“I’m sorry,” Vinyl whispered at last, “I know you just wanted to have a night out, and here I am ruining it.”

“Do you feel a bit better?” Octavia asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then nothing has been ruined.”

“So, by this point, I was totally smashed,” Vinyl explained, the statement applying both to the story she was relating and her present condition, “and so I pour him another drink and slide it across the table, and for some reason he’s looking freaked out, right?”

“Heh…yeah?” Octavia encouraged, hardly better off in the sobriety department.

“And I’m lookin’ at him like ‘What’s wrong with you, man?’” the unicorn brought a hoof to her mouth, stifling a snicker, “and he asks me, like, one-hundred-percent dead serious, ‘are you just getting me drunk so you can have your way with me?’” Octavia nearly choked on her drink, and upon swallowing, let out a peal of raucous laughter. Both mares were still giggling hysterically when the curtains parted, letting in a sliver of bright light as Lightheart came trotting up to their table. About two hours prior, Vinyl had finally relaxed a bit and given her permission to come check on them every so often so that they wouldn’t have to keep venturing out into the restaurant proper to order more food and drinks.

“Did you ladies enjoy your desserts?” The waitress asked sweetly. Vinyl blinked a few times, then stared down at the crumb-covered plate that had at some point been home to a piece of chocolate cake.

“I…I think so,” she said, slightly bewildered, “what did I have?” Both Octavia and Lightheart couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“Yes, dear,” the former said apologetically to the latter, “the desserts were lovely. Vinyl did enjoy her cake, she just wasn’t exactly compos at the time, and that was a few drinks ago.”

“That’s good to hear…I think,” Lightheart tittered, “is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to make an executive decision and ask for our check,” the gray mare told her, “I’m probably going to have to carry her home as it is.”

“Oh, there’s no check ma’am, it’s on the house.”

“Oh…”

“I hope you have a wonderful evening, and please give Ms. Scratch my thanks when she’s a bit more…coherent.”

“I will indeed.”

Lightheart smiled warmly and took her leave.

A few moments after the waitress had ducked out, Vinyl had finally collected herself and was looking around.

“Where’d she go? I need another drink.”

“I think you’ve had quite enough, love,” Octavia attempted to sound stern, “and besides, there’s plenty at the house.”

“Ahh fine,” Vinyl rolled her eyes, picking at the remnants of a plate of hay fries. To her credit, she actually seemed relatively competent, but it remained to be seen exactly what would happen when she stood up and tried to walk home.

The two mares left the restaurant and ventured out into the cool night air. It was after midnight, and the streets were largely empty, yet there was nothing eerie about them. This was Canterlot, the capital of Equestria and the epicenter of the civilized world. Violent crime was essentially nonexistent, and many residents hardly bothered to lock their doors at night. Octavia simply drank in the warm, safe ambiance of her dearly-missed hometown, while her fillyfriend led the way back to their home.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” Vinyl called when she began to lag behind. It suddenly occurred to Octavia that not only did the unicorn seem genuinely at ease now, she was quite coherent for someone who’d just taken an upscale restaurant’s supply of gin to the cleaners. There was no wobble in her step or slur in her voice; in fact, beyond the goofy expression on her face, she seemed exceedingly normal. The earth mare wasn’t sure if this was encouraging or alarming, but she didn’t want to risk spoiling the evening by saying anything about it.

The city’s outskirts passed them by, and they finally came to a dirt path that led to the grand estate that the two ponies called home. It was rather isolated, roughly a quarter-mile from the nearest suburban clusters, making it a bit of a trek going to and from downtown, but it afforded them a kind of privacy that most citizens of Canterlot did not enjoy. The past few days had been so emotionally chaotic for Octavia that she hadn’t taken much note of her surroundings for anything other than utilitarian purposes, such as not tripping or bumping into things, but as she and Vinyl made their way past the line of trees that surrounded their home, she marveled at how beautiful it was.

The three-story mansion had walls of cream-colored stucco, accented by dark-brown wooden trim and a shingled roof of the same color, lending it a modest, rustic charm. It was surrounded by a lush, expansive garden that had once been Octavia’s primary hobby aside from music. As much as she had spent a good portion of her youth striving to stand among Canterlot’s most elite musicians – a contingent composed almost entirely of unicorns – as a successful adult with nothing left to prove to anypony, she had come to realize how foolish she’d been in ignoring a simple truth: she was an earth pony, through and through, drawn to the land with an intensity that most unicorns and pegasi simply could not comprehend. Despite its size, she had maintained the garden religiously, single-hoofedly keeping it in pristine condition. It brought her solace during the times when she and Vinyl had to be apart for business reasons, or when the pressures of rising stardom and the daily struggles of holding one’s own in the Equestrian music industry threatened to overwhelm. Octavia reflected that it would take her some time to restore it to its former glory, but even though gardening was not her special talent, her very veins coursed with an ancestral gift for tending the earth, and she had every confidence that she was up to the task.

These musings overrode her perceptions of the surrounding world, and she almost bumped into Vinyl, who had stopped to unlock the door. It was dark when they entered the foyer, but the entire ground floor lit up at the flip of a single switch. Octavia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I had the lights rigged a little differently,” Vinyl explained, pointing a hoof at the large control panel by the door to the main hall, “you can turn on the whole place from here if you want, or go by floor or room. I figured it would make things easier.”

“Sure you’re not just afraid of the dark?” Octavia smirked.

“Oh I definitely am,” Vinyl returned the expression, “that’s why it makes things easier.” She paused to hit several more buttons on the panel. “Why don’t we go up to the studio?”

“Lead the way.”

The lights were already on in the studio when they entered, including the ones behind the bar, which Vinyl made a beeline for. She retrieved a tumbler and a martini glass from under the counter and set about mixing drinks.

“You still like appletinis, right?” She prompted before pouring Octavia’s drink out of a shaker.

“What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t?” The gray mare replied with a smile. Her taste in liquor had always been somewhat paradoxical; she either drank scotch on the rocks – something even her borderline-alcoholic fillyfriend despised – or the fruitiest, sweetest girly drinks she could get her hooves on. She trotted over and sat down at one of the stools that lined the bar, while Vinyl leaned against the other side of the counter, their positions reversed from the day they had first ventured up here.

“So, what now?” The unicorn prompted.

“Well,” Octavia said pensively, “tomorrow I want to go see my parents. I suppose at some point we ought to go see Lyra and Bon Bon as well. After that, well…maybe we can try and get into a routine and start working on some new music. I think after a while, things might start to feel normal again.”

“Uh…” Vinyl cocked an eyebrow, “I meant what are we gonna do for the rest of the night, but that works too.”

“Oh,” the earth mare blushed, “sorry. I wasn’t exactly thinking ‘in the moment,’ if you will.”

“Hey, Tavi,” the DJ suddenly sounded serious, gazing at her intently, “about your parents…I dunno if I should come along. Maybe it should just be you.”

“You said you wouldn’t dream of missing it. What’s the matter?”

“Well,” Vinyl stirred her drink absentmindedly with a straw, “I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

“How could you say that? Did something happen?”

“We…kinda had a falling-out a few years back.”

Octavia could not imagine this. To an outside observer, it might seem logical that a pony like Vinyl would not get along at all with her family; she would be the first to admit that they were a bit stuffy, a bit snobby, and old-fashioned, as well as approaching the upper limits of the age distribution for parents of a mare from her generation. For a long time she’d absolutely dreaded introducing them to Vinyl, as not only did they disapprove of anything that remotely resembled popular music, they were – while by no means bigoted – quite proud of being earth pony musicians, and looked down on those who had the aid of magic in their craft. The first year of her relationship with Vinyl, she’d had nightmares about the day she would have to tell them that not only was she dating a unicorn studying modern music theory, but that, to top it all off, said unicorn was a mare. When the time had finally come, it had been one of the tensest nights of her life.

Her worries were, however, entirely unfounded; Vinyl’s carefree attitude, roguish charm, and profoundly simple sincerity had melted her parents’ hearts almost instantaneously. Once they set aside their antiquated values and gave Vinyl even a sliver of a chance, they’d become putty in her hooves. It was a process that so closely mirrored Octavia’s own experience in both speed and result that she sometimes wondered whether Vinyl really was that charming, or if her affinity for the happy-go-lucky DJ might be hard-coded into her genes. Her mother and father had come to regard Vinyl as nothing less than a second daughter, and had been quick to start pestering the two of them to tie the knot. The idea that Vinyl could’ve had a permanent falling-out with her parents seemed impossible to Octavia; a fight certainly wasn’t out of the question, but a lasting split? They were family, she thought incredulously, it would take some kind of catastrophic tragedy to…

“Sweetie,” Octavia said aloud, an uncomfortable suspicion growing in the back of her mind, “what exactly happened?”

“We had a fight.”

“About?”

“Well,” Vinyl ran a hoof along the back of her neck, “you, actually. About three years ago.”

“Holy Celestia, Neon, you pusscake!” Vinyl Scratch shouted between fits of laughter, “I’m not trying to date rape you, just drink it!”

“You don’t have to make fun of me just for being concerned,” Neon whined, his cheeks beet-red.

“Dude, you’re hopele–”

knock knock knock

Vinyl paused in her ribbing, wondering if she’d heard something or was just imagining it. She was about to go back to tormenting her friend when it came again.

knock knock knock

She rose from the couch she was sprawled out on and turned off the stereo, trotting across her home’s foyer and looking though a tiny peephole in the door. Two refined looking earth ponies—a mare and a stallion – greeted her distorted, monocular vision.

“Uh, you might wanna clear out, man,” she called to Neon Lights.

“W-what’s up?” He responded unevenly, still embarrassed.

“Family stuff,” Vinyl said, wheeling around, “beat it, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” Neon downed the remainder of his drink and exited through the sliding door at the back of the living room, grumbling the entire way, mostly because he’d been robbed of the opportunity to save face. Once he was gone, Vinyl toggled the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Hey guys,” she said with forced cheer, trying to sound as sober as possible.

“Hello, Vinyl,” the stallion said through his bushy, charcoal-black moustache.

“Hello, love,” the mare said in turn, brushing a few strands of her aquamarine bangs back into their proper place. Vinyl shuddered slightly; the mare’s speech, mannerisms, and even her manecut were all-too-reminiscent of somepony she’d been trying not to think about lately.

“Well, c’mon in!” The unicorn gestured down the hall toward the living room. The pair entered and elected to sit down side by side on the couch that Vinyl normally reserved for herself, forcing her to take the easy chair that Neon had occupied not moments ago. “So,” she attempted a casual demeanor, pouring herself a drink, “what’s up?”

The couple cast each other a worried look.

“Vinyl,” the stallion – known as Baritone – began with no attempt to conceal his frustration, “what are y–”

“Barry, please,” the petite mare beside him interjected, rubbing one of her tiny hooves over his broad shoulder, “there’s no need for hostility. Just let me speak for a moment.”

Vinyl’s heart was hammering in her chest, and she took a deep draught of bourbon before promptly pouring herself another glass. Baritone looked as though he was ready to get up and stop her, but his wife halted him with nothing but a glance and a gentle hoof.

“Vinyl,” Philharmonica Melody finally said, “we haven’t seen you in quite a while. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know,” Vinyl Scratch poured yet another glass of whiskey down her gullet, “makin’ music, playing shows, going on tour…the usual stuff.”

“Sweetie,” Philharmonica began, her voice full of apology, “we don’t want you to think that we’re keeping tabs on you, or anything of the sort, but we couldn’t help but hear about what happened last week.”

“Huh?” Vinyl managed to slur the single syllable, refilling her glass again.

“You were taken to the hospital, it was in the papers.”

“Eh, they made a bigger deal of it than it was,” the DJ waved a dismissive hoof, “I had one too many and they had to give me an IV. I’m fine.”

“No, Vinyl, you’re not fine,” Philharmonica said with a sternness that made the unicorn turn her head, “you haven’t been fine for a very long time, and that’s why we’re here.”

“What?”

“Vinyl,” Baritone said, sounding both angry and heartbroken, “you’re killing yourself. Despite being worried sick, we’ve kept our mouths shut until now, but this was the last straw. What are y–”

“Oh cut the melodrama,” the DJ rolled her eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Vinyl, you are not f–”

“What do you want from me?” Vinyl Scratch hollered, her booze-addled mind suddenly full of irrational rage.

“What do we want?” Baritone bellowed, standing up, “we want you to act like an adult!”

“You’re not my dad,” Vinyl shouted, on her hooves in an instant, “you wanna do this? Come at me!”

“Stop!” Philharmonica cried, throwing herself between the two of them, her slight form trembling with restrained emotion. “Please, stop,” she nearly sobbed, “Vinyl, we just want to help you!”

“Well if that’s the case,” Vinyl spat, “you’re failing miserably, because all you’ve done so far tonight is raise my blood pressure.”

“S-sweetie,” the earth pony mare stammered, “we just want what’s best for you…”

“What are you saying?” Vinyl Scratch demanded, “what are you trying to tell–”

“You need to stop this, Vinyl,” Baritone interjected bluntly, “she’s gone, Vinyl, she’s dead, and you need to stop deluding yourself into thinking otherwise.”

Vinyl Scratch felt like she’d just been punched in the chest. All her anger drained in the blink of an eye, and she fell back on her haunches, slumping against the easy chair.

“You don’t know that,” she protested weakly, voice barely above a whisper. Philharmonica rose from her seat and trotted around the coffee table, sitting down beside Vinyl and wrapping her in a warm embrace. “How…how can you ask me to forget her?”

“You don’t have to forget her, love,” the older mare said, kissing her on the forehead, “you shouldn’t forget her. Celestia knows we never, ever will, but you can’t spend the rest of your life waiting for her to come back; that’s just not the answer. This,” she reached over pushed away the tumbler of whiskey, “is not the answer.” By now Baritone had joined them, and he ran a hoof through Vinyl’s spiky blue mane.

“I’m sorry I got angry at you, kid,” he apologized, “but it’s…” there was an audible sniffle and his voice began to quaver, “it’s just because I’m so sick of seeing you hurt yourself. I already lost one daughter. Please don’t make me lose another.”

“But what if...” Vinyl’s chest heaved as she tried not to break down, “what if she’s still out there? What if she comes home someday? W-what if she finds her way back to me, and I’m…” she let out a choking sob, “and I’m not there for her? How would she feel, knowing we all just gave up and moved on?”

“Sweetie,” Philharmonica squeezed her tighter, “it’s been almost ten years. We can’t be certain of anything, but at some point, you have to start looking out for yourself.”

Vinyl heard those words – those loving, gentle, and well-intentioned words – and suddenly her anger was rekindled, a thousand times more intense and righteous than before. She brushed both of them off and stood up, her eyes cast downward.

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” She hissed coldly. When she finally looked up, both Philharmonica and Baritone took a step back. Vinyl’s visage was so contorted with pain and rage that her face was all but unrecognizable to them. “That’s just what you’re doing, isn’t it?” She demanded, voice rising in volume as her lips curled back in a snarl, “you’re just looking out for yourselves, aren’t you? Meanwhile I’m the only one her thinking about your fucking daughter!”

“Now see here Vi–” Baritone began indignantly, but she cut him off.

“No!” she shrieked, eyes burning with ire, horn sparking and crackling, “you listen to me now!” She strode towards them, and despite the fact that he was twice her size, the stallion found himself backing up. “If you are going to come into my home – into Octavia’s home – and tell me that she’s dead as far as you’re concerned, then as far as I’m concerned, you are dead to me.”

“Vinyl, please!” Philharmonica cried, standing her ground and holding out a desperate hoof. It was swatted out of the air.

“Shut your mouth!” The incensed unicorn roared, “I can’t stand you! I can’t stand looking at you or talking to you! All you do is remind me of her! Get out of my house!”

“V-Vinyl,” the petite mare whimpered piteously, “please don–”

“Get out of my house,” Vinyl growled, her voice low and dangerous, “get out of my life. Both of you. Don’t write me, don’t call me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

“Vi–”

“Get out!”

Philharmonica Melody’s jaw hung slack, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to form words, but couldn’t. Baritone was the first to collect himself, and when he looked Vinyl in the eye, there was no anger in his gaze, only pity. He escorted his stricken wife to the door, guiding her out. Before he closed it, he took one last look at the mare who had once been his daughter in all but blood.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, and then shut the door.

Vinyl Scratch returned to the living room, reclaiming her rightful place on the couch. She poured herself another drink, taking comfort in the knowledge that this time, there was no one here to take her to the hospital.

“It was…bad,” Vinyl admitted, still swirling her drink, “I’m kinda afraid to look them in the eyes again.”

Octavia reached across the counter, resting a hoof on her partner’s.

“Would you do it, though?” She asked, gently, earnestly, and without pressure.

Vinyl fidgeted and said nothing.

“Please, love,” the gray mare entreated, “then we can all be a family again.”

“Okay,” the DJ replied shakily, “yeah. That sounds good. It sounds great, actually.”

Octavia leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank you, sweetie. Now, to address your actual question: I haven’t played the cello in quite some time. Would you care to offer me some accompaniment?”

“Oh man!” Vinyl suddenly perked up, “that reminds me, I’ve got something for you.” She dashed over to the wall that housed their vast collection of instruments, sitting down in front of a large box made of corrugated metal. Octavia trotted over and joined her. “Now, I’m not gonna lie,” the unicorn said, “but I had this made for myself,” she undid several latches and opened the case, “but I was never great at the cello, so I saved it for you.” The inside of the container was lined with red velvet, and nestled within a molded lining sat a four-stringed instrument. It resembled a cello, but had no body; it was a neck, a bridge, and an endpin. On one side of it, there was a piece of black graphite that was shaped in an outline of the normal wooden form of a cello, but that was it. Next to the bridge there was a jack where one might fit an instrument cable.

“Electric…” Octavia murmured in fascination, reaching a hoof out and plucking one of the strings. It made little sound, having no physical structure to resonate with, but she had no doubt that were it plugged in, the massive pickup that sat just beneath the bridge would allow it to generate quite an impressive noise.

“Whatcha think?” Vinyl queried eagerly.

“I think…” the cellist eyed her instrument hungrily, “I think I want to hear it.” Without a word, her unicorn counterpart trotted off as Octavia lifted the electric cello out of its case. It was light, but it was solid and rigid. She set the endpin into the carpet and spun the instrument around in a slow circle, examining it from all sides. Suddenly, she realized that an integral part of it was missing, and her eyes wandered back to the case. She saw it and seized it with an authoritative hoof. The bow was quite lovely and surprisingly traditional-looking, though upon closer inspection she could see that it was constructed of the same black graphite as the silhouette of the cello. Grasping it in the crook of her fetlock, she drew it across a string. There was no sound, but she could feel that familiar, intoxicating friction.

“Here,” Vinyl returned, offering up the end of a cable, “plug up.” Octavia took it and fitted it in the jack by the bridge, a small smile gracing her toughened-yet-delicate features as it snapped into place. She straightened her back and then relaxed, sinking into a strange and well-practiced posture, keeping the cello upright while simultaneously using it to support herself. Of the few other earth ponies she had ever met who played the cello, all of them sat while performing, but not Octavia. She and her instrument were one; a structure that could not exist were either of its components to be removed. Taking a deep breath, the gray mare laid the bow upon the lowest string, and drew it.

What she experienced then was unlike anything her ears had ever known. A deep, powerful, bassy tone emanated from every wall of the studio, shaking the entire house. She was startled, but continued to pull, drinking in the impossibly rich presence of the note. When the bow was drawn to its tip, she opened her eyes and stared at Vinyl with incredulity.

“Surround sound,” the DJ smiled, wiggling her eyebrows. She gestured broadly around the room with one forehoof. “I got the entire place rigged. There’s more bass in these walls than a concert arena.”

Octavia endeavored to test that claim one more time. The second her bow met a string the entire house began to quake once again. When the note faded, her eyes locked on her lover’s, gaze wild and giddy.

“Oh,” she practically moaned, “that is so wrong.”

“But it feels so right, doesn’t it?” Vinyl grinned.

“Yeah,” Octavia assented eagerly.

“Hold on one sec,” the DJ trotted off for a moment, bringing back an old music stand and leafing through some sheets. “This,” she pointed to the paper, which was covered in scribbles, “is something I wrote for us.” To any normal musician, the writing would have been indecipherable, but Octavia knew Vinyl’s notation like the back of her hoof, and as her eyes scanned the wrinkled paper, a melody began to take shape in her mind. It was not at all complex, possessing little overarching structure; it was, at its core, just a series of riffs. In her youth, the cellist had harbored so many preconceived notions about how music was supposed to be written, but her relationship with a certain spiky-haired unicorn had shattered all of them. Sometimes, one didn’t need entire movements to be moving. Sometimes all one needed was a good riff.

“C’mon,” Vinyl beckoned, leading Octavia to a spot beside her turntables and mixing board, both of which looked much larger and more intricate than the earth mare recalled. She took her position by two large monitors as her fillyfriend went to work flipping switches and turning knobs. A faint but powerful humming filled the room as the loudspeakers came to life, hissing tweeters and droning subwoofers creating a symphony of static. Finally the DJ finished her adjustments and turned around, a radiant smile framing her misty eyes. “When you’re ready,” she said.

“Not yet,” Octavia countered, laying down her instrument, “wait here.” She trotted across the studio and out the door. Vinyl stood still for a good five minutes, waiting breathlessly, her mind fogged by slight confusion and entirely too much liquor. Octavia finally returned, carrying something with her. She stopped in front of her beloved, putting one hoof under her chin, and with the other placing a pair of rose-colored shades upon the bridge of Vinyl’s nose. She trotted back over to the monitors and picked up her electric cello. With a sigh that carried both contentment and electricity, she spoke.

“Now I’m ready.”

Vinyl Scratch simply smiled wider and hit a button.

At first, Octavia couldn’t tell the bass drums apart from her own heartbeat, but as they became louder her eyes locked instinctively on the sheet music before her.

rest…

rest…

rest…

go

Bow met string with lightning speed, and the throbbing kicks and biting snares were accompanied by a simple yet catchy melody. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia could see her DJ counterpart turning knobs and shifting the equalizers, and suddenly her instrument was emitting a heavier tone with a saw-like distortion buzzing in the midrange. She ground her bow mercilessly against waiting strings, forcing a crunchy, vicious sound out of the cello. No sooner had her heart begun to thump in time with the beat than a screeching series of notes slammed against her ear drums, followed by a sharp, chugging riff.

Octavia looked over toward the mixing board, only to find that Vinyl was hammering on a guitar. It was slung around her neck, and she held the pick in her aura while her hooves worked the turntables. A pulsing sub-bass joined the chorus, and the DJ forced a screaming solo out of her strings.

Octavia knew this solo; it was the one Vinyl used to play at the climax of their shows, her go-to move. Octavia was out of practice, and the swiftness with which she began to feel fatigue was terrifying, but the familiar series of notes gave her strength. She pushed onward, matching its speed and dancing around it. Her bow strokes attacked the lowest string of her cello and formed a syncopated bassline that complemented the screeching highs that her partner was producing. She glanced back at the sheet music for some reference, only to find that the song was about to change key.

It didn’t just change key, it slowed down. A droning, overdriven bass rumbled in Octavia’s chest, punctuated by the punch and snap of electronic kicks and snares. She forced her aching hooves on, keeping time and playing her part with determination. It was then that she heard something entirely unexpected.

Vinyl never sang; it was something that she had always refused to do. Yet right now she was leaning into a microphone, lending a solemn accompaniment to the dirge this song had become. Her voice was low, raspy, and sultry, a beautiful melancholy accented by echo effects and slight distortion. Before Octavia could even finish marveling at the sound, the song’s tempo picked back up, and Vinyl’s lyrics became a chorus as she fed her voice through a vocoder, playing chords on the synthesizer built into her turntables. The sound was something akin to a church organ, but each note came from one voice. The cellist couldn’t make out all the words, partly due to the all the effects they were being put through, but mostly due to the fact that she was struggling to keep time. She may have been more fit than she’d ever been in her life, and her mind could never forget her craft, but the fine-tuned motor skills required to play with any sort of stamina had all but vanished from disuse. Still, she would not allow this musical reunion to be spoiled by her own incompetence, willfully ignoring the burn with gritted teeth. Octavia allowed herself to feel just slightly bitter about the fact that while Vinyl now had twelve more years of practice under her belt – which had obviously served her well, seeing as she was mixing the entire piece on the fly as well as playing an instrument – she herself had twelve years of catching up to do.

The thought didn’t last long, however, being practically blown out of her headspace by an even louder sub bass that rocked the entire house to its foundations. She was suddenly very thankful that they didn’t have any immediate neighbors. The sound rattled her chest, making her heart palpitate, and she glanced over at Vinyl, eyes wide and brow furrowed. However, when she saw her partner’s face, something stirred inside her. Vinyl had set her shades atop her horn so they could actually see each other, and though only a hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth, her eyes were radiant and alive. Octavia smirked and stopped playing for a moment, pointing her bow at the ground. An ear-to-ear grin lit up the DJ’s face and she went to work. All of a sudden the noise cut out, leaving only the cello and a single kick to keep time. The gray mare double-timed her notes, ignoring the fire in her hooves. This had to be perfect.

The snares faded in, a steady, warlike march. They began to increase in speed and rise in pitch every two bars, as did the kicks, leaving it up to Octavia to maintain a steady rhythm. The drums finally reached a crescendo, coming so high and fast that they almost sounded like a single tone before cutting out. The cellist, now playing solo in the calm before the storm, swept a series of arpeggios up the neck of her instrument before hitting and holding a single high note.

What came next could best be described as the musical equivalent of an air raid. Dirty, distorted bass slammed through every wall of the room, complemented by screeching brass and the fluttering of violins. The electric cello had so much overdrive on it that it wouldn’t have sounded out of place amidst a heavy metal band, and Octavia laid down a steady, punchy rhythm as deep, arena rock kicks reverberated through her bones. Then she heard a series of five clear, clean notes cut through the noise. Vinyl, despite banging her head violently, was steadily plucking them out on her guitar, again and again. It was an ethereal and somber progression. Octavia closed her eyes and abandoned her sheet music, nodding her head with ever-increasing vigor as she mirrored those notes at a lower octave, only vaguely aware of the fact that instruments were falling off the walls and bottles were shattering on the floor behind the bar. Soon she was thrashing just as hard as Vinyl as the two musicians literally brought the house down.

When the music finally faded out, Octavia fell back on her haunches and began rubbing her forelegs vigorously. She’d pushed herself to the absolute limit, and as her adrenaline subsided, she felt the extent of the damage. She sucked air through clenched teeth, trying to massage the pain away. When she looked up, Vinyl was next to her, mane looking ten times spikier and more disheveled than usual, the shades that had previously sat atop her horn sticking out of the top of the electric blue mop. Her eyes were like saucers and her jaw hung slightly slack.

“That…that was better than sex,” she said hoarsely. Octavia frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“I feel somewhat obligated to disabuse you of that notion,” she replied, standing up and beckoning Vinyl to follow her out of the studio.

“Okay,” Vinyl Scratch admitted breathlessly as she lay spread eagled on top of a demolished bed, Octavia’s head resting on her chest, “I was wrong.”

“Mmm,” was Octavia’s only response as she looked up at her lover, caressing her face with a hoof. Her smile was lopsided, scar tissue tugging at her cheek and warping her expression, yet it was still the most beautiful thing Vinyl had ever seen. They lay still for a long while, hearts slowing down but beating in unison. Everything felt perfect, and so Vinyl Scratch did the only thing she knew how to do when life had finally achieved a harmonious balance: open her mouth and ruin it.

“Tavi?”

“Mmm?” It wasn’t so much a sexy “mmm” as it was a sleepy one.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Did you like, ever do anything with anypony…er anyone?”

Octavia’s eyes snapped open, the peaceful somnolence that had threatened to overwhelm her moments ago dispelled by a single question.

“Look,” Vinyl continued uncertainly, “I…I won’t be mad, I promise. It was a really long time and I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through. I don’t think I even have the right to ask, but…would you tell me anyways?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Vinyl folded, and Octavia could feel her heart racing, “never mind, it was a stupid question…”

“I meant no, Vinyl, I never betrayed you,” the gray mare sighed, hesitating to add the one last, crucial caveat to that statement, “not willingly, anyway.” The confession seemed abrupt and out of place, but if she couldn’t make it here and now, then when?

“Oh,” was all Vinyl said, but a shudder ran through her body. Octavia felt two sets of limbs wrap around her like vices followed by a lingering kiss on her forehead, and then another. “I’m so sorry,” Vinyl said at last in a shaky whisper.

“It’s not your fault, love,” Octavia reassured firmly, “It’s nobody’s fault.”

“But it i–”

“Shush,” she interrupted, voice tender but authoritative, “none of that nonsense. Just go to sleep; we have a big day ahead of us.” She nuzzled Vinyl’s neck, planting little kisses on it before finally settling there and closing her eyes, breathing gradually slowing as she nodded off to hopefully pleasant dreams.

Vinyl Scratch, however, could not find sleep.