Irreversible

Chapters

1. Time Flies
2. Three Years Older
3. Sentimental
4. Normal
5. Way out of Here
6. Drown with Me

1. Time Flies

Octavia Philarmonica woke up to a vivid image of burning children. The image lingered in front of her eyes for a moment, creating a horrible double exposure: children playing in the corner of her room, dragging toy trucks, digging holes in the sandbox, building castles, shouting, talking, chirping - and burning, burning in a terrible hellfire that, strangely enough, left them untouched.

Her brain ran frantically through the possibilities: how could she see this horrifying image if she was awake and if the dream she’d just escaped had nothing to do with children, but rather, with adults, consuming insane amounts of alcohol mixed, for some reason, with milk. Her initial fear was that she’d finally slipped far enough into insanity to see hallucinations. Yet, just as the image faded into the morning, the fear dissipated both due to logic (OCD does not lead to hallucinations, you stupid girl) and observation (the song that Octavia used as her alarm told her quite bluntly that Devon wouldn’t go to Heaven, and that she, Octavia, should definitely take her place inside the fire with her).

Almost spitting on the floor in annoyance, the woman rose from the bed quickly and covered the distance to the table, skilfully tapping the screen to kill the alarm. Turning round on her heels in a weird military fashion, she looked at the plush bear, who’d fallen off the bed during the hot, restless night. “Remind me to never, ever, set a metal song as alarm, Mister Tummers, even if I think it will wake me up for sure,” she addressed the bear and placed him in his rightful place on the left pillow. When one pillow ain’t enough, and two is too low…

Octavia yawned and automatically put on the bra and the “casual” T-shirt that had been hanging from the chair - her personal wardrobe. Nothing as convenient as a chair for a wardrobe. The white words on the black T-shirt proclaimed boldly, Punks not dead. Octavia chuckled. Never in her life would she listen to punk rock - or any kind of rock, apart from, maybe, symphonic rock - but the statement seemed to her ironic enough to order a shirt with it plastered upon it. A little imaginary angel on Octavia’s right shoulder nodded approvingly. A little devil on her left shoulder shrugged and went on to the hellish bedroom to shred on her hellish guitar.

The woman waltzed into the bathroom, sniffing at the air unpleasantly. The damn municipal services had been meddling with the piping again, which led to the stale, grimy odour emitting from the bathtub and the washbin, making Octavia spray her perfume around. It didn’t help much, but gave her a feeling of certain satisfaction. She looked at her face, still beautiful, even after an eleven-hour sleep, her dishevelled, yet untangled, raven-black hair. Octavia looked into her own rare lavender eyes. “Another day older and deeper in debt,” she quoted and took up the toothbrush.

There was no debt; but there was no pay either. Okay, no, there was pay, but it was lousy pay, so why not wallow in self-pity and pretend there was no pay at all? Brush brush brush, Octavia chanted in her head as the toothbrush did its job. Brush brush- fuck!

The woman glanced at her T-shirt, watching as the toothpaste stain conquered the whole perimeter of the word “not”, creating an interesting prediction: “Punks dead”. Lacks an apostrophe, though. Frustrated, Octavia turned off the tap and dried her face with a towel, throwing the ruined T-shirt into the washing machine. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gotten dressed before washing my face. Why do I even do it?

Octavia marched into her bedroom, taking the “formal” T-shirt, the bold letters on which informed: Cellist Pride. Nodding resolutely to herself, the woman carried on with the dressing routine, still mourning the loss of a good ironic shirt. That’s God’s way of punishing you for your sins, the little imaginary angel on her shoulder chided.

“Okay, white or grey?”

Octavia looked at the socks, holding them together, as if she were a meticulous businessman or a lawyer choosing a tie for today. White, the little shoulder angel suggested. Racist! the little devil on the other shoulder accused, pointing her finger at the angel. “What do you think, Mister Tummers?”

The plush bear sat on the pillow, showing no sign of emotion or recognition.

“Right.” Octavia nodded. “Grey.” Having put on the socks, she rose for her trousers and, conquering those with practised ease (despite the trousers being two sizes smaller - or, rather Octavia having grown two sizes bigger), dropped by the kitchen to take her morning pills. Keeping me sane. Or, rather, giving me the degree of sanity enough to assure myself I am sane with grounds for that.

The fridge held nothing that could be reasonably called food. There was almost-food, there was a semblance of food, there was something that, under close inspection, could be qualified as quasifood, but there was no food. Octavia sighed and closed the fridge door, leaving the tiny kitchen altogether.

Back in the bedroom, Octavia glanced at the table conquered by hordes of video game cartridges and disks, as well as numerous portable consoles. The cellist smiled and took up one of the disks. Radioactive Ponies - 6? Damn, Octavia. I thought I had at least some standards…

Gently, lovingly, Octavia took up her cello from its postament and sat with it on the bed. She took up the bow and, closing her eyes, almost gave in to the music she was about to play. But the music was preceded by a strange, out-of-place percussion breaking the symphony that had already surfaced in Octavia’s mind. Little droplets of rain hitting wood.

The cellist opened her eyes and saw that it was, indeed, not rain, but rather her own sweat forming upon her forehead and neck and dripping onto the wood of the cello. Only now did the woman remember that it was summer, that this summer was especially hot, painfully, unbearably hot - so maybe her dreams of fire did have some reason behind them.

Octavia sighed and packed the cello carefully into the case. The instrument slid into the velvet opening obediently, and the lid clacked with practised ease. Its mistress rose from the bed, feeling her underwear clinging to her pants from the heat. With a groan, Octavia plugged in the fan and turned it on. Great, Miss Sweaty-bum. When your parents offered to invest into AC, you chose a new audio device. And where is it now? Angel Octavia peeked curiously from the shoulder: Well, it’s in the living room, gathering dust and- Devil Octavia hissed violently: Not. Helping.

Fighting the desire to just sit in front of the fan forever, Octavia rose, feeling the unbearable heat return the moment she turned off the fan, and, taking up the cello case, went into the corridor. Upon the usual routine of putting in her pockets her ID, phone, some money - and taking up the keys, she used the said keys to lock the door behind her without looking in the mirror.

In a few moments, Octavia walked into the fire.

***

“Okay, ladies, that’s enough.”

Octavia placed her bow down with a heavy sigh of relief and lifted her eyes up to the conductor. The tall, bald black man rubbed the wings of his nose thoughtfully and finally opened his eyes.

“Mr Horoshevski,” he addressed the pianist, who’d turned on his stool diligently to face the boss. So eager to work in Catcher’s cotton field. ...Wait, that came out wrong. “Your performance was spotless, as usual.”

The pianist bowed his head slightly in appreciation, giving that tiny noble smile that Octavia both loved and hated so much. “Thank you, Mr Catcher. I’m trying.”

“Seriously, Frederic.” The conductor leant against the wall of the small chamber hall, taking a good look at his quintet. “You really should apply for that Best Young Musician contest. You are the best in Manehattan.”

Octavia opened her mouth in shock at the blatancy. Oh really? What about quintets working together and what-not? Hell, you are our violinist, Catcher!

“Thank you, Sebastian,” the pianist took a handkerchief out of his jacket’s pocket (Wearing suits? In such heat?) and ran it through his bright blonde hair, mostly for shows, for, surprisingly, there was not a drop of sweat on the young musician. “But I believe I only excel within the quintet. Without your violin - and your guidance; without Octavia’s cello-”

“Without my natural talent for jokes,” the harpist, a tall Indian man with a wide smile full of brilliant white teeth, added in a jocular voice, glancing at the tuba player, who seemed lost in thought, her blue eyes fixed on the floor of the stage. By now, Octavia smiled, everyone in the quintet seems to know Harpo likes Beatrice. Apart from Beatrice herself.

“Nonsense.” Catcher shook his head and pointed his finger at the blonde man. “You. You, Frederic, are the next Manehattan’s Best Young Musician. As I was once. But,” he smiled without showing his teeth, which gave his full lips an expression of wild hunger, “until you are, stick to Mr Catcher, not Sebastian. Now,” he carried on without listening to Frederic’s mumbled apology, “Miss Brass.” He paused and chuckled. “I’ve always wondered why your surname fits your instrument, but now I know. Your tuba work is impeccable. I am really glad our quintet is standing out because of you. You complemented Miss Philarmonica’s work brilliantly.” Beatrice nodded without lifting her head. “But your performance today seems… troubled. Is anything wrong, Bea?”

“No.” Beatrice touched the top of her head, as if checking whether her chestnut hair was still there, attached to the scalp. Judging by how many different hairstyles she changes over a month, it would be no wonder if- “Nothing at all, Mr Catcher.”

The black man shrugged. “Now, Mr Nadermane.”

The harpist groaned. “Harpo. Please. Puh-leese. Can you just call me Harpo, like everybody else does, Mr Catcher?” Harpo drew his hands into a praying steeple. “Pretty please with cherry on top?”

“Mr Parish Nadermane.” Catcher’s voice was steely and stern, enough for Octavia to sigh in disapproval. Harpo doesn’t deserve all the hate he’s getting. Sure, he might be not as skilful as the rest of us, but he has a good heart, and it’s in the right place. “As usual, you were not on my tempo. This seems to be a tradition of sorts.”

“I’m sooorry, Catch,” Harpo drawled, using his fascinating skill of impersonating every accent he’d ever heard, this time adopting the South-Manehattan drawl, a little different from Appleloosan, but still hilarious, considering that he was, well, fully Indian. “It’s jus’ that, you and me know-”

“Call me ‘Catch’ once again.” The violinist advanced on the young musician, glaring daggers at him. “One. More. Time. And they will never find your body.” Harpo gulped. Catcher’s voice brightened up a little. “Now. Can you tell me your mistake, Mr Nadermane? Were you rushing or were you dragging?”

“Erm…” Harpo shrugged, but not before casting a quick glance at Bea. “I was a Russian dragon?” He grinned, expecting an ovation, no doubt, but all he received was a chuckle from Octavia and an dispassionate smile from Frederic. “I am afraid I can’t answer your question, Mr Catcher,” he concluded earnestly.

“Okay, well.” Catcher turned towards Octavia, smiling at the cellist. “Now, Octavia. Your rhythm is always on-spot, so of course you can answer the question?”

Octavia would say that she was sweating profusely from nervousness, but she was already sweating from the heat - and she had no idea whether Harpo had been rushing or dragging or whatever else, simply because she had become so lost in the music, so aware of its existence as a whole, that every touch of it had been right: Bea’s elongated toots, Frederic’s nervous lip-licking, her own sweat hitting the floor, Harpo’s rushing - or dragging, Catcher’s slight tapping of the foot against the stage - an old habit from playing jazz: all of it was a symphony. All of it contributed to the completeness of the melody. “Erm… Rushing?” Octavia suggested, looking at the conductor hopefully.

Catcher sighed and waved his hand in the air dismissively. “You are out of your element, Octavia. All right.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s it for now, pick up your instruments - apart from you, Frederic - and let’s call this a day.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, still morning. Eleven-forty-five. Nice!”

Octavia stood up, trying to make her way to the exit as swiftly as possible. The outdoors wouldn’t grant her chill, but at least there would be wind, not like in this cardboard box of a hall. So they turn on the conditioning for visitors but don’t let us musicians use it for practice. Business at its finest.

Quickly, Octavia glanced at Beatrice, who was taking just a bit more time packing. She made a motion to reach her, then saw Harpo lingering next to the woman. Okay, maybe he’ll find out what’s wrong. Deep inside, Octavia knew this was an excuse to get to the outside faster - but time was dragging on especially slowly today.

The outside greeted her with scorching sun and no wind whatsoever. As Octavia walked down the street, dragging her cello case, she felt just how badly perspiring she had been all morning: sweat was permeating the clothes behind her knees, formed under her breasts, drenched her neck. A cold shower would be to kill for.

“Fuck!”

A car rushing past splashed something that felt like water on her feet. Quickly realising that there had been no rain, Octavia looked at her feet with dread. Then looked ahead. Road works. And motor oil. A whole damn puddle of motor oil on the asphalt. And some fucker had slid through it, splashing motor oil at her moccasins!

Octavia groaned and tapped her foot against the hot asphalt. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!” She clenched her teeth in frustration and punched the air. Looking around, she spotted a small coffee shop, one without a loud brand name to it.

Okay, she concluded. They must have some paper towels to clean the oil off… Devil Octavia rounded the cellist’s neck from behind: You sure that would really- The cellist gave the little devil a mighty slap on the butt.

“Good morning!” Octavia tried to muster all her pleasantness despite the roaring heat and the motor oil. The barista, a young man with an unusually pale face and hair as dark as her own, muttered something and kept doing something in the back. Rearranging coffee? “Excuse me, but do you have some paper towels?” Octavia pointed at her feet, immediately realising that the barista couldn’t see the damage. “I was drenched in motor oil.”

The barista didn’t even look, uttering emotionlessly, “Only if you buy coffee.”

Octavia smiled charmingly, all while wondering whether the barista was secretly a vampire. Or non-secretly. “Oh, I would love a glass of lemonade. I understand your desire for customers.” You capitalist pig, she added mentally.

“Coffee.” The barista looked at the cellist lifelessly. “We sell coffee. You buy coffee, I give you paper towels.”

Octavia’s eye twitched. Yet, she calmed herself, knowing that this was by far the only establishment in the neighbourhood, and, if she wanted to avoid permanent damage to her moccasins - or, rather, if she wanted to believe that such damage would be avoided - she needed those damn paper towels. “Tea?” she suggested. “Surely you have some nice green tea for such heat.”

“Coffee.” The barista stood in place, his arms hanging perpendicularly to the counter. “We sell coffee.”

“Iced coffee, maybe?” Octavia proposed with her never-wavering smile while her eyelids were doing the cha-cha-cha.

“Coffee. Hot, steamy coffee.”

Octavia groaned inwardly, but, in reality, she approached the counter and laid out the money. The barista began making the coffee while Octavia debated whether to murder him a lot or just a little. Devil Octavia peeked out of the hellish bedroom: Please? Just a little?

Finally, the coffee made its way to the customer, and Octavia tapped the counter impatiently. The barista floated to the back and took out a roll of paper towels. Octavia grabbed the roll, leaving the coffee, and rushed to the table by the window - not because there were no other empty tables (in fact, the establishment was completely empty, and Octavia did have a notion why that was so), but because of her usual habit of watching the city live outside the window.

For now, though, there was only scrubbing, and then a sinking realisation that the moccasins were forever ruined. Octavia let go of the breath she’d been holding and looked out of the window. The workers patched the road loudly, and, surprisingly, there weren’t enough people in the streets. There was a hectic businessman - or, perhaps, a lawyer - rushing across the street, and a woman, a very weird woman with blue spiky hair and headphones, walking down the street by the shop, ready to cross the road, and crossing the road, and-

“Shit!”

The truck came all too suddenly. It all seemed like a movie. A badly-written movie at that. The woman flew like a ragdoll, landing on the street, dripping blood from her crushed head and neck. Octavia had never seen death before so she was frozen, her hand strangely extended towards the window. Then, a little blue fire appeared in her palm, a fire that didn’t hurt, didn’t burn, nor was it pleasantly cold… It was just a little blue fire, glowing redder and redder-

“Call me ‘Catch’ once again. One. More. Time. And they will never find your body.”

Octavia blinked, breathing heavily. What’s going on here? She looked around, and, indeed, there were the two rows, here was the stage, and the musicians, their quintet…

“Now. Can you tell me your mistake, Mr Nadermane? Were you rushing or were you dragging?”

But… I’ve already heard this. At first, Octavia had thought all of that had been a dream, but here she was, having already heard all these words, seen all these gestures…As if I… Teleported to the past? No, no, this was ridiculous, simply ridiculous…

“Erm…” Harpo shrugged, just as he’d shrugged before - but not before casting a quick glance at Bea, a glance he was supposed to cast. “I was a Russian dragon?”

Now, Octavia couldn’t even chuckle. Wild thoughts were rushing through her brain. Not a dream. Not deja vu. Everything was too vivid - and too prolonged. The only reasonable explanation was… It’s not “reasonable”. Time travel is… Ugh! Sure, the cellist had read somewhere that it was possible, scientifically, but she, Octavia, surely she couldn’t have...

“Now, Octavia. Your rhythm is always on-spot, so of course you can answer the question?”

Octavia looked up at Catcher slowly, still not believing anything. “Dragging?” she suggested timidly.

“Bingo!” Catcher snapped his fingers with a victorious grin. “Seems you’re on top of your game, Octavia! All right.” The conductor clapped his hands together. The sound was ominous for Octavia, who was slowly coming to realise that she had, indeed, travelled back in time, albeit not so far back.

“That’s it for now, pick up your instruments - apart from you, Frederic - and let’s call this a day.” Catcher glanced at his watch, but Octavia already knew the time. “Oh, still morning. Eleven-forty-five. Nice!”

Okay, Octavia concluded, this is insane. Maybe she was dreaming now? She’d fallen asleep in the coffee shop, and, and- But how could she fall asleep upon seeing that horrific event? The cellist walked past Bea, then stopped. With a smile, she put her hand on Bea’s shoulder and said consolingly, “Bea, always remember that you have friends. We are all by your side.” The tuba player looked up in weak surprise. “Also,” Octavia smiled, thinking that, if this was a dream, she might as well make the best of it, “Harpo likes you. A lot.”

Giggling, the cellist tiptoed outside. “Okay,” she said to herself quietly upon half a minute of walking. “This is the spot. If at this precise moment, that car-”

Indeed, there swished the car, and here was the motor oil on Octavia’s moccasins. The cellist took a deep breath. Okay, this is real. I travelled back in time. But… how did I do that? Octavia looked at her hands. I concentrated on the heat in my hands and…

The blue fire ignited in her hand, glowing redder and redder-

There she was, just outside the concert hall, her moccasins unspoilt. Okay. Octavia nodded to herself. I can rewind time now. Octavia concentrated again, but there was no blue fire in her hand. And, apparently, it only works either just several minutes back or a couple actions back. I see. She closed her eyes. It’s either that, or I’m going insane. Perhaps, I have already gone insane.

But, if she did possess this power now… Surely, just to test it… There was one thing that she could do…

“Excuse me?”

The vampire barista turned towards the source of the voice. Upon seeing Octavia, he sighed. “Hello, Ma’am. What would you like to order?” Oh, I know exactly what I want to order...

“Oh, a coffee.” Octavia grinned. “A hot, steaming coffee.” That’s evil, Octavia! the little devil on her shoulder shook her head disapprovingly. Even by my standards. Angel Octavia added: You’ll burn in hell for this. You don’t want to burn, right? Octavia shrugged. In weather like this, I’m already burning.

Upon receiving the coffee, the cellist looked very attentively at the barista’s face. Only now he did look less like a vampire and more like a distraught, troubled teenager. Octavia opened the coffee and prepared to splash. The barista’s dull eyes bore no emotion. Perhaps he was taking drugs. Or was he on medication? Just like she was?

Octavia lowered the cup and the coffee splashed onto the counter, without damaging the barista in the slightest. “Oops.” Octavia smiled and lifted her hand. The little blue fire danced, turning redder and redder-

“Hello, Ma’am. What would you like to order?”

“I’m sorry.” Octavia stormed out of the establishment, breathing heavily. Okay. Okay. I see. This is real. This must be a dream, but since I’m not waking up, it’s real. Angel Octavia noted: If you’ve been given such a power, it falls on you not to use it lightly. Devil Octavia smirked. Are you kidding? You can do anything now! Let’s go rob some orphanages!

Octavia promptly told both fragments of her imagination to shut up, and followed with her eyes the figure of the lawyer-or-businessman. All right. So this guy passes, and then there should be this weird woman who-

And indeed, there was that weird woman, a short-sleeved shirt instead of a T-shirt, thin summer jeans, ridiculous blue spiky hair. Moving in her direction. Her headphones on her head, covering her ears tight. Almost walking onto the road now.

And then Octavia heard the truck.

She tried to grab the woman, but there was nothing to cling to apart from the shirt that would certainly be torn apart at the slightest gesture. So, instead, she pushed the woman out of harm’s way, back on the sidewalk, tripping and pinning her to the ground.

Octavia blushed immediately at being so over-dramatic, but, as soon as she heard the truck swoosh by, her heart leapt to her throat. So, she had just saved this woman - who pushed her off and got up, shaking her head disapprovingly. Then crossed the street safely.

The cellist let out a breath of relief and sat on the dusty, heated street. She closed her eyes and began to rub her temples. Okay. Apparently, she was able to go back in time. Just a little. And it didn’t affect her. Well, sometimes it did. When she did the… “rewind” the first time, she’d physically teleported back to the steps of the concert hall. But when she did the rewind in the coffee shop, she remained standing there, while the barista and the bar counter and the coffee all slipped back in time.

Octavia looked at her hands. This power is a lot to take in. And, moreover, she had to learn how to use it. And use it wisely. Unless this was all a dream. Or unless she’d gone completely insane.

The woman got up and looked at the phone. Midday? Only fifteen minutes had passed? Octavia pondered whether it was too early for a beer. She looked at her left shoulder. It’s never too early for a beer! Devil Octavia assured her. Octavia looked at the other shoulder. Angel Octavia shrugged. What she said.

Octavia nodded resolutely to herself. It’s settled then.

***

“And then I said, ‘Oatmeal, are you-’”

“Yes, yes.” The bartender sighed and placed another beer on the counter. “That is the third time you’re telling me this story in the last five hours. Honestly,” he remarked, “I have no idea how someone can babble for five hours straight, but, since you seem to have endless money, the beers are yours, and I’ll lend you my ears.”

“Did I tell you that I can turn back time now?” Octavia slurred, leaning over the counter, her head dizzy. “You see, I can drink all these beers, then rewind, then drink them all again and get ssssooo drunk.”

“I don’t think you need time-travel to do that.”

Octavia tried to turn her head sharply, but her vision became blurry in an instant, and she barely recognised the blue-haired woman from earlier today. “You!” Octavia tried to point her finger at the stranger, but her finger ended up touching her breast. Nice! Devil Octavia cheered from the shoulder. “S-sorry. You are the woman I-”

“Yes, yes, Octavia, I am.” The woman sighed. “And it pains me that you don’t remember me.”

“D-do you know me?” Octavia tried to remember, but failed miserably.

“Yes, Octavia, I remember you because you never changed.” The woman looked into Octavia’s eyes and the cellist saw it immediately: reddish magenta, which could only belong to…

“Vincenza?” Octavia whispered, extending her hand towards the blue-haired woman. “Vincenza Staccato?”

“Bingo!” the woman chuckled. “But I go by the name Vinyl Scratch now. Top DJ in Manehattan, Canterlot and Los Pegasus.” She patted her chest proudly. “But… Of course you wouldn’t know it.”

“Vincen- Vinyl…” Octavia rolled the name on her tongue, and, maybe this was the alcohol talking, but she liked the new name. Dammit, Vincenza! She has changed so, so much! “I, I am sorry I didn’t recognise you, but, when we went to music school in Ponyville-”

“When we went to music school in Ponyville,” Vinyl interrupted, “I wanted to become a world-class violinist. Now I am a kickin’ DJ with an attitude. Which one is better?”

“I. Uh.” Octavia looked down on her hands. “If I give the wrong answer, I can rewind time anyway…”

“What the hell are you blabbering about?” Vinyl demanded rather sternly, motioning for a beer. “Nobody can rewind time.” She took the cold bottle and pressed it against her forehead. “Aah. So cold. So pleasant.”

“Well, I can.” Octavia pushed her beer towards Vinyl, feeling that she full to the brim. “I saw the truck hit you, and, and…” She gulped, closing her eyes, still half-believing this all to be a dream. “Then I found out I was in the concert hall again, and all the events, everything happened again, and, and it enabled me to save you.”

Vinyl chugged on her beer for a moment. Then laughed. “Okay. This is bizarre. You leave Ponyville to go to uni and don’t write a word. No.” She lifted a stop-hand before Octavia could say anything. “Don’t apologise. I’m just stating the facts. I leave Ponyville too, go to Canterlot, make a name, grow a style, take Los Pegasus by surprise, and, half a year after I’ve moved to Manehattan, I run into you. Like this.” The DJ rubbed her chin, taking Octavia’s beer. “Okay, this so fucked up. But you saved me. I didn’t realise it at first, but then I put two and two and the truck together, and... You saved my life. You somehow predicted… Or foresaw… So I’m ready to believe you can rewind time.” Vinyl placed her chin on her hands in a bad-villain fashion. “But you have to prove it.”

“How should I prove it?” Octavia replied with drunken eagerness. Still, this was most certainly a dream. A weird, bizarre dream. She reuniting with her childhood friend. She gaining powers to rewind time and using said powers to save the aforementioned friend. This was all wild.

“Let’s play a little game.” Vinyl grinned devilishly. Oh, I like her! Devil Octavia assured. “I take out what’s in my pockets right now. You take a look at that. Then you rewind time to this exact moment. Then you tell me what’s in my pockets.”

Octavia sighed and attempted a shrug. “My observation powers aren’t that great. Especially when I’m ineb- inber- okay, my talking powers aren’t that good either.”

“It’s your super time-rewinding powers that matter,” Vinyl retorted and began emptying the pockets of her summer jeans.

Octavia concentrated on the items before her, thankfully, there were three, four… She lifted her hand, palm-up, and concentrated once again. A little blue fire appeared in her palm.

“Wha-” Vinyl pointed at the little flames glowing redder and redder. “What is-”

“Then you tell me what’s in my pockets.” Vinyl grinned smugly and reached for her summer jeans.

“No need,” Octavia said confidently. It seemed that the rewind had taken some alcohol out of her blood. “I have already seen it. You’ve already done it. And I have rewound time.”

“Oh really?” Vinyl smirked. “Well, what’s in my pockets then?”

“A pack of cigarettes,” Octavia began.

“Good guess.” Vinyl yawned. “Okay, I’ve picked up smoking. What type of cigarettes?”

“Equestria the Beautiful. You have six cigarettes left in the pack.”

Interest appeared on Vinyl’s face. “Carry on. What else do I have on me?”

“Surprisingly, you don’t have any cash,” Octavia said, “but you do have a credit card. Los Pegasus bank, and do you really want me to say your account number aloud?”

“Wow.” Now there was genuine surprise in the DJ’s voice. “So you could frame me and I wouldn’t even know it!”

“You also have your keys, and…” Octavia paused. Vinyl gulped, as if she had realised this was no longer a game. “Vinyl, there’s a photo signed, Love, Dad. I… I remember…”

“I believe you,” the blue-haired woman interrupted abruptly, putting her hand on top of Octavia’s hand. “Damn. You really do have the power. Holy fucking shit. Okay.” The woman stood up and took out the credit card, paying for the beer. “Okay. This is a lot to take in. I think you and me should go to my place and talk it over.”

“Sure.” Octavia yawned. “If you can get me there…”

“I only have one bed, though.” Vinyl paused. “Like all those old sleepovers, eh?”

“Vinyl…” Octavia yawned again. “Will you… take advantage of me cause I’m drunk?”

For a while, the blue-haired woman just stared at her old friend, then shook her head. “Octavia, you are officially a perv.” She stretched her limbs and literally picked up Octavia from her stool. “Her beers are on me,” she told the bartender who groaned, having to use the card again. Grabbing the card, Vinyl put it back in her pocket, letting Octavia lean on her a little as the two women made their way out into the hot summer evening.

2. Three Years Older

“You did what in the coffee shop?”

Octavia laughed at Vinyl’s surprise - but there was this hint of boastful confidence which is always there when you share your shenanigans with friends, when you somehow want to present yourself in a better light, so you adjust your story to the listener’s tastes. Octavia had concluded that splashing coffee at someone’s face was a bit too hardcore for Vinyl - and, frankly, for herself; besides, she hadn’t really done that, right? So, in her story, she’d just splashed coffee on the counter. Which she, indeed, had done. Or hadn’t. If the rewind worked that way… The woman rubbed her temples, feeling a surge of panic rush through her. No, all this time-rewinding wasn’t good for OCD. Nothing was good for it, but this wasn’t good at all. With a practised movement of her toes, Octavia pressed them against the cold floor of Vinyl’s kitchen and quickly spoke through the mantras. The wormlike, nagging thoughts whispered in her head, then yelled - and were gone, gone to the back of her mind.

“Well, since I can rewind…” Octavia tossed her hair to the side, feeling a little better - and also feeling that such unbearable heat warranted a shorter, more fitting haircut.

“Your bad thoughts acting up again?” Vinyl asked compassionately from her seat to the side of the table. For a moment, the spinner made a motion as if to touch her old friend, but the hand withdrew before it could go forth. “Did I trigger them?”

“No… No, you didn’t.” Octavia sighed and reached for the lemonade. “How did you know I was-”

“The toes.” Vinyl pointed at Octavia’s bare feet with an expression just barely short of reverence. “When you are having your thoughts, your toes are all… messed up.” The spinner winced, taking up her own glass of lemonade. “Sorry. I just… remember.”

“That’s all right.” Octavia did feel better after the precious coldness of the drink. “If you remember, then you remember it used to be worse. I couldn’t talk or do anything. Now it’s better. I just feel awful inside.” The cellist smiled weakly. “Let’s not talk about it. I just forgot to take my morning pills.” Not that they help all that much, she mumbled innerly.

On Vinyl’s face immediately appeared a wide, playful grin, the grin Octavia was used to in music school, but which she had forgotten during all these years that had been separating her friend and her. Now, though, it seemed that all those years had been non-existent, blank, void, a nullity. It seemed that she had just suddenly seen her friend in her new spikes-and-piercing attire, and thought that this was good. “Let’s just drop by your place and grab your pills. Then,” she pointed her finger somewhere at Octavia’s chest, “we’ll hang out like we should have done years ago. If this ain’t fate, I don’t know what it is.”

“Coincidence?” Octavia suggested, getting up from the table, feeling her (Vinyl’s) T-shirt already getting sweaty, her (Vinyl’s) jeans getting warm and uncomfortable, and why the hell did she and Vinyl share a size? Maybe it is fate, after all. Destiny.

“Coincidences don’t happen,” Vinyl said sagely, putting the rest of the lemonade into the fridge, and throwing off her slippers. “Everything’s inevitable. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened.” The spinner motioned for the cellist to follow her into the spacious living room - and the only room of her weird studio penthouse flat - the kind of flat so popular in Manehattan.

“If you’re trying to quote Interstate 60,” Octavia said pointedly, immediately taking up the spot in front of the barely-open window, “you are failing.” There was no breeze of relief coming from the outside, no air conditioning. Why doesn’t Vinyl have air conditioning? For that matter, why don’t I?

“I watched it in Italian.” Vinyl opened up a drawer, taking out a pair of socks. “I only have white socks. Hope you don’t mind.”

Octavia raised her brow, diverting her attention from the window. “Racist,” she said with a deep smile. It felt good, talking to Vinyl after all this time… It seemed as if neither of them had changed. Well, her disorder had gotten milder, and Vinyl had totally changed the way she looked, but they were still friends, exchanging playful punches and jokes, right? Right?

“Well,” Vinyl retorted, tossing the socks to the raven-haired woman, who barely caught them, “black socks would make you run faster, I understand…” The DJ grinned, which, Octavia knew from experience, meant that there was a bad joke incoming. “But white ones just work so much better.”

Octavia groaned and shook her head with a chuckle she just couldn’t conceal. “Vinyl, you are incorrigible.” She followed the blue-haired woman out of the flat, watching her friend mess with the keys. “And the funny part is that you don’t even know what ‘incorrigible’ means.”

“Okay.” Vinyl decided to skip the part where her vocabulary was being questioned and placed the keys inside her pocket. “Uhm. I’m not a very good driver, but I’m taking the keys just in case,” she warned her friend with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her head in a cartoonish gesture. “Well, if we crash, you can always rewind, right?”

“Yeah.” Octavia sighed. “I guess. But then we’ll just crash again.” Walking by Vinyl’s side down the corridor to the elevators, she explained, “I can only rewind time about five minutes back.”

Vinyl pressed the button. “So... You can rewind five minutes back, then five minutes more, then-”

“No.” Octavia shook her head. “First, I can rewind circa five minutes.” She paused as the lift came. “About five minutes, for you simpleton.” The cellist stepped into the elevator, followed by the disk-spinner. “And then, it’s about five minutes back from my initial rewind. It’s hard to explain. Usually, it’s not even five minutes. It’s one or two actions back. It’s easier to estimate this in actions, not minutes.”

“So…” Vinyl pondered as the lift slowly, very slowly descended from the thirty-sixth floor. “Can you, like, choose? Or control your rewinds?”

“I think I’m learning.” Octavia felt glad that there were no other people in the elevator so that her explanations would not sound crazy. Because they already sound crazy. “I can stop my rewinds just before an action happened. But if that action is, I mean, was, say, twenty minutes ago, then no cigar. I can’t rewind that.” Octavia sighed and rubbed her eyelids. “As I’ve said, it’s complicated.”

“You didn’t exactly say that.” Vinyl chuckled as the lift passed down through floor twenty-three.

“Oh, what are you? A walking recording device?” Octavia took a step towards her friend, closing the already minimal distance between the two of them. “If so, lemme press the button.” With that, she began tickling her friend in a foolish, childish motion that had been long forgotten, but that was so desirable. Vinyl started giggling. “Is it here?” Vinyl pretended to protect her cheeks from the tickles. “Or is it there?” The tickling lowered to the spinner’s chin while the lift descended past level fifteen.

Octavia’s long, slender fingers, the fingers of a cellist, made their way to Vinyl’s neck. Vinyl yelped and, wide-eyed, fearful, slapped Octavia’s hand away, dropping to the floor and cowering in the corner. Octavia gasped, trying to reach for her friend. “Vinyl, what’s-”

“Don’t. Ever. Touch. My. Throat.” Vinyl growled fearfully, trembling in the corner of the elevator like a rat who’d been pushed into that corner by a carnivorous beast. Her rare eyes depicted both horror and a terrified readiness to kill in self-defence.

Octavia paused as the lift clicked open with a ding, unsure what to do. You’ve got the power! Devil Octavia reminded her from the shoulder. Octavia didn’t find anything better than to let the blue fire in her hand grow redder and redder-

“You didn’t exactly say that.”

Octavia tried to manage a smile, then exhaled and rubbed her eyelids. “Vinyl, I must confess something. I have just rewound time.” There wasn’t a sign of guilt in her voice, just a tone of confiding in her friend.

“What?” Vinyl looked around briefly, then narrowed her eyes. “Are we in danger?”

“No, not exactly.” Octavia tried to gesticulate, but, as soon as she lifted her hand, she realised how hectic and uneasy that would be in such a cramped environment. “We started messing around, I touched your throat accidentally, and-”

Immediately, Vinyl’s hands sprung up to her throat, covering it, shielding it from ought and all, protecting it from Octavia the Violator. “Why would you touch my throat?!” the spinner said very seriously, her hands still protecting the neck.

Octavia took a step aside, as if to prove she wasn’t going to touch anything that belonged to the spinner. “Vinyl, I… What’s wrong with touching your- Did…” The cellist gulped as dark, shadowy thoughts landed within her mind. “Did someone-”

“I won’t answer that,” Vinyl replied with sternness that made Octavia shiver with unease. “No matter how many times you rewind, that is something that’s mine to keep. Just…” Vinyl sighed and rubbed her eyelids, shaking her head. “Just never touch my neck, that’s all. Oh, and one more thing.” She opened her eyes. “From now on, if you rewind and it includes me, you tell me. Deal?” She extended her hand.

“Deal.” Octavia shook the offered hand and tried a friendly smile. You cannot mean that, the little devil on her shoulder prompted. Octavia told that little devil to go fuck herself. With a stick.

“Let’s drop by my Mom’s boutique,” Vinyl suggested and grinned, catching Octavia’s surprised look. “Yes, her business is booming, and she’s moved from Canterlot to Manehattan. But first, we should get your pills. Then, let’s grab one of them delicious milkshakes.”

***

“You know,” Vinyl remarked as the pair made their way through the scorching heat of the city streets, “Any other time I would look at all this extra ice-cream in the shake and say, hell yeah!, but now, I want a drink, not ice-cream, you know?”

Octavia shrugged, feeling the heat on her shoulders, her T-shirt wet from sweat and pressing into her back. “Why are making our way back to your place instead of going to the underground station?”

“Because,” Vinyl replied, throwing the remains of the badly-made milkshake into a trash can, “I feel uneasy in the underground. The feeling of being trapped there, with no air, in that huge concrete sarcophagus…” The usually defiant woman shivered visibly, for a moment becoming a scared girl, not like earlier when she was defending her neck, but just a young, shy girl that Octavia remembered so well.

“So we’re catching a taxi?” Octavia suggested, trying to sound as normal as possible, without unnecessary enquiries into Vinyl’s past. She wanted this to feel, and be, like they had never separated. Like there was no weight of time on their shoulders. Like they could still play, innocently, like children, in this brave new world, forever.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of me driving us to Mom’s boutique.” Vinyl rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, making Octavia giggle at the cuteness of the gesture. “I mean, I’m hella bad at driving, but you gotta give this old DJ a chance, right?” With that, she poked Octavia’s side playfully.

“Oh, you’re not old!” Octavia replied without thinking. “You’re a young beauty, and you know it!”

“Oh, am I now?” Vinyl almost stopped, smiling at her friend. “I guess you are lucky to have me, right?” Once Octavia stopped, her mouth wide open, the spinner laughed. “Oh, I totally got you there! Don’t worry, I don’t drag old friends into bed with me…” Vinyl licked her lips. “Unless they ask for it.”

Octavia’s immediate reaction was to throw her hand up, but Vinyl noticed it immediately and rushed to her side, making Octavia forcefully put her hand down. “Don’t even think about rewinding time because of every joke,” the spinner said very sternly. “It is a wild, untamed power - who knows what it does to your body and mind?”

“My mind is already pretty fucked up.” Octavia sighed and shook her head, feeling like a cliche character in a cliche film. “And I can’t even confide in my therapist about my power. He’ll just think I escalated way into schizophrenia.”

Suddenly, Octavia felt Vinyl’s hands grabbing her hands, and, if not for the dampness, the feeling was an entirely pleasant one. “Look at me, Tavi.” Octavia lifted her eyes. “You can confide in me. We will be always be together now, you and me, you get it? It’s fate.” Octavia nodded, noticing the seriousness she hadn’t been expecting from her DJ friend. “You saved me, and you tied us together. We’ll be together, the two of us. Always.”

Octavia took a few seconds to process that, then endorphins marched in a straight line right into her brain. “Always. We found each other once again, and I am not letting either of us go this time.” In return, she moved in closer to the woman, freeing her hands and, in turn, taking Vinyl’s hands in her sweaty palms.

“Neither am I.” Vinyl smiled. “Oh, Octavia?” she asked grinning as she cast a glance at the gesture Octavia had just committed. “Let’s get one thing straight.”

Octavia blinked. “Huh?”

Vinyl grinned widely and whispered audibly: “I’m not.” With that, she freed her hands from Octavia’s grasp and walked into the heat, laughing, leaving the cellist blushing and speechless.

Octavia didn’t even rewind.

***

“Why drive a sports car when you’re just gonna go sixty kilometers per hour?” Octavia lamented after Vinyl (with severe difficulty) parked her car at the underground parking lot.

“Because,” Vinyl said, freeing herself from the seatbelt, “that’s the car Dad bought me. And I am having troubles driving manual. And all sports cars are manual.”

Octavia froze for a second before following her friend outside, into the climate-conditioned warmness of the parking that was so pleasant and long-awaited after the heat of the outside. “You Dad…” Octavia gulped. “I remember, I mean, he-”

“He left,” Vinyl replied simply, heading for the exit. “Both Mom and I got mad at him, but, several years later we kinda, what?, reunited? No, that’s a bad word.” Vinyl chuckled. “Started to tolerate each other? He buys me presents anyway,” she concluded, walking out to face the embrace of the scorching heat.

“But…” Octavia pondered for a moment, then followed suit. “You two, I mean, the things he-”

“The things he did to me are in the past,” Vinyl said sternly, putting on her ridiculous shades. Immediately, she glanced at the cellist, who shielded her eyes from the light. “Here. My extra shades. Catch.”

Octavia tried to catch the sunglasses, but they fell on the asphalt, the glass (plastic? Octavia mused) cracking. “Damn,” the cellist swore. “Don’t worry,” she smiled, raising her hand, “I can fix this.” The little blue fire grew redder and redder…

“My extra shades. Catch.”

Octavia took a swift step in, grabbing Vinyl’s hand and taking the sunglasses from her with a smile. “You don’t want to break these.” At Vinyl’s curious expression, she explained, “You just broke your extra shades by throwing them, and I did a rewind.”

Vinyl stood there in place, sweating, then laughed. “You know, I probably should reprimand you for using your powers like that - and yes, I do know that word…” Once more, Octavia felt Vinyl’s hand in hers. “But I think it’s hella cool that you have super-powers, Octavian the Terrible. I mean, you could go and make out with someone, and then just rewind and…”

“Is this a secret dream of yours?” Octavia chuckled back, not even trying to free her hand, following her best friend through the city centre. “Because I can organise that.”

“Oh~” Vinyl cooed soothingly, “No, thanks, I make out with a lot of people at parties anyway. But for you, Shy-via, that’s a chance. I wonder if you made out with me already and rewound time, just to try it out.”

“You did not just call me that!” Octavia giggled, freeing her hand finally as the two women stopped in front of a two-storey building, very wide, grinning with reddish bricks. “And I would tell you if I did that,” she put an end to the uneasy line of questioning. Come on, we’re friends, it’s friendly banter, she assured herself. We’ve always been like this, and even time couldn’t change it. Devil Octavia’s perked up: Then again, you’ve always been the one to blush and say, “Vincenza! That’s distasteful!”

“Who’s my little Vincenza making out with again?” came a voice from a woman smoking next to the building, in a fashionable outfit, which covered her late-forties very well, a peculiar pink ribbon woven into her white-dyed hair, shades resembling Vinyl’s (and now, Octavia’s), her cigarette in the cigarette holder. “Ah, if this isn’t Octavia Philarmonica!”

“Hello, Margaret!” Octavia exclaimed warmly, feeling gleeful at seeing this woman, who’d been a simple tailor back when she and Vincenza were kids, and now had, apparently, struck it rich. “So glad to see you.”

“Glad to see you too, Octavia, after all these years.” There was no underlying tone to Margaret’s words: no shaming, no disappointment, no indication that she, Octavia, should have gotten in touch. Just plain welcoming. “So…” The mother’s grin matched the daughter’s perfectly. “You are now making out with Vincenza?”

“Moooom!” Vinyl lamented with a groan, while Octavia blushed and wondered whether she should rewind right now. “First, it’s Tavi we’re talking about, and second, it’s Vinyl, remember? Not Vincenza.”

“Of course, Vincenza,” Margaret soothed the rebellious woman.

“It’s Tavi we’re talking about?” Octavia asked, turning to her best friend and taking off the shades. “So you are basically saying you would never kiss me? That I am not good enough for you?” Why are you even asking this? Angel Octavia wondered from her shoulder.

“It, uh…” For a moment, it seemed to Octavia that Vinyl blushed for a split-second, but then she attributed that to the heat. “It just means we’re very good friends, that I would never compare you to the one-night stands I usually have after parties.”

“Thank you for informing me about your one-night stands, sweetie.” Margaret threw away the cigarette into the trash can, holder and all. “Stupid laws, won’t let me smoke in my own boutique.” At once, smoke trailed out of the trash can, and fire could be smelt. “Oh, for-” Margaret groaned. “Should’ve put it out, wait here, I’ll-”

“Don’t worry, I have a better solution.” Octavia smiled and lifted up her hand…

“Thank you for informing me about your one-night stands, sweetie.” Margaret prepared to throw the cigarette away before Octavia extended her hand.

“Can I take a little puff?” she enquired politely, taking up the cigarette holder and pressing it to her lips, feeling intense strawberry lipstick. Good plan, Octavia. Marvellous plan.

“So you picked up smoking too?” Margaret sighed, watching Octavia extinguish the cigarette properly before throwing it into the trash can. “Bad habit. All right, you two. I have a lot on my plate, and I still have to eat it all. Been nice meeting you, Octavia.”

“Likewise, Margaret.” Octavia smiled warmly at the older woman. Then, she glanced at Vinyl, who had a quite surprised look on her face. “Shall we?”

Vinyl nodded and kissed her mother goodbye. Immediately upon Margaret’s retreat into the building, she took Octavia by the shoulder just as the cellist had turned away. “Do you smoke now?”

“Now,” Octavia clarified with a smile on her lips, “I am helping your mother not to throw the lit cigarette into the trash can and burn the garbage. It happened, and I rewound,” she explained.

“Well.” Vinyl licked her lips, which seemed to be cracking from the heat. “You are full of surprises, Octavia.”

“That, I am.” The cellist took out a handkerchief to wipe off her face, but, upon taking a look at Vinyl’s forehead, she giggled and wiped sweat off her friend’s face instead, making Vinyl sneeze for some reason. “Vinyl, you are unbearably cute when you sneeze.”

“I am not cute!” Vinyl protested rather childishly, wiping off her nose. “I am a cool, hip, trendy DJ.”

“Nobody uses the word ‘hip’ anymore.”

The two women proceeded up the road that seemed to be burning them even through the shoes, through the air that was visible because of the heat.

“I do.” Vinyl took a deep breath. “It’s awful. I’ve never seen such heat before. It’s a bloody anomaly.”

“What does the internet say?” Octavia took the already drenched kerchief and wiped sweat off her brow. Eww, Angel Octavia chided. Kinky, Devil Octavia countered.

“That there is no reason for this heat to persist - or exist in the first place.” Vinyl sighed and smiled wearily at her friend. “Listen, Tavi. It’s very cool that we finally met again, and I know I should offer you an evening out, but maybe we’ll just hit my place and share stories?” she suggested with an un-Vinyl-ish expression on her face - an expression reserved for Vincenza Staccato. “Catch up, so to speak?”

“Sure thing, Vinyl.” Octavia couldn’t hide the warmth in her voice if she tried. “But tomorrow, you owe me a night on the club.”

“Never took you for a club person, Club-tavia.” Vinyl yawned, huffing from the ever-rising temperature.

“Well, as I’ve said…” Octavia smiled, battling the heat innerly. “I am full of surprises.”

***

“My Dad was… all right, I guess.” Vinyl stared at the ceiling, then sighed and picked up the pack of cigarettes next to the bed. “Talks to me a lot about Yugoslavia, how they had this National Spirit, I mean, he doesn’t care much about modern Balkans apart from Montenegro, no opinion on Kosovo, just sad that Montenegro got hit during the Kosovo bombings aaand I’m rambling.” She took a drag and released the smoke, watching it curl up in the air before dissipating beneath the ceiling. “I mean, an Orthodox Italian from Montenegro, that’s an interesting blend.”

Octavia remained silent, knowing that Vinyl needed to speak out, albeit unrelated to the problems she’d had. But she just needed to be heard, and she, Octavia, was there for her.

“Not all Orthodox people are conservative,” Vinyl assured Octavia - even though it seemed to the cellist that the spinner was mostly assuring herself. “I once slept with an Orthodox girl. Very nice, going to become a neurosurgeon. You think Orthodox people are, well, all against gays?”

“I think,” Octavia said thoughtfully, “that we live in a weird country. Look, we have countries like Austria and Montenegro and Canada - and then we have Equestria. What a weird name for a country, don’t you think?” She paused, as if analysing the situation. “And Manehattan looks like a rip-off of Manhattan anyway.”

“Yeah.” Vinyl shrugged. “But oh what can you do. Oh.” She smiled. “I also slept with this one guy - a Montenegrin, by the way,” Vinyl clarified, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. “Named Perun, like that old god of thunder. His experience…” She sighed dreamily. “A doctor, speaks six foreign languages, drives a Harley, been to the war, worked for Doctors Without Borders, been to twenty-seven countries, has acquaintances in each…” She offered Octavia the cigarette.

Hesitantly, the cellist took up the cigarette. No, don’t! Angel Octavia protested. Devil Octavia shrugged: Come on, you’ve tried that before and didn’t get addicted. “So, what does he do now?” she wondered, taking a small puff. “Also, you said you weren’t straight. Why sleep with a guy?”

“Because this guy was worth it,” Vinyl replied, rolling over to face her friend on the bed. “Makes me bi, I guess? Now he’s growing marijuana. Legally. For medical purposes,” she clarified immediately, seeing surprise in Octavia’s eyes. “Curing ADHD, Leg Distress Syndrome and what-not.” Seeing the light in the cellist’s eyes, she sighed and shook her head, taking the cigarette away from Octavia. “No, not OCD. He says that is something you need to go through yourself. Realise your inner self or something.”

“Hmm. I wonder if this is the time you give me a joint and we make out?” Octavia suggested jokingly, just to avoid the issue altogether. “I could rewind so we wouldn’t get high at all.”

“Octavia, you are weird,” Vinyl announced after a pause. “You used to be weird, granted, but now you are an official weirdo.” She grinned, extinguishing the cigarette. “I like it. But no. I don’t do drugs. Any kind of drugs.”

“Neither do I.” Octavia rolled over as well and faced Vinyl on the bed. “I was joking.”

“If you want to make out with me,” Vinyl said, “you only have to ask. In fact…” She grinned deviously. “I dare you to kiss me. On the lips.”

“What.” Octavia blinked, while Angel Octavia repeated the gesture from her shoulder.

“Do you really want me to double dare you?”

Without thinking any further, Octavia leant in and planted a kiss on Vinyl’s lips. She couldn’t explore, though, for the spinner immediately withdrew with a surprised expression on her face. “Wow, Hardcore-via. Didn’t expect that.”

Octavia grinned, feeling the power surge through her, the terrible realisation of being able to do anything she wanted. “You wouldn’t expect this.” The fire grew redder and redder…

“Do you really want me to double dare you?”

This time Octavia grabbed Vinyl’s head, making sure that her hand was at the back of the spinner’s head and not on her neck, and locked their lips in a long, yet tongue-less kiss. “Mmm.” She licked her lips and smiled at the shocked DJ. “The second time’s definitely better.”

“Woah.” Vinyl blinked in lack of understanding. “You… Wait. You actually rewound time just to… You’ve become pretty hardcore, you know that, Tavi?”

“Oh yes.” Octavia attempted to toss her hair, which turned out weird as she lay on the bed. “You even called me Hardcore-via when I kissed you for the first time.”

“Well, I dared you anyway.” Vinyl sighed and placed her head on Octavia’s chest, making the cellist blush - which she found strange, considering the action she had just committed. “You know, my Dad talks a lot about Orthodoxy and going to Church. Says the Church is being portrayed in the media faultily. I don’t know, really. I mean… It’s just that, covering my head and crossing the proper way and-”

“Uh, Vinyl?” Octavia stroked Vinyl’s forehead lightly. “We’ve just kissed. Twice. You’re not gonna say anything about that?”

“Well, it was a friendly kiss, not a make-out session,” Vinyl mused. “Oh wait.” She raised her head, pecking Octavia on the lips. “Nohomo.”

Octavia laughed, feeling at once gleeful and liberated. She was with a friend, a friend with whom she felt safe, and sound, and with whom her OCD was just a little better, a friend who was with her, and with whom she, Octavia, wanted to be. “All right. Will you mind if we just fall asleep like this?”

Vinyl smiled. “Was counting on this.”

3. Sentimental

“It seems like it’s only growing hotter by the night!” Octavia exclaimed, breathing heavily, wondering how the hell the temperature could be so high with the sun already down.

“You’re telling me!” Vinyl huffed back as the two women made their way towards the club downtown. “Say thanks to me that my room is air-conditioned!”

“Thanks!” Octavia replied earnestly, taking a side step to avoid colliding with a busy woman dragging her child by the hand up the street. Wish the whole flat was air-conditioned... “But you kinda spent the whole day - and the previous night - with your head on me, and that’s pretty hot.”

“Of course it’s hot,” Vinyl agreed. “We should have had sex too, that would have been hotter.”

“You know what I meant!” Octavia blushed - even though she realised that Vinyl’s influence on her had been positive: she had become more open and less… reserved? Probably that, because why else on earth was she going to the club with her childhood friend?

Vinyl laughed merrily, putting her hand on Octavia’s shoulder. Feeling sweat on her palm and realising her mistake, she withdrew immediately. “Come on, Octavia. We’re just messing around here, but you do know you are my best friend, right?”

The question put Octavia is a state of stupor. She had come to the realisation that Vinyl was still her best friend, she loved her - as a friend - and she wanted to be with her - as a friend - but when it had been voiced like this…”Of course, Vinyl,” she said, putting all the seriousness and devotion she could muster into her voice. “So are you. Best friends forever?” She extended her little finger.

Vinyl quickly caught it with hers and shook in a sweet, long-forgotten childish gesture. “Best friends forever.”

Octavia immediately felt like giggling - so she giggled. She also felt like dancing a little dance on her toes - so she danced a little dance on her toes. What’s more, she felt like sharing something with her best friend - and so she did. “You know, when we were in bed under the fan, the sound of the fan sounded like heavy metal to me.” Octavia frowned, her smile vanishing in the night. “You know, it was like, I could hear the guitars and the vocals and the drums.”

Vinyl stopped and, in a very suspicious voice, asked, trying to be as soft as possible, “Did you take your pills?”

Octavia sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Never mind.” The fire grew redder and redder…

“Best friends forever.”

The two women proceeded in the direction of the club, leaving Octavia to wonder just how routinely she was using her powers, and whether it was high time to stop. But then again, it didn’t seem like she was given those powers to save lives, to save Manehattan, or to fight super-villains. It seemed to her that she was given those powers just to save Vinyl from that truck - and the powers just decided to stay. But for how long? “Vinyl.” Octavia tugged at her friend’s arm. “I… You do realise my powers may not last forever?”

Vinyl stopped again and pierced Octavia’s corporate veil with her eyes. “Tavi, do you expect me to say ‘but we will last forever’? Because you know this already.” Seeing the blush on Octavia’s cheeks - or maybe it was just the heat? - she laughed and pointed at the building up ahead, shining with neon light. “Come on, we’re almost at the club.”

“Hello, Octavia!” a familiar male voice sounded from the side.

Following its direction with her eyes, Octavia saw, to her deepest surprise, Mr Catcher, in a white linen suit, walking from the direction where the two women were headed. “Mr Catcher!” the cellist exclaimed, taking a small step aside from her friend. “What a surprise!”

The older man merely waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, you know, just keeping in tune with the times, trying to figure out what music young people listen to nowadays. Say,” he carried on with a smile, “who is the lovely lady accompanying you?”

“Oh!” Octavia extended her hand towards Vinyl. “That’s my-”

“Girlfriend,” Vinyl immediately supplied, leaning in and grabbing Octavia by the waist, leaving the cellist speechless and a little open-mouthed. “We’ve only been dating for a short time, but we try to have sex every twelve hours. Keeping it up, you know?” The DJ grinned.

“Of course.” Mr Catcher smiled radiantly, as if he hadn’t heard. Most certainly, Octavia assumed, he just didn’t care. “See you girls later! Have fun at the club!”

How did he know we’re going to the club? Octavia mused as Vinyl let go of her waist and quickly sauntered off to the side street, leaving the raven-haired woman to follow in dismay. Swiftly, she understood, as the neon lights of the building hit her in the eyes. Still, there was something to marvel at, granted, but there was still an issue to address.

Octavia grabbed her friend by the hand, effectively rooting Vinyl in place. The DJ didn’t look back, just standing there. “Vinyl, what was that all about?” Was that… wishful thinking? Hell, would that be wishful thinking on my side if I said that?..

“Just a joke!” Vinyl turned round quickly, with a grin on her face that, to Octavia, seemed a little fake. “You know, just joking around. Words spoken in jest.”

“Words spoken in jest,” Octavia remarked as they neared the neon-clad building, not very tall, but wide enough to host hundreds of people, “bear tides of truth.”

Vinyl shrugged. “But are still spoken in jest. Come on.”

Octavia wanted to argue, but, upon seeing (and, well, hearing) an argument breaking down in front of the neon-lit gates (Seriously? Who puts neon above the doors?) of the club, decided that two arguments at once would be way too explosive, especially in such heat.

“And I told you, you can’t go in in shorts,” the bouncer, a huge gorilla of a man in a black suit - how hot he must be! - but not sweating, as if sweat-of-the-brow was a concept entirely foreign to him, kept reprimanding a girl in shorts and top, the kind of slutty clothes Octavia disapproved of greatly, but would not mind putting on, especially with Vinyl around. Angel Octavia blinked in awe: What. Devil Octavia threw her fist in the air: Yes! We have a contact!

“Come on, Eddie,” Vinyl chimed in, materialising between the jock and the girl. “Let her in. You gotta admit, she looks so freaking sexy in those shorts.” As the bouncer stepped aside with a grunt, the spinner turned her attention towards the young brunette, who was gratefully passing through the wide-open doors. “Say, beauty, if you’re up for, you know, spinning some discs after the club, call for Vinyl Scratch.”

“So one minute you’re my girlfriend, and the next minute you’re making moves on other women?” Octavia asked half-jokingly, still feeling an unpleasant pang inside. A pang of… jealousy?

“I’m straight, just so you know,” the girl replied with a grin. “And I would never steal your girlfriend from you.”

“Maybe a threesome?” Vinyl suggested with an even wider grin. “After all, I just got you into my club.”

Nobody’s asking me! Octavia thought in irritation, and decided to speak out, but was, once again, interrupted, this time by a young man with a wild, fashionable haircut, and generally sehr modisch in his light blue suit.

“It’s my club, Scratch,” the man remarked as he approached. “I own the club. I own the record label. I own you.” He pointed his long, slender finger at Vinyl, whose grin had faded. “You just spin the disks. And you aren’t spinning disks here tonight.”

Without bothering to hear Vinyl’s side of the story, he grabbed the brunette girl by the shoulders and, whispering something seductive in her ear, led her into the club. The bouncer stood guard once again, unsure whether to let Vinyl in or not.

Not that Vinyl seemed to want to enter anyway. “Sometimes I just wanna break his face in,” the blue-haired woman hissed. “Wait. We actually can do that, right? I can do that, and you’ll just rewind?”

“Who’s that?” Octavia asked, instead of spiralling into yet another musing on her newfound powers. “He… doesn’t seem very nice,” she explained lamely, looking away with a blush. Since when am I choosing my wording when talking to Vincenza- erm, Vinyl?

Suddenly, the cellist realised that, indeed, this was Vinyl. This wasn’t Vincenza Staccato, and the times when she had been Vincenza Staccato would never come back. But she had a chance to mend fences, to know this Vinyl better… Just how much ‘better’ are we talking here? Angel Octavia wondered sternly. Devil Octavia replied, Of course, we’re talking the ‘gonna get into bed with her’ better.

“That’s Nigel,” Vinyl replied with a sigh uncharacteristic for her. “Or, as he likes to go by, Neon Lights. A stupid name, really.” Octavia didn’t remark about the smartness and well-thoughtness of the name “Vinyl Scratch”. “He is all right, but tries to make my life a living hell from time to time.” She chuckled suddenly. “Younger brothers are like that, driving you crazy with all they got.”

Octavia’s jaw must have hit the ground, but she didn’t hear the satisfying crunch. She worked the said jaw a little, just to see if it was still able to fit in place. “What.”

“Dad…” Vinyl lifted her hand and rubbed her eyelids, then took a step aside to let the new batch of club-goers in. Octavia followed suit. “He kinda… Had another family at the side when I was… One thing or another, I’ve recently found out I have a younger brother. Who runs a record label. And this club. And seems to love and hate me both, for some reason.”

Octavia just stood there, rooted to the place, wondering how to comfort her friend, who seemed way too dismayed to go to the club. Kiss her kiss her kiss her! Devil Octavia chanted with a grin. Kiss her… softly? Angel Octavia agreed.

Octavia had almost given in to those suggestions, but, stepping close to the spinner, was met with a friendly hug, an awkward one, especially considering what she, in her heat-induced dismay, had been about to do. “Vinyl…” she said almost breathlessly. “You’re sweaty.” Not what I meant to say!

To her surprise, the blue-haired woman just laughed and let go of the flustered cellist. “You’re right. It’s hella hot. We need to find something cold to drink. Cider?” she suggested with a grin.

Octavia nodded with a tiny smile. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

***

“The ripe, flagrant aftertaste of this cider-” Vinyl began, swirling the glass in her hand, but was interrupted by Octavia’s loud giggles. “Shush, you. As I was saying, the ripe, flagrant aftertaste…”

“Vinyl, do you even know what ‘flagrant’ means?” the cellist managed to let out through the tears of laughter. Of course she does! Angel Octavia assured. Is it a synonym for something kinky? Devil Octavia wondered from her shoulder.

“Well!” Vinyl lifted her finger and pointed it accusingly at the bartender. “Why did he give us cider in wine glasses then?” She waited for an answer, but the bartender merely cleaned the glasses - the proper beer glasses - with an old, dirty piece of cloth, like many bartenders do to kill time.

Devoid of other customers, the bar seemed isolated and more than a little alien. But Octavia didn’t care, here was Vinyl in front of her, her best friend, very close to her, and she was feeling… gratitude? Compassion? L-

“Are you going to pay today or tomorrow?”

Brought out of her semi-drunken contemplation, Octavia glared at the barman, whose dispassionate remark had ruined her trail of thought. The cellist had almost got up from her seat when Vinyl stood up quickly, fishing out her card in advance. “I’ll pay for her,” the spinner slurred, approaching the bar counter, “because she’s my girlfriend and she will pay me back in sex.”

Octavia opened her mouth to protest, but swiftly realised that she didn’t want to protest. In fact, something warm and fuzzy filled her stomach at the thought of being Vinyl’s girlfriend. Or, perhaps, this was just the cider speaking. Oh, seriously? Devil Octavia facepalmed fiercely.

“Yes, I’d like a taxi now, please.”

Octavia opened her eyes, wondering when she had managed to close them. It had been seconds, no? But here Vinyl was, not at the bar counter, but next to her at the table, calling for a taxi on her phone.

“Thank you.” Vinyl laid her hand on Octavia’s, sending a bolt of electricity through the cellist’s whole body. “Shall we go outside, dear? The taxi is due in a few minutes.”

Octavia didn’t even respond. She just got up, led by the blue-haired woman, her tan hand in the spinner’s white hand, following Vinyl’s lead, breathing in the pale air of late night - which did not offer any retreat from the growing heat.

Vinyl let go of her friend’s hand and reached for the cigarettes. Octavia felt a little violated at that gesture. “So, do I no longer satisfy you as a girlfriend, Vinyl, that you let go of my hand?” the cellist wondered jokingly, even though deep inside she knew she shouldn’t do that.

Except, she had a little blue flame that could reverse any mistake she was about to make.

Vinyl, lit cigarette in hand, struggled to keep her mouth from falling agape. “T-tavi, that was a joke. I mean-”

There was no need for the little blue flame, even, because the next moment a car emerged from behind the corner, running at top speed, and stopped abruptly in front of the two women. The window rolled down and a grinning old woman looked at the two friends, who were still shocked by the driving manner. “Ladies, your chariot has arrived.”

***

The car rushed through the city streets as if it were gliding across the wide forest path - or, rather, an elongated mountain road, swishing through the traffic, making Octavia marvel at how proficient the driver was. That’s ‘cause she drives manual, Devil Octavia said from her shoulder knowingly. Automatic is more convenient in traffic, Angel Octavia retorted. Octavia groaned innerly. Just kiss already, you two. “Can we go slower?” she said aloud instead. “We aren’t in a rush.”

“Sure you’re not,” the woman at the wheel replied, making a sharp turn onto the roundabout without looking at her left, “but I am. You gals will just go kiss each other to sleep or whatever you young people do nowadays, I frankly don’t care, but I gotta pick up my husband from the gym.”

Vinyl raised her brow - which looked very funny, considering that, in her drunken state, she had to commit to several attempts. “Your husband is a jock?”

“Barely.” The driver laughed. “He just goes there for the shower. We’re not exactly rich, but the gym management lets him use the shower after hours.” Another sharp turn almost made Octavia vomit. Not on me! Devil Octavia cried. Angel Octavia sighed. We’re imaginary beings, remember?

“Can’t he…” Vinyl hiccuped. “Can’t he, you know, return on his own?” She waved her hand in the air in a no-don’t-get-me-wrong fashion. “I mean, not that males aren’t as able as us women, which they aren’t, but-”

“Oh no.” The woman laughed the same little laugh that seemed at the same time distant and hearty, as if she was distancing herself from the world, but allowing the world a little peek into her life. “He’s blind, my husband. Can’t get on his own.”

Vinyl fell silent.

The silence continued until the car stopped before Vinyl’s block of flats, in the same rough, abrupt manner it had stopped when it had first arrived to pick up the women.

“That’ll be twenty-four fifty.” The driver grinned. “Whoever of you tops, please pay up.”

Wordlessly, laughlessly, Vinyl gave her a banknote.

“Sorry, hun.” The driver frowned. “Can’t split a fifty.”

“You don’t need to.” Vinyl gulped, then smiled earnestly. “Please keep it all.” Before the taxi driver could object, she practically grabbed Octavia and led her out of the car, no discussion allowed. “Come on, I need a drink at home,” she addressed a very surprised Octavia.

The taxi driver watched in awe as the two women stumbled their way towards the apartment block, then laughed and shook her head and disappeared into the hot, unyielding night.

***

“You ever had this feeling? When you are afraid at night and you lean up to the wall and start talking to someone, but not, like, talking, but mentally having a conversation?” Vinyl slurred and yawned, running her hand through Octavia’s hair mindlessly. “Well, I talked to you. Just wanted you to know.”

Octavia remained silent. The furies in her head were calming down, despite her not taking evening pills in fear of them colliding with alcohol. She couldn’t say she was exactly wasted, but drunk enough to just lie there in Vinyl’s bed, listening to Vinyl’s rambling, enjoying Vinyl’s ministrations. Enjoying her company, Angel Octavia nodded. Trying to get in her pants, you mean, Devil Octavia suggested. Angel Octavia took out a shotgun.

“But I was talking about art, right?” Vinyl shifted, making Octavia vaguely uncomfortable, the cellist’s head in Vinyl’s armpit. “Art becomes less elitarian, if you get what I mean. Everyone is suddenly a photographer, what with the phone cameras, everyone is a writer - you ever read what is being published nowadays?, everyone’s a musician - they think writing music is just about pressing buttons in FL Studio…”

“Don’t you use FL Studio?” Octavia wondered innocently.

“That’s the difference, Tavi. I use FL Studio.”

Octavia fell silent. Life was indeed very strange. She lifted her hand and watched the tiny blue flame that she didn’t allow to grow. It just lingered there, providing weird coolness in the extraordinary summer heat. The little flame disappeared and Octavia sighed, burying her head deeper in Vinyl’s armpit. It smelt of sweat, but it was a pleasant odour to her, somehow; she nuzzled the woman playfully and almost smiled when she felt Vinyl’s body tremble - and heard sobs.

The sobs grew louder and louder, until Vinyl broke into tears, collapsing on Octavia - the cellist quickly sat up, propping up the DJ - soaking her T-shirt with salty tears, breathing into her skin through the fabric. Uneasy, Octavia began to stroke Vinyl’s back, her inebriated mind trying to come to an understand with why she was crying. “Vinyl, are you crying because of that driver’s husband?”

“Just hold me, Tavi,” came the muffled reply. “Hold me.”

And so she did. She held her and stroked her back and hummed softly.

“Can I ask you to do something?” Vinyl’s voice reached her ears.

“Sure.” Octavia stopped with her ministrations, lifting her head up to meet Vinyl’s marvellous magenta eyes.

“Kiss me.” Vinyl said almost breathlessly, leaning in slowly and slightly, her lips entering Octavia’s safe distance.

“W-what?” Octavia didn’t lean back, didn’t let go. Her mind went blank, and her body froze in the solid heat of the room.

“Is it hard to understand?” Vinyl smiled through tears. “I like you.”

The DJ leant in, dragging Octavia in a sloppy drunken kiss, while her hand was wrapped around the cellist’s body, her other hand caressing the back of Octavia’s head. Without breaking the kiss, Vinyl pressed the weight of her body against her friend’s, pushing Octavia to the bed and pinning her there.

Octavia felt a surge of wild emotions rushing through her head: ecstasy, delight, surprise, but, most of all, fear. Fear that their friendship would forever be broken. Fear that something would change, way too much. Fear that she wouldn’t be able to…

She didn’t even mean to reverse. The hand just spun out automatically, and the little blue fire in it grew redder and redder-

“Can I ask you to do something?”

Octavia held Vinyl in her hands, stroking her back, while her mind was frozen in fear. The fear of what was about to come. The fear of what, essentially, had come already - but was reversed, mercilessly, automatically. “C-can it wait till tomorrow?” Octavia faked a yawn. “Vinyl, I, I really want to help, but I think it’s better if you just cry it out in my arms and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

For a while, Vinyl fell silent. Then the sobs continued - and, within the sobbing, there were three nods, first unsure, then pondering, then confident. Octavia sighed in relief.

As Vinyl fell asleep in her arms, Octavia realised that she had never felt this terrible about herself, ever in her life.

4. Normal

Octavia was walking through fire.

Fire had consumed Manehattan, it was burning every street, every house, but, this time, the children no longer played. They burned. Horrible screams filled up the air around the cellist, pleas for mercy and single gunshots that delivered said mercy to the select few.

“Wanna take a selfie?”

Octavia looked to her right and saw Vinyl, in those never-hot, never-cold jeans of hers, that ridiculous T-shirt, toying with a revolver. “It’s only one shot, and they go to sleep,” Vinyl said, pointing her gun at a pregnant woman crawling up to them, burning, screaming, her eyes bulging to the point that they would squeeze out of her face, falling onto the fiery ground. “Bam.” The DJ took the shot, watching the woman’s head hit the ground, blood splattering onto the flaming asphalt. “One shot, two people saved.” The blue-haired woman handed the revolver to Octavia. “This is the best selfie stick, Tavi. Wanna try it out? Together.”

Octavia backed down, her lungs filling with smoke, making her retch and cough. “V-vinyl, what’s going on?” she asked weakly, feeling the heat of fire licking at her bare feet. She pressed her back against the wall of an old building, a thought crossing her mind that this was just the outskirts, the real hell must be in the city centre.

“You are what’s going on.”

“Me?” Octavia tried to back down, but the wall was already at her back, and Vinyl was advancing. “I am not doing anything!” Looking at her hands, the woman saw flames in her palms, hot but not burning. “These are not mine!”

In a moment, there was nothing but whiteness all around, blinding whiteness - and Vinyl before her. “You’re in Limbo, Octavia,” Vinyl said, embracing the cellist by the waist. “Like Dante.” She pressed her chin against Octavia’s shoulder. “Both the writer and the video game character.” Locking their lips in a tight kiss, Vinyl mentally sent a message to her:

You’ll have to wake up eventually.

***

“Are you sure you’re not gonna melt in such heat with a cap on?” Octavia jested, shrugging off the remains of the bad dream, the details of which she could not remember, but which still lingered on her conscience.

Vinyl showed her friend her tongue, immediately prompting Octavia’s brain to wonder just how that tongue would feel- “It’s a kippah,” the spinner joked and went back from the mirror, admiring her look. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Octavia replied earnestly and went up to her friend. “But so much better without the cap.” With a giggle, she grabbed the woollen cap, taking it off - and immediately gasped. At the back of Vinyl’s head, the usually-blue hair gave way to silver grey, no, even pure white - when Octavia knew Vinyl was a natural brunette. That is, had been before she had started dying her hair. “Vinyl?..”

“That’s all right.” The spinner faked a smile. And put the cap back on. “I haven’t had the time to dye my hair yet.” At Octavia’s insistent gaze, she groaned. “Yes, I am getting white hairs. Ever since the truck accident. At least white is better than black.”

Octavia frowned. “Did you just make an indirect racist remark?”

“Hey, I have a tan friend.” Vinyl pointed her finger at Octavia’s light-brown face. “I can make racist remarks. Come on,” she urged, taking her phone up. “Let’s read the news real quick and then we’re off to adventures!”

“I don’t even know what you have planned for today!” Octavia moaned, just as her lovely brain supplied no less lovely images of what could be planned for today, if she, Octavia, had just accepted the kiss the previous night…

“Huh?” Vinyl’s voice came out really concerned. “Forest fires?”

Octavia’s mind immediately froze, providing a static, stative image of fire burning down streets, and her, and Vinyl… “Let me see.” The cellist grabbed the phone skilfully, despite Vinyl’s muffled protest, and skimmed through the news report.

“A dozen kilometres away from Manehattan?” The raven-haired woman looked at her friend in sheer disbelief. “The forests are burning, and the city is surrounded by forests. Has it happened before?” She hid the fear behind a rhetorical question. “I mean, on such a scale?”

“I don’t know.” Vinyl rubbed her eyelids, then, with a smile, grabbed her phone back. “Not in a long while, at least. Let’s go back to the world that was thirty years ago,” she joked and spun in front of the mirror. Seeing Octavia’s quizzical expression, she merely sighed. “We really need to work on your musical habits, Classical-via.”

“First, that’s a horrible name, and you know it.” Octavia furrowed her brows at the grinning DJ and took a step towards her, feeling a sudden urge to both hit and kiss her friend on the lips. “And second, I listen to a lot of music. Classical, jazz, rock, even metal.” Angel Octavia shook her head disapprovingly. “When it’s not blasphemous,” she swiftly added.

“Hmm.” Vinyl rubbed her chin in mocking pretense. “Maybe you will appreciate this new tune of mine.” With that, the woman drifted towards the sound system in the corner, humming and running through the playlists.

“Oh, so you don’t just spin disks, you actually write music,” Octavia mocked while her heart fluttered at the idea of listening to one of Vinyl’s songs. If they could be called songs, that. Of course, EDM wasn’t her particular area of interest, but this was Vinyl’s music, so…

“Ah, here.” Octavia almost gasped as Vinyl turned to her with a smile, the same smile that she would have when she would fish out a new prog record for Octavia to listen, back in music school.

The cellist wanted to embrace her friend right there, on the spot, but was frozen in place as she heard the music. There was a gentle sound of the plucked double bass, not the midi crap that so many modern musicians were guilty of using, but the real deal, a double bass recorded just for her friend, just for Vinyl. The drums soon joined in, laying down a nu-jazz rhythm.

Octavia expected a sax, but, instead, there was a deep rumble of several synths, and the high pitch of the mellotron. It was the tune they had jokingly composed all those years ago, in music school, when they had been overtaken by the prog craze.

This was their melody. But there was something lacking. Of course there would be something lacking. “You remember?” Octavia said almost breathlessly, finally taking a step in the direction of her friend.

“Of course I remember, Octavia.” Vinyl smiled radiantly, setting Octavia’s world on fire. “I thought you have forgotten…” Vinyl took a step towards her childhood friend as well. “But you didn’t.”

“I…” Octavia opened her mouth. I want you, she wanted to say.I want you right now. Please let’s get away from the world, the forest fires, the orchestra and the clubs. Please let me love you, and I will teach you to love me in return. Let’s build a castle where the flags would forever flutter and the bread in the kitchen would be always warm. Let’s have our own world, a world for two.

Instead, she said, “I think it would benefit from a cello.” Angel Octavia and Devil Octavia groaned in unison. How we say the things that we don’t mean to say, the little angel lamented. Indeed, and omit the things we want to say, the little devil agreed from the other shoulder.

“Reading my mind, Cellotavia.” Vinyl nodded, apparently brought out of stupor as well.

What was she thinking? Octavia marvelled at how swiftly her friend had regained her composure. Was she thinking of embracing me too?.. Or, maybe, after she tried to kiss me yesterday… “Maybe some violins too?” Octavia suggested, trying to shape her semifake smile into a genuine one. Which was not that hard of a task, given that the mere image of Vinyl’s beautiful eyes was enough for the raven-haired woman to melt.

“No, no violence.” Vinyl shook her head and turned off the music, which had already changed to another song. “I am a pacifist.” With that, she blew Octavia a kiss, making the tan woman chuckle, then laugh, tears of happiness in her lavender eyes.

I’m so gonna kiss her someday, Octavia thought through laughter, gazing into Vinyl’s eyes lovingly. One day.

***

“You were right. The cap is a bit too much.” Vinyl huffed and took off the black cap, immediately letting out a deep, liberated sigh. “Aaaaah. Who cares if I have grey hair, I don’t wanna die from a heatstroke.”

“Exactly.” Octavia nodded, biting her tongue about how she herself had been considering a hoodie, just to look stylish in Vinyl’s company. “I mean, you’re wearing a shirt that practically shows your bra, and a cap at that. How does that even make sense?” The cellist chuckled as the two women walked up the street, facing very few pedestrians, but an awful lot of cars. Of course, Octavia lamented mentally. They’re air-conditioned.

“Nothing makes sense, Chilltavia. Say, you would like it if I were without a bra, wouldn’t you.” Vinyl cast such a swift look at her friend, that Octavia couldn’t hide her shock and thick blush. “Oh yes, you would.” The blue-haired woman laughed light-heartedly and stroked Octavia’s cheek. “Okay, I’ll take that into consideration.”

Okay, that’s enough. Octavia stopped, drawing Vinyl’s full attention. Not that there was anyone else in the street to divert the spinner’s attention from the blushing cellist, who had just decided to spill the beans of the events of the previous night, the events as they should have unfolded.

“Say…” Octavia said slowly, averting her eyes at Vinyl’s mindful gaze. “if you were, um, to kiss me, like, kiss me really passionately, and then I would freak out and rewind…” Octavia shut her eyes tight. “Would you be mad at me for not telling you?”

She didn’t dare open her eyes, not until she felt Vinyl’s hand on her cheek. Opening her eyes at once, the woman saw her friend at a remarkably close distance, smiling at her. “Of course I would be mad at you, Octavia.” The DJ leant in and breathed on the cellist’s ear. “Because I like you and I would never want to miss a kiss with you.”

Octavia closed her eyes again as Vinyl’s lips slowly traced the path from the ear, through the cheek, approaching the soft, eager lips…

“Neon says hi.”

The gunshot wasn’t very loud. If anything, the murderer might have been using a silencer. Definitely a silencer, Octavia thought as she felt the bullet hit her in the abdomen. Her eyes fell on Vinyl, who had a small neat hole in her body, oozing blood. The life in Vinyl’s eyes flickered off almost immediately, but the muscles in her hands were still tight around Octavia’s waist and head so, when falling, she, dead, was still grabbing her friend, almost-girlfriend, who fell on top of her.

Octavia didn’t feel any pain, concluding that her body must have gone into shock. But even if it was not the case, she couldn’t feel anything, anything but a void at the mere image of her to-be-lover dead, so stupidly, such a dull, aching void filled only with… music? Because when musicians die, they hear music.

Octavia closed her eyes and concentrated on the music, an exact replica of Vinyl’s tune from the morning. The music grew distant as she felt she was dozing off to an eternal sleep, but then suddenly grew louder and louder and was right to her left-

“No, no violence. I am a pacifist.”

The song was through. Vinyl was there. She, Octavia was also there, ‘there’ being Vinyl’s flat. In the morning. With Vinyl in front of her. Alive, grinning at her stupid pun. Octavia wanted to cry, to laugh, to run to the woman.

Instead, overcome with sudden fatigue, she fainted.

***

“I don’t understand.” Vinyl slammed her fist against the table in irritation. “Why the hell cannot I understand?” She looked at Octavia, evidently trying to find an answer in the lavender eyes, but the cellist remained silent, her head still spinning both metaphorically and literally. “You were only able to move time back five minutes? And now you- ARGH!” Again, the fist came down on the tabletop. “And I cannot even say anything because for me NOTHING HAPPENED!” She glanced at Octavia. “Maybe you have just gone insane? Maybe I’ve gone insane? Maybe we have both gone insane?”

“I don’t know.” Octavia let out a sigh and closed her eyes, wishing she could lean back on the uncomfortable kitchen stool. “Nothing makes sense anymore. I am just telling you what I saw. What I did.”

“You saved me.” Vinyl closed her eyes and started rocking on her stool. “You saved me again. I owe you my life, twice. Octavia, I don’t know what to say.” When Vinyl raised her head, there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Tavi. If… If everything… If all of this is what truly happened - and I believe you somehow - then thank you.”

Octavia stood up, filled with sudden determination, her head spinning a little from the recent events. Without thinking much, the cellist took a step in, and, lifting her head, pressed her lips against her friend’s lips, but, instead of the deep, thoughtful kiss she’d been expecting, Vinyl withdrew, wide-eyed. “Tavi… What are you doing?”

“Wha-” Octavia closed her mouth immediately, the touch of Vinyl’s sweet lips still fresh on hers. “I thought!” She pressed a hand to her mouth. Wait. I didn’t- I didn’t just- “I- I thought you said you liked me…” she mumbled, taking a step back, disoriented, thoughts rushing through her head. Wait. Did I- Dammit, of course I reversed back then and then I reversed when I told her, and forgot that she forgot and now- shit!

“I never told you I liked you… I do like you, Tavi, but I meant to- Vinyl began slowly, but, upon seeing the cellist’s dismay, a realisation dawned upon her, her face lighting up in clarity and anger. “Wait. I said that I liked you, and you freaked out and reverted time and now you- Octavia!” The DJ pointed an accusing finger at the flustered woman, trying to find a place to hide, to steal and conceal herself. “This whole reversing time thing has become like a drug. You need to lay off, you hear me?” Anger boiled in Vinyl’s voice as she formed the accusation, the real reason behind her ragged breath, her trembling fingers, her rich, hastened heartbeat. “You promised you would share all those alternate universes with me when it concerned me!” Vinyl stood up and advanced on the poor cellist, her feet almost pressing into the floor next to Octavia’s soles. “You promised and you-”

Suddenly, Vinyl froze. Octavia still looked scared, but now her lavender eyes held some other emotion: was she… sad? Solemn? Lugubrious? Then the spinner saw the little blue flame. “No, no, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking da-”

“-And I believe you somehow - then thank you.”

Octavia shut her eyes tight, shaking. It’s better that way. Easier. “You’re welcome, Vinyl.” The cellist offered her best smile. “I’m sorry, my mind is still reeling. I, uh, I think I need a drink.”

Vinyl squinted her eyes, then sighed in defeat. “Tavi, I can’t tell you what to do, but A, it’s morning, and B, you’ve just had your pills. They don’t mix well with alcohol. Instead,” she prompted, “I suggest we go out for a walk.”

“No!” Octavia yelled, her eyes widening in fear as she clutched her abdomen where the bullet had accommodated itself some time ago. Only then did she realise that there was nothing to fear, that she was in Vinyl’s apartment, that Vinyl was by her side… and that she could, apparently, cheat even death by rewinding time. “But even if I can cheat death, I can’t cheat experience,” she mumbled aloud.

“Okay, we stay in.” Vinyl nodded, sad understanding welling in her eyes. “But we can’t stay holed up in my apartment forever. Eventually, we’ll have to go out.” The spinner got up and put on the kettle. “I know… I mean, I don’t know,” she quickly amended with a shake of her head. “I cannot begin to imagine. But I understand that you have actually seen - no, felt - us dying… I get it that it’s hard. But we’ll overcome this.” She poured some tea into the guest mug - which was, apparently, now Octavia’s mug. “Together.”

Octavia smiled softly, guilt killing her. If only one of us could confess normally and we’d be really ‘together’... “Of course, Vinyl. But let’s spend at least today inside. We can watch a sappy movie.”

“Oh!” Vinyl laughed, putting the mug on the table and pouring herself some tea as well. “We can, but then I’d have to kiss you. You know,” she grinned, “the unspoken rule of watching sappy movies.”

Octavia didn’t even blush as a stunning realisation crept upon her. “Vinyl… When I fainted. It wasn’t because of the mental shock. I really don’t feel that good…” Finally, she shared her assumption: “I think it’s because of the rewind. Because of all of the rewinds.”

The spinner fell silent, her smile vanishing, before she took the stool and put it next to the cellist, sitting down and taking Octavia’s hand in hers. “Tavi. If all the rewinds are making you sick, you should stop.”

“Oh yes?” Octavia snapped, the pain and the guilt washing over her, finding their ultimate release in Vinyl’s worried face. “Right, I should stop. And maybe let you die the next time you are shot? Or let you die under a truck? Right, that would be so much better for my health!”

Vinyl’s mouth fell agape as she saw the tears in her friend’s eyes. Maybe, at that moment, she realised just how much she meant to Octavia, and maybe, just maybe… “I’m sorry,” Vinyl whispered, pressing Octavia’s hand against her lips. “Tavi, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. You are my best- you are my only friend in the whole world. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Now that tears had appeared in Vinyl’s eyes as well, Octavia couldn’t hold hers in any longer. She cried and threw herself into her best friend’s embrace. “It’s too much, Vinyl.” Tears streamed down the beautiful tan face, curving the cheeks and ending up on the chin. “I can’t handle it. I am just a person! I don’t- I can’t-!” Octavia sniffed and sniffed and cried while Vinyl hugged her, patting her back uneasily. “Those powers! I just can’t!”

Vinyl just sat there in silence, letting Octavia cry it out, much like Octavia had let her cry her own eyes out some time ago. Apparently, Octavia thought as her sobbing ceased gradually, this was the only thing they could do for each other right now: be there for one another. Why can’t we just confess and live together and love each other? But then again, who would love such a freak? Mentally ill, physically not very fit, far from being shrewd, and now with such devilish powers… Hey, that’s racist! Devil Octavia remarked from her shoulder.

“Tavi.” Vinyl’s voice brought the raven-haired woman out of her reverie. “I need to see Neon. See how he is connected to this, if this wasn’t a set-up. If it isn’t a set-up. Hell, I am not even sure what tense I should use. It technically hasn’t happened yet, right?” Vinyl groaned, rubbing her forehead, simultaneously letting go of her friend.

“And it won’t happen,” Octavia said sternly, choking on her words. “Because you are not leaving home today. It’s dangerous.”

“I have to, Tavi,” Vinyl pleaded. “He is my brother. I need to see if he is somehow… I don’t know why he would do this…” The blue-haired woman gulped, closing her eyes shut. “I need to find out.”

Octavia wanted to protest, to remind her friend of the danger and the damage that had been done… or was about to be done… But, instead, she nodded resolutely, setting her fears aside. “Okay, I am going with you.”

Vinyl’s expression was quizzical, enquiring, disbelieving. But more so was it hopeful. And more than a little happy.

“Because,” Octavia answered the unspoken question, “I am the only one who can rewind and save your stupid ass again.”

“Octavia,” Vinyl said very earnestly. “If I could spend a forever with you, I would do so without thinking.” She placed her hand on Octavia’s hand again.

“Me too, Vinyl.” Octavia sighed, returning the gesture. “But I am not sure we have a forever.”

***

“Are you fucking insane?”

Vinyl advanced on her brother - and employer - with an evil look in her eyes, the look that scared Octavia so much. Instead, the cellist turned to the familiar black man who was standing in the corner on the office, paying no heed to the siblings’ quarrel.

“I could ask you the same, Nini! What the fuck did you do?!”

“So, um, Mr Catcher?” Octavia wondered quietly in the corner of the room, casting a glance at the polished mahogany desk, which was now a battlefield, and the rich blackwood cases, among other things. Hm, a record label owner who doesn’t have any music in his office. “What exactly are you doing here? Erm, were doing here?”

“I didn’t do shit! Are you insane? How in the world of living fuck could you assume I would have you killed?! And don’t ever call me ‘Nini’!”

Mr Catcher smiled at his prized cellist. “Well, I found someone who will sponsor our orchestra from now on.” He nodded towards Neon, who was now backing down from Vinyl’s significant advances. “No more low-class gigs for us, Octavia. Only playing at big venues now. I have really, really big plans for the future.”

“The future, huh,” Octavia reiterated dumbly. Somehow, the concept of the future didn’t seem to be particularly welcoming, especially now that she herself had prevented several futures from happening - rather, in this universe. “That’s… nice, I guess.”

“Someone wanted to kill me in the street with a bloody gun, and he said it was a present from you!”

Octavia scrunched her nose. Hate it when people misinterpret my words. Well, the assassin’s words. Ugh. Anyway.

“How the fuck does that make sense?” Neon finally straightened himself, standing almost toe-to-toe with his elder sister. “If someone had wanted to kill you with a gun, you wouldn’t be standing here right now!”

Vinyl opened her mouth, then looked at Octavia hopelessly. Only now did Octavia realise just how much their friendship (Just friendship?) meant to Vinyl, just how keen Vinyl was on keeping her secret, how she would never give her away.

“That’s because he didn’t, after all,” the cellist quickly supplied, receiving wondrous looks from all the three other people in the room. “Apparently, he couldn’t bring himself to kill a person, much less two people. Besides, there was a police patrol approaching. So he vanished.” Please buy it please buy it please buy it…

“What ever happened to hiring professionals?” Mr Catcher shook his head suddenly and smiled. “Good thing my musicians are not amateurs. See you at practice, Octavia, and your girlfriend, sometime. See you sooner, Neon.”

“See you, Catch.” Neon grinned, forgetting aught and all immediately. Watching the bald man leave, he sighed dreamily. “That’s one hell of a man. Ambitious, with a plan. He inspires me.” The host held a meaningful pause. “As for you, Vinyl, I have no idea what has really happened, but I assure you I have nothing to do with that. Now, get out of my office. And take your girlfriend with you.”

Octavia huffed, but Vinyl grabbed her by the waist and led towards the door. “Let’s go, Tavi. Oh, and Neon?” Suddenly, Vinyl took Octavia’s head in her hands and pressed her lips against the cellist’s. Octavia yelped in surprise, allowing Vinyl’s tongue inside. The kiss lasted for seconds, but to Octavia it seemed like hours. In reality, she didn’t even get to close her eyes, getting a weird angle of her friend’s face instead of blissful darkness. “You’re just jealous because you’re never getting this.”

Neon just shrugged and pointed at the door.

***

“I trust him.”

“What?” Octavia blinked, still trying to cope with what had just happened. “You…”

“He is my brother. I would see if he were lying.” Vinyl inhaled deeply and suddenly sneezed. “Damn, the air is so hot it burns my nose.”

“Vinyl, aren’t we going to talk about how you just kissed me?” Octavia wondered timidly, her heart beating faster. This is it. This is the time when we finally come clean. No reversals this time, she promised herself. Whatever happens.

“I don’t know, Tavi.” Vinyl sighed, but didn’t stop, only speeding up instead - which made the cellist quicken her pace. “I really don’t know anything, anymore. I know I like you, but I don’t know if I like you as a friend or- Fuck!” the DJ swore as her shoe literally got stuck in the ground. “What the fuck is wrong with this city?”

“Asphalt is melting,” Octavia remarked quietly, visions of her nightmare flooding her head. “Let me rewind a few seconds back…” She held out the hand with the little blue fire…

“Huh?”

The fire never grew redder. Instead, it lingered there in her hand, cold to the touch, then disappeared altogether, like a hoax, like a joke, like an impractical decoration. “What’s going on?” Octavia realised she was panicking now, for real. If her powers could fail her… Then what was stopping that assassin from effectively killing her? Worse even, killing Vinyl?..

“You must be burnt out, Tavi,” Vinyl assured the cellist with a smile, freeing her shoe from the charcoal putty. “You need to relax a bit, and your rewinds will be strong as ever.”

“I don’t know, Vinyl…” Octavia stopped by the TV shop as she read the subtitles to the news on-screen on display. “Forest fires advancing at an alarming rate…”

“Warnings of fires breaking out in the Manehattan park…” Vinyl read aloud as well, stunned in place. “What is this all about?”

“Not just the park,” Octavia whispered. “The whole city is gonna burn.” She looked at Vinyl with tears in her eyes.

“And I am the reason behind it.”

5. Way out of Here

“Vinyl, do you really have to wear a tux?” Octavia frowned as she took a T-shirt that proclaimed I’m a cellist and all my puns fall flat on the audience in a small bold typeset. “It’s just a rehearsal, no need to get all fancy.”

“Still better than this silly shirt of yours,” Vinyl remarked, checking her bow tie. With a grin, she spun on her heels. “Heh, who would ever have thought I would wear a tux and you would opt for a T-shirt?”

“That’s one of the few T-shirts I took to your place when we moved in,” Octavia said automatically, taking off her soft shorts reserved for wearing indoors. Suddenly, the realisation of what she’d said sank in, and her lavender eyes widened in fear. “I mean!” She quickly turned towards her friend, but Vinyl was smiling warmly at her.

“That’s all right, Tavi. Friends move in together too.” The DJ winked at the slightly embarrassed cellist. “And they often…” Vinyl licked her lips sensually. “They often become more than friends afterwards.”

“Vinyl…” Octavia shut her eyes tight. “Please don’t tease me. Just tell me if you like me or not! I cannot bear this any longer…” There were almost tears in her eyes, but Octavia held them back. “I need to know if I… I need to know if we like each other. Because our relationship is weird as fuck.”

“Wow, you actually said ‘as fuck’ instead of ‘af’.” Seeing gravity in Octavia’s eyes, Vinyl sighed and motioned for the woman to sit next to her in the chair. “I don’t know if I like you. And please don’t tell me if you like me or not. I cannot know yet. I don’t know if I’ll react appropriately and we don’t need more rewinds.” The spinner smiled softly at her cellist friend. “Your health is very important to me, Tavi.”

Octavia sighed in return and placed her legs on Vinyl’s, effectively sitting in the spinner’s lap.

“I’m just scared of having a relationship.” Vinyl stroked Octavia’s knee in such a fashion that made the cellist want to jump her friend there and then and not care about rewinds or anything else. “I had a girlfriend, I trusted her with my life, hell, I thought I loved her, but-” The woman gulped, her hands instinctively springing up to protect her neck.

“Tell me, Vinyl.” Octavia stroked the back of her friend’s hand gently, with a sad, understanding smile. “I’ll be your shrink, your confessor, your everything. Just talk to me.”

Vinyl paused, then gritted her teeth, then broke into tears. “Margaret,” she said finally, her sobs quieting gradually. “Her name was Margaret. She…” Once more, the sobbing intensified, and tears made their triumphant comeback. “She said ‘I decide whether you live or die - and I decided you should die’. And she- she choked me!” Vinyl squeezed Octavia’s hand so tight it hurt the cellist, but the cellist in question remained silent, standing - or, rather, sitting - steadfast for her friend. “It wasn’t a game anymore. I couldn’t use the safe word, I- I- Can you rewind?” Vinyl asked suddenly, looking up at Octavia’s face with her puffy red eyes.

“W-what?” Octavia feigned ignorance.

“You’ll still know the truth, but you will save me from the emotional breakdown of telling you.” Vinyl shut her eyes tight. “I know it hurts your health, but I think I need it. Tavi, can you rewind? Please?”

With a sigh of defeat, Octavia threw out her hand, and the blue fire appeared in it, winking at its mistress mischievously. However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make it grow redder. The fears of yesterday surfaced once again. “I- I can’t…” She looked at her friend with deep fear in her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… can’t. I cannot rewind anymore!”

“Shh,” Vinyl immediately chimed in, grabbing the cellist by the waist. “It’s all right, Octavia. It’s all right. Don’t worry, your powers will come back eventually.” As soon as Octavia opened her mouth, Vinyl swiftly supplied, “And even if they don’t… You’ll always be my little Tavi.” The woman stroked Octavia’s cheek with the back of her index finger.

Octavia chuckled, her spirits somewhat brighter. “I’m three years older than you.”

“And still as beautiful as the day we met.” Vinyl lowered her lips and kissed Octavia’s knuckles. “Can I still watch that sexy naked body of yours while you get dressed?”

Octavia smirked with confidence. “You bet.”

***

“Ah, Octavia, fashionably late, as I see?”

The cellist blushed slightly at the remark as she hurried towards the stage, Vinyl gracefully carrying her cello case. “I’m sorry, Mr Catcher, it’s just that something held me up,” she blurted out, not even able to come up with a decent lie. When you can no longer rewind, she mused, you have to be careful with what you say.

“Oh.” The black man smiled radiantly, motioning with his violin bow towards the empty stool on the stage. “It wouldn’t happen to be your lovely girlfriend, would it?” The conductor glanced at Vinyl with the same smile he reserved for everyone equally. Everyone but Harpo, it seemed. “Who can sit in the front row if she wants to watch the rehearsal. Quietly.”

“Of course I want to watch!” Vinyl grinned at everyone, winking at Octavia, who’d unpacked her instrument and was adjusting it, a thin blush still covering her tan cheeks. “I watch her shower, so why don’t I watch her perform?”

“I like her,” Harpo remarked with a grin, turning to Beatrice. “I like her a lot. Do you think we can have a foursome with her and Octavia?” Receiving a nice, well-estimated slap on the back of his head from the woman, the man frowned and nodded. “I understand. No foursomes for poor Harpo. Only the sanctity of a relationship.”

“Wait, what?” Octavia raised her head quizzically as she picked up her bow. “You two are an item now?” Was it… Did what I said to Bea back then contribute to this? Do all of my actions actually have consequences?.. The raven-haired woman looked at her shoulders for guidance, but the little angel and devil weren’t there.

“If you had been attending the daily rehearsals,” Frederic chimed in amicably but sternly from his place at the grand piano, “you would have found out much interesting.”

“And when are you getting a girlfriend, you benevolent benefactor?” Vinyl snarled, making Octavia giggle in delight at how her girlfriend was misusing big words. Suddenly, she grew sombre. Friend. Not really girlfriend. Damn. “Or, rather, judging by your looks, a boyfriend.” A grin from Vinyl was all that was needed for Frederic’s brow to twitch and for him to turn back to the sheet music.

“So, um, Vinyl, is it?” Catcher didn’t even drop his smile, which was unnerving the spinner more than a little, as was evident by the growing anxiety in her facial expression - that only Octavia was able to notice, as it seemed. “When I said you should sit quietly, I meant it. After all, you’re the one who’s been keeping my prized cellist from her daily rehearsals.”

“Oh, you know, we just have to keep up with the schedule,” Vinyl explained eagerly - maybe a little too eagerly to Octavia’s liking. “And, by ‘the schedule’, I mean hot, kinky, fervent sex.”

“Which is why Frederic doesn’t need a woman to slow him down,” the conductor concluded seriously, his smile dropping at last.

“Wow,” Vinyl whispered audibly in Octavia’s general direction. “Looks like he wants a piece of that meat himself.”

Octavia giggled, but stopped at Mr Catcher’s insistent glare. What’s his problem anyway? It’s not like our lives begin and end with the ensemble… Well, maybe Frederic’s.

“Okay, everyone. Before we begin, I’d like to remind you that the competition for Best Young Musician will take place tomorrow at six at the usual venue.” The bald man threw his arms wide, as if in greeting. “And you are all invited! So long as you cheer for Frederic, of course.”

“Oh, Catch!” Harpo slammed his hand against his forehead. “I totally forgot. Bea and I were planning on going to the ci-” At which point he received a kick from the mare in question. “On going to see Bea’s aunt, I mean. Who’s really, really sick. The aunt, not Bea.”

“Mr Parish Nadermane,” Catcher said in a tone that allowed no argument. “Either you attend tomorrow’s performance - or you are fired.”

“Ouch.” Vinyl winced from her solitary confinement in the audience. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Mr Catcher sighed and rubbed his eyelids with his free hand. “Is she going to do that all the time?” he addressed Octavia in a half-moaning, half-begging voice.

Vinyl smirked, reiterating Octavia’s confidence from the morning. “You bet.”

***

“You were amazing.”

Octavia smiled, her head on Vinyl’s belly as the two women lay in the spinner’s spacious bed. She sighed and closed her eyes, watching the shapes of the day dance before her eyelids. “Thank you, Vinyl.”

Vinyl began to toy with Octavia’s long, gorgeous hair, making sure to sniff it well beforehand. “You smell like strawberries, Tavi.” She scratched Octavia’s scalp with the tips of her fingers. “And your performance was spectacular.”

“Oh,” Octavia jested, her heart beating faster at Vinyl’s ministrations, “you do know that word.” She opened her eyes and watched the blue flame dance in her palm. Would she freak out people in the streets if she were to do that in public? Or was it only she who could see the little blue flame? But Vinyl could see it too… Octavia’s blood ran cold. What if Vinyl, too, was just part of her imagination? Just like this whole time-reversal, and the angel and the devil on her shoulders. What was real and what was fantasy?

Suddenly, the cellist really craved her medicine that she’d neglected for the past couple of days. But she couldn’t show Vinyl her weakness. She had to be strong. Maybe then Vinyl would sort out her feelings and embrace her, Octavia, with open arms?

“Tavi,” Vinyl’s voice reached the cellist’s ears. “Can you kiss me? Just kiss me, no strings attached? I don’t want a relationship yet… But maybe a kiss will bring it closer?”

Oh, how Octavia wanted to give in and drag the spinner into a deep, fervent kiss! How she wanted to conquer that woman, to give herself unto her, to drink of her, to quench her thirst in this eternal heat! But she had to stay strong. She had to be adamant and unwavering. She did want a relationship. And Vinyl had to get the damn memo.

“Well, my dear Vinyl…” Octavia drawled, feeling the spinner’s hectic heartbeat, the heat of her body, the anxiety. “I am a cellist, so I would rather wait and have a proper kiss, with strings attached.”

Vinyl’s heartbeat slowed down somewhat, and Octavia realised the spinner was preparing some witty remark to conceal her disappointment. Well, she thought, if she is disappointed, she has a right to that. But I also have a right to be disappointed when the object of my desires can’t make up her damn mind! Devil Octavia cheered from her shoulder: You show her, girl! Octavia smiled: Missed you guys. Where’s the angel? Devil Octavia shrugged.

“You know, Octavia,” Vinyl drawled, drawing the cellist’s immediate attention. “You are disregarding my lust for your luscious lips, so I’d say you should sleep on the couch.”

Octavia could practically see the grin with her closed eyes. “First of all, you don’t have a couch. And second of all, avoid. Alliteration. Always.”

Vinyl laughed and pressed her lips against Octavia’s forehead. “Huh?” The lips soon turned into the back of the spinner’s hand. “You’re burning, Tavi. How could you catch a fever in such heat?”

“If I have a fever,” Octavia purred, feeling better than ever, “it is because you give me fever,” she sang in a fake bass, and Vinyl soon joined in:

“In the morning,” Vinyl sang, “Fever all through the night.”

***

The children were still burning.

Only, this time, Octavia was burning them.

With mad laughter, she directed the blue fires at the young ones, watching Time itself rip apart, watching the children grow, age, and die, all the while burning in the terrible hellfire. Then she put up the other hand, and the adults became children, and the whole process began from the start, again and again.

Suddenly, Octavia felt a tug at her hand. Turning round, she saw Vinyl’s sad, lamenting eyes. The flames died in the cellist’s hands.

“Tavi,” Vinyl begged her, pressing her lips against Octavia’s hands, “Tavi, you have to stop. Please. You are hurting all of us.”

“I saved you!” Octavia attempted to redeem herself, only now realising that she was effectively killing all these people, and that she was feeling unspoken joy at that. “I saved you… twice.”

“Octavia, I love you,” Vinyl said simply and earnestly. “I love you, and I know you need to stop.”

Octavia didn’t mean to burn her. The fires danced automatically as she watched, helplessly, as Vinyl turned into a piece of burning flesh before her own eyes, dying with an unrecognisable last word on her lips.

But, of course, Octavia recognised it at once.

***

Octavia woke up with a scream.

Vinyl mumbled something next to her in bed, then opened her eyes suddenly, her unseeing eyes focusing on her friend for a moment. “Bad dream, Tavi?” she asked automatically, placing her arm over the cellist’s belly.

“More than a dream, Vinyl,” Octavia whispered more to herself than to the spinner, still clutching the arm to her breast. “I fear it’s gonna be real.”

“Dreams don’t come true, Tavi.” Vinyl yawned and nuzzled into the pillow, soon drifting off to snory sleep.

“Dreams don’t,” Octavia whispered almost inaudibly. “But nightmares do.”

6. Drown with Me

“Okay, this is ridiculous.”

Octavia wiped the sweat off her brows and forehead with an already drenched handkerchief, walking side by side with Vinyl to the venue. “Wearing a tuxedo in such heat. It’s ridiculous. I hate those formalities.”

“A posh cellist who doesn’t like formalities.” Vinyl giggled, setting Octavia’s world on fire with that jingly sound. “But yeah, you’re right, it’s even hotter than yesterday, and a tux isn’t exactly comfortable. It hurts my boobs too.”

“Har har.” Octavia frowned as the two women approached the large open space, which was already filling up with people. “Keep reminding me that you do have big boobs and I don’t.”

“I like my Tavi flat-chested,” Vinyl remarked, looking around the place. “Where’s the concert hall or wherever the competition should take place?”

“Ah.” Octavia grinned evilly. “That’s the rub, my dear Vinyl. It’s an open venue. See the stage off in the distance?” The two women showed their invitations to the security and were allowed past the weird, almost makeshift, fence.

“So, wait a minute.” Vinyl stopped and pointed at the quite spacious stage a small way off from them. “You’re telling me there’s gonna be no air conditioning?”

“Nu-uh.” Octavia was ready to dive into the sea of the people grouping up before the stage, but spotted a familiar figure of Mr Catcher walking up to her, a fat black woman on his arm. How could such a handsome man fall for such a woman? Devil Octavia wondered from her shoulder. Octavia shrugged mentally. Angel Octavia appeared on the other shoulder: Love works in mysterious ways, my dear.

“Good evening, Octavia, and… Vinyl, was it?” The bald man greeted the two women, nodding his head towards the woman who was practically oozing sweat. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Mrs Catcher.”

So Freddie doesn’t need a woman to slow him down but you do, apparently? Octavia thought but kept her musings to herself.

“She’s a catcher for sure,” Vinyl mumbled. Immediately, she grinned and looked up at the woman. “Good evening, Mrs Catcher! My name’s Vinyl Scratch, and lemme introduce you to my girlfriend Octavia. She’s a cellist at your husband’s ensemble, and she really likes when I take a big long dildo and-”

“I think we really need to go,” Mr Catcher said with his unwavering radiant smile and led his wife away before she could faint. “Don’t forget to wish Frederic luck.”

As the couple disappeared, Octavia glared strongly at the spinner, trying to shame her wordlessly. Seeing as Vinyl remained just as cheerful as she had been moments before, the cellist decided that some words were indeed in order. “Vinyl. Was it really necessary?”

“Of course!” The DJ grinned widely, sweating in her tuxedo. “Everyone should know about your preferences! And when we know where we stand, I’ll introduce you to Sir Morning Glory!”

“You…” Octavia chuckled at the absurdity of it all. “You seriously named your-”

“Hello, Octavia. Hello, Vinyl.”

Octavia turned towards the source of the voice with a slight internal groan and with a big outwards smile. What is this, an evening of timely encounters? “Hello, Frederic,” she greeted her colleague, who, in his tuxedo, didn’t seem to perspire at all, despite the evergrowing heat. “Feeling well?”

Frederic laughed, eliciting, for some reason, a sight blush from Vinyl. It’s the heat, Octavia immediately assured herself. Vinyl is blushing from the heat. “More than well, Octavia. Some half an hour ago I composed a new tune I am going to play tonight, instead of the old one.” The man laughed again. It was a weird, liberated laughter, the kind of laughter usually reserved for prisoners who had finally done their time. “Catcher is going to be mad,” the pianist explained gleefully, “but I feel like I needed this one. I don’t care if I win. I just want to play it.”

“O-kaaay…” Octavia blinked, shaking Frederic’s hand automatically. “Whatever suits you, Freddie,” she whispered as the pianist winked at her… friend, and walked in the direction of the backstage.

“That tux does suit him well, though,” Vinyl mumbled, still somewhat flustered. “Say, when we’ve decided where we stand and all, can we have a threesome with him?”

“What.” Octavia’s little angel and devil reflected her deadpan expression as she looked at the spinner.

Vinyl blinked. “What. I didn’t say anything.”

“Vinyl.” Octavia pressed her finger into Vinyl’s chest. “I know when you’re lying.” Sinner! Angel Octavia chimed in immediately from her shoulder, where she lounged with Devil Octavia, drinking Bloody Marys.

“Your finger is touching my nipple,” Vinyl observed calmly.

The cellist groaned and, throwing her arms to the sky in a desperate gesture, walked away towards the stage, followed by Vinyl’s brilliant, jingly laughter.

***

“So when is Freddie performing?”

Octavia didn’t even have the audacity to facepalm. Instead, she just glared at her friend, who would have received yet another round of shushes from the nearby audience if it weren’t for the fact that she had wondered that (for the umpteenth time) during the round of applause for the previous performer. “Are you going to ask that after every performance?”

“Yes?” Vinyl glared back, even though her glare was more of a kitten-glare than a I’m-a-serious-woman-glare. “I am getting tired of standing. Why didn’t they provide seating?”

“Because,” Octavia explained again, and again - and again, “it is a summer festival of sorts. Be thankful that at least the performers get seating.”

“Well, this cellist,” Vinyl remarked, pointing at the man disappearing backstage, “didn’t need a seat. He played while standing.”

Octavia huffed and tossed her sweaty hair. I seriously need to cut it shorter. Angel Octavia protested: And look like a lesbian? Devil Octavia blinked. Erm, so? What about us doesn’t scream “we’re lesbian”? “I have no idea who in their right mind would play the cello without sitting down first. Oh, rejoice.” She deadpanned, watching a familiar young man enter the stage and walk confidently towards the piano. “Freddie’s here.”

The audience fell silent as Frederic took his place at the grand piano, adjusting the stool until he felt comfortable. Though, to Octavia, it seemed that he could feel comfortable at any position, so long as he had his fingers on the keys. Immediately, she chided her mind for providing a different definition of the word “position”, thanks to Vinyl’s earlier suggestion.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the pianist spoke out into the microphone next to the piano. “As well as those who identify as apache helicopters.” This elicited some chuckles, notably from the younger members of the audience. “Today I want to perform a new tune of mine, which I don’t have a name for yet - but I do know it was written for a good friend of mine, Octavia, who, it seems, has finally found true love.”

Octavia’s mouth fell agape. Two main thoughts rushed through her head: What? and We are… friends with him? But she couldn’t let her thoughts surface any longer, because Frederic pressed his fingers against the keys and began to play.

***

“That was haunting.”

Octavia exhaled, nodding to the remark as she walked side by side with Vinyl through the fence and out in the open. “Chilling,” she replied, wiping sweat off her forehead with cheap paper towels she’d snatched from the backstage while congratulating Frederic on his victory. Catcher hadn’t seemed displeased in the slightest, though, praising the pianist for his “fearlessness”. Theft is a sin, Angel Octavia reminded. It isn’t when it’s so hot, Devil Octavia replied.

Vinyl nodded, taking a paper towel for herself. “Evocative.” She took a left, much to Octavia’s surprise. “Let’s walk. It’s a hot evening but I don’t want a taxi.”

“You do know the word ‘evocative’, hmm,” the cellist remarked, dropping the notion that Vinyl didn’t want to feel emotionally attached to another taxi driver. “You know, now that you mention it, maybe we should have a threesome with Frederic after we’ve begun dating.”

The two musicians passed the street that would lead them to Neon’s office. Vinyl stopped abruptly, looking at Octavia in disbelief. “What.”

“What.” Octavia grinned. “I didn’t say anything.”

Vinyl laughed, her finger deliberately touching Octavia’s nipple. “I know when you-” A loud shriek exited her mouth instead of the end of the phrase.

Octavia spun on her heels, only to see Neon, pale, crying, dripping blood, crawling towards his sister, evidently disregarding the cellist at all.

Vinyl threw herself at the man, propping him up, so as not to let him fall on the ground. “We need an ambulance, stat!” A swift look told Octavia it was hopeless: the blood loss was way too severe. “Nini, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“I thought…” Tears streamed down Neon’s face freely. “I thought he was a friend! Like a real father, not the kind of father we have… Run,” he whispered, his eyes widening. “He’s coming for you. He’s gonna-” Coughing up blood, Neon collapsed in Vinyl’s arms. “I shouldn’t have let the security go home early.” With that, he closed his eyes, forever.

Octavia gasped, looking around for assistance, but there was no one around, not a single soul… Apart from-! “Mr Catcher!” The raven-haired woman rushed to the man’s side, not daring to think how he’d emerged there so unexpectedly. “We need your help! Neon, he’s-” Octavia froze as she saw a gun in the bald man’s hand.

“Oh, I am here to help, Octavia.” The black man smiled and pointed his gun at the lamenting Vinyl’s forehead, letting the bullet do its job. “Do you know why a silencer is useful, Octavia?” The violinist chuckled. “It silences.”

Forgetting all she’d been taught about being perfectly still while dealing with armed people, Octavia rushed to Vinyl’s side, watching life leaving the woman’s body, her soul leaving the earthly chains and dissipating in the night heat. “Vinyl, Vinyl, Vinyl!” she screamed, looking, then, with fear, at the bald black man, who hadn’t put the gun away still. “Why did you do this, Mr Catcher?” she addressed the conductor, her upbringing disallowing her to call him anything but “mister”, despite what he had committed.

“It’s simple, Octavia.” Catcher’s smile faded, and the cellist expected a classical evil monologue, all the while trying to make the little blue flame in her hand run red, to no avail. “The Staccatos were unnecessary competitors. Now Neon’s business is mine, and - rejoice! - I have a place both for Frederic and you in my brave new world.” The man rubbed his chin. “Hmm, I thought that would take more time to explain.”

“You are not getting away with this, Catcher,” Octavia whispered the most cliche phrase she could come up with, holding Vinyl’s dead but still warm body, clinging to her still.

“Octavia, let’s dispense with the pleasantries.” Catcher sighed. “Are you up for working with me in my brave new world or not?”

“Thank you,” the cellist replied with dignity, tossing her hair defiantly. “But I would rather remain in the old world.” Angel Octavia and Devil Octavia facepalmed in unison.

Catcher shrugged. “Okay.” He pointed the gun at the cellist.

The last thing Octavia heard before drifting off to eternal sleep wasn’t the shot. It was Frederic’s magnificent piano.

***

What woke her up was thunderous applause.

Octavia shrieked, but her yell was drowned by the sound of people clapping, cheering for Frederic’s spectacular performance. Immediately, she realised that the blue fire and the music had saved them once again, and that it might not happen again.

The cellist grabbed Vinyl by the arm and led her out of the crowd, much to the spinner’s dismay. “Tavi, what the hell are you doing?” Vinyl demanded as soon as the two were out of the people’s hearing reach.

“It happened again,” Octavia hissed, straight to the point. “Vinyl, we died again. And music brought us back again. Right to this point. And we don’t have much time.”

“Wait wait wait.” Vinyl shook her head in disbelief. “Octavia, this is insane. Who killed us? When? Where?”

Octavia groaned, knowing she had no time to explain or persuade the blue-haired woman. Suddenly, she knew just what to say. “Neon. He is in danger. Catcher shot him first. We need to warn him!”

“WHAT?” Vinyl yelled, grabbing Octavia’s head in her hands. “Octavia, this is serious. Let me get to that Catcher bastard and kick his face in! If what you’re saying is true-”

“It IS true!” Octavia yelled back, freeing her face. “But he has a gun! We have to be smart. Let’s run to Neon’s office. He is about to let the security go home. We can’t let him do that.”

Vinyl opened her mouth, then closed it and grabbed Octavia by the hand.

And so they ran.

***

“This is ridiculous.” Neon laughed, echoing Octavia’s sentiment from earlier. “Catch, killing me? What are you two on, because I want some.”

“Nini, please.” There were tears welling in Vinyl’s eyes. “If you ever listen to me, listen to me now. He is out there, walking here, with an intent to kill both you and me. Don’t ask me how I know, don’t ask me anything, just trust me, for God’s sake, please trust me.” Vinyl stepped in and grabbed the man’s hands in his, making Neon let out a surprised sigh. “Nini, you are my brother, and I love you. I want you alive. So please, do as I say. Call the security and tell them not to leave, but to hide. Wear a bulletproof vest. I know you have one. As soon as Catcher comes in, the security will subdue him, and we’ll all be alive and well.”

Neon shook his head, then sighed and shook off Vinyl’s pleading hands. “Okay, sis. Whatever. I don’t know what bit you, but okay.” He pressed the button on his speakerphone. “Hey, guys? Can you come in?”

Immediately, two square-shouldered men closely resembling gorillas rushed into the office, standing guard by the door. Vinyl could only marvel at their diligence.

“Can you guys hide in the smoking room next to my office? Apparently, there will be a bad man out there to kill me. We need to neutralise him before he can neutralise me.”

Without questioning the tactics of their employer, the gorillas marched through the door into the smoking lounge. Vinyl exhaled in relief and looked at her sibling with thankful eyes. Octavia could only marvel at how Vinyl had trusted her, and how, now, Neon was trusting Vinyl.

Before she could muse on the nature of trust, however, Neon shooed them away, pointing at the door to the smoking room. “Out, you two. I am going to get changed. Gonna wear that bulletproof vest of mine.”

The women diligently left, taking their place in the smoking lounge behind the security men’s backs. Octavia wouldn’t mind looking over the room, but in the darkness she could see nothing, with the curtains closed and the lights off.

They didn’t have to wait long. Soon, there were sounds, painful sounds: of a door opening, of footsteps, a one-sided greeting, a gasp, a shot. The security rushed out before Octavia could comprehend what was happening. But Vinyl was ahead even of the men.

They hadn’t spent enough time in the darkness for Octavia’s eyes to need to adjust. She could see everything clearly: Neon, who was standing at the side, staring in disbelief at the floor, where the two men were holding Catcher, his arms behind his back, his face to the floor, his gun thrown aside.

Finally, Neon spoke up. “I have no idea what the fuck just happened. No. I don’t want to understand. Let’s get out of here. You guys turn him in to the police, okay?”

The three people walked out of the building, feeling the heat licking at their feet, hearing screams, seeing fire. “What the-” Neon began upon seeing what Octavia and Vinyl could see very well too: the whole city consumed by fire, people burning, buildings burning, the asphalt burning, numerous vehicles burning too. “Holy fuck, what the hell is wrong with this city? Okay.” He quickly grabbed Vinyl by the shoulders and did something Vinyl evidently didn’t expect. He hugged his sister quickly and kissed her cheek. “Take care, sis. Get to the car and get out of here, stat. We’ll meet again, I know. First, we need to get out of here. See you!” With that, he ran off in the direction of the parking lot.

“Could have offered us his car,” Vinyl mumbled, casting a look at Octavia. “You sure you can’t rewind this fire into nothingness?” she jested, but Octavia was in no mood for jokes.

“It’s because of the last rewind. Because of all the rewinds. By saving our lives, I doomed the city. And I can’t save it!” Octavia shouted into the sky. “I don’t have a choice!” She yelled on top of her lungs. “I don’t have the powers anymore!”

“And what if you had?”

Octavia fell silent and looked at her friend. “I… I could have…” Then she realised the implications. In order for this whole thing to never have happened, she should have never used the rewinds in the first place… And she realised that Vinyl had realised this as well.

Vinyl smiled sadly at the cellist. “Yes, you just had to let me die under the truck.” She sighed and scratched the ear piercing, her arms crossed behind the back of her head, a sure sign of insecurity. “I would have understood. And, you know, maybe… I mean.” The woman gulped down fear and unwanted tears. “I mean, you would save the whole of Manehattan, and, and I-”

“Fuck Manehattan,” Octavia hissed suddenly, grabbing Vinyl by the shoulders. Now, in the face of death, she saw hope and opportunity. She saw her future. “Fuck this wretched city and fuck all who live in it. I have you. I love you.” Vinyl gasped, trying to step back, but Octavia held her in place by the shoulders. “I don’t care how many alternate realities passed, or how many times I turned back time because I was afraid of this. I am not afraid anymore. I love you, Vinyl. I love you.” Octavia didn’t lean for a kiss, didn’t step back. “I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I will forever love you and I will devote my life to you, even if I am forever in the friendzone.

“I reverted time when you confessed that you liked me. I was a fool. I reversed time once more when I confessed that I liked you, with a kiss. I am past all that now. I will not rewind any more. Whatever your reply, I will take it like a grown woman that I am.”

To say that the following silence was deafening was to say nothing. Still, within the silence, there was the shouting, the screaming, the noise of burning people Octavia could not care about.

Finally, Vinyl took a step. “Kiss my neck.”

“What?” Octavia didn’t falter, didn’t step back, but didn’t oblige either. “But Vinyl, I thought…”

Vinyl took Octavia’s hands in hers. “I could say I love you, that I’ve really grown to love you through this week, because I do love you - but actions speak louder than words. Kiss my neck.” She smiled. “You’re the only person in the world I trust enough to do that.”

Octavia nodded, realising just how much of a privilege she had just been given. She started out slow, by pressing the back of her index finger at the side of Vinyl’s neck. She could feel the shuddering within the beautiful body, but the spinner didn’t step back. The tan finger soon traced the lovely neck and, as soon as Vinyl seemed relaxed enough, Octavia’s lips joined in.

Vinyl tensed a little, almost flinched, but, under Octavia’s soft, tiny, gentle kisses, melted and relaxed, finally, after all those years. Octavia kept kissing her girlfriend’s neck, putting all her love and care in the gesture, not giving a damn about burning children. After all, Equestria shouldn’t have existed in the first place. It was an atrocity in itself. And if life itself decided to rid itself of this wretched city, and maybe the whole country soon, then who was she to judge? After all, life was-

“We need to get out of here.”

Octavia stopped, feeling the flames almost lick at her feet, the wondrous feat of burning asphalt to be witnessed. And yet, Vinyl was right: there was nothing to witness here. They had to go away, get into Vinyl’s speedy car and rush to the North, and there- well, there they had all the forever in the world. They would have their love, and their True North. “You’re right, love. Let’s get out of here.”

“One sec.” Vinyl took out a cigarette and lowered it to the ground. The flames licked at the paper and the leaves within ignited. The spinner grinned and took a drag. “Always wanted to do that.”

Laughing, without a care in the world, the two women turned, and walked away from the burning city, from the burning and screaming people, from Neon, from Frederic, and from Catcher, from aught and all.

Moscow - London - Moscow, 2016