MondayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐMondayColors swirled and trailed one another in the darkness. Imaginary shapes strobed and fluctuated to a persistent, throbbing beat. These streaking things swam in patterns, playfully and creatively chasing after dynamically-evolving melodies and instrumental movements birthed in the ether. And then, about four minutes into the track—right on time—an angelic voice heralded the morning into majesty. Oh God. It only gets prettier with each passing day. I swear... Vinyl Scratch opened her eyes. The phantom laser light show instantly faded from her mind, giving way to a purple-tinted bus stop beyond her shades. All of the lenses in the world—however—couldn't mask the regal glint of those eyes... with a princess' seraphic songvoice to match. "...then... with... blasted... thing..." was all Vinyl could make out, but it was enough to set her entire ribcage tingling like a preschool xylophone. She fidgeted beneath the tree that she was leaning against beside the suburban sidewalk, her shaded eyes locked on the smokey-haired valkyrie drifting in from the row of larger, shinier houses positioned down the large subdivision. A thick lump formed in Vinyl's throat. Her tongue dried up like a desert sponge. With trembling fingers, she reached to the volume control of her media player and pivoted the dial down... down... The trance track blasting against her skull dissolved just enough to expose her tender ears to the words dripping out of the girl's lips. Even from several lingering backpacks away, the voice melted Vinyl inside out. "I could already tell that just another minute of fiddling with those bloody strings would render my fingers absolutely blistered! My stars!" Her head turned. Smoke-colored threads fanned in the air, kissed morning dew, then settled across her soft feminine shoulders. "How could someone ever bother to handle an instrument so positively brutish?" "Oh, I know, darling!" Rarity said, waving a dainty hand. Shhh! Silence! Let the Goddess speak! Nevertheless, the fashionable teenager hugged her books to her chest and rambled on: "That's why I settle for the key-tar myself. It's good for the ears as well as the manicure." Stupid, painted eyelashes fluttering. "Plus, it's positively chic, don't you think?" "Well, you do have an eye for culture, love." Heeeee... yaaaay... "But I'd much rather settle for something classy anyday." "Oh, that goes without saying, Tavi," Rarity said flippantly. Vinyl sighed out her nostrils. Lucky hussy. How come she gets to call her "Tavi?" "But—if you don't mind my asking..." Rarity grimaced in the morning light. "Doesn't it murder your back to constantly have to lug that atrociously huge thing around?" "My dear, you of all people should know that a lady never lugs," Octavia said. Octavia hummed. Octavia shimmered with eyes of liquid satin. "I aim to be a professional cellist." She shifted the weight of the instrument case in question, bearing an immaculate smile. "That involves as much labor as it does love. Wouldn't you agree?" Yes. I whole-heartedly agree. Everything you say and breathe is wonderful. Oh please... please don't stop talking. "Well, I'm certainly not one to judge, darling. I just... can't imagine such an unbearable weight! You are managing to carry all the proper necessities, yes?" Laughter. Haughty and fae-like all at once. "But of course, love! What do you take me for?" A noticeable pause. "Well... I suppose I do sacrifice a few things to lesson the burden." "Like what, if I may ask?" "An umbrella for one." "Oh, Tavi! Heaven forbid!" Rarity cupped her pale cheek. "You do know we're nearing the month of April!" "Oh, I'm quite aware." "Now now—don't be stubborn! Think ahead, dear! What if you became the victim of inclement weather?! I'd hate to imagine what a sudden rainstorm would do to your glorious complexion!" "Glorious" doesn't even begin to cut it. Why is everyone but me such a senseless idiot? Cheese and crackers... A diesel engine. Motors and hydraulic brakes. Vinyl's shaded eyes darted away from the smoke and purple. She spotted the bus coming, just on time. Reality set in... and she sighed, shuffling out from the comfortable shade of her tree. She shoved her hands into her hoodie's pockets and hunched over—placing her left shoulder sharply between herself and the holiest of holies. She stepped up to the bus first—as she did every morning—then shambled in as soon as the door opened. Without so much as a breath's hesitation, she scrambled her way to her unofficial seat at the very back of the bus. It was a lone, single seat—scrunched tightly between a wheel well and the emergency escape hatch. Once situated, Vinyl stripped her backpack off her shoulder, curled her legs up, and hugged both them—and the backpack—to her chest. The rest of her petite body slumped down... which was just fine. Vinyl craned her neck enough—just enough—to peer over the fake, worn leather of the seat directly in front of her. Beyond the forest of sleepy students' necks, about seven spots towards the front, she saw a smokey head of hair. Octavia sat beside Rarity. She was closest to the window, which meant that—a few minutes after they exited the subdivision—the morning sun would catch the side of her face for the rest of the bus ride to school. The beams of light caught the velevety sheen of her temples... the softness of her bow-tie and how its royal purple matched the graceful, sleepy eyes that curved adorably from underneath with each smile she formed when laughing inwardly... gracefully at Rarity's lukewarm jokes. Holy Moses. Is she born from a blooming flower bed every morning? Someone like that must walk on rose petals to the bathroom every morning. Science be damned. A girl that pretty must only poop ice cream and rainbows. I'm not even remotely joking. And she wasn't. She could only sigh. Vinyl pushed her shades further up the bridge of her nose, then rested her smiling cheek against the side of her backpack. Safely hidden in the back, she gazed... and gazed... and gazed some more. She resumed playing the trance track on her media player...but just low enough so that she could still catch the distant tonality of Octavia's heavenly voice. And just like that, she had the chorus she needed to serenade her throughout the rest of the sleepy bus ride.
TuesdayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐTuesdayVinyl Scratch lingered just outside the lunch line of the school cafeteria, gripping her food tray in two hands. As a familiar dubstep track blared into her ears for the fiftieth time that week, she found herself staring intently at a pink poster plastered to the cinderblock wall. "Carnations for Carnival!" the poster jubilantly announced with excessive glitter. "Donate to the Twentieth Annual Canterlot High School Fair and win free carnations for your special somebody!" Vinyl gave her head a shake—lowering her shades just enough to squint above the frame with her naked eyes. She read and re-read the poster thrice over just to be sure she wasn't imagining things. No way. That's too creeps. I'd rather jump off a cliff. Nevertheless, she stood there, locked in place. Every time she contemplated the matter, she felt her heart throbbing straight through to her hoodie's pouch, rattling the music player nestled neatly within. Besides, I'm flat broke now. Damned hunger pains. She glanced down rather dispassionately at her plate of rubbery fries and even faker chicken sandwich. Unless I can somehow refund all of this junk and starve happily for a day or two... "Hey! Loser!" a voice cracked from behind. Vinyl felt another student's tray poking into her back. "Find a seat, will ya?!" Vinyl winced. Pastel sneakers scuffling, she hobbled forward, navigating the rows of factory-assembled benches full of chatting, scarfing, cackling students. Just get it out of your mind. Get her out of your mind. Loser. You're distracted enough as it is. How many afternoons are you going to put off that geography report on South America because you're too busy lying on the couch, listening to Moby, imagining that Gwen Stefani's been replaced in that stupid music video by a deliciously flat chested cellist? Man, screw Brazil. At last, several sighs and shuffles later, Vinyl found a seat in the corner of nowhere. She sat down, surrounded by the lower scum of scholastic society. In every direction she saw braces, eye shadow, World of Warcraft hint books, and pocket protectors—a variable collage of purgatorial pariahs. And she smelled just as sterile. But it didn't matter. With a flip of her finger, she dove into her Daft Punk playlist to drown out the misery for the extent of her meal. Unfortunately for Vinyl, all of her Daft Punk tracks were ripped from Youtube, and due to compression issues they took several seconds before the sonic goodness actually started. It was in the unavoidable nakedness of such a window that she heard her. And to Vinyl's horror, the satin-soft voice came from just a few feet behind her at the next bench over. "How could you not know what a cassette tape is?! My stars and garters! I know we're all helpless millennials, but let's set some standards, people!" Vinyl bit her lip so hard that it nearly bled. She looked over her shoulder. Her shades rattled from the sheer pulse throbbing out her eyeballs. "Now..." Octavia brushed some of her bangs aside with a single finger and proceeded to wrap her rosy lips around the tip of a narrow straw. Her soft, lazy eyes reflected the gawking faces of fellow band students. "...if we were speaking of 8-tracks, then I might understand the knowledge gap. But honestly—Wikipedia is only a keystroke away. So what's the excuse?" Vinyl gulped. Oh God. Oh gods... I never knew a human being could slurp chocolate milk and still be graceful. Oh Hell... she's eating from a tiny styrofoam bowl of fruit. Grapes. Strawberries. She likes strawberries. Vinyl's breaths became shallow, ragged things as she attempted—in futility—to deny her own subconscious that sudden, inexplicable fantasy fuel. Spinning around, she forced the track to its loudest spot, then proceeded to shove greasy junk into her mouth. Between the munching movements of her jaw and the French electronica, she desperately hoped to drown out the vocal ambrosia behind her. Naturally, she failed. "Now, I don't pretend to be an audiophile, but I think it would do you girls an awful lot of good to listen to something through old mediums once in a blue moon. If you can find time in your schedule, of course." Tavi whimpered into her sandwich bun. Oh no. She even says the word "schedule" just like Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Don't do it, Vinyl. Don't you think of her in a tight two-piece red-and-black commanding officer's jump suit. Gosh... dang it. Don't make it so. Don't make it so. "But what for, Tavi? They're outdated for a purpose." "It's a matter of appreciation, love! Music is as much a matter of history as it is invention. To properly understand all of the methods involved in composition, it's important to have a proper grasp of past limitations. Wouldn't you agree?" "So what are you suggesting? We all hang out one day and listen to a bunch of compact discs?" A merry little laugh. "Oh please... if we're going to do something the cumbersome way, then we might as well be classy about it." Chocolate slurping. The carton emptied. And then—"Besides, I much prefer vinyl." The cafeteria echoed with the sound of a racquetball being smacked hard. Only it wasn't a racquetball... but rather something that very closely resembled a violently slapped racquetball. Specifically, this was achieved through Vinyl's entire tray of half-eaten food spontaneously flipping and collapsing hard to the lunch room floor in a soggy mess. Heads turned—one of them with a cape of smoke-colored hair rising and settling. "Good heavens!" Violet eyes lit up like a burning bow tie. "Is somebody having a go?" "Pffft. From that section? We'd be witnessing protractors at twenty paces." "Ha ha! Smashing!" Vinyl was too busy hyperventilating to pay attention to the words being uttered at this point. She crouched low, scooping up as much junk food onto her tray as possible. Something was burning; she could tell from the heat in her cheeks, spreading like Vesuvius. Her voice reached squeaky octaves, and she spontaneously lifted the tray in front of her—blocking as many eyes as she could like a plastic shield. Daft Punk was no help, looping endlessly and unimaginatively with overhyped melodies. One clamshell of the headphones had slid loose, exposing Vinyl's right ear to a bevvy of laughter. Panicking, she leapfrogged over the mess and made a bee-line for the hallway. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. But first go home, turn on some Crystal Castles, eat a tub of orange sherbet and sob into a princess pillow. Then kill yourself.
WednesdayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐWednesdayVinyl Scratch hadn't killed herself. She had the day-old blisters on her fingers to prove it. She exited the lobby beside the band room, sighing out a crooked smile. Her muscles were still sore from a previous afternoon of angrily, aggressively mowing three neighborhood lawns in a row. It was almost a strenuous enough task to erase her fresh memory of the cafeteria incident. What's more... it paid well. And now... Good. You did good. You're not creeps at all. She raised a long yellow sheet of paper in her grasp. The receipt copy bore her trademark handwriting. In the "To" field it read "Octavia Melody." And in the "From" field it read "Anonymous." Vinyl sighed again, adjusting her shades as she smiled... and smiled. Her breaths settled as if she had just finished sprinting a marathon. Best twenty dollars I ever spent. She shuffled down the mostly-empty hallway, one pastel sneaker after another. Her eyes lingered on the receipt in her grasp... imagining another set of eyes brushing over it. Velvety purple pupils. You're not creeps. You're not creeps. It's okay. Vinyl gulped. It is okay, right? The warning bell rang. Startled, Vinyl jolted in place. Errant, last-second stragglers rushed up and down the hallway around her. In a rush, she flung her backpack around and zipped it open. The contents were a disheveled mess, and she fumbled for a place to drop the crumpled receipt. Without thinking, she stuffed it down someplace at random: the canvas confines of a folded umbrella. With another zip, Vinyl closed the bag and proceeded to her algebra class. No more worries now. Just numbers. Numbers are cool... I guess. Vinyl sat down and the period breezed by. Several yawns and pythagorean theorems later, and the bell rang loudly. The entire class rose to their feet like summoned thralls. Vinyl surged among them, shuffling down the hallway. Humming to herself, the girl yanked her headphones up to her ears. Her finger fumbled over the toggle buttons of her player... ...when heaven spontaneously scraped her eardrums. "I just... I just don't understand..." "...!!!" Vinyl quivered from head to toe. Her finger slapped the player's buttons one-too-many times. Her headphones began crackling a Coldplay remix track. Vinyl felt like vomiting in shame and confusion and— "Rarity? Coco? Fleur? Are any of you responsible?" "It wasn't us, Tavi!" "Mmmmm... quite. If we wanted to support the Canterlot High Fair, we'd just show up and pay for tickets at the gate." "But my oh my... twenty carnations!" Rarity hummed. "Somebody's got a secret admirrrrrerrrrrr!" "No... no, that's..." Confused violet eyes blinked. Confusedly. Vinyl saw smokey threads fluttering from an air conditioning vent overhead. A dainty body leaned back against a locker as she cradled a tender bouquet of soft white buds in her expert cellist fingers. "Don't be daft. This must be some ruse. It has to be." "Don't sell yourself so terribly short, darling. You are most ravishing. No doubt a handsome devil has his eyes set on you." "Oooh! She's right, Tavi! What if it's Auburn Anchors from the swim team?" "Or Fancy Pants! You sit right next to him in Debate, don't you?" "Girls, please, this is... I must say I'm rather flabbergasted." "Heehee! You're turning the most delightful shade of rose! It matches your eyes, darling!" "Please, Rarity. I'm just... well... you know..." "Hmmm?" A dull, gray sigh. Vinyl watched as the girl craned her head with an angelic twirl. "I don't have time for that sort of nonsense. I shan't pretend otherwise." Vinyl's blood went cold. Her hands gripped the straps of her backpack until the knuckles turned white. "Tavi, surely you must have wondered 'what if' you could—" "I'm sorry. My music comes first. You all know that." "Heehee... don't apologize to us! Just think of the poor boy admiring you from afar!" "Yes... well... such is life," Octavia's voice muttered, dull and lifeless. The words rattled in Vinyl's ears as she passed by—as she had to pass by—hunched over and invisible. She drifted past the gaggle of girls on necrotic limbs, slouching towards an unseen coffin to be born. Creep. Loser. Absolute creeps. She sniffled. Her shades fogged from the inside. She could no longer see where she was going, but it mattered little. She focused on the ache in her muscles, the blisters in her fingers, and drowned herself in butchered Chris Martin. Such a friggin' creep. That's what you get. That's what you always get.
ThursdayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐThursdayVinyl didn't get much sleep the previous night. That's what usually happens when an evening is spent crying quietly into the shadows of a cold, empty bedroom. Even when Vinyl found the strength to play some music, it was all remixes of Cher's Do You Believe In Life After Love. Needless to say, her sighs were subdued, melodic things befitting a Don Bleuth film. The girl stared blearily down at her pastel sneakers, meandering left and right as she shuffled the length of the hallway between the school entrance and her homeroom class. Eternities lingered between each blink, and each epoch was laced with the purple sheen and velvety texture of an impossible angel never realized. Once in a while, the errant sounds of opening and shutting lockers roused Vinyl from her zombified shuffle. She glanced up, seeing a thin forest of wandering students. Bodies lingered at hallway junctions, murmuring in early-morning conversation that started nowhere and never found an ending. At one point, Vinyl's nostrils tickled with a peculiarly flowery scent. She didn't look up at first, assuming that some pathetic portion of her loathesome subconscious had simply fabricated the perfume. It wasn't until her peripheral vision was scraped with the tell-tale silhouette of a cello case that her heart managed a leap—or at least half-a-leap. She ignored the sensation, however, passing the last row of lockers and taking a sharp left. She stepped into her homeroom class, disastrously early. The only other person in there was the teacher. A smile flickered across the room, but it was merely a gesture of habit. Vinyl waved to the walls, to the gray overcast sky beyond the windows. It was turning out to be a very wet week. Grow a spine and drown me already. The sky stayed put. So—if only to spite the hazy morning—Vinyl slumped down to her seat and folded her arms. Headphones rattled around her ears, but all they did was play a hypnotic, continuous buzz of unfettered red noise. Closing her eyes, Vinyl submerged herself in the binaural oblivion. Her mind conjured up shapes and colors that most definitely did not depict a teenager in shades riding across a luminescent grid on a lightcycle and heroically rescuing a smokey-haired damsel in a glowing leotard from awkwardly-casted British stage actors with deadly frisbee discs. Gosh darn it. Can't even get her out of my head when I want to. Just can't... can't focus... can't— "Vinyl?" A voice from above. Like a chorus dripping out of heaven. "Vinyl Scratch... is it?" Vinyl's eyes flew open. A violet gaze pierced through her shades. Soft shoulders shifted the weight of a cello case. A velvety bow tie nearly materialized—only to be drowned out by a dramatic blood rush to Vinyl's sleepy head. When the color and shapes re-focused, Vinyl found herself staring up into the very soft, very dainty, very real smile of a certain accented instrumentalist. Don't... don't move... just don't... "Uhm... hi!" A soft hand waved even softer. "So terribly sorry to bother you..." Visual acuity... based on movement... if you don't move then you don't pee all over the floor and curl up and die... oh Gods... oh Gods she knows my name??? "But you're in Miss Heddon's Third Period Algebra class, yes?" Oh Gods Oh Gods Oh Gods Oh Gods she knows she knows she knows she— Vinyl gulped a desert down her throat, then nodded. "Oh! Brilliant!" Octavia leaned forward on the tips of her polished black Mary Janes. "I... uhm... I-I seem to have lost my notes on the bus ride to school. That or I must have forgotten to pack them this morning. Bloody daft, I know." She cleared her super feather-soft delicate throat and produced through a smile: "Might I kindly borrow yours for half-a-day? I promise that I'll return them to you before Third Period!" Vinyl was glad to be wearing shades. If anyone saw how badly her eyes were bugging out, they'd be calling the paramedics. Yes. Oh Gods, yes, you can kindly boink me... I-I mean borrow me... I-I-I mean borrow my panties... papers... noteboobs... crudsicles! Vinyl shook the dumb off in a vigorous, vigorous nod. Her fingers were already flying like tomahawk missiles into her backpack, practically ripping the algebra notes in question out of her math folder. She held the sheets out in a holy sacrifice, grinning stupidly from ear to ear. "Ta!" Octavia gently received the offering. Gray fingers came within a rapturous inch of pale digits, stroking graphite variables and integers in between. "You're a life-saver, love! I won't forget this!" I wank fornicate this either... I mean... ohmigoshohmigoshomigosh. I can almost smell her hair conditioner from here. Oh god send me to Hell in a purse, so long as it's filled with her voice—like silk handkerchiefs laced in kerosene. And just like that, she was gone in a smokey blur. All that was left in her wake was mirth and mirrors, and Vinyl rattled between the glass panes in a smiling stupor, solving for x, cuddling both the evens and the odds. She knows my name. She knows my name she knows my name she knows my naaaaaaaaaaame... A squeaking sound limped from Vinyl's lips. In a daze, she decided to celebrate. Her finger scraped across her music player, turning on Animal Collective and committing ecstatic seppuku with the sonic ambrosia.
FridayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐFriday"Oh blast! Blast blast blast!" Vinyl Scratch's heart plummeted. Her pastel sneakers scuffled through a shallow puddle as she spun around on the wet sidewalk. Blinking. The bus had just dropped her and a few other students off at the subdivision. A thunderstorm had built up overhead, and a light rain fell—growing denser and denser by the second. This had little to no effect on the teenager in her white hoodie. But a certain delicate cellist, on the other hand... "How could I be such an imbecile?!" Octavia Melody gnashed her pretty teeth. She hugged her cello case to her pretty blouse as her pretty figure huddled under a lone tree. "Rrrrrngh! Blast! Rarity even said this would happen t-too!" Vinyl blinked. She looked down the street. In the distance—over the rooftops of the suburbs—she spotted a dark curtain of rain drifting ever closer to that location. She could easily make it home in time. Someone living in the more affluent row of houses, however... Wow... is this real life? Am I being punk'd? Vinyl nevertheless shoved those thoughts far away. On brave feet, she marched up the side of the road, approaching the tree where Octavia huddled. The girl saw Vinyl's approach immediately. "Oh... don't mind me. Please. It'll be alright. I'm sure it'll..." She gulped. "It'll l-let up sooner than later. It's just that this cello case isn't exactly water proof and... blast it!" She gritted her teeth, her violet eyes fearfully reflecting the inevitable monsoon rushing towards them. "My mum will have my entrails if I ruin the family heirloom! All of my work—and for what?! A lady should be better prepared..." This is it. This is my destiny. Everything else be damned. Oxygen. Tacos. Higgs-Boson Particle. Screw it all. Smiling, Vinyl held up a single finger, then flung her backpack around—unzipping it. "Huh?" Octavia blinked. "What are you on about, love—?" She recoiled at the sight of a folded umbrella being held out towards her. "Oh... oh no, please. I couldn't!" Vinyl smiled warmly. She shook the umbrella, holding it out even further. "It's my own fault that I'm in this predicament!" She gulped, trembling slightly. "I... I still have to give you back your math notes! Bloody Hell... I can't even keep a promise to a fellow classmate." She brushed her bangs back, shuddering. "My schedule's been so blasted chaotic as of late. I'm so terribly sorry..." With an exasperated sigh, Vinyl spun the umbrella around in her gasp so that the handle faced her. Octavia's lungs deflated. With a teeny-tiny curtsy, she reached out and accepted the instruments. "Cheers, love. You're far too kind." Unfolding the thing, she held it protectively over herself and the cello—just in the nick of time. The roar of pitter-pattering rain echoed all around them as the neighborhood was thoroughly soaked. "But... but you!" She grimaced. "Oh, now I feel positively dreadful! You'll drown in this mess!" Vinyl shrugged, smiling... smiling some more. Yeah. Yeah, be cool. Ignore the sting of your nipples and just... be cool. The rain was colder than Vinyl anticipated. She utilized a herculean amount of strength in hiding the fact. It seemed to work. "I... I-I'd better make it home before my tutor arrives!" Octavia scampered off, her Mary Janes splattering lightly in the growing puddles. "You just saved me from utter disaster! H-have a good weekend, Miss Scratch! I'll return this and the math notes soon! I promise!" Vinyl turned, smiling stupidly. I don't care if math and umbrellas go extinct. She's safe. She's warm. She's happy The shivers doubled... tripled. Vinyl didn't realize just how much the rain had soaked her until she heard the music in her headphones skipping. With a grimace, she reached into her hoodie's front pockets. Moisture dribbled between her fingers, and her clothes felt four times as heavy... and cold. Trembling, she scampered her way home, rushed through the front door, and made a bee-line for the bathroom. When Vinyl stripped of her clothes and hopped into a warm shower... she still felt bone-chillingly cold. Uh oh...
SaturdayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐSaturdayCoughs. Vinyl Scratch rolled to her right. She cruised over a fifty-foot wave on a surfboard, her arm hooked around Octavia's waist. The suntanned damsel giggled, leaning into her. The cellist wore a modest one-piece swimsuit with floral patterns. Of course she did. As they reached the crest of the wave, Octavia faked a scream and buried her head playfully in Vinyl's chest, tickling her sternum with smokey black bangs. More coughs. Vinyl Scratch rolled to her left. She pulled her blade out from the dragon's chest. With a flick of the pommel, she converted the weapon back into an mp3 player. Twirling about, she flexed her biceps under neon-glowing armor and waggled her eyebrows. Octavia cooed in delight, hiked up her ballgown, and rushed over to give the heroic knight a deep hug and several flower-scented kisses. Soreness... spreading... consuming... Vinyl Scratch winced. Dammit... Vinyl Scratch sniffled. Dammit to Hell... Unable to drift off to sleep, Vinyl finally sat up. Her bedroom reeled around her. She lay under several comforters and blankets... and still she felt freezing. Every breath through her nostrils was a torturous thing. She felt as though a spiny sea urchin had nestled deep inside her sinuses, poking into every tender nasal cavity with bloody malice. I'm getting sick. I hate being sick. It was true. Ever since arriving home in the soaking rain the day previous, a bug had been planted deep in Vinyl's nose and throat. Now it had infected her eyes and ears, overflowing her orifices with mucus and wax. She stifled a moan, bravely swung her legs out... and stepped up out of bed. The girl instantly regretted it. The world reeled around her... making the shuffling trip to the bathroom outside the hall a precarious tight-rope-walk of nauseating proportions. Halfway to her destination, Vinyl passed by her mother. The woman heard just one snort from her daughter, and instantly she dropped her laundry basket and spun around. "Hollllld up there, Sparky." She marched over and grasped the teetering teenager's forehead in a tender palm. "Don't move. The doctor is in." Oh gods. Just shoot me. "Tch... mmmhmmm..." Vinyl's mom leaned back, tilting the girl's chin up so she could stare into her bloodshot eyes. "You're positively burning. I guess I didn't imagine all that rainsoaked laundry hanging over the shower rod. Huh?" Busted. Send me to the electric chair. Just anything but— "Whelp... here comes the cough syrup." Ugh. "You know the drill!" She pointed at the girl as she wandered across the house and into the kitchen. "Plenty of fluids around the clock! Though, at this rate, you'll be lucky if you get better by Monday. Don't try to celebrate or anything, though. How many sick days is this so far this semester? At this rate, we might as well homeschool you." Now that's a scary thought. "If I had a dime for every time you ignored my warnings about walking home in the rain..." You'd buy out the L.A. Clippers. I get it. With a wheezing cough, Vinyl nevertheless hobbled her way into the bathroom... where she promptly knelt before the toilet and gave a porcelain confession. Whatever... it was worth it. Totally... worth it...
SundayView OnlineÇ ® υ § Η Ξ ÐSundayAnd on the seventh day, the Lord created phlegm... lots of it. Nobody knew this better than Vinyl. She lay curled up on the living room couch, dressed in a bulky nightshirt, drowning in three or four wrinkled blankets washed over from several pastel years of forsaken childhood. A mound of used tissues lay on the coffee table, spilling over into a plastic wastebasket situated on the carpet floor. Normally, she would have been listening to techno music. However, the lithium batteries in three separate music players had all died—such was the testament to her overnight restlessness. So she let the things lie dormant beside an empty vomit tray as she coughed and sputtered away with her bleary eyes plastered to a wide-screen t.v. She was into the second hour of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. How come I'm always watching this film when I'm sick as a dog? I pick the weirdest friggin' traditions... Around this time, the doorbell rang... or perhaps she imagined it. Half of her head was clogged up like a defective pressure cooker. Every breath sent cactus needles up and down her throat. She felt like sobbing. Eons later, she detected the tell-tale shuffle of her mother's feet entering the room. "Vinyl? Hey there, Sparky. There's a friend of yours here to see you. From school." Vinyl sniffled, then struggled to get up. Who? Lauren? "I do hope I'm not imposing," spoke a soft, velvety voice. "No no no... she's actually doing much better today. I just advise keeping some distance. We've yet to take her to the doctor's, but there's no telling if what she's got is infectious." Vinyl blinked and blinked. She craned her neck to look around... and her eyes widened. Octavia stood demurely in the foyer, dressed delicately as ever in her blouse, skirt, and vest. She curtsied at Vinyl's mom... then turned to look at Vinyl herself. A smile blossomed, and Vinyl could almost smell the fragrance beyond all the snot. "Hello, love." "...!!!" Vinyl shot up—blankets flying. She winced, yanking the comforters back over her dizzied figure. Idiot! Friggin' idiot! You're not even wearing any pants right now! Vinyl slumped back into the sofa, coughing breathily. Her crusty eyes teared as she produced a nervous grin. "Awwww... you poor thing." Octavia preserved her delicate smile, quietly girl-stepping around the coffee table and the battle-strewn floor of water glasses and half-empty cough syrup bottles. "It's positively dreadful seeing you like this... most undeservedly so." Holyyyyy crabshells. Am I imagining this? Is this another fever dream? Grimacing, Vinyl threw a look across the room. Standing behind Octavia, Vinyl's mother took one glance at the smokey-hair'd visitor, then back at her daughter. She raised an eyebrow, smirked, and slowly shuffled out of the room. Vinyl gulped—this time flat-out ignoring the soreness. "In truth... erhm..." Octavia cleared her throat, standing in front of John Rhys Davies as he punched a Nazi in the face. "...I feel terribly responsible for this mess. Really, I do." Sad eyes danced in between them—a subdued violet. It made Vinyl feel twice as nauseous. "None of this would have happened to you if you... erm... h-hadn't been so wonderfully chivalrous two days ago." Vinyl blinked. She looked aside... and merely shrugged. "You... don't talk much... do you?" Vinyl opened her mouth—but fell into a coughing fit. She waved a hand while bringing a glass of water to her lips. "Eheh..." Octavia brushed her bangs back, avoiding direct line of sight for some... reason. "It's quite alright. I'm certain your throat has seen better days. Please... don't stress yourself out on my account." Clearing her throat, she brought the other hand out from behind her back. "Anyways, I felt it was only right that I make true to my promises—well... one of them, at least." Vinyl's eyes traveled down the musical bombshell's slender arms. She saw an umbrella being held out to her. With trembling fingers, she reached out and took it. "I figured you... uhm... probably won't be showing up tomorrow morning for school." Octavia chewed on her bottom lip. "I... hope you don't mind if I keep the math notes to... study a little bit longer. I know it's asking for a lot." Vinyl smiled tiredly... offering yet another shrug. "Somehow... uh... I figured that you wouldn't mind at all..." "...?" Vinyl blinked at that. Absent-mindedly, her eyes fell to the umbrella in her grasp. That's when her sickly skin paled all the more. Inside the folds of the umbrella... there was a faded yellow sheet of paper. It was a receipt... stained with rainwater... nearly ripped to tatters—but very much still in the same place where she had left it. No... not where I left it. Placed back where I had left it. Deliberately. Oh gods... did... did she...? With trembling fingers, Vinyl reached in... then pulled the sheet out. Her unmistakable handwriting had run slightly from the moisture... but she could still make out the $20 price she had paid the other day. "It... was a very... very nice gesture," Octavia breathed. Vinyl's teeth clenched. Is... is she talking about the umbrella...? Nervously, Vinyl turned the note over, examining the other side. Soon, she found her answer. There was something new on the sheet—something that hadn't dissolved in the rain. It was a delicate "heart" surrounding the "From: Anonymous"... and it was drawn in a distinctive violet ink. Velvety soft violet. "We could... all use more nice things in our lives..." Somebody purred. A pair of cheeks turned rosy, and they weren't Vinyl's. "...even it it means... erm... making t-time in our schedule." Soft fingers brushed smoky bangs back. Then—and only then—did her eyes connect, and they were twinkling. Vinyl held her breath, frozen to the couch cushions. Don't snort. Don't vomit. Don't snort. Don't vomit. "Your eyes," Octavia murmured, her voice adorably tender and dry. She tilted her head cutely to the side. "They are remarkably... astonishingly red." Vinyl chewed on her bottom lip, nodding slightly. Guilty as charged. "That is... quite striking." Octavia braved another smile. "Such a shame that we don't see them more often. Almost... almost feels like they're hidden. Why would anyone ever want to keep such a beautiful thing obscured?" Vinyl exhaled with a shudder. Her eyes were wet, but not because of the bug. Yeah... beats the Hell out of me . Silence. "You... erm... you like music?" Octavia grinned a bit more bravely. "That is... are you a musician?" Vinyl waved her hand from side to side. "Well... uhm... I think that's absolutely smashing!" She tipped back and forth on the toes of her Mary Janes. "I've been working on a fresh new instrumental of my own. I... uhm..." She suddenly rushed out of the room... then came stumbling back with a cello case that she had left in the foyer—unbeknownst to Vinyl. "I've been practicing around the clock... and I think I've almost got it perfected. I... have no earthly idea if it's even remotely akin to the genre you're used to absorbing yourself in... but perhaps I could have a go... and you'd tell me what you thought of it?" Ohgoshhhhhhhhhhhhhh Vinyl sneezed violently. She sneezed again, just as hard. Grimacing past the dizziness, she gave a shivering thumb's up. "Oh! Oh g-good!" Octavia pumped the bowstring in her hand, emitting a breathy giggle. Like butterflies with bells on. She composed herself just in time... to compose. "This is called 'Melody Suite No. 5'... although... I'm contemplating a name change. What do you think of 'White Carnations?'" Vinyl let loose a half-whimper... followed by a quarter-whimper. I think I want to marry you. "Hmmm..." Octavia closed her eyes, resting the bow-string to the cello. "...I suppose it would be good and proper to give it a listen first." Vinyl wasn't about to argue. And as the delicious bass strings dripped through the room, she closed her eyes with a contented smile. At some point, a single nostril cleared, and she imagined flowers. The thought cuddled her to sleep—along with the music—so that she pondered if perhaps it was all a dream. But when morning came, and Vinyl's mother could be heard calling in to the school administration's office in the other room, Vinyl reached across the table and gently lifted a faded yellow receipt to her tired eyes... ...and the violet heart was still there. Author's Note Next time... I'll just write a fic about Vinyl being pantless under blankets
