I’m not a sentimental mare. I’m not romantic, and I’m no master of words. Hell, there’s a reason I usually just keep my mouth shut. Really, I suppose that’s how I got into music. I always found it easier to express myself through my mixing board than through words and sentences. Which makes it all the more incredible that I’ve found myself in a relationship with Octavia Philharmonica, a mare of culture and sophistication. Not to mention that she’s a world class musician and stunningly gorgeous, at that.
And today is our anniversary.
It must be true that opposites attract. Octavia and I are from different worlds, with different tastes in just about every possible way, with the exception of our love of music. Even there, our preferences differ wildly. As a cellist, her love is for the classics, for the elegant beauty of Beethoofen and Rachmanehoof. Me? I prefer the fast beat and loud bass found in the underground of Manehatten and Fillydelphia. There’s a reason I’m known as DJ P0N-3, after all. But that’s a different matter.
What’s important is the here and now, and that’s making sure that I walk out of Ponyville’s Florist with the perfect flowers for our dinner tonight. Tradition calls for roses, but I know my marefriend better than that. She always preferred lilies. Something about the taste reminds her of her parents’ home in Canterlot.
I smile at owner of the shop and point to the appropriate display. I slide the bits across the counter and walk out into the evening air with my prize in the glow of my magic. Ponyville is a quaint little town where the sun always shines and the neighbors always wave. Octavia and I have discussed moving, just to make the commute to our shows less strenuous, but we’ve both come to love living in the country. Even if there is a disproportionate number of national emergencies that take place here.
I make my way back to the single bedroom cottage that I share with my marefriend. It’s certainly not a big home, but it’s cozy, and that suits us just fine. I open the door - it’s not locked, because there’s nopony in Ponyville that would give us any trouble - and walk into the kitchen. Octavia’s on the train home from her latest show in Canterlot, and I’m going to do my best to have a nice dinner ready for her. Cooking is far from my specialty, but I can whip up a mean hayburger, and the lilies will be a nice dessert. It’s nothing special, but it’s from the heart.
I’ve already got the table in the kitchen set and the lights dimmed when Octavia arrives, and by some miracle, my timing on the food was perfect. I’m just lighting the candles when I hear the door open.
“Vinyl, darling, where are you?” Octavia calls.
I clop my hoof on the stovetop.
Octavia trots in, and even exhausted and fresh off the train, she’s enough to take my breath away, and the look on her face as she sees the table makes the preparation worth it.
“Vinyl, you shouldn’t have.”
I just smile and shake my head. She knows me well enough to understand my meaning. Making dinner is the least I can do, when her presence is all I could ever need to be happy.
“It’s wonderful, love.”
Dinner is a simple affair, and she talks about her show the night before. I smile and nod, happy to listen to her voice. She always makes me feel like I was there, even when I couldn’t be. As we finish dinner and start in on the lilies, my marefriend asks me if I remember the night we met.
Of course I do. A mare doesn’t forget these things.
*****
I was performing at Hoofbeats, a new club in downtown Manehatten. It’s an honor to be asked to DJ an opening night, and I was putting on my best show. The crowd was great, and I had worked them into a frenzy, but the night was late and the bouncers had started stopped letting ponies in and the dance floor was slowly thinning out. I had slipped off my signature shades, set a few tracks to play in my absence, and was headed to the little mare’s room. As is all too frequent, there was a line, and I took my place at the back. If things move too slowly, I’ll have to cut in front to make it back to my booth, but I’m not the kind of pony to take advantage of my position unless I have to.
The mare in front of me is a charcoal grey earth pony, and she lacks any of the crazy mane styles or piercings most of the ponies here wear. She’s undeniably attractive though, and she carries herself with an elegance commonly seen in the Canterlot elite. In short, she looks out of place.
The mare turns to me and asks the usual question.
“You’re DJ, P0N-3, right?”
I nod. I don’t tell her that she pronounced it wrong. The number is actually there; it’s not just a weird way of spelling ‘pony’.
“I love your mane. I must confess, this is not a venue that I would usually attend. I’m only here to accompany my friend, Lyra. This is much more her style than mine. You’ve made the night enjoyable, though. I can’t imagine how you manage to do so much in that booth.”
I’m still stuck on her first sentence. She complimented my mane. Nopony ever compliments anything but my music.
“I’m Octavia, by the way. Octavia Philharmonica.”
*****
The rest, as they say, is history. Our relationship hasn’t always been perfect; we’ve had our fair share of rough spots, but they haven’t done anything but strengthen our feelings for each other. Octavia is the only mare I’ve ever loved as much for her flaws as for her perfections, and I know that the feeling is mutual.
Our lilies are gone, the candles burnt down. As I stare into those beautiful lavender eyes, Octavia speaks my favorite words in this world.
“I love you, Vinyl Scratch.”
“Love you too, Tavi. Happy Anniversary.”
