The soft pink cloth left the wood smooth, but not overly shiny. Octavia hummed to herself as her right fetlock moved in small circles, the act of polishing as familiar as brushing out her long black mane. She tilted her head to the side, gently nudged away one last spot, then stepped back to admire her work. It was a beautiful thing, chiefly made from wood. Some parts had to be metal, of course, but she was an earth pony and preferred this one over others because wood simply felt more natural to her. The grey mare clicked the metal and wood parts back together with practiced ease and gently laid her instrument in a cello case. She ran a hoof over it and felt a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes closed, and she could no longer hum. Yes, it was a beautiful thing. She had killed many ponies with it.
Octavia was not what her father wanted. She was not a unicorn, not a colt, and worst of all she had no interest in her birthright. Still, she was his one and only daughter, and so he had tried his best to make her worthy of the blood that flowed through her veins. He had made her an assassin. Not the glamorous kind, who jumped about buildings with hooded cloaks and cut down the enemies of Equestria. The real kind, who waited for three days in the pouring rain for the perfect moment to pull the trigger of a finely crafted rifle. She turned away from the weapon in the cello case and walked to her window. Outside, a few songbirds flitted between the trees, singing their innocent tunes. As soon as she was old enough to hold a weapon, her father had taught her how to kill those weaker than her. How to pull a trigger and end a little creature who had done you no wrong. How to hide that little body so it could not be found. There was no purpose for such violence, for ponies could not eat meat, save to instill in her mind the instincts of a huntress. An assassin was an important part of the world, they allowed the strong to settle disagreements between one another, and to ensure that the weak never gained strength. Her bloodline always produced the finest of all assassins, effective, economical, but most importantly of all, invisible. Nopony knew her as anything more than a struggling cellist, nor her father as anything other than a skilled socialite.
Her eyes turned to her cello, sitting humbly in its corner. She stepped closer and pressed a hoof to its polished surface. Nopony truly knew her. She had been trained to live a false life so that she could steal the true lives of others. Still, she was not what her father wanted. She loved music, she loved to play for all the world if they would but listen. It was her cutie mark, her destiny. Mother had been appalled. Father had been livid. She had only been allowed to learn the instrument because a musician's case was a wonderful way to conceal a weapon. The idea that her destiny might not align with her father's wishes had never occurred to her parents. Her birthright was the family trade, and so she must be an assassin. So, at a young age, she found herself serving two masters. Octavia was like any other filly, craving the approval of her parents, and so she learned well how to kill those weaker than her. Even so, her father had given only grudging approval, for no matter how skilled she might be she still lacked a horn. Yet every time she was able to play her cello, to bare her soul to an audience through her music, her heart warmed with joy. It did not matter if the audience was weak or strong, all that mattered was that they were ponies.
Every time she performed on a stage, her joy was choked by the knowledge that music was not what she was born for. Every time she cut short a life, she knew that murder was not her destiny. Her father had not gotten what he wanted, but he was determined to hammer her into the shape of his will. He had crafted quite the killer from his daughter, entombed her heart in granite and chiseled the ways of an assassin so deep into her that they could never be eroded away. Octavia turned back to the window and smiled up at the sun. Yet all creatures must one day answer for their deeds in the flesh, and for her parents that day had come when they had been quite unprepared. She remembered her sixteenth birthday with perfect clarity. The sun had been high overhead, and she had been standing on a train platform with two cello cases. One carried her instrument of music, the other her instruments of murder. The train bearing her parents had jumped the track, just close enough to the platform for her to see. By some blessing from above, though many had been injured, only two ponies died in that crash. Her first thought had been that it was the best birthday gift a mare had ever received. Her second was that she now had an assignment to complete all on her own.
Octavia was a mare with a curse. She could not break free of the habits that had comprised her life. So, every month, she found herself setting up a mission. Every month, she erased one life from the world and felt that sense of being loved, knowing that her father would be proud. It was more than a bloody routine, it was a lifestyle she had been bred for. She adjusted her pink bow-tie and looked up at the sun again. Celestia would be disappointed with her, if she knew. If she even had some inkling that there was a mare named Octavia. Nopony truly knew her, not even the mare who lived in the next room. That was well, since she was more disappointed with herself than any of them could be with her. Yet her father had made her into a four-legged weapon, and he was still pulling her trigger from six shovel lengths under. The mare walked to her wardrobe, also crafted of fine wood, and took down her suit. She leaned against the wall to keep her balance as she began to pull the clothes on. It was a soft black, very expensive, with a white undershirt. The kind of suit her father had always worn. It showed strength, the right of the strong to judge the weak. This was the way of the world, and that made it right.
Her head slumped against the wall. She had tried to stop. She had tried to become a full-time cellist, though that did not pay exceptionally well. She had the skill, and she could make do with less, but whenever she went up on the stage she felt her father's disapproving gaze. Every time she went up on a roof with her rifle, she felt the mark on her flank burn like a brand. Between the two, she was worn down, finding peace only in the brief moments when she managed to forget or satisfy both masters. She heard music from the other side of the wall, but ignored it with practiced ease. There was no way out for her, no rehabilitation clinic for apologetic assassins. If she went to the police, she would receive justice. Who else would care about a creature as evil as her?
"I got no face, no name. I'm just a killin' machine."
The mare's head jerked up as she heard the song rumble through the wall. Her roommate's taste in music was uncultured, to say the least. Did that make her weak? Octavia shook her head to clear the thought before it took root. Weak, strong, none of that really mattered. All those smooth words were good for was smothering the feeling inside her that told her how wrong she was. Weak became strong, and strong became weak, that was the true way of the world. Still, those who were at the top preferred to remain there, and after having their will carried out for long enough they began to believe that the world really did bend to their wishes. Instead of holding power with their own strength, they crushed those who might usurp them before they could grow strong enough to compete. She finished dressing, tugged on her black coat, and straightened her pink bow-tie. Power without principle corrupts, this she knew for she had seen it with her own eyes. But she had been corrupted from birth. She never had a chance to learn principles, to form a defense against her father's words. Not until he was gone, and she was able to learn what she wished, and by then it was too late for her. She served two masters, and neither-
"Master of Puppets, I'm pulling your strings!" Her roommate yelled through the wall, accompanied by the telltale squeaks of bedsprings under stress. "Twisting your mind and smashing your dreeeeeeaaams!"
Octavia stepped away from the wall, back to her cello case. She ran a hoof over the rifle, nestled in velvet. It and her cello were the only true companions she had. Nopony knew her, not even the ones who told her who to kill. Nopony would care if she disappeared, except the masters in her mind. She could never stop, she was like one of those vampires in the old stories who rose from their crypts to seek the blood of the living. The grey mare made sure that her garrote wire was hidden in a can labeled as cello polish, and that her daggers were sharp. The lid clicked shut, rather like a coffin now that she thought about it, and she slung the case onto her back. She would take the evening train to Canterlot, just as she always did. She would go to the dead-drop and find the file stuffed with information about a condemned mare. By sunrise, the target would be dead.
It was time to go. She reached out and flicked off the light, but did not open the door. Maybe, if she just waited here, if she missed the train, she could stop. The mare sighed quietly. She had tried that before. It did not matter what she wanted, but what her masters wanted. One demanded that she kill, and the other begged for her to perform, but neither offered shelter from the other. Octavia stood still as a stone until her front hooves began to shake and the swirling noises in her mind trickled down her spine to churn her stomach. She felt hot, too hot, and the case on her back seemed to be made of lead. Her knees buckled, and her strong muscles felt as weak as a newborn foal's. The sunlight reached through her window and poured down on her, and Octavia draped a foreleg over her face to hide her eyes. She felt utterly alone, as though even Celestia herself had condemned her as beyond all hope of redemption, for the Princess of the Sun despised corruption. A cufflink was next to her nose. Inside it was a capsule that would end all her pains. The mare slid her muzzle a few millimeters closer and parted her lips, but could not bring herself to bite down. She could never bring herself to bite down. So, her masters bit down instead, demanding their pounds of flesh from her body. Sweat soaked into her undershirt, and she felt the chill of the twilight air slipping through her window. The grey mare rose stiffly and looked over her shoulder. The sun was setting now, and the moon would soon rise. Octavia moved to the window with a halting gait and hung her head outside. Even though the sun condemned her, she did not hate it. She had been taught to reject all that the Princess of the Sun stood for, after all. The idea that every little pony was endowed with a right to life, to freedom, to do the things that brought them wisdom and virtue, that was utterly alien to her blood. Yet her heart knew it to be truer than all the lies she had been taught as a foal, and so she was doubly doomed. The breeze ruffled her mane, and she silently begged the sun to return, to keep her from this night. It did not, slipping over the horizon with an escort of purple and orange sky.
It was time. Time to go. She turned and stalked toward the door, eyes hollow and heart heavy. As it squeaked open, she heard a clatter downstairs. The grey mare looked back at the window, but the sun was still gone. What caught her eye was her cello, sitting alone in the corner. Across the room from it was the mirror on her open wardrobe. She blinked, then looked again at the mirror, and for a moment the reflection was not of a grey earth mare, but an angry unicorn colt wearing that black suit and carrying that case of death. She darted out of her room in fright, the phantom of her father laughing as she slammed the door shut. Octavia closed her eyes and tried to steady her heart, but that only reminded her of pausing her pulse as she pulled the trigger. She ran down the hallway in panic, glancing over her shoulder as though the phantom could step through her mirror and chase her, and so did not see the white mare until their bodies collided.
The unicorn groaned from the floor. "Octy, you hit like a freight train." She adjusted her purple shades and turned her head until she saw the tray she had been carrying a meter or two away. Surprisingly, the sandwich and drink on it had not splattered all over the walls. Unsurprisingly, this was due to the gooey yet edible toppings that glued the sandwich to the plate, and the plate to the tray. As for the drink, it had a lid and a weighted base. The white mare had gotten a nasty electromagical jolt when she had spilled water into a stage light control box. Her room was a rat's nest of cables and gadgets, so she had gotten used to spill-proof glasses. All this meant it was very easy to scoop up her evening meal with a glow of her horn, leaving her hooves free to rub a sore spot on her shoulder as she glanced up at her roommate.
Octavia had been back on her hooves in a twitch of a tail, but the impact had blunted the edge of the terror. She glanced over her shoulder again and saw that her door was still shut. When she turned back to her roommate and opened her mouth to apologize, no words seemed to come. She tried again, blushing in embarrassment, but her tongue seemed anchored to the base of her mouth. Confused, she held out a foreleg to the unicorn and helped her back onto her hooves. Then, she tried again to say I am sorry, Vinyl. I really must be on my way.
She managed a strangled moan. The white mare levitated her sandwich to her mouth, took a bite, and chewed with a raised eyebrow. After a moment that seemed to stretch far longer than it should have, Vinyl swallowed. Then, she belched. "Daisy'n'cuke sammich, wrapped in haybacon strips with an Applejack Daniels chaser." The unicorn grinned.
Her roommate stared vacantly at a point just over the unicorn's shoulder.
"Hey... y'look... nice." The white mare said, levitating her sandwich to her mouth to take another monstrous bite. If Octy had a little green makeup on, then she would have asked if her roomie was headed to a zombie walk. Of course, a ruffled mane, a crooked bow-tie, and a rumpled undershirt would fit in perfectly at a nightclub. Especially if DJ-P0N3 was ruling with an electric hoof. Ponies fainting from exhaustion were par for her course. "Gonna knock 'em dead out there?"
Octavia swallowed, then nodded. It was time. Time to go. Time it was. A bead of sweat ran down the side of her neck. Go to Time.
"Cool, cool." Vinyl continued, still feeling the tension in the air. She tilted down her shades with a hoof. "Octy, was... uh..." The mare took a swig of bourbon from the beaker. "Was there something you wanted?"
The grey mare bit her lip and closed her eyes. She wanted to feel good inside. That was why she dipped her hooves in blood, why she kept marching out night after horrid night, why she kept pulling the trigger. She wanted to feel loved, to make somepony care about her. She wanted that spark of magic that warmed her heart and made her feel alive. It came when the audience applauded, when she took her bow from her cello and bowed, but it was always smothered by the knowledge of what she was born for. Whenever she pulled the trigger, whenever she took the blood money, that spark of joy was snuffed out by the knowledge that assassination was not her destiny. Two masters vied for control, one the specter of her father, the other the mark on her flank. She loved one, and hated the other, yet served both because it was a pattern scratched into her mind. Octavia was just a broken record, infinitely looping over the same messy track.
The assassin felt a weight on her shoulder. "Hey. C'mere." Something warm pressed around her neck, and a mane that naturally spiked like a buzzsaw tickled her nose. All was quiet for a few long moments, the only sound two mares breathing. She felt the tiniest glimmer of that spark. Octavia leaned against her roommate, and for a blessed moment those two warring masters were silent. She could not choose, for one had a grip on her mind and the other upon her heart. All she could do was keep her hooves on the floor and try to hold this moment for as long as it lasted. This was a respite, but it would leave soon, and she would again play the same broken tune. Vinyl's breath ruffled the fur on her neck. "Somethin's eating you."
Octavia nodded.
"You had dinner yet?"
She shook her head, eyes still closed, desperately clutching the spark.
Vinyl liked to think she could read ponies. It was how she could work a crowd at the club and spin everypony's favorite tunes. So, it was her opinion as a DJ that Octy needed a friend and some food. She pulled her sandwich into two pieces with a flash of her magic, then scarfed down the last bite of the side she had been munching on. "Y'want the rest of the sandwich?"
No, the grey mare's masters did not, but she still found herself in Vinyl's room, sitting awkwardly on the unicorn's bed and holding her hind hooves a few centimeters above the crumb-strewn floor. The sandwich was greasy, and thick, and full of all kinds of things she should not be eating. She loved every bite of it. Vinyl was snuggled against her, the idea of personal space as absent as ever from the DJ's mind, holding the sandwich plate up with a soft blue glow as her friend ate. Octavia looked around the room, taking in the posters of bands she had never heard of and the mishmash of empty takeout cartons strewn between towers of technosorcery the unicorn used to make music. Only the poster of a blond pegasus and a brown earth pony standing by a blue booth was even vaguely familiar, and that strictly because the blond mare had an uncanny resemblance to the town's mailpony. She had rarely ventured in here during her fake life. A sense of vertigo worked over her as the sheer strangeness of the room filled her mind, compounded by the steady thrum of the speakers. It felt much like the fright of comprehension that came when she looked down from the tallest building in a city at the little ponies trotting along the sidewalk. The unicorn's room was lit by a single dim bulb that hung loosely from the ceiling, but hundreds of multicolored lights flashing from the machines outshone it by far. Eerie shadows flickered over the walls, changing every instant as the machines whirred and spun in a hallowed dance of magic and science. She did not notice that her cello case was propped up next to the door, or that one of the latches had come loose when Vinyl had pulled it off her back.
"So... nerves about the show tonight?" The white mare asked.
Octavia swallowed a mouthful of daisies and cucumbers that had been glued together with mayo and mustard. That was the lie she always fed her roommate, yet it had a sick grain of truth in it. Each mission was a show, a terminal show for somepony. "Ah, something like that, yes."
The DJ nodded. "I get the jitters before a big gig too." She reached over to her desk, grabbed a napkin, and daubed at a streak of mustard on the grey mare's cheek. Then she licked it off the napkin with a smirk. "Nothin' for it except to go out there and remember how you always blow 'em away. 'cause that's what you do, Octy. You're the best."
Indeed. She was the best. She always got her mare, and nopony ever knew. It was not always with a rifle, sometimes it was poison or wire, and she knew how to make ponies disappear too. But she did not want to be the best. She wanted to be loved. Octavia closed her eyes, but could not hold back the tears. Vinyl was still for a moment, unsure of what to do, then daubed at the salty water running down her friend's cheeks with a clean part of the napkin.
"Suush. 's gonna be okay, Octy." Vinyl tried to think of a time when she had seen the cellist cry. Octy was always so collected, she never let herself get worked up about anything. Something really had to be bugging her. "Look, if this is about me taking apart the toaster-"
"No, Vinyl." The grey mare choked out. "It's not you, it's not nerves, it's... it's me. I'm wrong. I'm broken, and I can't... I do not want to be the best." She slumped against the unicorn. "Because I am not the best."
Vinyl levitated the plate with the sandwich's remains over to her desk and dropped it onto the wood next to her drink. She wrapped her forelegs around the weeping mare's barrel. "You are the best, Octy. I know we ain't exactly eye-to-eye about music, but I hear you practicing all the time with your cello. You've got chops, and you've got drive, an' all that together means you're the best if you wanna be it." She pulled off her glasses and dropped them on the bed, then tilted the grey mare's head up to meet her eyes. "Life is what you make it, and you either eat or you get ate up."
Yes, that was easy for her to say. All she had to do was drop a disk and wiggle a needle. Octavia knew that was not fair. Vinyl worked hard at her music too, and she came from a family of far less means. Everything the DJ had, she had earned with hard work and savvy cunning. But she did not have the burden of a family that wanted her to become one more murderer for hire, or a mark on her flank that cried out for the orchestra. The white mare's destiny had only taken hard work, not the breaking of a curse she carried in her veins. The two masters were at war in her mind again. She wished they would go away and leave her alone. An idea began to form, but both masters hated it.
"'tavia? Yoo-hoo?" The unicorn waved a hoof in front of her eyes.
"I'm... sorry, Vinyl." The words were out before she could stop them.
"Eh?"
Perhaps it was just the way the sandwich was settling in her stomach, but once she had begun she could not stop. "There is not a show tonight."
"Oh." The white mare was quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry to hear that, Octy." That was why she was so broken up. She had been canceled. A crimson spark lit in her cerise eyes. Somepony was gonna get it.
The grey mare knew it was time. She needed to get up, go to the station, and catch the evening train. Octavia remained right where she was and pressed deeper into the DJ's embrace. She felt... happy. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like she belonged. Vinyl did not want anything from her, she did not need her to fulfill her destiny or demand that she uphold the family traditions. She was just here, warm and accepting. "You are the only friend I have, Vinyl Scratch."
The unicorn raised an eyebrow. "No, Octavia. I won't float you a loan. I only loan bits to ponies I wouldn't mind breaking the knees of."
The earth pony giggled. She could buy the club that the unicorn performed at and not even notice that the money was gone. "Vinyl... I need to be somewhere tonight, but I should not go." The masters were angry. Good, let them be. She was in agony anyway, why should they escape? "I am broken inside, and yet I keep returning to the things that hurt me so."
"I don't care what you think you are, Octy." The DJ pressed her muzzle down into the mare's black mane. "You're my friend. My best friend. That means you'll always be the best to me."
"Even though I lied to you?"
The unicorn paused. It was not so much what she said, as the way she put weight on the verb. It reminded her of a weak table with a heavy speaker atop. Vinyl ran a hoof through her blue mane and thought for a second. A flicker of suspicion passed through her mind. Octy was not sorry for lying about tonight. She was apologizing for a lot of things, trying to cram them all in one word like the unicorn sometimes crammed all her records into one saddlebag. "I'm your friend, right 'tavi?" Vinyl asked slowly. The grey mare nodded, almost desperately. "You haven't been trying to hurt me, right?"
"Never!" Octavia said quickly.
"Meh." The DJ smirked, then pulled the earth pony upright. "We're good then." She could forgive just about anything, especially for Octavia. The earth pony had always been there for her, in good times and bad, ever since they had met by chance on a train. Sure, she could get a little snooty, but what'cha gonna do? ‘tavia was the only mare who would co-sign a lease agreement after Vinyl had blown up the entire penthouse floor of a Manehattan apartment building. It had been an honest mistake. The grey mare's face was still drawn tight with fear. It did not take a genius to figure out that "Something's still eating you."
Octavia nodded, her mouth dry. She could not tell Vinyl what she was, and yet her roommate was her only hope of breaking this cycle that had held her for so long. She looked up at her friend with pleading purple eyes.
Vinyl scratched the white fur of her chin for a moment, then shrugged. "You don't have to tell me if you don't wanna, but... I got nothing to do tonight." She rolled her shoulders and slumped back atop an old foam pillow shaped like a yellow sponge with square pants. "It's my night off." A blue glow flickered around the beaker of Applejack Daniels, and she took a long swig. Then, she sat up, looked Octavia in the eye, and levitated the glass toward her. "You want a drink?"
Octavia should say no. She did not drink that stuff, it had no culture or refinement. Furthermore, alcohol would impair her judgement. An idea sparked in her mind as she watched the unicorn's magic sparkle around the glass. If she had a drink, she would have to stay in. She would have to stay here, where she felt warm and accepted. She would have to choose her friend over her masters. She, Octavia, would have to become the master. If she did, Vinyl would be there to help her. The DJ was the only pony in the world who could save Octavia from herself. Oh, how that thought hurt them. With trembling hooves, she reached out toward the glass.
It burned. Dear Celestia, how it burned, but it was sweet to her tongue and hot in her belly. She felt something clink against her teeth and with a blush of shame realized that she had drained the glass. The alcohol hit her like a freight train, or perhaps it was just the sense of euphoria that came with the feeling of release. Either way, she slumped forward atop Vinyl and pressed her nose into one of the holes in the yellow pillow. The pale mare patted her back.
"'s okay, Octy." She levitated the empty beaker onto her desk. Vinyl stared up at the poster plastered on the ceiling over her bed, a triangle prism refracting a single beam of white light into a beautiful rainbow. Sometimes, ponies were like that. They could just go on and on, a neat little ray of light, until something diffused them into a million colors. The unicorn belched. Liquor and sammiches always got her in a philosophical mood. She would have been content to lay like this all night, after all she never had to get up to adjust the speakers, but her eyes fell on the earth pony's cello case. Vinyl waited until her friend stirred, then suggested "Hey, why don't you play a little of what you had in mind tonight for me?"
Octavia's body stiffened. Unfortunately, so did her tongue.
"I mean, you know I'm not exactly a big fan of classical music, but I like to hear you play." The white mare smiled. This was the best idea ever! Octy would get to perform a little, and playing that cello always bled off stress. Whatever was eating at her could not be too horrible. In truth, Octavia acting this weird had made Vinyl nervous, though she kept her cool just like when the power went out at the club. Octavia was always so proper, always so focused, she never got this upset over anything. The unicorn was pretty sure it was not boy trouble, since Octy's high standards were hard for colts to reach. Well, hard for any of the colts that the DJ had tried to hook her up with at least.
The grey mare was very quiet. Alcohol made it hard to think, as did the screams of her masters. They called her a fool, and she felt like one. She kept Vinyl pressed to the bed with the strength of an earth pony, trying to disguise it as merely her body weight. "N-no, I really do not feel up to that right now." She raised her head and smiled at the mare, a crooked grin that spoke of how much bourbon she had downed. "Perhaps-"
"'tavia, you know you'll feel better afterward. Here, I'll get your cello for you!" Vinyl wrapped the case in a blue glow and lifted it off the ground a little faster than she should have. It was lighter than an amp stack, but heavier than a box of records. The second latch bumped the door handle as the unicorn lifted it. Octavia's scream would have deafened the DJ if it had ever risen above an aborted cry, cut off by the clunk of the case falling open and a few poorly-secured daggers dropping to the floor. The grey mare could not look. Vinyl's magenta eyes swept over the contents of the case, still suspended in midair by her magic. She very slowly moved a fetlock down the back of Octavia's neck in what she hoped was a calming gesture. A moment of silence passed, made all the worse by the harsh whisper of Rock'n'Roll flowing from the speakers. Finally, the DJ spoke. "Octy, why is there a Vladof Dragunov with an infrared sight in your cello case?"
The grey mare's mind was blank. Vinyl knew. Now that she knew, she would have to turn her in. After a few seconds, she was surprised to realize that simply killing the unicorn had not been her first thought. She felt that spark, that warmth, inside her, and desperately wanted it to stay. So, when she finally forced herself to speak, all she could say was "Because it fires common ammo, but is elegant enough to be used by an artist."
Vinyl nodded as if that was a perfectly rational thing to say, then lowered the case to the floor and closed the lid. Her scream would have deafened the both of them, if she had not fought it down as only a mare who has entertained an angry crowd in a club with a fried power grid could. The DJ felt as though she was snuggled against a Manticore until she turned her head and saw the fear in Octavia's eyes. "Are... were you planning to use any of that stuff on me?"
"No! Never, Vinyl, I would not even-"
The white mare held up a hoof. "Okay, okay." She hugged her friend close. The pieces came together, but the puzzle looked nothing like the picture on the box. She felt Octavia's body pressed against hers, and measured how strong the mare's muscles were as though she were a dance partner on the club floor. The grey mare was definitely stronger than her, but right now she was shivering like a leaf in the wind. Vinyl had her back against the bed, and she already had a solid grip around the other mare. She had grown up getting in street brawls, and was pretty sure she could take the earth pony. The unicorn was also pretty good at reading ponies, and knew she would not have to. Whatever Octavia had gotten herself mixed up in, and some pretty unsavory ideas ran through the DJ's mind, she would not hurt her roommate. There was something at the base of her mind that held her back, kinda like a first-timer to a club was always a little afraid of getting out under all the bright lights. This was just like that one time the off-duty bouncer had chugged a few too many and got in a fight. He bucked the hay out of three other stallions, but not her. Even drunk as a skunk, he recognized the DJ and could not bring himself to hurt her. Octy was giving off that same kind of vibe, and Vinyl was surprised how vulnerable she seemed. "Just... nod if that was what you meant by going back to what you shouldn't."
The grey mare whimpered softly as she bobbed her head.
Vinyl reached down and patted the bed until she found her deep purple glasses. "Well then." Picking up that cello case actually had been a pretty good idea. Just not for the reasons the DJ had thought. "I think I'm gonna have to," she slipped her shades on, "hold on to this for a while." Long enough to dump it far away. She had seen guns like that, but only in catalogs. Infrared and night-vision goggles were cool. She had been fascinated by them since she was a little filly, because purple glass only tinted the world a different color. Infrared was a totally different way to see, and night-vision goggles were sunglasses’ polar opposite. They were also great for running a show when the club was lit only by glowsticks or blacklights, and the companies that sold that kind of gear had the rifles to go with it only a page or two away.
Octavia blinked. "You... Vinyl, you know that I've ki-"
The white mare stuffed a hoof in her friend's mouth. "I don't know nothin'.” She ran her tongue over her lips, trying to sort out what to say. “Something you learn about the world when you come up from nothin', you either eat, or you're getting eaten." She pulled her hoof away. "Octy, something's been eating you, and I think it's what's in that case. So, I think I need to steal it from ya." A smirk crossed the white mare's face. "D'ya mind?"
"Vinyl..." Her voice trailed off. This was what she wanted, was it not? "I won't hurt you.” Why was she so terrified? “I am a bad mare."
"Yeah. But so am I." The DJ leaned up to her friend's ear. "You're my best friend, Octy. A true friend helps a friend in need."
The grey mare felt lightheaded. That alcohol really was hitting her now. "But... Vinyl... you can't steal my destiny."
"Nah. But sometimes when you figure out your destiny, you get something. Other times, you let go of something." She picked up the case with a soft blue glow, careful to keep it closed, and dumped it unceremoniously behind a speaker. "And sometimes, what you thought was your destiny turns out to be a fat lie that's been eating you inside."
"That's... that's actually..." Octavia bit her lip. "That's actually a good lesson."
Vinyl nodded. "Yup. I call it 'Don't Snitch On Your Friends.'"
The grey mare tried to smile, but she still heard the masters clawing at the base of her skull. "Vinyl... are... are you going to be here all night?"
"As long as you need me, Octavia."
The grey mare collapsed. Perhaps it was the stress, or the liquor, or just how comfortable the spongy yellow pillow was, but she found it hard to keep her eyes open. Her body felt like she had run for longer than she could remember and finally found rest. Her mouth was kissing-close to Vinyl's ear, and for the first time since they had crashed in the hallway she felt as though she could speak her heart. "T-thank you, Vinyl Scratch. You really are my best, and only friend."
Within a few moments, she was snoring peacefully. Vinyl teased her right fetlock through the mare's black mane, rubbing the back of her neck with small circles. "G'nite, Octy." She glanced toward the ceiling again, then added "You have a lot more friends than you'd think."
A smile stretched across the sleeping mare's muzzle.
Author's Note
Some credit must be given to the Octavia Fans one-year anniversary contest for coaxing me to write this, which is more than enough reward. Also, I should give a nod to Dennis the Menace's "My Roommate is a Vampire" and nomorethan9's "Epic Wub Time". Vinyl Scratch and Octavia are fandom-built characters, and those two were major inspirations for this story. Naturally, haybacon strips is a reference as well, and the Vladof firearm is a nod to Gearbox Software. Of course, Killing Machine is a song by the band Judas Priest, and Master of Puppets is performed by the band that pretty much defines mellowing with age, Metallica. Yes, that is a "Dark Side of the Moon" poster over Vinyl's bed, and yes, that is the cartoon sponge you know and love as her pillow. I tried to write her as a mare heavily invested across the modern musical spectrum, from old heavy metal records to space-age techno music machines.
I hope you enjoyed reading this story, as I very much enjoyed writing it. There is now a follow-up story, Render Unto Them Wubs. It's not a direct sequel, but it is a continuation of sorts.
Thank you for your time.
