Chapter 2: Shell Game

***

Vinyl Scratch stalked circles around the Beachside dining table outside of her newly acquired mansion, trying to imagine the scene from all angles. If only there was some technical measure for the estimated romance of a scene. Everything about this night had to be perfect. The table was adorned with a white decorative cloth, along with several garnishes, fake fruit, and other shiny things she’d set out to disguise the fact that there were only two places set. Horsefeathers. Vinyl didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, or what was fancy and classic. She would have to rely on her staff to tell her if something was in overly poor taste

My staff… huh. Saying it still feels really weird. DJ-PON3’s self-titled debut had exploded, a level of success she hadn’t dared to imagine. Though the fiscal success was utterly staggering, she was being critically acclaimed as well.

She could almost quote the Rolling Gnome review by heart:

“Don’t let PON3’s sophomoric moniker fool you. There is a true artist hidden behind the disarmingly catchy synths and beats. Every track adds something new: ‘Love Potion .99’ will have you tapping your hooves to an ambitious hybrid of a sentimental ballad and political commentary; alternatively, ‘Wouldn’t it be Wuberly?’ somehow manages to appeal to both fans of both dub-step and classic musicals. I say this as a compliment, but frankly with the lack of any live shows, it’s hard to believe the rumors that there’s only a single mare behind the DJ-PON3 curtain. Equestria is waiting to meet you Ms. PON3. What are you waiting for?”

Of course, Vinyl was waiting for what she’d always been waiting for. She would be the first to know. There was only one reason Vinyl had reached so far, and her eyes were still fixed on the same prize that had captured her heart years ago as a filly.

The Canterlot junior youth orchestra had been doing individual sound-checks for the upcoming solo competition. A much smaller Vinyl Scratch nestled in her mother’s lap, watching with mild disinterest as her mother ran the auditorium sound booth. She worked the various sliders and knobs with her hoofs while her horn glowed lightly, providing power to the unit. Vinyl had found it fascinating until her mother had explained it: Using her horn, she was steadily pushing magic energy through the tesla converter, where mana was then altered into an amplified electrical signal. What had instinctively irritated Vinyl was how inefficient and rudimentary the design seemed to be, but as she was only seven the most verbose critique she could make was “That’s dumb.”

Contemplating the frustrations of a pre-adolescent vocabulary, she drifted off about thirty entrants in. A rich, deep sound roused her with a start.

The Cello sitting center stage had started playing itself. The music itself was beautiful, though the general observation had some disturbing implications. Just when she was about to reconsider her past judgment on the paranormal, a tiny grey face peeked up from behind the cello, straining to rest her chin on the cello’s shoulder. Purple eyes darted across the music hastily before retreating back behind it

“Memorizing at such a young age, she must be very talented.” Vinyl’s mother observed, adjusting several sliders.

Vinyl could only nod, unable to explain the warmth in her cheeks and the sudden desire to learn an instrument.

She tried to stay focused on the task at hand. No expense had been spared on the dinner, spared on anything for that matter: The beach house, cooking lessons in Germaneigh, and the best staff bits could hire. Maintaining a neutral friendship with Octavia over the years had been difficult. There was constant and undeniable tension to the point she couldn’t imagine it being one sided. The simple act of waiting had never been so excruciating. A telltale dot in the sky interrupted her thoughts.

“Incoming from the south!” she snapped into the headset, pointing a hoof towards the horizon. Part of a nearby bush seemed to sprout legs as a brilliantly camouflaged colt rose from his hiding place, aiming the device over his shoulder at the insurgent. With a near-silent PWIFF, the net was launched from the cannon, knocking the seagull out of the sky before it could manage so much as a surprised squawk. Another colt in the distance stepped out from concealment behind a tree to retrieve the struggling bird, promptly galloping off to release it a safe distance away.

Vinyl watched the proceedings with muted satisfaction. The cannon she’d spent the last week perfecting had worked brilliantly. It was the best solution she’d been able to come up with, as the object of her affections loved the beach, yet loathed seagulls.

“Bogey has landed!” The pegasus mare who’d been acting as lookout whispered furiously from her hiding place in the palm tree above. Vinyl spun, heart nearly giving out as she spotted grey earth pony making her way around the bend leading up to the meeting place. It's actually happening... after all this time.

“Places everypony!” she hissed into her mic, checking the dishes, table, and surroundings once more to ensure nothing was out of place.

“‘Tavi’, Over here!” A pair of violet blue eyes locked on hers, and Vinyl felt a part of herself melt as the earth pony cracked a smile accompanied by a small wave. Tavi’ had always been there, a source of encouragement in the worst of times. Vinyl looked around, blinking furiously, battling a sudden moisture in her eyes; having hidden her affections for so long it was almost impossible to believe all her preparations were about to pay off.

Almost too quickly. Vinyl fought the bizarre urge to turn-tail and run away as the graceful earth pony trotted towards her, still taking in the surroundings in awe.

“This is amazing. Are we really having our picnic here?”

“Yep. Watching the place for a friend.” She answered, throat increasingly dry as the Octavia threw her forelegs around her in a warm hug.

“You must be really close to the owners if they let you housesit a place like this!”

Something like that, Vinyl mused wryly. She wouldn’t hint for the moment though, best to save it all for the big reveal. “I guess you could say we’re on a first name basis.”

“Look at you, brown-nosing with the one percent.” the other mare released her, an infectious smile on her lips. “I’ve been to the Ramptons before, for a gig at the park with the big Gazebo in the middle. We didn’t get close enough to the houses to get a good look, but I remember the place with the fantastic pillars. I couldn’t stop talking about it - “ Octavia cocked her head as she looked back at the mansion before turning back sheepishly. “I’m a bit slow. It’s this one, isn’t it.”

Yes. Hence, the down payment

“Oh hey, I guess it is.” Vinyl laughed. A flash of movement in the distance caught her eye. Deftly, she guided her guest to the table while angling her view away from the potential problem and making a signal towards the stallion in the bushes. Again, a PWIFF sounded in the air, followed by a surprised squawk as the netted bird plummeted, this time landing in the water with a distant splash.

“It’s so calm... no waves, no retched beach fowl, just... peace.” Octavia rested her forelegs on the wooden railing.

“Mhm.” Vinyl bit her lip, watching helplessly as one of the captured seagulls struggled free, making a beeline straight for them. One of pegasus ponies on reserve duty (who Vinyl committed to memory as deserving a raise) tackled it out of the air and into a nearby shrubbery.

“The view’s amazing.” Octavia looked out over the ocean, hair stirring in the breeze. She was stunning, and for moment all Vinyl could do was take in the view.

“It really is.” Erratic waving and pointing towards the horizon from a pegasus in the nearby tree brought Vinyl back to reality; she nodded in appreciation for the warning. The sun had just touched the horizon, radiantly flickering across ocean. The Golden Hour. It's now or never. “‘Tavi,’ I have something I need to tell you” she said seriously, trying not to be distracted by the single hoof moving across the ocean and holding another captured pest above the surf. “Something important.”

“What a coincidence - I have something exciting to tell you.” Octavia replied, face turning completely serious. “But you first.”

I made it ‘Tavi. I’m DJ-PON3, I have more bits than I know what to do with, and more than anything else I love you. All of this is for you. See that giant hulking piece of high class behind you? That’s my house. I want it to be our home. No more crummy apartment, no more missed rehearsals. You’d have your own studio, your own composing room, the sky’s the limit. So if you’ve ever felt the slightest thing for me...

The speech had been rehearsed in the mirror a thousand times, yet it faltered in the critical moment.

“After you.” Vinyl insisted weakly.

“Okay.” Octavia smiled, rising from the table and hopping in a little circle like a school-filly. Taking the other unicorn’s hoof in hers, Octavia took a breath in preparation. “Vinyl..”

“Yes?” Vinyl’s voice wavered a bit, the anticipation killing her

“I’m getting married!”

The Pony hidden under the porch in charge of keeping fresh music on the phonograph must have had a heart attack and fallen on the record, as the sound of tearing vinyl ripped through the serenity. The lookout pegasus nearly fell out of the palm tree. Her kitchen staff froze with the “Happy Engagement” sign hanging limply from their hooves. Through an unprecedented level of self-control the range of emotions bubbling inside of her somehow stayed in check.

“...Who is she?” Vinyl croaked, barely keeping a straight face as her inner self screamed tidings of doom and the end of the world. Octavia finally stopped gyrating excitedly long enough to look perplexed.

“She?”

“He, I meant he.”

“That’s a relief, for a moment I thought you might be asking if my mane rested on that side of the saddle. Em, I don’t give out those vibes, do I?”

“Oh no, not at all, your vibes are good. Solely of the heteronormative variety.” Vinyl was literally chewing on her tongue.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Right. Of course. Nothing wrong with that” Vinyl's mouth was just moving for the sake of making noise, spitting out words to hide the internal singularity. “So who is he?”

“He is a Prench aristocrat.” Octavia leaned back, oblivious to the giant metaphorical hammer that had descended from the sky to repeatedly smack Vinyl in the nose as she continued. “Bits, power, influence, and charm; he’s everything I’ve always wanted. I want it to be a surprise, but believe me, he’s someone famous you probably already know. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.” Octavia slid off the chair, kneeling with a goofy smile as she took Vinyl’s hoof in hers, gazing dramatically into her eyes. “Vinyl Scratch, will you be my Mare of Honor?”

“Sure.” Vinyl whispered, lips pulled thin in a small smile: a twisted veneer of it her typically easy going grin. It was in that moment that her self-deprecating sense of humor had never served her better. “Thing is, though, Tavi’... you never were very good at keeping secrets.”

“Hmm?”

With a magician’s flourish, Vinyl pointed to the banner her dismayed staff were still struggling to take down. “Viola!” Suddenly cast in the spotlight, the three ponies hid their tools and improvised various poses around the banner.

“T-Tada!” the palomino pony atop the ladder exclaimed half heartedly, panic showing solely through the manner her eyes were dancing back and forth. Octavia gasped, hoof covering her mouth. “Congratulations!” Another added shakily.

Right on cue, the pony at the phonograph switched the record.

“How... How did you.” Her light grey ears perked with the change in melody. The music fading in was a lively symphonic arrangement, but one that marked an important moment for both of them. Vinyl watched her dear, dear friend soak it all in, confusion giving way to recognition. “Is this...?

Standing, the beleaguered DJ drained her glass before speaking, preparing to recite words she had prepared for an entirely different context. “Wolfgang’s number 19 in C Major. Your first quartet performance I had the privilege of recording, and the beginning of a long and fruitful friendship.” The words tore like razors as they left her lips. “You were an enigma to me, something I couldn’t explain in my technical little mind of science and calculations. It was your music that drew me in at first. I’d never met anypony so dedicated to their craft, so sure of their place in life. You inspired me to reach higher than I ever would have bothered to on my own-”

“-so I might one day be good enough-”

“You deserve a pony that can make you happy-””

“-And I that pony is me-””

“And I’m so glad you’ve found somepony who can fill that role.”

“No need to give an answer now. Celestia knows I’ve loved you long enough to wait a bit longer.”

“I’ll need to meet him of course, to decide whether or not he’s worthy of my seal of approval. But I know you’re a pony of distinguished taste.”

"And the love of my life."

“You are my best friend," Vinyl practically croaked, "and nothing would make me happier than helping to plan the wedding of your dreams.”

The quartet came to the close of Amadeus’ first movement quietly in the background. Tears ran down Octavia’s face as she threw her forelegs around Vinyl, overjoyed. “You are, without a doubt, the most giving, selfless pony I know Ms. Scratch.”

No. I’m really not.

***

Vinyl jolted awake, tinged in sweat. Her dreams had long since abandoned courtesy of cryptic metaphors and instead taken to repeating a single scene, continually searing it in her mind. Nightmares could afford to be lazy, she mused, when reality was so starkly unkind. Rubbing the sleep dust out of her eyes, she grimaced as the bright, natural light did nothing to ease a growing headache. A quick survey the room left her slackjawed. “Impressive” didn’t really do it justice. Two, towering jade lions stood guard at the door, heads held high, forever fixed in a pose of nobility. Painted, strikingly red wood framed the expansive white walls. The walls were decorated with colorful artwork that served as a backdrop to a plethora of ceramics, all of which shared a color palette that struck her as distinctly foreign. Were it not for the dresser the size of a small cottage and the rather ridiculously sized bed, it could very well be a wing of a history museum.

Worse, it was familiar only in the sense of being unfamiliar, as waking up in unfamiliar places had become an exercise in banality. Sitting up, her eyes were drawn to a strangely simple stained wooden fixture, oriented vertically, with indecipherable markings placed one after another. While the meaning was lost, the look of the language itself rang a bell. That’s Pondarin... Oh Luna’s flank, I’m not in Asgard anymore. Vinyl stared at the carving, as if hoping it would reveal further secrets as she tried to work her way backwards on the path that had brought her to this point, finding nothing but potholes in the haze of ambiguity. It seemed like just the other night she was drinking with a lively flock of griffons who’d adored her energetic remixes of their stoic folk tunes. Now she was straining to miraculously decipher a language that definitely appeared oriental; Though it’d been a few years since high school geography, she was fairly certain the Orient was as far east as the Griffon Kingdom was west, practically on the opposite corner of the known world.

It was an ongoing struggle not to blame her current circumstances on Octavia. It always was. Everything had gone downhill since she’d taken on the responsibilities of planning the wedding. ‘Tavi was so touched by the thoughtfulness of her “engagement” party that she’d given Vinyl a budget, a vague idea of the format and colors (‘White and Blue,’ she said, without a hint of irony) and left the rest in her hooves. A pettier mare wouldn’t have made an effort, or worse, tried to sabotage the affair. But as was her custom, Vinyl did what she did best; turned everything up to eleven. A small dip into the exorbitant earnings of her alter ego’s international success was more than enough to ensure her friend had the marriage of the century. Octavia’s favorite composers, the chef from her favorite restaurant in Horsaille. No expense was spared.

Eventually it became a game to Vinyl: seeing how many bits she could throw around on a single event. Some part of her just wanted to be rid of the wealth as it served as little more than a reminder, a key piece to a now discarded puzzle. It wasn’t until she’d rented the Diamond Hall of Vaporia as the venue (doubling the small kingdom’s treasury) and calculated the cost of cloudwalking spells for over a thousand non-pegasi guests that the futility of her trying to deplete her accounts became apparent. She barely even scratched a tenth. The success of DJ PON3 was simply too big. An article in Sundial had called her album and the craze around it “The most monumental impact an artist has had on the industry since the Beetles.” And for once, they weren’t just feeding the hype. Critical acclaim was flattering at first, but over time the same stress that permeated her interactions with Octavia began to permeate composing, alienating her from her only remaining outlet. It just felt like work now, work that half the known world was waiting to hear. Talking to Octavia when she had a problem had always helped before, but of course it wasn't really an option as... well, ‘Tavi was the problem.

During the last few weeks of preparation, the bride to be was the only pony who received anything approaching a cheerful attitude from Vinyl. As the date drew closer, she became an absolute terror to everyone else. Yelling, pudding-bashing, and table-flipping rose to record highs. Rehearsal time was referred to as “Albino Armageddon.” Vinyl couldn’t help it really, she was trying to detach and making a mess of it. The precise, obsessive compulsive side of her personality that had always been helpful in work was leaking into everything she did. She began to see the wedding as a recording and herself as the equalizer; What made her angry was the fact that ponies were so much more difficult to manipulate than mids and trebles. “Why can’t they just stay where I put them?!” she fumed. What Vinyl didn’t - perhaps couldn’t - realize, was how her new attitude affected her appearance. She might have lost her mind, had it not been for Joy.

Joy wasn’t a terribly intelligent pony. A product of a small rural community's increasingly shallow gene pool, it was always her dream to go to Canterlot and join a band, despite not knowing a single instrument. She did eventually get into a band, though not the sort she expected. Joy sat at the talent-light end of the percussion section and specialized in the triangle - Though she aspired to someday branch out to the wood block - and spent far more time reading trashy romance novels than she did participating in any sort of practice. Her greatest achievement was looking similar to somepony with actual achievements; Due to similar look, color, and build, ponies would often approach her on the street and congratulate her on her performance the night before. In the beginning, she was thrilled her new technique was making an impact (pulling the striking bar back to pull the sound out of the triangle,) but quickly realized her mistake when some of her “fans” were more specific. “I’ve never seen an earth pony play a Cello like that,” and so on. “Oh, I’m not her." Joy would explain cheerfully. "That’s Octavia, She’s taller. I’m the triangle Pony. But we’re kind of friends!”

Kind of Friends was the title earned after a weeklong period Octavia had worked with Joy on her rhythm and introduced her to the wonders of practicing with a metronome, an event that had only come to be as Octavia had volunteered to give her lessons after a small crisis. Strangely, Joy’s experiments in creative expression and improvisation for several months preceded half the snare section’s descent into clinical depression (While the pegasus on the Bass Drum had a much more serious break down, he’s recently had a breakthrough in his treatments at Canterlot Psychiatric; After a year of silence other than occasionally repeating “Ting!... Ting!” at random intervals, he is now writing on an almost daily basis. The Doctors say the neat, legibly written messages scrawled all over his cell are little signs that he’s ‘getting better,’ even if most of them are creative variations of ‘kill me.’) While she wasn’t sure why she was singled out, she certainly was happy to be singled out. Everyone seemed to think they were the same pony, so figured she might as well start to mimic Octavia’s voice and mannerisms as well. “It’s like we’re like sisters!” she exclaimed; Octavia had smiled an awkward sort of smile in response, but as awkward smiles were really the only sort of smile ever directed her way, Joy didn’t really know the difference.

To Joy’s delight, Kind of Friends evolved into the much more impressive True Friendship the day she’d overheard Octavia mention she was short a bride’s maid. After subtly inserting herself in the conversation (“you know, I think I’d make a great bride’s maid.”) her new BFF gave her a whole half shrug and a generous “Why not,” propelling her admiration for the earth pony into loving obsession. An obsession she took rather seriously. “If only you weren’t promised to another,” She’d swoon, stroking one of the many “candid” pictures kept in her nightstand. If it was a daring evening, she’d blush, staring into those blurry purple eyes and add a breathy, “I’d break back for you.” and give her love a gentle kiss on an out of focus cheek before collapsing into her pillow with a squeal.

As a longtime romantic, she’d had crushes before, but never on a mare. Unrequited and forbidden love? It made her feel so edgy and progressive. Of course, she was well read enough in the genre to know how this particular plot was going to go - Octavia would get married while Joy loved her from a distance, forever watching, waiting. Such was her burden. Such was the role of the protagonist in such a tale, languishing in isolation, never able to love anypony else, her only release watching unsated through a telescope as the object of her affection enjoys the throes of passion with another. It filled with equal giddiness and dread every time she thought about it (at least every five minutes).

But there was a wrinkle in her narrative. It came in the form of a white unicorn whose blue mane flowed lonesomely in the wind, sometimes even indoors. The others were fooled, of course, by this Unicorn’s brash and insensitive facade. They called her names they wouldn’t dare say to her face: the “maid of terror,” and “Frigid Demon.” But Joy knew the truth. She recognized the haunted look smoldering behind those beautiful crimson eyes, no doubt the byproduct of a dark and unnecessarily complicated backstory. Compelling as the unicorn might seem, Joy recognized her for what she was: A class B temptress, an unnecessary plot device designed to ramp up tension, pad out the length of the story, and lead the protagonist astray.

Yet, It would be so much easier if her temptress wasn’t so damn hot.There was a certain gravitas to everything she did that propelled her so much higher than perfectly personifying bad filly trope. Joy noticed it when she first witnessed the unicorn’s ire. A designer under contract had refused to work, claiming the colors and theme were insultingly cliche. It was four days until the inevitable explosion.

“What? What about our contract?!”

“Consider it bought out and nullified.” Vinyl snarled, tossing a substantial brown bag that clinked as it hit the floor at the designer’s feet. “Keep the change. Don’t worry, I don’t want fries with that. Thanks for the service with a smile.” Spinning on her hoofs, she turned away in disdain as the designer flustered about, beat red, trying not to make eye contact.

A mare to Joy’s left called out timidly.“Miss Scratch. Did you just fire Glimmering Fields?”

“Yes.” Vinyl deadpanned, barely turning to look.

“But... isn’t she kind of the best designer in Equestria?”

“Leaves us plenty of continents to work with then, doesn’t it Lily?”

“B...but”

“Did... you... have... a... better... idea?” The slow challenge in Vinyl’s voice that went unmatched as the bridesmaid shook her head fervently and retreated into the crowd.

It was by and far the hottest thing Joy had ever seen.

Over time, she began to notice Vinyl glancing in her direction. She began to realize she wasn’t imagining it. Every so often she’d catch the unicorn with a look of deep sadness permeating her typically stern demeanor. She was so bad, so tragic, so compelling. Probably an orphan. Ugh, talk about the full package... When she found train of though on this particular track (which was often, as her mind was rather lacking in tracks) She’d run into the bathroom and splash cold water on her face. “My heart belongs to somepony else, my heart belongs to somepony else” she’d repeat the mantra, forgetting it the moment Vinyl touched a hoof to her forehead in that sexy, exhausted way.

Everything came to a boiling point the night before the wedding. It was on her trot home from the last rehearsal that fate carried out it’s coup de grace. Woozy and disheveled, an obviously inebriated unicorn being “escorted” (or arguably tossed) out of a bar caught her attention..

Nearly tripping over her hooves, the unicorn steadied herself before pushing the mane out of her face, revealing eyes as crimson as they were bloodshot.

“Vinyl?” Joy called uncertainly from across the street.

Groggily searching for the sound of the voice, Vinyl’s gaze finally reached her, recognition immediately followed by a flash of anger. “YOU!” she snaps.

“M-Me?” is the squeaked reply.

“Yes yoooooou.” Spittle flies from her mouth. “C’mere ‘Tavi I got somethin’ to say to you.”

“Er, no, I’m not.”

“I mean it ‘Tavi!”

“You’ve it wrong. I just play the Triangle!” She exclaimed nervously, ears splayed back.”

Vinyl reeled back, shocked. “Play the...” She swallowed painfully.. “Of course you figured it out... How long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“N-no, I-” Though Joy couldn’t quite parse the reaction, some part of her was thrilled the unicorn seemed so interested in her musical history. “There never seemed to be a good time to bring it up. Of course I didn’t get it right away, triangles are difficult. It took me a long time to figure it out - the rhythm just felt off at first - but eventually it started to make sense and everything clicked.” It was the longest Joy had ever talked about her experience in the percussion section. It wasn’t a bad feeling. She made a mental note to someday teach a master class.

“Why can’t it be me?” the unicorn asked in a quiet, pensive tone, bottom lip quivering. “ You’re all I want ‘Tavi-”

“Triangle-”

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you? What it dosh to me?” Every day you grow more beautiful, but every day takes you farther away. Why can’t you love me-”

Rearing up, Joy was kissing Vinyl before she even realized what her body was doing. (“sorry my love, I’ve failed you” she’d later confess to the shrine in her closet.) It was the first confession Joy had ever received. Who could resist such a tortured look, such a straightforward manner.

Breaking away, the unicorn pushed her back, slurred speech hesitant. “Wait. Thish can only happen if you’re sure. What about... 'im?”

“There is no him.” Joy glanced away. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Vinyl hadn’t asked about a her.

“Really?” Vinyl practically glowed.

“Really. But, you know...” Her face felt aflame. “My Hotel isn’t far from here.”

“It’s not? Waitaminute, where are we?” The unicorn looked around confused before the true meaning of the words sunk in. “Oh. OH. You mean- oh.

Joy’s ears splayed back, fearing another rejection. “Should I take that for a no?” Her heart skipped a beat as Vinyl grinned wickedly.

“Wouldn’t missh it for the world.”

In many ways, the events that followed were the end of one story and the beginning of another. For Joy, it was the end of an era. After waking up alone the next morning Joy would begin to doubt her faith in the mythos of fictional romance. To distract herself from doubt and embarrassing memories of that particularly slobbery, sordid night she began to practice for hours, leaving the triangle behind, mastering the wood block and finally moving on to the timpany, still aspiring to someday learn the grand secrets of the xylophone.

For Vinyl, it was the beginning to a very long downward spiral. She was no marinator. Waking up next to a pony that looked like Octavia in a strange place was initially horrifying. So horrifying, in fact, that running became her only option. Her duties as maid of honor were practically over, save the empty spot next to the Bride; but the thought of standing next to Octavia after sullying her likeness the night before was more than Vinyl could bear. Even if it had failed, even if it was somepony else, she’d still tried to break up her best friend’s marriage. In her eyes she was beyond scum. It wasn’t until the carriage was far enough for Vaporia to disappear over the horizon that Vinyl had an epiphany:

Somehow, she felt lighter.

It wasn’t the act of running away, there was still quite a bit of internal agonizing over that. The more she thought about it, the more her thoughts turned to Joy. In the light of day, the difference between Joy and Octavia was obvious - But drunk, under the cover of darkness? They were almost indistinguishable. The epiphany was both simple and astounding; there were other ponies with grey coats and black manes in the world. Some part of her knew it was unhealthy, some part of her just didn’t care. She was a pony with no purpose and more money than god.

Why not live a little.

The next few months ran together in blurring circles, places and ponies changing while everything stayed the same. Every town has the a decent underground club if you know where to look: the sort of place a pony goes to forget who they are in the wake of throbbing bass and screeching synth. PON3’s success finally had some practical payoff: All she had to do was put on the goggles and they’d beg her to do a set, practically pelting her with free drinks. From the DJ’s nest she sat watching for somepony who didn’t exist, eventually finding her when intoxication had muddied the senses. The first approaches were awkward, largely botched affairs. But at some point patterns began to emerge. Certain mare’s fell for certain lines, it was all a matter of reading personality and adjusting properly. After enough cider even color stopped mattering. Sometimes she’d find her muse before she blacked out, other times she could barely remember anything. In the odd lapse of a suitable alternative, she’d wake up the club itself, usually on a couch or in an alley. But more often than not she’d find herself in a new bedroom, feeling lighter despite the hangover. She’d figured out it was better to skip town quite quickly; the first day the paparazzi caught up with her it was mere luck that she’d fallen asleep with her goggles on. DJ PON3’s Marinating exploits were already all over the papers, but Vinyl settled into a workable routine quickly enough. A day and a half was the perfect length, hit a club, pass out, wake up, grab a quick shower and shove off to the next place where nopony knows your name..

Much as she hated to admit it, the lifestyle was starting to take a toll. After a while even her daytime recollections turned hazy, gaps in her memory growing from minutes, to hours, and now entire days. Her current circumstances were different, disquieting. It just felt... off. Threatening even. She was still staring at the wooden fixture on the wall when a voice beside her spoke in a throaty whisper.

“Never forgive a transgression, Lest you be wronged once more.”

Starting visibly, Vinyl turned slowly. The grey and black colors of the pony studying her intently definitely fit her “type,” but more off-putting were the radiant golden eyes that seemed to stare straight through her. “Excuse me?”

“You were taking in the woodwork, were you not?”

Caught, Vinyl chuckled. “Indeed. Isn’t that a bit cold though? Never forgive?”

Piercing eyes strangled the laughter in her throat. “My Equestrian is not ideal. Perhaps I have failed to convey the concept properly?”

“Er, no, you seem to speak Equestrian better than most Equestrians do.” Discomfort in the air seemed to multiply each passing second

Standing brisquely, the mystery pony trotted to the bedroom mirror, skillfully wrapping her mane into a bun held in place by two glossy sticks. “Perhaps the weakness of mercy is commonplace in Equestria, but here, we do not entertain such flaws. Refrain from indulging this sort of weakness publically, as weakness of the Empress’ ember reflects poorly on the Empress herself.

Vinyl’s ears perked up at full alert. “Woah woah woah, back up to the coda. Definitely losing some things in translation here. The whole empress-ember thing, that’s a figure of speech, right?”

The other pony turned back, a slight cock of her head her only indication of emotion. “I do not understand. I am Empress and you are my ember. What is there that cannot be taken literally.

“Nononononono. I’m just a DJ passing through.”

“Yes, you made that rather clear last night, after dodging my bodyguard and locking him in the bathroom. You then proceeded to explain to me exactly how we were meant to be together - that fate itself had written our entwined destiny in the stars.”

She silently kicked herself. “Is this a bad time to say I was more than a little drunk?”

“Drunk or sober, your allegations proved true.”

“Uh... What?” Vinyl blinked several times, not quite believing her ears.

“According to the Royal astrologers, your prediction was entirely accurate. There was indeed a fated one written in the stars that matched your description: The chosen one was meant to be either to be coat of cloud and mane of sky, or coat of dirt and mane of frog. I’m rather grateful to the goddess it was the former.”

“Yeah, nopony likes mane of frog.” The comment slipped out in a moment of nervousness. “Sorry. So wait. What happened exactly?”

“After confirming your claims with the astrologist, the guards retrieved you from the dungeon and I made you my ember. At the time, you were quite... enthusiastic about the ceremony. I was quite pleased.”

Vinyl flushed. Specifics aside, there’s no misinterpreting context. “Oh. Good. And... uh... what exactly does an ember of the empress do?” she asked, looking intently around the room for a pony sized hole to crawl into.

“What one would expect of such a position. Tending my garden, act as mother to my heir alongside with the other embers of the palace hearth.”

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. “Hearth? As in.... Harem???” Vinyl stared blankly.”

“Harem is a vile term. Our culture sees the hearth as more of an extended family.”

“...How extended?”

The Empress looked up and to the left, head bobbing from side to side in a silent count. “30...32? My mistake, I believe you would be ember 33. Duties of the hearth include carrying my other children to term, serving as my proxy in times of war and leading the vanguard in my stead. As the lowest ranking ember you’d likely be assigned grunt work from the others; rank must be earned. And of course, so long as you live you shall take no other to bed, be they mare or stallion. We did go over all this before-” Trailing off, The Empress turned to an empty bed, the unicorn present moments before nowhere to be seen. The echo of hooves tearing down the hall in a breakneck gallop reached her ears.

“GUARDS!”

***

Vinyl forced the sense of panic down for the sake of focus. This is nothing new, just run. Jilted lovers, as well as jilted lovers of jilted lovers with poor timing generally didn't appreciate her particular brand of meet and sneak. Lacking any exceptional arcane ability, she had always relied on agility. For the most part it had never failed her... something she now silently reminded herself over and over as she sped down the hall. Just because she’d been on the run before didn’t make this situation any less dangerous. On a continent she’d never seen before, without a single contact or place to lie low and the empress’ guard seemed intent on running her down. She risked a glance behind her, immediately regretting it. A group of armored ponies in intimidating, goblin like masks were right behind her, shouting and brandishing jagged looking spears. Okay shouldn’t have looked dummy, she thought, legs moving ever faster.

No matter what you’re running from, never run in straight line.

It was a basic foalhood lesson that had always served her well. There was a side hallway straight ahead at a 45 degree angle; waiting until the last possible moment she dug the sole of her right hoof into the floor, skidding around the corner whilst maintaining most of the momentum. The hallway seemed far too long, and the angry voices seemed to be growing closer. A few random turns later they were still on her heels, a few strikes from hissing spears missed wide and struck the marble. Her tail tucked beneath her. Veering to a side passage on the left, she slid between the legs of a waiting guard, a focused burst of arcane force to his nethers knocking him down and inadvertently causing a small pile-up in the doorway. Vinyl grinned. Clean up on inexplicably long hallway 3. The sense of victory was short lived, however, snuffed out instantly as she looked to the path ahead. It was a dead end, and the guards behind were already back on their feet.

Looking desperately for any sort of door or hiding place, despair nearly set in before the glimmering of stain glass at the end of the hall caught her eye. She’d almost missed it - it seemed too big to be a window, the size of a small wall. It portrayed a rather unflattering depiction of the empress clad in the formal kimono, reared back, forelegs extended. Beneath her right foreleg food fell from the heavens on waiting ponies below. Her left foreleg, encased in an iron glove, cast down lightning on a collection of Gryphons, Diamond Dogs, and Dragons in various states of cowering agony. All things considered it didn't bode well.

Vinyl groaned. as she began to pick up speed, possibilities and statistics running through her head. The last time she’d pulled this particular stunt it hadn’t ended ideally. There was no way of knowing where she was or how high up she was. Maybe the Divine Empress of Neighpon was the one ruler in the known world that actually slept on the ground floor of her abode. Maybe there’d be an abundance of soft grass for her to land on. Maybe lollipops will rain from the sky and Tartarus will freeze over. Through gritted she began to focus. Even if she knew how thick it was, trying to shatter the glass with her horn would drain far too much energy and leave her vulnerable. It had always been her weakness, but in that weakness she’d found something else: A sharp series of clicks emitted from her horn as she charged ever closer. The rebounding soundwave reached her just in time for highlight the sweet spot: a small section near the Empress’ iron forehoof where the glass was minutely thinner than the rest. Another burst of magic formed a single step she used to launch forward, forelegs protecting her hooves and face as her back legs swung up for impact, the mental construction of the surface in her mind ensuring the kicks struck true.

Like a boss. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt the inch thick glass shatter like rotted wood, the warmth of sunlight welcoming her into the great unknown. Still shielding herself, a single peak at the ground was enough to make her stomach drop.

Unsurprisingly, she’d been right: The Empress did not live anywhere near the first floor.

Author's Note

So, I was looking through my notes and found EVERYTHING I originally outlined for this story. Got inspired to start working on it again. In summer classes at the moment so chapters may be a bit smaller, but I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I promise the next update won't take nearly as long (actually will probably be up by the weekend). It's going to take me a little while to acclimate to the third person again, so any current voice issues should resolve themselves fairly soon.