Patchwork

It was the week of Hearth’s Warming Eve in Canterlot. The streets were filled with snow, the air was filled with carols, and the windows of every shop were filled with gifts to buy for family and friends. Mannequins in store windows were decked out with the loveliest, fanciest dresses around. Bookstores had special deals on the class Hearth’s Warming stories. Even apartment buildings were decked out in a rather festive mood: each little patio had different decorations according to the taste of the pony who lived there. Some had banners of red and green hanging down from them. Some hosted families of miniature figures that sat on little tables, overlooking the festivities of the city below. Some just had tinsel or lights wrapped around the railings of the porch, giving off a simple but festive feel. With every square inch of the apartment buildings being decorated in a different way, one would think that they would have appeared chaotic and messy. Yet instead, the colorful Canterlot apartments popped out beautifully in the white snow. Each tiny living space hosted a different pony than the rest, and all of the banners and tinsel and tiny figurines seemed to tell different pieces of one great story of all the ponies who resided in the building.

On a street corner somewhat distanced from the other houses, in a building embellished with elegant silver and gold decorations, a gray earth pony named Octavia was musing on this concept to her uncle while doing the dishes.

“I mean, perhaps at first they do seem cluttered, but really, they’re more like old quilts: lots of different squares, all telling their own stories, and yet each one fits just fine with the one next to it.” Octavia rubbed a china dish dry as her uncle grunted and handed her another one.

“I think they look like a mess.”

“The apartment buildings, or old quilts?”

Her uncle grunted yet again. “Both.”

Octavia opened her mouth to say something in polite retaliation, but she decided to hold her tongue. Her family wouldn’t understand the types of sentiments that she was speaking of. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing— her family had their own point of view, just like everyone else, and the silver and gold decor lining their house contributed to the festivity of the street it was on, much in the same way that the patios did to their apartment buildings. Not that her family was aware they were contributing to anything. They had decorated to please themselves and themselves only, although nopony but the fillies actually seemed pleased.

“Say,” Octavia’s uncle said, snapping her out of her thoughts, “where’s that friend of yours? She could be making herself useful, instead of blasting out her eardrums with music… if you can even call that stuff ‘music’ at all.” He chuckled, and handed Octavia another fragile dish to dry. Octavia winced as she thought about what would happen to the expensive plates if Vinyl tried to help clean them.

“Erm… I believe she’s down in the basement, working on… stuff,” she replied nervously. Inviting Vinyl Scratch to her family’s home for Hearth’s Warming had seemed like the natural thing to do, since Octavia had learned that she hadn’t any living relatives to spend the holidays with, but it was a bit harder for Octavia’s family to accept the situation.

Truth be told, Octavia couldn’t blame them. She remembered very distinctly when she had reacted to her roommate the same way they now did. After all, Vinyl was quite the opposite of everything she was: Vinyl was loud and rambunctious at times, messy and laid-back and rebellious. And even when she was quiet— like the time Octavia had bet her she couldn’t go a whole week without speaking— she somehow still managed to find ways to make a racket. Octavia chuckled thinking about that bet; she had set it up as a way to get a few moments of silence to herself. Goodness, how that had backfired!

While the two ponies continued their dish-washing in silence, a white unicorn with electric-blue hair was lazing on the couch in the basement, blasting dubstep through her headphones. Her makeshift room consisted of the old couch she now lay on, a small end-table and a soda can atop it, a comforter and blankets even older than the couch, and various musical devices littering the floor. Vinyl had done her best to make sure there wasn’t trash lying around, but she didn’t even know how to clean up the space any better than that. She’d never bothered to keep her own room tidy, and she’d certainly never had to worry about uptight, cleanly, sophisticated ponies in her room before. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; after all, she shared a house with Octavia. But at least back at home, Vinyl was allowed to do as she wished with her section of the house.

Ding-dong, ding-dong. Ding, dong, ding, dong. The doorbell chimed a tune throughout the home, bringing Octavia and most of her relatives trotting to the door.

“Now who in Equestria could that be?” her great aunt Allegro questioned, in a proper, snooty voice. Octavia remembered admiring her great aunt above all her other relatives when she was a filly. Now she found her somewhat annoying, and her voice sounded like a badly tuned violin. Actually, all of Octavia’s relatives seemed less agreeable than usual this year, as if the windigos from the original Hearth’s Warming Eve had suddenly swept across them.

The eldest member of the household, Octavia’s great-grandmother (whom everypony referred to as Grandma Melody), opened the door. She blinked and stood back in surprise to see Octavia’s younger cousin, Martha, and Martha’s son Elliot at the door.

“Well… If it isn’t Martha and her little colt. And what, pray tell, brings you here?” asked the elderly pony. The rest of the family looked at the two ponies with a slight look of disgust: Martha, contrary to her musically talented family, had gotten her cutie mark in being a waitress and was currently working at minimum wage in the shoddiest restaurant in Canterlot. And it certainly didn’t help that Elliot was still a blank flank, despite the tendency of the family to get their cutie marks early.

Martha bowed her head in respect, and Elliot did the same. “Mrs. Melody,” she started, not daring to step outside of a formal tone. “I understand that you aren’t too pleased with us—”

“You’re darned right, we aren’t!!” snapped a brisk, older grey pony. Trombone Tony, as he was called, was possibly the oddest of Octavia’s relatives, and the least formal. He had a short fuse, and though not violent, he was the most menacing branch on the Melody family tree.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Martha sighed, then quickly snapped upright. “I mean, I understand perfectly your discontent for Elliot and I—”

“Elliot and me,” corrected several family members at once. Martha blinked in confusion.

“Yes, um, well, y’see… The landlord raised the price of our apartment, and, well, we don’t ask much… We only wish to stay here until the snow stops while I search for someplace cheaper. It’s too cold to sleep outside, at least, not without catching a terrible disease…” she explained hopefully.

“You want us to give up a room for you two?” grunted Trombone Tony.

“Well, yes, but not for very long!” bargained Martha.

“Even if we did have an extra room, you wouldn’t have anything to pay us with, and we don’t have an extra room, so THERE!” Tony grunted with satisfaction. Martha, apparently deciding that situation was hopeless, started to turn around, motioning for Elliot to follow.

“Wait!” Octavia cried, pushing past her aunts and uncles. Allegro looked at her in surprise.

“Why, Octavia, darling, what’s gotten into you?!” The way she said “darling” made it sound as if Octavia owed her some great debt, and was refusing to repay it.

“She can have my room,” Octavia said, without turning around. “After all, I wasn’t paying for it. She shouldn’t have to.”

“And where are you gonna sleep?” asked her uncle. “The kitchen?” He smiled proudly as a few of the other family members snickered.

“I’ll sleep in the basement with Vinyl,” Octavia said without hesitation. Everyone gasped, minus Martha and Elliot, who did not recognize the name. The little colt started to shiver and peered inside the warm house with longing.

“Octavia, darling,” spoke the screechy, badly-tuned-violin voice, “I know you’re used to sharing a room with that…” She coughed. “Ah… ruffian… but this is the holiday season! We wouldn’t want to take your nice quiet room from you!”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Yes, but darling,” she retorted, in an almost mimicking tone, “We wouldn’t want dear Martha and Elliot to have to sleep outside in the snow during the holiday season, would we?”

Martha looked at Octavia with even more surprise than the other adults. “Why… Octavia…”

“Cousin. You can call me cousin. After all,” she said, glancing back at the others, “we are family.”

Trombone Tony looked like he was about to say something, but just then, a door behind the cluster of ponies swung open. Vinyl stepped out tentatively as everyone turned to look at her. She took off her headphones and put them around her neck.

“Uhh… am I interrupting something?” she asked. It suddenly struck Octavia as ironic that Vinyl’s voice matched her last name— it was scratchy and rough— and yet it was still more appealing than the terrible sound of her great aunt’s voice, which should have been melodic.

“Oh, we got some unexpected guests, that’s all,” said Octavia smugly, motioning for Vinyl to come over. Her family wouldn’t dare appear impolite in front of a guest, even if that guest was somepony they disliked.

“Vinyl, this is my cousin Martha and my first cousin once removed, Elliot. Their landlord raised the rent on their apartment and now they need a place to stay. I offered them my room, so I’ll be sleeping in the basement with you until they can find a cheaper living situation.”

Vinyl nodded approvingly. “Rad.”

Octavia turned to the new guests. “Martha, Elliot, this is my roommate, Vinyl Scratch, also known as DJ P0N-3 in the music industry. She’s also staying here for the holidays.”

Martha held out her hoof politely to Vinyl for a hoofshake. Vinyl misunderstood the gesture and casually brohoofed her.

“Octavia… I-I mean, Cousin,” Martha stammered. “It’s been so long.” Of course, what she meant by “it’s been so long” was “you’ve changed,” but Octavia didn’t mind. Actually, she rather enjoyed the surprised look on her cousin’s face.

“Well…” Trombone Tony said roughly. “I guess you’re staying then. But you’d better not cause any trouble! Now hurry on upstairs and unpack whatever few things you have. Your room is the second one to the left. And don’t you dare touch any of Octavia’s things.”

“Y-yes, sir! Thank you very much! A-and thank you, Cousin!” Martha nodded to Elliot and the two of them fled upstairs before someone could find a reason to kick them out.

The rest of the day was relatively normal. Octavia brought her cello and the rest of her things downstairs, where she stacked them neatly in the corner of Vinyl’s messy room. She then helped her uncle finish doing the dishes and discussed classical music with several of the oldest family members. Martha and Elliot would not stop thanking her for their room, although Elliot wouldn’t speak unless he was spoken to first. Since nopony else showed any interest in speaking to him, Octavia asked Elliot about his hobbies and how he was getting along in life. He seemed honored that an older pony would take the time to have a conversation with him, and was really very pleasant to talk with.

Octavia noticed as she talked with Elliot that Martha was watching her with a curious, wonder-filled look. She supposed it wasn’t without cause: Octavia knew full well that when she and Martha were fillies living in Grandma Melody’s household, Octavia had always been the bossy older cousin, the most proper of the fillies, and a pony who strived to be just like her family when she grew up. And yet, here she was, speaking to a colt as if he were an equal and with as casual a voice as was possible for a Melody. To Martha, Octavia soon realized, the drastic change must have seemed like some kind of magic.

Well, she decided thoughtfully, she wouldn’t be wrong.