Vinyl Scratch knocked on the back door of the club and waited for the door to open. She glanced back at her precious sequencer, synth, mixer and turntables on the cart behind her, all encased in foam-lined boxes. So much of her life was contained in those boxes. Those, and the laptop in her shoulder bag. All of it replaceable. An odd melancholy settled over her before the telltale sound of the door opening drew her attention.

“Hmm,” the club manager grunted as he held the door open for Vinyl. “Good crowd tonight. Should be a fun night.”

Vinyl nodded with a smile as she pulled on her cart.

“Got a new waitress, too. Just started a couple of days ago. Hot number. Confident too. Might even be too much for a cocky DJ.”

Vinyl smirked.

“Care to bet on it?” she asked.

“The usual?”

Vinyl nodded.

“I’ll send her over with some water as you’re setting up,” the manager said. “I’ll throw you that bone.”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow.

The manager snickered.

“I think you’re gonna need it.”

~~~~

Vinyl plugged her mixer into the club soundsystem with barely a thought. She’d been running sets here so long the club equipment felt almost like her own. The club as a whole was nearly a second skin to her. Not only did she essentially have free range over the club floor, but she’d also been in all the back rooms, private areas, even the janitorial closet. Hell, she’d even gone down on a girl in the manager’s office.

She made buckets of money for the club and its owners. In return, the owners gave Vinyl plenty of freedom.

Vinyl plugged in the last couple of cables and flipped on the power switch. LEDs blinked on like christmas lights on a newly erected tree. Vinyl sat back, satisfied, and basked in the peaceful moment before the doors opened. She’d have to run a pre-check, but these days it was mostly a formality. The club was all but hers. She knew the equipment, she knew the people, and she felt at home here.

“Pardon,” a voice interrupted Vinyl’s thoughts. “I’ve brought you some water. If you would like anything else, I can… Oh bloody hell. Vinyl!”

Vinyl turned, barely believing her ears. That voice could only belong to one person.

“Tavi! What are you doing here?”

Octavia scowled as she set down several bottles of water.

“Octavia is working. What does it look like?”

“As a waitress?” Vinyl asked.

“Session work is hard to come by,” Octavia sighed, “and I can’t live off your good graces forever. I need to pull my own weight.”

“It’s only been two weeks,” Vinyl said.

“Yes,” Octavia said. “Two bloody weeks looking for work. There comes a point where you take what you can get. Besides, having some actual money in my pocket would be a welcome change. Now, can I get you anything else?”

Vinyl frowned and pulled out her wallet.

“Nah, but could you do me a favor?”

She handed Octavia a fifty.

“Give this to the manager, and tell him Vinyl knows when she’s licked.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow took the bill.

“Inside joke,” Vinyl said with a grin. “Nothing to worry about.”

Octavia shrugged and walked away. Vinyl watched her go with a frown, her mood dampened. This was going to be a rough night.

~~~~

Octavia trudged grumpily into the house. Her feet ached from her shift at the club. They ached further because of the walk from the train station.

It was unreasonable to expect Vinyl to give her a ride from the club. Vinyl had cleaned up her equipment and taken off long before Octavia’s shift had ended. But still… she could have offered.

Octavia dropped her keys and purse on an end table with a grumble, and stretched, feeling the aches in her back.

A giggle sounded from Vinyl’s room, followed by some unintelligible words. Octavia looked curiously at the door to Vinyl’s room. A loud moan emanated from the offending door.

Octavia rolled her eyes and sighed.

Vinyl had company.

Octavia set her jaw and strode over to her cello case. She reached inside where there was an obscured pocket, and withdrew a small, outdated MP3 player. She turned the device over in her hands for a moment, then swiftly made for the door, plucking her keys off the end table on the way.

The night was cool, which Octavia was grateful for when she walked from the train station. Now it was a bit more uncomfortable. Even more so, there was a stillness to the air and the town that was unsettling, as though the town of Ponyville didn’t just sleep through the night, but stopped, like a clockwork automaton whose spring had wound down.

Anyplace other than Ponyville, and Octavia wouldn’t have done this. Canterlot could be positively dangerous at night, and most other places Octavia had lived became a bit unsafe once the sun set. Here in Ponyville, however, such concerns seemed foolish.

Octavia walked into the park and looked around, trying to get her bearings. It took a moment to figure out which direction was east, but Octavia eventually found a bench which faced it, and sat. She put the earbuds connected to her MP3 player in her ears and hit the shuffle button. Music filled her world.

Most people assumed Octavia only listened to classical music. This was absurd. No one Octavia had ever met ever listened to one single type of music. Sure, someone might like country, but those people often listened to some pop rock or folk, or some other genre, related or otherwise. Octavia listened to whatever moved her, and the music on her player showed the breadth of her taste. There was old country music from before country became pop music with a twang. There was alternative country. There was a rapper with an exceptional vocabulary. There was hip-hop that someone had written orchestration to. There was an indie pop group with a tap dancer instead of a drummer. There was post folk, prog metal, and even some synth pop. And yes, there was definitely some classical.

Octavia took a deep breath of the cool, sweet night air as the music filled her ears. She flexed her back and rolled her shoulders, feeling the evening of work catching up with her.

Octavia looked around worriedly, assuring herself she was alone. The park was empty, and all the businesses around dark. Octavia kicked off her shoes, and quickly reached up under her skirt to pull off her nylons. She extricated herself from them as quickly as she dared without causing a run or tear, and shoved them into her pocket. Now freed, she smoothed her skirt and settled herself back on the bench. She moved to put her shoes back on, but hesitated. Instead, she plunged her feet into the cool, dewy grass and sighed.

Her mind wandered to Vinyl and her penchant for temporary companionship. Octavia didn’t have the desire or energy for that lifestyle anymore, not that she begrudged Vinyl her fun. However, it did make things somewhat awkward for Octavia, as well as bringing up more… wistful emotions. Octavia hadn’t had an actual relationship in some time. She wasn’t in the market for a one-night stand. That kind of physical need she could, and did, take care of on her own. No, it was the connection she missed, the gentle intimacy of cuddling post-sex, or waking up together on a weekend when neither partner had work.

Octavia shook her head and grimaced. Maybe once she’d settled in a bit more she’d look for romance. Or maybe not. Prospects seemed slim. It just didn’t seem fair that Vinyl, who never wanted for companionship, eschewed the very thing Octavia desired.

Such was life, Octavia supposed. She let out a sigh and sat back on the bench, letting the music wash away all the worry and stress of the day as she patiently waited for the sunrise.

~~~~

Vinyl watched from her bed as her latest fling exited her room. It was that view that inspired Vinyl in the first place, and it had only improved as clothes had been removed.

Vinyl smiled and stretched before rolling out of bed and following after. She caught her naked reflection in the mirror and once again wished for a more womanly figure. She made her physique work for her, and the girls seemed to like it, but at moments like this, Vinyl felt like a boy. She wished she didn’t look like puberty had forgotten her. Maybe more like Octavia.

Vinyl smiled. Octavia was stacked. She made Vinyl salivate when she walked by. Vinyl bet she’d never been mistaken for a boy.

Vinyl wandered out of her room, making sure ‘what’s her name’ had closed the door when she’d left. She turned to go back to her room, but stopped dead.

Octavia’s door was open.

That meant she wasn’t there.

Vinyl padded back to her room and fished around in her discarded clothes for her phone. It was late. Too late. So late that it was early. If Octavia wasn’t home by now, she was probably stuck in Canterlot. The last train had gone hours ago.

Vinyl tapped a message into her phone and sent the text. Immediately a buzzing erupted from the end table by the front door. Vinyl frowned as she spied Octavia’s purse. She’d been there and left.

Why?

Had she not approved of Vinyl’s recreational activities? The thought rankled Vinyl.

Vinyl paced around the living room. Why was this getting under her skin? She’d never cared what anyone thought of her previously. And it wasn’t like she had any designs on Octavia. Even if Tavi was hot, she’d never shown any interest in women… or anyone for that matter. And if she was going to be all judgy, well, Vinyl didn’t need that in her life.

Vinyl groaned and stalked back to her room. She would need clothes for if and when Octavia came home.

~~~~

Octavia trudged toward the house. The sunrise was, of course, beautiful, though the decision to stay up and watch it was still unwise.

Octavia yawned a large, jaw-creaking yawn. It was a good thing her next shift wasn’t until the afternoon.

As she approached the house, she noticed a trim figure standing outside the door smoking a cigarette.

“Vinyl,” Octavia called. “Early morning? I’d have thought you’d still be in bed.”

Vinyl took a drag on her cigarette before answering. Her clothes were rumpled, and her hair even more disheveled than usual.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said simply.

Octavia scowled and waved her hand to dissipate the cloud of smoke.

“Please don’t blow that in my direction,” she said. “Anyway, it couldn’t have been me keeping you up, since I wasn’t here. Was your companionship not to your satisfaction?”

Vinyl took another drag with a scowl and blew the smoke in Octavia’s direction.

“Does my ‘companionship’ bother you?” she asked.

Octavia frowned, waving the smoke away.

“Why should it?” she demanded.

“Well, I…” Vinyl started.

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia interrupted, “I am not your mother, and I don’t care whom you fuck. Whilst there may be some awkwardness on my part, especially if I don’t particularly care to listen to your escapades, you are free to do what you please in your own home. Now give me that!”

Octavia snatched the cigarette from Vinyl’s hand and took a long drag before Vinyl could protest.

“Twelve years I’ve been off the bloody things,” she said, handing the cigarette back. “If I buy a pack tomorrow, I’m kicking your ass.”

Octavia pushed the door open.

“Good night, Vinyl,” she said.

Vinyl watched her go, not sure what she was supposed to be feeling.

“‘Night,” she said, dropping her cigarette to the ground, and crushing it out.

~~~~

Vinyl jammed the cable into her mixer and huffed. Since that first night with Octavia, Vinyl had felt unsettled. Unsure.

She hated it.

It was everything DJ P0N-3 had been created to overcome: the uncertainty, the lack of confidence. To have it come back now… well…

“This sucks,” Vinyl muttered.

“What does?” Octavia asked, setting a couple of water bottles down next to Vinyl’s mixer.

“Nothing!” Vinyl blurted. “Just… thinking through a new mix.”

“Well, don’t get discouraged,” Octavia told her. “Does the manager know we’re flatmates?”

Vinyl tilted her head in confusion.

“No, why?”

“Because he keeps sending me over here with water,” Octavia said. “I thought he was trying to capitalize on some assumed pre-existing relationship.”

Vinyl felt her face heat up.

“Um… yeah... no. It… it was something else.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow.

Vinyl fidgeted under Octavia’s unflinching gaze.

“OK, fine,” she sighed. “Look, the manager and I have… kind of a standing bet, OK? He picks a girl, and I see if I can take her home.”

“That’s what the bullseye was for!” Octavia blurted.

“The what?” Vinyl asked.

Octavia blushed.

“The bullseye. The fifty.”

“Oh… yeah.”

“So you paid him because you couldn’t take a girl home. What does that have to do with… I was the girl!?”

Vinyl winced.

“No!” she blurted. “Well, yes, but…”

“Why didn’t you just give me a ride home and lie?”

“Buh-wha…? “ Vinyl stammered. “Why would I lie? It’s just a silly bet. Besides, we don’t know each other very well, but I still wouldn’t want to do that to you. DJ P0N-3 is nothing if not honest.”

Vinyl knew she wasn’t the most sensitive person on the planet, but she thought she had a pretty good handle on expressions. I helped when trying to score with club bunnies. Octavia’s face, however, was a complete mystery.

“What do you do with girls who aren’t gay?” Octavia asked.

“Um…” Vinyl tried to find her footing in the change of topic. “Go for broke anyway. That’s part of the challenge. And the fun.”

Vinyl flashed a grin.

“More go home with me that you might think.”

Vinyl simply stood wondering what Octavia was thinking as she seemed to digest the information. For Vinyl’s part, she definitely would not share that some of those girls went home with Vinyl thinking she was male.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Octavia said.

She turned to leave, but seemed to reconsider.

“Vinyl,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Vinyl watched her go, wondering what the hell had just happened.

~~~~

“Here’s your craft beer,” Octavia said, gently setting down the drink, “your Seven and Seven, and your… ugh. Your Long-Slow-Double-Entendre.”

The greasy-haired kid smirked.

“I could share one with you, if you like.”

He reached his hand back and placed on Octavia’s rear. She stiffened in shock.

“Move your hand or lose it,” she said calmly.

“Aw, come on, Honey,” the kid said. “You might like it.”

“I have access to a wide array of sharp objects,” Octavia said. “Remove your hand or I will personally cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

The kid’s hand shot back as though it had touched a hot stove.

“Let me know if you need anything else, gentlemen,” Octavia said as she turned and left.

As soon as she was sure she was out of sight, she allowed herself a shiver. It was as if people didn’t understand that she was a waitress, and not a prostitute, she thought, as she gripped her upper arms in a self-hug.

She sighed, trying to shake off the revulsion she felt, and straightening her spine. Stiff upper lip, and all that rubbish.

The lights on the stage went up, and the crowd cheered. Octavia turned to see Vinyl on stage, wearing her ever-present shades and trademark cocky grin. She hit a few buttons on her equipment, and the beat started. The crowd roared as music began flowing from the club sound system.

Octavia watched Vinyl be truly in her element. She flowed with the music, putting out a seemingly endless amount of energy, only to have the crowd return it tenfold. There was a raw, unchained beauty in Vinyl’s performance, an untamed, animalistic power.

As she wandered back to the bar. She found herself liking the cocky DJ. Vinyl was an irresponsible, carefree sort of person, but there was an honesty that Octavia found refreshing. Perhaps Octavia had become too jaded, but she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Vinyl would have lied about sleeping with her, yet she had not. And she was letting Octavia live rent-free while she got on her feet. Honesty and kindness. In one person, no less. A rather cute person, at that.

“Easy, Octavia. Don’t go soiling the nest,” she muttered to herself.

That was the last thing she needed, to ruin her situation with some ill-advised tryst, especially when it was so clear that Octavia and Vinyl weren’t looking for the same things. And it wasn’t like Octavia was any prize for someone like Vinyl, who could have any girl she wanted.

Octavia signed as a wave of loneliness washed over her. She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. Wishes and regrets were for when there was no work to be done.

~~~~

Vinyl downed the rest of her water, sat back, and took a deep breath. The end of a night was like coming down off a high. The adrenaline made her jittery. Once out of the lights, and away from the heat of the bodies below her, her sweat cooled quickly, giving her a chill. The exhaustion and dehydration, only noticeable once the thrum and roar of the crowd were gone, quickly sapped her remaining strength, making her only good for sitting.

Octavia walked by, dropping a new bottle of water next to Vinyl in the process. Vinyl watched her go with mixed feelings.

A month. A whole month they’d been housemates.

It was frightening how quickly something new began to feel normal.

And yet….

It was weird. Octavia was weird. She was equal parts thoughtful and standoffish. And Vinyl knew next to nothing about her.

Vinyl cracked open the new bottle of water and took a swig, then set the bottle down with a sigh. She hadn’t arranged any company tonight. She just hadn’t been in the mood.

Vinyl heaved herself up with a groan. Her thoughts and emotions were all in a jumble, but there was one thing she felt clearly.

Vinyl walked out of the back area onto the club floor. She smiled and waved as she walked through the crowd of leaving patrons, but carefully resisted responding to any ‘come hither’ looks. Carefully she made her way through the throng toward the bar, keeping her eyes peeled for one person in particular.

There she was, standing by the bar and shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Octavia,” Vinyl called.

Octavia turned and raised her head in acknowledgment.

“Want a ride home?”

Octavia raised a curious eyebrow.

“No visitors tonight?” she asked.

Vinyl shrugged.

“Taking a break.”

Octavia rolled her shoulders.

“I wouldn’t mind not having to take the train,” Octavia said, “but I’m liable to be working late. I don’t work tomorrow, so I was going to help clean up a bit.”

Vinyl waved off her concerns.

“Take your time,” she said. “I’m just gonna be chilling in back.”

Octavia nodded, and Vinyl took her cue to leave. Heading to the back of the club now felt like swimming upstream. She tried to smile politely and wave and nod at the fans crowing her praises. Her little cubby in back now felt like a refuge, she thought as she sat and picked up her abandoned water bottle. It was strange. Usually the adulation of her fans was a source of energy for her. Today it was noise. Vinyl felt off. Unsettled. And she knew the source. Hopefully, getting to know Octavia a bit more on the drive home would help sort out Vinyl’s feelings, and get her back on track.

Hopefully.

Vinyl leaned back in her chair and sipped from her bottle.

Everything would sort itself out, she thought, closing her eyes. She just needed to find her footing. Once she did, everything would go back to normal.

~~

“Vinyl?”

Vinyl felt a gentle prodding at her shoulder as she woke.

“Vinyl!”

Vinyl opened her eyes to see Octavia staring down at her.

“Wassit?” she croaked.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Octavia said with an amused smile. “The club is closed up, and we can leave. Are you sure you can drive?”

Vinyl let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“After a nap like that? No problem.”

Vinyl stood up and stretched. Her back popped and cracked as she did.

“Let’s hit the road!”

“So,” Vinyl began once they were comfortable in Vinyl’s sportscar, “Hell of a month, eh?”

“Hrmph,” Octavia grunted noncommittally.

Vinyl suppressed a groan. This was not starting well.

“I mean,” she ventured again, “new place, new job… Y’know?”

“I suppose,” Octavia said as she stared out the window.

“I was thinking…” Vinyl said, “We really haven’t gotten to know each other… soooo….”

“Hmmm…” Octavia mused. “I suppose we are overdue for a chat. And I don’t work tomorrow. Would you care for a nightcap and small talk?”

Vinyl grinned.

“Sounds great!”

~~

“Here we are,” Octavia said as she emerged from her bedroom.

She’d changed from her work clothes into some loose fitting pajamas, and was carrying a bottle. Vinyl watched curiously as she walked to the kitchen and rummaged in the cabinets.

“Ah,” Octavia exclaimed as she set down a couple of glasses. “I thought I saw some Old Fashioned glasses in there.”

“Hey,” Vinyl snapped. “Don’t hate my glasses. I thought they looked nice.”

“Old Fashioned is the type of glassware,” Octavia corrected. “I’m not criticizing your choice in dishes, Vinyl.”

“Oh…. OK.”

Vinyl watches as Octavia dropped a few cubes of ice into each glass, followed by a healthy dose of amber liquid, and a splash of water.

“Whaddya got?” Vinyl asked.

“Scotch,” Octavia replied, handing the glass to Vinyl. “A decent blended. Nothing too fancy, but nice enough.”

“Hmmmm…” Vinyl said, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. “Cheers.”

Octavia touched her glass to Vinyl’s and took a sip.

“Mmmmm…” she hummed. “Sweet and spicy. I think this one’s a keeper.”

Vinyl took a sip. Octavia was right. It was sweet and spicy, tasting of toffee and pepper and citrus, as well as things Vinyl couldn’t name.

“So,” Vinyl started, “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know,” Octavia replied. “Same-old story about a girl chasing her dreams.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Vinyl said. “There’s got to be more to it than that, what with your hoity-toity accent, and taste in booze.”

Octavia frowned. Vinyl shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Had she hit a sore spot, she wondered? Maybe it would be best to lighten-”

“Dad was from a posh family,” Octavia said, staring into her glass. “Mum… not so much. It didn’t exactly put them on the outs with the rest of the family, but it didn’t do them any favors. It didn’t help that Dad was bad with money, and there hadn’t been much to start with. Mum helped as much as she could. She was always the shrewder of the two. But when Dad got sick, and the hospital bills started rolling in… well… that didn’t help. And when he died, and the funeral costs….”

Octavia took a gulp of her drink and grimaced.

“All in the past now,” she said with an unconvincing smile. “Now I’m a girl on a mission, with little but the clothes on my back, and my trusty cello, ready to take on the world!”

It took a moment for Vinyl to find her voice.

“Why do I think there’s some gaps in there?” she asked.

“Pssh,” Octavia spat with a dismissive wave. “There’s been plenty of odd jobs, failed relationships, and the occasional concert, but that’s not unique to me.”

“Okay, but when did you start playing the cello? And why the cello?”

Octavia chuckled, a genuine smile gracing her lips.

“Not the most stylish of instrument, no? Culture was important in my family. What disposable income my parents had usually went to symphonies, concerts, and theatre. I could recite the prologue to Henry the Fifth by the time I was twelve. But music… music was in my soul. I did some singing, tried some keyboard… anything to be a part of the music. Then one day we were at a performance, and this bloke… well, he played this piece on a cello, and it… it made me sad.”

“It made you sad??? That’s what turned you on?”

“Vinyl!” Octavia gasped. “It wasn’t like that. It…. The piece, it was like it spoke to me of unrequited love and infinite despair. It was achingly beautiful, and heartbreaking. I knew right then and there that I wanted to make people feel with music, and the cello was the perfect medium. I’ve only regretted it when I’ve had to carry the bloody thing for too long.”

Vinyl snickered.

“Yeah. I can see how you’d wish you had something more portable,” she said.

“Says the turntablist,” Octavia replied, pouring more scotch into their glasses. “What about you? What made the famous DJ P0N-3 who she is?”

Vinyl sipped her drink, knowing full well she was stalling. She could feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading out to her extremities as a numbing balm.

“Foster homes, mostly,” she admitted. “I don’t remember my parents. I just remember bouncing between homes. Not that they were bad, just that I wasn’t me. Spent a lot of time on the streets, in clubs, etc. As soon as I could, I extracted myself from the system, and pretended to adult. From there, it was mostly skill and a lot of luck. I had some pretty cheap equipment from my last foster home that I played around with. I tried a turn or two on in some clubs, but I was too green. Then I happened to enter a contest, and blew them all away. The rest is history.”

Vinyl took another sip, trying to mask her discomfort. She didn’t share those secrets with just anyone, but, then again, Octavia had shared something with her. It was exactly what Vinyl had asked for, and she knew you didn’t get without expecting to give in return. She just wished she could read Octavia and figure out what she was thinking.

~~

Octavia cursed Vinyl’s shades for the umpteenth time. They made it impossible to read her expression. She sipped her drink, feeling the warm tingly effect of the alcohol. Despite herself, she was warming up to the DJ more and more by the minute. She was brash, arrogant, and the opposite of Octavia in every conceivable way, yet Octavia felt a kinship with Vinyl. They were both driven by their love of music.

“But at least I play some awesome music, and don’t have to lug around some huge piece of wood,” Vinyl said with a smirk.

If only she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“My cello is an amazing piece of workmanship,” Octavia protested.

“Pssh,” Vinyl spat. “Please, unless they’re screaming out of an amp, strings are lame.”

It was not the first time Octavia had heard such barbs. Hell, it wasn’t the first time Vinyl had said such things. This time, however, Octavia couldn’t let it pass. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps she felt like she needed acceptance from her flatmate. Whatever the reason, Octavia was not going to roll over and take it.

“Yes,” she shot back, “because letting a machine do all the work of playing the note and modulating the tone is so much more work, and conveys sooooo much emotion.”

“Don’t feed me that shit,” Vinyl said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t care how artistic you think you’re being, if the end result sucks, artistic integrity can lick me.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Octavia rebuked. “It’s all about emotion. I can play the same notes and give you two vastly different songs. Every time I sit down at my cello, I play a different song. My emotions, my state of mind, it all gets channeled through my instrument, and projected to the audience. Your sequencer can’t say the same thing. It runs the same program, plays the same notes the same way every time. What do you add once the song is written?”

Vinyl knocked back her drink and slammed down the glass with a loud clatter.

“That’s bullshit,” she spat. “I can make the audience feel anything I want, any time I want. I’ve never heard a cello make anyone feel anything but boredom.”

Octavia set down her own drink.

“You don’t think I make people feel?” she demanded.

“Nothing but boredom,” Vinyl repeated, “and I know you can’t rock.”

Octavia stood and shoved her chair back.

“Challenge accepted,” she growled.

Octavia turned and strode from the room, fuming.

“Running away proves nothing!” Vinyl called after here.

Octavia ignored her. She walked into her room and pulled her cello out of its case, fishing her bow out immediately after. She hefted the instrument and walked back to where Vinyl was still seated. She planted the cello with a thud.

“You,” Octavia threatened, pointing her bow menacingly, “are going to learn how mon chaton and I make grown men cry.”

“You named your cello?” Vinyl smirked.

Octavia ignored her. She reached behind her with her foot, and hooked the chair leg with her toe, dragging it forward to an adequate spot. She fell into her chair, and tried to take a steadying breath. Instead, the breath made her dizzy. The alcohol was still doing its work.

Octavia ignored it like she ignored Vinyl’s smirk. She’d done a lot of things drunk, more than was advisable. This, while also inadvisable, was war. It was a battle for validity, and being a little drunk probably wouldn’t hurt, especially with the amount of abuse she was about to reap on both her fingers and her cello.

Octavia took another breath and held her bow ready. She placed the fingers of her left hand on the strings, and adjusted her grip on the bow in her right. On some level she hated what she was about to do. She was abusing her music and her instrument for some petty argument, and while tipsy on top of it. On the other hand, Vinyl and she had been throwing barbs back and forth for what seemed like ages. It was time to end it. It was time to show there was more to her than the conformity of an orchestra, or the boredom some associated with classical music.

Octavia squeezed her bow tightly for a moment, feeling the firmness of the grip and the weight of the bow.

It was time to fire her first shot.

Octavia started with a piece she’d found by accident. She’d found a solo cello piece one day which was one of several ‘moods’ the composer had written. One in particular had captured her fancy: Fury. It had the benefit of being unlike anything typically thought of as ‘classical’. It screeched. It thrummed. Alternated between atonal and wickedly rhythmic.

As the piece quickly reached its end, Octavia wracked her brain for follow up. She transitioned into ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’.

Octavia frowned. The faster she played it, the smoother it came out. It had none of the sting she was hoping for. She shifted into the guitar intro to AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’. It still was too smooth. It wasn’t raw enough.

It was time for the next weapon in her arsenal.

Octavia paused, and placed her bow in her mouth. Hand free, she restarted ‘Thunderstruck’, but this time plucking the strings. That brought some of the sharpness back to the tune.

People were usually familiar with fingerstyle guitar, and most knew that basses could be plucked, but it didn’t usually occur to them that you could do the same with a cello. Octavia used as many fingers as she could fit to get out as many notes as possible. The introduction of the drums, with their simple, pounding rhythm were due to start soon. Octavia had one last secret weapon to use that would fit perfectly. One last trick that most people didn’t expect.

A cello could be strummed.

You didn’t get a ton of sound out of it, and you had to keep your chords simple, but it was perfect for the simple pounding of that two-strike rhythm.

RUM-PUM

Octavia continued to pluck strings in time, only pausing to pound that beat against the strings.

RUM-PUM

The vocals were soon scheduled to start. Without another cellist, Octavia was not about to add another part, and her singing could politely be compared to the sound of a goat in distress. No, it was time to go off script.

Octavia snatched the bow from her mouth and continued the quick notes of Thunderstruck, this time opting to quickly saw the bow across the strings to get that edge she’d been missing earlier. Once she’d gotten back into the rhythm, she started improvising. She slapped the bow against the strings. She drove the notes up and down, sometimes without rhyme or reason, sometimes falling into a simple melody. She sawed. She plucked. She strummed. She kept the beat going faster and faster. Finally, as her energy drained, she resolved everything into one long sustained note.

Octavia dropped her hands and gasped for breath. She was almost panting, she was so winded. She looked down and winced. The ribbon on her bow was in tatters. She’d need to have it restrung before using it again. Hopefully she could scrounge the cash for it before she got another gig. She had a spare bow, but this one was her favorite. It had just the right balance of stiffness and flexibility.

Octavia gently placed the bow on the kitchen table with shaking hands, and picked her drink back up. She needed her buzz back. Octavia carefully avoided looking at Vinyl. She didn’t want to know what the DJ thought. Octavia wasn’t sure what she thought. She’d pushed herself to the limit, and what came out was… what? Wild? Absurd? Raw? All of the above? Octavia didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If she’d had a master of her performance right now, she’d burn it in a fire without a second thought. God only knew what Vinyl thought of it.

~-~-~-~

Vinyl was astounded. She couldn’t believe the sounds and speed and just raw energy Tavi had gotten out of that cello. It was as strange and wonderful as Tavi herself.

“That was amazing!” she gushed. “Oh my God, the sounds you got out of that thing…!”

Tavi glanced at her, a blush on her cheeks.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

Vinyl shook her head and took a sip of her drink. Tavi was a total enigma to her. A hot, sexy enigma. Take now for instance; after that display of pure aggression, now she was acting all bashful. It was crazy. And Tavi was a Russian nesting doll of dichotomies like that. She moved and spoke with elegance and grace. She acted like a princess, polite and caring to all who crossed her path. Then sometimes she displayed a pragmatic brutality that scared Vinyl, like a whore who you didn’t dare turn your back on, unless you wanted a knife in your ribs. And all of this wrapped up in a hot, stacked package. Vinyl found the whole thing to be both frightening and intensely arousing.

Vinyl bolted upright.

“We should totally collab!” she cried.

“What?” Tavi blurted, her eyes wide with confusion. “I told you, I hate-”

“Nah,” Vinyl interrupted, waving her drink. “I’m not talking about that. Don’t get me wrong, I love DJing, but I wanna do more than that. I wanna record an actual EP. Something more than just a club track.”

Vinyl leaned forward.

“I’ll give them the wubs they want, but that’s just the bait. Once they’re suckered by the wubs, then I’ll hook them with the feels. Then I reeeeeeel them in. Then they’re mine.”

Tavi raised an eyebrow.

“Are you quite sure you’re speaking english?” she asked.

“Trust me,” Vinyl assured her. “Stick with me, and we’ll do great things.”

Only some of them with our clothes on, the alcohol added in Vinyl’s head.

Vinyl stared speculatively at the amber liquid sloshing in her glass.

“Hey, Tavi,” she said.

“As I’ve repeatedly asked you,” Tavi answered crossly. “Please don’t-”

“Why do you want to be in the orchestra so badly?”

Vinyl was sure she knew the answer, she just wanted to hear Tavi say it. It was probably some bullshit about culture, respectability, fame, or some other nonsense.
“Are you kidding me?” Tavi cried.

Here it comes, Vinyl thought, taking a sip of her drink.

“Insurance!”

Vinyl choked on her drink, coughing and sputtering to clear the burning liquid from her throat.

“What?” she croaked.

“Health insurance,” Tavi replied. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had actual insurance? I don’t make enough to pay for my own. I’m not well known enough as a musician to dictate terms for any of my session work, so I always end up getting a flat rate and signing a release. I don’t own anything I play. I’m poor, Vinyl. I make enough to scrape by, but one accident could send me over the edge. I can’t afford to get sick, and heaven forbid I break a bone. The loss of income on top of the hospital bills would ruin me.”

Vinyl took a sip to hide her embarrassment.

“I… I knew you weren’t well off, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Tavi shrugged uncomfortably.

“I try not to dwell on it. Whinging about it would make little difference.”

“Well… that’s totally why we should collab! I’d never screw you,” Vinyl assured her.

At least not financially, the alcohol added. If we talk her out of her clothes, there’s no promises.

Vinyl watched Tavi take a sip of her drink.

“Well,” Tavi said, “it’s worth discussing.”

Vinyl tried to keep her heart, as well as some lower body parts, from doing leaps of joy. Instead, she took a sip from her own glass, trying to collect herself.

“We’ll start slow,” Vinyl promised. “We’ll record some samples that I can take apart and play with, and if that goes well, we can talk about other things.”

Vinyl swirled the amber liquid in her glass before taking another sip.

“Those were some amazing sounds you got out of that cello,” she said.

“Well,” Tavi replied with a bashful smile that made Vinyl tingle, “One does one’s best. I met a musician once who was very fond of an electric cello. I’ve never been able to justify such an expense, but it would be interesting to see what I could get out of it.”

“If things work out, we might just find out,” Vinyl said.

Tavi’s eyes clouded and she looked away, staring at nothing.

“It’s nice to dream,” she said.

Author's Note

Interesting cello music:
Fury

Thunderstruck

Also, for insights on Octavia's eclectic taste in music, check out Robbie Fulks, Aesop Rock, and Tilly and the Wall.