The City

by DWK

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 50999

Octavia returns from a long journey.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-02 01:23:34 UTC

Chapter 1

The clatter of broken glass snapped Neon Lights out of his drunken stupor. He looked over from where he sat in his easy chair to find that his drinking companion had dropped her tumbler of whiskey and it had shattered on the tile floor. This, in itself, was not unusual; nothing good ever came of the nights that he and Vinyl spent drinking together – nights that had steadily increased in frequency as the years wore on. No, the unusual part was his friend’s posture. Far from her usual drooling recline, she was sitting bolt-upright, her eyes wide as saucers and her body rigid.

“Heh,” he chuckled, “you havin’ a stroke, Scratch?”

Vinyl Scratch said nothing, her eyes remaining wide and her face going positively ashen.

“Oh man,” Neon breathed in alarm, watching as her lips repeatedly tried and failed to make an ‘O’ sound, “you are having a stroke! H-hold on! I-”

“Go home, Neon,” Vinyl said suddenly, staring straight ahead. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she spoke with a firmness that was entirely uncharacteristic of the happy-go-lucky DJ.

“What’s wrong with you, Scratch?” he demanded, indignation rising in his chest as he began to feel there was some kind of party foul taking place. He followed her unwavering gaze over to the main entrance of the plush living room, where he saw a mare. At first Neon thought he could figure why Vinyl was upset; this pony had a very threatening look about her, to say the least. She was tall, lean, and hard, with a rough coat and many scars, the most notable being the sizeable chunk of her left ear that was missing. She also had some pretty interesting taste in fashion; a heavy leather coat with a high collar completed her menacing persona. This was the type of mare that only showed up when you were in trouble, and in the back of his mind, Neon began to wonder what kind of business dealings his friend had been engaged in of late.

Then he saw her eyes, and they were wet. Her jaw was set, and the rest of her face gave away no emotion, but those lavender eyes were shimmering with tears. Lavender eyes…and a gray coat…with a charcoal-black mane. Suddenly Neon understood, and his face went whiter than a sheet, because he was seeing a ghost. This was impossible, but if they were both seeing it, then there was a decent chance that it was happening.

He was about to mumble something, but stopped himself. Neon Lights was not a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but he was empathic, and realized that whatever he might be feeling right now, Vinyl was feeling it a thousand-fold. Without a word, he slipped out of his chair and exited through the sliding door at the back of the room, silently resolving to go home and drink himself insensate.

Vinyl Scratch remained unmoving, eyes locked with those of the mare before her. All the practical parts of her mind – which were few and far between – sang in agonizing chorus that this was just another drug-induced fever dream, but her heart told her it wasn’t. Every time she’d dreamt of this moment, she’d imagined her looking just the same as the day they’d been parted. Vinyl knew that she herself certainly didn’t look any different, besides being older. She’d never given much consideration to what Octavia might look like if she ever actually came back. What she saw before her was out of the realm of her wildest imagination, but then again, just the fact that she was seeing anything at all was an equal, if not greater stretch.

Animated by nothing other than sheer force of will, Vinyl compelled her body to move, getting up from where she sat on the couch. With meticulous deliberation, she forced her hooves to move forward while her eyes remained unblinkingly connected with the altered memory before her. She couldn’t close them, not even for a second, lest the image of her former lover disappear and rip her heart out one final, fatal time. She had to know this was real, and when she drew close enough, reached out a hoof. She ran it down Octavia’s face and neck, across the hard-corded muscle of her chest and leg.

“Tavi?” It was a question, and a very tentative one.

“Yes.”

Vinyl let her hoof linger upon that gray coat for a few more seconds before she slumped down onto her haunches, exhaling slowly and finally blinking, allowing the tears to stream down her cheeks. There were so many emotions raging within her heart, she didn’t know which one to feel. There were so many thoughts and questions swimming in her head, she didn’t know which one to say. As was her wont, she let the dumbest and most pedestrian one slip out.

“How…how ya been?”

Octavia seemed to relax suddenly, and a small smile crept onto her face. “Less than ideal,” she replied, “but I’m feeling better now.”

The voice. The tone was less melodious and more even than Vinyl remembered. The sound was less smooth and more ragged than she remembered. The accent was less practiced and more subdued than she remembered. But it was unmistakable. Vinyl shuddered, her body threatening to go into shock from sheer emotional confusion.

“H-how…?” She stammered, tensing up. Any movement threatened to throw her into a fit of sobs from which there would be no return.

“Shhh,” Octavia stroked her electric-blue mane soothingly. Vinyl whimpered piteously, leaning into that long-forgotten touch, her whole body shivering. The gray mare removed a heavy black jacket from her back and slung it over the white unicorn’s shoulders. “Let’s just go sit down, and catch up, alright?”

“I missed you,” Vinyl whispered through quivering lips, letting the second dumbest, second most pedestrian thought in her mind escape.

“And I you,” the earth mare assured her. It wasn’t that her tone was emotionless, it was just tempered, like hot steel quenched in icy water. She stepped closer and knelt down, lifting Vinyl’s chin so they were face to face. “Please,” she entreated, “don’t cry. I…” she paused, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, “I’ve done many things so that I could see your face again. Is it too much to ask that you might smile for me?”

Vinyl Scratch began to crack. As much as she wanted to smile, she threw her legs around Octavia’s neck and began weeping. “I c-can’t,” she choked out, each syllable punctuated by one or more sobs, “I forgot…how…” After that her speech became indecipherable. She had no idea how long it lasted, but was constantly and acutely aware of the hoof that held her in those throes of sadness and relief, a strong and rigid grasp that felt so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. Octavia wasn’t supposed to feel hard, she was supposed to be soft and delicate. Octavia wasn’t supposed to have scars, she was supposed to be the pretty one. Octavia wasn’t supposed to go away, she was supposed to be there to love Vinyl every day of her life. But she hadn’t been.

And it had been Vinyl’s own fault.

Vinyl only realized she’d fainted because she woke up, and you can’t wake up from being conscious…at least not without the proper medication. Hesitantly, she cracked an eyelid and cautiously surveyed her living room. Everything seemed in order, except the mare inhabiting the easy chair that sat perpendicular to the couch where she now lay. Normally Neon sat there, slumped over and clutching a beer. But now Octavia – or some version of Octavia – occupied it, legs crossed, posture immaculate as always, raising a cup of tea to her lips. She took a sip and smiled blissfully.

“Heavenly,” she said, relaxing back into her seat.

“T-Tavi…”

“Give me just a moment, Vinyl, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper tea.” She took a few more sips, savoring each drop, and then cast a soft glance upon her stricken companion. “So,” Octavia asked, “how’ve you been, love?”

Vinyl Scratch shuddered involuntarily, wrapping herself tightly in the coat that had been draped over her shoulders. She’d spent countless, lonely nights longing to hear that voice, to be called ‘love,’ to see those lavender eyes gazing back into hers. Now that it was finally happening, the situation felt so surreal that her brain was threatening to sauté itself inside her skull.

“How…how have I been?” She stammered incredulously, “how have you been? Where have you been? What happened? Wh-”

“Vinyl, please,” Octavia cut off the string of questions, “I’m a bit tired. I know you have questions, but for right now, if it’s not too much to ask, could you just tell me how you’ve been?”

Vinyl’s jaw danced a conga as her mind attempted to fire off about fifty different responses at once, not succeeding in producing a single syllable. She wanted to scream, then she wanted to say something witty, then she wanted to cry, but finally she just hung her head and mumbled.

“Bad.”

“I’m…so sorry to hear that,” Octavia said. There was no sarcasm whatsoever in the utterance, only genuine sympathy, as if the most concerning aspect of this entire situation was that Vinyl had been depressed. The gray mare put down her empty teacup and then reached for the partially-drained bottle of whiskey that sat on the coffee table. “Do you mind?” She asked as her hoof hovered over it.

“You don’t drink bourbon,” Vinyl told her flatly.

“I’ve learned to take what I can get,” Octavia replied serenely. No sooner had Vinyl begun to nod her head than the amber liquid was being poured into Neon’s abandoned glass. She watched with detached discomfort as her long-departed paramour knocked back one tumbler, then poured herself a second. Octavia took another long draught, then sank once more into the easy chair with a sigh, eyes closed. She rested for a moment, her breathing so ponderously slow it sent a spike of panic through Vinyl’s body every twenty seconds as it appeared she was expiring each time her chest fell. “It seems you’ve had company, at the very least,” Octavia spoke again at length, “I hoped you wouldn’t be lonely. You haven’t been lonely, have you?”

“Well, no,” Vinyl admitted, “in a sense. Lyra and Bonnie were really cool. I mean, they actually stayed here for a while, just so I wouldn’t be alone. I owe them a lot…they just left their lives in Ponyville to come be with me, and they never asked for anything back. And, well, you remember Neon, right?”

“Yes. Just saw him, in fact.”

“You know what I mean,” the corners of Vinyl’s mouth twitched upward. “He’s been…he’s been the best, actually. I’d barely talked to him since college, but after you…after what happened, he just crawled out of the woodwork and started helping me out wherever he could. In the beginning I thought he had some kind of agenda, but he really doesn’t. He’s a moron, but…well, he’s a sweet guy. I guess we kind of have that in common.”

Octavia took another long sip of her liquor and opened her eyes, the slightest hint of strain in the smile that graced her worn, but still-delicate features.

“Does he make you happy?” She asked with carefully measured inflection.

“Well, yeah, I guess…I mean…” the little color that had returned to Vinyl’s face drained again, her cerise eyes training on Octavia’s in disbelief. “Wait, what are you asking?”

“Vinyl,” the earth mare breathed, taking another sip and then leaning forward to rest her glass on the table, “it’s okay.” She rose and reseated herself on the couch, right next to the distraught unicorn, stroking her cheek with a rough, callused hoof. Vinyl could smell some recently-applied perfume, the same elderflower that lingered in Octavia’s old room to this day, but there was something underneath it, something dark and smoky, like mahogany and pipe tobacco with a hint of sweat. “Vinyl,” Octavia said again, gazing at her with expertly restrained emotion, “I didn’t come home with any expectations. I didn’t expect this place to still be here, I definitely didn’t expect my key to still turn the lock, and I certainly didn’t expect you to be here waiting for me. It’s been over a decade. I was gone longer than we were together, now that I think about it, and if you think I’d begrudge-”

“Twelve years, three months, and seventeen days.”

“I…what?”

“Twelve years, three months, and…” Vinyl gasped raggedly, her tears flowing freely once again, “and seventeen days. That’s how long you were gone.”

“You counted, did you?”

“How…could you think I wouldn’t?”

“Viny-” Octavia’s placation was silenced, her vision filled with electric blue hair. She tasted a distant memory, thousands of willfully repressed desires exploding into her psyche as she relished the nearly-forgotten combination of whiskey, cigarettes, and blueberry lip gloss. Some things never change, and she found the familiar flavors to be far more emotionally evocative than the sight of Equestrian shores or the gleaming spires of Canterlot. The passionate onslaught was fierce and desperate, almost angry, as if questioning Octavia’s very existence and daring her to disappear once more. She answered the challenge, wrapping her forelegs around her lover’s head and pressing their faces together still harder. She collapsed back into the soft cushions, pulling Vinyl on top of her. After a brief eternity their lips parted, eyes locked, foreheads touching.

“I never stopped hoping,” Vinyl breathed, her heart pounding against Octavia’s, “never.”

“Nor did I.”

“They all…everyone told me to give up, to move on and live my life, but I didn’t. I couldn’t…n-not without you.”

“I’m here now,” Octavia kissed her tenderly on the cheek, “I’m home, and we can both get back to living.” She could feel the white mare’s body quaking in her arms, breaths short and shallow, still trying to hold back for some misguided reason. “You don’t have to hurt anymore, love,” she said delivering a few more kisses and stroking that unruly blue mane, Vinyl’s face now buried in her neck, “you can let go now.” She felt another tremor, then a sudden pressure as a pair of limbs seized her like a vice. “Just let go, I’m here to catch you.” The shaking and sniffling abated for a moment – the calm before the storm. Then the dam broke, and Vinyl cried out with the same pain and relief as someone finally removing a steel bar that had impaled her through the chest. It was not a chaotic emotional reaction as the tears that had fallen before, this was a tribute, long-overdue. It was a tribute to years upon years of vacant halls and solitary nights – to empty beds, quiet mornings, and the cruel echoes of the music and laughter that once rang through a silent house. It was the song of a thousand memories that they should have shared – but never would – singing their collective chorus through the wails of one. Gently but firmly, Octavia held her beloved close, face contorted with sorrow. Her own voice threatened to join the song, but she didn’t let it, because she didn’t need to. For the first time in a long time, someone else was speaking for her, a wonderful feeling she hadn’t known she’d missed until she felt it again. Many years ago, two souls that were inextricably intertwined had been pulled apart, and their reunion was as cataclysmically painful as their separation, wounds long scarred-over ripping open so that they might be knit back together again.

As Vinyl’s cries slowly subsided, her body went limp, an occasional whimper or spasm being the only sign that she was still conscious. Octavia rocked her back and forth, cradling her head and murmuring soothingly into her ear, promising over and over that everything would be okay. She didn’t know if it was true, but she hoped, and hope had gotten her further than she’d ever imagined. When at last the storm had passed and both bodies were calm once again, she heard a whisper, hoarse but forceful.

“I love you, Tavi.”

“And I you,” she sighed, “my dearest love.”

When Vinyl awoke and attempted to open her eyes, it felt like scraping chewing gum off of asphalt. She’d been on more than her fair share of benders, but she couldn’t recall ever feeling so spectacularly dehydrated.

Well, maybe once…

She groaned as the world slowly shifted into focus through half-cracked lids, noting as she glanced around that she’d at least had the foresight to leave herself a glass of water. She sat up, her aching back objecting furiously, and lifted the vessel from its spot on the coffee table with a quick spark of her aura. She nearly choked several times as she drank it down greedily. Vinyl cracked her neck and then scanned the room for her discarded shades, which were resting by Octavia’s teapot. She magicked them into their proper place on the bridge of her nose and then yawned loudly, like a bear stirring from hibernation.

Vision filtered once again through familiar magenta, she found the world much more manageable. Surveying the previous night’s wreckage, she noticed the broom and dustpan in one corner of the room, indicating that she’d broken something last night. Or Neon had. Yeah, it was probably him. As her gaze drifted lazily about, she noticed one entirely unfamiliar item resting on the arm of the couch. She removed her shades and set them atop her horn, squinting slightly as her eyes adjusted to the light, then reached over and picked it up with her hooves.

It was a jacket – thick, black, and made of leather, which was a rather uncommon and somewhat taboo material in Equestria, considering where it had to come from. It was extremely heavy; the hide was double-layered and all of the seams had been further reinforced with overlain strips. Every inch of it was scraped, scarred, and stitched. It had two collars. The first flared out like the normal collar of a jacket, except much larger, like a throwback to the era when everybody was listening to disco and bellbottoms were an acceptable fashion choice. The second, however, was hard and stiff like a belt, even having a brass buckle in the front. The more Vinyl looked it over, the more confusing she found it. This garment was some bizarre cross between a light suit of armor and a costume one might see at the theatre. It had a musky smell about it, and when she inhaled, she tasted smoke, hardwood, and…

In a flash, the veil of morning amnesia was ripped away, and memories of the previous night came flooding back. The broken glass…the teapot…this coat. She remembered them all now, and why they were there.

Ignoring her body’s protests, she jumped to her hooves, looking around frantically for any sign of Octavia. She dashed into the adjacent room, which happened to be the kitchen. Nothing seemed overtly different, but the smell of batter and syrup lingered, and there were a few freshly-washed dishes in the drainer by the sink. She darted back through the living room, down the hallway on the other side, and up the stairs. Before even reaching the first landing, she heard it: music. The rumble of a grand piano, muffled by walls and closed doors, met her ears. Vinyl’s heart began thumping in her chest as she dashed past the bedrooms and up to the studio on the third floor. She hesitated a moment after reaching the entrance, attempting to compose herself just a bit, not entirely sure what awaited her on the other side of that door. After a few deep, even breaths, she reached for the handle, only to find that it wasn’t even latched. The door creaked open, and her ears were flooded with sound.

The studio was massive and occupied the entire third floor of the house, and fittingly so considering the chosen professions of the two mares who owned it. It was decked out with state-of-the-art recording and mixing equipment, as well as a vocal booth on the left, while the right side was something akin to a lounge, hosting an aesthetically pleasing arrangement of couches, chairs, and tables. A full bar, complete with cushy seats, lined the wall behind them. This was not only where they recorded all of their music, but also threw parties and entertained guests in times past. The far wall, however, was the real crown jewel of the place. It was true that Octavia preferred her cello and Vinyl her turntables, but between the two of them, they were more or less capable of playing every instrument known to ponydom – at least in some capacity – and the staggering collection of musical devices that resided there was a testament to that fact. When they had met all those years ago in college, each had been beholden to one form of music, but by their late twenties, a never-ending string of collaborative efforts had sent them into a constant game of one-upsmareship, each vying to be the first to master an increasingly eclectic list of instruments. Guitars, both acoustic and electric, violins, violas, cellos, a double bass, all manner of brass and reeds, unnecessarily elaborate drum and percussion kits, as well as some more obscure offerings such as a lap steel and a harpsichord, were all gathered together in a display that one could only hope to see either in a music exhibit, or in the home of two mares who were both extraordinarily talented and obscenely rich.

Her gaze was drawn to the ebony grand piano situated next to a ludicrous assortment of keyboards. There sat Octavia, her back turned, body swaying slightly, playing a forceful ballad. When Vinyl’s first hoof finally crossed the threshold to the room, the playing suddenly became softer, and for a moment she thought she’d disturbed the engrossed musician. Then the tune began to pick up again, and she heard the shift in time signature.

…one…two…three…one…two…three…

Vinyl counted off the beats, realizing that the piece had transitioned into a waltz. She slowly approached the piano, her gait stuttering as she unconsciously attempted to step in time to a song that could only be properly followed by two sets of hooves working in tandem. Drawing closer, she heard something else – a soft humming that followed the melody, dancing around it. Not five feet away, she sat back on her haunches and listened as the humming that emanated from Octavia’s chest grew more audible. The accompanying notes became a thundering staccato, before the piece fell into a smooth diminuendo. It kept in time while softly reprising and reworking the tune she had heard upon entering. She shivered as it was joined by a voice once again, not humming now, but singing wordlessly along. Ponies often wondered why Octavia’s cutie mark was a treble clef when she was primarily a cellist. Vinyl, however, knew exactly why; that mark had not come from her ability to play the cello, but from her voice. After a moment, the waltz sped up ever so slightly, and being intimately familiar with her partner’s way of structuring songs, she waited for the inevitable lyrics.

“Good morning, Vinyl.”

The music stopped and Vinyl Scratch was snapped out of her reverie, jumping a good six inches into the air, which was rather impressive from a sitting position.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were,” Octavia said simply. Slowly she turned around, and Vinyl’s heart sped up for a moment as she half expected to see something terrifying instead of a face. But no, it was Octavia. Not the same soft, youthful Octavia that she remembered, but it was undeniably her. In the sober light of day, it slowly dawned on her just how dissimilar this mare was from the one she knew. The basic structure was there – long limbs and a sleek body – but supple curves had been replaced by toned firmness. She wasn’t bulky by any means – in fact she was slimmer than Vinyl remembered – but it was as if every superfluous bit had been trimmed away, leaving only the raw, lean necessities that survival demanded. Her mane was cropped short in the back, as was her tail, the only remaining vestige of her former style being her bangs. Most of her left ear was missing, while the right one was thrice pierced, sporting three rings of brass. But most noticeable of all were the scars. Her entire body – mainly her legs and chest – was crisscrossed with a haphazard lattice of healed wounds. There was a massive one that reached in a diagonal from her right shoulder down to the top of her left foreleg, as well as a jagged one that started at the corner of her mouth and ran nearly all the way across her hollow cheek to the damaged ear.

It was only when a small, melancholy smile began to creep onto Octavia’s face that Vinyl realized – to her horror – that she was staring with a slackened jaw. She shut her mouth and blinked, opening it again to fumble an apology, but a raised hoof silenced her.

“It’s okay, love,” the gray mare said with a nonchalance that didn’t sound entirely forced, “I must be quite a sight.”

“I-”

“Fancy a drink?” Octavia asked, her voice just a bit too high, “all that playing’s made me thirsty.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood up, trotting across the room to the bar on the other side. As she rummaged through the shelves, Vinyl sat down at one of the cushy stools that lined the counter. The clanking of bottles went on for a good two minutes before the earth mare finally turned around with a look of disdain. “You have every variety of flavored vodka under the sun, and not a single bottle of scotch?”

“Oh, you know me,” the unicorn said, a grin suddenly lighting up her face, “I’m just a ‘classless, plebeian piece of rave-trash who wouldn’t know fine liquor from the sweat dripping off her abundant backside, were she not so obviously familiar with the latter flavor’.”

There was a sharp bark of laughter, followed by a stifled snickering as Octavia sat down on the spot, covering her mouth. Her attempts to maintain composure were fruitless, and soon both mares were joined in raucous mirth. After a minute she calmed down a bit, rubbing her sides and wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh dear,” she sighed with a chuckle, “you really aren’t ever going to let me live that one down, are you?”

“Live it down?” Vinyl asked incredulously, “it’s like you’re saying you should be ashamed of it! That was one of the most eye-opening moments of my life; I realized that insults could be an art, and I realized that I had to go out with you so you could teach it to me. You could’ve just panned my taste in music, but you really went the extra mile.”

“I didn’t have to, love, your taste in music was self-evidently horrible.”

“Snob,” Vinyl deadpanned.

“Punk!” Octavia retorted, turning up her nose, then went back to pawing through the shelves.

“Look under the sink, babe.”

Still unable to entirely shake the giggles, and more than a bit giddy from being called ‘babe’ for the first time in an eternity, Octavia leaned down and opened the cabinet under the basin, pretending to look around, but really concentrating more on swaying her hips back and forth suggestively. This was an odd situation, to say the least. There was a vestige of their old relationship that remained alive, and they still loved each other – last night had proven that beyond a doubt – but now that she and Vinyl were trying to resume some semblance of the menial, day-to-day interactions that all couples relish in, it was as if – due to lack of practice – they had simply reverted back to the kind of flirting they’d engaged in upon first meeting. It was objectively different, seeing as they were playing upon a long, shared history, but in some ways it felt the same. Amidst these musings, she spotted a familiar label. Curiously, she reached back and grabbed the bottle, examining it and confirming her suspicions – Griffidich, one of the finest single malts in all of the Equestrian territories, and her personal favorite.

“Is this…mine?” She asked, sitting back and cradling the bottle in her hooves.

“Nah,” Vinyl replied, “I went through…I mean, I was pretty down for a while and I took this place to the cleaners. But I bought that a while back. Just, you know…just in case.”

“Oh,” the gray mare whispered distantly. She gave one short, sharp shake of her head and then stood, placing the bottle upon the counter, along with two glasses from underneath it. Once the cork was popped and the libations poured, she raised her glass. “Cheers.”

“Yeah…cheers,” Vinyl answered after a moment of deliberation, her response punctuated by a clink. The room was suddenly very quiet, the levity that had permeated it only moments ago draining so rapidly it was almost audible. As the minutes dragged on and they both became increasingly adept at avoiding eye contact, she finally took it upon herself to break the silence, even if it was with the most uncomfortable topic possible. “Sorry I like, freaked out on you last night.”

Octavia swirled her glass and then took another sip, eyes suddenly snapping up to meet her counterpart’s, wearing what may have been the world’s most perfect poker face. “I think it was warranted, Vinyl,” her tone was hollow and equally unreadable, “do you?”

Feeling her hold on the situation slipping, the unicorn attempted backpedal, stammering. “What I meant…wait…I’m not sorry that I was...I mean…I love you, you know?” she blurted out suddenly. Octavia blinked. Vinyl, sensing that there was only one way she was both going to stop herself from saying anything stupid and soothe the disquiet that had gripped her since she woke up, cut her currently useless brain out of the equation and opened up a direct channel between her voice and her heart. “I missed you, Tavi,” she said, cerise eyes locking on the lavender ones in front of her, “and I won’t say ‘you don’t know how much,’ because I get the feeling you do. I’m scared, because I’ve been fantasizing about seeing you again for twelve years, and now that you’re here, I’m not even sure what we are anymore. I know we said things last night, but honestly, I was really drunk, and I’m not sure how much of it was real and how much I dreamed. I’m still afraid that I’m just gonna wake up again on that couch and find this room empty when I run upstairs. Part of me feels like I finally have you back, but the other part of me feels like we just met, an-” the increasingly frantic speech was silenced by Octavia’s lips meeting hers. Vinyl tensed for a moment, then melted into the kiss, her body slowly relaxing. The tension that had been building in her chest all morning released, and she sighed gratefully. It was an awkward embrace, seeing as there was a counter between the two of them, but neither party seemed to care. A small whine of discontent escaped Vinyl’s throat when Octavia finally broke away, but she calmed again when she felt two smaller kisses follow, one on the tip of her nose and another on her forehead.

“Since when did you worry so much?” The earth mare asked, her shimmering eyes accompanied by the slightest hint of a smirk.

“Since…a while,” Vinyl stared at the bar top a little too intently. She felt a hoof brush against her cheek, and she looked up to see an affectionate smile.

“Do you remember what I said last night, love?”

“Maybe?” She felt no small amount of guilt at being so ponderously intoxicated during their reunion.

“I said you don’t have to hurt anymore,” Octavia kissed the tip of her muzzle once more, “neither of us do. If you’re worried about me leaving again, then don’t, because I’m not going anywhere. I never will, I promise you.”

“Okay,” Vinyl whispered. Silence once again fell, but it was of an entirely different sort this time, and neither mare felt any need to break it.

Octavia paused at the door to the master bedroom, wondering why Vinyl was continuing down the hall.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“I told you,” the unicorn answered, stopping and looking over her shoulder, “I’ve got something for you.”

“In the guest rooms?” Octavia reached out to turn the door handle, only to find that it was locked. Vinyl turned around and trotted up to her, resting a hoof on her back and nodding her head toward the end of the hall. After a short, wordless exchange of facial expressions they continued in their original direction.

“The bedroom felt a little…empty with just me in it,” Vinyl explained as they reached the final room on the corridor, “so I moved down here.”

The moment the door opened, the smell of stale tobacco assaulted Octavia’s nostrils, as well as other smoky odors that raised a few questions. She’d always enforced a strict policy of no smoking in the house, but supposed she couldn’t penalize infractions during such a long absence. It was pitch black, and she reached for the light switch, but nothing happened when she flipped it. Vinyl stepped into the room, sparking her horn for a moment as she made her way over to a small night stand and turned on the lamp that sat there. What its light fell upon could only be described as a modern museum of slackerdom. The small bed in the far corner was surrounded by a veritable mountain range of beer cans. There were no sheets on it, and the bunched-up comforter had no cover. Comic books and trashy romance novels blanketed the bed and the adjacent floor space. The desk that stood against the wall by the door was littered with sheet music and cigarette butts, the waste bin next to it overflowing with crumpled paper and empty bags of various snack foods. All in all it was a near carbon copy of Vinyl’s college apartment.

“Yeah,” the white mare began sheepishly, “I, uh, should probably clean this up at some point.”

Octavia smiled. Being the borderline obsessive-compulsive that she was, she’d always found Vinyl’s ability to be content amidst complete chaos oddly charming in a very reprehensible way. She often envied it. “So, what is it you wanted to show me?” She queried, a small smile creeping onto her face at the sight of her partner’s obvious embarrassment.

“Oh, right,” Vinyl opened the cabinet underneath the night stand and magicked a small cardboard box from its depths. She stepped over the blockade of cans and presented it to the gray mare. Octavia sat down and undid the small knot of twine that held it closed, using her teeth with a dexterity and finesse that only earth ponies are forced to master. She removed the lid and examined the item within.

Her gaze fell upon a silk of soft pink and white cotton underneath. It was a bowtie. It was her bowtie, the one she used to insist on wearing no matter what the occasion. It was that indispensable accessory that had once been her stylistic signature. Yet it couldn’t be; her bowtie had been lost a long time ago. Her brow furrowed and the corner of her mouth turned down, but her eyes glistened.

“I had that made a little while ago,” Vinyl said quietly, “just in case.”

Without a word, Octavia fastened it around her neck with practiced ease, and walked over to the large sliding mirror on the far side of the room. She saw in her reflection the face that she’d grown so accustomed to over the years, but now it was accented by a remnant of times past, something from when she was young and frivolous and beholden to dreams. The tie looked distressingly out of place on the current landscape of her body, and for a moment she wondered if it had ever really looked as dignified as she once thought.

The minutes passed. Octavia just stared at herself, and Vinyl just stared at Octavia, whose expression was mute, the perfect face of non-emotion. Vinyl’s anxiety began to mount, and finally she attempted to relieve it in the only way she knew how: by opening her mouth.

“Tavi, you oka-”

“Let’s have lunch, Vinyl,” the gray mare interrupted. Her words weren’t aggressive, but they were sharp and final. She trotted briskly out of the bedroom and down the hall, her unicorn counterpart following a few paces behind.

Octavia was a mare of many talents; her singing was enchanting, her playing elegant, and she could waltz, tango, or even square-dance with the best of them. However, one domain she had absolutely no talent in whatsoever was cooking. That being said, she was an excellent cook, yet it was not because of some natural aptitude she had for the craft, but rather from years upon years of trial, error, and constant failure. Never in any of her music-related endeavors had she experienced as much crushing defeat as she had in her quest to learn how to make edible food, but her mother had instilled in her from such an early age the idea that a proper mare must know how to cook for her stallion – or other mare, in this case – that the drive to improve her work in the kitchen had been ingrained into her very subconscious. When she’d met Vinyl – who couldn’t make a grilled cheese sandwich without committing felony-level property damage – the urgency had only increased, lest they go broke from dining out all the time.

“So, what would you like?” She asked her partner, any lingering melancholy disappearing from her demeanor as a smile lit up her face.

“Aww, c’mon Tavi, you don’t have to make lunch, we can go out or order something.”

“I insist.”

“Well,” Vinyl sat down at the small table and tapped a hoof to her chin, “I’d could use a-”

“Don’t say grilled cheese.”

“B-but that’s what I wanted!” The unicorn protested with mock anguish.

“Oh, very well,” Octavia chuckled, “I was just hoping for more of a challenge.”

“I don’t think we even have anything besides bread and cheese,” Vinyl admitted.

“Actually,” the earth mare countered, “I went out for groceries this morning, but never mind that. If it’s a sandwich you want, a sandwich you shall have.” She made her way across the white tiles of the lavish kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a block of aged cheddar. “Pan-fried or flat-pressed?”

“Wait,” Vinyl furrowed her brow, clearly contemplating something, “you know that thing…like, your mom used to make it…the thing with the rice and the cheese and the mushrooms?”

Several reactions danced through Octavia’s mind at once, but she recovered fast enough for a timely response. “You mean the mushroom risotto?”

“Yeah, I think.”

“Now that,” she clapped her hooves together, “is a proper meal. You’ll have to wait a bit, though.”

“I’m in no hurry to be anywhere but here, Tavi,” the white mare said warmly.

Octavia giggled, trotting over to the table and planting a kiss on Vinyl’s cheek. “You’re such a sap,” she teased.

“I know,” her lover replied, nuzzling her neck.

As Octavia set about preparing the requested dish, a single nagging thought kept chipping away at the idyllic normalcy of her domestic endeavors. Finally realizing that sooner was better than later, she paused amidst dicing up the mushrooms to ask a dreaded question. “Vinyl…”

“Yeah?”

“How are my parents? Are they…well?”

“Yeah, I think so, I actually haven’t spo-wait…you haven’t seen your parents yet?”

“No, love,” Octavia confessed, “I stopped at the bank to retrieve my extra key and then came straight here.”

“Holy Luna, Tavi, I didn’t even think about it,” Vinyl’s posture straightened abruptly, her hooves gripping the edges of the table, “they would’ve called me! They would be here! How have…you need to call them now! We need to call Lyra and Bonnie too!”

“Vinyl, please…”

“Tavi, who knows you’re here?”

“Well,” Octavia reflected for a moment, “You and Neon, obviously, and whoever saw me when I went out this morning.”

“Forget lunch,” Vinyl stood up and rushed over to her, cerise eyes frenetic and distressed, “we have to go see them now.”

“Vinyl, calm down, I-”

“Tavi,” the white mare entreated, “do you want them to find out from some random acquaintance who saw you walking around town?”

“Nopony recognized me, love,” Octavia assured her, taking a deep breath. “I just have a lot of things on my mind I need to sort through before I deal with anyone.”

“Babe, they’re your parents. They deserve to know.”

“Vinyl…”

“If we had a daughter, and she suddenly came back from the dead and didn’t tell us, how would you feel?”

“Vinyl, stop…”

“How long are you gonna wait? A day? A week? A month? They think you’re dead, Tavi, how can y–”

“Enough!” Octavia roared. She rose to her full height – which was substantial for a mare – and bore down on the frightened unicorn, shoving a hoof into her chest. “You listen to me, love,” her voice was low and dangerous, simmering with anger, “you cannot imagine the things I’ve done to return to this place, or at least I sincerely hope you can’t.” Her face was twisted into an inferno of warring emotions barely contained, and Vinyl was suddenly acutely aware of just how easily this new version of Octavia could hurt her if she wanted. “Don’t you dare make me feel guilt. I will do things as I see fit, and I will not be pushed or coerced ever again. I will…” her tirade trailed off when she noticed Vinyl’s entire body shaking. She hadn’t backed down, but she was shuddering, her eyes wide and wet.

“I’m s-sorry,” came the trembling apology.

Octavia sank down onto her haunches, blinking a few times. She’d hardly ever raised her voice against Vinyl before; she loved the spiky-haired DJ too much. “No, Vinyl,” she breathed, barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” When she reached out to touch her beloved, the white mare flinched ever so slightly, and in that moment Octavia felt a guilt more profound than that which had incited her ire. She grabbed Vinyl roughly and pulled her into a desperate embrace, feeling tensed muscles against her own. The seconds ticked on in silence, and both mares relaxed. Octavia could feel the rise and fall of her distraught counterpart’s chest gradually slowing down. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Vinyl croaked, the utterance followed by a few very audible sniffles. Octavia released her vice-like hug so that they could look at each other face to face. Their eyes met once again, and she brushed away a few errant strands of electric blue that were obstructing the view. For a while there was only silence as she stroked that wild but beautiful mane.

“I didn’t expect this,” Octavia said at length, her words slow and deliberate. “I thought everything would be different. I came home expecting to find a family in this house, if the house was even still here. I thought you would’ve moved on and found someone or…somepony, rather, to live your life with. I didn’t expect my parents to still be alive. And yet,” she inhaled a bit sharply, but released her breath evenly, “here you are. Here it all is. You’ve just been waiting for me. I feel like the world just paused itself in anticipation of my return, and it’s more wonderful and welcoming than I ever could have hoped. I just…I need some time.”

“Tavi,” Vinyl caressed her lover’s face with a reassuring hoof, “I love you.” Octavia closed her eyes and sighed.

“I love you too,” she murmured, “I never stopped, and I never will,” after a few blissful moments, she let her gaze meet Vinyl’s once again. “I need some time to figure out how to be me again.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Vinyl Scratch awoke to a dark room, shivering slightly. It wasn’t that she was necessarily cold, but rather she was missing a particular kind of warmth – namely that of the body which had rested next to her as she drifted off. Emotional arousal burned the sleepy fog from her head as she panicked for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, wondering if it had all been a dream. Sharp breaths carried with them a familiar scent, and her nerves calmed as sensory evidence began to contradict the wild theories that were racing through her mind. Despite being prone to anxiety in her waking hours, Octavia had always been a heavy sleeper, so the fact that she was now absent was somewhat unsettling. Vinyl briefly wondered how the mare had slipped off unnoticed, seeing as she recalled holding her in a four-limbed vice grip as they had fallen asleep. Rolling toward the far edge of the bed, she grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, igniting one with a quick incendiary spell. She had half a mind to just go back to sleep, hopefully waking up in the morning with the gray mare once again in her arms, no questions asked. Still, she had a suspicion that not everything was as different as it seemed, and years of experience had taught her that the times when Octavia attempted to isolate herself were the ones in which she most desperately needed company.

Vinyl trotted down the hallway, which was dark save for the flood of moonlight pouring through a single window. She found the various pictures that hung along its length a bit unnerving at night, the smiling portraits of family and friends taking on strange casts when the sun went down. Once, she’d tried turning them all around, only to find the thought of those eternally happy faces hiding behind their frames and staring unblinkingly at the wall infinitely creepier. She could’ve sworn one of them was missing, but didn’t feel like stopping to think on it. When she reached the stairwell, she listened for any hint of music drifting down from upstairs, but heard nothing.

Vinyl felt a mounting tension in her chest as she descended to the ground floor; she’d spent far too many nights alone in this house’s vast expanse not to have developed a certain degree of paranoia. She figured her younger self would’ve laughed at her, but then again, her younger self hadn’t known that ponies could vanish into the night…or return from the dead, for that matter. Why did we have to buy such a big house? She lamented internally. Because you were young, stupid, and rich, a different corner of her mind answered sagely. Then again, she reflected that the large home had – at least in her mind – carried with it the distant but heavily implicit promise of some kind of family. She found it hard to believe Octavia hadn’t been thinking the same thing. Either that, or she had been planning to form a small, private orchestra and offer them all living accommodations. It was not out of the realm of possibility. Still, Vinyl didn’t think that was the case, and she wondered what the empty mansion might be like if life hadn’t decided to be so thoroughly cruel to its owners. Would there be wedding pictures hanging from the walls? Possibly toys strewn about the living room? Maybe the odd, out-of-place possession of a visiting relative or a guest? Would her echoing hoofsteps be drowned out by the muffled throbbing of music that was supposed to be off at this hour? Or…could things be exactly the same? Worse even? Might memories of lonely nights still fill her mind, carried not by the vain hope of reunion, but the crushing finality of black veils and caskets? Or might it instead be Octavia who wandered sleeplessly through the corridors while she herself rested in the earth? One had to admit, Vinyl realized as her hoof met the first step, that they were both alive, and however broken a world might be, it can still be rebuilt, provided all the pieces are still there.

Vinyl was jarred out of her introspection when she noticed her hooves climbing stairs instead of descending them. Stopping in her tracks, she realized her hypothetical musings had carried her through the living room, through the kitchen, past the dining table and the foyer, and part way upstairs again. A chill ran up her spine upon realizing that, though she hadn’t exactly been paying attention, she was quite sure she hadn’t run into Octavia anywhere along the way. Wild thoughts from earlier returned, this time without the benefit of seemingly concrete evidence to contradict them.

Now mentally present, Vinyl Scratch wandered into the living room to find everything as it had been left the night before – an empty bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table, accompanied by two tumblers that denoted the relative positions of the ponies drinking from them. As she surveyed her surroundings, a ray of light caught her eye, and she noticed a disused electric lantern casting its glow upon a bed of flowers in the back yard, beyond the threshold of the sliding glass door that dominated the far wall. She realized, upon closer inspection, that the door was unlocked and slightly ajar, cool air licking her face as she drew closer.

Vinyl stepped out into the night, finding that not one, but many of the garden lights had been turned on for the first time in Celestia knew how long. The garden had always been exclusively Octavia’s domain; when she was there, Vinyl hadn’t cared about it, and when she was gone, Vinyl hadn’t the heart to look upon it. She followed the well-lit path, eyes drawn to-and-fro by moths that flitted about the lamps. The flagstones had been encroached upon over the years by untended hedges, and though she knew where they lead, she had no idea how it would look upon her arrival.

The path opened up into a small clearing, encircled by wild overgrowth. At its center sat a wrought iron table with matching chairs, and in the closest chair sat a gray mare, her back turned to Vinyl. One of her ears twitched, but she didn’t move or say a word. Cautiously, the unicorn made her way to the opposite chair and sat down. Three items sat upon the tabletop: a bottle, a glass, and a picture frame. Not taking her eyes off the latter object, Octavia poured some of the contents of the bottle into the glass, and slid it over to Vinyl, who, upon taking a sip, wondered for the thousandth time in her life how anypony could like scotch. Being a mare with a certain reverence for alcohol, she downed the rest of it as quickly as she could, refusing to let it go to waste, then magicked the pack of smokes out of her bathrobe’s pocket, hoping she could erase the woody taste from her palate. Wisps of smoke curled in front of her vision, illuminated here and there by the lamps that rose from the ground. Octavia’s eyes shifted from their current resting spot to meet her own.

“I don’t suppose you have another one of those?” Vinyl’s only response was to levitate a cigarette up to Octavia’s lips. The gray mare took it with her hoof – the logistics of manipulating any object smaller than a bowling ball with one’s bare hooves were still baffling to the unicorn – and extracted a  battered lighter from the pocket of the curious black jacket that Vinyl had been examining earlier that day.

“Where’d you get the neat coat?” The DJ inquired, trying her best to make the question sound innocent.

“I know it’s hideous, love,” Octavia smiled, running a hoof over the myriad scuffs and scars that crisscrossed the aged leather, “but I’ve gotten rather used to it. It was a gift from a friend, and I think it suits me to a certain degree at this point.”

Vinyl kept her expression noncommittal, but felt a pit begin to form in her stomach. There had been an implicit statement in those words that caused her no small amount of distress. As if responding to unspoken thoughts, Octavia returned her attention to the framed picture resting on the table, the one Vinyl now realized had been missing from the wall upstairs. Though her features remained stoic, a transient flash of sadness flitted across the cellist’s eyes.

Vinyl sat up and leaned over to glance at the photograph. It was something she hadn’t really looked at in years, and her mind was suddenly flooded with hazy memories. They sat side by side in a booth seat at some restaurant that she only vaguely recalled ever being in. The cracked plastic of the seat and dented lacquer of the tabletop suggested it was not a particularly high-class establishment. Vinyl’s eyes were drawn to her own image, and she couldn’t see many physical differences from what she saw in the mirror each morning. Maybe her past self was ever-so-slightly more fit, but she’d always been one of those lucky types who could put whatever she wanted into her body and count on her metabolism and lifestyle to sort it out. Maybe her mane was a bit more vibrant and spiky; maybe that electric blue popped just a little more than it did now, but that could’ve been a trick of the light. No, the difference was not in the way she looked, but in how she carried herself. A huge, exuberant grin was plastered on her face. One hoof was gesturing toward the camera, the other wrapped around a gray earth pony. There was a jovial redness in her cheeks, and her eyebrows were arched jauntily, framing a pair of trademark shades that sat upon the bridge of her nose. She still wore them to this day, but back then they had been a necessary part of her face, not just a barrier used to shield herself from the rest of the world. The mare in this picture was filled with the vigor of youth, and a kind of defiant confidence that only radiates from those who know they are truly loved. This version of Vinyl was preserved in time, bearing none of the fragile humility that age and grief had thrust upon her living, breathing counterpart.

“Did I really used to look like that?” She wondered aloud.

“I’m pretty sure you still do, Vinyl,” Octavia answered quietly, “I was about to ask the same question about myself.”

Vinyl’s eyes wandered over to the other mare in the photograph, the one her past self was half-hugging rather roughly. She was gorgeous. Everything about her was pristine. Not a hair of her long, flowing charcoal mane was out of place, save for the ones that her obviously drunk companion had ruffled. Her coat was well groomed and had a rather impressive luster to it. The silk bowtie around her neck was slightly askew, but that was only due to present circumstances. Her figure was enviable; long, svelt, and well-maintained, yet still possessing that feminine softness where it counted. Vinyl’s admiration for Octavia’s single-minded dedication to her musical career had always been augmented by the fact that Octavia could’ve very easily been a model, or simply married some rich stallion and had the world served to her on a silver platter. Her face, though, was the most beautiful thing of all; delicate features – accented by a modest amount of makeup – formed a mirthful and slightly exacerbated smile, suggesting she had very recently given up trying to be annoyed and finally admitted she was having a good time. Her wide, lavender eyes were trained not on the camera but on Vinyl, and the elation and reverence that emanated from them lent better context to the situation than the rest of the photograph combined.

These were two stupid kids who loved each other to death. They hadn’t a care in the world, because the present was perfect and the future was only going to be better. There was no doubt or apprehension amongst them – they knew everything was going to work out. After a long minute Vinyl looked up into her partner’s eyes, and her head jerked back reflexively at how different the face she saw was from the one she had just been looking at. Octavia smiled forlornly, the expression made slightly lopsided by the jagged scar that ran across one cheek to the corner of her mouth. Her remaining ear drooped almost imperceptibly. Almost.

Vinyl silently vowed to invent some kind of device that would allow her to kick herself every day for the rest of her life until she had atoned for what had just happened. Her shame and mortification must have been apparent, because Octavia reached out a hoof and lifted her chin up.

“It’s okay, love,” she said softly.

The white unicorn recoiled, indignation rising in her chest, and part of her wanted to scream – to say that no, it wasn’t okay, none of this was. A larger part of her, however, recognized that she had no right to. Conflicting emotions boiled within her chest, threatening to overwhelm as her breathing became erratic. It took every ounce of fortitude she possessed to resist another complete breakdown. Now that the particulars of how the two mares used to relate to one another had been at the forefront of her mind for a day, Vinyl suddenly felt pathetic. She’d always been the laid-back, easygoing, unflappable one. Octavia had been the anxious, neurotic bucket of barely-contained emotion that threatened overflow at any given moment. One side of her mind reasoned that nopony could be expected to remain calm under such extraordinary circumstances, yet the other side pointed out that the mare across from her – who clearly had legitimate things to be upset about – was doing a fine job of it. Whether because the two arguments canceled each other out, or because her brain had decided to shut down rather than suffer further identity crisis, Vinyl felt unexpectedly numb.

“Vinyl…?” Came an uncertain whisper.

The invitation back to reality made Vinyl realize that externally, her mental anguish had produced little more than a rigid posture and a thousand yard stare, both of which were probably exacerbating any insult created by her earlier reaction. “I’m sorry,” she said weakly, “I’m just…” she trailed off, and after one pause too many, gave up on attempting to finish the thought.

“Don’t be,” Octavia spoke gently, “it’s not your fault.”

Vinyl didn’t respond, because she couldn’t. She felt the liquor burning in her stomach. She felt an ache in her lungs from too many cigarettes. Her head weighed a thousand pounds. She was so tired, as if she hadn’t rested in years. Her vision swam, spattered with light from distantly-remembered garden lamps. The flickering candle of will within her extinguished, and as her tearing eyes closed, she exhaled its fumes in three words.

“Yes it is.”

However unlikely it may have seemed, physical prowess was something Octavia Melody had come to pride herself upon, and the fact that carrying Vinyl upstairs had elevated her heart rate to this degree was perturbing. The last few months of her journey home had been lean times, but she hadn’t realized just how out of shape she was…relatively speaking.

She pulled a ratty comforter over the slumbering unicorn, but hesitated to actually climb into bed. She didn’t want to sleep. She didn’t need to sleep. Her body was accustomed to running on whatever it could get, and the four hours of rest she’d caught before venturing out into the night was more than enough to sustain her for the next day. She wanted to return to the garden; she felt pensive at the moment, and it had always been a place of reflection for her, whether tending it or simply enjoying its beauty. However, she feared what would happen if Vinyl awoke again, seeing as she’d just fainted for the second time in less than two days. There was something very backwards about all this. Of course they were both mares, but Vinyl had always adopted the more masculine role in the relationship, and she the more feminine. While Octavia had undeniably run things from day-to-day, being the decision-maker and orchestrator of the pair, in times of crisis she could always count on her partner to be strong for her – to comfort, reassure and protect. To make her feel safe. Vinyl was an emotional rock. She didn’t get worked up, she didn’t get angry, and she never panicked. She was the slow, steady bassline to the soaring highs and dangerous lows of Octavia’s lead. Or at least that was how it was supposed to be.

The gray mare sighed into the dark, staring at the sleeping form on the bed. She watched it shiver despite the thick covers, and the realization that she’d been on the cusp of for the past day or so finally set in; Vinyl had as many scars as she did, one just couldn’t see them at first.

“Cheers!” Octavia smiled warmly, raising her glass. The train car jostled slightly, and a bit of her champagne escaped, but she hardly noticed, far too busy gazing at the mare across from her.

“Word,” Vinyl grinned, the response punctuated by a clink.

Octavia gave her a questioning look.

“What?” Vinyl demanded, “do you not get how dumb ‘cheers’ sounds without a Trottingham accent? When you say it, it sounds like a top hat full of monocles; when I say it, I sound like an idiot!”

Octavia giggled and took another sip. “You’re a ridiculous pony, Vinyl,” she smirked.

“Oh yeah, that’s me,” the DJ moaned with mock sarcasm, “the comic relief in this outfit! When do I get to be the sexy one?”

“Oh Vinyl…” the gray mare cooed sympathetically, playing along.

“No!” The unicorn cried in indignation, “it’s not fair! Every time you open your mouth, it’s all sultry accent and seduction. Clean-shaven stallions sprout moustaches! Fillies become mares! Meanwhile I’m just standing there going ‘Oh yeah, and I’m her fillyfriend, Vinyl Scratch. Most ponies think I’m a dude.’”

Octavia struggled to swallow her gulp of champagne, fearing that it would be redirected through her nose and ruin everyone’s day. She gasped a few times after forcing it down, trying not to let it turn into chuckling.

“But oh no,” Vinyl soldiered on, “you can’t stop at sexing ears and causing spontaneous facial hair. You have to go and be a classier musician than me, too. Every time you play, they demand an encore. My encores come a year later in the form of blame for illegitimate children.”

Octavia covered her face, her whole body trembling with restrained mirth. She would not admit defeat.

“Your concerts create a new generation of aspiring musicians. My concerts just create a new generation, and most of them don’t know their fathers.”

That was the tipping point. “Vinyl…” Octavia spluttered through fitful laughter, “that’s…absolutely awful.”

“So is hearing the words ‘and for you, sir?’ every time we go out to eat.”

“That never even happened!”

“Okay, I’m done,” Vinyl snickered, leaning back into her seat and downing the rest of her champagne in one gulp.

“Vinyl!” Octavia protested, “that’s ridiculously expensive! At least pretend to enjoy it!”

“What made you think I’m not enjoying it?”

“You know what I mean.”

Vinyl shrugged and poured herself another glass. “Anyways,” she resumed, “yeah. A toast to us,” their glasses met once again, “I think we deserve it.” She took a slightly more ladylike sip, a bemused smile crossing her face. “I gotta admit,” the unicorn’s eyes surveyed the lush private car, “if you’d told me all those years ago that we were gonna be here right now, I’d have asked which Canterlot noble family we murdered and suggested that we keep a lower profile on our getaway.”

“You didn’t think we could earn it?” The gray mare asked in earnest.

“There’s a difference between earning *it and *getting it, Tavi.”**

Octavia remained silent, staring out the window at the vibrant green of rapidly-passing countryside. “None of that matters now,” she said finally, “I think we can declare success at this point.”

“Not quite,” Vinyl chuckled slightly, “there are a couple more things I intend to do before I claim victory.”

“Oh?” Octavia smiled slyly. They both knew exactly what they were dancing around, but it was their mutual ability to simultaneously see the end and yet still enjoy going through the motions that was one of the strongest points of their relationship. Their decade-long romance had evolved into an extravagant stage play, and this little vacation marked the final scene of its first act. These mares were performers, literally and figuratively, and they both not only knew the script, but knew that the real art was in its execution.

“Want something stronger to drink?” The DJ asked, sending the conversation into an intentional anticlimax.

“Vinyl,” Octavia sighed in exasperation, “I think you should lay off the hard stuff a bit. You’ve been drunk for the past day.”

“Taviiii,” Vinyl whined, “I’m bored. What else is there to do on a train?”

“I can think of one thing…”

“No!” The white mare held up a hoof, “I never thought I’d say this, but if we do any more of that my heart’s probably going to give out. I don’t have your earth pony stamina. I need a less physically-taxing form of debauchery.”

Octavia snickered and rolled her eyes. “Very well then, go fetch us something to drink and some proper glasses, but just know you can only hold me off for so long.”

“And may Celestia have mercy on my soul,” Vinyl mumbled as she trotted off toward the amply-stocked liquor cabinet.

“I’m totally gonna do it, and you should, too,” Vinyl Scratch grinned.

“Vinyl…NO!” Octavia responded emphatically, the combination of her accent and incredulity putting about five unnecessary vowels into the last word.

“What’s the matter?” Vinyl feigned nonchalance.

“Vinyl Scratch,” the gray mare began, attempting ire, “I will admit that you’ve had me try more than any mare’s share of strange things, and,” her cheeks turned slightly red “I will admit I’ve liked more than a few of them. But this? This is madness! It’s sick!” She tried to keep her voice as low as possible, so as not to draw attention to the only two ponies sitting in a restaurant full of griffons. “Besides, it’ll make us ill!”

“Nah,” Vinyl waved a hoof, “I looked into that. Our stomachs can totally manage it as long as we don’t go overboard.”

Octavia spluttered indignantly, searching for a retort. The only thing worse than tangling with Vinyl’s stubbornness was tangling with Vinyl’s stubbornness when she actually knew what she was talking about. Just as the earth mare was about to resort to a few choice expletives, the dark-feathered griffon waiter sauntered up to their table.

“May I take your orders, mesdemoiselles?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Vinyl practically cackled, “two orders of the steak frites.”

The waiter’s eyebrows scaled his forehead and attempted to migrate to the back of his scalp before he caught himself and resumed some modicum of professionalism.

“And…how would you like those cooked?” He asked the obligatory question with mounting amusement.

“Rare,” Vinyl smirked as Octavia stared on in abject horror.

“Very well,” the griffon took their menus, clearly trying very hard not to laugh, “I hope you enjoy your stay in the Griffon Kingdoms.” He hurried off, obviously afraid of losing his job.

“Vinyl Scratch,” the gray mare hissed under her breath, “I am not eating…that!”

“Chicken?”

“Wait…” Octavia stumbled, “I thought steak was from co-oh, how dare you! This has nothing to do with me being afraid! This is a matter of principle! My cousin’s best friend is a cow! How could I ever look her in the eye after something like this?!”

Vinyl breathed on her hoof and brushed it against her chest, doing such a good job of feigning disinterest that that most ponies would have no idea that she was cracking up internally. However, Octavia was not most ponies. “Fine,” the unicorn shrugged as she watched her partner’s fury begin to reach a boil, “just admit you’re too scared and I’ll order you a salad.” The twofold implication in that sentence – both that Octavia was a coward and that she wasn’t capable of ordering for herself – practically made steam shoot out of the earth mare’s ears. This was one of Vinyl’s favorite things about her fillyfriend: screwing with her – in several senses. If you knew which buttons to push, not only was it absurdly easy and immensely gratifying to get Octavia riled up, but the make-up sex was always a special kind of amazing. Even so, she knew this particular scenario had gone too far, and it was at the point that anything further could legitimately ruin the evening. With an expression that said something to the effect of “okay, okay, I give,” she hailed the waiter.

Roughly two hours later, the couple was heading back to their hotel room along a rather empty stretch of road in the Griffic capital. The city was divided into two tiers – one on the ground and one in the clouds – and while Octavia was admiring the moonlit beauty of the latter, Vinyl had her eyes firmly trained on the former.

“Ugh…” the DJ moaned, her head hung low, “I don’t feel so hot.”

“Sounds like your research regarding the effects of meat on the equine gastric system may not have been as thorough as you thought,” her companion said with a smirk, “also the eight drinks probably didn’t help.”

“If that’s your way of saying, ‘I told you so’ then point taken,” Vinyl responded, feeling far too ill to muster any annoyance. Suddenly she began to salivate profusely and a wave of nausea washed over her, something she recognized as the familiar point of no return. She made a mad dash for a nearby alleyway, her stomach finally deciding to empty itself next to the dumpster at the back. It was dark and getting darker as all the alcohol finally caught up with her. Vinyl lost consciousness, the world spinning sickeningly around as Octavia’s shouts rang in her ears.

When Vinyl awoke, it was not in an alley or a hospital, it was in her own bed in her own home in Canterlot. She wasn’t surprised; she’d had the dream a thousand times, maybe more. Upon attempting to move, she found the sheets to be soaked with sweat, most likely due to the dream as well as well as the stack of comforters piled on top of her. Flinging them off, she rolled over to the nightstand and found her cigarettes. She looked for something to drink, but it seemed her various bottles had either been consumed or misplaced. Considering the jackhammer pounding away at the inside of her skull, she was inclined to believe the former.

As smoke curled out from between the DJ’s lips, she reflected on her dream. Actually ‘nightmare’ would be the appropriate word – a recurring nightmare, one she’d been tortured by for the past twelve years. Though at least this time it had ended before the worst part, she knew the rest of the story, and now that she was awake, she couldn’t stop her mind from simply playing out the rest of it.

Vinyl awoke to a hangover that could slay gods. She tried to lift her head, and her entire body screamed out in rage and misery, prompting her to remain still for a little while. When she tried to swallow, it felt like someone had replaced the entire inside of her mouth with vomit-flavored sandpaper, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed in her weakened state not to retch. Her vision was blurry, but she was able to make out the form of her shades lying about a foot away. However, her attempt to use magic to return them to their rightful place was met with a sharp pain at the base of her horn, sending her already torturous headache into rapidly-throbbing overdrive. A small moan escaped her lips, rattling the dusty tunnel that was once her throat.

It took a few more moments for the unicorn to realize something: she was freezing cold, as well as soaking wet. It appeared to have rained sometime during the night, which made sense considering the entire lower city was covered by clouds that supported its other half. Fear of hypothermia overrode her reluctance to fight the stiffness in her muscles, and Vinyl rose like a reanimated corpse, grunting and coughing as she battled gravity, knowing that if she collapsed again, she probably didn’t have a second attempt in her.

Once upright, a whole new set of sensations threatened to overwhelm her. She was dizzy and still very nauseous, and she could feel the all-too-familiar discomfort of what she affectionately called “gut rot” in her stomach. Her throat burned with a powerful thirst, and her lungs felt as though they were coated with fiberglass. After moving about for a minute or two and standing in a ray of sunshine that pierced the alley, the shivering of her frigid body subsided somewhat. She noticed her reflection in a nearby puddle, and realized with faint disgust that one side of her face was caked with her own sick. She used the water to wash it off as best she could, having to look away from the ripples, as they made her woozy. After cleaning up and sorting her mane out a little bit, she slumped back on her haunches, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed.

Dear Celestia, she begged with her thoughts, if you just take this hangover away, I promise I’ll never drink again. It was a fruitless prayer, she realized, because either the sun goddess couldn’t hear her, or she could, meaning she’d also heard it the previous thousand times Vinyl had thought it, and knew it was a flat-out lie. She felt slightly indignant that Octavia had simply left her there, but her mind dismissed it as one of her fillyfriend’s attempts to teach her a lesson – a lesson she was fairly certain she was learning right now. After centering herself somewhat, the exhausted mare picked up her shades, having to fumble with her hooves rather than use magic. Upon donning them she noticed one lens was cracked, but at this point she hardly cared. Taking a deep breath, she trotted out into the street and joined the bustle of griffons and various other creatures, heading off toward her hotel where she would find Octavia and a hot shower.

She found the shower, and used it with reckless abandon, but Octavia was nowhere to be seen, nor were her saddlebags. The unicorn began to worry, wondering if she’d done something so offensive that Octavia might have actually left for home or gotten a different room. That didn’t seem likely though; her luggage and possessions were still there. Even if she’d left and would send for her things later, Vinyl had to believe she would’ve taken her makeup and instruments on her person. Her anxiety began to mount, realizing that the cellist might be lost somewhere in the city. Vinyl was a city mare, but Octavia was not, having grown up in the outermost suburbs of Trottingham. Things started to make sense. She realized there was no way Octavia could’ve carried her, fully unconscious, back to the hotel; she’d likely gone to find help and gotten lost, and was now wandering the streets of an enormous, foreign metropolis, probably having a massive panic attack.

Suddenly Vinyl felt much less hung over. She grabbed a quick drink to steady herself, then dashed out the door, determined to find the gray mare before she fainted or had a heart attack, if one or both hadn’t already happened.

Vinyl’s heart was pounding in her chest. She hadn’t slept since passing out in that darkened alley – which had been three days ago – and she was now running on nothing but caffeine and terror. After twenty-four hours of relentless searching on her own, she’d gone to the local police. After another twenty-four hours, the police had begun coordinating with their state guard, as well as the Equestrian embassy, and Vinyl had been told the last thing she ever wanted to hear: this was now officially a missing person’s case. Her eyes darted back and forth nervously across the Equestrian Ambassador’s office, waiting for his return and any piece of information regarding Octavia.

Vinyl jumped when the door latch clicked, spilling the coffee that she had been sipping absent-mindedly. She hopped to her hooves, frantically searching for a towel as two ponies entered, one of them approaching her.

“It’s all right, Miss Scratch, just sit down,” the ambassador – a stately-looking earth stallion with a salt-and-pepper mane and beard – told her. Vinyl stared at him wildly for a moment, wide eyes bulging as her fatigued mind struggled to comprehend the words. After an indeterminate length of time, his gentle gaze soothed her somewhat, and she sat back down in front of his desk. He sat down as well, straightening his tie and the collar of his suit jacket. The other pony, a golden-colored pegasus mare in some type of uniform that may or may not have been military, stood next to him.

“Miss Scratch,” the ambassador began, “this is Chief Searchlight, head of the investigations division of the Equestrian Royal Guard. She and her team are personally handling this case, and she would like to ask you a few questions.”

“I already…told you everything I know…twice,” Vinyl said, practically gasping for air.

“Miss Scratch,” Searchlight’s gaze was intense, yet deeply sympathetic as she spoke, “I’m not going to ask you any questions you’ve already answered, I’ve read every one of those reports. Trust me, I am treating this case with the utmost seriousness and urgency; we’ve not had an Equestrian citizen go missing domestically or abroad for well over fifty years, and it’s been even longer since we’ve had an unsolved case. The reason I need to speak to you is that we may have found something, and I need your confirmation in this matter.” With no fanfare or further ado, the chief reached into her saddlebag and produced a clear plastic pouch, setting it on the desk. “Do you recognize this?” She asked.

“Yes,” Vinyl said breathlessly, blinking in disbelief, “it’s hers.” Though it had clearly been trampled, Octavia’s pink bowtie was unmistakable. The distraught unicorn glanced back and forth between the bag and the two ponies across the desk, wondering why their expressions had only become grimmer. “This means you’re close to finding her, right?” She asked, voice cracking multiple times, her tone practically begging for some form of reassurance.

“That’s all we need to continue our investigation, Miss Vinyl,” Searchlight evaded the question, “and I highly recommend you get some sleep while we do so.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Vinyl demanded quietly.

“Miss Scratch…” the ambassador attempted to placate her, but was cut off.

“What aren’t you telling me?!” Vinyl roared, slamming her hoof on the desk and rising to her full height as her horn began to glow.

“Just sit down,” Searchlight spoke evenly, holding up a hoof, “and I will tell you. Just understand that you might not like what you hear, and if you threaten me physically again, I will not hesitate to make you regret it.”

“I’m sorry,” the enraged unicorn deflated, slowly sinking back into her seat, “I’m just…I’m sorry, just go ahead.”

“The scene outside that alley where you last saw her had been destroyed by the time we got there,” the chief explained; “that’s a busy street during the day, and anything we could’ve learned from it had been stomped and brushed away by hooves and claws. But I had a hunch, and it was something I didn’t voice at the time so as not to cause undue alarm. Now, however, I believe my suspicions to be confirmed; when we found this,” she put her hoof atop the bowtie, “there were pretty clear signs of a struggle. I have two mares there right now confirming that, but what this looks like to me is an abduction.”

Vinyl’s heart sank, but within this new revelation was a ray of hope. “So, if she was fighting back, that means she’s still alive, right?”

“I don’t doubt it, murder was clearly not the intent here,” Searchlight replied.

“So…” the DJ said, heart rate increasing again in anticipation, “that means all you have to do is just keep combing the city until you find her, right?” The other mare sighed and then continued after a moment.

“The problem…is where we found it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We found it on the edge of the East District, right by the water.”

“You th-think,” Vinyl stammered for a moment before forcing the full question out, “you think they drowned her?”

“No I don’t. Like I said, I would bet on her still being alive. However, the East District is a port. What I think is…Miss Melody is no longer in the Griffon Kingdoms.”

“What do you…?”

“You have to understand, Miss Scratch, that these kinds of incidents are not unheard of here,” Searchlight told her plainly; “though these griffons are our allies and just as cultured as Equestrians, the Kingdoms are the literal edge of the civilized world. To the north are lawless lands, and to the east is the sea, beyond which lie the Zebrahara and other nations of whom we have only a basic knowledge. Pirates, raiders, thieves, and slave traders – threats that don’t exist back home – are a reality here, and once they’re off the mainland, there is little we can do to track them a-”

“Chief Searchlight,” the ambassador interrupted, clearly for Vinyl’s benefit, as her face had gone positively ashen, “is it your opinion that our resources would be better spent searching the waters?”

“Yes, it is. If she’s still on land we can track her down eventually. If she’s on a ship, we have a limited amount of time. We need to mobilize now”

“Very well then. Miss Scratch?” He prompted.

“Y-yeah…?”

“I must speak with the griffon officials at once. They have offered Equestria all assets at their disposal in this matter, and the chief has made it clear that time is of the essence. I bid you good day and I will personally see to it that you are kept in the loop.” The ambassador gave a quick bow and followed Searchlight out of the room, pausing at the door, “there’s a guard waiting outside to escort you when you’re ready to leave. Oh, and Miss Scratch?” There was no response. At length he finished the thought, his voice much softer, “do try and get some sleep, would you?”

The door closed, and Vinyl Scratch was alone.

“Vinyl?”

She blinked once but didn’t move.

“Vinyl?”

Nothing.

“Vinyl!”

“Tavi!” The DJ snapped out of her trance-like state, wild eyes suddenly trained on the gray mare before her. Disoriented, she lurched forward off the edge of the bed and clasped her hooves on Octavia’s shoulders. “Tavi! They foun…I mean hey…” present circumstances began to flood back into her memory, “I was just thinking about some…stuff.”

“You alright, love?” Octavia asked with a knowing look of worry.

“Yeah, just thinking about…stuff?”

“It’s alright, Vinyl, I’m not demanding an explanation,” the cellist smiled. It was a warm, empathetic smile with only a hint of sadness. “I made you breakfast,” she continued, much more brightly, “I hope you still like your hash browns burnt beyond all recognition.”

“It’s called crispy,” the unicorn forced a pretty convincing laugh.

“No,” Octavia rolled her eyes, “I’m the one who can actually cook, and I assure you it’s called burnt.”

Vinyl suddenly noticed the tray that was balanced on her fillyfriend’s back in the way that only earth ponies can manage, and took it in her aura, setting it on the bed next to her. Her stomach jumped at the sight of the food, and she suddenly realized how desperately hungry she was. In short order she demolished half the plate, only realizing how uncouth she was being after Octavia began to chuckle. “Uh, sorry,” she said sheepishly, ignoring the provided napkin and wiping her mouth with the back of a hoof.

“It’s just good to see you haven’t lost your appetite,” the gray mare giggled, resting on her haunches beside the bed. “Go ahead, eat up if you need to.” Vinyl continued to eat, but with a bit more civility this time. When she was done, she magicked the tray out of the way and lay back, rather comfortable save for the fact that the sheets were still somewhat sweaty. Octavia climbed in bed with her, seemingly unconcerned by the dampness, wrapping both sets of legs around Vinyl and kissing her on the cheek. For the first time in what felt like years, the DJ exhaled slowly and felt herself relax, and it was not the intoxication that typically brought her some measure of peace. She had many things to sort out in her mind, but for once they didn’t seem to matter so much at the moment. She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes.

thump thump thump

Vinyl Scratch cracked her eyelids, but saw nothing; it was dark.

thump thump thump

“Oh, hold on, why don’t you?” She shouted towards the door to her room, where the offending noise was emanating from.

thump thump thump

The only pony it could conceivably be was Neon

She flung it open angrily, greeted by the sight of a golden pegasus in uniform. Eyes widening, she stumbled back. “What?” The DJ asked in confusion, “why are you here? How did you get in my house?” The other mare stared at her quizzically, taken aback.

“Miss Sctratch, I got to your hotel room because the concierge told me where it was. I came to speak with you about Miss Melo-”

“Octavia?” Vinyl interrupted, “Octavia’s right here with me, in my room.”

“Are…are you serious?” Chief Searchlight asked incredulously.

“Well yeah!” The unicorn used her magic to flick the light switch and pointed a hoof toward the bed, not breaking eye contact. The pegasus simply stared at her in bewilderment. Slowly, Vinyl turned her head and surveyed her surroundings, realizing with horror exactly where she was. This was not her room at home in Canterlot; it was her hotel room, the one she’d stayed at while in the Griffon Kingdoms. Everything was exactly how she’d left it. The liquor bottles were still on the nightstand, the cigarette butts were still strewn about by the side of the bed, and Octavia most definitely wasn’t here.

“Miss Scratch,” Searchlight spoke up, genuine concern in her voice, “I think I may have showed up at a bad time. I wouldn’t wake you so early in the morning if it wasn’t important, but we need to discuss the case.”

“No!” Vinyl shrieked, “I just saw her! She was right here with me! She brought me breakfast!”

“Miss Sc-”

“Shut up! Stop calling me that! You’re not real!”

“Vinyl Scratch,” the chief investigator addressed her sternly, “I can assure you that I’m quite real, and I need to talk to you about Octavia.”

“I-I already told you everything I know!” The blue-maned unicorn stammered weakly.

“It’s not that,” Searchlight pressed on, “I came to inform you that we found her.”

“You…you did?”

“Yes.”

“How is she?”

“I…” the pegasus mare sighed, “I regret to inform you that she is deceased.”

Vinyl went as white as an already white pony can go. She collapsed, slowly sinking down to the ground. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t; all her tears had been spent in the last few days after her world had been turned upside-down. Her chest heaved, but she could not weep. At some length, after waves of emotion gave way to numbness, she spoke.

“Do you know who…?”

“I think you know the answer to that question, Miss Scratch”

“What?”

“We know you killed her, Vinyl.”

“I…what?”

“Please, this will be easier if you just confess.”

“No! It’s not true!”

“Vinyl!”

“No!”

“Vinyl!”

“No!”

With a sharp cry, Vinyl Scratch burst back into another waking world. She sat bolt upright, breathing fast and ragged, tears streaming down her face. She felt somepony touching her and recoiled, backing up against the wall next to her bed, pushing sheets and blankets off of her body,

“Vinyl?” Came a gentle voice, “it’s me, love, it’s Octavia.”

Blurred vision and adrenaline allowed no confirmation, and Vinyl shouted into the hazy oblivion.

“How do I know it’s you?!”

Octavia felt an ache in her heart when she heard the desperate, pained confusion in those words. There was nothing she could say that would allay such profound terror and doubt, and so rather than speaking she seized Vinyl’s head and kissed her. She guided one of her lover’s hooves along her mane and down her back, over the curves of her body, showing her what was true. Slowly Vinyl’s panic seemed to subside.

“I’m here,” she breathed as their lips parted, “I’m here, and I won’t ever leave you again.” She gave what she hoped was a comforting smile, feeling the scar tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“I…I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Vinyl whimpered piteously, “sometimes I wake up and you’re here, sometimes you’re not, and sometimes I’m back in that hotel…I don’t know which part is the dream.”

“Vinyl?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you dream of me often?”

“Every…every night,” the unicorn replied between anxious breaths.

“Did my face ever look like this?” Octavia raised an eyebrow.

Vinyl responded with something that sounded like a mixture between a laugh and a sob, nearly which was followed by a raspy cough. “I need a drink,” she managed to choke out.

Octavia simply eased her back down onto her pillow and whispered sweetly.

“Shh, no you don’t,” she breathed, “you don’t have to hurt anymore, love. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up, and I won’t leave until you say I can.”

“What if…” Vinyl yawned loudly, her exhausted mind and body rapidly propelling her back into unconsciousness, “what if I never say you can leave?”

“Then I won’t.”

“Who do you love?” The griffon asked through his syrup-thick accent. It was possibly the simplest question Octavia had ever been asked, and she didn’t know how to respond.

“I…wha-?” Her reply was cut short as she felt the sting of a wet cloth against the wound on her flank, causing her to suck a sharp breath through her teeth.

“That griffon was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than you.”

“I…ah…heh…” Octavia tried to answer, but found herself laughing due to a mixture of overwhelming pain and the sheer absurdity of the situation, “I’m…urngh,” she grunted as the alcohol-soaked rag touched her flank again, “I’m fairly certain he was drunk.”

“It doesn’t matter, you knew that, and you took advantage of it,” the beast told her. “You were scared – believe me, I could tell – but you took him down with wits and ferocity, and you killed him without hesitance.”

“He…” she gasped, “he was going to kill me if I didn’t!”

“Aye, that’s exactly my point, lass,” he said, “there’s a difference between fighting for your life, and fighting to keep yourself alive. You come at it harder and dirtier than creatures that’ve been at this for longer than you’ve been alive. Nobody – not a pony, nor a griffon, nor a goddess – fights that viciously if they’re not livin’ for something. So I ask you again: who do you love? Who do you love so much that you simply refuse to die?”

“Her name…” Octavia hissed as a needle bit into her skin to mend the gash on her hip, “is Vinyl, and I will see her again.”

“Hah!” he barked, pausing in his stitching to clap her on the shoulder, “that’s it, lassie! That’s it!”

“Why are you helping me?” She demanded

“Because you’ve got something I don’t.”

“And what…” Octavia shuddered as she felt her broken flesh being knit back together by careful needlework, “pray tell, is that?”

The hulking, tan-colored griffon snapped the thread with his beak and then leaned down into her face with frightening speed, grabbing her neck with one of his claws. He looked her right in the eye and answered.

“You’ve got the will to get out of this place.”

Octavia’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment the gaze of an old friend lingered in her vision. The heat under Vinyl’s comforter was stifling, so she gently attempted to extricate herself from the slumbering mare’s embrace to cool off. However, the second she tried to move away Vinyl whimpered in her sleep, body shuddering. Octavia pulled her close with a squeeze, more than willing to endure a bit of discomfort on her behalf. She’d endured a lot more than that simply to be back in this place with this pony once more. As she kissed the love of her life on the forehead, a single, melancholy thought danced in the forefront of her mind.

If you knew what I’d done to return to you, would you still love me so?

Chapter 3

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.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Despite her current predicament – or perhaps because of it – Octavia couldn’t help but notice the beauty around her. To her one side stretched a vast, nebulous expanse of ocean. It was calm now, the storm that had ravaged it nothing but a distant memory of which the only trace was a lingering humidity in the night air. To her other side was a dense forest of palms, their unfamiliar leaves rustling in a cool breeze. Above her, a crystal-clear sky – unmarred by the pollution of the city lights to which she was accustomed – stretched vast and limitless, stars painted across it in thick, milky swaths. They were mesmerizing, but if she gazed upward for too long she began to feel dizzy and nauseous, and the horror of reality would come crashing back down on her.

The already delicate mare was deprived of sleep and food, wandering the coast of some unknown land mass in a search for any signs of life. She’d considered heading inland, but the thick, alien-looking trees rose dark and foreboding in the starlight. She’d given up on finding Beatrix – or any other survivors of the ill-fated ship, for that matter – hours ago. Octavia still did not understand why the severe griffoness had gone to such lengths to save her life, and was sure she never would; Beatrix was almost certainly dead, the only remnant of her existence being a few black feathers the tide had carried to shore. Regardless of the griffon’s motivations, if Octavia was unable to find help – or at least something edible – very soon, her efforts would be rendered inconsequential. The strange flora that encroached on the beach were looking increasingly appetizing with each passing minute, but though she was no botanist, Octavia knew that eating the wrong plant could result in a death infinitely more painful than starvation.

The weary trudge continued as the gray mare searched for a place where the palms might thin out, but found none. Though the indeterminate amount of time she’d spent unconscious on the shore had afforded her some rest, it did little to compensate for the fact that she had just gone through what was unquestionably the most traumatic ordeal of her life, and all on an empty stomach. Still, it was so serene here. The air was cool, but the lingering tropical moisture of the storm kept it far from frigid, and the waves that gently lapped at her hooves seemed almost welcoming as her knees buckled and she sank into the sand. A warmth spread through her chest as she lay down. Her stomach was so very empty, but that discomfort was dampened by the pleasant fuzziness that clouded her mind as her eyelids grew ever-heavier, the whispering tide beckoning her to sleep.

But in the back of her mind, the tiny part of Octavia that had not yet succumbed to shock began screaming.

If you go to sleep now, it told her frantically, you will not wake up again.

“I know,” she whispered back with calm resignation, cracking her eyes open to give the voice a view of the scenery, “but I can’t imagine a more beautiful place for such a thing…”

I can think of one.

Octavia sighed piteously. For the briefest moment, her muscles tensed, yet she could not rise half an inch; she’d taxed herself beyond what she even believed to be possible, and her body had ceased to even so much as acknowledge her will.

“There’s nothing left,” she breathed to herself, “nothing.” Tears streamed down her cheeks when she said her next words, “Vinyl will be alright. She will find somepony else to make her happy…I know she will.”

No you don’t, and what if she doesn’t?

“There’s nothing left,” she protested weakly, “I can’t walk another step.”

Then crawl.

When Octavia awoke, Vinyl wasn’t there. It only took a moment before she realized both why this was the case and why she had been jarred from sleep. The sound of violent retching and coughing met her ears, and she dashed out the bedroom door and into the bathroom, where she found the aforementioned unicorn emptying her stomach contents into the toilet. She knew from many years of experience that there was little she could do on nights like this but offer a little bit of comfort, and so she placed a hoof on her partner’s back and gently rubbed the knotted muscles. She felt a shudder with each purge, and the clammy dampness of a cold sweat began to mat the alabaster coat where she touched it.

“Just let it all out, love.”

Soon it was obvious that there was nothing left to expel, but that didn’t stop Vinyl’s insides from heaving and contracting in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the poison that had already made its way into her bloodstream. With a pitiful, strangled yelp she fell to the floor, clutching her stomach, teeth clenched. Each exhale came as a hiss, each inhale choked by a sob. Octavia stroked her cheek, whispering quiet reassurances. She’d watched this treacherous dance of misery many, many times. When she was younger, she would sometimes beg Vinyl to stop drinking, especially on those most painful of mornings after. When they were younger, sometimes Vinyl would vow of her own volition to never touch liquor again. But this was a battle they had both lost.

As the DJ’s slowing breath signaled her return to unconsciousness, Octavia debated taking her back to bed, but figured that could be counterproductive considering she might very well be sick again. Instead, the gray mare retrieved the comforter from the next room and placed it over the incapacitated unicorn. She lay down on top of it, resting her head on Vinyl’s chest, listening to her breathing. It was a bit labored, but nothing life-threatening. Morning would be a miserable affair for many reasons, but the both of them would live to fight another day.

Dawn came, and Octavia greeted it with bloodshot eyes and a growling stomach. As the rising sun bathed the horizon in a wash of crimson and yellow, something caught her attention: the glint of metal in the distance, coming from a shape that looked too smooth to be a natural formation. She could not run, but she managed to speed up to a trot, both fatigue and the feeling of sand beneath her hooves contributing to her very uneven gait.

The barrel was battered, but it did not have the sun-bleached quality that might suggest it had been here for a long time. Whether it had come from the shipwreck or somewhere else entirely Octavia didn’t know; she was, at this point, miles away from the spot where the little remains of the vessel there were – as well as she herself – had washed up on shore, but considering how violent the storm had been, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that something had been carried this far. Opening the barrel would be no easy task for an earth pony, even if she were rested and had the proper tools available. It had in fact been the glint of one of the reinforcing steel bands that encircled the container which had caught her eye from a distance. Still, there could be food in it, and the thought of coming all this way only to be defeated by an inch of wood felt profoundly silly. Groaning with the effort, Octavia nudged the barrel up the beach and toward the line of trees. By the time she had pushed it to the base of one of the sturdier-looking palms, her legs were wobbling and she felt ill. She knew if she lost her momentum now it was over, and so she stood it up against the tree, turning around and delivering a weak kick in an attempt to break it open. It barely gave. On the second kick, she felt the wood flex, but it came nowhere near close to breaking. The third kick was wild and poorly directed, and her hooves glanced off its surface; she landed hard on her belly, coughing and spluttering miserably. Refusing to let unconsciousness take her, Octavia stood, reflecting with no small amount of apprehension that her survival was completely dependent on this barrel containing food of some sort – if it didn’t, she would not have the strength to go on.

Her next kick was met by a sharp report as some part of the vessel cracked. Octavia’s stomach growled viciously, prompting to deliver another blow that heralded her triumph with the sound of splintering wood. She turned around with the frantic eagerness of a starving pony about to eat.

The barrel was empty.

Octavia collapsed, despair and exhaustion finally taking her.

“I’m sorry, Vinyl,” she whispered as her tearing eyes closed for what she was sure would be the last time. She felt a terrible inadequacy and profound guilt; not only did her death render Beatrix’s sacrifice meaningless, it felt like a terrible betrayal of her beloved Vinyl. They would never see each other again, and it wasn’t because she’d been murdered or held captive, it was simply because she was too weak. She had nothing left to give. Even the voice in the back of Octavia’s mind was silent, knowing that there was not a single ounce of strength left to be coaxed out. As she slipped into oblivion she could hear a soft padding in the sand behind her – the steps of the reaper pony coming to claim her.

“I’m ready,” she sighed, “take me.”

“Oh, we will,” said a voice that did not sound at all like death.

Octavia did not quite fully comprehend just how drunk she had been until she rose from a reasonably adequate night’s sleep. Her body ached terribly, and a dull throbbing behind her eyes forced her to squint lest she provoke a full-blown migraine. It took her a minute or two to remember why she was on the bathroom floor instead of in bed. Vinyl was not there, nor was she in the bedroom when Octavia went there to return the comforter to its rightful place. It was a rare occasion that the cellist was the last to wake up, but it had been known to happen. For some reason she felt vaguely apprehensive, but couldn’t quite put her hoof on why. Cursing groggily under her breath, she went to go brush her teeth.

Looking down into the basin, Octavia suddenly felt the amnesiac haze of her hangover violently torn away as the sight before her threw the previous night’s events into sharp relief. A damp cloth, stained red, sat at the bottom of the sink. Heart now pounding, she wondered where Vinyl was, and how far away she might be. Had she fled after what she’d seen? It didn’t seem unlikely. Forgetting all about brushing her teeth or fixing her hair, Octavia anxiously trotted down to the ground floor and into the kitchen, figuring that it would do her no good to tackle this catastrophe before eating breakfast.

As she traversed the dining room, the odor of something burnt reached her nostrils, and it wasn’t tobacco. When she entered the kitchen, she found Vinyl at the table, her head covered by a towel. Next to her rested a bottle of cider and a plate of what looked like an attempt at scrambled eggs. Octavia grimaced; it was a rare morning that Vinyl was in such a state of delirium that she forgot she couldn’t cook to save her life. Wasting no time, the gray mare retrieved a few simple ingredients from the refrigerator and set to work making a proper breakfast, half-hoping that the slumbering DJ would remain asleep long enough for her to try and think of a way to explain herself.

She was not so lucky.

The scent of a legitimate culinary endeavor roused Vinyl from unconsciousness, and she regarded Octavia with a bleary, unfocused gaze.

“Tavi…”

Octavia did not know what to say. What could she say? What she’d done was unforgivable and arguably psychopathic. She could not hope to explain it, let alone justify it.

“…hurry up, that smells delicious.”

She blinked a few times before hastily shutting off the stove. The omelet was done, and in her shock and confusion she’d nearly sent it the way of everything Vinyl had ever tried to prepare. There was an audible thump as the DJ’s head reacquainted itself with the table, followed by an anguished moan.

“Vinyl…?” she prompted as she set the food down.

“Urng,” was the only response she received.

“How do you feel, my love?”

“I would hang myself if it wasn’t so much effort,” Vinyl grumbled.

“How…what’s the last thing you remember?”

Vinyl massaged her temples for a moment before raising her head with a groan and greedily gulping down the rest of her cider.

“Probably being a jerk to Neon,” she sighed, “as soon as I can walk straight I’m gonna go apologize to him.”

“Do you remember the bar?” Octavia asked breathlessly.

“We went to a bar?” the unicorn countered with unaffected incredulity as she dug into the proffered meal, the strain of lifting her fork with magic visible. “No wonder I feel so terrible. Ugh…did I do something stupid?”

“No.”

“Oh,” the surprise in her voice was very genuine, “so…why are you all freaked out?”

Octavia was taken aback. Granted, her guard was down because of the hangover, but moreover she’d forgotten just how very adept Vinyl was at reading ponies, especially her.

“Vinyl,” she began with deliberation, “are you telling me you don’t remember anything?”

“Tavi, please just tell me what I did…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, love, we just had a bit of a disagreement with somepony is all.”

“Ugh…did I start a fight?”

“No, dear heart. There wasn’t anything that I would call a fight.”

Vinyl’s mane smelled of blueberries. Even after all these years, she was still using the same conditioner – something which Octavia had practically forced on her in college. She was so beholden to habit that it was nearly impossible to shoehorn something into her routine, but once it was done, such things tended to stick.

Octavia clutched the spiky blue hair to her chest. After breakfast they had retired to the couch, seeing as neither she nor Vinyl were in any condition for activities other than lying down or going back to sleep, respectively. She stared at the ceiling, watching the dancing shadows of trees swaying in the midday breeze filter in through the sliding doors that occupied the back wall of the room, and listening to the soft snoring of the pony who had fallen asleep on top of her.

Octavia was somewhat shocked. She’d savagely beaten four ponies within an inch of their lives, and not only did it seem that none of them had gone to the authorities, Vinyl was none the wiser. Was this monumental indiscretion simply going to go away? Was fortune simply going to throw her a bone this time? It seemed so, but she refused to let herself slip into a false sense of security, even for a moment; why, after years upon years of grinding her into the dirt, should luck suddenly choose to smile on her now? No, such recklessness had to have consequences, they simply hadn’t manifested yet. She was not so very worried about the possibility of assault charges – despite having exacted utterly disproportionate retribution on her assailants, she was fairly confident that everything she’d done fell under the nebulous umbrella of “self defense”. Neither did she feel an ounce of remorse. Had it not been for her partner’s intervention on the matter, Low Ball would be a corpse right now, as well as his goons; rule number one of crushing any threat was to leave no potential revenge-seekers in the equation. No, what worried her was that if Vinyl found out what happened – or, just as likely, suddenly recalled it – her actions would require explanation, and she could not give an adequate explanation without recounting more than a little of what she’d been doing for the past twelve years, which was something she’d not quite figured out how to frame yet, and she had to admit that by “frame” she essentially meant exactly how much she was going to lie. It pained her to consider not telling Vinyl the whole truth, but she knew if she did, there was a chance of losing her. It was a “necessary evil”, which, while it was a nice phrase, Octavia had learned long ago was no different than any evil, other than that you could live with perpetrating it.

When the increasing philosophical complexity of her stream of consciousness threatened to give Octavia a headache, she reached for the still-mostly-full, still-relatively-cold bottle of cider that her fillyfriend had opened before falling back asleep. She made a mental note to drink less, not so much for health reasons but rather because she figured there should be at least one relatively-sober person between the two of them, and she was most certainly the only candidate for that position. Part of her was more than a little astonished at just how well Vinyl had held up all these years, especially if Neon was to be believed…and as previously asserted, there was no reason he shouldn’t be. While Vinyl Scratch was the only alcoholic she had ever known with any degree of intimacy, a good friend of hers – namely Bon Bon, the earth pony half of the only other “reserved earth pony and crazy unicorn” lesbian outfit she was familiar with – had lost her mother to drink, and as such had always been very blunt and forward about telling Octavia exactly what was going to happen if she didn’t force Vinyl into some type of treatment. Organ failure and dementia had always been two of her biggest selling points. And yet, while the past twelve years had ravaged Octavia’s body, it was Vinyl’s soul and mind that had been traumatized. She looked absolutely fine on the outside, but she wasn’t the same. This was why they needed each other now more than ever, because it was possible that if they took all the pieces of themselves that still worked and put them together, there might be enough to make one whole, undamaged person. That is, if the broken parts didn’t kill them first.

There was food. It wasn’t much, but Octavia attacked the stale chunk of bread with abandon, as well as the glass of water that sat next to it. Only after licking every last crumb from her plate did she even begin to take stock of her surroundings. The room was small and unadorned, and the slate gray of its walls was so similar to her own coat color that she wondered if she was even visible in the dim light. Glancing about her, she jumped when she realized she was not alone. On a cot in the far corner was another pony, a mare like herself.

“Hello, miss?” she prompted, her voice still weak as the paltry sustenance she’d ingested was only just beginning to revitalize her.

This pony had a dark pink coat and lighter pink mane that was streaked with yellow. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, which were a bright sapphire blue. It was only upon seeing her face that Octavia was struck by the ghastly gauntness of her figure. She looked starved and ill, and the dullness in her eyes spoke of a prolonged lack of nourishment.

“Where did you come from?” the strange mare asked with drawling lethargy, as though she didn’t care in the slightest what the answer to her question was. Her accent, though thin, placed her origin from somewhere in the vicinity of Manehattan.

“I was on a ship,” Octavia explained, “it got wrecked in the storm…where am I?”

“Shipwreck, huh?” the pink pony chuckled mirthlessly, “well aren’t you a lucky one?”

“I did survive.”

“Yeah, you did, and that’s the worst mistake you ever made.”

“Where am I?” Octavia asked again, a slight hint of demand creeping into her voice.

“The City.”

“But which city?”

“The only one,” the mare replied ominously, “and the last one you’ll ever see.”

“Alright,” the cellist rolled her eyes, “let’s start smaller. What is this building I’m in right now?”

“This?” the other pony laughed, and this time it was not only humorless but hollow and bitter, “this is everyone’s favorite place. They come here for drinks and sex.”

“Well, I could use the former, I’ll pass on the latter.”

“Well, too bad, because that’s exactly the opposite of what you’re going to get.”

“Just what are you implying?” Octavia demanded incredulously.

“Don’t play stupid,” the nameless pony spat, “you’re our newest ‘coworker’. They might give you a day to perk up, but after that you’d better learn to shut your mouth and spread ‘em, because that’s what you’re going to be doing for the rest of your short and miserable life.”

Oh no…oh no no no no no, Octavia begged whatever powers might be listening, please, please don’t let this be true. How. How could she be so supremely unfortunate as to climb out of the frying pan and land straight in the fire. Surely this mare was mad or delirious. Surely she had not escaped captivity only to wind up right back in it, and at the mercy of even more evil creatures.

“I…I have to get out of here,” she breathed, panic rising in her breast, “how do I get out of here?”

“If there was a way out, do you really think I’d be lounging around and talking to you? Even if you got out of here, where are you going to go?”

“To the authorities. Whatever country we’re in must have some sort of guard or police…”

The mare sighed, shaking her head slowly and giving a genuinely sympathetic look, as though at some point long ago she’d had these same thoughts.

“We’re not in a country, kid, we’re in The City, and there’s nothing else.”

Octavia returned to consciousness through sheer force of will, having no desire to relive the rest of this particular memory. She pulled Vinyl just a little closer with one hoof, and reached for a drink of cider with the other. There were only a small number of moments in her life where she had felt that sinking emptiness that accompanies the loss of something that can never be taken back.

Octavia’s single life – which, to be perfectly honest, had been a relatively short amount of time – had always been characterized by a fairly apathetic attitude toward sex. As a teenager, she’d never had the desire to engage in such an intimate act just for the sake of it when her own hoof would suffice. In her first year of college, the same remained true, the only difference being the addition of a glass of wine to the equation. When the other young mares were all squealing about their first kiss, she was practicing her cello. When they were all going on their first dates, she was practicing her cello. When they were all whispering excitedly – or in some cases, sobbing miserably – about losing their virginities, she was practicing her cello. It wasn’t that she was averse to companionship and intimacy, it was simply that she did not consider those things to be a rite of passage as mainstream female social hierarchy would have her believe. It was not until she met Vinyl that she’d ever felt a strong desire for sexual contact, and it wasn’t because some switch had suddenly been flipped in her brain, it was out of a wish to express her love for someone who had so completely changed her life for the better, a way to say something that even a mare as well-spoken as herself could not express with words. Her first sexual experience had been with Vinyl, and as it had become apparent that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, she’d been perfectly happy with – even proud of – the idea that the only soul who would ever know her in that way was her one true love.

And then they’d taken that away from her…again, and again, and again. No matter how much she told herself it was of no consequence, no matter how much she told herself that the only thing that really counted was what she felt in her heart, she knew it wasn’t so. Old rooms could be dusted and beds remade, the wild garden could be tamed. Friendships could be rekindled and vows of love renewed, but innocence, once lost, could not be reclaimed.

And that made the world look just a little bit uglier.

Octavia awoke from a mercifully dreamless sleep to find herself alone on the couch. It was dark outside, and she felt that pang of irrational guilt that always bothered the back of her mind when she wasted a day, even if there was little chance she could’ve accomplished anything productive. She stretched, a few audible pops issuing from her spine and various joints. At the very least, all the sleep had more or less alleviated her hangover and made her feel almost refreshed. If she hadn’t been so drunk the previous night, she probably would’ve felt better than she had in years.

Vinyl’s whereabouts were no mystery; all the lights leading to and within the kitchen were on, because Vinyl had just never quite been able to grasp that the unholy amount of money they paid for utilities each month was largely owed to the fact that she only seemed to be able to flip a light switch one way. When Octavia entered the kitchen, the DJ was sitting at the table, surrounded by takeout containers and empty beer bottles, and staring very intently at a piece of parchment. After a moment she lifted a pen with her aura and made a few short scribbles on it. Curious, the gray mare trotted over and sat down opposite her. What she saw when she looked across the table astonished her: a hastily-scrawled staff populated by sloppily-scribbled notes. This was not in and of itself anything remarkable, of course, but what took her aback was the complexity of it. The writing was miniscule and crowded, but even looking at it upside down and a couple feet away, she could see that it would be no easy task to play, no matter what the instrument. Moreover, there was an alarming amount of notation that she was not at all familiar with, despite being classically trained and thinking herself very well-studied in the field of Vinyl’s chicken scratch.

“One sec,” the unicorn muttered under her breath, dotting out twenty or so more notes in rapid succession, pausing for a few seconds, and then scribbling down a last few before laying down the double bars that signaled the end of the piece, not only on the last line, but the one above it, and the one above that, and so on. It took Octavia a moment to realize she was looking at eight different instruments, reaching all the way up to the top of what had to be a four-foot roll of parchment. “Well, that’s another one down…two more to go, and that’s the album.”

“May I?” Octavia asked without demand.

“Sure.”

The sheaf was magicked into her hooves, and she unrolled as much of it as the length of her appendages would allow. It was music, there was no doubt about that – she could read the notes just fine, apart from the sloppy hornwriting – but scrawled in every available margin were all kinds of symbols, and in some cases entire diagrams consisting of knobs and faders that she would only barely understand the functions of were she looking at the hardware. In this shorthand, however, they were utterly indecipherable.

Out of the two of them, Vinyl had always much been the producer while she was the writer and – according to Vinyl – the better player. But what Octavia saw before her now indicated a mastery over every aspect of the musical process from the inception of the melody to the mixing of each track. In fact she was probably holding instructions on creating a radio-worthy song from start to finish, if only she could read them. More than likely, nobody but Vinyl could.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to one particular set of notes. Unlike the other instruments, it was just a repeating set of whole note chords. Vinyl craned her neck across the table and squinted, clearly already a little tipsy.

“Oh, that’s an arpeggiator. I know it looks boring, but this” – she tapped an illegible diagram in the margin – “is the program. I can show you how it all works sometime.”

“Well, I may not understand that, but the arrangement itself looks enchanting. How long have you been working on this, Vinyl?”

“Uh…” the DJ glanced at the clock, “since I ordered the pizza…so like four hours.”

“No,” Octavia chuckled, “I mean this whole song, when did you start it?”

Vinyl cocked her head slightly. “I told you, right after I ordered the pizza.”

“Vinyl, please.”

“What?”

“Vinyl Scratch, are you lying to me?” Octavia demanded, slamming her hoof on the table, her stare suddenly withering and accusatory.

“I…Tavi, no, I would never lie to you…and if I did, why would it be about something so dumb?”

It was the absolute truth. Vinyl never lied because she simply did not possess the necessary cognitive filters to be able to do so. Whatever she thought just came straight out of her mouth. But even if she could, she wouldn’t lie, especially about something so trivial, and Octavia knew it. Could she say the same about herself? Lies of omission were still lies.

“I’m sorry,” the cellist sighed, shaking her head to dispel her current train of thought and looking for anything else to latch onto, “I mean, it’s just…well, how do you expect to do this?” she redirected both their attentions to a staff littered with sixty-fourth notes arranged in arpeggios, “I don’t care what the instrument, that’s impossible.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Vinyl shrugged. It was a very obvious copout, but Octavia had no right to say anything when she’d just jumped down her throat for telling the truth. As usual, Octavia wanted to wonder why she was feeling the way she felt, but she didn’t need to. Hanging her head with no small amount of frustration, but an infinitely larger helping of shame, she rose from her seat and sat down next to Vinyl, resting her head on the DJ’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, love…that’s two times I’ve lost my temper with you now, isn’t it?”

“Tavi,” Vinyl put a hoof on her shoulder with an amount of caution that set off alarm bells in Octavia’s head, “It’s o–”

“Don’t! Don’t say it’s okay; it isn’t. I need…I need to learn to control myself…”

“Tavi, you’ve been through stuff I can’t even imagine…”

“Don’t trivialize your own struggles.”

“…so I get it if you get a little…angry sometimes. Just talk to me.” Vinyl’s touch was so gentle, her voice so soft and holding such compassion that for the briefest of moments, Octavia just wanted to collapse into her embrace and cry, but she knew she couldn’t. Her beloved was so fragile right now, and she could be the strong one for as long as she needed to be. She owed Vinyl that, and infinitely more, including an explanation for her outburst.

“I’m jealous, Vinyl. I’m terribly, terribly jealous. When we played the other night, I could already tell you’d surpassed me even at my best. I should’ve known you’d done the same in composition as well.”

“Tavi…”

“I always imagined…well, I imagined things would just be like they were when we were young, for the rest of our lives. We’d just keep pushing each other to greater heights and honing these skills together. I know life had other plans for us, and I suppose it was foolish of me, but in the back of my mind I always assumed we could pick that back up where we left off. The way you put that session together was captivating, but I realized right then that I’d been left very, very far behind. And if you can do that,” she indicated the ink-covered parchment, “while I’m having a nap, then I can’t help but think I’m not much of an asset to this supposed ‘duo’, now am I?”

“Octavia,” Vinyl grabbed her face rather roughly, cerise eyes peering intently into her lavender ones, “don’t ever say that.”

“I’m just saying what I feel, Vinyl.”

“Yeah, well stop feeling crazy things!” the unicorn all but shouted in her face, “we’re not some ‘band’ that’s gonna break up. We’re not even a ‘duo’, we’re us! This?” Vinyl grabbed the parchment in her aura and shredded it into confetti, to Octavia’s utter horror, “it’s trash. I’ve written a thousand just like it, I can write a thousand more, and they would all suck.”

“V-Vinyl…” the gray mare stammered in shock, watching the ruined scraps of paper fall to floor like ink-stained snowflakes.

“No, don’t. Whatever spiel you’ve got about how I’m just as good at writing as you, don’t even start with it.” Vinyl buried her face in her hooves, slumping in her chair and sighing raggedly. “I’ve been churning out the same simplistic, poppy, overproduced schlock for an eternity and I’m dying. Yeah, okay, sure, sometimes I have good ideas, but you were always the composer; I wasn’t meant to carry a career like this by myself. I just started doing this to keep myself occupied, and I wanted to stop a long time ago, but it’s all I know how to do. You wonder why I can write so fast? You could too if you’d been making the same fucking song over and over again for the past decade. That’s why I didn’t want you to listen to any of my stuff…it’s all just terrible. That’s why I feel so indebted to my fans – I owe them because I never gave them anything in the first place. So don’t you dare say there’s no part for you to play anymore, because I need you. I used to love music, and I need you to help me remember why.” There was a sharp sniffle as she tried and failed not to cry.

Octavia, for her part, was struck dumb. By her initial assessment, Vinyl seemed to have everything the two of them had always wanted: money, fame, recognition, and most importantly, technical mastery of their craft…and yet of all the confessions she’d heard since her return, she found this one to be the most heartbreaking. She didn’t even have words of comfort. The idea of no longer enjoying making music unsettled her in a very profound way; even after all this time, it was still a defining feature of her identity. Yet, after a moment, she realized there was only one thing that needed to be said.

“I won’t let you down, love.”

Before Octavia could even wonder if her words had done any good, she was wrapped in a tight embrace, closing her eyes as she felt soft lips and the wetness of tears press against the side of her face. Vinyl laughed, and though it had a desperate, slightly unhinged touch to it, there was also relief, giddiness, and genuine mirth in the sound. “We both think way, way too much,” the DJ sniffled, finally finding her voice, adding with a hoarse chuckle, “not to mention talk too much.”

“Yes, we do, so shush.”

There was a long silence, but there was no discomfort in it, only a great degree of uncertainty, and in that pause something dawned on Octavia. Ever since she’d laid eyes on Equestrian shores, she’d believed that her trials had finally drawn to a close – that now she could rest – but it wasn’t so; this was not the end, but beginning of the second act. As Neon had laid out for her quite plainly, Vinyl needed to be fixed. She herself needed to be fixed, and despite her weariness, she was the only one with the strength to do it. She wasn’t sure how she would manage it, but her realization from a few nights prior came to the forefront of her mind, a sentiment which Vinyl had echoed just moments prior: they needed to stop speaking so much with their mouths, and do so more with their hearts.

“Vinyl?” she prompted at length.

“Yeah?”

“What is an arpeggiator, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s a type of note sequencer,” the DJ began, not missing beat even though her voice sounded a bit strained, “basically it takes any chord an–”

“No,” Octavia giggled, extricating herself from the vicelike hug Vinyl had her in and looking into those shimmering cerise eyes, “don’t tell me, show me.”

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“Tavi! C’mere!”

Octavia halted the movement of her bow, stopping in the middle of a series of sweeping arpeggios. She’d been stymied in her composition for the better part of an hour now, and her solution to such situations was always to let her hooves go on autopilot and allow her mind to drift until the next phrase revealed itself.

“What is it, love?”

“Just c’mon!” Vinyl called excitedly from across the room. Happy for a break, Octavia set her cello on its stand and trotted over to where her partner sat at her extravagant arrangement of keyboards. The entire area was littered with crumpled parchment, empty bottles, depleted pens and broken quills. They had more or less been living in the studio for the past four months, and hadn’t exactly been keeping the place tidy. A partially-drained bottle of whiskey and an empty tumbler sat precariously on the end of one of the synthesizers, and the cellist stealthily grabbed both and set them out of sight, not wanting anything to be spilt, and also hoping that the already-swaying DJ might just forget about them and sober up a bit before dinner.

“Well then, what do you have for me?” she asked as Vinyl scribbled on a page, humming softly to herself.

“The intro,” the unicorn replied with a wide grin, her heavily-lidded, bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath speaking of someone who was long-overdue for a decent night of sleep. While Octavia had been working on several songs at once, the spiky-haired DJ had been agonizing over the same eight bars for the past four days – the introduction to the song that was to be the opening track of their new concept album. At this point, the small segment of music had undergone several hundred revisions, each of which Octavia had said was lovely and Vinyl had scrapped with ever-mounting frustration. Now, however, she looked extremely pleased with herself, albeit in an exhausted, disheveled sort of way.

“Go on, then.”

Vinyl blinked a few times, having seemingly forgotten that she couldn’t just communicate the idea telepathically, and would actually have to play it. She turned, orienting herself on the bench and assuming a posture that would ruin any classical piano instructor’s day, nearly striking a chord before she stopped and turned to face Octavia once again.

“Now, just understand,” she cautioned, holding up a hoof, “it’s not going to sound as good without the drums and the violins.”

“Noted.”

The unicorn returned once more to her playing position. Her hooves had just touched the keys when the notes were hastily aborted, and she looked back again.

“Now, I kn–”

“Oh just get on with it.”

Vinyl laughed nervously, exhaled, and began to play a series of bold, clear major chords as a foundation, using her magic to supply a slow, simple, but catchy melody on a second set of keys. It was only meant to be played once, but was structured so that it could be repeated ad infinitum, and so she ran through it three more times. It was entirely devoid of the bells and whistles that had characterized its earlier incarnations, relying less on the notes themselves and more on the intonation and phrasing with which they were played. There was nothing inherently melancholy about the tune, but the forceful, deliberate execution conjured a feeling of gloom within Octavia’s chest.

It was perfect.

“It’s absolutely perfect, Vinyl,” the gray mare said gently and evenly, afraid that any critical misstep might result in this version being scrapped and revised a hundred more times, which was something she did not want to happen for a wide variety of reasons.

“Aww c’mon, you’re just saying that,” Vinyl moaned, “give it to me straight.”

“Vinyl, I liked the first version…”

“Okay, I’ll go back and work off of that th–”

“No, hush. I liked the first version, the second, and the several hundred after that, some of which were absolutely beautiful. But this one is perfect, please do not change it.”

“So…we’re almost there, huh?”

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia huffed, snatching the sheet music out from under the delirious DJ’s meddling gaze, “I am taking this from you, I am keeping it, and I don’t care if you make a thousand more, it’s what we’re putting on the record.”

“Okay, okay,” Vinyl conceded, seemingly satisfied by a response this passionate. Even so, Octavia folded up the paper and held onto it, not willing to take any risks at this point. While she was a perfectionist herself in a general sense, her fillyfriend had an alarming tendency to get stuck in loops of compulsive rewriting, and while it could often produce some incredibly well-refined, admirable work, it could just as often result in the destruction of such work. To a certain degree, she had to defer to Vinyl in matters such as hooking an audience, but she also had to know when to make an executive decision.

“Hey, Tavi,” the summons interrupted her thoughts, “you seen my drink anywhere?” Vinyl’s was turning around and around, searching in random directions and places in the haphazard manner characteristic of someone who knows they’ve lost something, but isn’t nearly compos enough to even come up with a reasonable starting point for her efforts.

“No, love, I…” Octavia’s words caught in her throat. She wanted to, but she couldn’t, she shouldn’t, and in the end it wouldn’t matter. “Yeah, it’s down there,” she pointed to the glass and the bottle of whiskey, “by the monitor.”

“Oh,” Vinyl seemed perplexed, seizing the vessel of amber liquid with her magic, “I must be out of it.”

“I was hoping you might perk up a bit before dinner.”

“Okay, one more for the road…” she took another gulp before setting the now mostly-empty bottle down at its old, perilous spot on the edge of one synth, “and I’m done. I could probably use some coffee, too. Want some?”

“I’m alright.”

“Aright. Anyway, is there some special occasion I should know about?” the unicorn queried with some apprehension, “because I know it’s not our anniversary.” The last statement was made with quiet certainty.

“No, not really,” Octavia admitted, “I was just hoping we could actually sit down and have a meal…at the table…with food that didn’t come out of a box.”

“But...that’s where macaroni comes from,” Vinyl protested.

“Vinyl, do you really want macaroni again?” the cellist sighed.

“N-No…”

“Very well, macaroni it is then,” Octavia chuckled, rolling her eyes, “but I’m taking some artistic license with it this time.”

At this point Octavia’s definition of “artistic license” was beginning to seem more like “reinvention”. She’d been in the kitchen for what seemed like an eternity, though honestly it was probably something more along the lines of an hour. Regardless, it far exceeded the amount of time required to prepare macaroni, that much was certain. Still, for Vinyl, it was far from an inconvenience. She sat at the dining room table – for some reason it had been insisted upon that they use the fancy table – sipping a glass of cream sherry and listening to an enchanting, wordless song that drifted in over the scent of cooking food. It awakened old memories like quenched embers miraculously returning to flame – memories of countless evenings just like this one, all of which had been taken for granted. The light from the chandelier above was soft, the air was pleasantly warm, and the switch to wine had left a pleasant fog in the sleepy DJ’s mind. This was the type of moment that she’d never even dared to long for, something she’d shut out of her mind for years upon years, for fear that the thought of a future forever devoid of such pleasant normalcies might break her heart one final, fatal time.

In short, this was heaven.

Vinyl suddenly found herself much more mentally present than she had any right to be, and it took her a few moments before she realized why. The meandering humming that had formed the soundtrack to the last hour of her life had suddenly shifted into a familiar tune. There lyrics were absent, but they were not needed; any little filly or colt could’ve named it in a heartbeat. It was something she hadn’t heard for a very, very long time.

Octavia sauntered into the dimly-lit dining room, and even in the half-light, the smile on her face was radiant. The tray balanced effortlessly on her back held a dish of some yet unknown but undoubtedly delicious cuisine, and in its center stood a single, sparkling candle. With flawless timing, she set the food down in front of Vinyl just as the song reached its coda, ending it with a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Vinyl Scratch stared open-mouthed at the flickering flame before her. The candle to which it belonged was planted in what she now found to be the most decadent-looking macaroni that she – and possibly the world – had ever seen.

It wasn’t just that she’d forgotten her own birthday, it was that she had forgotten birthdays were even a thing that happened. In the beginning, some had tried to acknowledge them in various ways – Neon might bring her a gift; Lyra and Bon Bon would offer to take her to dinner; the Melodies would show up at her door with a cake and a smile. But Vinyl didn’t want any of that. Birthdays were happy occasions, and she didn’t want to be happy because it didn’t feel right. The idea of unwrapping presents and thanking somepony for another meaningless material possession while Octavia was somewhere out in the cold, or more likely dead, made her feel sick to her stomach and yearn for a drink, and when she inevitably took it and the dozen more that had to follow, any pretense of levity was sent straight to Tartarus. One by one, they’d stopped trying, and after the last brightly-wrapped gift had been refused, her only metric for the passage of time had been the number of days, weeks, months, and years since the world had come crashing down.

“Go on, make a wish,” Octavia said.

Vinyl didn’t have a wish to make, because she’d only ever had two – one that had already come true, and another that never could. Still, not wanting to spoil the moment by letting wax drip into their food, she blew out the candle and wished for the impossible thing anyway. Octavia gave her another peck on the cheek and then made the journey around the impractically large table to take the seat across from her.

Vinyl just stared at her for a moment. The past few months had been exceedingly kind to Octavia. Hot showers and a rigorous grooming regimen had expunged the ratty, matted patches from her coat, leaving in their stead the well-conditioned, lustrous shine that it had always possessed in their past life. Most of her scars weren’t even visible anymore. Her mane had grown back in, and while it wasn’t nearly as long as it used to be, it looked infinitely better than the short-cropped styling she’d sported upon her return. Possibly the most noticeably change, however, was her physique. While she was still lean by any definition of the word, there was a softness that had begun to return to her figure which obscured to a certain degree the sinuous, hard-forged frame beneath. In short, she was no longer some strange version of Octavia; she was Octavia proper, or at least very close.

None of it mattered to Vinyl personally, but a younger Octavia had always been very preoccupied with her looks, and so it was a concern by proxy. Only the mostly missing ear and the accompanying scar across her cheek marred the otherwise-perfect vision of elegance that was her beloved Miss Melody.

Vinyl must have been staring a little too hard, as the expression on Octavia’s face changed from jovial to slightly worried.

“Vinyl…did you honestly forget your birthday? I thought you were just playing along with me earlier.”

“Nah…I’m just wasted.”

“Is everything all right, dear heart?”

“Heh, yeah,” Vinyl smiled, stealthily – or so she hoped – wiping away a few tears. Deciding to keep things moving, she removed the candle from the dish in front of her and spooned some of its contents onto her plate before passing it over to Octavia. Never one for observing table manners and also suddenly aware of how long it had been since her last meal, she dug in. It was glorious. “This…” she was at a loss for words, but only for a moment, “this is better than your dad’s grilled cheese.”

Octavia stopped in the middle of serving herself, her eyebrows going up.

“Do you mean that?” she asked, almost breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Vinyl confirmed with another bite, “yeah I do.”

“Well well,” the gray mare smirked haughtily, “I think we were about due to visit my parents anyway.”

Vinyl snickered, forgetting her somber mood.

“Take it easy on the old guy,” she cautioned, “don’t crush his pride all at once…do it slowly so I can watch.”

“Don’t be cruel to the elderly, Vinyl; life already has been,” Octavia chided.

“Tavi, am I old?” The DJ asked so suddenly it took her a moment to realize the question had slipped past her lips.

“Age is just a number, love,” her partner responded, not missing a beat.

“Yeah,” she continued, suddenly inordinately concerned by the thought, “and I’m scared the number’s too high.”

Octavia put down her fork, resting her hooves under her chin and smiling from across the table.

“My dear Vinyl,” she said soothingly, “you are not old. We are not old. We’re not quite young anymore, I’ll grant you that, but I’d hazard that we’ve a few more good years left in us. So just stop thinking like that, eat up, and then you can have your presents.”

“Presents?”

“Yes.”

Gifts were not something that mattered to Vinyl Scratch in the sense that they did to most people. When she was younger they had, because every birthday or Hearth’s Warming had been a chance for her to acquire more equipment and instruments that she couldn’t purchase in good conscience with the modest living she earned gigging around Southspire. However, when she’d reached a point where she could afford literally anything, presents lost their appeal; instead of potentially useful, they just became more objects, objects that – had she wanted them – she would’ve bought herself. Some part of her knew that this was a bleak, depressing, and selfish way of looking at the idea, and that she should value the thought behind the gift rather than the stuff itself, but in recent years she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to give a damn.

Strange, then, was the childlike excitement she felt looking at three neatly-wrapped packages on the table in front of her. These weren’t the trifles sent as formalities by the few members of her family she still had contact with, nor were they the predictable booze and weird jewelry she would never wear that Neon always came up with; these were things that Octavia had selected for her, and that made them the greatest gifts she’d ever received, regardless of what they actually might be.

“Start with this,” Octavia – who now sat next to her – instructed, sliding over the first impeccably-wrapped, color-coordinated box. Vinyl picked it up with her hooves and shook it, tapping her chin thoughtfully before removing the paper and opening the small cardboard sleeve within. What came out made her instantly erupt into raucous laughter. She should’ve seen it coming, but it had been so long that she was completely blindsided. Back when they’d first started dating, Octavia had gone through a short and largely unsuccessful phase in which she’d attempted to get Vinyl to take better care of the spiky, tangled mess that was her mane. The blueberry-scented conditioner she now lazily applied when showering had been a concession in that battle. The first birthday present she’d ever received from her then-newly-deemed fillyfriend had been a hairbrush – an object which she had prided herself on using in a plethora of ways, none of them being the one intended. That brush had finally met its end acting as a pry bar when its owner had – for scientific reasons – gotten a very embarrassing personal item wedged in her toaster. While its sacrifice had in fact freed said item from its entrapment, it had regardless been the general consensus that the toaster in question should no longer be used to prepare food, at least not for guests. Thereafter, it had become customary for her to receive a new brush each year, and to find new ways to misuse and eventually destroy it.

“Thank you, Tavi,” the DJ giggled, “I shall see that it meets the same fate as its brethren.”

“As it should,” Octavia smiled, nodding primly, “now open this one,” she offered another wrapped package. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small, which Vinyl knew increased the likelihood that it was either expensive or hilarious. Under the wrapping was a plain but well-crafted wooden box. She raised the lid, and her eyes were met by shiny, brightly-colored plastic that made her smile grow wider.

“I figured if I put them inside something heavy enough, you might not lose them all at once,” her partner commented knowingly. “There’s a thousand in there, should last you six months at the very least.”

Vinyl lifted one of the guitar picks with her magic and examined it more closely. It was stiff and heavy – exactly as she preferred them. It was a two-toned blue that closely approximated her mane, but in the center were two magenta ovals outlined by a black frame that resembled her trademark shades. Below them, embossed in gold, were the initials “V.S.”

“These are fancy,” she observed, honestly impressed. She’d always exercised a philosophy of brute force when playing the guitar – this being the very reason she burned through picks and strings at such an alarming rate – and part of her was sad that a dozen or more of them would likely meet their demise by the week’s end.

“Only the best for the best,” Octavia cooed sappily yet earnestly. Vinyl responded with a hug.

“Thanks, Tavi. You really know me too well.”

“No such thing. Now, we’re…not quite done.”

The last gift was offered. Vinyl had never considered herself overly empathic; in her youth she’d been more than a bit of a narcissist, and it was only through age, her own efforts, and the love of the mare seated next to her that she’d become more in tune with other peoples’ feelings. This fact being considered, as well as her not being particularly sober at the moment, she was alarmed by how anxious Octavia looked watching her unwrap this final present. Underneath the paper was a box of blue velvet that even someone as unacquainted with finery as she recognized was the type that usually contains jewelry. She already had it halfway open before the implications dawned in full.

Within was a band of polished platinum, obviously sized to fit on her horn. Set into it was a large, dark-blue sapphire that made a clear statement without venturing into the territory of gaudiness. It was flanked by two similar ones of a slightly lighter hue, and to the side of each of those in turn was a smaller diamond. The coloration matched her own perfectly. If there was any doubt as to what this was – and there really wasn’t – Octavia instantly put it to rest.

“I had a whole speech prepared,” the gray mare explained, “but for some reason out of all the important moments in my life, I picked this one to start feeling self-conscious about sounding like a sap.”

Vinyl said nothing, staring at the ring as three warring trains of thought struggled for dominance in her psyche. Half of her couldn’t believe this was happening, half of her couldn’t see any other logical progression to their situation but this, and all of her was astonished that she was the one being asked and not the one doing the asking. There was a very expensive piece of jewelry which had been sitting in the back of one of her dresser drawers for the past twelve years that she suddenly no longer needed.

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia prompted, leaving her seat and resting on her haunches in front of the dumbstruck unicorn, “I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you – if that wasn’t already apparent – and I don’t want to wait any longer, so please marry me, if you wouldn’t mind terribly.”

“Yeah,” Vinyl whispered, not wanting to hesitate for a millisecond, “that sounds just about perfect.”

“Yeah?” Octavia questioned with shimmering eyes that betrayed utter vulnerability. The look of joy and relief that lit up her features suggested that the anticipation of possible rejection had been very real.

“Yes…” Vinyl confirmed with warm finality, “and now, if it’s cool with you, I’m gonna cry.”

An indeterminate number of hours later, two somewhat exhausted mares lay curled up together on the living room couch that Vinyl was so fond of. A very celebratory dinner had dampened their inhibitions to the point that making the trek to the bedroom seemed unnecessary despite the very large glass doors that occupied the wall behind them. They had no immediate neighbors, so the only passing pony that would’ve gotten a free show would be one trespassing in their backyard.

“Vinyl, your back is a bloody warzone,” Octavia chided, massaging intently, not sparing any of her considerable strength in the quest to iron out all the knots. After having worked the area around a particular vertebra for a solid ten minutes, she was rewarded with an audible pop and a grateful moan.

“Sweet merciful Celestia,” her unicorn counterpart sighed with relief, “that’s been aching like crazy for the past week.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me? And what in Equestria has you so tense?”

“It’s…down…down and r– mmm …that friggin’ song, it was driving me nuts,” Vinyl said in a failed attempt at sounding exasperated.

“You never got this anxious way back when.”

“Tavi…” the DJ attempted to roll over and look her partner in the eye, but was held in place.

“No, no, you stay put.”

“Tavi,” she began again, happily complying, “I’m trying to break out of this rut I’ve gotten into. I can’t make more of the same garbage. More importantly, this is going to be our first album together since…our first album. I have to make it perfect, or at least as close as possible.”

“As long as you keep your heart in it as much as your head, I know it will be,” the cellist reassured, cracking another section of spine with a firm push of her hoof and receiving an orgasmic groan as a reward.

“If we ever get sick of music,” Vinyl mused, stretching contentedly, “you could have a career as a masseuse.”

“Would you really want your future wife putting her hooves all over other ponies.”

“Point taken. Still, where and how did you get so good at this?”

“I’m not good at it, love,” the gray mare countered, “you’re just wound tighter than a steel spring.”

“Whatever, just don’t stop…”

There was a long silence in which Octavia simply concentrated on the area around Vinyl’s neck, an annoying uncertainty gnawing at the back of her mind.

“Vinyl?”

“Mmm?”

“How long do you think it will take to finish the album?”

“Like…ow…ah…finished product?”

“Yeah.”

“It depends,” Vinyl said thoughtfully, her voice cracking on the last syllable as kneading hooves moved down the small of her back and then below, “but assuming we keep going like we’re going, we’ll be finished writing it in a couple months. After that it’s just a matter of the easy stuff. I’d say a week or two to record it and then another week for me to put it all together. So we’re looking at maybe three more months, four tops.”

“You think so?” the cellist wondered, feeling a bit of relief.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I just realized that my timing might’ve been ill-considered,” Octavia admitted, pausing to take a less-than-dainty swig from her wineglass, “I didn’t want to try and plan a wedding and finish a record at the same time, but I’m not keen on the idea of postponing either for too long. To be honest, I thought it would be something more along the lines of a year.”

“Nah, don’t worry babe,” Vinyl said with tranquil confidence, “we’ll have this thing locked up in a few months. If there’s one thing I’ve gotten good at, it’s cutting down production time. Then we can finally get hitched.”

“I like the sound of that,” Octavia smiled, “except that the phrase ‘get hitched’ sounds a bit tacky.”

“Sorry,” Vinyl apologized as sincerely as she could given that she was legitimately relaxing for the first time in nearly half a year, “I just…saying ‘get married’ sounds so…girly.”

“Says the mare who cried for an hour after she was proposed to.”

“Cut me some slack, I’d just had the most amazing macaroni of my life. It was making me emotional.”

“If you hadn’t openly wept the first time you had my father’s grilled cheese, I’d be tempted to call that a copout,” Octavia said with some measure of suspicion.

“Speaking of that,” Vinyl replied pensively, “we should call your parents.”

“It’s a bit late, they’re probably asleep.”

“Wow, if I ever get so old that everypony’s afraid to wake me up for major life events, please kill me,” Vinyl groaned, punctuating the sentiment with a cough.

“Stop smoking so much, or it’ll be a moot point.”

Rather than laughter or some form of protest, the gray mare received only another cough in reply.

“I…I don’t feel so hot,” the DJ commented lethargically, her words coming out with a bit more slur than what would normally be expected.

“Yes, you do, you’re burning up, Vinyl,” Octavia started when she touched a hoof to her partner’s forehead, “wait right here, I–”

She was cut off as the increasingly delirious unicorn began to tremble, a cold sweat already visible on her brow.

“Tavi, I feel sick,” Vinyl mumbled, her eyes dilated and unfocused. She in turn was cut off by something halfway between a retch and a cough. “Can you get me some water?”

“I think you need an ambulance,” Octavia said hoarsely, hopping to her hooves about to make a dash for the telephone.

“No, don’t,” the DJ said with a little more coherence and surprising finality, “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Tavi, please,” she said as emphatically as she could given the circumstances, her voice sounding even weaker upon speaking the next words, “just trust me.”

Octavia was, to say the least, conflicted. Time and experience had taught her to go with her gut and never second-guess herself – in most situations it had served her well, and the few scrapes it had gotten her into instead of out of were an acceptable price to pay. This, however, was not most situations; this was Vinyl. Thinking she’d decided to play it safe, she continued her dash toward the telephone, only to find herself changing course at the last second to the nearby kitchen door. Before she even realized that her resolve had wavered, she was back by the couch, hoofing a glass of ice water to her now sweat-drenched fiancée.

“Thanks,” Vinyl whispered with hoarse gratitude in between gulps, “I’ll be okay in a minute here,” she said with quiet confidence, “this happens sometimes. I just need to lay off the drinks for a few days.”

“What do you mean this ‘happens sometimes’?” the Octavia demanded, sitting down next to her and glaring.

“It just does…it started last y–”

“Vinyl, you need to stop drinking.”

“What?”

“Do not act intentionally dense,” the cellist snapped, irritated that there was nothing solid to pound her hoof on without assuming a distractingly awkward posture, “I know it and you know it. You were a delirious mess when I came back here, and you’re hardly better now. I didn’t say anything because…” she trailed off and then sighed heavily, all her anger completely draining and leaving only worry and exhaustion. She placed a foreleg over the still-shaking mare’s shoulders and pressed on, “I didn’t say anything for a lot of reasons; at first, I honestly didn’t feel like I had any right to – I’d just walked back into your life without any sort of warning, and I wasn’t sure if I even had a place here anymore…I didn’t want to make you angry, either – not when things felt so uncertain. And I suppose – as much as I hate to say it – it was comforting, in a way. It made me feel like nothing had changed, that we could just pick the party back up where we left it, and I could forget that so much time had passed. I wanted to believe that we could still be young and invincible, but we’re not. You can’t keep doing this…”

“Tavi, it’s not that big a d–”

“Don’t!” Octavia cried shrilly, causing her partner to start; she was on the very edge of losing control. She waited for a moment and collected herself. “You barely eat,” she continued with deliberate evenness, “you don’t sleep until I tell you to, or you just fall unconscious in a chair or at your keyboard, and half the time when you wake up I’m not sure you even realize you were out…”

“Well,” Vinyl began with a good measure of force returning to her voice, “we’ve been working really hard on the album; I think it’s worth missing dinner or losing a little sleep over, don’t you?”

Octavia looked her square in the eye with as neutral a countenance as she could manage.

“Tell me it was different before, then. Tell me you took care of yourself.”

“I…” the lie died on the first syllable. The expression that formed in its death knell was one of utter defeat – a mixture of fatigue, acquiescence, and dawning realization. “No, I guess it wasn’t any different.”

“Vinyl,” the gray mare spoke gently, offering a long kiss on the neck to soften the weighty request she was about to make, “we’ve been given a second chance, here. I don’t want it to end before it’s even started. Please,” she took her lover’s head in her hooves and stared into her reddening, glossy eyes, “please stop. For me. So we can be together a little bit longer.”

“Tavi…I don’t know if I can.”

“You can try. You’d be surprised what happens if you just try.”

Vinyl Scratch hesitated for a long moment, and it was more than obvious that she was on the cusp of losing something whose importance the average, mentally-sound individual could not really comprehend. At length she cautiously uttered a single word:

“Okay.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Octavia’s stomach lurched, and some detached corner of her mind lamented the fact that she was about to lose the only food she would have that day. She rushed to the far side of the cabin, and gripped the steel pail that she had recently become well-acquainted with. The paltry nourishment she had received just a few hours prior erupted from her gullet, joining the previous day’s meal.

“You’d think,” she panted, wiping her mouth carelessly with a hoof, “I’d be used to this by now.” Another wave of nausea overtook her as the entire world rocked violently back and forth.

“Some of us simply were not born for life at sea,” a bassy female voice replied. “I do not envy you,” it continued, its somber tone made all the more severe by a thick Griffic accent, “you will likely starve before we reach land.”

“I appreciate the reassurance,” Octavia growled, her burning throat still contracting involuntarily as she broke into a cold sweat.

“Do you want I should hold you and tell you everything is going to be fine?” the Griffon asked, “I can lie if you want; it makes no difference to me.”

“No, thank you,” the mare said, “I’d just rather you dispense with the grim reminders.”

“Very well,” the griffoness replied sarcastically, “I shall pretend we are in beautiful meadow, with flowers and the buzzing of bees.”

Octavia gave her an ugly glare before slumping down to the floor and massaging her aching stomach. Her fellow captive’s morose attitude had begun to grate on her over the past few days…or rather, what she perceived as the past few days; the windowless cell they were trapped in allowed her no frame of reference.

“Ugh,” Octavia groaned as her gut roiled once again. The ship was rocking more violently than ever before, but she had nothing left to expel, coughing and spluttering as her insides tightened and released without mercy. After an indeterminate amount of time, the sickening motions subsided, and she decided to try her hoof at standing. Octavia had always made a point of keeping in shape, but it was purely for the sake of cosmetics; she was not especially fit in any meaningful sense, and several days without digesting any food had taken their toll, her weakened limbs feeling shaky and wobbly as she finally righted herself.

“I would save your strength if I were you,” the griffoness commented.

Octavia stumbled over to the wall opposite her glum companion and sat down, propping herself against it. She looked at the creature through watery, bloodshot eyes. Beatrix was a bit on the small side for a griffon female, but to a pony she still looked large and imposing. Her feathers were black, fading into tan fur as her body transitioned from bird of prey to predatory cat. Her expression was stony and she sat with immaculate posture, an aloof and stubborn being. The only element missing from this perfect representation of griffon pride was her wings. They had been stripped of all feathers, reduced to a pair of skinny, pink nubs tucked defensively against her body.

“Any ideas on how we could get out of here?” Octavia asked casually.

“What is the use?” Beatrix shrugged, “we get out of this room, we are on ship in middle of ocean. You are weak, and I cannot fly. If we stay here, at least we might live.”

“And what then?” the gray mare prompted, slouching down further in defeat.

“Well…” the griffoness put a talon to her chin as she thought for a moment, “we dock in zebra country. These dogs,” she tilted her head upward, indicating the traders who ran the ship, “they sell us. You are a pony, and quite beautiful. You will fetch a fine price. Are you virgin?”

“No!” Octavia practically shouted, reacting to both how disgustingly intrusive the question was and how casually it was asked.

“Shame,” Beatrix said nonchalantly, not acknowledging the mare’s anger, “if you were, you might be concubine. Have good life. Have servants. But no, you will probably be prostitute.”

“Lovely. And you?”

“Hard to say,” the griffoness scratched her beak, “I am strong; If I am lucky, I become soldier. Zebra tribes, they fight all the time. They need soldiers. I will die in battle, but I will die well-fed. If I am unlucky, I become laborer. I die from starvation or heat stroke.”

“You say all this as if you’re okay with it,” Octavia frowned.

“I come from small village in badlands, north of Griffon Kingdom. Full of diamond dogs. I am used to these things.”

“I’ve met several diamond dogs,” the mare protested, “and none of them were half as barbaric as all that.”

The griffon responded with a throaty chuckle, terrifying in how genuinely mirthful it was.

“You Equestrians, you know nothing of the world,” Beatrix condescended, still laughing, “I have seen the little creatures you call diamond dogs. Civilized, domesticated. What is worst they do? Steal gems?” she practically cackled, “no. Diamond dogs – real ones – they steal griffon chicks out of cradle, cook them alive, eat, and then leave bones on mother’s doorstep just for laugh.”

“That’s utterly disgusting.”

“That is the world. This,” Beatrix gestured broadly, “is the world. Your god-empress, she is smart pony. Make allies with surrounding nations; help them build up, secure their loyalties, use them as shields. You Equestrians are protected from all sides by other peoples. You know no hardship, know no fear. Your armies mobilize when little filly skins knee. I have no doubt they search for you right now. I have no doubt they make griffons search for you too. If we are rescued, it is not because they were looking for me.”

Octavia was silent, hoping the conversation would not continue, and neither would the systematic shattering of her worldview that had occurred over the past few days. There were shouts from above, and Beatrix snapped her head up, listening intently. Octavia couldn’t understand a word of Griffic, and even if she could the voices were muffled and she was distracted by the backflips her stomach was doing as the ship began rocking more violently than ever. The hull creaked and groaned as she clutched her midsection, body wracked by dry heaves.

“Storm is getting worse, much worse,” the griffoness commented, the uncertainty in her normally authoritative tone disconcerting.

“Well,” Octavia panted, “maybe it will put me out of my misery.” The statement was punctuated by more gagging.

“I saw how you struggled when they threw you in here,” Beatrix said accusatorily. “You screamed and banged on door. You cried. You cry still before sleep. Do not pretend you welcome death.”

“Do you understand what sarcasm is, Beatrix?”

“In my country we do not have sarcasm,” the griffoness deadpanned.

“I just came from your country, and I daresay tha-” Octavia stopped short as her stony companion began to chuckle heartily, somewhat comforted by the fact that even in her current state, she was quite capable of feeling like an idiot. “Very funny,” she rolled her bloodshot eyes.

“I am glad you agree,” Beatrix beamed. She had a surprisingly friendly smile, it just wasn’t something she chose to display very often.

“So,” the mare breathed as her nausea momentarily subsided, “how did you get in this mess? You don’t strike me as the type who’d end up here without a fight.”

“It is my own fault,” the griffoness admitted with some shame. “I come to city for work. Get good job, send money to family. City griffons, they drink like fish. I drink too much, fall asleep in street, wake up here. No chance to fight.” From the look of her, if Beatrix had been able to fight, both their situations might be different now. “You?” she prompted.

“I was on holiday…with my fillyfriend,” Octavia explained. “We just released an album and came into a good bit of money from it, and, well, we decided to take some much-needed personal time. She…she was going to propose…”

“This is strange custom. Griffons do not tell their hens when they will ask for claw in marriage.”

“She didn’t tell me, per se,” Octavia smiled sadly, her gaze cast downward, “it was an unspoken promise.” When she looked back up, Beatrix wore a forlorn expression.

“Your love bleeds from your eyes,” she said, softly but sternly, “it pours from your voice. You must learn to hide it, or they will use it to hurt you. You will never see her again; you must accept this if you want to survive.”

“No. I’d rather die.”

The griffon was about to say something else, when more shouting filtered down from the decks above, and Octavia got that funny feeling in the pit of her stomach one gets when falling.

“Brace yourself!” Beatrix shouted, digging her claws into the wooden floor. Octavia had no claws and absolutely nothing nearby to grab onto, and was about to point this out when she was tossed across the small room like a ragdoll. Her ears were filled with the rumble of thunder and the sharp crack of splintering wood as the entire world seemed to turn itself upside down. She let out an “oof!” as she hit the opposite wall and the wind was knocked out of her, sliding to the floor, lacking the energy to stop herself from rolling back again as the ship tilted in the other direction. Something stopped her, however, and she realized that Beatrix was gripping her leg with one set of talons, the other firmly planted in the floorboards, keeping them both anchored. When the boat finally settled, water was leaking from beneath the cabin door, as well as spurting from several points in the wall.

“W-what’s happening?” the gray mare stammered.

“What do you think?” the griffoness barked. She hurried to the door and began tapping on it, listening to the sounds it produced. After a moment she pointed to a spot near the hinges. “Wood here is weak, kick it.”

“Why?”

“Stop pretending to be stupid!” Beatrix shouted, “ship is going to sink. If we do not get out, we do not have chance! I cannot do it myself; griffon is not made to kick. You are earth pony, have strong legs. Break the door!”

Octavia had never been much for bucking, and in her weakened state she could barely stand. Her first attempt sent her hooves ricocheting off the smooth surface and she fell on her stomach with a groan. The second was slightly less embarrassing, but even then the door barely gave. After the third, she felt utterly drained, and slumped to the floor, panting and coughing.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, even as the churning of the storm began to take hold again. Her fatigued mind noted that water was beginning to pool all around her.

“If you want to see her again, you will!” the griffoness shouted, probably quite frustrated and frightened that her only salvation lay in talking a small pony out of a depression.

“You said it yourself,” Octavia choked, tasting the pooling salt water as she spoke, “I never will.”

“And when you are finally reunited in afterlife, how will you tell her that you did not even try?”

The door to the small cabin splintered, and its two inhabitants were greeted by utter chaos. Griffon traders rushed frantically about in a chest-high pool of water that was ever-rising. They desperately tried to staunch the flow from two large breaches in the ship’s hull, to say nothing of all the smaller leaks that were springing up on all sides. They didn’t notice – or just as likely, didn’t care – that their captives had broken free, and Beatrix bowled through them, knocking bodies aside as she charged up the stairs with an utterly spent Octavia clinging to her back. They reached the deck, and only then did the gravity of the situation sink in. The ship’s masts had been annihilated. The sky spun and churned, ripped and torn by flashes of lightning that sent deafening walls of noise crashing over their ears.

Octavia, hanging onto consciousness by a thread, looked up in abject terror as the water rose above them as a cliff juts up from the earth, a ponderously vast wall that was about to fall and obliterate everything in its wake. Beatrix was staring at it too, and she bowed her head, whispering a prayer to whatever gods griffons worship.

Pushed, pulled, compacted and stretched, the little pony felt her body whipped about, losing all sense of direction. Undefined objects struck her from all sides, jabbing and ripping at her tender flesh. She screamed, a soundless release of horror that was swept away by the pitiless ocean. It was a kind of fear she’d never felt before, the feeling of being at the mercy of a titanic, soulless force. She tried to scream again, but water filled her lungs and throat, the salt burning her insides. There was a terrible, terrible pain in one of her forelegs as something sharp dug into it, but it pulled her in one particular direction. Suddenly her head breached the water, and her body convulsed, expelling the liquid that filled her. Octavia gasped and spluttered before going under again. The pain in her leg exploded as it yanked her to the surface once more, and her stinging eyes saw Beatrix, one claw dug into a floating chunk of wood. The other claw, she realized, was sunk into her leg. The griffoness pulled her in, and the gray mare held onto her with every last ounce of strength as the sea frothed and boiled around them.

They rose and fell sickeningly with the waves, clinging to what might have been the only fragment of their former prison that hadn’t been sent to the depths. The water settled for a moment, and Octavia once again felt the sensation of falling in her gut as the sea itself seemed to be draining away. There was a distant roar, and she knew what was coming. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and thought of Vinyl.

Octavia did not open her eyes; she simply concentrated on her other senses. She was warm, delightfully warm. She could feel the rise and fall of another’s breathing. She could smell a delicious concoction of sweat, booze, and sex. She was not lost amidst a raging sea, but rather wrapped around the pony whose touch she had yearned for in her dream. The gray mare reflected with bemusement that it was now in sleep she found horror and in waking found relief. It was only a very present knowledge of everything she had done to get here that kept her from wondering if this was in fact the dream, or even the afterlife. More than ever she felt sympathy for Vinyl, who did not have the luxury of such concrete assurances, and was still unconvinced anything that had happened in the past few days was real. She could tell by the way those cerise eyes constantly searched her, looking for any crack or inconsistency that might betray her as a dream or hallucination.

She suddenly noticed the distinct aroma of fresh cigarette smoke in the air, and realized that the pony in question was not asleep.

“Vinyl,” she said reproachfully, “you’ll get ash in the bed!”

Vinyl started with a “whoa,” jumping out of Octavia’s arms and twisting around to face her in one surprisingly fluid motion. “Tavi!”

“Surprised to see me?” the gray mare chuckled.

“No,” the DJ countered, slightly defensive, “just didn’t think you were awake.”

“How did you get out of bed and grab cigarettes without waking me up?” Octavia inquired curiously.

“I didn’t,” Vinyl pointed toward the front of the bed, “I keep a pack wedged between the mattress and the headboard. Got some drinks and snacks in there too if you want ‘em.”

“You’re like a vice-prone squirrel, Vinyl.”

The unicorn ignored that comment, busy magicking various objects out from the crack at the head of the bed.

“I’ve got juice boxes…peanuts…okay, wow, that should not be near the food…and half a bottle of…absinthe? Huh.”

“I’ll take the juice, the liquor, and one of those smokes, if you don’t mind,” Octavia said, amusement growing as her fillyfriend continued to pull ever more improbable items out of her stash. Vinyl forked over the requested refreshments.

“Well,” the cellist giggled, taking a sip from the bottle of greenish liquid and washing it down with some lukewarm fruit punch, “I suppose this is a slumber party now.” She put the cigarette to her lips, realizing she’d have to get up and find a lighter, but that concern was rendered moot as Vinyl sparked her horn, igniting the tip. “Ah…I’d forgotten how convenient unicorns are. Anyway, why are you still awake?” the earth mare asked, eyes trained on her partner’s after having finally adjusted to the moonlight that spilt through the room’s only window.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Vinyl stated plainly, taking a long drag.

“Well, yes, that’s a given. Something on your mind?” It was a dumb question with an obvious answer, but it carried the conversation.

“Yeah, a lot of things,” Vinyl sighed, “but let’s not talk about that right now, I’m trying to go a whole twenty-four hours without a complete nervous breakdown. Can we just talk about something happy?”

“Well I did have one question,” Octavia tapped her chin.

“Yeah?”

“How’s your career been? If the enthusiasm of your fans and our little session earlier are any indication, it seems you’ve been doing quite well.”

“Yeah, actually, it’s been pretty good,” Vinyl admitted. “After…you know…I kinda stopped making music for a while. I didn’t even touch my tables for like, six months…”

Octavia couldn’t imagine her fillyfriend staying away from the studio for more than a day, let alone months.

“Around that time Lyra and Bonnie were still staying here with me, and they were really hounding me to see a therapist. Like, every freakin’ day. I needed a way to get away from them, so I’d just lock myself in the studio, put on some tunes, and get drunk. I didn’t wanna make music without you, Tavi, but I hope you underst-”

“Vinyl, if you finish that ridiculous sentence, I will slap you.”

“Anyway,” the DJ continued, clearing her throat, “One day I was listening to this record by some guy I can’t even remember, just something I had picked up on a whim at the music shop. It was all down-tempo electronic stuff with this really grating, distorted bass and all these screeching noises…”

“So…dubstep?” Octavia queried.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d…well, anyway, it was terrible. It sounded like a cartload of cats being throttled in a steel mill. But I kept thinking about how I could fix it – like, take the concept and make some decent tracks out of it – and finally I decided to give it a shot. Once I got back to work I couldn’t stop, and well, yeah, I knocked out about twenty songs in three months. I was still under contract with our old label, so the album came out and everypony seemed to like it.”

“Octaves?”

“How’d you figure that out…?”

“That filly who was fangirling over you in the restaurant mentioned it,” Octavia explained, “and you said it was over eleven years old. By that account, it had to have been your first solo album. I like the title, by the way.”

“Yeah…I can’t do subtlety,” Vinyl smiled grimly. “Anyway, after that I just kept cranking out a couple albums a year an-”

“A couple *a *year?”**

“Hey,” the unicorn shrugged, “you’d be surprised how productive I can be with no friends, no sex life, and a limitless supply of booze. Also Neon helped produce a lot of it.”

“That’s horribly depressing, Vinyl, and I hope you’re exaggerating,” Octavia knitted her brow.

“I know,” Vinyl rolled her eyes, “he can’t mix at all.”

“So,” the gray mare began, choosing to believe that last bit had been a joke, “can I hear some of it?”

“You already did,” the DJ told her, “that song we played earlier was one of my favorites…meaning the ones I don’t hate.”

“It was lovely,” Octavia said earnestly, “would you mind playing me the album track?”

“Uhh…” Vinyl rubbed a hoof along the back of her neck and through her mane, “you mean, you wanna just, like, sit here and listen to my music? Tavi, that feels kinda weird.”

“Why?”

“Cuz it’s all…emotional and stuff.”

“And?” Octavia demanded incredulously, “You’ve been ‘all emotional and stuff’ since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Yeah, well,” Vinyl was practically squirming, “it’s like, c’mon, you know?”

“Vinyl Scratch,” the gray mare said sternly, pausing for emphasis and to take another swig out of her bottle, “if you are honestly going to tell me that I can’t listen to your music, you’d better have a good reason as to why.”

“Tavi, please,” Vinyl buried her face in a pillow, pleading for a change of subject. Octavia suddenly realized that this was not simple embarrassment; it was very intense and pronounced discomfort. Whatever the issue was, pressing it now would benefit neither of them; the music wasn’t going anywhere, and there would be time for it later when things had calmed down.

“I’m sorry, love,” she massaged Vinyl’s shoulder apologetically, “never mind that. Let’s just talk about something else, yeah?” The unicorn simply remained face down in the pillow, far too tense, offering no alternative points of conversation. Octavia moved into a better position, her massaging going from casually affectionate to intently purposeful. As her hooves set to work trying to iron out the warzone of knots that was Vinyl’s back, she wondered: what could they talk about? Were there any elements of their lives – past, present or future – that wouldn’t inevitably lead to old wounds or things that one or both of them simply were not yet ready to discuss? Now that she thought about it, the only two recent memories in which things hadn’t devolved into sobs and apologies – namely their intense jam session the night before, and the equally-intimate and only-slightly-less-noisy romp in the bed that followed – had been the times when they hadn’t been trying to talk things out. Octavia reflected sadly that such difficulty conversing was to be expected after such a long time apart, but a solid chunk of her mind questioned if they’d ever been so spectacular at verbal communication in the first place. When she pressed her memory, she couldn’t recall any particularly compelling or successful instances of herself and Vinyl sitting down and hashing things out with words. Such attempts typically resulted in yelling, music, sex, or some combination thereof. No matter what the result, it would ruin the neighbors’ evening. The present situation was a case when passion simply couldn’t solve everything; sooner or later she would need to explain a lot of things, and hoped to receive some explanations in turn, but maybe for the time being they both just needed to shut their mouths in favor of a more…familiar language. A sudden moan from her partner as she kneaded a particularly tight spot punctuated the thought.

Octavia had just begun to debate whether or not this massage might evolve into something more amatory when Vinyl made an executive decision by falling soundly asleep, letting out a loud but peaceful snore. The gray mare stifled a giggle at how sudden and final it was. Rather than move and risk waking the slumbering DJ, she simply sank down and laid her head on Vinyl’s back. It was probably for the best; tomorrow was going to be a trying day, and they needed all the rest they could get. She yawned and closed her eyes, letting the gentle rhythm of breathing lull her into unconsciousness as well.

The absinthe rendered Octavia’s dreams hazy and vague. She lay on a sandy shore awash in orange and yellow light, crimson tide washing over her and carrying with it splintered wood and a few stray, black feathers. She felt eyes on her from above, but upon looking up, the harsh pyre of dawn was eclipsed by a midnight blue that faded to ebony, and then to a thoughtless oblivion that would remain until the real sun rose.

Recent years had not afforded Octavia melody much practice in cooking, however they had lent themselves to the honing of certain other skills, hoof-eye coordination and cutting things being among them. Even though she’d struggled not to burn the omelet, the prep time had been cut practically in half due to the swiftness with which she was able to dice all the ingredients. As she sat down to breakfast and a mug of coffee – she’d thought about making tea instead, but had decided against it lest she feel like a walking Trottingham stereotype – she felt a pang of guilt for leaving Vinyl asleep after promising not to, but figured the note and grilled cheese sandwich she’d left on the nightstand would be sufficient evidence of her presence. She just couldn’t stay in bed any longer; anticipation of the day’s plans had given her a lot to think about, something that shouldn’t be done on an empty stomach. For the first time in a long time, Octavia felt nervous – not worried like she felt about Vinyl, just anxious. She had begun to question how well-advised it was for the two of them to just show up on her parents’ doorstep with no forewarning. Philharmonica and Baritone Melody were certainly getting on in years, and she didn’t want to cause them undue stress or, Celestia forbid, heart attacks. Still, was there any better way? A call might soften the blow, but there was a chance – slim though it was – that they might not even believe it was actually her. The idea of a letter seemed callous and impersonal.

No, going to see them was the most direct and honest way of going about a reunion. They were adults, they would want to know as soon as possible, and they could handle it; she’d already delayed seeing them longer than was probably fair. Octavia couldn’t imagine that seeing their daughter again would cause her parents anything but joy. She wished she could wonder why she was actually feeling nervous, but she knew the answer: they would have questions, a lot of them, and she would not be able to deflect them as easily as she had done with Vinyl thus far.

Vinyl obviously wanted to know exactly what she’d been through, and Octavia had every intention of telling her…at some point. However, Vinyl was also just happy to have her back; how and why didn’t seem to matter all that much at the moment. Parents, however, were different, and she knew it would be difficult to remain vague enough not to alarm them while offering up enough information that they wouldn’t suspect she was purposefully omitting things. Then there was the matter of her appearance; a few days of hot showers and careful grooming had done wonders for Octavia, and she had removed the piercings from her right ear with a pair of bolt cutters. When she had donned her bowtie this morning, it didn’t look entirely out of place – even though she still felt like it was strangling her – but there was nothing she could do to hide the missing ear and the larger scars on her face and chest. When she thought about it, she didn’t like the idea of hiding them.

In her youth, Octavia had been quite preoccupied with her looks; she’d considered them another mark of her character, just as much as her finely-honed musical talents. In her mind, a mare who kept herself looking good had willpower and discipline. It was partly true, she reasoned now, but it was also partly not. Granted, keeping to a regular diet and exercise regimen required discipline, but when she had wavered in that discipline, she could easily achieve the same effect by sticking a hoof down her throat. Then, of course, the concept was further muddied by ponies like Vinyl, who could live on nothing but carbs and alcohol, and still come out looking fantastic. No, beauty did not imply character…but what about scars? Octavia knew what her scars meant: that she was strong, that she was resilient, that she had grit, determination, and heart. Each one was a mark, a reminder of an instance when she had stood against the odds and emerged victorious, or a time when she had been defeated, but survived and pushed on anyway. Together, they told a story, the story of a spirited young mare with hope and something to live for, who – in the words of an old friend – simply refused to die. Still, that was a story known only to Octavia herself. With dismay, she realized that an outside observer might see the same scars and believe her to be a brawler or a criminal. Such observations might not be entirely inaccurate, but they would be missing many layers of context. No matter what the angle, looks did not imply character; they couldn’t. Actions, however, could and did, and she knew that hiding from family and friends simply to avoid awkward conversations and judgment would speak ill of her.

Though lost in thought, Octavia had been aware on some level of the hoofsteps drawing closer to the kitchen, but her guard was so thoroughly down that she didn’t really register Vinyl’s presence until she actually shuffled into the room, a bottle of barleywine and half a grilled cheese sandwich floating in her aura. The DJ, for her part, was completely oblivious to Octavia’s company until they were looking at each other. She looked…hung over, very badly hung over, but her face brightened as their eyes met. Not saying anything – mostly due to the fact that she was stuffing her face rather ferociously – she walked slowly over to the table and slumped down across from the gray mare.

“You alright, love?” Octavia queried, noticing Vinyl’s sluggishness. She gave no thought to the fact that her fillyfriend was drinking at breakfast; this was not just common, it was routine. A much, much younger Octavia had once fretted over this very thing. It had been a couple years after their graduation, when Vinyl could use her go-to excuse – “hey, we’re in college!” – no longer. The young cellist had insisted that her partner quit drinking after a few particularly rough weeks that had culminated in Vinyl passing out on the deck of their apartment at the time, very nearly freezing to death on a frigid winter’s night. The DJ hadn’t even protested, saying it would be “no problem” and tossing out her impressive collection of liquor as though she couldn’t have cared less. Suffice it to say that Octavia had quickly learned the meaning of the phrase “lesser of two evils”.

Vinyl groaned, taking a long pull off her bottle and ruffling her drooping mane, restoring most of its disheveled, spiky glory, “I’m okay, just wishing Celestia could tone it down for once,” she said finally, squinting.

“It’s not the princess’s fault you overindulged.”

“Oh come now, Octavia,” Vinyl rolled her eyes, arching her brows and adopting a disturbingly flawless Canterlot accent, “don’t start with all that ‘you’re responsible for your own actions’ earth pony nonsense. We unicorns have a rich tradition of blaming our problems on everypony else.”

Octavia snickered, trying not to spill her coffee. One of Vinyl’s most shameful secrets was that she was a child of the Canterlot aristocracy – an ancient, prestigious line of unicorns that had supposedly gone unbroken from the time of Princess Platinum. The veracity of that claim was seriously questionable, but true or not it amounted to the same thing; her family was composed almost entirely of insufferable, lazy, sycophantic nobles who hadn’t hesitated to disown her when she was found to be “fraternizing with an earth pony”. This was another reason Octavia wanted her fillyfriend to accompany her to see her parents: the DJ had no real family of her own, and she had cherished her relationship with the Melodies. The gray mare had a growing suspicion that Neon Lights was the only pony Vinyl had interacted with on any meaningful level for the past three years. She needed to remember who she used to be just as much as Octavia did, and a good spot to start was rebuilding burnt bridges.

“Well,” Octavia swallowed another dainty bite of her breakfast, “please just try and keep it to ‘hair of the dog’ and not another entire dog,” she paused just long enough to reflect that she’d butchered that metaphor, “I’d like to get going in a couple hours at most.”

“Get going?” the unicorn mumbled quizzically, squeezing her eyes shut and massaging her temples.

“My parents, Vinyl,” Octavia reminded, “you know, the ponies you’ve been telling me repeatedly I need to go see?”

“Oh…right,” Vinyl seemed to slump down even further, if that was possible. Even though she didn’t say anything more for a good few minutes, it was very obviously a pause and not the end of the thought. “Tavi, look…” she finally continued, trailing off again momentarily, expecting resistance, but finding none, “I really don’t think I should be there.” It wasn’t the end, but it was a deliberate break, silently inviting Octavia to make her case.

“Was it really that bad? What could you have said that could be so irredeemable?”

“It’s not what I said,” Vinyl admitted, “it’s what I did, or…didn’t do. The fight was bad – I said some vile crap, especially to your mom – but I could’ve fixed it if I’d wanted to. The thing is,” she took another hefty swig of barleywine and sighed, “I didn’t. I abandoned them; I wanted to. I’m pretty sure they know that, and I don’t know how to make up for it. I don’t know if I can.” The confession was followed by a heavy silence.

“I understand love,” the earth mare said finally, “I won’t be angry if you stay home; you know better than I do whether or not that fence can be mended.”

“Thanks, Tavi.”

“But,” Octavia proceeded carefully, “don’t you think it’s worth trying?” Her face brightened at memories that were known only to herself, “you might be surprised at what happens if you just try.”

“Vinyl?”

The mare in question started, nearly losing her telekinetic hold on her drink and cigarette. She’d been so lost in her own head, she hadn’t even noticed Baritone take the chair next to her. The back porch of the Melody family home was bathed in the orange and red hues of the setting sun, and the stallion’s angular features were cast into sharp contrast by the steep angle of the light.

“Oh…uh…where’s…” she stammered.

“Philly had to lie down…or rather Octavia made her. They’re in the bedroom; I think it’s best if those two have some time alone,” he told her, expression somber.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk by slipping off,” Vinyl explained hastily, pausing to take a drag, “but you guys seemed…overwhelmed, and besides, this really isn’t my moment, ya know?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Vinyl,” the gray stallion said, turning to gaze at the colorful sunset.

“She’s your daughter who’s been missing for twelve years,” Vinyl pointed out with slight irritation, “I’m just that bitch who told you to screw off for having the nerve to care about me. You can’t tell me those two things carry the same weight. They shouldn’t. They’d better not.”

“Losing somepony is losing somepony, kid,” Baritone said sadly, “it doesn’t matter how or when it happens; it hurts all the same.”

The unicorn felt a flare of indignation in her chest. Was he seriously implying that their little tiff a few years back was comparable to losing Octavia? She had half a mind to say something nasty, but decided to just let it go. Her petty, trivial little emotions and hang-ups had no place here, not tonight.

“Look,” she groaned in exasperation, “you, me and Philly have some stuff to work out, that’s a given, but let’s just put that on hold for right now. What are you doing out here with me, man? Go be with your daughter. Go be with your wife.”

“It’s been a very draining day, Vinyl,” he sighed, “don’t order me around in my own home.”

“We’re outside.”

It wasn’t a particularly clever response, nor was it even very funny, but for some reason Baritone felt a smile creep across his face and he began to chuckle. Vinyl joined in, and as she did, couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. After a moment her laughter transitioned into a hacking coughing fit, and she doubled over, lungs straining.

“Ugh…” the DJ groaned, wiping a strand of saliva from her lips. Baritone watched her, brow furrowed with parental concern.

“You’re not twenty anymore,” he said sternly, “I hope you realize that.”

“At least…” Vinyl panted, “at least I haven’t gotten fat.”

“Ah yes, priorities.”

Vinyl’s mind was churning against the growing fog of liquor, trying to come up with a retort, when Baritone spared her the need.

“How is she?” he asked, some measure of hesitance in his voice.

“You tell me,” Vinyl shrugged, “you saw her last, I’ve been out here.”

“You know what I mean,” he sighed, “what has she told you?”

“Not much,” the unicorn exhaled through her teeth, rubbing a hoof along the back of her neck, “and what I’ve heard I just want to forget.”

“What, exactly?”

“No way,” Vinyl held up a hoof adamantly, “that’s for her to tell you, not me, and that’s all I’m saying about it.”

Baritone looked put off, but didn’t press the issue. There was a long silence between them in which both simply stared at the fading light.

“I’m kinda freaked out, Baritone,” Vinyl whispered.

The stallion blinked for a moment before his head snapped in her direction. She never addressed him by name. Ever. It was always either “dude” or “man”. Maybe once in a blue moon she would call him “Barry” as most of his friends and relations did. His actual name, however, had never been spoken by those lips.

“She just…” the DJ thought for a moment, “she seems okay. Too okay. It’s like there’s something missing, or there’s something I’m n–”

Vinyl hastily silenced herself as the back door swung open and the subject of their conversation came trotting out onto the porch. Octavia looked haggard and frazzled, her once impeccably-groomed mane ruffled and slightly damp in places. Saying nothing, she sat down on the deck chair across from them, rubbing her forehead. Her gaze finally met Vinyl’s, and though there were no words between them, none were necessary; the unicorn used her magic to float over a freshly lit cigarette and the rest of her drink. She was sad to see it go, but there was only one glass out here and Octavia needed it more.

“By Celestia’s mane,” the gray mare exhaled, her head drooping, “I didn’t think such a tiny mare could produce so many tears. She must’ve lost half her bodyweight,” she paused for a drag, “I shudder to th–”

“Octavia, what are you doing?” Baritone interjected suddenly, “you don’t smoke, and you shouldn’t.”

“Father,” Octavia said with deliberation, “I just watched Mum sob herself to sleep. Twice. I am in no mood to be parented.”

“Well I’m in no mood to watch the daughter I just got back kill herself.”

Vinyl moaned internally. Not this. Please not this, not right now.

“It’s one bloody cigarette, Dad,” Octavia stared at him incredulously, “do you think I’m just going to keel over where I sit? If that were how it worked I think Vinyl would be dead a few million times over by now.”

“All the same, I won’t have you smoking under my roof,” Baritone stated with finality.

“We’re outside,” Octavia snapped.

“You two are a bleeding hive mind, aren’t you?” the stallion demanded, glancing back and forth between the two mares.

“Yes, Dad, it makes it easier to ascend to the mothership.”

“Yo, guys, cut it out!” Vinyl shouted. Two very intense sets of eyes were suddenly on her, and she blanched slightly, but continued, “look, you’ve got the rest of your freaking lives to fight, so can you just not? Please? Look, I’ve got no right to ask you to shut up,” she said to Baritone before turning to her fillyfriend, “but Tavi, please, just…not now.”

“You’re right, love,” the other mare said gently. She took one last very, very long drag, glaring daggers at her father, then stubbed the cigarette out. “After all, unlike some ponies, I am capable of controlling my temper,” she continued to scowl at the elder Melody, “and exercising some self-control,” she added, smiling wryly at Vinyl before tossing the filter away and then downing the rest of her drink.

Baritone, for his part, resisted saying anything further, but his graying moustache twitched slightly.

Vinyl supposed that in some way it was a testament to the strength and stability of Octavia’s relationship with her father that within hours of seeing each other for the first time in over a decade, they could go back to their usual petty, pointless quibbling as if nothing had ever happened. It would almost be reassuring if it wasn’t so tiring. All three ponies were silent for a bit.

“I’m sorry, Octavia,” Baritone said suddenly, “I’ve no right to treat you like a child.” He buried his head in his hooves. “This is all a bit much, and I hope you understand,” the stallion’s voice cracked, “I just never thought I’d see you again. Either of you,” he gave Vinyl a pained look. Sensing imminent hugging, he wiped his eyes and added “don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. We’ve had enough tears here today.” The two mares eased back into their seats. “Would you girls like some dinner?” he asked after a moment. A certain white unicorn’s eyes widened with anticipation.

“Can you…?”

“Yes, Vinyl,” he laughed, “yes I can.”

Vinyl Scratch was both a self-proclaimed and objectively legitimate connoisseur of grilled cheese sandwiches, being that they were – along with oatburgers and macaroni – one of the only foods she ate on a regular basis. It is with that in mind that one may appreciate the weight of her declaration that Baritone Melody’s grilled cheese sandwiches were the unparalleled best in Equestria, as well as the fact that she’d maintained this opinion unwaveringly for the better part of twenty years. The use of exotic cheeses, olive oil, a touch of balsamic vinegar, and a flat press had always made them something special, but this time, well…

Vinyl sunk her teeth through the crispy, slightly-fried rye bread and into the still-cooling molten center of the sandwich, her eyes dilating with astonishment as she chewed. The sun was nearly gone, the long shadows that stretched across the deck and the surrounding garden slowly fading to darkness. Vinyl was only vaguely aware of the two lamplit faces watching hers from across the table as she chewed carefully, one with barely restrained amusement, and the other with intense scrutiny as his craft was judged.

“Brie…”

“Yes.”

“Roquefort…”

“Indeed.”

“And…what is that?” she breathed, swallowing slowly.

“Wensleydale.”

“It’s…beautiful,” Vinyl wiped an errant tear from one cheek. Baritone smiled with satisfaction and Octavia looked a bit put out.

“Thanks for raising the bar, Dad,” she grumbled.

“You’ll just have to try a bit harder in the kitchen,” the stallion condescended half-jokingly.

“Judging from her expression, I’ll have to try a bit harder in the bedroom,” his daughter lamented.

“Octavia!”

“Hey,” Vinyl sniggered, “it’s a good sandwich, but it ain’t that good.”

“Oh stop it, both of you!” Baritone was practically covering his ears. The two mares chuckled impishly. The Melody patriarch refused to join in any mirth related to this particular topic, joke or not, but he couldn’t bring himself to look too cross. “So,” he continued after a moment, attempting nonchalance, “now that you two are back together and safe and sound, when do I get my grandchildren?”

Vinyl groaned, but Octavia’s face became very concerned, and she leaned over the table, gazing intently at her father.

“Dad,” she said gently, “there’s something you need to know.” Baritone perked up anxiously at the gravity in her voice.

“And that is?”

Octavia sighed heavily. “Vinyl’s a girl,” she told him, her severe expression unwavering. The aforementioned mare nearly fell out of her seat laughing.

“So?!” Baritone demanded indignantly.

“I know you’re getting old, Dad,” Octavia continued with brilliantly affected sympathy, “but you do remember how kids happen, yeah?”

“Oh don’t give me that nonsense!” the elder Melody huffed as his daughter cracked a smirk, “she’s a unicorn!”

Vinyl, who had calmed down by now, eyed him quizzically. “Uh…sorry, but horns don’t do that. Trust me, if they did, my life would’ve turned out very differently.” Octavia snickered at the implication.

“Would you both stop treating me like I’m senile? There must be a spell or something.”

Vinyl shrugged.

“Well, you should look into it,” Baritone asserted.

“Even if that spell exists, I’m like the least magical unicorn ever…I can levitate stuff and that’s basically it.”

“Well, the–”

“Father,” Octavia interjected with exasperation, “honestly! Can we at least wait a few days before you begin with the badgering and outlandish demands and…insistence on reproduction?”

“Very well,” the stallion conceded, “I should be going to bed anyway.” He slowly rose from his seat.

“It’s ten after seven, Dad,” Octavia said incredulously.

“Yes, and I’m old,” Baritone replied with a chuckle, “you’re welcome to your room if you two don’t feel like walking all the way back home.”

They said their goodnights, Vinyl squirming when she received a kiss on the forehead. The two mares were left in silence. Neither of them really knew what to say; Baritone had always been good at bringing up uncomfortable topics. At length Octavia spoke.

“I don’t know whether to find it comforting or annoying that he hasn’t changed one bit.”

Vinyl lit another cigarette.

“If you’re giving yourself the choice, go with comforting, I guess. How’s your mom?”

The gray mare sighed heavily and slumped a bit in her chair.

“She’s…the same, but not. You know how fragile she is. I’m afraid the years have taken a greater toll on her than the rest of us.”

In her youth, Vinyl Scratch had always had trouble comprehending how Philharmonica Melody could be so delicate, both mentally and physically. She could be brought to tears at the slightest provocation, was constantly anxious in social situations, and tired very easily. The young unicorn had gone so far as to consider her “unstable”. Now, however, all Vinyl could feel was the crushing, vicarious ache of empathy, and disgust with herself, both for her cruel words on that awful night three years prior, and for completely failing to understand someone who had been so dear to her, someone who – deep down – she was uncomfortably similar to.

“When she’s feeling better, I want to apologize…if she’ll let me,” the DJ murmered. Octavia rose, trotting over and sitting down on her haunches next to her unicorn counterpart.

“She already forgives you, Vinyl,” she reassured, resting a hoof on top of her partner’s.

“She shouldn’t.”

Though Philharmonica had been unable to speak any decipherable words to Vinyl, many hugs, kisses, and copious tears had already told her what Octavia had just confirmed: she’d been forgiven, probably long ago…assuming the elder mare had ever been angry at her to begin with, which didn’t seem likely the more Vinyl considered it.

“Well, she does,” Octavia stated simply, “and I do hope you’ll sit down and catch up with her soon, she’s been very worried about you.”

“Y-yeah,” Vinyl sniffled, feeling her downcast eyes grow wet with simultaneous shame and relief.

“Now, now,” the gray mare cooed gently, “remember what my father said? We’ve had enough tears tonight. Why don’t we go have a proper dinner? You need something in you besides just bread and cheese.”

“Can’t we just stay here? We went out last night.”

“Very well,” Octavia relented, a slightly amused, slightly worried smile tugging at the corners of her mouth upon hearing this pony say those words. It became quickly apparent that Vinyl had caught it, as she quickly changed her tune.

“No, you know what?” the DJ said, visibly steeling herself, “you’re right, we should go do something. I don’t want to just sit here feeling sad, let’s go out.”

“Vinyl, we don’t have to.”

“It didn’t kill me last night and it won’t tonight, let’s do it.”

“We could just go back to the same place we ate last night,” Octavia suggested as the two mares trotted through the streets of Canterlot, “the food was excellent, and we had privacy.”

“Nah,” Vinyl laughed dismissively, receiving another hoofbump from a random passerby, “I haven’t been around Southspire in ages.”

Octavia sighed inwardly. Southspire, as its name implied, was the area around the southernmost towers of the city walls, however it was better known among the citizens who didn’t frequent it as The Clubbing District; consisting mostly of night clubs, bars, and the majority of Canterlot’s less-traditional dining establishments, it had a bit of a reputation, and not a particularly favorable one. Despite being a classical musician by trade, Octavia was well-acquainted with the place. Whereas her solo career had been confined to the concert halls and theatres of the city proper, Southspire was where she and Vinyl had originally gained a hoofhold as a two-mare act. It wasn’t a bad place necessarily, just a bit more rough-and-tumble than the rest of the city. Her trepidation had nothing to do with fear for her own wellbeing, and everything to do with a suspicion that Vinyl was leaving her comfort zone and venturing back into her old haunt on principle rather than out of any actual desire.

At the corner of two vaguely familiar streets, Octavia followed her fillyfriend through the tinted glass doors of a hip-looking bistro, the colorful neon sign perched atop the building flanked by two angular, brightly-lit buttresses that she very much doubted had any structural function. She couldn’t make out what the sign said from this angle, but it certainly wasn’t a place she remembered. The lights outside, however, were nothing compared to those within. It was like some gaudy parody of the kind of upscale restaurants one generally found in the downtown area of Canterlot; the walls were veneered in what appeared to be multicolored faux-marble, which just ended up looking muddy in the dim but equally-colorful lighting. Molded plastic accents, painted in metallic colors lined their edges. The tables were clad in black cloth and set with neon-colored flatware, each sporting enchanted candles that gave off different shades of light. Octavia had never claimed to have an eye for design – she was a musician and she kept both her dress and her decorating simple and modest – but even she could see that this place was visually offensive on a near-objective level.

“Scratch!” an enthusiastic shout pierced through the din of dining patrons, “what in Equestria are you doing here?”

“I missed you, ya big fruit,” Vinyl chuckled, giving Neon Lights a one-legged hug. Suddenly Octavia understood exactly why they’d made the trek all the way across town just to go to this one silly-looking eatery. Vinyl wasn’t putting on airs, she just missed her friend – the one friend who had kept her company through so many troubled years, and the one Octavia surmised may have been the only pony the reclusive DJ had seen in any meaningful sense since the falling-out with her parents. No doubt after what he saw three nights ago, Neon probably figured he’d do well to avoid bothering Vinyl, and she’d just wanted to come and say hi. It was so heartwarmingly simple a motivation that Octavia could feel herself tearing up a bit.

She suddenly realized Neon Lights was walking toward her. He was wearing a sequined suit and matching tie, as well as a pair of shades very similar to Vinyl’s. Though not nearly as long, his disheveled, spiky mane was rather similar in style as well, though much darker in color.

“Hey, Octavia,” he held out a hoof, “you probably don’t remem–”

“It’s good to see you again, Neon,” the cellist said warmly, giving him a hug. When their gazes once again met, she could see his surprise even behind his glasses.

“I…you too, it’s been forever,” he grinned, “last time I saw you was at graduation. I almost thought you might make an honest mare out of Scratch here…then I remembered she’s too shady to ever be an honest mare.”

“You come up with that one all by yourself, buddy?” Vinyl queried condescendingly.

“Anyway,” Neon ignored her and continued, “how’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Octavia countered, unsure if he was asking what she thought he was.

“Get her outta that house?” he nodded toward the white unicorn.

“Oh,” Octavia laughed with relief, “well, you know, one just has to find the right words when dealing with stubborn mares.”

“You got some words I don’t?” Neon asked in earnest, “because I swear I tried every one in the dictionary.”

“Dude, please stop trying to make jokes…” Vinyl whined. Neon once again ignored her admonishment, regarding Octavia’s attire.

“That’s an awesome jacket, by the way,” he commented, prodding the flared collar of her leather coat with a hoof, “I like the new look; very metal.”

“Hey, man, how about you feed us?” Vinyl interjected quickly.

“Oh…oh yeah, totally!” the stallion’s face lit up, as if he only just remembered he was the proprietor of this establishment, and was quite thrilled about it. “C’mon, I’ll seat you myself, everything’s on the house.”

The VIP booth, while done up in entirely too much multicolored velvet, was much less chromatically chaotic than the rest of Neon’s restaurant – the name of which was revealed, upon Octavia’s inquiry, to be just that – Neon’s. Apparently the eponymous stallion had decided a few years ago that he lacked the chops to make it in the music industry, and decided to open a bistro in Southspire, a place he frequented to the point of more or less being a resident, despite the fact that nobody actually lived there.

“Couldn’t have done it without Scratch though,” Neon admitted gratefully. At both mares’ insistence he’d stayed to chat a bit, despite clearly feeling as though he was intruding.

“Is that so?” Octavia wondered, smiling at her fillyfriend.

“Yeah. I asked if she could drop the name of the place in an interview,” the stallion continued, scratching the back of his neck, “little did I know she started dropping it in every interview. Business kicked off so fast I could barely keep up. I wanted to start out small and slow, you know, learn the ropes and all, but instead I got a crash course in running a business. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

“Now if you could only learn how to decorate,” Vinyl chided.

“Hey, being flashy’s the whole gimmick.”

“There’s ‘flashy,’ and then there’s ‘eyesore.’ You need to learn the difference.”

“I thought this place had your ‘stamp of approval,’” Neon smirked.

“You know, if I’d ever actually been here, I would’ve made you redecorate before I said that.”

Upon arriving back in Canterlot, Octavia had naturally assumed that Vinyl and neon were seeing each other, but as the evening wore on, she realized that could never be the case; their relationship was much more akin to that of an older sister and a younger brother. Vinyl teased him incessantly, sometimes going a bit too far, however he obviously understood – whether through wisdom or experience – not to take her too seriously.

“Aww c’mon, Scratch, you said you’d never tell anypony about that,” the stallion lamented.

“I only told her,” the DJ shrugged, tilting her head toward Octavia. Neon still looked entirely put out. Vinyl reached over the table and ruffled his mane playfully. “Aww, you know I love you,” she said in a simpering voice that became steadily sillier, “you know I wuv you!”

“Cut it out.” He brushed her off in exasperation, as if it was something he had to do frequently. Octavia simply watched the spectacle in silent amusement.

“So,” Vinyl prompted in a slightly more serious tone, “what’ve you been up to the past few days? You look tired.”

“Eh, nothing great…had to send one of my waitresses on a little unpaid vacation for being drunk on the job. I mean, everypony’s a little bit lit here, but she’s got a problem. You can’t be dropping plates and spilling drinks on customers, and I gave her plenty of warnings.”

“Wait, you didn’t just can her?” Vinyl slurred slightly, raising her eyebrows.

“Nah, I couldn’t,” Neon shook his head, “she doesn’t deserve that. Sometimes good people end up in bad situations,” his gaze drifted toward the floor, “I’m hoping she can get it together and like, come back…maybe live a normal life again, you know?”

A silence fell on the room, one which Octavia wasn’t quite sure Vinyl was sober enough to grasp the weight of.

“Anyway,” The DJ broke it with absolutely no grace, but soldiered on with the kind of oblivious confidence that only drunk ponies possess, “how about you bring me another drink?”

“C-C’mon Scratch, you’ve had like…ten.”

Vinyl scowled.

“So?” she demanded.

“So, like, take it easy, huh?” It was painfully obvious that Neon was neither used to nor comfortable with putting any kind of limits on Vinyl’s behavior, and it momentarily became obvious why. The white mare’s eyes went cold as she stared him down.

“You know the deal, Neon.”

“I…I don’t see how that deal applies anymore,” the stallion replied with a little more confidence, tilting his head ever-so-slightly toward Octavia.

“Whatever,” Vinyl snarled, “it’s your place. I can take my business elsewhere.”

“What business? You aren’t paying for any of this.”

“C’mon Tavi,” she waved a hoof toward the door, “let’s go to the bar.”

Octavia wasn’t sure what to think, and so said nothing, rising from her seat. She was debating whether to call Vinyl on this obvious overreaction, when a subtle gesture from Neon caught the corner of her vision.

“Wait,” he mouthed.

“C’mon Tavi, we aren’t getting any younger,” the white mare looked over her shoulder, swaying slightly.

“I’ll be along in a moment, love, just need to gather my things,” Octavia fibbed.

“’Kay, meet you outside,” Vinyl grumbled, her eyes looking right through Neon as she turned to leave, pretending he wasn’t there. When she was gone the stallion sighed heavily. He removed his shades, rubbing his eyes, and when his gaze met Octavia’s for the first time in many, many years, she could see how tired he was. This was not the kind of tired that came from dealing with unruly employees or running an unexpectedly successful business; this was the kind of tired that spoke of too much worry for far too long – the kind that belied a chronic and persistent lack of rest.

“It’s all fun and games,” he chuckled mirthlessly, “until you try to get her to stop drinking.”

“Have you ever seen her try to stop?” Octavia asked earnestly.

“Yeah…once,” Neon admitted, massaging his temples, “about three years ago. For whatever reason, Scratch got it in her head that she needed to sober up. Look, some people…I get why she does it, is what I’m trying to say. It used to be a solution…not the best solution, but a solution. It’s gotten out of hoof though – like, way, way out. That’s why I had to get her out of here and talk to you for a sec.”

“You knew she’d react this way?”

“Scratch thinks I’m dumb,” he said with another humorless laugh, “and I probably am, but I know her like the back of my hoof. You can’t tell her what to do, but you can make her do what you want if you know what to say.”

Octavia considered this for a moment. She’d never been one for manipulation, but she supposed that someone who didn’t have the same sway over Vinyl as she did would have to use any tactic available.

“She won’t speak to me for a few days,” Neon continued wearily, “then a week from now it’ll be like nothing ever happened.” He picked up his own drink and downed the rest of it, letting the glass hit the table a little too hard.

“I can’t keep her waiting too long, Neon.”

“Right, right,” the stallion shook his head, collecting his thoughts, “look, Octavia, I’m not going to pretend I know you well, and what little I do might not even apply anymore. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I’m never gonna ask you…but I know what Scratch thinks of you. I’ve never seen anything like it, honestly. If there’s one mare on this planet who could get her to turn her life around, it’s you.”

“I can’t control her any more than you can, Neon.”

“B-But,” he spluttered incredulously, “yes, yes you can.”

“Let me rephrase that, then,” the gray mare responded coolly, “I don’t want to control her. That’s not how it works and it never has been.”

“Look, listen,” Neon set his hooves on the table, eyes narrowing in irritation. The easygoing, meek stallion from earlier was gone; his countenance was hard and weathered, and when he spoke, it was as though he was laying out the terms of some kind of deal. “You’ve been back for a few days. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, I don’t know what she’s told you, and I don’t need to; it’s none of my business. What I do know is that you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You’ve seen Scratch for three days, and I’m betting she’s happier than she’s ever been in her entire life…all during what is, quite frankly, a good year. This?” he waved a hoof at the clutter of mugs, glasses, and bottles that littered the table, “this is foal’s play. When she loses it again, you’ll see what I’m talking about. It’s a cycle that repeats and repeats and repeats, and every time it does, it gets a little worse. I have spent years of my life scraping that girl off the floor like a spent piece of chewing gum only to watch her fall right back down again. Your two friends? The harpist and the candy maker? They don’t come around anymore. They couldn’t deal with it. Nopony could…nopony except me.”

It was at this point that Octavia quietly began to reassess exactly what the nature of this relationship was.

“One by one, she pushed them all away, every last one, except me, because I wouldn’t go away. Look, I get it, you’ve probably been through hell, but I’m at the end of my rope and I just don’t have any tears left for you. So don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do,” the statement was sharply punctuated by his hoof pounding against the table, “and don’t tell me that’s just the way she is,” and again, “because you owe me. Whatever happened to you, you still got to come home to Vinyl…you still get to have her, but me? I’m the only reason there’s still a Vinyl for you to have. I did my part and I kept her alive, because that’s all I could do. Now you need to do your part and fix her, because you’re the only one who can.” his eyes remained locked on hers, but the intensity slowly drained from his expression. After a moment he hung his head, cradling it in his hooves. “I…like Scratch, a lot, but this is on you now, and that’s all I’ve got to say.” After a full minute of quiet, Octavia tentatively reached across the table toward Neon, but he stopped her by breaking the silence, “just go, she’s waiting for you.”

Octavia stood up and left without another word.

“Oh c’mon, Tavi,” the DJ laughed dismissively, not slowing down, “the night’s young!”

“Vinyl, how can you treat your friend like that? Your best, and – now that I think on it – your only friend?” Octavia matched her partner’s pace, falling in step beside her. Fortunately, even in Southspire the crowds were thinning out at this hour, and they had no trouble walking two abreast.

“You’re my best friend, babe, and I don’t have time for Neon when he’s trying to be a buzzkill.”

“Vinyl, you’re drunk, and we need to go home,” Octavia said sternly, “but not before you apologize to Neon.”

The unicorn stopped short and lifted her shades, resting them on her horn. Octavia had been expecting a scowl, but was instead met with a look of resignation.

“Okay, maybe I was kind of a jerk…”

“You were awful.”

“Look, I’ll hit him up tomorrow, okay? Neon’s a laid-back guy, he probably won’t even care by morning.”

The cellist privately wondered how much of this monumental denseness was booze, how much of it was legitimate, and how much of it was willful. Knowing the mare in question, she reasoned that most of it probably fell into the latter category.

“For now, can’t we just have fun?” Vinyl asked with a shrug.

“Fun measured in what?” Octavia demanded, “alcohol by volume?”

The DJ looked like she’d been slapped in the face.

“Tavi…why’re you so mad all of a sudden? You’re the one who said we should go out.”

The cellist sighed and reigned in her emotions with practiced ease. She put a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder and gave her a half-smile.

“I’m sorry, love…I just have some things on my mind. Look, we’ve a couple hours until the bars close; if I humor you until then will you come home and get some sleep?”

“Deal.”

Octavia wanted to have fun, she really did, but she couldn’t. The dimly lit pub rang with the clatter of mugs and flatware. Laughter, shouting, and the thrumming of electronic bass lent it a lively, boisterous atmosphere that by all rights should’ve been infectious, but her mind had walled itself off to the outside world. She couldn’t get Neon’s face out of her head – his exhaustion, frustration, and desperation weighed heavily on her. What he’d said had been unsettling as well, but that pained expression had spoken volumes more than even the most eloquent sequence of words ever could. At least Vinyl seemed at ease. Every passing pint and highball seemed to restore another piece of the charming, unflappable mare that Octavia remembered. As she sipped a tumbler of scotch in quiet unease, her DJ counterpart was chatting animatedly with a stallion next to her. Most of the conversation was lost in the surrounding din, but he was obviously a fan.

Octavia felt a touch bitter, and she hated herself for it. Despite going out two nights in a row, she hadn’t spent a single bit, owing entirely to the fact that Vinyl was served for free wherever they went. She was incredibly proud of her fillyfriend for attaining the popular success and recognition that they had sought in their younger years, but that was just it – it had been something they had wanted, something they were supposed achieve together. If she was honest with herself – and she always was – Octavia knew that it was jealousy, plain and simple. Well, there was another part to it – a feeling of distance. Vinyl was a star who received free meals and VIP treatment anywhere she went. If Neon’s experience was any indication, business owners were lucky to simply receive her patronage and endorsement. Octavia should’ve been the other part of the act, the other half of the duo, but instead she was just some rough-looking, unknown mare who – for all anyone else knew – could be nothing more than Vinyl’s flavor of the week. For the first time in a very, very long while, she felt the unpleasant sensation of her confidence being undermined. The things she’d done over the past twelve years – her sturggles, her triumphs, and her carefully-laid plans – amounted to nothing here.

“Hey!”

Octavia was snapped out of her melancholy reverie as Vinyl’s shout pierced through the ambient noise.

“Hooves to yourself, pal,” the unicorn growled, addressing an unfamiliar pony. The fan she’d been talking with was scowling at the newcomer as well – a sharply-dressed stallion whose black mane looked oily from an obvious overuse of hair products.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, waving a hoof, “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Next time, keep it above the waist, ‘kay?” Vinyl’s expression softened, but a hint of irritation lingered in her voice. Octavia hadn’t seen what happened, but she could guess.

“My bad,” the stallion conceded a bit too genially, “lemme buy you a drink to make up for it.”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow and regarded him as suspiciously as her blood alcohol content would allow, before shrugging and nodding. Under and behind the silent despondence she was currently wallowing in, Octavia felt a sudden, subtle tension when he turned and addressed her with a plastic smile.

“’Scuse me miss, you mind finding another seat? I want to sit and talk with DJ PON-3 here.”

The gray mare stared at him unblinkingly, expression cold and blank.

“Uh, yeah, no,” Vinyl interjected sharply, “I mind.”

“What, she your marefriend or something?” the greasy stallion cackled.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the flank,” he mused, looking Octavia up and down disdainfully, “had no idea you were a filly-fooler.” Several other bar patrons had caught the increasingly aggressive conversation and were listening intently. Clumsily, he forced himself between the two mares, carrying with him the smell of entirely too much liquor, even for a bar. “How about you ditch this chewed-up skank and I show you why most mares prefer stallions?”

“Oh, wow,” Vinyl rolled her eyes, having removed her shades, “are all your lines that good? You must be covered in bitches twenty-four seven.” She slurred her words slightly, but it was still enough to elicit a few chuckles from other customers. The stallion bristled visibly.

“Hey!” he barked, “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get smart with m–” he stopped short when Octavia tapped him on the shoulder, whipping his head around to face her. “What?!”

“You might want to back off a bit there, mate,” she told him matter-of-factly, “we don’t want any trouble.”

“Nice face,” he smirked in return, glaring daggers at her, “what’d you do, stick your head in meat grinder?”

“Hey!” Vinyl shoved him, nearly knocking the already swaying pony over, “that’s enough. Get out of here.” The stallion regained his balance and straightened his suit.

“Sure,” he sneered, clamping a hoof on her shoulder and practically pulling her off the bar stool, “and you’re coming with me.”

The moment he touched Vinyl, Octavia felt the past hour’s frustrations come to a boil. She tapped him on the shoulder once more, and waited just a fraction of a second.

“Wh–?!”

There was a violent clatter as the bar top shook with a sudden impact. Drinks all up and down its length toppled and spilled, made all the more audible by the sudden hush that overtook the establishment. The unconscious stallion crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes, blood pooling rapidly under his broken muzzle.

Vinyl stared wide-eyed, detachedly noting the single tooth that was now embedded in the polished wooden surface next to her spilt mug. She winced as Octavia pried it loose and dropped it on top its former owner.

“Makes a compelling case for keeping one’s mouth shut, doesn’t it?” the earth pony commented grimly, addressing no one in particular.

Three other stallions seated across the room shot up from their seats and started to make a beeline for the scene of the conflict, but were stopped by the bartender, a grizzled-looking unicorn wielding a crowbar in her magical aura.

“Whoa! Whoa! None of that!” she shouted, brandishing the menacing chunk of iron, “you scumbags pick up your friend and leave, or you’re gonna join him as my newest floor ornaments!”

For a moment, the stallions seemed to waver on the edge of turning the incident into a fully-fledged brawl, but as the bartender lowered herself into a fighting stance, a whole host of patrons rose from their seats to back her up. Shooting dirty looks all around, the three ponies cautiously made their way to the bar. Two of them lifted their fallen comrade while the third glowered at Octavia, not breaking eye contact until all four were out the door.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” the barkeep hollered over the chatter that had erupted throughout the room, “nothing to see here. Everypony go back to getting drunk and paying my bills.”

Once the commotion had died down, Octavia finally noticed that Vinyl was staring at her rather intently, her eyebrows raised high and mouth curved slightly down in a look that conveyed utter shock and just a touch of anxiety. The gray mare answered with a lopsided smile, and was about to speak to her fillyfriend when she felt something cool touch her hoof. She looked down to see a fresh glass of scotch, offered by the bartender, who was leaning on the counter across from her.

“Normally,” the unicorn said sternly, “I’d throw you out, too. That being said…thanks.”

“You’re thanking me for assaulting one of your patrons?” Octavia queried.

“Look, usually I have one rule: you fight in my bar, you’re out,” the other mare explained, “but I’ve been chasing that scumbag and his friends out of here at least once a week for the past six months. They’re always groping mares, getting in guys’ faces, and starting trouble. I keep running ‘em out, but they always come back a few days later, and I don’t have the money to hire a bouncer.”

“Why don’t you just refuse to serve them?”

“Yeah, right, and get my windows busted out again? No thanks. Anyway, I’ve been itching to see that punk Low Ball and his dumb nylon suit get what was coming to him, so have a drink. Just know if you do it with any of my other customers, I’m kicking you out too.”

“Noted.”

Suddenly, Octavia didn’t feel so gloomy anymore, and she didn’t feel like going home just yet.

Liquor laws in Southspire were about as strictly enforced as the “no running” rule around the average kid’s pool, so it wasn’t until about four in the morning that Vinyl and Octavia found themselves finally ousted from the bar and beginning to stagger in the general direction of their home, each relying heavily on the other to maintain their collective verticalness. The streets were more or less deserted, but they filled them with enough stumbling, shouting, and laughing for a small crowd.

“T-Tavi,” the DJ stammered, “that…that was so cool. You’re so cool.”

“Actually, Vinyl,” Octavia slurred, pulling back the collar of her jacket and then loosening her bowtie, “I’m feeling a bit warm at the moment.”

“No, dude, I mean, like, that guy tried to punk me, and you were just like pow!”

“Well,” the cellist giggled hiccupping and then lazily stroking her partner’s cheek, “he had his fi–,” she hiccupped again quite violently, “filthy hooves all over you. Nopony gets to do that but me.”

“I love you, Tavi,” Vinyl said, eyes closed with a dopey smile plastered on her face, “will you marry me?”

“Of course love,” Octavia tittered, “but can I do it tomorrow? I very much feel like lying down.”

“M-Me too,” the unicorn mumbled, rapidly losing consciousness and remaining upright through no effort of her own, “are we home yet?”

Octavia glanced at her surroundings, and then back down the way they had come, only to realize they had barely made it two blocks from the bar.

“Oh…oh dear,” she murmured to herself before shaking her companion, “Vinyl, do you know of any hotels around here? There’s no way we’re making it across town like this.”

“Uhh…” Vinyl attempted to open her eyes, but they kept rolling back up into her head as a small trickle of drool began to run from the corner of her mouth, “umm…y-yeah…I think there’s one like, three blocks from Neon’s place.”

Realizing that was probably the most help she was going to get, the gray mare shook her head and took a few deep breaths, fighting back the fog in her mind and getting her bearings. In her youth she would’ve been completely and utterly boned, but recent years had instilled in her a habit of mentally cataloguing her surroundings, however inconsequential. She had a fairly decent idea of where they needed to go, and resolved to take the shortest route possible.

“C’mon love,” she roused Vinyl once again from near-catatonia and urged her forward, “just a short walk, and then we can rest.”

“Mrrg…” was the only reply.

Octavia lifted one of Vinyl’s forelegs and slung it over her neck. As the two mares staggered through an alley that would lead them over to the next street, her head whipped around instinctively at a distant echo, but she saw nothing. With a little more urgency, she pushed on, praying to Celestia that Vinyl had been right about the location of that hotel.

Vinyl felt her rear hit asphalt, slowly sinking down to lie on her side. The impact and the cold were enough to jar her back into semi-coherence.

“Taviii…” she whined, reaching blindly in all directions, “you dropped me!” When she received no response, verbal or physical, she forced her eyes open and took off her shades. What she saw made her blood run cold and her vision shift into much sharper focus than it had any right to be in her current state.

They were in the middle of one of the narrower, lesser-traveled streets of Southspire, which was completely deserted save for herself, Octavia, and four other ponies – stallions, and very familiar ones. The cellist stood rigidly over her, body turned to the side as if to act as a shield. The motley crew of lowlifes stood in a semicircle around them. Octavia and Low Ball were exchanging words that Vinyl had to strain her addled psyche to make sense of.

“…what you did to my face!,” Low Ball was shouting. He was in bad shape. Even in the dark and underneath his muddy-brown coat, his eyes were visibly blackened. A series of stitches ran across his forehead, and his muzzle was covered by a metal brace. Another brace encircled his neck, preventing him from moving his head much. Despite how much pain the expression must have caused him, his visage was contorted with all-consuming rage.

“I’m surprised they let you out of the hospital so soon,” Octavia commented dryly. Her tone was cool and even, but her posture belied a very pronounced tension.

“Yeah, well, I had some business to take care of,” the stallion replied ominously.

“Then by all means, go take care of it,” Octavia replied with mock geniality, “don’t let us hold you up.”

“Oh, I’m about to,” he snarled. “I would say I was gonna mess your face up as bad as mine, but it looks like somepony beat me to the punch a long time ago. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, I’m betting you deserved it. I’ll settle for leaving you bleeding in a ditch. Then me and my buddies here are gonna show DJ PON-3 here what big fans we are.” Vinyl noticed one of the stallions leering at her dementedly. The other two, however, looked like they might have reservations about the direction this night was taking.

“If you touch her again…” Octavia warned icily.

“You’ll what? You couldn’t take me in a fair fight.”

By this time, Vinyl had managed to stagger to her hooves, a grueling process that drove home the fact she hadn’t a chance of fleeing, let alone escaping. She put her shades back in their proper place, mostly to hide the fact that all the false confidence given her by alcohol over the course of the evening was draining away by the second.

“G-Guys, hold up,” she slurred, reaching into her saddlebag and pulling out a large sack that jingled metallically, “I’ve got two-hundred bits here, okay,” she tried to hold up her hoof in a gesture of placation, but nearly fell over, “just…just take ‘em and leave us alone. Please.”

“Should be enough to restore your face back to its normal level of ugly, yeah?” Octavia added, and Vinyl wondered if that was an attempt to diffuse the situation or escalate it. She tossed the bag onto the ground in front of Low Ball, who looked genuinely conflicted. Belatedly, it dawned on her that he could easily just take the money and still pound both of them into the pavement, but the fact that he was even thinking about it made her realize that he had absolutely no intention of following through on his threats to begin with. This was all just classic beta-male posturing meant to scare them into submission, and, unaware of her own brilliance, Vinyl had just offered him a graceful way to back out while still saving face, in a manner of speaking. Eyes locked menacingly on hers, he leaned down to pick up the sack with his teeth. Octavia’s posture shifted subtly as he drew closer, her weight planted evenly on all four hooves, ears flattened against her skull. Low Ball gave the bag to one of his cronies and then turned to face them again.

“You’re lucky you’re rich, ladies,” he growled, raising a hoof, “but if I ever see you,” he glowered at Octavia, prodding her hard in the chest, “or y–”

He made to do the same thing to Vinyl, but he never touched her. Instead there was a wet crack and an earsplitting shriek as a gray hoof deftly seized his leg and twisted it at an unnatural angle. Before Vinyl could even register what happened, Octavia’s taught form uncoiled like a spring. The three other stallions, who’d only just begun to react, all received blows to the face nearly simultaneously, sending them staggering back in varying degrees dazed pain as Low Ball clutched his broken leg and continued to scream. Octavia lunged at the nearest one, spinning on one hoof as she closed the gap, delivering a crushing double kick to his chest with her hind legs and letting the rebounding force propel her straight into the next stallion, whom she tackled at the neck. They somersaulted twice, tumbling head over hocks before the gray mare forced him into the asphalt, silencing his panicked cry with a single jaw-shattering blow to the chin. The remaining stallion – the one who’d been making lewd faces at Vinyl – had his legs swept out from under him even as he turned to flee. In the blink of an eye, Octavia was on top of him, holding him down by the neck as she drove her hoof into his face like a piston again and again with mechanical precision and repetition. His features reduced to little more than pulp, she kicked his limp body to the side and strode purposefully over to Low Ball, leaning down into his face.

“I told you,” she hissed into his ear, “not to touch her again.” He was trying to crawl away, but she held him down and he couldn’t budge an inch. Vinyl watched with horrified numbness as Octavia reached into her coat pocket. A steel band encircled her hoof when she withdrew it, attached to which was a short, wickedly-curved blade that she wasted no time in putting to Low Ball’s throat.

“N-N…no…!” he moaned, eyes bulging in abject terror as the crude shiv pressed against his jugular.

“Shh-shh,” Octavia hushed him, her voice nothing but a gentle whisper, “if you wanted to beg, you should’ve done it earlier.”

“Mmng…p-please don’t kill me…please,” he half-sobbed, his words short and strangled as his chest rose and fell rapidly in shallow, panicked breaths.

“I don’t bring this out for show, my friend,” the cellist said, her tone almost apologetic, “if I do, it means I intend to cut something – exactly what, though, is a choice I’m courteous enough to leave up to you. I could cut you here,” she pressed the knife still harder into his throat, “or…” she dragged the blade down across his breast and belly, and Low Ball winced as it broke the skin in more than a few places. He whimpered piteously as it finally came to rest at his groin, “…or I could cut you here. Either way, I can’t have you threatening to rape mares like that, especially not my Vinyl.”

“Please…” was all he could choke out, “please…”

“I’m very tired,” Octavia sighed wearily, “and I want to go to bed. I’ll give you to the count of three to choose, or I’ll choose for you. And trust me,” she returned the knife to his neck, “I tend to opt for the most efficient solution.”

“Three…”

“Tavi…”

“Two…”

“T-Tavi, no.”

“One…”

“Tavi don’t!” Vinyl shrieked, finding her voice again just in time. Octavia’s head snapped around to look at her, and when their gazes met, what Vinyl saw sent a shiver down her spine. The warm, gentle, lavender eyes that she knew so well were smoldering with cold, righteous fury, yet at the same time there was a wild tinge of disorientation there, as if Octavia didn’t quite know where she was right now. “Tavi, please,” the DJ begged, tears of fear and confusion streaming down her cheeks, “let him go.”

“Vinyl,” she said incredulously, blinking and shaking her head ever-so-slightly, “you heard what he said…”

“Tavi, please,” the unicorn entreated, “please let him go. For me.”

Those last two words finally broke Octavia’s resolve, and she sighed heavily, tucking the knife away as quickly as she had drawn it. Low Ball practically sobbed with relief.

“Th-Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

“Do not thank me,” the cellist replied coldly, “thank Vinyl.” She grabbed him by the collar of his suit, and he yelped in pain as she pulled him up so they were nose to nose, her lips curled back in a snarl. “From this moment forward, your every breath is a gift from her.” Octavia made like she was going to stand and leave him, but at the last second she wheeled back around and delivered one sharp, final blow straight to his muzzle. The stallion’s head bounced violently against the pavement and the metal brace that had covered his nose clattered across the ground. He was still, but at least Vinyl could see him breathing. Before she even knew what was happening, she felt herself swept off her hooves and moving rapidly, even as her consciousness faltered yet again.

In the moment, there had been nothing but rage – channeled and controlled with practiced focus. Now, as she tore through the streets of Canterlot at a bounding gallop, Octavia Melody began to feel the sinking sensation of an emotion she’d lost her acquaintance with – terror. The world shifted into ever-clearer resolve as she moved, her entire being burning as disused muscles were roused from their slumber and her body fought off intoxication by dumping its payload of adrenal rocket fuel into her veins. Her only comfort as the cool night air licked the sweat from her cheeks was the warmth of Vinyl’s unconscious form against her back.

But it was also the source of her horror.

Octavia wanted to wonder why she was so afraid all of a sudden, but she knew exactly why – this was not supposed to happen here. The unfeeling violence, the calculated cruelty…it was all supposed to stop once she made it home to Vinyl, because there wasn’t supposed to be a need for it, and yet…

He had threatened her, he had touched her one too many times, and the thought of Vinyl being hurt or killed – the thought of Octavia’s own impossible struggles and victories being rendered inconsequential by the loss of the one in whose name they’d all been made – had driven her to quash the threat in the only way she knew how.

Octavia was jarred out of her rumination as her hooves left cobblestone and were met with the familiar fine gravel of the path that led from the city’s outermost streets to her estate. Rather than slowing down, she put on one final burst of speed, only refraining from breaking down the door out of the desire to lock it behind her. Red waves of exertion washed across her vision as she fitted the key into the lock with her teeth and then clicked the deadbolt once on the other side. As it slid into place, relief, anxiety and inebriation finally got the better of the gray mare and her stance faltered, sending Vinyl spilling off her back with a thump and then a clatter when a dislodged pair of shades skidded across the tile floor of the foyer. Octavia collapsed next to her, shuddering and clinging to her unconscious lover. Her eyelids felt like lead weights, and she wanted to fall asleep right here, but willed herself to stay awake until she’d seen Vinyl safely to bed.

When she forced her eyes open, her breath caught in her throat. There was blood on Vinyl’s face and neck. For a moment all the fear disappeared as she frantically searched the slumbering mare for any sign of injury, fury once again igniting in her breast as she resolved to go right back the way she came and send Low Ball and his friends on a one-way trip down the side of Canterlot mountain if she found so much as a scrape. She could find nothing, and yet it seemed like more and more crimson stains were appearing on the alabaster coat. It took her a moment to realize where it was coming from. Her hooves were covered in blood.

Octavia choked. Had Vinyl ever had somepony else’s blood on her…?

With renewed vigor she seized the slumbering form and bolted up the stairs to her home’s second floor and into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

The normally soft-seeming lights were blinding as they reflected off of cold, white tiles from all sides. It gave the small room an ethereal, almost heavenly glow that made Octavia feel all the more tainted as she scrubbed the ruddy filthy from her callused hooves. The icy tap water refused to warm up, and by the time they were clean her limbs felt numb. She felt her eyes begin to water as she looked down at Vinyl’s unconscious form, the sterile white coat matching that of the floor but for the places where it was stained red. The last traces of adrenaline were siphoning out of her bloodstream, and she felt a profound, consuming exhaustion, but would not rest until she had righted this atrocity, at least on a cosmetic level. Vinyl would no doubt have many things to say to her in the morning, and she didn’t want “why am I covered in blood?” to be among them. Though in all likelihood the sleeping unicorn probably couldn’t’ve been awoken by an air raid siren, Octavia still took the utmost care to be gentle as she dabbed at the blotches with a wet cloth. She strained her eyes, looking over and over again across every feature of the body she knew as well as her own, making sure she’d missed nothing.

When at last Vinyl was tucked under a warm comforter, Octavia finally allowed her strength to fail her. She didn’t shed any tears or sink into despair as she’d imagined she might, but simply slumped against the side of the bed and slipped unceremoniously into oblivion.