Chapters
The end.
I’ll start from there. Two mares, too old, and one of them is crying. Bright tears burning. That’s you. And me, I have a smile on my face. I think that’s burning, too. I’m not sure what to make of it. First night, I thought, well, weird dream, but alright. Unconscious triggers, whatnot. Celestia only knows what it all means. I tried to put it out of mind, but it just kept on creeping back. Second, third; one straight week, and then another. Same dreaming, every night. Me and you and the crying of it all. Yeah.
You probably won’t ever see this. Probably, you have guards or secretaries or such that go through all your mail. You probably get tons of it. I’m writing this mostly for me. Cause I’ve tried sleeping pills and magic spells and whatdyacallit, tantric meditation, and not a one of them’s done any good. I’ve tried forgetting. So what the hell. Maybe sending all these thoughts away will help, even if you never read them. And if you do:
Any suggestions?
What’s going on?
Can you stay out of my head?
Love,
Vinyl Scratch.
A pretty mare, a pale cream coat and electric blue bright mane. Her eyes are red and fierce and nervous, trying not to show it. It’s okay , you want to say, want to reach out with a hoof, adjust her mane, tell her there’s nothing here she should be concerned about. You don’t much like telling lies, though, not when it counts, and right now Vinyl’s eyes are telling you she thinks it counts a lot . So instead you ask her if she’s really ready, she hesitates, she gives a nod, and you take a breath. Oh, you’re nervous, too. How strange. It’s okay, you’ve done this a hundred times before . Yeah! Go Cadance! Summon the image that always keeps you going, when you’re getting butterflies: white unicorn, blue mane. A dashing, handsome smile full of love and trust and adoration. That little quirk his mouth does, like he’s just about to laugh. Streaks of silver in his mane now, crows’ feet at his eyes: ageing gracefully. Smiling silver fox. You close your eyes, and let his smile fill you, reach into every corner of your body warm and tingling, spiralling towards your horn...
You touch your horn to Vinyl’s, and the whole world goes flash! white.
Cutie marks come easy, mostly. Everypony knows them. Yours is simple as it is effective: crystal heart, with fluted golden decorations. It may have taken time for you to figure out its meaning, but now it fits you—well, fits you like a cutie mark. But fate, the tricksy mare, has other paths set also—most everypony has a destiny, has skills, has friends, has lovers, but! because sometimes the roads to each are tangled and confused, the universe sent you alicorns to guide them. You’ve known your job since even before you got your horn—you’ve always been a matchmaker, and that’s where your cutie mark called you to help. Nudging here and there, encouraging, persuading—the magic helps, of course!—but never changing , no, only...allowing understanding , letting ponies see more clearly why they’re perfect for each other. Clearing brambles from the path! Like a foal whose cutie mark they’re having trouble working out.
Everypony has somecreature they’re meant to spend their days with. This Vinyl Scratch must have one, too—it’s simply up to you to work it out, and set fate back on course.
Everypony deserves to spend their days in love with the companions that are fated them.
Celestia & Luna.
Sweetie, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom.
Yourself & Shining Armour.
You believe this utterly, completely, and with every fibre of your being. It’s a shock to realise you might have got it wrong.
Vinyl at her mother’s house. This is more like what you’re used to. You wish there was a mirror here, to be more certain, but you’re pretty sure these are the teenage years.
{How old are you now?}
{Fourteen. I...Celestia, this one’s awkward.}
{Whaaaat? Why?}
{Just...you’ll see. Or not! Feel free to close your eyes, I’ll tell you when it’s over.}
{I’m sure it’s nothing I’ve not seen before.}
“Mum.”
“Vinyl!”
“Do you have a minute.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I have a few. Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”
Vinyl nods, and takes a step forward. Bristling with put-on pride. “I have something I’d like to tell you.”
{Urgh, Celestia kill me now.}
{You’re so serious!}
{I know.}
Vinyl’s mother sits down expectantly, and Vinyl swallows, begins to pace about. “As you know,” she begins, and launches into a clearly well-rehearsed speech about just what it is, exactly, her mother already knows, which ends a few minutes later with the impassioned proclamation: “I’m gay. I like mares, mum. I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I’m pretty sure stallions just aren’t doing anything for me. At all. So if you have anything to say to me about that, you can speak now. But I’ve really given this a lot of thought, and I hope that even if you can’t love me any longer, we can still be friends.”
{Ouch.}
{My mum’s trying really really hard not to laugh now.}
{No, how could she!}
{How could she not, more like. I sound like I’m breaking up with her.}
{You were fourteen.}
{That’s no excuse!}
“...and so when did you first realise, Vinyl?”
{I thought Vinyl sounded more grown-up than ‘honey.’}
{I was fourteen.}
Vinyl’s thinking, tapping her chin with alarming concentration. She waits a good five seconds before she says, “I think it was when I saw Princess Cadance at her coronation, last summer.”
{Unhear that part?}
{I will not!}
{Don’t worry, how can I put this delicately... The Princess of Love gets this sort of thing a lot.}
“She’s just so cool, and pretty, and her mane , sweet Celestia, her mane... ”
{Can we leave this memory, now?}
{When we’ve seen everything the spell needs us to see.}
{And how much is that, exactly.}
{Aww, come on, surely this isn’t all that bad? Trust me, I’ve seen far worse than awkward comings-out.}
{Worse for you, maybe.}
{Hey, these things are always awkward! When I came out, to my dad—}
{Wait, what? Since when are you...?}
{Princess of Love, remember.}
{Hah! Yeah, I suppose tha—}
{—t would make sense. Woah! Where are we now?}
{I don’t remember this at all...}
{Well. This isn’t supposed to happen.}
This time, there’s a mirror. Where Vinyl Scratch was short and sober, you’re gangly and frothy and have more limbs than you quite know what to do with.
“Mum, dad, I gotta tell you something! I’m gay!”
“That’s wonderful, darling.”
{Well, that was easy.}
“Mum, dad, I gotta tell you something! I’m bi!”
“That’s nice, dear.”
{Aaaaand...}
“Mum, dad, I gotta tell you something! I’m gay!”
“Again, darling?”
{Again.}
“Mum, dad! I’ve gotta tell you something! I’m actually pan!”
“I called it, you owe me ten bits.”
{And again.}
“Mum, dad! I’ve figured it out! I’m—”
{This went on for a while.}
{Was that a snrk? }
{Ahahahaha!}
{Thank, you, thank you. You can’t see me, but I’m bowing in my head. Thank you.}
{So what did you settle on, eventually?}
{Eventually? Some form of bisexual, I suppose. I don’t think I ever really settled, I only stopped thinking about it. All that matters if that you’re happy, in the end.}
{And you’re happy now? With...}
{Yes. I certainly am.}
{I’m glad. So how did you...you know. Figure out that it was him? That he was the one?}
{You watched it happen, just a minute ago. At the parade, when he sang. I’d thought before that, too, of course. I hoped that it’d be him! But I didn’t know till then. Of course, being the Princess of Love, I had to make sure...}
“Hold me, please,” you say to her, in bed, exhausted.
She looks about as tired as you do: you’ll hold each other, tonight. She slips under your hooves, small body folded to your own, and you let yourself go limp for her, let the tension out your body. The pain and terror of last week, the exhilaration of the fight, the joy of joining true their love: too much, too much, all of it. You know exactly how this moment feels; you’ve been here before, another night, another pony. Shining Armour trapped inside his own head, asking if he can hold you, only hold you...
You press together close beneath the covers, and you reach out with your wings to wrap around her, even as she comforts you. Cocoon of love and warmth: in the life you know, from that cocoon your foal emerges: in this, who knows? Only warmth and trembling and love.
Vinyl Scratch is crying. You can feel it hot upon your shoulder, soaking through the fur—and then, of course, you’re crying, too.
It’s okay , you want her to say, even if this isn’t right, even if she isn't yours. It’s okay, please, just tell me it’s okay . Shiny did.
“That was awful,” Vinyl chokes out. “The worst day of my entire life. It was...it was...”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you tell her. “But terrible as that would have been, what was worse was seeing you...imagining you, up there, with her, trying to love another pony, trying to remember me, while she used you , took it all away.”
“I want— I just want it never to have happened. I didn’t want to know what it would be like, almost losing you.”
“You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, we won, you didn’t.”
“It doesn’t feel like winning.”
“Hold me,” you say again, and in your hooves she’s so alive, so warm, so there. Protective and protecting you. “We’ll never feel this way again,” tight and tense and violently in love, “nothing will ever separate us.”
{I was in love, once.}
{Once?}
{Well...once properly. There were other ponies I’d said I loved, and believed loved me, but only one I ever thought would last.}
{Who was she?}
{Her name was Octavia Melody.}
{Oh.}
{Do you know her?}
{No, I mean...she sounds familiar. Some kind of musician?}
{The best. She played the cello. I’ve never been one for classic music, myself, but when she played, I could see what other ponies saw in it.}
An ordinary day. Crystal castle, lots to do. Lounging about in love, instead.
{...What happened?}
Ask like you don’t want to know. Like you’re not looking for advice, the way to end this.
{She died.}
Oh.
{Oh. I’m sorry.}
Say it with a little more enthusiasm, Cadance! Say it like you care! You do care. You just don’t have room to think, right now.
Vinyl kicks you on the couch, makes a show of saying that she didn’t do it. You pretend like you believe her, kick her back with equal innocence. Two mares reading on the couch. Nothing else to go on.
{I’m really sorry.}
{It sucked pretty bad for a bit, yeah. We were broken up at that point, too, which made it worse. We were always off and on like that.}
{Sounds unstable.}
And do not say what you really think about relationships like that, that they’re a sign of something wrong, that fate has other plans. You want her to forget fate’s other plans. You want fate to forget fate’s other plans.
{You’d be surprised. I think toward the end there we were only going through the motions. Breaking up because we’d always broken up, not because we wanted to. I left my toothbrush, anyway.}
How terrible, how awful, how absolutely horrifying. How many ponies have you counselled like this, heartbroken and realising the void stays hollow? Playing on the couch, teasing tricksy with your mare. How utterly unfair.
{How did it happen?}
{Quickly. Just an accident, nopony’s fault. Well, that’s what they tried to tell me. Walking down the street, construction work, and... You know, I really thought it’d be more elegant. Like, stretched out on a bed of roses, coin on each eye. They didn’t let us see her open. But I felt her weight inside the casket all the same.}
{But you...I mean, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can pretend to know what that’s like.}
{Dunno why you’d want to.}
{To say...to help. To make it easier, to help your wound, to do what I’m supposed to do and tell you how to love! It's kind of my job.}
{I’m sorry.}
{No offence, Princess, but I’m pretty sure I know how to do that myself. A lot of ponies tried to help me. Most of them had known her, as well. You know what helped me, in the end?}
{No.}
{Nothing at all. It still hurts. It hurts so much I want to cry, every day, and always. Nothing helps. And if it gets easier, if you forget, then that’s the worst thing of all.}
{You can’t be sad all the time. That crazy talk. I...I won’t allow it.}
{You want to help me?}
{Of course I do!}
{Really and truly?}
{With all my heart.}
{Go to tartarus.}
{...Why?}
{I don’t want your help. Thank you, but no thanks.}
{But why would I go to Tartarus...?}
{I don’t mean literally. I mean—go to hell. Go away. Get lost.}
{You really shouldn’t use real places when you’re being metaphorical.}
{Well I’ve really never been to Tartarus, have I? Just another curse, to us mere mortal ponies.}
{I’ve been to Tartarus.}
{Good for you.}
{It’s not a very nice place.}
{I don’t imagine it is.}
{Nothing down there, anyway, since Twilight cleared the dungeons.}
{Okay.}
{Be pretty lonely, actually.}
{Oh, piss off.}
{Why do you want to be sad all the time? Surely Octavia wouldn’t have wanted that.}
{I thought you said you couldn’t pretend to know what it was like.}
{I can’t. I only know that moving on isn’t disrespectful.}
{I don’t want to.}
{Why not?}
{I don’t think she would want me to.}
{Why not?}
{We broke up, didn’t we?}
{I know if I died, I wouldn’t want my husband to be sad.}
{Yeah, well, I didn’t fall in love with you , did I!}
You look at each other, across the couch.
{Hahahahaha!}
{Ahahahaha!}
{This is ridiculous.}
{So stupid.}
{I’m sorry you’re so sad.}
{I’m glad you’re so happy.}
{I don’t think I want to fall in love with you.}
{I don’t think I want that, either.}
{Because it’s disrespectful?}
{Because you’re surprisingly annoying.}
{I’m bowing, again. Imagine me bowing.}
{I didn’t think Princesses were allowed to be annoying.}
{Nopony does. That’s how we get away with it!}
And on the couch, the two of you sleep soundly.
Lyra Heartstrings looks almost as beautiful as Vinyl did, walking down her aisle. You’re standing next to Vinyl, second row, as she slowly walks toward the front, hoofsteps trailing in her purple suit to match the beats of Bridal Chorus: Remix 2. You, of course, are crying. You’d probably have to hand the crown in if you weren’t. The couple meet, they say their vows, and Vinyl squeezes your leg tight as they seal the marriage with a kiss. You know that she’s remembering another aisle, another mare. So are you, in fact—you always do, but this this time there’s another two: yourself and Vinyl, exhausted, bathed in white, and the realer, rosier palette of you and Shining Armour. Your joy, his smile, the quirk upon his lip like he’s going to burst out any moment...
{Did they get married in real life, do you know?}
{Shouldn’t you know?}
{I can’t keep track of every marriage. Mostly just the troubled ones, in fact.}
{That’s...a little sad. No, they never got together. I’m not even sure who Bon Bon is.}
{I am. She owns a sweet shop in Canterlot I take Flurry Heart to sometimes. Or—I used to.}
{So it’s our fault, then.}
{Maybe.}
{We messed destiny up pretty bad, huh.}
{So it would seem...}
{You don’t sound all that convinced.}
{Everypony has a destiny. It’s our job, us alicorns, to help them understand it.}
{Hah! No offence, but—}
{Why do I get the feeling you’re about to say something really offensive right now?}
{Hey, hey! No need to jump down my throat! I was just gonna say that, uh, that sounds really nice and helpful of you.}
{Of course.}
{Of course.}
{I haven’t done a very good job, have I?}
{I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it...}
{Thanks, Vinyl. I’m so glad I can count on you to back me up when I’m questioning the purpose of my whole entire life.}
{No problem, anytime.}
Reception, drinking, dancing. Chattering to countless friends and friends of friends and their friends about what a beautiful occasion, and...that’s all they want to talk to you about, really. Wedding, Princess of Love, idyllic. Vinyl, over there, chatting away about some drumkit or other, and you exchanging pleasantries about the colours of the ribbons. It isn’t bad, you don’t hate it, but it isn’t you. It’s a relief when music starts, and you excuse yourself, and go up to ask the prettiest mare in the room to dance.
{You’re a surprisingly good dancer.}
{Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?}
You rest your head against the hollow of her neck, breathe in her smell, her love and warmth.
{What if it’s all been a lie?}
{Huwha?}
{Everything I’ve done. The ponies I’ve nudged together, if I got something as big as this wrong, who am I to tell them what to do?}
{Nopony. Though that’s probably just the anarchist in me.}
{I didn’t take you for a revolutionary.}
{I’m a DJ. Every DJ likes to pretend they’re a little revolutionary.}
{I’ll keep that in mind, and advise Princess Twilight to do the same.}
{You’re so funny.}
{You think I’m joking.}
{Be quiet and enjoy the dance, Princess.}
And three turns later, Vinyl’s daring grin, her dip, her hooves...
{You’re happy with your husband.}
{Yes.}
{Is what you have with him a lie?}
{A...what? No, of course not.}
{There you go, then.}
{There I go, what?}
{If you got yourself and Shining Armour wrong, and you’re happy, and you’re still together, what’s it matter? For that matter, even if you weren’t still a couple, I don’t think you’d stand here saying that it wasn’t worth it. So if you think that even if you got it wrong, you wouldn’t change it, why call other ponies’ choices lies?}
{Because I made them.}
{You didn’t make them. You at most, what, pushed them? Suggested them? Who cares. Ponies make their own decisions, it’s, like, our favourite thing to do. Maybe everypony has a destined love, maybe some of them work out and some of them don’t. You might have chosen, chosen wrong, but they chose too, and unless they're saying yes, you’re right, absolutely, get this stallion out of here, then I don’t think you get to feel guilty about it at all. And you certainly don’t get to say that love’s a lie.}
{Stop being so wise.}
{I once opened a bottle with my eyelid.}
{Wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes.}
{I’m gonna tell your husband you called me a babe.}
{I take it back completely.}
{Much obliged.}
{...Thank you for understanding.}
Years pass. Spring turns to Summer turns to Autumn of your lives. It is strange, each memory with Vinyl: shared with the pony you are meant to be with, yet not shared as they should have been. What will Shining Armour think of this, you wonder—do you think that you can tell him? You have to. Even if you weren’t such a transparent liar, secrets that big don’t do anypony any good; that’s like, Marriage Counselling 101. A conversation, anyway. You think that things will be all right, in the end.
{It’s kind of peaceful, here.}
{Quiet.}
{Where is everypony?}
{I’d say that maybe there’s a DJ-pon3 concert on, but...}
{No royal ceremony, neither.}
“Do you remember the day we met?”
Vinyl shrugs. “Which one?”
“Our proper meeting.” You lean your head where best it fits, and murmur to her hoof against your mouth, “You know, at the restaurant.”
“I’d met you before then, sweetie.”
{Bleagh!}
{Shhh, let’s listen.}
“Not properly, not really.”
“There was that one time in psych class—”
“Celestia spare me from that one time in psych class!”
“You know.” Vinyl is grinning, “when Poindexter stood up in that suit and—”
“I was trying to be romantic, here.”
“You’re always romantic. It’s like your whole thing.”
“Hmph!”
“Aww, don’t get huffy. The restaurant, remember? You’d just been stood up by this cute mare that you were seeing...or wait, hold on, that was me.”
“What was her name again?”
“Octavia Melody.” You say it as if each syllable requires at least two hooves of personal space.
“Octy, that was it! The grey earth pony with the—the thing—”
“The mane, yes. Quite what you saw in her, I don’t...”
“You don’t need to be jealous of a mare I dated forty years ago.”
“I’m not jealous! Just...protective. You didn’t deserve to get stood up.”
“Eeeh, I might have done. Probably did, I wasn’t very nice back then.”
“You weren’t so bad.”
“You weren’t so bad. Standing there in all your dresses, looking like a night out at the opera.”
“Never hurts to be prepared! And I had just come from there, to be completely fair.”
“Good opera?”
“Okay. That new baritone was coming up, Shining whassisname.”
“Not a clue.”
“Shining Notaclue, the very same.”
“Handsome colt, wasn’t he?”
“If you go for that sort of thing. I was more into dishevelled mares in denim shirts, back then.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Lucky for me.”
“Do you remember what I said to you?”
“What sort of question is that! Does the Princess of Love remember what her wife said on their first date! ”
“Go on.” Vinyl turns to you with smug satisfaction. It looks good on her. It’s always looked good on her. “What did I say, then?”
“You said something very eloquent I’ve remembered for the rest of my life.”
“Which was...”
Hazard a guess. “‘Got a light?’”
{Now that was definitely a snrk .}
{Shhh, I’m trying to listen.}
“Okay, sure, I did say that, but that wasn’t the first.”
“No?”
“No. Before that, I said something else.”
“‘I didn’t know angels got to keep their wings?’”
“Before that.”
You study her. That bright white coat, electric mane with streaks of silver. Smile creases round her eyes. That wrinkle on her nose that only shows when she’s about to tell a whopper. Vixen ageing gracefully. “Go on,” you say, “what was it?”
“I don’t know where it came from, really. It certainly wasn’t true.” But you remember, suddenly, in that memory before, there hadn’t been that telltale wrinkle when Vinyl had come up to you and said, “‘I saw you in my dreams, last night.’”
“‘Oh? Why, what was I doing?’”
“‘Falling,’” you reply, “‘except I didn’t know that angels got to keep their wings.’”
“‘How classy.’”
A grin. “‘You got a light?’”
And the two of you sit and watch the red leaves blow, huddled close as afternoon turns evening. And though the wind is cold, up in the Crystal Empire, you hardly feel the chill: whether it is magic, body heat, or something else, all that matters in the end is that the two of you are here, together, warm.
The beginning.
Where else is there to end? Two mares, too old, and one of them is crying. Bright tears burning. That’s you. And Vinyl, she has a smile on her face. You’re pretty sure that’s burning, too.
You’ll go home, after this. Back to your life, and love, and Shining Armour. More cautious, maybe. Less willing now to direct fate. You and Vinyl and the crying of it all.
You look into each other’s eyes: stranger, now familiar, and wonder what what else might have been. Cutie marks come easy, mostly; fate’s other paths are less concise, and most of them, less travelled. Deep down, you start to understand, and in that moment, for just a breath, you love Vinyl completely and entirely. You wonder: should you try a kiss? Just this once? Just to feel it, truly?
The moment passes. You wipe your eyes, you offer her a smile. You’ll see each other soon.
And you go home.
I love pretty pink mares, they make me feel so good! I love tri-colour hair it makes me feel so bad! When they’re around they make me feel like I’m the only colt in town... I love pretty pink mares, they make me feel so good!
Hold on. You remember this. Hard to forget the day you fell in love, after all. Besides, Shiny’s performance tends to stick in mind. You’re so absorbed it takes another moment for you to wonder why you’re here.
{Woah. I remember this.}
{You do?}
You look around, fruitlessly. But of course, this is just a memory, and Vinyl just a voice, the two of you observers of events already passed. You look down, expecting the familiar jolt of somepony else’s body: instead, you see
pink hooves
tri-colour mane
(they make me feel so good)
How odd. But, then, you’ve never seen a memory before that you were in. You put it aside. Instead, you start your search anew, looking, looking for...aha!
{Aww, you’re so adorable!}
{Am not.}
{You are . You’re so excited.}
{Course I am. I’m about to get my cutie mark, you know.}
{Are you serious? That’s even cuter!}
{Shhh, I’m trying to listen.}
You watch yourself clap with all the others, and can’t help but feel that same kindled fuzzy pride you did back then, the spark that someday would grow a flame. How he looks down there. All puffed up and trying to impress. Your knight in Shining Armour.
You tear yourself away, somehow: nice as it is to see all this again, you have another purpose here. Vinyl Scratch (tiny, adorable) is standing on her mother’s back, eyes shining like everything she ever dreamed is there upon the float and crying out to her: and yes, the foal’s flank begins to glow, and the single music note is washed in place. The mark of destiny itself.
Three lives changed that day, you realise, and you’re glad somepony else got something near the joy you felt while watching that performance, too. Watching your Shining Armour.
{You’re pretty adorable yourself, you know.}
{Shhh, I’m falling in love.}
{That is so cheating!}
{Look at it from my perspective: how embarrassing would it be if it turned out I chose wrong?}
{Shouldn’t you just have, like...I don’t know, taken a risk? Like everypony else does?}
{There’s enough you risk in love already! I just wanted to make sure I had the best chance. I’m pleased to say it worked!}
{Cheater.}
{And what do you think this spell is, hmm?}
{That’s...different.}
{Both of them are ways to force fate’s hoof. Get the love-train back on track.}
{I still think it’s not fair.}
{All’s fair in love and war. Besides, it isn’t cheating. I should know, I make the rules!}
{Who am I kissing right now, anyway?}
{Don’t you remember? Vinyl .}
{Whaaat? I was drunk. You don’t go kissing strangers in the cupboard sober.}
{Ah, so that’s where we are.}
{If I had to guess? At one of my friend Lyra’s parties. She always knew how to throw em weird.}
{I think I went to one of those, actually.}
{No way! You think we ever ended up at the same one?}
{Would you remember if we had?}
{Probably not. I guess we didn’t, then, if you don’t remember either.}
{I wouldn’t say that rules it out, exactly...}
{Princess! }
{What? You don’t go kissing strangers in the cupboard sober, after all.}
Light click. Draw back. As the stars fade from your eyesight, you trace your partner’s cheek with the very edge of your forehoof. Lover-gentle. Not a stranger, then. Soft glow upon soft fur, almost white in this bright light...
White fur.
Red eyes.
Blue mane.
{No way. You can’t...Princess Cadance?}
You don’t remember this at all.
{Okay, tell me again. What did the Oracle say, word for word?}
You’re at another party, now. Only, here you aren’t hidden in a cupboard hanging from each other’s faces, cheating secretly on Shining Armour—you’re sitting outside in the cool approaching dark of sunset, Vinyl leaning on your shoulder, cheating on him openly. No, that isn’t right. As much as you don’t want to see it, as much as it feels wrong , you’re pretty sure that here you never got together with your husband. And that is distressing, that is wrong, but in the here and now (or then...or when?) of sunset, Vinyl fits you warm and sweet, and if anypony can sense when love is genuine, it should be you, even when you don’t want to see it. How did this happen? You’re far from either of your recollections, now.
Enough. Focus. Destiny is trying to tell you something, time to work out what it is.
{Word for word?}
{Everything that they told you.}
{There wasn’t all that much, actually. It was really very simple. Listen:}
{Your-partner-made-shall-crystal-clear-see-you;
{Huh, that is pretty simple.}
{Right? I thought so, too! And I already had a crush on Shining Armour, and there wasn’t anypony else around that it could be...}
{...You know where this is going, right?}
Silence, at that. Vinyl’s breath is warm upon your shoulder, nuzzling up to peer at you. That gaze so full, unquestioning, and happy. “I really like you, Cadance,” she whispers, pressing up her cheek to yours. You feel her warmth upon your swallow.
“Yeah,” you find yourself saying, “I’m pretty sure I like you, too.”
“I really really like you,” she says. Her lips are strange against your own, so unlike Shining Armour’s, but in the kiss is love the same, as wilful, potent, just as fierce. She pulls back, unsatisfied. Kisses you again. Leans in a third time, mouth against your own, and murmurs, “I love you,” as if it’s meant to be a challenge. There’s nothing easier in all the world than to take her up on it: you meet her without hesitation.
“I love you, too,” you tell her, and together you lie back to watch the sunset.
The pulse of room like pulse of life, pounding through your body. You know when you are close your heartbeats match, and here the music seems to do the same, veins jumping to the same beat that your hooves do. Hey, you could get behind this groove!
{Not half bad. I’ll have to try remember this one.}
{Now who’s cheating.}
Flashing lights paint rainbows on the inside of your skull as you make your way through crowds of ponies toward the stage. They don’t seem to be moving out of your way, particularly, which is strange, until you glance down and see another pony’s coat over your own. Disguise magic.
“How do I look?” you shout, over the vibration of the speaker next to you. Vinyl bobs her head approvingly.
{Like a super hot pony failing to blend in!}
“Like a super hot pony,” she grins, “trying to blend in!”
“Oh do I?” you say, with a grin of your own. “You won’t mind, then, if I go out and enjoy myself?”
{Totally, I’d like to watch!}
Wryly. “If it please the Princess.”
{Nice try.}
{Dammit.}
“And the Princess always gets exactly what she pleases, does she?”
“Is the Princess currently displeased?”
“I’m not sure what the Princess thinks,” you shout, “but right now I’m—” you’re cut off abruptly by the sound of your own voice.
“Vinyl.”
“What?”
There it is again: worked in between the pulse of synths, voice unmistakable through the distortion: “—Vi-vi-vinyl, remember to take out the trash— ”
{Oh, you little monster.}
{Nice one, me!}
“—trash, trash, trash, trash, remember to take out the—Vinyl!— ”
“I take it back,” you say, curtly, “the Princess is currently very displeased. The Princess distinctly remembers asking you to delete that clip, in fact.”
“Oh. Well, Good thing she isn’t here, then, isn’t it?”
“Turn it off please, Vinyl.”
The music, somehow, seems even louder.
“Pardon? ”
“Oh, you little monster.”
You turn and head out for the crowd, wading through and glad of the disguise as your own voice is filtered back to you through six 5000-MagiWatt industrial speakers.
{What are you off to do now?}
{Something completely justified, I’m sure.}
Through the throngs, around back corridors, flash your pass, until you’re back up at the stage again, and kissing Vinyl vigorously.
“The Princess always gets exactly what she pleases.”
“I didn’t know you were quite so fond of controversy.”
You frown. What—?
{Disguise magic.}
{Disguise magic.}
Oops.
