Baking Bread

“How did it go?”

Octavia pranced anxiously in the corridor, the whole flat sparkling clean, her adrenaline running high despite the wee hours of the morning. She’d washed all the dishes, cleaned all the floors, brushed clean the oven, and threw out all the rubbish that’d been littering the rooms; and even kissed Vinyl on the cheek ‘for good luck’ when the DJ’d gone to pass on the bread to the distributors… And now Vinyl was standing before her in the doorway, and, judging by the sombre expression on the unicorn’s face, as well the daunting presence of the thick bag in which, she could see, the loaves that were still very much present…

“How do you think it went?” Vinyl grumbled grimly, pushing past the grey mare and knocking the door shut behind her. Darkly amused, Octavia followed the DJ to the living room. “It sucked,” Vinyl concluded, plopping on the sofa and popping open one of the beers.

Octavia lingered in the doorway. “Well… Sometimes, mess-ups do happen… right?” she wondered hopefully, not daring enter the room, her wine-fuelled confidence from yesterday evening evaporating into fine steam.

Vinyl sighed, gulping beer greedily. “First, call them what they are. Fuck-ups. Second…” She sighed again, patting the seat next to her. “Come on, Tavi, take a sit, have a beer.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s ten-thirty, for hellsake.”

Reluctantly, Octavia approached the sofa, placing her rump on the edge. “Vinyl… Is it that bad?”

Vinyl winced sourly. “It’s never happened before. And never will. I guess.”

Octavia frowned. “Come on, Vinyl, what is wrong?” Agitated, she took a beer, revising her rule never to drink before lunch.

“Long story short, I was on my way to pass on the bread,” Vinyl began, “when I got a phone call.” She fell silent, sipping beer glumly.

“And?” Octavia barely whispered, her stomach twisting in knots.

“It was one of my distributors. He couldn’t make it.” Vinyl crushed the can with her hooves. “On the grounds of being arrested.”

Octavia gasped. “You said it was perfectly safe! How did they- How could they prove that-”

Vinyl cut her short. “They didn’t. He came to the police station voluntarily and told those royal assguards that he was part of a huge illegal bread-selling operation.”

“Why would he do that?!” Octavia exclaimed, her mind reeling. “Why would he voluntarily-”

Once again, Vinyl cut her short. “We had a little bad ground between us. Ill will, whatever. Besides, the bastard knows he can get a suspended sentence and still profit from it.”

“How would he ever profit from it?” Octavia wondered, trying to set the pieces of the puzzle straight enough to form a picture. The clock struck quarter to eleven. Time flies.

“By calling me.” Vinyl leant back, closing her eyes. “Here’s how it goes. He goes to the police, he rats out, tells them he’ll give away the manufacturer’s name, then uses his one call to call me.”

“What happens next?” Octavia mused, her mental gears rolling, rolling, rolling about, screaming in agony as she blended wit with creativity, resourcefulness with analysis, to try to come to a solution. Why should I, though? Isn’t it time to get out before it’s too late? She frowned. And do what? Sit on my ass all goddamn day and read books? While that was a good option, and she did have quite a few books to read… That’s fine routine for a couple weeks… but my whole life?

“Now,” Vinyl interrupted, “I go to the police station and ask him how much he wants me to pay him so he keeps his mouth shut. Then he gets his suspended sentence, and I get back to business.” The DJ huffed. “Never happened to me before, but I reckon that’s how it’s gonna play out.”

“Can’t we… just…” Octavia brushed her hoof against the table uneasily. “Take him out of the picture?” she suggested with fake innocence.

“Take him…” Vinyl coughed, her breath torn asunder by the option. “You mean, as in, kill the guy?” Octavia blushed slightly, averting her gaze. “Dammit, Tavi, we are not criminals!” she exclaimed, catching an immediate ‘oh really’ glance from her friend. “Okay, okay, we are kinda criminals. But we are not murderers!” Octavia opened her mouth, as if to protest. “No, Tavi, even if we pay somepony to kill for us, we’re still murderers.”

“It’s not what I wanted to say,” the cellist let out meekly. What I did want to say… “Why go halfway? If we’re still under threat of doing time…” “What I did want to say,” she carried on, instead, “is why he would benefit from it?”

“What do you mean?” Vinyl sharked her hoof against the carpet in irritation. “He gets my money and a suspended sentence. A win-win.”

“Is it?” Octavia let an indulgent smile appear on her muzzle. Chuckling at Vinyl’s bewildered expression, she actually took up a beer and drank greedily. “Thing is,” she said, wiping her lips with a kerchief, “I don’t see how they are going to give him the suspended sentence if he accepts your money. If anything, they will throw him behind bars if he keeps silent. So, let me tell you what’s going to happen.” The beer loosened her tongue as the grey mare leant in, placing her forehoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “You go there, you promise him money, and the second he gets these shiny bits, he’s ratting you out. That’s what’s going to happen if you go to the police station.”

Vinyl averted her eyes, observing the bookshelf with mild interest. “What should I do, then?”

Octavia smiled, downing a second beer in succession. “You leave it all to me.”

Vinyl raised her brow, watching her cellist friend seriously. “You are telling me you have a plan. As in, an actual plan. You, a refined, uptight classical cellist-” Vinyl raised a hoof. “No, actually, you’re right. I always knew you were a criminal mastermind.” The DJ grinned, meeting the cellist’s lavender eyes with hers. Smugly, Vinyl licked her lips, inching closer to the grey mare. “You know how sexy you are when you’re all evil and genius and cute like that?” she whispered hotly, soft word dripping on Octavia’s ears, her hot breath touching the very skin beneath the grey fur.

With ease, Octavia freed herself from the approaching embrace, getting up from the sofa. “I am fully aware. Now, I need you to do something for me while I sell your bread.”

“While you- okay!” Vinyl beamed at the cellist, her cheeks stretchy under the grin that adorned her face. “Cool! You’re actually gonna-! Great! I’ll call the client and-”

“I’m doing this,” Octavia said pointedly, tapping her hoof against the floor, “instead of you; I am the baker. You are the business mare. I’m doing this because I need you to do something else while I deliver the bread.”

“Damn, Tavi, I just hired you yesterday and you’re ordering me around!” Vinyl exclaimed semi-mockingly.

“You never hired me,” Octavia corrected with a smile. “We are partners. And if success means ordering you around, I will be ordering you around. Now, call the client, tell them what I look like, and give me a location. Just don’t use my name.”

“Sure thing, Tavi…” Vinyl fished out her phone, humming to herself, Wish you’d order me around like that in the bedroom…

“While I’m gone, I need you to get me an attorney’s permit.” Octavia directed her hooves towards the exit.

“What?” Vinyl jumped up from the sofa, dropping the phone. “Do I look like Lord Chancellor to you? I don’t issue attorney permits!”

“But I’m sure you do know somepony who can issue a fake one,” Octavia called out cooingly.

“Listen, Tavi, forging documents is a hard crime, and-” Vinyl galloped up to the mare, putting her hoof on the grey shoulder.

“Vinyl.” Octavia turned round, gently pushing the unicorn away. “Do you want to go to prison? It’s either that, or an attorney permit.” Slowly, pointedly, she peered her gaze into the magenta red of Vinyl’s eyes. “Which one do you choose?”

Vinyl licked her lips nervously, feeling the dryness of skin meet her tongue. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Octavia smiled, pecking Vinyl on the cheek briefly. “For good luck.” She winked.

“Dammit, Tavi,” Vinyl grumbled to herself under her breath, “if we make it work you owe me a good eating-out…”

“I’ll book a restaurant~” the cellist sing-songed from the corridor.

That’s not what I meant. Vinyl narrowed her eyes. And you know it.

“One more thing,” Octavia called out.

Vinyl sighed, rubbing her closed eyelids with her hoof, feeling the blood pumping in her temples. The clock mocked her with a half eleven. The noises of the busy Manehattan street penetrated her ears, sending tidal waves of dirty decibels through her brain. “Yes, Tavi?”

“I’ll need your shades.” Before Vinyl could protest, the grey mare appeared in the doorway. “Just for this one drop.”

Drop? The corners of her mouth sprang to life, trembling into a wide smile. “The one drop that-”

“Don’t,” Octavia interjected. “Just don’t. Committing such puns in my household is the greatest felony.”

Vinyl smirked. “Didn’t they abrogate the felony/misdemeanour-”

Octavia’s eye twitched. “Vinyl. You may know your history. You may know your law. But you know you don’t want to make me angry.” Or else. The mare took a bold step forth.

Vinyl only lowered her eyelids sensually. “Is this the point where you kiss me and we have angry sex?”

The blow was swift, but utterly painful, unleashing justice as served by the grey hoof of the cellist, who, upon delivering the aforementioned blow, finally allowed herself to smile. “I’ll really need your shades, Vinyl,” she said. “I don’t want anypony to see, or memorise, my eyes. How many ponies do you think have lavender eyes?”

Vinyl smiled softly. “I get your point but…” And you have beautiful lavender eyes… Never hide them from me. ...Not like I do. “These are my special shades, Tavi. Dad bought them for me. I really can’t share these.”

Octavia sighed, but still offered a smile of appreciation. “All right, Vinyl. I guess I’ll just drop by a store on my way and find some shades that’ll suit me.” The mare rubbed her chin. “I’ll need a fedora, though.”

Vinyl let out a barely-suppressed laugh, ready to burst into giggles. “Are you really gonna go out in a fedora? Classy gangster style? Need a tommy gun?” After a short fit of giggles, Vinyl fixed her eyes on the grey mare, who, by that time, had put on a black fedora hat with a pink-ish violet ribbon. “Wow. You actually do have a fedora.” Vinyl blinked. “And you look damn good in it.”

“Thanks. My ex-coltfriend thought so too.” Octavia smirked victoriously.

“Sure, rub it where it hurts,” Vinyl murmured. Better still, rub me in other places…

“Get the permit, Vinyl.” Octavia strolled towards the door. “Leave the rest to me.” With that, she slammed the door shut.

Shaking her head, Vinyl laughed aloud, warm chuckles escaping her throat. With a deep smile, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. The clock boasted midday. Vinyl smirked. “I wonder how long it’ll take her to realise she left the bread at home.”

BaKING BrEAD

Written by psp7master

An MLP/Breaking Bad crossover