Cinéma Vérité

Chapters

First Reel
Second Reel
Third Reel

First Reel

Manehattan was built like a termite’s nest. It bored deep foundations to build itself tall, growing higher even as its tunnels wove deep into the earth. And at every point of its cross section it was alive and swarming, thousands of ponies who might never see each other, or ever move at ground level.

Even before Nightmare Moon took over, Manehattan had ponies that never saw natural light, and didn’t know to mourn its passing.

Why would eternal night bother it? It always was the city that never slept.

Octavia fiddled through her red satin waistcoat pockets for the keys, the keys, the — yes, yes, that pocket. Those keys, the gold ones. The security grating clattered and rattled open. Another key in another lock, and the metal doors to the club opened too. She locked that one behind her. Opening hours weren’t for a while yet.

The lights flicked on. The bar was well stocked, and clean. Good. The pit was ready, and the instruments were set aside for tonight’s performers. Fine. She tested the strings to make sure they were in tune... They were. Good.

Was she fussing because she was procrastinating, or because of her perfectionism? It didn’t matter either way, it was just difficult to tell them apart some nights.

She patted herself down again, key, the key... yes. The inner pocket. The rusty key. She kicked the rug away, twisted the key in the hidden panel, and looked down the staircase.

The light was still on. Vinyl hadn’t left.

Octavia groaned, and closed the hatch after herself.

The projector was left out, but there was no film in it. Vinyl at least listened to warnings about fire hazards, even if she thought they were a waste of time. Both of them just wanted that one thing less for Octavia to stress about. She hadn’t dusted out the pews, though, and the lack of ventilation made that a risk with all the hot equipment around. It was hard to find a solution that didn’t compromise the soundproofing.

The projectionist’s booth was closed. Every few seconds there was the sound of gliding metal, then the dull-stapler sound of film being spliced together.

Octavia rapped on the door. Vinyl opened it, her bright blue hair stuck to the side of her face, it had been so long since she’d washed it. Octavia leaned against the inside of the doorway, as Vinyl dragged herself back into her chair to stare at the reels of film in front of her.

At least she had the courtesy to leave her headphones off this time.

“Did you sleep?”

Vinyl shook her head.

“Eaten anything?”

Vinyl gestured at three empty tubs of instant noodles. She’d taken the vegetable packets out, lest she accidentally get some vitamins in her.

“I’m going to ask if you’re hydrated, and if you point to those energy drink cans I’m going to kick you.”

Vinyl stopped in the middle of pointing, and diplomatically shook her head.

Octavia took a step out of the doorway and ushered Vinyl out. “Well, guess who’s done for the night.”

Vinyl winced hard enough that Octavia could see it around her glasses.

“Don’t give me that. Someone has to care about you, since you’re determined not to.” Octavia pointed out the door again, as Vinyl hesitated. “Besides,” she said, “You make silly mistakes when you work like this, and it just takes longer to fix, doesn’t it?”

Vinyl grumbled and looked away. Octavia smiled.

You couldn’t reason with Vinyl – you just had to speak her language. Appealing to her sense of hygiene, sanity, reason? Would never, could never work. Appealing to her work standards? She might as well have held a sword to Vinyl’s throat.

It was easy, as long as you understood her.

Vinyl picked up a reel she’d been working on from under the table, and held it up to Octavia hopefully.

“When you’ve slept.” Octavia was trying to be stern, even though she was still smiling. “If you make me watch it now, I will be absolutely expressionless, and give you no feedback whatsoever.”

Vinyl winced again.

“I might even just say ‘it’s fine’.”

Vinyl hurried to pack everything up, making a big show of it. She grumbled, but the battle was over. Nothing to be gained in being a sore loser. She cleaned up her work station, hung her strips in order, and turned off whatever small devices had been filling the room with those tiny hums and whines.

Octavia watched quietly. She could see the tiredness catch up to Vinyl as soon as she was given permission to stop working. Vinyl’s drive terrified her, but it always made her a little jealous, too. “You’re close, aren’t you? You always get like this when you’re close.”

Vinyl double-checked everything was in its proper place, nodding as she checked the labels.

“Should I arrange for the showing on Friday?”

Vinyl looked up at her and bit the inside of her cheek, tapping a hoof impatiently. She was wondering how much she could press her luck.

Octavia stared her down, before Vinyl got any ideas about puppy-dog looks. “Any sooner and I won’t have time to organize an audience. At least, not safely.” Vinyl rolled her eyes and threw her head back with a groan. “You’re really proud of this one, then?”

Vinyl nodded again, determined. Whatever it was, it was her first full length film. Normally her work was short and punchy, just the relevant bits of source material artfully arranged. This time, though, she’d taken a savage knife to dozens of movies and sources... Octavia had never seen her like this.

Vinyl also didn’t care for buildup. She treated her projects like exorcisms, a burden to be released upon an audience. She wasn’t doing it for the appeal, the fame. She just needed witnesses.

Octavia, however, needed her to help make rent. The ever-uneasy compromise an artist has to make with their producer.

She looked up, and growled. “Did you unplug the buzzer?”

Vinyl frowned. Then she scrambled into a panic, unplugging a projector, putting the buzzer back in.

“You didn’t do it on purpose?”

Vinyl was already rustling through drawers around the room, looking for... coloured tape? She wrapped the ends of the cords in different colours, so she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Octavia was just relieved it wasn’t going to be another fight, like the fire codes. “I was worried you didn’t take it seriously.”

Vinyl shook her head hard. No, of course she took this seriously. She was just absent-minded when she got into the zone. They both knew that.

“I’m still looking into finding escape routes from here, but it’s been quite the conundrum without getting the sublevel back on the blueprints,” Octavia started picking up empty drinks cans and putting them in the wastebin. “But for now, I need to know you’ll at least do what you can. Lock the hatch and hide. Alright?”

Another emphatic nod.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to mother you. I just—”

Vinyl waved it off, then jumped up and wrapped Octavia in a squeezing hug. Octavia hugged back, with a wince.

“You know I love you, but please, add a shower to the list?”

Vinyl grimaced, and gestured out of the studio.

“You can. I just got up. I’m preparing the venue. I’ll see you after hours?”

Vinyl nodded, and pointed at the ground. She had a grin, the grin she always had when she’d made a plan and committed to it. Octavia couldn’t tell if she found it attractive, or just worrying. The line always did blur, for her...

“Meet back here, then?

A precise nod.

“Alright. I can do that. I’ll leave the front unlocked for you.”

Another tight hug, then Vinyl bounced off, sniffed her pits and winced. A queasier smile at Octavia, and then she ran for the stairs, which she climbed three at a time. She’d sleep like the dead, tonight.

Whatever ‘tonight’ meant now.

Octavia turned the lights off behind her as she went up.

The band was in full swing. They weren’t as good as the ponies she’d worked with in Canterlot, but that meant they were also cheaper, and cheaper meant you could bring in more of them. There was just something about a big band that made for a proper nightclub, especially one with a lot of brass.

Some nights Octavia would have singers on, others not. Some nights she’d sing herself, or even play solo, if she were feeling up to it. She kept those nights few and fleeting, though. As much as she still loved to perform, she was a manager, not a musician.

Any night she headlined, she sold out, and wasn’t there to help work the bar, or play hostess, or help take the door price.

Her club was named the Mise-en-Scène, and it tried to appeal to a very specific audience: the Manehattan movie crowd. The brightly lit floor and tables around the center were for the below-the-line crew, the cameramen and boom mic holders, the clappers and the lifters.

It was the writers who amused Octavia the most. They only came in to mingle for as long as they could handle their anxieties, then one of them bought a crate of wine and they all scarpered to the nearby park. A sorry, ragtag bunch of good-for-nothing miscreants, every single one of them.

What a pity they never stayed longer.

Of course, they weren’t the only customers Octavia was fond of. There were others she went looking for whenever she had a free moment. She knew the favourite drink of more than a few famous actors and directors, and made a habit of remembering which ones were the most fun to talk to.

Speaking of: Cherry Twist had the bar handled, and Delta seemed to be handling the door. Octavia was free to play hostess for a while.

She made her way to the above-the-line booths, to see what she couldn’t overhear. She signalled to the band to segue into a lower, jazzier number, something that wouldn’t cut over conversation so much.

“Photo Finish?” Photo Finish had been a big fan of Vinyl’s since the beginning. She’d had trouble with a boom pole being in-frame for a scene they could only shoot once. Vinyl had figured out how to edit it out without cropping the shot. Octavia hadn’t understood it, but Photo Finish had been amazed.

She was a good friend, and a good customer.

“Dahlink! How wonderful to see you. We just wrapped.”

Octavia smiled and looked around. “I thought I smelled a wrap party. They’re drinking more than usual.”

“They work hard, they play hard, da?” Photo Finish sighed, and swirled a straw morosely in her very tall drink. “Work, work, work.”

“If you do it masterfully enough, it becomes art again.”

Photo Finish’s voice went sing-song, and she grumpily smiled. “You tell yourself zat?”

Octavia nodded.

“You believe it?”

Octavia shrugged. “I have to, don’t I?”

Photo Finish snorted a laugh, and sipped her drink. “Your friend though. Vinyl. How is she?”

Octavia smiled, and made a point of looking over her shoulder. “You only ever ask when you have a present for her.”

Photo Finish shifted her glasses so they covered her eyes better. “You see through me so easy? Ah, well. I’ll leave it on my seat when I go. When is our next... Ausstellung?”

“Friday.” Photo Finish shuffled up straighter, her ears pricking right up. She’d have to remember to tell Vinyl that later. “Apparently this one’s going to be very special. I’ve never seen Vinyl get like this before.” She baited the hook a little more, just to give Vinyl the better story.

Photo Finish’s eyes lit up, even behind her sunglasses. What was it with Octavia and girls who wore sunglasses indoors...? “Then allow me to be in charge of audience, meine frau. It shall be perfect.”

Octavia squirmed, looking to the other tables. She’d spent too much time here, now. “I was thinking the usual crowd.” The safe crowd, she meant, but you learn politeness when you run a nightclub. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Would that satisfy Vinyl, though?” Photo Finish smiled with her teeth. “Never.”

Octavia knew she just got played like a fiddle, and the worst part was that knowing that didn’t change it. “You have to vet them, then, if you’re bringing new people,” she said, frowning. “Personally. Every single one.”

Photo Finish’s snarl became an easy smile. “But of course!” she said. “Though I must say, they are... how do I say this? Ponies who would have a lot to lose if they trusted... poorly.”

“You can’t mean...?” Octavia hissed, and Photo Finish nodded enthusiastically. “No. Too dangerous.”

“And just who do you think your wife’s biggest fans are?” Photo Finish laughed. “The frau makes political movies. She attracts... political ponies.”

Octavia twisted her head. Ponies were starting to pay attention to what she was doing, she was lingering far too long. She had to make a decision and move, now. “Alright. As long as it’s perfect.”

“Wunderbah.” Photo Finish clapped her hooves in delight. “Now, go. Go! Do your things. Ta ta.”

As Octavia walked away from the table, the brass section crashed their way into the next number, and her lingering was immediately forgotten, unnoticed again.

Her singer for the evening was a unicorn named Ebon. She was older than Octavia, and had practiced her whole life, but never got her break. Never been taken seriously enough to quit smoking. Now, though... she was silky black like an alleycat, her voice layered and rich.

Tonight would be her first paid work.

Octavia paused from her mingling, and lingered at the edge of the raised section to hear those first few notes. She always looked out for the hungry ones.

Ebon didn’t so much as sing as breathed the notes, letting the words roll around her chest, and out like plumes of so much smoke.

“How lucky can one gal be?
I kissed him and he kissed me...”

She’ll only sing like this again once, Octavia thought to herself as she moved back towards the guests, and it will be when she sings for the last time.

Ebon had a future here, though.

The instruments were cleaned and back in their cases. The money counted and in the safe. The last of the drunks sent to the park to chase the writers away.

Of course Photo Finish had stayed behind, sipping her last drink at the bar. At first it had looked like she was going to leave with the rest, she’d walked out the door and everything—just to come back right after. She’d ‘forgotten her bag’.

To her credit, she really had left her bag behind. Octavia had already taken the canister in it and dropped it down to the basement. It was just supposed to be understood she wouldn’t come back for it until tomorrow.

Octavia grit her teeth, wiping off the glasses. “What if anyone asks questions?”

Photo Finish laughed dismissively, waving the question out of the air with a hoof like it was a bad smell. “You worry so much. There is nothing suspicious about this. But Vinyl! Ah! You keep her all to yourself. I must see the star.”

“She’ll be here soon. She always is.”

“The look on her face when she sees this one. I must have it.”

Octavia bit her tongue before she could say anything. She couldn’t kick Photo Finish out, not really. She was wonderful on her own, but she and Vinyl were terrible influences on each other. But Vinyl did love to be recognized by an... equal? They did entirely different things, but it was rare to find someone who not only appreciated what Vinyl did, but understood it, too. Octavia could admire the end results, but she never knew the right questions to ask.

Photo Finish looked over towards the front door and beamed. “Ah! Her ears must have been burning. Vinyl, my star, we were just talking about you!”

Vinyl waved from the door, rested and freshly showered. Octavia could tell, because she hadn’t bothered to dry her hair before coming over.

She blinked, and Photo Finish was wrapped around Vinyl in a hug, one kiss on each cheek. “There you are! Oh, how long has it been?”

Vinyl shrugged, and blushed a little bit.

“Ah, no guilt, though. You have been busy. I have heard, ja?”

Vinyl nodded, and hugged Photo Finish back. Photo Finish jumped again, grabbed the film canister from behind the bar, and was back at Vinyl’s side again faster than Octavia could turn her head.

“I have this for you. A review copy, for the censors. How clumsy they are, to lose such things, ah! Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy. You won’t lose this, will you?”

Vinyl grinned and shook her head, then snapped off a sharp salute.

“What is it?” Octavia asked. Vinyl looked curiously at it, gingerly pulling the celluloid out and holding it to the light.

Photo FInish smiled wolfishly. “Oh, this little thing? I was made a producer for the newsreels our Princess does love. All of that is the raw footage for this week... before it is censored. Tsk, I wonder what is in there that they would cut out?”

Vinyl gaped.

Octavia stared at it. “Usually, what you bring for us is merely treason. This might finally bring us up to high treason.”

“Oh, verehrte Dame, I would not worry.” Photo Finish waved it off, “They would not execute you without a trial!”

Vinyl snorted laughter. Octavia felt her stomach drop through the floorboards and flop about in the basement.

Photo Finish laughed. “I trade you. This, and you make my friends very pleased with your next showing, yes? Your best work.”

Vinyl snapped off a smart salute.

“That is all. I will leave you two alone now. Yes?” Photo Finish tilted her head and smiled, but then it was all business again. “I just wanted to see the look on my star’s face. Now! I go.”

Then she was gone, leaving them alone with it.

Vinyl held the film reel to her chest and bounced up and down. She sniffed, and rubbed at her eyes underneath her glasses.

Octavia wanted to burn it, right here and now. But she couldn’t do that to Vinyl—even if it might have been the sensible thing to do.

“Get it into the basement,” Octavia said, poking Vinyl in the chest “There’s some loose bricks in the back wall. Wrap it in some of the drop cloth we have down there, and hide it behind them. Everything you make with it, if you’re not in the basement, brick up. Even if it’s just for five minutes. Yes?”

Vinyl had an amazing talent. You could tell she was rolling her eyes even when she was wearing sunglasses. But still, she nodded, and no matter how exasperated she was, she always did it.

Octavia still worried, but Vinyl always did it for her.

Vinyl went downstairs. Octavia stood at the bar for one last cleanup before heading out. When she looked up from cleaning a glass that Cherry Twist hadn’t quite managed to get spotless, Vinyl was waiting for her.

“What?”

Vinyl gestured down the hatch so hard she lost her balance doing it.

Octavia put the glass down and followed after her.

“Is this a draft for the new thing?”

Vinyl said nothing. Right, silly question. She was going to be finishing that now, and she never showed anything that wasn’t ‘finished’ in some way.

Octavia just wanted to go home after a long shift, but she didn’t say that. They already didn’t have enough time together, recently. They’d both been working too hard. Just being in the same building wasn’t enough.

Vinyl pulled a couch out from the side, dusted it off, and set up a projector behind it. The film she put in had a masking tape label where, instead of a name, there was a doodle of Vinyl with a hoof to her lips, hushing the reader. Secret, then.

But everything down here was secret...?

Vinyl nudged her and pointed at the screen, then snuck both her arms around her neck and pulled her close.

The movie started, and Octavia gasped. It was their wedding.

Their wedding hadn’t been filmed.

Vinyl had taken all the photos and made them move somehow. Added a -- what did she call it? — parallax effect to make them three dimensional. The foreground moved differently to the background, so it was like a camera was panning through the shots...

She’d even found a recording of her old band to play over it.

It was a proper movie. They could never go back in time with the cameras they had now and filmed it, but Vinyl had done everything she could to add motion to the still pictures themselves, and gliding between them. Octavia had never seen anything like it before.

Octavia wiped her eyes against Vinyl’s chest. “How?”

Vinyl grinned and pointed back at the screen.

A good shot of Octavia’s wedding dress, of Vinyl’s tuxedo. She looked so good in it, and without the sunglasses. You could see her eyes so clearly in this one.

Their vows.

“Yes, yes,” Octavia muttered as she pressed tighter into Vinyl. “You’re quite the clever one, aren’t you?”

Vinyl kissed her on the top of the head.

The movie cut back to their kiss after Octavia had said their vows. The sunset drew back as they drew closer. They’d both been crying then, too.

Then the film stopped. There was a flutter as the last piece of film pulled through, and the projector switched itself off. They were left in the dark, pressed against each other, in silence.

Octavia’s throat was so tight she could barely whisper. “You are splendid at what you do, you know that?”

Vinyl kissed her cheek.

They’d been too tired after the wedding to do anything. Octavia had even fallen asleep in her wedding dress, eyes closed before she hit the pillow. It’d been a lot like that, recently, keeping everything going so Vinyl could do her work.

Octavia squirmed until she could see Vinyl’s face. “I’m going to bed. Will you be there when I wake up?”

Vinyl smiled, then frowned. Shook her head.

“Friday. Right.” Octavia sighed. “Photo Finish had to go and be her dramatic self... I understand.”

Vinyl looked at her again, and kissed her cheek, kneading her hooves into the hard-rubber muscles in Octavia’s neck. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head. It made for a very sincere apology.

“Well, a break then, after this? I’ll find someone to manage the place for a week.”

Vinyl kissed her again, then paused as Octavia got her breath back. She was counting something in her head. Counting down?

The music changed, from the projector. It was one of her solos.

Vinyl closed her eyes, ignoring the pictures themselves. The pictures of crowds watching her play. But she smiled at them, at the music.

Take the time off, she was saying. But perform if you want to. Octavia nuzzled back into her, and thought: If I’m taking the time off, I’d rather it be just for you. Like this. She didn’t miss the crowds as much as Vinyl did. But that’s why this particular present meant so much to Vinyl, because it was the thing she wanted so much and couldn’t have anymore.

Octavia fell asleep smiling in Vinyl’s lap, as her wife moved on to work the stress out of her shoulders.

Octavia woke up, and panicked. She was still on the couch, she never left, nobody had seen her leave. She checked the wall clock hanging from a nail in the exposed wooden beams. She hadn’t slept more than two hours.

Vinyl was quietly shut in her editing room, working. Should she knock to say goodbye? Best not startle her.

She was curious about something though. She checked the brickwork, and the reel that Photo Finish had left was behind it. She didn’t want to mix it into her current project? No last bursts of inspiration from it?

Whatever she’d made must have been quite special, that she wasn’t tempted.

She carefully bricked it back up, looking for some mortar, something that would be easy to knock out later. Not too easily, though. It needed to stand up to a guard tapping it, looking for loose bricks. If they already found their way down here, they’d be curious enough to look.

Hopefully Vinyl wouldn’t be too mad, but Octavia was a bit terrified about how well this showing would go. If there were undercover detectives in the audience, if it were a sting. She was scared enough hosting these when she personally curated the guests... Photo Finish might have less sound judgement.

Octavia went upstairs to the bar’s kitchen, cut up some carrots and got some smoked eggplant dip from the fridge. She dropped it off on a projector table downstairs, drew a big love heart on a piece of paper and taped it to the table’s edge, where Vinyl would see it next time she stopped for a bathroom break... however long that took.

It was better to look thoughtful, than to look like she was just bullying her wife into eating some vegetables before she got rickets.

She left for home, watching to see she wasn’t followed, looking to see nobody noticed how long she’d stayed behind.

She didn’t see anything of the sort. That didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Vinyl didn’t come home much that week. The times she did were just to shower and sleep. These times always felt the loneliest, when Vinyl became so focused that she simply didn’t have room in her head to think about her.

It didn’t mean that they loved each other any less. It didn’t mean Vinyl loved her any less. It just meant she was stressed, and it was best to wait until it was out of her system.

When Octavia made it to the security door, she found Ebon waiting in there. There was a cigarette at her lip, burned to the stub, but she didn’t drop it.

“Ebon,” Octavia said, looking at her. “A surprise, but a pleasure to see you.”

Ebon nodded. “I want to perform tonight,” she said. Straight to business.

Octavia paused in reaching for the keys in her vest. “I was going to perform tonight, you realize,” she said.

“You weren’t going to sing, though,” Ebon pointed out, “You were going to play cello.”

“I was,” Octavia nodded, unlocking the door, giving Ebon a curious look, “But I hardly see what the cello has to do with it.”

“Have you ever had a singer with my range for bass notes? A woman, at least.”

A woman? Octavia thought. With a voice like hers? Never. “Not very often,” she said. “You had ideas, I take it? A song already in mind?”

Ebon smiled, and crushed her cigarette between hoof and pavement. The gesture was slow and measured, the controlled movements of someone who’s overthinking every small thing. Someone trying not to tremble with nerves. “Is that presumptuous of me?”

“It is,” Octavia agreed, “But I like that.”

“La Vie En Rose.” The same unsteady steadiness in her voice, “In E minor.”

“Translated?”

This smile from Ebon was more genuine, and just a little smug. Just a little proud. It was a much better look for her. “En français, as intended.”

Octavia kept her expression neutral, “Tu m'impressionnes.” In her heart, though, she had to admit she was a bit excited. Ebon had only sung once, and Octavia used to play for Celestia herself. It was presumptuous to ask to share a headline.

It sounded fun, though. It sounded like exactly what Octavia needed.

“It’s early enough that we have some rehearsal time,” Octavia gestured inside. “Why don’t you warm up, while I prepare the venue.”

Ebon’s knees almost gave out. The tension holding her up had gone. “You mean it?”

“Success is a mountain.” Octavia’s mind went back to sunny Canterlot. “Some at the top like to throw boulders down. Always try to be the one who offers a ladder.”

Ebon was quiet as she followed. Octavia’s ears burned as she realized just how condescending that might have sounded. Or worse, arrogant. She did mean it, though.

Octavia went about her usual routine. Checking the glasses, tuning the instruments, wiping the tables. But this time as she did, she got to listen to the silly sounds singers make when they warm up. The tongue clicks, trying to sing while biting their tongue, the weird gargling and the exercises like you were trying to hack up a furball.

It was impossible to do those exercises with any dignity. If you could do them without looking absurd, you weren’t doing them correctly. Octavia kept to her work, because every time she watched Ebon, the poor woman lit up like an emergency flare.

Musicians could separate themselves from their instruments to tune them. Singers were the instrument. Being seen doing the tuning process was... well, Octavia had practiced long ago, and knew for a fact that she’d never be able to do it in front of anyone, herself.

Most got used to it, over time. Ebon hadn’t had the opportunity.

The interesting thing, though, was—Ebon could have warmed up beforehand, saved herself the embarrassment. She hadn’t, which meant she had expected to be turned away, she’d been certain Octavia would say ‘no’.

She wondered what that meant.

“Would you like to go straight for the main event?” she asked, once Ebon was done warming up. “Or is there something easier to warm up with?”

There was a pause. “The main event,” Ebon said, finally, “Drill it to perfection.”

Being married to Vinyl meant sometimes she forgot the nuances of conversation. “Why the hesitation?” she asked, wincing at Ebon’s reaction. Perhaps a bit too blunt. “You paused there for a moment.”

Ebon stared at the microphone stand, rather than Octavia. “It’s an intimate song. If I play it for a crowd, it’s for them. But if it’s just us...”

She almost laughed, but of course Ebon really was new to all this. Octavia went to her cello, and pulled it from its case. “If you sing it right, everyone in the crowd should feel like you’re singing just for them. It’s good practice.” She played a few notes. Tuned before she’d put it away.

“Like I’m singing just for them?” Ebon repeated to herself. “Not to the crowd, but to every person in it...”

“See if you can hold eye contact with me while you sing,” Octavia added. “It’s going to be mortifying, and you will be very embarrassed, but that’s the difference between a pony who sings, and a performer.” She smiled. “There’s a reason I only play the cello most nights, you know.”

Ebon tried to smile back. “Next you’ll tell me I should be rolling around on the piano, showing my legs off.”

“Why not?” Octavia shrugged. “You have the look and the voice for it. It’d suit you.”

Ebon walked over to the grand piano and ran a hoof across it, like it might bite her, like she’d been given the keys to the kingdom. “I thought they only did that in movies...”

“You can practice that as well, if you want. Feel ridiculous about it now, so you don’t have to later.”

Ebon laughed nervously, looking back at Octavia for the first time. “You’re serious.”

“It was your idea. You had it for a reason, didn’t you?”

Ebon went up to the piano, leaning a hoof onto it, looking terrified she was going to break it. She looked back to Octavia for reassurance, and Octavia just waved her to go ahead. Ebon climbed onto the piano awkwardly, lying across it. She looked down, eyes wide. “This is surprisingly comfortable.”

Her sleek black fur matched the grand piano perfectly. “You look like you were made for that spot.”

Ebon smiled and rolled onto her back, sprawling. “I always did sing better lying down. More support this way.”

Octavia watched, and waited for the novelty to wear off a bit, before she started playing a few scales, getting used to the E minor. Enough to let Ebon remember what she was doing up there in the first place. Vinyl had showed her the theories on what different keys meant. An E minor was ‘effeminate’, and ‘restless’. Like a princess locked in a tower longing for her rescuer and future lover.

The whole thing had read like horoscopes, but some people took it quite seriously... though the same could still be said of horoscopes.

Octavia started at a slow tempo, to suggest a pace. It worked; Ebon closed her eyes and smiled, like she was in a dream. Octavia was good at playing with others, and living with Vinyl had made her pretty good at knowing what others wanted before they got to say it.

Then Ebon started to sing.

“Il me dit des mots d'amour-”

Ebon sang it sultry and seductive, but classy. Younger girls who sang well sounded like bluebirds, to Octavia’s ear. Very pretty, but there were enough of them to fill a tree with. Ebon brought a richness to it that they couldn’t have. Someone who’d made too many mistakes to succeed, but come too close to stop. A character those bluebirds could never quite possess.

It paired well with the cello, which had the closest a string instrument can get to a throaty sound. Big, gulping bass notes. The high range leads made it sink into the background, like how nobody noticed the baritone in a barbershop quartet. With Ebon, though, it matched like a classical voice paired with a violin, complementing each other rather than letting the cello be subsumed by the lead.

It was funny, actually. As good as she was, the cello was too easily put into a supporting role. But Ebon’s delivery presented it as an equal. Just as Octavia, poking Ebon into being braver with her performance, was being careful not to crush her beneath herself.

If Ebon did well tonight, she might be a big draw in her own right, not just a filler act. Someone Octavia could put on stage to draw a crowd without worrying who’d keep the place running smoothly.

But that meant the crowd seeing Ebon and Octavia. Not Octavia and Ebon.

Ebon sang La Vie En Rose, deep and yearning. She made sure to look Octavia in the eye, and she sang it like she was singing it just for her. For a moment, Ebon draping herself over the piano like she belonged there, there was no world outside the two of them.

Her heart skipped a beat. Ebon was a mare who knew longing, and she knew how to play it for all it was worth.

Yes, Octavia thought. This could work.

There had to be a big crowd tonight, to make it harder to tell that the number of ponies who came in didn’t match the number that came out at closing. This would draw them in nicely.

“How was that?” Ebon puffed, putting up a fragile confidence.

“Splendid.”

Ebon’s voice creaked under the pressure of trying to keep her hopes down. “You’ll let me headline with you?”

“I won’t put you on the headline,” Octavia made a ‘let me finish’ gesture as she said it, “but that’s only because I haven’t seen you handle a packed-out room before. It might be more intimidating than you can handle. That way, there’s no pressure for you to back out at any time.”

“This might be my only chance at this, though. Isn’t that pressure enough?”

Octavia snorted, then went to the bar to pour them both a drink. Scotch for herself. Ebon got water with lemon in it. “If you’re cautious, you allow second chances for yourself. If you’re not on the headline, then nobody knows you were meant to perform. There are no rumours. If you can only do one song, we can play it off as all you were meant to do. I risk nothing by letting you try again after you’ve had some practice with audiences.”

Ebon nodded slowly. “You’re right. You’re right of course. I think maybe I’ve just been watching too many movies, and that’s how they always go.”

“I think that largely comes down to the kind of people who are compelled to make them.” Octavia noted, sipping her scotch. “They feel chilly without a bridge to burn.”

The performance went well. The club had been packed, standing room only in parts of it. Ebon’s nerves held up flawlessly, and whatever silliness she had felt about rolling around on the piano disappeared as she got into the act.

She’d left an hour ago, with a high-voltage look to her. She’d sleep a day, at least, after this.

Which left Photo Finish’s crowd as everyone else filtered out.

There were a lot of ponies that Octavia recognized, and even more that she didn’t. She recognized some of the more eccentric writers here, the ones with the wild eyes and wilder hair. Others, she could only guess, would refer to themselves as ‘activists’ in polite company—and polite company would refer to them as radicals.

Manehattan was, after all, much like a termite’s nest. A lot of destructive creatures could hide unseen, and you might only notice they had been there at all when something big fell over.

The most that Octavia had between her and a charge of treason for hosting the Resistance was Photo Finish’s sense of judgement.

Octavia closed the curtain in the middle of the room to open the hatch downstairs. It was her magic trick that not even the trusted regulars knew about the basement. The curtain closed, the curtain opened, and suddenly Vinyl was there, all set up with her projector and speakers.

Beyond the security measure, it gave the whole thing a magical edge.

The curtain closed. Octavia kicked the button below the bar, just once — twice was for emergencies — and made a show of cutting lime wedges for drinks with the biggest knife she kept behind the counter while looking at anyone who stepped too close to the curtain.

The curtains went up. Vinyl stood next to the projector before them in a tuxedo and bowtie. She took a deep bow as the lights dimmed and the projector kicked on.

Octavia couldn’t help but smile. All these ponies saw the mythical figure, the rebel editor, the guerilla cinematographer. Octavia just saw her wife being a big damnedable nerd.

Photo Finish sidled up to the bar next to Octavia to watch. She was vibrating with excitement.

Vinyl had taken almost half a dozen of Nightmare Moon’s propaganda films and spliced them together into a story. Most came from the recruitment films, encouraging ponies to join the Shadowbolts, or the Guard, or the Northern Expeditionary Force.

In the cinemas they’d made those forces marching in columns look gallant and imposing. Vinyl had taken the same shots and changed only the music, to make it something menacing and evil.

For the most part, that was all she needed to change—just the music. The visuals were the facts, but the music was the feeling.

It made her feel a bit guilty, but at these screenings Octavia always enjoyed watching the audience more so than the movie. She’d feel worse about it if she didn’t catch Vinyl watching her a few times, and every time she did her wife smiled at her, like they were sharing a private joke.

When the movie started, there’d been a sense of order and comfort in the club. That was gone within the first minute—everypony had begun leaning forward, clinging to the edge of their seats. As it went on, some even began to rise up out of their chairs, eyes wide.

There were excited whispers at parts, ponies bubbling over with enthusiasm for Vinyl’s work, that kept being dropped mid-sentence as something new would steal their attention completely. There was far from a lack of things to comment on.

There was a tonal shift that confused her, and she looked back to the screen to see why. It was different film stock, pictures of Ponyville. Vinyl had taken it herself, a lifetime ago, when they were thinking of buying a cottage there.

That, along with everything, had been ruined by the Summer Sun festival.

Here. Octavia began watching the film in earnest. She knew some of the ponies on-screen: Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie. She recognized Twilight Sparkle, too, from Canterlot—she’d been glued to Celestia’s side whenever Octavia had performed at the Palace.

Nightmare Moon had wanted to tell a story about defeating them. Vinyl had turned it into a story about how they’d fought her, and how they’d stood defiant. About how Twilight Sparkle had never given up.

Her victory was gloating and tragic. Octavia turned again and the audience was alive, angry. Furious. It could have been so easy to make the audience feel defeated and dejected, but Vinyl—ever the DJ—had pumped energy into it, made a clear call to action.

She’d turned Nightmare Moon’s greatest victory into a weapon.

One member of the audience was quiet and still. Octavia thought she saw tears out of the corner of Photo Finish’s goggles, as she whispered “Wunderbah...” over and over to herself.

Vinyl had made an entire hour-long movie about the loss of Equestria, using Nightmare Moon’s own propaganda efforts. It was tragic, and solemn, and beautiful.

It was her best work yet.

And it was made more powerful to the audience who all realized, at the back of their minds, if they were caught watching it right now? If the guard were to find them? They might spend the rest of their entire lives in a jail cell.

The movie ended with footage that had originally been of Nightmare Moon’s triumph over the Elements of Harmony, along with Celestia’s personal student. The film had been made after Twilight Sparkle’s raid on Canterlot Castle, and the liberation of the Crystal Heart. It had been meant to crush ponies’ faith in her, and to advertise that she was a wanted criminal.

That so much effort had been put into it meant that the Nightmare must have been afraid of her. So Vinyl ended with Twilight Sparkle still at large, a proof that resistance was still possible.

Which everyone in this room had proven to themselves, just then, by sitting through the entire movie.

One second, Photo Finish was next to Octavia at the bar. The same second she was next to Vinyl, shaking her hoof like a parched man would work a pump handle, with no time passing. Octavia didn’t even see her move, and hurried after her.

“My star! My star! How wonderful!” Vinyl’s glasses rattled down her nose from the force of the hoof shakes, “A true gesamtkunstwerk!” The audience gave a quiet standing ovation behind them.

Octavia’s prepared snack trays on the bar gave them a little privacy while they discussed the movie amongst themselves.

“Is a gesamtkunstwerk good?” Octavia asked.

“Is a—?” Photo Finish clutched her heart. “Is a gesamtkunstwerk good? Frau! Never would I have thought cinema could achieve a lehrstück, but you! You! Have done it!”

As Photo Finish hugged Vinyl tight, Vinyl shrugged over Photo Finish’s shoulder at her wife. Still, she was smiling wider than Octavia had ever seen.

Photo stepped back, all stern business. “I will have this in every theatre in Equestria.” She clapped her hooves. “You must make copies. The news reel that is supposed to play? So unfortunate that some verdammt terrorist cell replaced them all with this... yes, that just might fly...”

Vinyl didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Octavia pushed Photo Finish back, and nuzzled her wife. “Her name wouldn’t be on it, and it shall not leave this room.”

“Of course not.” Photo Finish agreed.

“No way to tie her to any of this?”

“None.”

“Good.” Octavia agreed. “Have you planned on how you’ll handle being arrested?”

“Ridiculous!” Photo Finish flicked her wrist, swatting the idea away, “Absurd!” She looked at Vinyl. Then, at Octavia, and she said, in a much lower tone: “But, if you must know. I have. I am too berühmt to take quietly, to be disappeared.”

Vinyl nodded fiercely. Even behind the shades, Octavia saw the stars in her eyes.

Octavia grimaced. “If they ask you for names, you give them mine. Not hers. And you give it before they apply the pressure on you. It might make them take it less seriously.”

Vinyl looked horrified, but Photo Finish waved it off. “It will be as you say.”

“Well. Vinyl, are you okay with that?”

Vinyl shook a little and gulped, but nodded all the same.

“I’ll be closing the club for a week after this, I think.” Octavia thought. “For renovations. I think some time off might be good right now.”

Vinyl nodded at that too, and draped herself over her wife. Octavia grinned: Vinyl really did look handsome in her tuxedo. Photo Finish beamed, and left them to it. As soon as she turned away an assistant materialized beside her, only to have orders barked at her to prepare for distribution of Vinyl’s film.

Behind them the crowd burbled. The reviews were outrageously positive. Vinyl pointed ponies out over her shoulder. A few producers, some award winning directors that even Octavia knew about. Rebels. Ponies they both admired, but that Octavia was terrified of associating with.

The ones who worked behind the camera. The names you were never meant to put a face to.

“Do you want to go bask, love?”

From across her shoulders, she felt Vinyl nod.

“Go play, then.”

Vinyl kissed her on the cheek, then zipped off into the crowd. Small groups congealed around her, to tell her just how brilliant she was.

But, of course, her wife already knew that. She went off to pour drinks and watch the snacks, to keep Vinyl’s fans in as good a mood as she was.

They woke up in the same bed, at the same time, for the first time in... had it been months? It might have been.

There is a difference between waking up and getting up together. Waking up together means blurry eyes, shifting your weight until you’re comfortable again. It means nervous touches, trying not to wake the other, and curious whispers when you suspect they’re doing the same thing.

It means an opiate haze of physical affection and not being awake enough for more complex thoughts.

Getting up together, on the other hand, is when other needs outweigh hedonistic pleasantness.

Hunger pains and caffeine withdrawals eventually win out, but sometimes it’s the simple anxiety that you could be doing something with that time. Especially when the pair are two irredeemable workaholics.

Vinyl and Octavia woke up together. It took them two more hours to get up together.

Octavia cooked breakfast. Vinyl made coffee. They shared at the coffee table.

They’d fight over who dragged who back to bed after, and waste the rest of the other’s day.

The day after was a bit more normal, after they’d gotten over the novelty of the other’s intimacy again. It still took them more than an hour to get up together, but they managed to stay up once they’d gotten lunch.

Vinyl looked stressed. Octavia sipped at the mug Vinyl had made for her. “We’ll go in together.” Vinyl’s head snapped up, surprised. “I’m just as bad at time off as you are. You’re thinking about making the copies for Photo Finish, aren’t you?”

An embarrassed nod. Octavia sipped.

“I wouldn’t mind getting some practice time in. It’s been a while since I haven’t worried about the business side of things. I’ll just be upstairs if you need me, and we’ll bother each other and generally get underfoot all day, like a proper married couple.”

Vinyl smirked, and leaned forward to kiss her wife on the cheek. Octavia was having none of that, and went for her lips instead.

“We have a lovely apartment. I’m glad we got to appreciate it for at least a day before living at work again.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes as she laughed. Octavia had to wonder how often she did that behind the sunglasses and she just couldn’t tell. Part of the appeal, she supposed.

“Let’s go in together then.”

Vinyl walked behind her and started massaging her neck muscles again. Octavia melted in her seat.

“You’re right. No rush.”

Her wife snickered.

There was a banging on the front door as Octavia sat at one of the upper tables. She put her reading glasses down on a pile of restocking papers and tax notes, and huffed.

“We’re closed!” She shouted.

“Manehattan Police! We have a warrant.”

Octavia swore and ran behind the bar on the way to the door. She kicked the silent alarm behind the cash register twice. She prayed Vinyl hadn’t unplugged it again.

She unlocked the big double door, and the security grate. Four officers - a lieutenant, two sergeants and a plainclothes in a black suit made to shove their way through. Octavia danced back rather than give them the opportunity to touch her. She was ready for such tedious shows of power.

“May I see your badges, officers?” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth so she couldn’t snap. “I wouldn’t be the first pony to be robbed like this.”

The lieutenant turned and shoved a badge in her face. Octavia didn’t lean back, just made sure to memorize the number as best as she could.

“Thank you, officer Sugarsnap. The warrant?”

The sergeants looked around, checking all the instrument cases, kicking the floorboards around the orchestra pit. The plainclothes was checking behind the bar. Octavia pretended not to notice him pocket one of the bottles he took from the top shelf.

Lieutenant Sugarsnap produced the warrant. It had been signed by a judge, of course. Completely legitimate. That made life harder.

“Alright. Look for what you’re looking for, then, and leave as soon as you can’t find it.”

Sugarsnap tucked the warrant back into her coat. Stout, boxer’s build. Probably not good at running, quite good at tackling. Not good at running.

The plainclothes, a dark red stallion with a crooked jaw, gestured at something. “Hey, LT. Think I found sumfin.”

Sugarsnap looked around the bar, and Octavia swore with her mouth closed. They were looking right at the button she used to signal to Vinyl.

“What you reckon?”

Sugarsnap moved to kick it, but stopped. “What does it do, Ms Octavia?”

Octavia leaned against the entrance, watching them. Keeping to the exit if they found the hatch under the rug. “Must I say?”

The plainclothes shrugged. His suit didn’t bulge around the shoulders when he did, which meant it was tailored, which meant it was expensive. “No. You are perfeckly within your right. I’d haffa say you were uncooperative in my official repor’, though. We don’t wan’ that, do we?”

Octavia smiled back, sunshine and rainbows. “Of course not, detective. It’s not attached to any bombs or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just a silent alarm, during business hours. Wouldn’t do anything now.”

The plainclothes kicked it. “Seems so.”

The lieutenant looked at it curiously, and kicked it as well. Octavia twitched toward the door, hoping Vinyl at least heard the sergeants moving cases around and... of course not. The soundproofing.

Her smile disappeared. “Would you please stop pressing that?”

The plainclothes sneered, and kicked it again.

Octavia stayed angry. She didn’t know if Vinyl would take that as a ‘hide’ or a ‘run now’ cue. She stormed into the center of the room and stood on the rug over the hatch. On the hatch.

She wasn’t by the door. Now she couldn’t run, but if Vinyl tried to come up...

Sugarsnap cleared her throat. “I notice you didn’t say this calls the guard, as well?”

“Of course not,” Octavia rolled her eyes so dramatically that the gesture took the whole of her neck with it, “I can’t afford your rates.”

One of the sergeants, a younger one, more of a boy than a man, spoke up. “We’re a public good, ma’am, we don’t-”

He noticed the lieutenant and the plainclothes glaring at him, and gulped. Octavia had hopes for him.

The last instrument case was empty on the floor. All the instruments had been cavity searched. Every chair moved, or at least kicked, just in case.

They were getting bored, which was what she had been waiting for.

The plainclothes with the crooked jaw gestured at the rug Octavia was standing on. “Where’d you get this, then?”

“I brought it with me from Canterlot. A family heirloom.” That got him interested more in the rug than what was underneath it, at least. Now she could at least deflect without seeming suspicious. “I couldn’t afford something like this anymore, so I’m sorry if you were trying to shake me down.”

“A shakedown?” Sugarsnap asked, “Is that what you think this is?”

“I have no idea what you were expecting to find otherwise. Now—” Then there was a thump beneath Octavia. Immediately she slammed her hoof down, pretending she was furious. Panic adrenaline substituting for anger. The three uniformed guards looked at her face. Crooked-jaw was staring at the floor. “—please? I feel I’ve entertained you all long enough. If you must come back, do it during business hours.”

Cold sweat. She made sure she was looking at the lieutenant, and not crooked-jaw. It was hard to keep her eyes from flicking over to him, giving herself up.

“Reckon I will, maybe.” He said, and finally Octavia had a reason to look at him. He looked... satisfied. She didn’t know what that meant. “We lot best clear out, then. It’s been a pleasure, Miss.”

Octavia didn’t bother saying anything snappy, or clever, or acidic. Her tongue was far too big for her mouth right now. She was worried her voice would just crack. Instead she just gave them all a stern glare as they grabbed their kit and shuffled out.

The plainclothes was last to go, clattering the security grating shut behind him, and bowing his head with a crooked smile that made Octavia feel the need to go soak in boiling water.

She sat on the hatch for a few minutes, waiting. She reached over to a chair, set up with her cello, and began to play.

It was halfway through her warmup that she heard the clatter of the grating. She looked up just in time to see crooked-jaw pull his head back and run off.

Octavia laughed. He’d been waiting for her to assume she’d been caught and panic. He’d given her just enough rope to hang herself with.

Appropriate metaphor. The gallows requires you open the hatch in the floor beneath the victim...

Finally, Octavia drew the curtain in front of the hatch closed. Now it could be seen as an issue of privacy, not of secrecy.

She opened the hatch to a scared-looking Vinyl. She pulled her up, slammed the hatch closed, collapsed into her wife until she could breathe again, until she didn’t want to throw up.

Vinyl held her for as long as it took.

When Octavia stopped, her wife was giving her a worried look. But it wasn’t worried about her. She seemed more focused than that.

Octavia wiped at her eyes. “You think Photo Finish invited someone she shouldn’t have to the screening?”

Vinyl’s grimace was answer enough. She hugged her again. Sometimes it felt like Octavia was too paranoid for her own good. Then they got reminded.

“That would explain how they acquired a warrant. We should warn her.”

Vinyl nodded, then paused. She was thinking so loudly, Octavia could hear it from her expressions. If they were at the screening, they knew who she was. If they knew who she was...

“I have to warn her.” Octavia corrected. “You hide here. Maybe don’t worry about copying-”

Vinyl glared.

“You can’t be serious? You think, after this, Photo Finish would still-” Octavia cut herself off. “Of course she would, you’re just as mad as each other.”

Vinyl’s glare twisted into a wicked grin. Heck yes they were.

Octavia thought back to Photo Finish’s words to her. She seemed committed. Maybe even like she was counting on it.

“I’ll talk to her. If you want to get back to making the copies, I’ll turn out all the lights and lock up behind me. Don’t come back up until someone kicks the button twice.”

Vinyl nodded, then kissed her on the cheek.

There was nothing she could do to stop either of them. Helping them meant they’d at least work on her terms, rather than going behind her back.

Hopefully they’d all survive this.

Photo Finish had the penthouse suite of the tallest building in Manehattan. The glass walls and open-plan design meant that, as soon as you stepped off the elevator, it felt like you were floating above the city. You could see the lights of it on every side, and look down upon it.

It was an absurd amount of money dedicated by a pony who could not live with the idea she’d missed anything. The camera equipment was always set up, with their empty cases next to them, ready to snap down in a second.

Photo was ironing when Octavia buzzed up. It was weird seeing her without a dress and her accessories. It was like seeing a knight without their armour. She was amazingly skinny under all of it, and her eyes without the goggles...

“Ah, yes, hello!” Photo put the iron down and let it gurgle as the water shifted in it. “You are always welcome at my Kehlsteinhaus,” she gestured to the windows. “You are not here for the view though, no?”

Octavia adjusted her bow tie. “We got raided earlier. The police seemed to know what they were looking for.”

Photo Finish frowned. Her face was much more expressive without the goggles. Maybe that’s why she’d kept wearing them. “You suspect me?”

“No. We trust you completely. We think someone you invited-”

“Ah!” Photo jumped, turning the iron off. “That makes far more sense. You scared me.”

“I should have scared you!” Octavia snapped, following Photo Finish to her media room, a projector screen set up with egg-chairs around it, “Someone you trust is-”

“Of course, of course, a traitor,” she said, bored, “With so many friends, it was inevitable. They’ll have me on trial within the month.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected! More insidious, yes? But far more useful in my line of work.” Photo Finish flicked through her film library, clanking canisters together as she shuffled them. A gesture as refined as a librarian’s, a sound like a burlap sack of tin cans. “I had hoped it was not the case, though this confirms it.”

“You know who it is?”

“No. I suspect no one in particular. How could I?” She picked one of the canisters out and set it aside. “I have to work with so many people. Trust them. But we are an industry of believable lies, hopeful fakes. How does the song go?”

Octavia grimaced. “Say it’s only a paper moon?”

“Yes!” Photo shouted, then began singing it, “Say it’s only only a paper moon. Sailing over a cardboard sea. But it wouldn’t be make believe if you believed in me.“ When she hit a note correctly, it was entirely by accident, and corrected quickly.

Octavia squeezed out a smile. “Yes. Something quite like that.”

Photo Finish stopped flicking through her canisters and gave Octavia a serious look. Being able to see her eyes made it more intense than Octavia thought possible. Maybe the goggles were for everyone else’s benefit. “You were safe?”

“We made it. They didn’t find the basement.”

“Good. I had faith in you. You are smart. Not like Vinyl or I.”

Octavia paused. “Wait—”

Photo Finish reeled on her. “Of course I am a fool! Reckless, reckless, always reckless. Pftah. Vinyl, as well. That is why we are able to do that which needs to be done. Caution, caution is tedium.” Photo Finish tilted her head back and forth in thought. “Prison is tedium, though. Dying is tedium...” She shrugged. “I have the faith in you I do not have in myself.”

“Oh.” Octavia didn’t quite know how to react. “Well. Thank you.”

Photo Finish took the third reel and dropped the pile at Octavia’s hooves. “Take these. Watch them with Vinyl. I will take them back when I collect the copies. We go through with the plan.”

Octavia stared at the films, and wondered if she wouldn’t need to make another hole in the wall for them. “Still? There’s an informant in your inner circle.”

Photo Finish nodded and walked them both over to the windows, to look out over the city. “There will always be traitors. You two are not. So I wish to do as much as I can with Vinyl, before I am done in. At least this is exciting.” Photo Finish looked queasy for a second, but only for a second, and then she was smiling brightly again. “Let this be my... denouement. A film worth dying for.”

“A film worth—” Octavia spluttered, “Vinyl’s movie was good, but I’d hardly call it-”

Again Photo Finish cut her off. “I do not plan to die over it. I only accept that it is possible, and still wish to go ahead. You understand?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Octavia looked at the movies. “What are these?”

“For me to know, and you to find out with that wunderkind of yours. It is for her, but... how do I put this... I have accepted my fate. I do not accept hers. Do you understand that?”

“Absolutely not. Again..”

Photo Finish threw back her head and shouted a groan at the ceiling. “She is like me! Talented! Creative! Reckless! She will go down with my ship if you give her half the chance. You must not let her have that. These,” she kicked the pile of film canisters and let them ring out, “are the bigger picture. You will see. Make sure that you do.”

A noise outside interrupted them. A pair of pegasi officers had flown up to the window and leaned on the glass, looking right at them. Octavia froze, but Photo Finish waved her off.

“The windows are tinted. They are doing that because they cannot see inside, and it upsets them. Watch.”

She picked up a scuffed rubber ball she had lying in the corner and hucked it at the wall hard, bouncing it right between the pegasus officer’s eyes. She flinched back, and she and her partner hurried away.

Octavia could see dozens of faint smudge marks on the windows all around, now that she was looking for them.

“Reckless, reckless, reckless,” Photo Finish muttered to herself. The smile never left her face.

Octavia unlocked the doors and locked them behind her again, the three films hidden in a cart that she pulled along behind her. She’d put the canisters in hat boxes, which was a bit of a risk—they drew less attention from a distance, but anyone looking too closely at them would notice... Well, they’d realize whatever was in those boxes was certainly too heavy to be hats.

At least the streets were dark, now. Now and always.

Octavia unloaded the hat boxes onto the bar top and hesitated for a moment. Photo Finish never seemed happy with the money she made, or the fame she had. They didn’t seem to cross her mind. She only ever seemed to think about those things in the context of usefulness - she seemed to take to friendships in the same way.

While Octavia knew what she saw in Vinyl, she considered herself to be close friends with Photo Finish as well. Which meant she had to wonder what usefulness Photo Finish saw in her...

Octavia kicked the button under the bar twice, and decided the scotch she really wanted right now would probably be a bad idea to have.

There was a knocking at the doors and she froze.

Had she not looked over her shoulder well enough? Were the guard getting better at going incognito? That crooked jaw fellow might even be visiting off-hours to intimidate her.

Didn’t need a warrant, again, just for personal curiosity.

Vinyl opened the hatch, and Octavia gestured for her to shut it as quickly as possible.

“Just a second!” she shouted, as Vinyl’s eyes went wider even than her shades, moving as fast as she could as quietly as she could.

Octavia walked at a stately pace towards the front entrance, letting the sound of her approaching steps ring out. Let that slow any impatience.

She opened the front doors. Ebon was standing there at the security grating.

“Sorry,” Ebon apologized, “Is this a bad time?”

Octavia slumped with sudden relief. She felt like she’d run a marathon. “I suppose not. You want to come in?”

“I do. If that’s alright?”

Octavia opened the grate to let her in.

Ebon walked in with a nod, and Vinyl was sitting at the bar waving to her.

“Ebon, this is my wife, Vinyl. Vinyl, this is our latest talent.”

Vinyl grinned and waved. Ebon hesitated, and she looked sidelong at Octavia. “I didn’t know you were married.”

Vinyl’s smile faltered.

Ebon flinched. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, I meant I’ve never seen you around here.”

Vinyl snorted, then went back to grabbing a cider from behind the counter. Applejack had figured out how to get cider apples to grow at night, so Vinyl kept her very own personal Ponyville shipment behind the bar, for her hooves only. She held the top of the bottle against the bar and stomped the cap off, even though she was a unicorn and it was a twist cap.

“Would you like anything, Ebon?”

“Just water, thank you.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow as she went to grab two glasses. “You wanted to practice together, again, then?”

“Yes.” Ebon nodded. “I know you’re closed, but I just...”

“You just?”

“I don’t know how else to say it.” Ebon swept the mane off her face, gave them a shy smile. She didn’t quite look like a bluebird, in that moment, but she got close. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

Octavia looked at Vinyl. “Were you planning on heading back?” Downstairs, she meant, but she left it ambiguous for Ebon’s sake.

Vinyl cocked her head at Octavia, and gestured at Ebon. Do you trust her?

Did she?

She thought of Photo Finish, trusting her even when she knew at least one, if not more, of her closest friends had already betrayed her. Just trusting Octavia when she brought it up, even though that was objectively a terrible idea.

So Octavia nodded. Yes. She trusted Ebon. Ebon was safe.

Vinyl headed over and kicked her hatch up and went to head back down it.

“Vinyl spends most of her time working in the basement,” Octavia said, looking at the hatch rather than at Ebon, until Vinyl was completely out of sight. “That’s why you never see her.”

Ebon stared. “I didn’t know this place had a basement.”

“Not even rumours?”

“No! Should I have heard rumours?”

“You shouldn’t have. I was just making sure.” Octavia smiled. “I like to keep some things secret, but it’s good to make sure how well-guarded they are.”

Ebon sipped her water and stared at the hatch. Octavia could tell she was trying not to ask any questions out of politeness, but the tension was too thick not address it.

“The basement’s not on the building plans. Officially, the Guard don’t know about it. If they found out... well, they’d be leaning on me for all sorts of regulations I’m breaking. They’d shut the whole club down.” That wasn’t even a lie, actually.

Ebon relaxed. Octavia wondered what she was scared they were doing in here. She’d have to ask later, when it was less suspicious to dwell on it. “What does she do down there?”

“Film editing. It’s just a good place to do the work.”

“Have I seen any of her films?”

“Probably not.” Octavia tried not to laugh at the question. “Vinyl is more of a hobbyist. You might have heard her music though. She performed under the name DJ Pon3?”

Ebon grimaced. “Not my thing, I’m afraid.”

Octavia chuckled, watching the hatch and speaking softer to make sure Vinyl wouldn’t hear. “Not always mine, either, But she’s very, very clever. Her theory is much better than mine.”

Ebon’s eyes bulged. “Really? A DJ?”

“Yes, a DJ. We have to focus on technique and performing, but all Vinyl has to do is work in composition. She deals with sound in its rawest form." Octavia shrugged. "So she's really very good at it. I suppose that's why she got so good at film editing so quickly."

That didn’t seem to satisfy Ebon, but she nodded anyway.

Vinyl came up with a wooden crate full of film canisters, and then she went down and got a second one. She had been busy. She pointed at the cans on the cart, and made a circling gesture. Trade you?

“Certainly.”

Vinyl switched out the gifted reels from Photo Finish and dropped the crate onto the pushcart. Its axles bowed under the weight.

Vinyl read and reread the labels. Octavia hadn’t even thought to check them herself. “We’re both supposed to watch them,” Octavia said, “But how about you watch them first, while I do some practice with Ebon? That way you’ll know what to point out to me when we watch it together.”

It wasn’t just busywork. Vinyl always had the better eye, and she’d hit the pause button every few seconds on the first watch of anything, just to make sure she absorbed all the details she could. It could take her an hour to take in ten minutes of footage, which drove Octavia a little mad.

Vinyl saluted, kissed her warmly, and took the three reels downstairs.

Octavia smiled at Ebon. “What were you in mind for?”

Ebon looked wistfully at the stage she’d headlined just days before. “Anything, as long as it’s in E minor.”

Octavia finished her cider. She only had harder drinks if she was performing. Tonight was just a practice, for fun.

It helped to remember how fun it really was, sometimes. With a pony she could trust.

Octavia walked down into the basement feeling a little post-coital. Her relationship with Ebon was purely platonic, but there was just something to clicking with another artist like that which made working together electric. It gave you all the satisfied exhaustion and brain chemistry rush that only a really good tumble between the sheets could match.

It wasn’t something she and Vinyl had these days, no, but it was why she always tried to organize her showing nights, especially with Photo Finish.

It was nice to have that for herself, too.

That mood evaporated when she stepped into the basement.

Movie posters had been torn off the wall. Hoof shaped holes in the plaster walls, chips taken out of the wooden beams. Vinyl lay on her back, panting, soaked in sweat.

“Vinyl! What—”

Vinyl jumped up off the floor. The lenses had cracked in her glasses. She popped the lenses out and threw them to the side, gestured for Octavia to sit. Octavia did.

Vinyl’s horn flared up as she switched the projector film out and switched it on.

The film played for about thirty seconds before Vinyl stopped it. It was archival footage of Nightmare Moon addressing her council of advisers. She recognized Rarity from Ponyville, Prince Blueblood from the Gala, and a few others from around. Most weren’t old aristocracy, but had been factory owners or business ponies.

“I don’t understand?”

Vinyl switched it out for the tape she’d taken out of it.

The same footage, the same thirty seconds as part of a newsreel, captions inserted about “Discussing plans for Equestria’s future!”

Blueblood wasn’t in any of them.

It was the same footage, but Blueblood wasn’t in it.

Nightmare Moon had figured out how to erase ponies from history.

Vinyl laughed, and there was a weary edge to it. She showed the title of the third reel to Octavia.

Octavia hissed air through her teeth. This is what had made Vinyl so upset, she knew without having to watch it. It was the film that Vinyl had edited the boom pole out of.

The techniques Vinyl had created were now being used to help make ponies disappear.

“She gave me these when I visited her,” Octavia murmured, staring at the film. “She thinks they’re about to disappear her.”

Vinyl shook her head and kicked a crate again. She stormed up to Octavia and tapped her on the head, wild eyes staring at her from the empty glasses frame.

Of course. After they had been raided. Photo Finish wasn’t worried for herself. They were figuring out how to disappear them. Or, at least, that’s what would have happened if crooked-jaw had found any evidence.

Octavia understood why her wife had gotten angry, but she just felt sick, and sad, and exhausted. Her head fell into her hooves.

“Your film, the one you made all the copies of,” Octavia said to the floor. “Have you made all the copies you need?”

Vinyl stopped her pacing.

“It would be safer to burn them, I suppose. Leave no trace. All quite flammable, isn’t it?”

Vinyl stopped her breathing.

“I’ll take them to her now. I’m better at fast-talking if I get stopped. It’s safer with her than here.”

Vinyl hugged her, and didn’t stop squeezing for a long time.

Nobody stopped her pushing the cart on the way there. Octavia had covered the sides of the stacks of film reels with six packs and loaded a keg onto a delivery cart, to make the delivery less suspicious. Ponies would remember her with a stack of movies. Nobody thinks twice about a nightclub owner supplying a party.

Octavia pressed the button for the elevator up. When it came down she checked the weight restriction on the wall and did a bit of mental math. With a sigh, she hit the button for the penthouse floor, and then pushed the cart to go up without her.

It probably would have been fine. But she didn’t trust the weight listed..

The doors closed, and she waited a few seconds for the grinding elevator to leave before pressing the button again. Then another few minutes for the elevator to be unloaded all the way at the top, and come back down.

By the time she arrived at Photo Finish’s apartment, Photo Finish was practically rolling around in the pile of film reels. She’d pushed the cart next to a lamp and unwound a few, checking to make sure they were all the real deal. Every few seconds, she’d bounce in place, and check another one.

Octavia cleared her throat.

“I hid it under real liquor, for the coverl. I’ll be writing an invoice for it, and I ask you actually pay it, so I can give you a receipt.” She grimaced. “Probably best if you decided to ‘throw a party’, I suppose, in case anyone was watching.”

“Of course there will be a party!” Photo Finish, disconcertingly underdressed again, laughed, “This is something to celebrate, ja?”

“Vinyl is going to be ecstatic. Once she gets over...”

“Ah!” Photo stood up straight and dusted herself off. “You did watch them, then, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.” Photo sighed, “Good. She didn’t take it too badly, I hope?”

Octavia cleared her throat again. “She’s taken things worse, I suppose,” she lied.

“Good. I did not know how to say that. To inform her. This was the best way I could think of.” Photo Finish went back to salivating over the film at her hooves, the kegs and other drinks off to the side. “I will have these in every cinema in Equestria by this weekend. That is when this will get exciting. There is electricity in the air, can you not taste it?”

Octavia frowned. “How do you mean?”

“There has been news, from Canterlot. But of course you have not heard it. Of course. You keep your nose too clean to be in the Resistance, ja?”

Octavia nodded. “It does feel like a group dedicated to fighting a battle in a war that lost before they showed up, yes.”

“I understand why you feel this. But!” Photo Finish danced on the spot. “This will be our newest weapon. Powerful!”

“I don’t understand.” She felt like she was saying that too often today.

Photo Finish grabbed her shoulders and looked at her, far too intense without the goggles to hide her eyes. “Octavia, listen to me now. Yes? If I can get these into so many cinemas, it will prove to many ponies that resistance is possible. That there are battles that can be won. Just doing this thing will prove to many ponies that it is good and right to fight.”

Octavia forced a weak smile. “I suppose that some ponies are far too swayed by what they see in the movies, these days.”

Photo Finish barked a laugh. “Ha! You are unswayed. I know, I know. You are too smart. The assistant is always unimpressed by the magician, for she does most of the work in the trick. She knows how it is done. You are not my audience.”

“You fancy yourself a magician, now, do you?”

“Of course!” Again, that dangerous glint in her eye. She hid her smile with a hoof. “But I have not told you my best tricks. I want you to enjoy the show as well, Octavia.” She grabbed one of the beers from the cart, opened it. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” Octavia tried, failed, to keep a straight face.

Photo Finish snorted, then waved the bottle at Octavia. “Good! You are smart, then. You make a very good assistant. I will tell you my first trick, then, so you know not to worry.”

“What?” Octavia raised an eyebrow, still trying — failing — not to smile. “I’m supposed to watch you disappear?”

“A good guess.” Photo Finish tilted her head back and... it would be accurate to say that she drank the beer, but it’d be more accurate to say that she seemed to pour it directly into her stomach, with every bit in between guiding it to the right place without resistance. “No. The Shadowbolts will come for me. I am going to fail to disappear. That will be my first trick.”

Octavia’s smile died, fell to the floor with a wet splat. “You really don’t plan on getting away with this, do you?”

“No.” Photo shrugged. “But it will be worth it. Trust, at least, that I would never turn you or Vinyl in.”

Photo Finish was risking a lot by telling her this, even if she wasn’t saying the whole thing. Even knowing for sure that one of her closest friends was a mole. Unless...

Something else made too much sense. What if Photo Finish herself were the informant? The footage she gave Vinyl was incriminating, she was gathering an audience, the raid happened so soon after the showing ... it would make sense to insist on introducing new people for Octavia to be suspicious of first.

If Photo Finish was the informant, then all this was entrapment, meant to take down as many ponies as possible. That’s why she was asking about the resistance. That’s why she handled trust the way she did.

It all made sense.

Or was it just easier than thinking someone actually had convictions anymore, and was willing to pay for them?

“I believe you,” Octavia said for now, and decided she’d work out if she meant it later.

Photo Finish looked at the cart. “Better leave this here, then. Add it to my receipt.”

Second Reel

Vinyl made her hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Not just the powder-and-warm-milk kind either, real chocolate melted on a stovetop in cream, with just a splash of vanilla in it. The kind you always needed the most when you were least capable of making it for yourself.

It took way longer to make, and Vinyl didn’t even like hot chocolate. She didn’t even pour herself a mug, cracking a can of beer as Octavia went to sit down in her comfy chair. It was just one of those gestures.

Photo Finish had sent them invitations to the launch party, expensive and glossy black invitations with gold ink. They’d both made for excellent coasters.

Octavia gestured at their apartment. It wasn’t nearly as big as Photo Finish’s was. It was quite cozy, to accommodate for being in one of the nicer areas of the city. the size never bothered her; they had so few things to fill it with anyway.

This was all she could have wanted, which was why she was so, so scared of losing it.

“You know, this might be the last day of our free lives. Here, at least.”

Vinyl sipped her beer and thought about that.

“Let’s say all goes perfectly, though. You get your worldwide debut, as it were, and no trail leads back to us. What then?”

Vinyl shrugged, staring into her beer can. She upended it, and cracked another.

Octavia sipped at her hot chocolate. “It’s easy to avoid thinking about it, while you’re doing the work.” She overtipped the mug, giving her a big sticky ring of chocolate all around her mouth. “But then you’re between projects, and it all catches up to you.”

There was a pause, and a guilty look.

“Of course not.” Octavia sighed, “You’re already thinking about your next one, aren’t you?”

Vinyl grinned nervously.

“Well. You know I support you, and I love you.” Octavia said it in that way that made it sound like she was reminding herself, more than her wife. “Let’s just see how the release party goes tomorrow?”

They could have afforded a bigger apartment, if Octavia hadn’t spent so much on fake passports and papers, didn’t keep spending so much on the secret construction in the club’s basement, didn’t hide caches of money and fur dyes and coloured contact lenses. Just in case.

But they didn’t live a life where they could afford a bigger apartment, or the stuff to fill it with. They lived a life where fake passports and coloured contact lenses were just another kind of insurance bill to be paid each month.

They lived a life that meant Octavia was always at work, and Vinyl was always working.

Let someone else have the bigger apartment. Octavia had married an artist.

A tired and grumpy Octavia glared back at her from her bedroom vanity. “Do you think I could get away with just the collar and bow tie?”

Vinyl did her tie up in a full windsor, and left her shades on the table. She was putting in an effort to dress up. It was a lovely gesture. She gave Octavia a Look and shrugged.

Octavia bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to frown. “Well.” She checked the wardrobe, hoping her evening dress didn’t need ironing. It didn’t, small mercies. She took that off the hanger, while Vinyl beat her to the bathroom to put makeup on. “Now I can’t, lest people think you’re out of my league.”

Vinyl’s laughter was beautiful, even through the bathroom door.

She came out just as Octavia was struggling with her zip, and pulled it up the rest of the way. Octavia curtsied, getting a good snicker out of Vinyl for it, and went to putting her own makeup on.

Octavia paused and looked back. Vinyl was wearing eyeliner, not glasses. “I like the new look,” Octavia said, holding Vinyl’s eye contact long enough to make her blush and look away - she couldn’t do that most of the time. “It’ll be lovely to see your eyes out in public. You’re a scandal.”

Vinyl grinned and kissed her on the cheek, pausing too long to look over Octavia’s shoulder as she was confused by her own reflection. She wasn’t used to her own look yet.

Octavia looked again at the bags under her eyes. She had barely slept. She had packed and repacked the bug-out bags she’d made in their apartment, knowing they’d never make it back here again if they were turned in at Photo Finish’s party.

But she couldn’t tell Vinyl that when she was so excited.

Vinyl had to fight the urge to skip to the party, Octavia noticed. It was a fifteen minute walk through Downtown, and Vinyl had been buzzing for the first ten minutes of it. She kept shifting self-consciously in her nice jacket. She also caught her reflection in every shiny surface she could, to adjust to how she looked out in public with the glasses off.

“You look wonderful,” Octavia whispered to her, and Vinyl flinched. She glared at Octavia. “Yes,” Octavia kissed Vinyl’s cheek, “I’ve been watching you watch yourself for a while now. It’s rather cute.”

Vinyl winced. Octavia wondered how long it would take for her to get used to other ponies knowing where she was looking. It was a vulnerability she wasn’t used to. She was also making a big point of not looking at other ponies, in case she got caught staring. Octavia gave her a big kiss right under her ear.

“Do you think you can handle going to a whole party like this?”

Vinyl nodded, but her expression was terrified. She went back to staring at her reflection in the building again. Octavia watched her watching

Octavia saw something else in the reflection, a stallion watching them. As soon as she turned to look at them, though, they were looking at something else.

When she looked back at the reflection in the building’s surface, the stallion was watching them again.

Was this the first time, or just the first time she’d caught them?

Octavia nudged her wife. “Vinyl, you can set the pace, if you want to. I’ll keep up.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Vinyl doubled her speed, sticking to the main road rather than ducking down alleys. Trying to stay visible, sticking to the well-lit areas. While Octavia wanted to hide, Vinyl always felt safer when she was seen. She had more trust that someone would help her, that way.

The stallion that had been watching them started following them.

Vinyl stopped, staring up at the sky for a second. Octavia walked past her for a second, but Vinyl tugger her collar and pointed up.

Overhead, a huge searchlight flashed in the sky, right onto the clouds directly above. In it was written a letter, like an overhead projector for a classroom scaled up to city-size, fit into the round searchlight:

Hello.

I am being arrested

and taken into custody

~Photo Finish

Octavia hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Had the films been intercepted? Or had they already made it to cinemas and the response was faster than they anticipated? “I think the party’s cancelled.”

Vinyl nodded, spun on the spot, and headed back toward their apartment. Octavia matched her pace again.

This was sudden—too sudden, which probably meant it was deliberate. Maybe Photo Finish had betrayed them, in the end, and this was her way of preventing herself from getting ‘disappeared’. Either that, or it was a big show for her party guests to stop them from suspecting she was the traitor all along. The timing made it hard to tell.

Of course Photo Finish would have been alone—Octavia and Vinyl were the only two ponies in her friend group who’d ever show up early, let alone on time.

The stallion behind them cleared his throat.

Octavia hadn’t heard him catch up to them.

“Excuse me, ma’ams?” He was right behind them, close enough to grab them. “I’m with the police.” He sounded like somebody’s annoyed Dad, as he pulled a detective’s badge from his jacket pocket and held it up long enough for them to be sure it wasn’t fake. “We’re going to be wanting to be asking you some questions.”

Vinyl was fast, rushing to slam the guy between his eyes, but Octavia was faster, stopping Vinyl before she could take a single step. Neither of them could run in these shoes, and... well. This was just the one that they got to see, wasn’t it?

Octavia had watched a flash of sharp metal in the detective’s coat return to its hiding place when he had cleared his throat, and wondered if the message in the sky hadn’t saved them both from getting ‘disappeared’ as well. “We’d like to speak to our lawyer, please.”

The detective snorted. “I’m sure you would.”

“We intend to co-operate.” Octavia assured him, tapping Vinyl’s chest before she could growl. “I’m sure you, of all people, would understand.”

The detective was quiet for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I would.”

Octavia smiled at him pleasantly. It seemed to make him uncomfortable. “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell us what this is about?”

A rumbling voice came from the alley in front of them. “Not really. You isn’t being arrested for anything. You’re just comin’ wiv us.” A dark red stallion with a crooked jaw walked out in front of them, his lips twitching as he tried not to smirk. “I put you down in the repor’ as co-operative. You isn’t gonna make a liar of me, is you?”

Vinyl’s hoof shot across her chest to hold her back.

It wasn’t a dark interrogation room with the one way mirror and the blue tiles. It was well lit, almost cozy office room with a tape recorder between her and the detective, a stallion who was only a few years older than she was, the colour of manila folders.

Octavia eyed the door. “I asked for my lawyer.”

“They’re on their way, but until then—”

“I didn’t tell you who my lawyer was.”

There was a long pause. The detective continued, "We're having trouble getting your wife to talk."

Octavia didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “I wouldn’t bother. Just send her home.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’ll co-operate,” she added, “but it’s pointless to keep her. Besides. I heard we aren’t actually under arrest?” Without the crooked-jawed one in the room, her confidence was coming back. But there was just something about him, specifically. She didn’t know what it was, but he had the air of someone who’d as soon throw a kitten into a sack with a brick in it and toss it in a river as pet it.

“Not yet,” the detective said cryptically, but she wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Well, I’m sure you can think of something soon enough. But until then—”

“Think of something?” The detective leaned across the table and hit ‘record’ on the tape. “What makes you so confident we’ll think of something?”

Octavia rolled her eyes, not taking the obvious bait. “The Princess keeps clever enforcers, I hear.”

The detective hummed. “Would that be a treasonous tone?”

She rolled her eyes again. “The alternative is that she’d keep stupid ones, which doesn’t inspire patriotism either, does it?”

The detective snorted, and scribbled a note on a notepad. “You think you’re clever then?”

“Well, obviously not, because the Princess hasn’t tried to hire me, now, has she?” Octavia smiled.

The detective was unimpressed. “I thought you said you planned on being co-operative.”

“I am!” Octavia protested, leaning forward, “This is me being co-operative! Unless you’d like to see me be difficult?”

The detective pulled out a notepad and pen, and scribbled something down. “Noted. Well, you’re not under arrest, but it seems that an associate of yours is about to stand trial.”

“You’d like me to testify against Photo Finish?”

The detective leaned back in their chair and glared. “I never said who.”

“It was painted across the sky.” Octavia snorted, falling back in her chair, “Or would you like me to pretend to be shocked for you?”

He grit his teeth, and scribbled another note. “You will be asked to take the stand for her case, yes. It would be suspicious for you to leave the city before the trial, but the trial will be held as soon as possible. A few days at the most.”

Take the stand, but not explicitly against her. If Photo Finish was the traitor, then she wasn’t being brought in as a witness, but as a defendant. This was just pretext to get her into a courthouse, surrounded. It was a trap.

She cleared her throat. “Are you threatening me?”

The detective rolled his eyes. Then, he slammed his hooves on the table. “Miss Octavia, please!”

“What?”

He kicked the leg of the table hard, juddering it. “Please, restrain yourself or you will have to be restrained!” He roared at her, “Miss Octavia—” He slammed his hoof on the table again, hard.

Then, quietly, he reached across the table and hit the stop button on the tape recorder, rewound it.

His tone was just bored, now. Like he was talking down to a child who’d gotten as far as precociousness would get her. “Do we now have a better understanding of what threatening you looks like?”

Octavia nodded, staring at the recorder.

“Good. I’m recording over that, now. Never happened. Because, as you keep saying, you’re co-operating, aren’t you?”

Octavia nodded again.

“Alright. That’s all. You can go home now, and your wife as well.”

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t allowed to cry until she got home, she decided, not even a sniffle. She couldn’t show weakness.

Octavia fiddled with her gold ring, and wondered if she still had what it took to be married to an artist.

When Octavia got back to their apartment, Vinyl had already put together her green tea set. An heirloom pot, a ceramic jar of jasmine.

It was easy to make green tea, but difficult to make it well. It required concentration, careful measurement of ingredients, patience for the water to drop below boiling... all these things focused the mind and calmed the nerves as much as the tea did.

That Vinyl already had a cup of it that Octavia could smell from the stairs meant she’d gotten there a lot sooner.

Octavia ignored the tea at first, went for two painkillers, crushed them into a crystal glass, doused them with scotch, filled the glass with tapwater and clattered some ice cubes into it, taking as deep a gulp as she could without burning her throat.

Then she sat down next to her wife, both staring into their drinks.

“You know,” Octavia said into her scotch, “I’m supposed to be the calm, sensible one. I feel like we’ve entirely got this the wrong way around.”

Vinyl put an empty teacup in front of her and lifted the teapot. Octavia waved it off.

“I don’t feel it that strongly. But thank you.”

Vinyl put the pot down. She didn’t need more than the tea - she just needed to stop taking caffeine pills and energy drinks to bring her down.

Octavia needed something that’d take blunt force trauma to the sharp spikes of anxiety. Her mind was going a million miles a minute, and it wasn’t heading anywhere worth going.

They sipped their drinks in silence, both thinking and trying not to think.

“I’m going to the club,” Octavia said, when all that was left of her scotch was the ice. “I’ll try to move the piano over the hatch down. Is there anything you want from the basement before the end of the week? Because I don’t think it would be sensible to go down there for a little while.”

Vinyl shook her head, and nuzzled into Octavia’s shoulder. Now she didn’t want to move.

I wonder if we’ll get sent to the same prison. Maximum or minimum security? It was high treason, certainly, but it was non-violent high treason.

Would they separate us just to be cruel?

Absolutely.

“Vinyl, before I go. If things look bad at the trial, if it turns out they know anything...” she paused. “Do you remember any of the dumpsters I told you about, or the false walls? You know where I put the fake papers and passports?“

Vinyl nodded.

“Good. Then we need a meetup point. In case things go badly for one of us, or we get separated. Where can we find each other?”

Vinyl thought. Other ponies wondered how Octavia could get along with Vinyl so easily when she was loathe to talk, but it really was like she could read her thoughts. Vinyl glanced at her, writing the club off her mental checklist. When she looked down, she was thinking of the apartment and writing that off. When she looked up she was thinking of Photo Finish, and writing that off.

What other places did they have, she was wondering. What other mutual friends?

They’d come to Manehattan to escape Canterlot. They were refugees here. They had friends, fulfilling work to do here, but it wasn’t home.

Vinyl looked at her with her red eyes, and silently asked Octavia to tell her what she was thinking. Just because Octavia knew what was happening in Vinyl’s mind didn’t mean that Vinyl did...

“There’s a train station station to the south west, about a day’s walk outside of the city,” Octavia said, “That could take us to Ponyville.”

Vinyl’s eyes lit up. Her head whipped back and forth as she tried to work out which direction south was. Not having a sunrise made it difficult to remember.

“Across the bridge, then left. There’s a big hill overlooking the city there. Meet at the top, where there’s clear sightlines?” A grim chuckle. “No need to talk about only moving by night. That’s been made simple for us.”

Vinyl nodded, then kissed her.

They’d always talked about settling down in Ponyville, but it had felt wrong with... how things had turned out.

Now Octavia was quietly hoping they’d need to run. Just give her the excuse to go home.

Her headache tablets were kicking in enough she could make it to the club.

Ebon was waiting for her outside the club, again. Octavia jingled her keys as she approached, so as not to spook her. Ebon jumped anyway.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long,” Ebon admitted, touching her forelegs together self-consciously, “I heard you were taken in by the guard, so I was coming to see if they had put anything on the door...”

“You were worried they were disappearing me?”

Ebon nodded. “I didn’t know where you live, so I came here.”

Octavia unlocked the doors to let them both in. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m moving the piano, and it helps to have someone who won’t ask questions.”

Ebon reached out to touch Octavia’s wrist as she turned the key. “Move the piano? Why? Are you selling it?”

Octavia looked down at the hoof, and Ebon pulled it away. She led them both inside and locked the door behind them. “No. Over the hatch nobody’s supposed to know about. Photo Finish-”

“I saw!” Ebon blurted, shocked.

“I think that was the point,” Octavia hummed, walking to the center of the room. “And because she’s a good friend of Vinyl and mine, and a regular, they might be looking a little closer at the club than I’m used to. So I thought it’d be smart to move the piano over the basement entrance, put some nice carpet down, maybe move some seating onto the stage area...” Octavia was working this out in her head as fast as she was saying it. Moving the piano here was going to be suspicious unless there was a good cover for it.

“Let me headline,” Ebon said, fierce eyes burning into the side of Octavia’s head, “Three shows a week.”

Octavia couldn’t help but smile. “Now, isn’t this a bit of an opportunistic moment to be negotiating contracts?”

She shook her head, no. “Then moving the piano would be my idea. Lying across it is a big part of my act, isn’t it?”

“Oh, now, that’s brilliant isn’t it? No, now is exactly the time to negotiate a contract for you. We can put that in your rider clause.” Octavia ran to the corner she’d left all her accounting and legal paperwork, rifling through it. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Are we—is this negotiating?”

“You’re negotiating from a position of strength! Feel free to haggle.” Octavia barked out a laugh, finding the forms she needed. She’d already drafted something for her, after the first night. This was a bit more than she was planning to give, but she wasn’t unhappy with what she was getting. “Make this look good. Your wildest dreams. Only blue smarties, a particular soft drink in the dressing room, you’re a rock star now.”

Ebon stood over the hatch, where the piano would be, and looked around the room. “This is... this is very sudden.”

“First thing that comes to mind,” Octavia clapped her hooves, chop-chop, “wildest fantasy, what can I give you?”

“Private practice sessions with you!” Ebon decided, jumping on the idea before she could think twice about it, “They’ve been wonderful.”

“Yes, you have been learning quite quickly with them,” Octavia penned a few notes down, “What else?”

“Can I have my own keys in? Or is that too much to ask?”

“You already know what I’m hiding here, and I don’t imagine you’d steal anything. Accepted. What else?”

“What else?” Ebon protested, “What more should I want?”

“A leaflet campaign of no less than one thousand to be distributed, a radio spot at prime time on a station of your choosing, to be determined,” Octavia wrote as she spoke, “the floor plan, of course, and the acoustics to your specification, but we’ve already done that. Free drinks from the bar for evenings you perform. And to be referred to by a title of your choosing.”

“What, like, Duchess?”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “If you wish. But no, more like...” here she struggled, “Mistress Ebon?”

Ebon shivered. “It feels weird to hear you call me that.” She was blushing

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re a fine talent. Lady Ebon, then?”

Ebon took a deep breath. “Just Miss Ebon should be fine.”

“Miss?” Octavia wrote down in surprise, “Not Ms?”

Ebon flicked her tail like a whip crack. “You never know, it might help to advertise that I’m single.”

“Ah. I see,” Octavia signed the document. That made it as official as it was ever going to get. “Ever playing the seductress. Your signature here?”

Ebon read the document, then read it again, holding the quill in a shaking grip.

Octavia paused, pulling the paper back towards her for a moment. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ebon leaned forward even as Octavia pulled away. “This is the first time anyone’s had me sign a contract before,” Ebon whispered. “I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a teenager...” She winced, and rubbed at the wrinkles under her eyes. “You say I’m playing the seductress, but I haven’t been that young in decades.”

“And left wanting all that time. Never complacent. You’ve got a hunger to you that’s very attractive,” Octavia reassured her. “But I won’t hurry you. Savour the moment. Believe me, I’m in no rush, after you sign this I’m going to ask for your help moving that bloody piano, and it will be miserable.”

Ebon finally signed the contract with a laugh. “Thank you. For everything. I’ve never felt like this before...”

Octavia gestured at the contract. “The ink’s been dry on most of this for a while now. This isn’t a snap decision on my part. You’ve earned this.”

Moving a piano is never easy, but having magic on your side admittedly helps a lot. They set it down on the carpet, pinning the hatch closed.. Ebon looked across the piano, both of them panting with exhaustion.

“You’re going to be fine, right?”

Octavia paused. “Honestly, I’m more worried about Vinyl. She and Photo Finish...” She paused and considered her words very carefully, “are very close. It might end up being guilt by association. And if it turns out anything happened here, then that’s me gone as well.”

Ebon winced. “Oh. They can’t really do that, can they? It doesn’t seem fair.”

Octavia adjusted her bowtie, which had gotten twisted when her neck muscles strained against the piano’s weight. She clicked her tongue. “Well. If you do things a certain way, the right way, then it doesn’t matter how unfair it is,” she said. “Ponies will protest, sure. Some newspapers might denounce it, the brave ones. But do you think anything’s going to change? As long as it looks like things are being done properly, then they will be protested properly, too.”

“So, what?” Ebon frowned, “It’s not worth doing anything?”

“Of course it’s worth doing something,” Octavia scoffed, shuffling through her legal forms, “Which is why it’s important they’re discouraged from it. The reason things are so bad is because Nightmare Moon has made things not-quite-bad-enough for ponies to do anything drastic. But that’s exactly why we need to do something anyway. To force her to either make things better, or force her hand enough that it’s intolerable.”

Octavia only realized she’d been turned her mental filters off from the way Ebon was wincing. It was nice to have someone she could let her guard down around, but she was in enough trouble already.

Ebon was silent for a while. Finally, “Are you sure you’re not getting arrested?”

Octavia was suddenly sure she wasn’t. And she realized that the reason was because, really, she hadn’t done anything worthy of it. She’d been too careful. She’d been too scared to associate with the ‘wrong crowd’. And she would have to stand trial anyway.

She wished she could have Photo Finish’s conviction—a word which had an appropriate double meaning in this context.

“I am certain I am safe,” she said, dribbling disgust into the words however it would fit. “Now. Help me pick out a radio station for you. We should probably get started on the copy...”

Ebon stopped her. “Actually, I do have one... small request?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember the first song I sang with you. For you?”

Octavia nodded. “La Vie En Rose? Of course. Feeling sentimental?”

“I just have a feeling that everything's going to turn out well for you, at the trial.” Ebon nodded, gesturing at the piano. “And since we already moved the piano.”

Octavia was already moving for her cello, a skip in her step. “Of course. Same as before?”

Ebon shook her head. “I was thinking in G major, this time?”

Last time had been in a longing, minor key. Octavia had to agree, the ‘horoscope reading’ for G was much more cheerful; the happiness of a close relationship, the feeling of good things to come.

And, with Ebon singing it for her... She could let herself believe it, too.

Octavia rolled out of bed because somepony had started hammering on their front door. She tied her bow-tie half asleep as Vinyl threw a pillow over her ears and twisted to face the opposite wall.

As she made it to the living room, the hammering got louder, more urgent. “Yes, coming. What is it?”

“Summons.” Someone shouted through the door, “You were informed...?”

So soon? Photo Finish’s lightshow must have had its intended effect. “Ah! Be right with you.”

She opened the door on the detective from before, and the stallion she thought of as Crooked Jaw.

“‘Ello. We ought to get a move on, ey?” He grinned at her.

Octavia went through her mental map of supplies and fake papers three times in her head. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get a move on then.”

Photo Finish had obsessively taken command over the courtroom lighting. Her extras bustled about, hanging keylights over the audience stand, three-point lighting setups for the prosecution, defense, and witness box. The judge’s box was bottom-lit, to give the grown-up version of holding a flashlight under your chin when you tell a scary story.

Cameras were mounted on tracks and dollies, with one on a crane to monitor the audience. The cables all fed to an editor’s box in the corner, switching the feeds effortlessly. Photo Finish herself sat in the defense box, beaming, the layout diagrams the majority of the papers in front of her.

Her attorney looked like she was about to have a stroke.

“How did she get away with this?”

Octavia was prodded in the back by her escort, guiding her down the middle of it all to the wings of this stage.

“Princess let ‘er.” Crooked Jaw answered from behind her. “Thinking of putting ‘er on the next newsreel, I ‘eard.”

Octavia jerked away, she didn’t like how he’d snuck up so close to her. “It’s a historical moment. Might as well give history the most flattering view.”

Crooked Jaw chuckled, and Octavia went cold at hearing it. “I s’pose.”

“You suppose?”

“Still a war on. The...” There was a pause, then a grunt as he forced his pronunciation, “rebellion is still official. Might just end up ‘anged. One way to go down, eh?”

As he emphasized the word ‘rebellion’, Octavia made an effort not to look around at the ponies setting up the cameras and lights. She recognized a lot of them as fans of Vinyl’s work. That made her feel safer, in a weird way, until he’d mentioned hanging.

Octavia’s stomach twisted into an icy knot. High treason was a hanging offense? Was Octavia here to testify against Photo Finish so that she might be hanged?

If Photo Finish had been betrayed by one of her friends that knew about Vinyl...

She was a musician, in a past life, and her mind couldn’t help but play the sound of twanging rope and her wife’s neck snapping with crystal clarity.

“No running now,” Crooked Jaw pushed her forward again, “Show’s about to start.”

Octavia took the witness stand after she didn’t know how long, they hadn’t left her a clock in the waiting room. It had felt like years, but it might have only been an hour. It was impossible to tell.

She couldn't help but admire just how much Photo Finish had outdone herself with the courtroom lighting. It felt suitably dramatic and suspenseful. She realized that she was just a side character, that Photo Finish was the protagonist of this movie, and felt comforted by that.

Photo Finish nodded to her from the defense, as if to reassure her that everything that had happened until now was going fine, as planned.

The judge looked down on her, over the rims of his glasses.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“Yes,” Octavia lied.

“Then we may proceed. Can we hear from the prosecution?”

The prosecutor approached her. Octavia looked over at Photo Finish, whose expression was unreadable behind her sunglasses. She couldn’t tell anything yet. “Ms Octavia, if you’re prefer to be called that?”

“I would.”

“Ms Octavia, do you have any idea of why you’re here?”

“I am co-operating with authorities, who didn’t tell me anything other than I was to be here.” Octavia was careful with her words. Until she knew whether she was here to defend herself, or to testify against Photo Finish, she didn’t want to commit either way. Which, she suspected, was the trap.

“Objection!” Photo Finish’s attorney leapt forward, slamming her desk. “Leading the witness.”

“Sustained,” the judge banged his gavel. Octavia breathed a sigh of relief, which the prosecutor took an uncomfortable note of.

“Ms Octavia,” he started pacing as he talked, “What would you say your relationship with Ms Finish is?”

“A good friend, and a great friend to my wife as well.”

“That would be a Ms Vinyl Scratch?”

“Yes,” Octavia felt like these questions were leading her into a trap, but she couldn’t see what it would be, or how she could possibly avoid it at this point. She kept her breathing even, denied her heart its chance to beat in her chest.

She was a performer. She knew how to deal with stage fright:

“So, more than a business relationship?”

“I would say so, yes.”

“That’s interesting. Would you like to comment any further on that?”

“I’m sorry, but is this going somewhere?” Octavia asked with a raised eyebrow, and the audience chuckled somewhat. She even saw a juror stifle a giggle.

“I have to agree with the witness,” the Judge said, “If there’s a point to this line of questioning, you might like to get there soon.”

“The point is,” the prosecution carried on, failing to hide his frustration, “that we have at least a receipt to Octavia’s establishment in Photo Finish’s penthouse. She supplied the catering for the party that Ms Finish was throwing in celebration of... Ms Octavia, do you know?”

“A launch party for her newsreel success,” Octavia saw the trap this time. She was being tempted to lie, but anyone who had seen her and Vinyl leave the house in dresses that night would be able to lead her down an awkward series of questions. “My wife and I were both invited.” The truth was unexpected.

But the prosecution seemed ready for that, too. “So, you weren’t just catering. You were going as friends of the defendant?”

“I should certainly hope so. Unless she was just trying to get cheap liquor out of me...?” Octavia shot an exaggerated glare at Photo Finish, obviously performing for her audience’s sake. It got another quiet chuckle from the right ponies, but it also gave her a chance to read Photo Finish’s reaction.

She smiled cryptically. She was impressed by one of them, that was for sure. But at trapping Octavia, or Octavia evading one?

The prosecution was enjoying getting what he could with the information asymmetry. “Would you say that Ms Finish is closer to you, or your wife?”

“It’s impolite to think of your friends in that way,”

“Well, let’s say someone has a sword to your throats. Ms Finish only has the ransom for one of you. Whose does she pay?”

The smile disappeared from Photo Finish’s face, just as it did from Octavia’s. “My wife. I suspect.”

“Ms Vinyl? And do they have long conversations? What do they talk about?”

Octavia grit her teeth. “My wife prefers not to speak, when possible.”

“Interesting. Because we can connect you and Ms Finish together, as a patron. But Ms Finish and Ms Vinyl? What makes them so close? A shared interest?”

“Well. Maybe she likes my wife more because she doesn’t talk as much.” Octavia forced a smile. “But you’d have to ask Photo Finish that, not me.”

The prosecution backed off. Octavia had made a good deflection, yes, but the problem was she had been seen to make a good deflection. A juror leaned forward in their seat a bit more, more interested.

“Were you aware of the seditious nature of the newsreels Ms Finish sent out, when invited to the release party?”

Here was the final moment of truth. If Photo Finish had betrayed her, lying right now would incriminate her severely. If she wasn’t, then confessing would implicate her. Her life was over if she judged this wrong.

Octavia tried to divine meaning from Photo Finish’s expression again, and found it blank again. There was an effect Vinyl had shown her, in editing. A blank expression takes on the context the viewer puts on it — or the editor.

All trying to read it would tell her were her own feelings in the reflection of the dark sunglasses.

In the dark glass, though, she saw her answer. She remembered the way she’d thrown that ball at the pegasus’ face when they tried to peak in.

Maybe Photo Finish would throw a ball to spook that pegasus to earn her trust. But Octavia had seen dozens of marks on her windows, dozens of throws. There was nothing they could offer that she wanted, and everything she wanted was something they couldn’t give.

It had to be someone else.

“No,” Octavia committed her second perjury of the evening, “I did not. Actually, nobody has even told me what she’s been arrested for?”

There was a horrible pause, then everything continued on.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Well, I don’t have many friends, and the one most likely to know is the one who got arrested,” Octavia protested, again getting a smile from the jury. “There was nobody else to tell me.”

The prosecutor got uncomfortable about that. “Ms Photo Finish made her own little drama film about our Princess. A seditious and malicious hit-piece.” The prosecutor watched her lack of reaction. “You don’t look too shocked by this?”

“Well, it sounds like something she would do.” Octavia shrugged.

Photo Finish grinned at that. All the lights, cameras, the dramatics; she wasn’t planning on being innocent here. She was probably just hoping she didn’t take anyone down with her. Which meant Octavia was free to play the audience.

The prosecutor plowed ahead, getting right up in her face. “You were aware of Ms Finish’s political leanings, then?”

“Well, I said we were friends. It’s easier to be friends with someone if you don’t talk politics.” She grinned back, practically humming you can’t catch me, you can’t catch me at him. “I was more speaking to her flare for the dramatic.”

“I see,” the prosecutor nodded.

Photo Finish’s attorney stood up again. “Excuse me, your honour, but I have to ask where the prosecution is going with this? What they hope to gain by this questioning?”

The Judge nodded. “Again, I have to agree with the defense.”

The prosecution smiled, which Octavia didn’t like at all. It meant she missed something. “If it pleases the court, Ms Octavia here has hosted evenings here for Ms Finish late night after closing hours at her club. We have reason to believe she colluded in this endeavour by providing a venue for the treason in question to be discussed.”

“I have, have I?” Octavia raised an eyebrow, leaning forward, daring the greasy little stallion. “Says who?”

Photo Finish leaned forward in her seat. The jury shifted.

“A detective trailing Ms Finish noted her irregular hours, and that someone else they were tailing was also staying behind well after business hours, with the locked doors.”

Octavia paused. It hadn’t been an informant; It had been a tail! They hadn’t been betrayed, Photo Finish just wasn’t paranoid enough to notice the surveillance. She looked around the room for Crooked Jaw, and saw him staring right back at her, his expression... thoughtful. Attentive. He was trying to read her.

She fiddled with her bowtie, then tightened and neatened it. She forced an effortless smile.

“I see. This is quite embarrassing for me.”

The prosecution paused, falling into the obvious question instead of pressing his advantage, buying her precious seconds. “Embarrassing?”

“Well. I hadn’t liked to advertise that sometimes we hold release parties for our friends.” Octavia ‘admitted’. “If that sort of thing gets known, you make the wrong sort of friend.”

“Like the kind who’ll spread seditious, treasonous material?” The prosecutor led.

Octavia shook her head. “To put it in terms you’d understand, I’m sure you have those friends who only hang around with you for the free legal advice?” She paused, and looked at the jury. “Or is that most of them?”

The jury laughed, and the prosecutor was absolutely flustered. It was meant to be a deflection, but apparently she’d hit a raw nerve. That wasn’t good, actually, as much as it got a genuine laugh out of her audience. She had made things personal. And just like in the police station, she was only giving the illusion she had any power over the situation.

The prosecutor moved into a fencer’s stance, staring her down. He was unblinking. Worse still, he was preparing his offense, preparing answers for answers. Octavia couldn’t prepare if she couldn’t guess his approach.

He shifted. “Did you know your wife was seen attending these events?”

“I didn’t know she was seen attending them, no.”

“But you don’t deny that she was there?”

“I don’t deny it.”

“Your wife, who you said, is better friends with Ms Photo Finish than you are?”

“I did say that.”

He stepped to the side, like a feint, guiding Octavia’s eyes naturally towards the jury. Getting them interested worked to her advantage before, but now it meant they were paying attention. The sword cut both ways. “But you didn’t say what they were close over?”

The truth came quicker than a lie. “My wife is a fan of Photo Finish’s work.”

He clicked his tongue. “So naturally your wife would attend wrap parties for Photo Finish’s new works?”

“Naturally,” Octavia agreed. There was a tightness in her chest now - he was building to something, and she didn’t like the direction.

“Did Photo Finish discuss her project with your wife, then?”

Octavia couldn’t think of any smart deflections, dodges or jokes. “I don’t know,” she said carefully.

This time the judge leaned forward in his seat. That was awful.

“Would that be a reasonable explanation for why you wouldn’t know what your wife was talking about with Ms Photo Finish?”

Photo Finish was hissing whispers to her attorney, who was shushing her. She’d stopped smiling a while ago.

Octavia stayed silent at that. The jury rocked forwards onto the edges of their seats.

“Ms Octavia, do you think your wife would keep information from you to protect you, even lie?”

Octavia opened her mouth to answer, but the prosecution cut over her.

“Actually, I have a more important question I need to ask you first.” He stepped back, making a gesture like he was sheathing his sword, “Would you do anything to protect your wife, up to and including lying under oath? Committing perjury?”

The defense attorney jumped up so fast she nearly flipped their heavy table “Objection!”

“Sustained,” the judge agreed, though there was obvious disappointment in his voice.

“No further questions, Your Honour,” the prosecution walked back to their desk.

Octavia felt the eyes of everyone in the courtroom staring at her.

The awful detective was smiling crookedly.

Octavia walked from the courthouse to the club, checking all her hiding spots on the way for her kits. They were all still there. If she ran tonight, could she trust Vinyl to work out what happened, and to meet her over on that hill? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t be sure, and she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to think things through right now. In either case, she wasn’t ready to go home and tell her what had happened. That they suspected her.

But if she went home, she’d have no excuse not to tell Vinyl about the trial, about everything that had happened. Worse, she’d have no way to keep it from her. So instead, Octavia went to the club for a drink, to see just how much the break was hurting it.

To hide from her wife for just a little while.

She turned the corner, a hoof already reaching for the keys in her vest pocket, when she dropped them. They clattered to the concrete.

Police were swarming the building, moving in and out of it. Some were carrying film reels. The security door lay to the side, battered and broken.

“No,” she whispered to herself, grabbing the keys and watching to make sure nobody had heard her drop them, “no, no, no...”

She turned and ran home.

Pegasus officers flew overhead, in the direction she was running.

“No!”

She took a hard turn onto her block, just in time to see Vinyl get thrown into the back of a police wagon in cuffs.

Octavia slammed her back against an alley wall and breathed deep. They’d taken Vinyl totally fast and by surprise, or else she could have run for it.

She considered grabbing her supplies, but only for a moment. If Vinyl wasn’t going to go with her, what was the point of going to Ponyville?

Octavia went to run again, but her legs were starting to betray her and her throat felt like ragged strips. She walked, instead, toward Ebon’s apartment.

It wasn’t that far. Ebon lived fairly close. It was just enough time to think, though.

She was sure she remembered there correct address. She’d had to mail her often enough. It would be the first time she went there, but Octavia had a great head for directions, and Manehattan was an easy grid system to navigate.

So, one tired foot in front of the other, she got to the right building, then up the stairs to the right floor, and then to the right door. And she knocked.

Ebon opened the door. “Octavia?”

Octavia looked past Ebon. Sheet music scattered everywhere. Empty wineglasses, and plates stacked up in the sink. The roof had dark shadows from cigarette smoke, and there was the smell of an indoor cat pervading things. At least she’d managed to keep her houseplants alive, and the walls were covered in paintings signed by their artists. Old friends who’d found their fortunes and left her behind.

She stopped looking over Ebon’s shoulder, and made a sick smile at her instead. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Of course! You look dreadful. What happened?”

Octavia shuffled through the door and took a deep breath. Ebon closed the door behind her with a worried look.

Then, when the door closed with a soft ‘click’, Octavia punched her square in the nose, and felt it break.

Third Reel

Ebon held her face with tears in her eyes, coughing on the trickle of blood making its way down the back of her throat.

“Why did you do it, Ebon?” Octavia walked past Ebon into the apartment. Ebon made a horrible sucking noise, and spat a dark, thick clot into the half-dead potted plant by the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ebon hissed, keeping her head tilted back. “You’ve just come into my apartment and hit me! Ow. Really hard!”

Octavia went to get her some paper towels from her kitchenette. “Yes, I did.” Octavia was sick of playing games. She’d already lost playing cute with the court and the cops. Now she’d just got to hit someone. Focusing on that was the only reason she wasn’t screaming at Ebon right now. “Why did you turn my wife in, Ebon?”

Ebon went stiff. “You think I did something like that?”

“I know you did.” Octavia tore off some sheets and handed them to Ebon. “And I’d like to know why.”

Ebon grabbed the paper sheets and wiped her nose clean. Once she saw the sheets came out red, she squeezed a wad of it to her face. “...Can I get some ice first, please?” she sniffled. “You really hurt me.”

Octavia went to the freezer, and kept her breathing as even as she could. She had all the power over this situation, for once, and this was just another part of it. She just had to stay in control of herself a little bit longer.

Ebon sniffled again. “Who told you?”

Ice cubes and bags. No big cube, no ice pick. She grabbed one of the bags and wrapped it in some more paper towels, and grabbed some painkillers from the cupboard to go with it. “Nobody. Nobody had to tell me.”

“So you just think—”

“Know.” Octavia voice came just short of a shout, and Ebon flinched. “Know,” Octavia repeated, quietly again, as she gave the ice over to Ebon.

Ebon took the ice off her with a weak, grateful smile. She knocked the painkillers back, and kept her head tipped back with a wince. “You know I would never do anything like that to you.”

“Because you didn’t do it to me,” Octavia went to the kitchen again to fill the sink with hot water and soap, and left the water running. “You did it to my wife. You still haven’t told me why you did it.”

“Octavia—”

Octavia whipped around and gestured at Ebon with a dirty chef’s knife. “Because the detectives searched my club before and found nothing,” she hissed. “Because if it were one of Photo Finish’s friends who had betrayed us, then I would not have walked out of that courthouse yesterday. Because only you, me, Vinyl and Photo Finish knew about that basement. And they still found it.”

Octavia dropped the dirty knife into the dishwater and started to clean it. It was so blunt you could barely cut a tomato with it, anyway.

Ebon took a sigh of relief, then her face twisted in indignation. “That’s it?” She moved the ice from her face long enough to point at the growing bruise around her nose, in all its fresh shades of red and yellow. “That’s what made you so sure you punched me? You don’t think they might have gotten suspicious about moving the piano?”

Octavia shook her head. “The club hasn’t been open since we moved it. Only you and I should have seen it moved.” She scrubbed the blunt knife and put it in the drainer, and moved to wash the wine glasses next. “But you didn’t turn me in, did you?”

“... No,” Ebon agreed, watching her. She kept lifting the ice pack off her face and pressing it back down, unable to commit to one kind of pain. “You break my nose, then start doing my dishes for me?”

Octavia shrugged as she started on the glasses. “Either it’s an apology for acting rashly, or I’m making sure there weren't any signs of a struggle.” She smiled over her shoulder, like she was joking. “I haven’t decided. It really depends on your answer?”

Ebon sighed. There was whistling in her throat from the blood clotting in her sinuses. “Why would I betray you?”

“I am getting bored of this game, Ebon.” Octavia stopped scrubbing and leaned into the sink. Focused on the sharp prickling pain of hot water to keep her voice level. “Why did you turn in my wife? Either tell me the truth, or lie, but stop being too much of a coward to do either.”

After the question, the room was so silent that, for a moment, you could hear the metal pipes in the wall cooling. A tinny rattle. Octavia reached for the cold water tap and let it run a little.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Octavia snapped the wine glass she’d been scrubbing, the bowl from the stem, underneath the water. The snap had been muffled by the water, Ebon couldn’t have heard it over the running tap. Octavia pretended to keep washing it, testing the sharpness of the point. “Then why didn’t you start with that?”

“You started by hitting me!”

Octavia thought about it. “I did.” She felt the spike under the water. “You were saying it wasn’t your fault?”

Ebon bled quietly, looking down. Still couldn’t lie, still couldn’t tell the truth.

Octavia waited. Just once, in the neck. Like Ebon had tripped and fell on it. That would be all it took.

Ebon tipped her head back again to talk, “A big red stallion talked to me.” It came out like she was ripping a bandaid off. She kept her eyes screwed shut to say it, unable to look at Octavia. “That night, after we left. He said—”

Octavia dropped the spike, eyes wide. “Did he talk strangely?” she said, turning around. ”Have a bit of a speech impediment?”

“Yes?” Ebon sounded surprised. “You know him?”

“More than I’d like to, less than I need to.” Octavia dried her hooves with a dishcloth, leaving the spike in the sink. “Go on.”

“He talked about... about burning the club to the ground to find what he needed to.” Ebon held the ice pack just off her face to talk, but even then she kept her eyes shut. “Well, he didn’t say that, but he did talk about how flammable the building was, how it’s so hard to trace those things to a culprit... the implication was there.”

“That’s a threat against me. Not against you.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Ebon protested. Her nose was starting to dry up, even as her sniffling was getting louder. “I feel like it’s more home to me than here, now. Or at least I did, until you punched me in the face.”

Octavia wrapped the dishcloth around her hoove to take the ice pack off Ebon. “I just saw my wife being pushed into a police cart in handcuffs,” she said as she put the ice back in the freezer, then slammed the door hard. “I’m told they might hang her.”

“Might—” Ebon went white, and it was like all her joints locked up at once. “Who told you that?”

“A big red stallion with a crooked jaw.” Octavia caught her reflection in the dishwasher, and splashed it until the soap bubbles made the ghastly spectre disappear. “So either he was lying, and he’s played me like a fiddle, or he was telling the truth.”

“Octavia, I—I ’m so sorry.” Ebon stood up, but then Octavia glared at her until she sat back down. “He said it was just your wife he wanted, but they were willing to go through you to get her. He told me either I co-operate, or they’d get you too!”

“You had no right!” Octavia snapped. “And you have no right to ruin my life trying to protect it.” Octavia touched her wedding band. Would Vinyl be safe, now, if she’d kept her from all this? Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her.

“What now?” Ebon asked. She was resolute. Putting on a brave face. She was only pretending to be brave, now, but Octavia appreciated she was at least trying to pretend. “Obviously you can’t forgive me. But I hope you at least understand why I did what I did.”

“You’re right. I understand. I can’t forgive you, though.” Octavia took the broken glass out of the sink and dropped it in the trash can. Ebon flinched when she saw it. “You wanted to protect me?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then you could have lied to him. Given us alibis. So either you were too much of a coward to put yourself at risk, after everything I’ve done for you... or...” Octavia trailed off and looked at Ebon. Really looked at her. “You didn’t even think of that, did you? You told yourself a story where my wife was gone, and you could be there for me in a vulnerable moment. Is that it?”

Ebon rose out of her chair. “No!” she shouted. “No, I—” but again, Octavia glared her down.

“But it did cross your mind?”

Ebon was quiet.

So it hadn’t been Vinyl’s dangerous friends, or Photo Finish’s recklessness, that had caused this. It had been Octavia’s one safe friend.

That’s what hurt the most.

Octavia barked a laugh. “Nothing would ever have happened between us. You don’t have what it takes to be with an artist.”

Octavia took the contract they’d both signed for her, and dunked it in the dishwater. “And you don’t know me half as well as that red stallion.” She pulled the plug. Ebon leapt up from where she was sitting to try and will it back out of the water, and Octavia walked towards the door. “He figured out that I would do anything for Vinyl. Especially something stupid, something reckless.”

Ebon had just started wailing when she closed the door behind her.

There was only one question left to ask, and nobody else she could ask but herself:

What was she capable of, now?

Octavia made for one of the first emergency kits she’d prepared, in an alley between the club and her apartment. One of the first plans she’d made.

Ever since that showing with the Resistance, Octavia had been forced to be reactive, responsive. Defensive. That wasn’t her tempo.

Now, she had to get Vinyl back. She had to stop thinking like prey, to start thinking like a predator again.

The fur dye and contacts in this disguise kit made her look like Cherry Twist—then just a bartender, now her best manager. That showed how long she’d been living in fear for.

She took the notepad from her vest pocket that was meant for taking customer orders, and started making plans in shorthand while her fur dried. Made contingencies.

Note pages got filled and stuck to the wall with shreds of chewed chewing gum, moving around. Everything could fail, and she had to anticipate every failure. What she could prioritize, what she could stand to lose, she stuck it all up on the wall.

There was a gap in the notes, though. Some things she didn’t know, some things she couldn’t. She’d have to go back to the club, where the police were probably waiting for her to do something incriminating. They’d be watching every alley, every exit.

Octavia forced her back against the side of a dumpster and rolled it in front of her notes, in case she had a chance to come back to them when she’d filled them in.

She threw the vest back on, over her now-dry fur. It was time to test how closely they were watching the front door.

There was an officer standing by the hole where the security gating had been. That had been removed from its frame, the doors knocked from the hinges. Looking inside, she expected more to be taken. For now, though, it was in place.

The piano had been moved, and the carpet. They definitely knew about the basement. Already helpful to know.

Octavia smiled at the officer. “Excuse me, am I allowed in?”

The officer squinted at her, and checked his clipboard. “Name?”

“Cherry Twist. I’m a manager here. I thought it might be a good idea to get my things, now, while I can?”

The officer nodded. “You’re on the list. Ah, while you can?”

Octavia rolled her eyes with as much venom as she could. “I heard you guys shaking my boss down. Some red stallion with a crooked jaw?”

The officer frowned and looked back at his list. “That would probably be Detective Blue Brass. I wouldn’t really worry about that, he’s all talk.”

Now she had a name. Octavia nodded, tilting her head towards the club. “Still, though.”

The officer stood aside. She assumed he’d be checking her pockets on the way back out, so she couldn’t grab anything now. And the basement hatch was visible from the door, so that was out.

She could make plans for that, plans for getting past the officers, plans for everything. But she’d have to commit to them.

What was stopping her right now, though, was that the grand piano had been moved back to center stage. A request Ebon had made, when negotiating on Octavia’s behalf. Octavia walked up to it, looked at it. She could still see Ebon’s marks on it, scratched onto the lid.

Her cello was in a corner of the stage, behind the piano. It was still the last connection to her old life when Celestia was her Princess and she’d play in the palace. She’d been happy then.

She couldn’t play it now, not without blowing her disguise. She couldn’t even risk touching it. If she really wanted to she would have to come back, in the open, as Octavia the musician. She would have to do everything the right way, the legal way after that. Give up the reckless plans.

And then she could be the mare who had performed with Ebon again, and she could have that happiness.

She moved to the bar to pour herself a drink and saw that most of the good bottles had been taken off the top shelf. Someone in the department, it seemed, had refined tastes.

This was the last chance she had to stop this. Stop everything. Maybe she could fight for Vinyl in court, the proper way. Do everything by the book. Work for years, and years. That would be the safest thing for her.

That’s what Ebon would do, had done, Octavia looked back at the cello and the piano. That’s what the woman with a crush on her would expect of her. Cautious to the point of cowardice.

That wasn’t who Vinyl had fallen in love with. The Octavia that Vinyl loved was determined, had the tenacity to climb to the very top, and to start all over again. That Octavia was calculating.

Ebon’s Octavia would walk away from the table when she was losing, but Vinyl’s started counting cards.

She checked the top shelf of the bar again, and her scotch had definitely been taken. That really would have helped her decide.

Octavia looked down at the button below the bar. Was there anyone down there, waiting for someone to kick it? Probably. Not worth finding out, but there were things she needed to find down there.

Something caught her eye, behind the counter and above the button; a contact book. There were a few names and numbers here anyone would expect—wholesalers, stage hands, returning performers. Ebon was in the more recent names. After that, though, were a lot of dangerous names that Vinyl had been reckless to put in here, names Octavia recognized as fans from that first showing.

She slipped the contact book into her pocket.

Last chance. What was she willing to lose for Vinyl? Her life, her happiness?

She made her decision as made her way for the small kitchen. She noted where the gas lines were, and turned the stove top on as low as she could. If she held her ear right up to the hob she could hear the whisper-squeak of gas; but only if she held her ear to it.

If she did this, there would be no way to save the cello. But it had never really been a choice.

There was no life, no happiness, without Vinyl.

Octavia headed back out the entrance, and the officer stopped her, just like she expected him to. He patted down her pockets, and found the contact book she’d slipped in there. He held it up. Octavia laughed.

“I have a feeling, if Detective Blue Brass makes good on his threat, that I’m going to need all the help I can get finding somewhere new.” It wasn’t even a lie.

The officer flicked through it, snorted, and nodded. “Good luck, Ms Twist.”

Octavia graciously took the book back off him as she headed off towards the dumpster she’d kept her planning board.

As soon as she was out of sight of the club, she looked through the numbers and picked two. A lighting equipment company, and one of Vinyl’s most dangerous friends.

She tore both pages out. As soon as she could move the dumpster again, she pinned them to her board.

Now she knew everything she needed. The moment she’d turned the gas on the stove, too, she was on the clock. A hard time limit had been made.

Already she could write off one of her contingency plans as impossible now. She removed from the wall and tore up the notepage with “Give up” on it, and hoped she managed to go down one of the plans that let her sleep at some point.

If there was to be any chance of that, she’d have to start now.

Octavia, still disguised as Cherry Twist, walked down the alley behind the club with a steel can of removal solvents. There were no entrances here, so no reason for the police to be watching.

She took off her manager’s vest, and the coloured contact lenses, and soaked herself in the solvents, her disguise melting into puddles and fumes. It was fortunate the alley was as open as it was, even this much ventilation and she was getting dizzy.

She twisted the vest into a rag and rubbed herself down with it, scrubbing the last traces of colour that she could, soaking the rag with the highly flammable solvent. Then she twisted it, and shunted it deep into the metal can.

She reached into the pocket of it and pulled out the lighter she’d kept on her, a courtesy she’d gotten into the habit of for Ebon’s sake. She flicked it, and lit the tip of the rag.

Then she pushed the makeshift fuse next to the hole in the wall from the kitchen, next to the stove she’d left the gas running on, and walked near the end of the alley, and waited.

A few seconds later, the club’s kitchen exploded, and the fire would already be spreading to the bar.

Ponies flooded from the nearby buildings into the streets, screaming. Octavia slipped out and hid in the crowd, letting herself be pushed through it like a fish in a school.

As they got into the middle of the road most ponies stopped to watch the flames rise up from the club in great gulping gouts, clouds of black smoke swallowing the Manehattan streetlights at every angle.

Octavia looked back only a moment before disappearing down a sewer entrance, and sprinting for the half-built emergency exit she’d never managed to get built for Vinyl, in case of something like... well, a fire. But there’d never been a big enough distraction, or a way to hide it down here.

Now the floor of the basement had collapsed in a rattle of gravel and concrete dust. Firelight caught every mote of dust and powder in the air, as above she could hear the snapping of wires as the grand piano burned.

Next to it, her cello.

Octavia bounded up the heap of rubble into the basement. Trying to run and hold her breath was making her lungs scream at her, but breathing deep now wouldn’t help.

Everything in the basement had been taken. The boxes, the projectors. But that just meant less to search through, nothing to trip her as she ran to the back wall. She didn’t need to fumble with it, she remembered exactly where the hidden compartment had been.

The acrid smoke was sending shooting pains through her eyes, and she was starting to get dizzy from holding her breath. She kicked the wall hard enough to pop the brick out of the loose mortar, and grabbed the film reels she’d hidden here a lifetime ago, just as part of the stage crashed down next to her head.

She dove back for the hole out, like a rabbit for its burrow, managed to hold her breath until she was out.

The sewer air was the best, sweetest lungful she’d had in her life. It smelled like rain, and only a bit of burning hair. She certainly wasn’t damp from the solvent anymore.

Octavia hugged the sealed metal film cans to her chest and clung to them like a life preserver. It had all been worth it for—

Hold on.

There was more here then she remembered hiding.

Octavia cried into them. It was so easy to forget that Vinyl knew what she needed better than she did, too. Pulled tight to her chest were the films she came here for. And two extra reels that Vinyl had put there for her.

She’d lost her cello, but she’d managed to save their wedding album.

Octavia kept wiping away tears long after the smoke had gotten out of her eyes.

She thought of her contingencies, and wondered which of them would make the best use of this precious gift. She ran down the sewers to find one of the emergency stashes she’d hid under here, again between the club and her apartment.

This one had a false identity she needed, fake passports and identity papers. She’d have to come back for it, but she needed to remember one of the names she used.

Most of her plans would need her to make a booking under an assumed name, some equipment rental. Delivered at a very specific time, if any of this was to work. The first of the pages she’d torn out of the contact book.

Then she went to bring the film reels to the other, one of Vinyl’s dangerous friends. She’d learned who she could trust, now.

Octavia walked into the police station where she’d been interviewed earlier this week. This week? When was the last time she’d slept? Didn’t matter. The adrenaline only had to last a few more hours.

“Ma’am?”

She shook her head. She was standing in a police station, had to focus on that. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Octavia walked up to the receptionist with an apologetic smile, “I was miles away.”

“Well.” The officer working the front desk smiled at her, all reassurances, “How can we serve you today?”

“That’s just the thing, isn’t it? Apparently I need to speak to a detective Blue Brass?”

“Blue Brass?” The receptionist checked her clipboard with a frown. A sergeant in a wheely chair rolled out to watch with sudden interest, chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. The receptionist clicked her pen. “What is this about?”

“Apparently,” and Octavia licked the ash off her lips, “the word is that he’s responsible for my club burning to the ground. I’m pretty sure you can still see the smoke from here.”

The sergeant’s pencil dropped to the floor. The room had gone so silent that Octavia could hear it hit the carpet.

“Ah... We’ll let you know when he can see you. Should I wait for your attorney, or...?”

“I don’t think that will be needed.” Octavia gave a look like she was just dreadfully embarrassed about all this. “Tell him I’m trying to be as co-operative as possible.”

It was the same interrogation room, with the same tape recorder between them. Octavia knew it wasn’t an accident.

She’d gone in first and been told to wait. She’d settled in after just one little thing. Now, just a minute later after some yelling in the hall from a voice Octavia didn’t recognize—a captain, maybe?—Blue Brass settled down in the seat across from her.

He looked impressed.

“Burnin’ your place to th’ ground,” he mumbled, moving his mouth as little as possible to make the words, “jus’ to see me clapped up for arson? Ey?”

“Please.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “You threatened me with it in front of all your colleagues the first time we met. Then you just threatened it again to a—” she bit her tongue, “coworker of mine.”

“Coworker, huh?”

“You managed to find the films my wife was holding for Photo Finish—”

“Holding for her? Is that really what we’re going with?” His jaw clicked and cracked as he got more worked up. He massaged it with a hoof. Then, he looked down, and saw that Octavia had turned the tape recorder on when she’d sat down. “Ah.” He smiled. “I see. You’re trying to get it on record, ey? Cute.” Blue Brass hit a button on the recorder between them. “Cut the bullshit.”

Octavia sighed. “I thought it was worth a shot. But I don’t suppose that tape would have ended up anywhere useful to me, anyway?”

“I ain’t tha’ thick, love.” Back to simple words and stiff movements. He was relaxed again. “Was never gunna work, you know.”

“I know. Now that it’s off, I suppose I can speak plainly.” Octavia cleared her throat. “I just needed to get in a room with you, alone, for a moment. To cut a deal.”

“Cut a—?” Blue Brass barked a laugh and rocked back in his chair. “The one the songbird gotya,” he said ‘got you’ entirely with the back of his throat, and his tongue. “Not good enough?”

“I suspect you knew it wasn’t when you made it.”

“Too right.”

“There’s something I don’t understand, Detective. Why do you have it out for me so badly?” Octavia felt the adrenaline starting to leave her. She suddenly felt so agonizingly, bone-wearily tired. “Why does this feel so personal?”

Blue Brass looked at the exhausted mare in front of him, and let out a weary sigh of his own. “As a young’un... I played saxophone.”

Octavia looked back up, surprised. “You were good?”

“Notta brag bu’, yeah. The best. Coulda made it outta the slums, playin’ like I did. Was the poin’, really.”

Octavia rolled her eyes, and slumped back down again. “Oh, I see. So your parents didn’t take you to enough music lessons, and maybe they hit you, and that’s how you got the bad jaw, right?”

Blue Brass just shook his head. “See, this is why i’s personal. You don’t get it. Folks loved me. Real proud.” He was talking really slow, popping and unpopping his jaw to try and get the words out as well as he could. Thoughtful. “Took me to all my practices. Real proud.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand?” Octavia admitted.

“What they couldn’t afford,” he pointed at his jaw, “was the dentist.”

“The... dentist?”

“Eeyup.” He pulled his chair closer to the desk. “Expensive. Wisdom teeth came in wrong. Cracked a molar. Got infected.” He shrugged, and then seemed to give up on the careful speech, and went back to his easy slur. “Hospital was real good fixing it up then, but it was too late. That was it.”

“I—” Octavia paused, “Really?”

“Princess Luna, she gave guys like me another way outta the slums. Poor kids who knew the city, The ones who know how hard law’s gotta be, for order.” He pointed again at his jaw, “Scars of poverty an’ all. So yeah. Maybe I gotta grudge.”

There was a second of silence as Octavia thought about that. “Tell me. Has ‘Princess Luna’ done anything about making dentists affordable?”

“Cops get dental. Great deal.” He opened his mouth wider, and showed off his shiny metal molars. “You know what really gets me though?”

Octavia arched an eyebrow.

“It’s tha’ you’re so damn smug.” He rolled his eyes. “Thinkin’ you snuck by me tha’ first night. Tryin’ to play tough in here the other night—yeah, I heard tha’ tape—tryin’ to play the court like a fiddle. I saw all that. You ain’t half as good as you think you are.”

Octavia smirked, and he cut her right off again.

“See? There. Just rich, and lucky. Tha’s it.” Blue Brass shook his head, “But that’s all that mattered ‘til now. What were you really trying to accomplish here?”

Octavia took a deep breath. “I have the nail in the coffin for Photo Finish’s trial. Everything else you can pin on Vinyl. And Photo Finish is making an absolute mockery of the thing. Can you imagine how it would look if you couldn’t get a sentence on her, just because you jumped the gun on my wife?”

Blue Brass looked like he’d been slapped. “Ah, didn’t thinka tha’... I mean, I’m sure we could get both...”

“Are you?“ Octavia was just making it up as she went here, but she’d played harder jazz than this. Because he was right—all she had now was luck, and she felt like she’d darn well earned it. “Are you really sure?”

He snorted, but then he paused. He rocked his head side to side, working so hard to play the argument in an imaginary courtroom that Octavia could almost see it too, before he growled in frustration. “What’s your evidence, then?”

“I have in my possession the full, unedited newsreels that Photo Finish was supposed to edit and show, instead of my wife’s film that was shown instead.”

Blue Brass chuckled. “Already giving up the ‘just holding the bag’ story huh?”

“I am. You stopped the tape, we can be honest now.”

“Never actually stopped the tape.” Blue Brass pointed. “Hit the record button twice. You played yourself. All that’s on record.”

“I saw what button you pressed. I got a good look at what button does which the last time I was here, I assure you.” Octavia shifted in her seat, and pulled out the tape she was sitting on. The one she’d taken out of the recorder before turning it on.

She snapped it in half, then slid it across the table to him. He glared at it, and snarled with a curled lip.

”Let’s negotiate my terms of surrender, shall we?” Octavia said sweetly.

“Alright,” Blue Brass said, “Lemme guess. This is you cooperatin’, right?”

Octavia just smiled.

Octavia looked down at the film reel. Most ponies didn’t know that the middle section of a film reel wasn’t film, but a hollow for a spring and winding mechanism. Some were simply spools for the projector to pull from, but this kind had wiggle room to play with.

The middle of this one had been replaced with an insurance policy. Which is also why she had a pair of Vinyl’s dark shades resting on top of it.

Octavia had agreed they’d meet at a location of Blue Brass’s choosing, as long as it was in the open, on a main street. She needed to see her wife was still alive—that she hadn’t already been ‘disappeared’. Crossbows would be pointed on them at all times from both sides of the street.

Perhaps most importantly, though, she’d also gotten to pick the time.

Blue Brass had picked a donut shop close to the station, somewhere most ponies wouldn’t look twice at if there were guard ponies lingering there. He’d taken a seat with Vinyl at an outdoor seat on the sidewalk, a cheap white plastic setup with a torn umbrella limply dangling over it.

Vinyl rose from her seat as soon as she saw Octavia, but Blue Brass took his time to stretch and unfold himself from his seat. Octavia could hear him crack his neck from across the street.

Before she crossed, Octavia noted the location of the nearest manhole cover, and made sure to walk across it. When she made the exchange with Blue Brass, she wanted to make sure she had her back to it and knew exactly where it was. It helped that Vinyl watched her do it.

While she crossed the street, Blue Brass stood patiently with Vinyl beside her. They’d agreed no hoofcuffs—not worth the public attention.

Besides. It meant Octavia could come crashing into her for a hug, right now, and Vinyl could hug her back.

Blue Brass started coughing into his hoof, longer and louder until even Vinyl couldn’t ignore him. “The reel?”

“First,” Octavia put the sunglasses she’d been carrying on Vinyl’s face. “You look naked without them.”

Vinyl gave her a surprised look, but Octavia always could trust her not to say anything.

She needed to trust Vinyl a lot right now. “Here you go,” Octavia said, handing Blue Brass the reel. “As promised.”

Blue Brass nodded, taking the reel in one hoof and hefting it. He held it up towards a streetlight, and pulled the end of the film strip from it to confirm it was authentic. “You know, I nearly fell for your trap here?”

“My trap?” Octavia asked.

“Photo Finish has that courtroom camera’d up every which way up the wazoo,” he growled. “I spoke to the legal folk—”

“You actually spoke to your attorneys?” Octavia scowled. “I feel like that’s cheating.”

“Yeah, well,” Blue Brass shrugged. “Turns out they think you want this played as evidence. That’s what you’re turning it in for, right? That everyone gets to see it, like a picture in picture... Photo Finish already got one movie she shouldn’t have out, before...”

Octavia laughed, like she hadn’t been caught. “You think she’d pulled the same stunt twice?”

Blue Brass laughed, too. “Of course I do. If that happens while she and your missus here are in custody, you’ve both got airtight alibis. Photo Finish pleads innocent. You all live happily ever after. I’m impressed.”

Octavia couldn’t see them, but she could feel Vinyl’s eyes darting back and forth between them.

Octavia squared her shoulders. She was playing defensive again, and she didn’t like it. “Then the smartest thing to do is double or nothing. Let it happen, and you can take down more than Photo Finish herself. You could figure out her accomplices.”

“Never bet with your winnings.” Blue Brass pulled out a cigarette lighter, one that looked just like the one Octavia had kept in her pocket earlier that day. He held it up to the film stock—the highly flammable film stock. “The deal’s off. You got cocky. Nobody’s as smart as you think you are.”

Octavia grabbed Vinyl to hold her back as the film stock lit like a fuse, straight into the insurance policy. Blue Brass had been right about her plan.

He’d been wrong to think she’d only have one.

Vinyl’s most dangerous friend was a pyrotechnician, and Octavia’s insurance expert.

The film canister exploded in a blinding flash of light and sound, that only Vinyl’s sunglasses could protect her from. Then came the burst of thick white smoke, impossible to see through, in the second Blue Brass dropped the can in shock.

Octavia pulled Vinyl backwards, and Vinyl immediately understood the plan. Octavia was dragged by Vinyl towards the manhole and dropped in.

The last thing Octavia heard before Vinyl slid the manhole cover shut again was Blue Brass’s furious roar. Then she heard a wet sploosh, and she knew it was from Vinyl throwing her glasses in the water to their side. She wished she could have seen it, but her vision hadn’t quite come back yet.

Vinyl led Octavia, blinking, through the sewers at a sprint, looking for one of the kits that Octavia had hid down here. It didn’t take long; Octavia had moved one close by as soon as Blue Brass had told her the meetup location.

Normally each kit was as good as each other, but this time she needed to use the same alias she’d used for the equipment rental.

Now the only plan she had left was getting to Ponyville, any way they could.

Hours later, and days since she last slept, Octavia followed Vinyl out of the tunnels by the river. Octavia was now a sky blue with a light brown mane and tail, and Vinyl a dark wine-red fur with pink hair. They matched the fake identity papers they had on them.

“You know, that’s actually a fetching look on you.” Octavia kissed Vinyl’s cheek. Vinyl stuck her tongue out and winced. She didn’t have to wear contacts, this time. Most ponies had never learned what her eyes looked like anyway.

The bridge had already been closed. The trains weren’t leaving the station above. The river would be too cold to swim across.

There was a barge heading back over, the kind used to haul freight that was too big for the roads. Vinyl shone her horn at it, and they flashed a light back. A pegasus jumped up from the deck of the barge and flew over to them, gliding low over the water’s edge.

He had a grip’s cap. He was industry. Vinyl recognized it too—she beamed at him.

“Hey,” the pegasus said, “What’s up?”

Octavia didn’t have to pretend to be miserable, or exhausted. “They’ve closed the bridges at the worst time. I just ordered the delivery of a very expensive bit of lighting—”

“I know I shouldn’t give client names away,” the pegasus said, “But you wouldn’t happen to be a Ms Pizzicato would you?”

It was the pseudonym she’d used to hire the light, the name on the papers she was carrying. “Yes, actually. What an amazing coincidence!”

It wasn’t, really. There were so many ways this could have gone, and she’d made plans for all of them. For years now, years, she’d been making contingency after contingency, plan after plan, all to protect Vinyl.

She didn’t particularly name them, or even write them down, but it can loosely be said that this wasn’t the worst way things could have gone. Her only regret was that what might be called plans a through f at least gave her time to sleep. She was too many failures and backups past that, and the adrenaline was wearing off.

She’d had to time this perfectly, to be able to get Vinyl out just as the barge would have been coming back in. Which meant she didn’t get to use any of the plans that let her sleep. She couldn’t save Photo Finish, either.

But Vinyl only saw the plan that worked. And, if Octavia let herself look in her wife’s eyes for a moment, she saw that she looked like Celestia herself. As wise and all knowing and as powerful.

She was still the Octavia that she’d married, and anybody less wouldn’t have deserved a wife like Vinyl.

So, Octavia just let herself enjoy it when the barge offered to ferry her over, no extra charge, to meet up with the lights she’d ordered. She didn’t have to tell Vinyl about everything that could have gone better. Let that crooked jawed detective still think she was just lucky.

Together, she and Vinyl walked to the hill they’d agreed as a meeting point. Then it had just been because they could catch a train from here. But the trains had been stopped. It was too long a walk to Ponyville, and there were pegasus guards looking for them now. These ones wouldn’t be scared off by a red rubber ball.

Octavia had run out of plan.

Now, though, they found the big light waiting for them. The same kind Photo Finish had used to project her message into the clouds, to make sure she was arrested instead of disappeared.

Octavia had ordered a modified kind, one that could be used as a film projector.

“I know how you work,” Octavia murmured into her wife’s ear. “You get the best parts of the footage, the highlight reel, all together so you can work out how it all fits together. I’m going to guess that’s what the other reel you put behind the wall was?”

Vinyl nodded, and Octavia sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank goodness, because I haven’t had time to actually look through this yet.”

Vinyl snickered like Octavia was joking, but she wasn’t. She’d had to plan around so many of these guesses already. This guess had been too low a priority, but it was still nice to be right about it.

“Well. I couldn’t work out how to get Photo Finish. I couldn’t even work out how to get us to Ponyville, it seems.” Octavia grumbled. Shutting down all the trains was a tad melodramatic to catch a petty arsonist and a punk editor, if you asked her. “So, why don’t you show the world what you’ve got one last time?”

Vinyl looked out towards the distance.

They could still walk to Ponyville, couldn’t they? Their disguises weren’t blown. But then she looked at Octavia, collapsed on the hilltop. She wouldn’t be able to go another ten steps.

This was the end of the road.

Vinyl brushed her hoof down the side of the gigantic light. A crystal generator hummed, and the spotlight lit up the clouds above Manehattan like a movie screen.

Then Vinyl played her highlight reel of everything Nightmare Moon didn’t want people to see, didn’t want people to know. Everything that was supposed to have stayed on the cutting room floor.

There was no sound, no music.

Maybe it was for the best. She hadn’t seen this one before. It was amazing what ponies would do on camera if they thought they were the only ones who could touch the tapes... After seeing this, ponies would have no reason to doubt that the Manehattan police were capable of burning down her club.

Most of all, it showed what it meant for a pony to get ‘disappeared’. That quiet way some ponies just didn’t go home, didn’t show up to work, and everyone got to pretend they didn’t know why.

Now they couldn’t pretend anymore. After this, everyone knew why Photo Finish had to tell everyone she was getting arrested in a message across the sky.

Hopefully, it meant they were about to be the last two ponies to get disappeared. What was the point, if nobody could pretend anymore?

Maybe they’d made things bad enough that ponies felt like it was finally time to try something drastic.

Vinyl pointed at a pegasus flying above them in a Shadowbolts uniform. It seemed like the party was over.

“Well,” Octavia smiled, her eyes flicking shut as she tried not to cry, “It’s been a good life.”

Vinyl leaned against her shoulder and kissed her neck, holding the one last item that Octavia had couriered up here. Their wedding album.

The Shadowbolt landed in front of them and ripped her hood off. Vinyl recognized her immediately. She’d spent hours poring over footage of her, and she was one of the heroes of the film she’d got arrested for.

Octavia knew her as the weather manager of the town they’d nearly escaped to.

“Oh my gosh,” Rainbow Dash laughed, “Wow. I was supposed to be looking for you guys, I didn’t expect you to make it this easy for me. You both need help getting out of here or what?”

Octavia and Vinyl stared as Rainbow offered both of them a hoof up. “Excuse me?”

“Celestia’s old protege Twilight Sparkle wants ponies like you back in Ponyville. Said ‘Welcome to the Resistance’ or something corny like that. I expected most folks to hoof it but, uh... looks like you two could use a lift?” Rainbow Dash looked up at the film playing on the clouds as she hefted Vinyl and Octavia, one under each arm. “So? What’s the plan?”