Affettuoso: A Romance in Four Parts

“I’m sorry, Ms Melody, but we are no longer accepting resumés,” the gentleman said.

Octavia leaned forward pleadingly.

“Please, sir. It was simple happenstance which delayed my entry. You can see from my resume that I have extensive experience and could be quite an asset. Surely you could make an allowance…”

“Which would mean making allowances for fifty others,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, we just can’t make exceptions. You’ll just have to wait for the next submission period like everyone else.”

Octavia bit back an argument. Antagonizing him would not get her into the Royal Canterlot Philharmonic.

“Yes. Of course,” she said. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

Octavia gathered her resumés and music, stuffing them back into her portfolio.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where a starving cellist might find some affordable housing, would you?” she asked, hefting her cello case.

The interviewer smiled wearily.

“We were all starving artists on the outset, weren’t we,” he said sympathetically. “Well, tempted as you might be, I would avoid Canterlot. Even shoddy apartments have outrageous rent prices. If you ask me, you should look at Ponyville. The ticket prices for the train are quite affordable, and though housing in Ponyville isn’t readily available, it’s not really a desirable area, so prices stay reasonable. If you happen to find an apartment-mate and can split the rent, you should manage quite well.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said politely, bowing as much as she could with her arms full before retreating.

She sighed once she hit the street. She’d been summarily turned down, and almost hurt her chances for any future submissions. It had not been one of her better days.

Octavia looked up and down the block. There had to be places she could afford somewhere, whatever her interviewer had said. It would just take some time and legwork to find it.

Octavia shouldered her cello, regretting for a moment that she hadn’t specialized in something a bit more transportable. The piccolo, perhaps.

Canterlot was where the action was. That was where the jobs were, and that was where she was going to live, and heaven help anyone who got in her way.

~~~~

Vinyl Scratch turned off the ignition on her coupe and sat for a moment, taking slow, even breaths. Slowly, she reached up, straightened her tie, and adjusted her trademark sunglasses. Vinyl Scratch was no more. DJ P0N-3 had arrived.

The first time Vinyl had tried to DJ had been a total disaster. The moment she’d walked on stage she’d completely frozen up in front of the crowd. The lights, the noise, the sea of people, it had all been too overwhelming. It was in the midst of that that DJ P0N-3 was born. DJ P0N-3 was everything Vinyl Scratch was not, at least initially. By pretending to be DJ P0N-3, Vinyl had overcome her stage fright, and learned to thrive on the energy of the club. Now the transition from Vinyl Scratch to DJ P0N-3 was more habit than anything else. Vinyl no longer needed to pretend to be someone else to get on stage. The moment of imagined transformation was little more than a way of making sure she had her head in the game.

Vinyl popped the keys out of the ignition and opened the door, stepping out of her coupe, her seeming ever-present smirk firmly entrenched. It was going to be a good night. No, it was going to be a great night.

~~~~

The train ticket was reasonably priced, Octavia had to admit. Even if she did have to buy two so her cello, mon chaton, could stay with her, and not go back in the luggage car. Mon chaton was the single most important thing she owned. She’d be damned if she let it out of her sight on a crowded train.

She sat her cello on the window seat before sinking into her own with a groan. Canterlot was every bit as expensive as the interviewer had warned. She’d seen hovels not fit for rats that cost more per month than she’d seen in a year. Over and over, block after block, she saw the same thing, until her feet throbbed in agony.

Octavia adjusted in her seat, stretching her legs as much as she was able, and wincing as the aches in her feet infected her calves as well.

She had to find someplace to stay, and soon. Hopefully she could find an inn, a bed and breakfast, or even a hostel in Ponyville as she looked for a place to stay. And employment. She mustn’t forget employment. Everything cost money, and her resources were rapidly depleting.

Octavia sighed. It was days like this that made her wish she drank. Or could afford to. At this point she’d knock back the cheapest vodka she could find if it meant enough of a buzz to let her ignore her aching legs, regardless of whether or not it was something she particularly enjoyed.

The train whistle gave a blast, and the car rumbled and lurched as the train began to move. For a while Octavia stared out the window at the scenery flying by her window, but before long the gentle swaying of the car and the low rumble as the train continued down the track lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~

Vinyl Scratch stopped the sequencer as the last notes of her piece faded behind the roar of the club crowd. She allowed herself a smirk as she watched the crowd move, cheering for more.

Tonight was a good night. The energy was high, and the people were hungry. Vinyl looked around the club, both gauging the mood, and scoping out where a few of the hotties had gone to. Several good looking girls had already made their availability known. DJ P0N-3 never wanted for company. With her lanky, androgynous physique, girls lined up to have a chance with the DJ.

A twinge of something unpleasant ran through her. She shrugged it off without a thought. She liked her lifestyle. She liked being sought after. She liked the attention. And if it prevented her from having something a bit deeper… well, everything was a compromise.

Vinyl flashed the crowd her trademark grin, and they responded with increased cries. One more encore tonight, she thought. One more, then I see where the night takes me.

Vinyl kicked up a beat on her sequencer, and let the music flow.

~~~~

Octavia jerked awake as the brakes squealed and the train gave a lurch. She blinked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her jaw cracked as she gave a yawn. She rubbed her eyes again. They felt sore, and she was sure she had bags under them. The brief nap she’d managed to grab on the train did little to sate her need for sleep. She gathered her things as she felt the train jerk and stutter to a stop.

Octavia stood and lurched down the aisle, keeping her head down to avoid the glares and curious looks of the other passengers. Ponyville was more of a stop than a station, and at this time of night she was likely the only reason for the train to stay. Octavia moved as swiftly as she dared without banging on anything.

As soon as she’d stepped away from the train, the whistle blasted a note, and steam erupted from exhaust valves. As the train shuddered and rocked into motion, Octavia hurried toward the station exit. Her mind was still foggy from unfulfilling sleep. She staggered through the station, only stopping to speak to an official looking gentleman.

“Pardon me,” she said. “Is there a hostel or motel nearby, perchance?”

The uniformed man gestured sharply with his head.

“There’s a motel attached to the station for stopovers,” he said. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s cheap.”

“Sounds perfect,” Octavia replied. “Thank you.”

The man nodded respectfully. Octavia hastened in the direction he’d indicated.

Before long she found what he’d meant. The room was cheap. It was also a dingy beige that screamed for renovation without going so far as to be dirty. It was as much as Octavia needed at the moment, and it wasn’t long before she’d been swallowed by the endless abyss of sleep.

~~~~

Vinyl watched the girl get dressed, a wistful melancholy settling over her. The sex was good. Vinyl wasn’t complaining. But the awkwardness of that period between the sex and finally being rid of her ‘guest’ drove Vinyl to distraction.

“So…” the girl said once she’d put her shoes on. “I… um… guess I’ll be going?”

“See you ‘round the club,” Vinyl told her.

“Yeah,” she replied, before walking out.

The wistfulness drained from Vinyl leaving a blue funk.

She wasn’t sorry the girl, whatever her name was, was gone. She was one of a multitude of skinny, fake-boobed girls from too much money that Vinyl saw around the club. It was just that after they were gone, there was nothing distracting her from the loneliness.

Vinyl sighed. Even if those big-boobed bimbos wanted more, which they didn’t, and neither did Vinyl, it would never work. They didn’t fit into her world, and she didn’t fit into theirs. Hers was a world of sweat and stress and elation and hard, grueling work. She imagined theirs was a world of cocktail parties, too much expensive alcohol, and ‘oh my god, did you hear what “the help” did to Fifi’s Rolls?’ She imagined, anyway. She’d never been a part of that world, nor did she have an interest in it. She’d had a few people express interest in more private parties once she’d gotten trendy, but she’d turned them all down. She still thought of her music as being populist. How else could she, with no formal education, no money, and no family name, become a sensation? No, let the rich folk find some sellout to play their parties. Vinyl’s music was for everyone.

Besides, they were girls, even if they were in the same early-twenties age range as Vinyl. They didn’t have the same experience. Mommy and Daddy still solved most of their problems for them. They didn’t know what it was like to be out on their own, living without a safety net.

Vinyl got out of bed and walked to the door without bothering to dress. She stood stood there a moment, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the frame. Brief fantasies flickered through her head. Fantasies of that nameless girl returning and professing undying love, and feeling their souls intertwine as their lips met.

Vinyl locked the door and stumbled back to bed. To Hell with today, and the same for tomorrow.

~~~~

Ponyville was disgustingly charming. It was quaint. It almost went so far as to be cute. Even the stores. They were whimsical, lacking any hint of a chain or megastore.

Octavia shook her head. It was the houses that worried her. There were no visible apartment complexes, and no blocks of what looked like affordable housing.

Octavia frowned. How was she even going to know where there was room available?

“Ah HA!”

Octavia jumped at the cry emanating from behind her.

“Thought you could sneak by me, did you?” the voice continued. “Well nothing escapes my Pinkie sense, new person!”

Octavia turned to see an energetic woman with a veritable mane of shockingly pink hair.

“I beg your pardon?” Octavia replied.

“You heard me,” the young woman accused. “You’re new in town.”

“I am,” Octavia confirmed.

“And you thought you could escape my notice!”

“What?” Octavia said. “I don’t even know you!”

The woman stopped mid-accusation, mouth agape.

“Oh,” she said. “In that case, I’m Pinkamena Peitz, but everyone calls me Pinkie Pie. Probably because I tell everyone to call me Pinkie Pie.”

“Um,” Octavia said uncertainly, “pleasure to make your acquaintance?”

“Likewise,” the woman chirped. “Now that that’s out of the way, we need to decide where your ‘new person’ party is going to be!”

“Oh. Um, while I appreciate your good intentions, I don’t know if I’m staying.”

“Oh, you totally are,” Pinkie assured her. “My Pinkie sense is never wrong.”

“Your ‘Pinkie sense’,” Octavia repeated.

“Uh huh!”

“Well, your Pinkie sense may be on the fritz, since I don’t yet have a place to stay.”

“Oooh,” Pinkie exclaimed, “that’s a good one. But don’t worry, Auntie Pinkie is going to make everything work out fine!”

“I do believe I’m older than you,” Octavia said.

“Yuppers!”

Octavia opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but couldn’t think of a proper response. Instead, she merely shut her mouth and shook her head.

“Now,” Pinkie said, “let’s see what we have here.”

Octavia watched curiously as Pinkie circled her, eyeing Octavia up and down.

“What do you do?” Pinkie asked.

“I’m a cellist.”

Pinkie gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

“That’s a terrible thing to say in public!” she hissed. Pinkie looked up and down the street worriedly. She sidled up to Octavia and whispered out of the side of her mouth.
“Between you and me,” she hissed, “how often do you chell?”

Octavia gaped at Pinkie, her mind blank. She felt her face heat as a thought occurred to her.

“What? I… no, I… buh…” she sputtered. “I play the cello! I’m a musician!”

“Oh,” Pinkie said simply. “That makes much more sense. Hmmm… Lyra would have been perfect for you, but now she’s with Bon Bon. She plays a small harpy-thingy.”

“Lyre?” Octavia said, hazarding a guess.

“No, she does! Honest!” Pinkie said.

Pinkie didn’t seem to notice Octavia working her mouth in a wordless search for a response.

“So that rules out Lyra. And Bon Bon. There really aren’t that many… Oh! Of course!” she said with a snap of her fingers. “Vinyl needs a roomie.”

“Flatmate,” Octavia clarified. “Is Vinyl also a musician?”

“She’s a DJ and turntablist,” Pinkie answered.

“So, no.”

“Yeah-huh,” Pinkie replied. “She plays a club in Canterlot every other night! She’s really popular. I get her to play some of my parties too, and she even gives me a discount! She’s really nice. You two will get along great!”

The mere thought of club music made Octavia’s headache.

“It was probably foolish to think it would be that easy,” Octavia said, slumping her shoulders. “I knew the orchestra was a longshot, but I thought just finding a place to live and some session work wouldn’t be this hard.”

“What are you talking about?” Pinkie asked, pulling out her cell. “This’ll be great! Just let me call her.”

Octavia frowned. She needed a place to stay, but was it worth it to share a place with someone who thought thudding bass qualified as music? What if she constantly practiced? What if she expected Octavia to share in the enjoyment of her ‘music’? On top of that was the fact that most people involved in such things tended to be younger. All in all, it seemed a recipe for disaster.

But she needed a place to stay. She needed work and to be nearby if she was going to last until the next time the Canterlot Philharmonic accepted resumes.

Octavia sighed. She was an adult. Even if they didn’t get along, she could be civil. They didn’t have to be friends, they just had to share the domicile.

“Hiya, Vinyl,” Pinkie said into her phone. “I got a roomie for ya. Whaddya mean ‘what for’? You don’t want to stay in that big ol’ house by yourself do ya?”

Octavia’s frown returned as she felt her heart sinking in her chest.

“No you don’t,” Pinkie continued. “You need a roommate, and she’s perfect. She’s even a musician. No, I told you she’s with Bon Bon. This one’s a cellist. It is not bori… ok, maybe it is. Still. Meet us at Sugarcube Corner. Yes, now.”

Pinkie smiled brightly at Octavia.

“She can’t wait!”

~~~~

Vinyl stared at her phone in confusion. She resisted the temptation to wonder what had just happened. She knew what happened. Pinkie happened. The question was ‘why’?

Vinyl rolled out of bed and rummaged for clothing that didn’t look too rumpled. There was no use delaying. When Pinkie had something she wanted you to do, she found a way to get it. Besides, Vinyl had gotten her start at Pinkie’s parties. If it hadn’t been for that, she wouldn’t have gotten her club gig. Vinyl owed her.

She only had to meet this person. That was all.

~~~~

Vinyl paused outside the door to Sugarcube Corner, taking a breath to steady her nerves. She hated meeting new people. In the club it was fine. They weren’t there to see Vinyl Scratch, they were there to see DJ P0N-3. No one ever got closer than that, not even the ones that made it into her bed. Meeting an actual person and having to talk as Vinyl Scratch? That terrified her. She peered through the window, trying to spy Pinkie and the mysterious other.

There.

Vinyl saw Pinkie’s trademark pink coif bobbing at a table tucked back in a corner.

Vinyl’s breath caught in her throat. The woman, and she was very definitely a woman, sitting across from Pinkie was spectacular. Vinyl almost gasped as the woman turned to look at something, and Vinyl caught her in profile. She was probably ten years older than Vinyl, with long dark hair and bright, clear eyes. Also, she was stacked. Her curves had a softness to them which proudly proclaimed that they were 100% all-natural and silicone-free.

She was the polar opposite of everyone Vinyl saw in the clubs. She looked more… real.

Vinyl stepped back from the door and took a breath, feeling almost intimidated by the stranger sitting with Pinkie. She took a couple slow, calming breaths, and tried to put herself in performance mode. She wasn’t Vinyl Scratch, she was DJ P0N-3. People came from all over to hear her perform. She intimidated them by her talent. They were nervous to talk to her. She swaggered. She schmoozed. She made the room come alive.

Vinyl set her shoulders and pushed her way into the bakery. It was time to put on a show.

~~~~

Octavia sipped her tea. It wasn’t the best blend, merely some mass market name brand, but it was serviceable. In all honesty, she wasn’t in a position to complain. It had been so long since she’d had money for good tea that this was actually better quality than she’d drank in some time.

Octavia inhaled the scent and took another sip. They’d even given her real milk for it. She felt a lump form in her throat. Real, civilized tea in a teacup. It brought to mind the smells of baking in the kitchen, the clanking of dishes, and her mother humming a tune. A sense of security, when times were simpler.

She blinked away the threat of tears. They’d even given her a dollop of honey.

Octavia looked up when she heard the bell on the door jingle.

“Ah, there you are,” Pinkie exclaimed.

Octavia twisted to watch the new arrival walk over. She was thin, falling somewhere between ‘lithe’ and ‘skinny’. She had a rather androgynous look that was accentuated by her choice of clothing: slim cut pants, a man’s shirt, tie, and sport coat, topped off by shockingly blue hair. Her eyes were obscured by heavily tinted purple sunglasses, and she wore a cocky smirk which tied the whole ensemble together.

All in all, she was rather attractive. Very attractive.

“So,” Vinyl said, “this is the potential housemate?”

Octavia rose and offered her hand.

“Octavia Melody.”

Vinyl grasped her hand firmly.

“Vinyl Scratch.”

“Great!” exclaimed Pinkie. “Friends already. I have to start my shift soon, so you two kids hang out and chat for awhile, and shout if you need anything.”

With that, she bounced off.

Octavia examined Vinyl as they both sat, cursing the sunglasses which made her impossible to read. Vinyl showed no inclination to start a conversation. That left Octavia to begin.

“You sounded less than enthused about the prospect of a flatmate,” she said.

“Yeah,” Vinyl confirmed. “I’m pretty good living by myself, and I’m making enough from the club that I don’t actually need to split the rent.”

Pinkie swept by, dropping a fresh pot of tea and a creamer full of milk. Without saying a word, she vanished into the growing crowd of people.

Octavia freshened her cup of tea, and raised the cup up to her face, inhaling the steam.

“Then why are you here?” she asked. “If you aren’t looking for a housemate…”

“When Pinkie starts getting insistent, you just roll with it,” Vinyl told her. “Besides, Pinkie’s a friend who got me work when I needed it, so… . What about you? Why Ponyville?”

“I tried to get into the Royal Canterlot Philharmonic, but I missed the entry period. I hoped to find a place and do some session work until a spot opened up again, but Canterlot was far too expensive.”

“Yeah, Canterlot is for rich snobs. Wait, that means you’re…”

Vinyl frowned.

“Unemployed with dwindling resources,” Octavia finished. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Octavia rose to leave.

“Whoa!” Vinyl blurted, holding out her hands. “Whoa, wait a minute.”

Octavia sat uncertainly.

Vinyls mouth twisted. Again, Octavia wished she could see her eyes.

“I… uh…” Vinyl muttered. “Look, ‘m sorry if I came off all megabitch on you. I know how hard it can be to get a foothold around here, too. Pinkie’s the one who really helped me get my start, and if she vouches for you…”

“Yuppers!” Pinkie chirped, coming out of nowhere.

Octavia jumped, knocking over her teacup.

“Yeah,” Vinyl chuckled ruefully as Octavia hastily mopped up her spilled drink. “You get used to that. Anyway, if Pinkie thinks you’re cool, then I’ll let you stay. I’ll even float your rent for a couple months while you look for work.”

“Th-that…” Octavia stuttered, “that is most generous of you.”

“Yeah, well… I have my moments. Don’t get used to it.” Vinyl’s cocksure smile returned. “Come on, Tavi, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“What did you call me?” Octavia demanded.

“Tavi. It’s better than ‘Octy’.”

“My name is ‘Octavia’,” Octavia said cooly. “I am neither a cephalopod nor a mongoose.”

“Okaaaaaay...” Vinyl said after a moment, “I get octopus, but mongoose?”

“Tavi?” Octavia said to Vinyl’s confused look. “Rikki Tikki Tavi? Kipling?”

“Oh, yeah,” groaned Vinyl. “I can tell this is going to be great.”

~~~~

“And this would be your bedroom,” Vinyl told her.

Octavia merely nodded. She’d run out of superlatives long ago. The house was amazing. It was small, yes, but Octavia had notice none of the Ponyville homes were very big and what Vinyl’s home lacked in size, it made up for in character. Glossy hardwood floors ran through the house, perfectly complemented by the dark wood molding which Octavia suspected was real oak, and not some plywood laminate. It gave the house a warm, homey appearance, but Octavia knew from experience that the hominess belied the money which went into it.

It was marvelous.

There was only one problem.

“I noticed some equipment in the living room,” Octavia said. “Do you compose here?”

“Mostly I work at a studio in Canterlot I rent time in,” Vinyl said. “I do a little work here, but mostly through headphones. I had a few run-ins with the neighbors early on, before I realized how close all the buildings were.

“What about you?” Vinyl asked. “What do you do to practice?”

“I have a hotel mute,” Octavia told her. “No one outside the house should even know there’s a cello here.”

“Sounds good,” Vinyl said.

An awkward pause began to grow between them.

“Well,” Vinyl said with a clearing of her throat, “I should let you settle in. Lemme know if you need anything.”

“Of course,” Octavia replied with a nod. She turned to the empty room with nervous excitement. For the time being, this was home.

~~~~

Vinyl shut the door to her room, turned and leaned against it. What was she thinking, taking on a housemate? A stranger? All because Pinkie called her up?

Liar, she thought sourly to herself. She might have gone to Sugarcube Corner because of Pinkie, but she stayed because of those eyes, that body, and that elegant accent.

Vinyl sighed.

As long as she wasn’t murdered in her sleep, everything would be fine.