The Sacred Sonatina

Chapters

"Oh, hey. Didn't see you, babe."
"Call me Vinyl."
"I like hearing you play."
"Goodbye, Octavia."

"Oh, hey. Didn't see you, babe."

Octavia was on her way home from practice when the mare jostled her cello case.

It had been a long night for all of players of the Canterlot Classical Orchestra, and Octavia was no exception. She was looking forward to her nightly ritual and a good night's rest, and had little else on her mind until the mare had bumped into her most prized possession.

"Oh, hey. Didn't see you, babe," the mare said as she turned, revealing a little smile. She steadied Octavia's case with magic. Her voice had a fine rasping to it, and a breathy aspect; certainly not the voice of anyone with any breeding.

Octavia spit out the pullcord of the case. "Perhaps you should watch where you're going!" The indignity! Octavia got a good look at the mare now — white, with a cobalt mane that was a complete mess and had obviously fake cyan stripes running through it. Her eyes were hidden behind — behind tea shades? Octavia did not know what the unicorn was wearing, nor did she care.

The mare held up both forehooves. "Whoa, whoa. Don't blow a fuse, sugar." She had a cart of . . . something, it looked like old record players and electronics. "Your instrument's fine, my instrument's fine. Everything's cool."

"Your instrument?" Octavia's eyes fell on the mess of wires and devices on the cart again.

"The tables." She shrugged and trotted away. "I got a gig to get to. Catch you later."

"Why — why I never!" Octavia was sputtering still a moment later when Noteworthy trotted along. He'd come out later than everypony else, somehow. He was a functionally competent assistant principal violin, and the times he'd had to pick up slack he'd done admirably. Well, considering the amount of practice he gets, anyway.

"Tavi, what's got you going?" The night was turning from cool to cold. "C'mon. You can tell me about it while I walk you home, if you want."

She acceded by fuming about the unicorn with no manners or talent as she led Noteworthy along.

* * *

"She hasn't the slightest respect for the tradition of music, Note! And never mind that — she called me, a member of the Canterlot Classical Orchestra, 'babe'." Octavia boiled as she stormed around her apartment.

"Tavi, you really need to just relax. You'll probably never see her again, anyway!" Noteworthy seemed oddly . . . anxious? Something was off about him, although she couldn't pin it down. She wasn't going to dwell on that, either; she had bigger fish to mentally fry.

She turned her attention back to him. "Noteworthy, you can't tell me her kind doesn't offend you! You and I, we love music. Real music, not that awful filth that ponies like her 'mix' together!" She air-quoted the word. "If anything, that's a threat to the sanctity of a precious tradition of song and composition, bigger than you realize!"

"Tavi," he said, settling a hoof on her shoulder. "'The works of Ludwig Von Beethooven do not require defending.' Do you remember saying that to me?"

She had met Noteworthy when she was still playing the violin, some five years ago. Somehow she'd never noticed him before he introduced himself, even though he was auditing or enrolled in almost every class she had. It was the strangest coincidence — as if he'd just appeared in classes the day after meeting her. "Oh, Noteworthy, I remember it! But things were different then," she sniffsnorted. "This electronic house nightmare had not come to pass. And this 'dubstep,' it's practically anti-music!"

"Things evolve, Tavi. Everything does, doesn't it?" He was stumbling around for words; it seemed like Noteworthy frequently did so lately. She also swore there was some hopeful tone in his voice, but she couldn't imagine what he'd be hopeful about. He seemed evasive for a moment, and then kept going. "Tavi — that's kind of something I wanted to ask you about, actually. Something, uh, evolving."

"Not music, Note!" She felt tired somehow, now. "There's a purity there, Noteworthy! You know what I mean!"

Noteworthy wasn’t listening, as far as Octavia could tell. "Tavi, I was thinking about you and I, and — "

"I'm sorry to go on and on, Note. I think . . . I think I'm just tired." She sighed and rubbed her face, then sat next to him.

"Oh! Oh, right, I mean, it's late."

"Yes. I really should get to sleep, Note." She somehow felt exhausted; bed called, and her nightly ritual with it. “You're probably right. I doubt I'll ever see such an irresponsible, untalented 'musician' again!" Again, she air-quoted with her hooves, then shook her head. "I'm sorry to go on so much, it's just that she got under my skin, I guess." She was already leading him towards the door. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow at rehearsal?" She opened the door.

He hesitated again, but then tucked whatever he was about to say away mentally, and headed out.

* * *

A week or two later, Octavia had, after a few days of nagging thoughts and fitful nights, filed away the offending unicorn under the category of things she no longer needed to worry about. Her life, her practice, had gotten back on track. She had returned to normalcy.

The rehearsal for the upcoming private garden show for Princess Celestia had gone well that morning. She requested the principals of the CCO for a garden show roughly once a month, in some combination. Occasionally, Celestia requested a solo player, but more often the princess asked for a small ensemble.

Even if there hadn't been the garden show, for Octavia, there was always a good reason to practice. If she missed a meal or two — well, as much as ponies liked to think they were above judging on appearance, she knew the truth was that her figure being a little slimmer would help her retain her position. Of course, if I were willing to sully myself and lay down in front of a backer, like the assistant principal violin Courante, I could probably be conducting the CCO by this point —

Her train of thought was derailed by her cello case tottering. She whipped her head around to see who had been so rude.

It was the same white unicorn who had jostled Octavia before.

"I'm sorry, do you have some sort of defect of sight or something?" Octavia snapped. She glared back at the other mare, who was looking her way.

The white unicorn lifted up her glasses, revealing magenta eyes, and a smirk tugged at her mouth. "Nah, I just liked bumping into you the first time," she chuckled, and then gave a wink.

A wink?!

"Excuse me?! You may think this is some sort of joke but I assure you the operations of the principal cellist of the CCO are anything but trivial!"

"Hey, whoa! I didn't mean anything like that by it." Vinyl waved a hoof. She seemed ready to keep going, but Octavia wasn’t going to give her a chance.

"I do not care what you meant! I do not care for you bumping into me!" Her words were shards of frozen snake venom. "Now, in the future, try to pay attention to where you're going, and feel free to stay as far away from me as you can manage!"

"Whoa," the unicorn said, and then that irritating smirk spread out into a provocative smile. "Feisty. I like it."

"Like?! You . . . you what — " Octavia could feel warmth crawling up her neck and developing on her face. Somehow she was having trouble making words come out of her mouth; she turned and took the pull rope of her cello case, going in the direction of her home. I won't be having any more of such a discussion! She’s a lewd, disrespectful, utterly awful equine being!

"Hey, slow down!" The unicorn called out to her, but Octavia was trotting faster in response. "C'mon, at least tell me your name!"

Octavia did not stop until she was inside the hallway to her apartment, where she found Noteworthy. "Note! Come in here with me. The streets aren't safe while that unicorn is out!"

He looked at her, uncertain. "Uh, sure. I'll come in."

Note had never been in her apartment before, but she needed moral support. Octavia pulled the cello inside and shut the door behind him. What was he doing here, anyway? Oh, never mind. I'm sure it was nothing important.

* * *

She brought the coffee out on a tray, and set it down, then shook her head. "I am never going to understand ponies like that! She is simply disgraceful!"

"Tavi, why’s this getting to you? You keep saying she's so awful but all she did the first time was bump into your cello — "

"She intentionally bumped into me this time!" Octavia was having a hard time keeping her voice down. "She said it herself, right after she jostled me! I asked her if she lacked sight or simply sense, and she responded thusly:" Octavia imitated the mare's manner of speech without difficulty. "Nah, I just liked bumping into you the first time," and completed it with an imitation of the wink.

Noteworthy seemed to pale. "She — wait, she winked at you?"

Octavia blinked at him. "That's what I said, Noteworthy! She winked after she said it!"

He chewed on his lip. "Well, uh — I mean, that — that certainly does seem disrespectful." He sipped at his coffee, but it was too hot and he yelped. He seemed more upset by the coffee burn than he really should have been, to Octavia's way of thinking, but Noteworthy had never exactly been a stallion's stallion. She'd wondered if he was a coltcuddler for a while when she first met him at Horseshoelliard, until one of the pianists asked him out. Note had stated unequivocally that he was absolutely into mares, straight as a crow flies.

"Of course it's disrespectful! She disrespects music, and now she disrespects musicians!" A sound came from the open window of Octavia's apartment, something that clearly had some sort of underlying rhythm but was otherwise noise, not music. "Ugh! Does nopony know what time it is? It — "

She cut off with a gasp as she came to the window.

The mare was down on the street, two stories below Octavia's home, and she'd arranged the things on her cart so she could play whatever that odious horror of sonance was. "Hey!" she shouted, over the din, waving a hoof at Octavia. The mare said something else, but it was lost in a particularly loud section of the cacophony.

Noteworthy trotted over, and the look on his face was horror. Well, of course it was! With that awful racket, who could possibly maintain a good mood?

Octavia turned away. I will not give that awful mare the satisfaction of seeing this, she thought. Anger seethed and boiled inside her. The sound was awful, pain given shape in her ears, melody tearing at rhythm tearing at lyrics mutated through electronic alteration.

"Tavi?" Noteworthy set a hoof on her shoulder, and she shook her head.

"No. No! I will not take this without fighting back! I fought! I worked! You saw, Noteworthy! I sacrificed years of my life to practice and composition! I have done anything that was ever asked of me by those more experienced than I! I . . . I sold band candy!" she shouted, shaking her head. "And this is what my life has come to? Disrespect from that — that vandal of melody?!"

Noteworthy just seemed to stare at Octavia for a few moments, then shook his head. "Tavi, please. Think about this, okay? Even if she is intentionally disrespecting you, she's not worth worrying over. Let's just close the window.”

"No! No, you leave it alone!" She was already pushing a giant speaker from the entertainment center towards the window. "We'll see who — mmph — wins this little game!"

She trotted over and nosed at the button, stabbing with her muzzle; Also Snorted Zarathrustra's opening horns flared into the night, and the unicorn on the street seemed confused.

"There! There! How do you like it?" Octavia shrieked.

The mare said something, but it was lost in the din. She pointed a hoof at herself, then up at Octavia.

"No! Please, Tavi, uh . . . " Panic seemed to leak into Noteworthy's voice. What on earth is wrong with him? He's all sorts of nervous these days. "We don't want to cause a noise complaint! Let's just lock the door and shut the window?"

Octavia shifted on her hooves. The mare in the street was saying something else, but it too was lost over the battle of music versus cacophony. Something about the mare made her more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.

"Tavi? Please, Tavi, let's just stop this, okay?"

"Certainly, Noteworthy." She glared for a few moments at the mare in the street, who seemed to look at her expectantly now, then shut the window and pushed the speaker back where it went. "I think you're right," she muttered. I learned to control my stutter. I learned to control my tremor. I learned to control my anger. I learned to control my life.

"I'm not about to let some mare destroy the order of my life," she said, before realizing she'd said it.

Noteworthy seemed somehow relieved by all this. "So, um, could I talk to you for a minute or two, Tavi?"

"Note, I really need some time to think." Control was the watchword. She had absolute control over her movements, she had to; otherwise, she could not play with the precision required by the Canterlot Classical Orchestra. The CCO was more prestigious, from a technical standpoint, than the Royal Canterlot Orchestra, and with good reason; the Royal was a modern orchestra. The CCO was, as some put it, “old school.” Simplicity of coordination led to the rich complexity of their produced work; there was simply nothing like the sound of the CCO.

Noteworthy babbled a goodbye of some sort, and Octavia listened to it enough to wave goodbye back when he was done. Her mind was on a new question, of a sort she hadn't been challenged with in a long time.

So how do I control my current problem?

The question was still weighing on her mind as she settled into bed for her nightly ritual, and then sleep.

* * *

She woke in the night, the stars outside her window telling her what the clock confirmed: Day had not come yet. Why am I sweating? What on earth was that dream? She had engaged in her nightly ritual, as always, but the sleep that had come was fitful and troubling. Like —

Like the nights after I first saw that mare! This was her fault, Octavia just knew it. Now her anxiety was rearing its ugly head and her sleep was suffering. If sleep suffers, practice suffers. Practice cannot suffer. She felt angry, but — something else. She felt outrage, but — but something else, underneath it. Something she couldn't place.

I need to get back to sleep. She rolled away from the window, so the darkness of the room would help convince her mind to close her eyes.

After several minutes, she decided the only way to get back to sleep was to allow herself the indulgence of her nightly ritual again. She had always been very, very careful about it. She didn't want to let herself become sexual in some horrid fashion, lest she find herself having to choose between practice and some irrational, animal relationship.

The nightly ritual, however, wasn't sex per se. And any reputable medical text clearly indicates that it is something almost all ponies do, she reminded herself.

Well, it is only twice in one night. It’s not like I'm becoming Courante or something. Or that filthy white unicorn mare she'd run into, whoever she was. The “instrument” she played no doubt put her in those dark, strange nightclubs Octavia had seen in the less refined areas of Canterlot, always from a distance, always with a line of ponies in front and deep throbbing “music” flowing from the building itself. I have no doubt that unicorn has all sorts of undignified acts performed on her on a regular basis —

She sighed and pushed the thoughts out of her head. Last thing I need is to think of a slut like that white unicorn before I let myself rub.

She put on music, with a sleep timer; a delicate composition called 'Slipper Soft’ by Philomena Grass, it was notable for being one of the few gentle, melodious works the composer had ever produced. Octavia would frequently use it to settle herself into sleep, along with the touch of her own hoof.

Octavia slicked her right hoof with her wet tongue, then brought it down between her rear legs; her left settled on her hip, and squeezed a little at it as she brought the hooftip down and drew a graceful, low-pressure stroke along the outer lips of her sex. The corresponding tremor that pulsed through her body grew in response to another stroke, slow and slick, along her labia.

Try as she might, anger seeped back into her thoughts as she performed her nightly ritual, as if her mind was working to contrast control and lack of control. Disrespecting me, disrespecting my life's work with that “instrument” of hers! She knows no shame, that awful unicorn. Octavia could still see that sneer of a mouth, those glasses hiding her eyes from the world, that shameful “instrument” of hers! She’s rewarded for it regularly with such hedonism, I’m sure.

Octavia's left forehoof slid up as her right applied more pressure at her sex, parting the lips with a gentle motion that left delirious pleasure rolling through her body and a soft vocalization rolling from her throat. She found that she was hugging the long body pillow to herself as she worked, and the strains of the music floated through the air.

The music itself was meant as background to her effort, and it lacked severe crescendo and bass; she had picked it for precisely that reason. Somehow, though, even with soothing music and the darkness, the anger would not drain from her. The rate of her breathing had picked up speed faster than usual, and she was sure, absolutely sure, that the furious thoughts of the mare were the reason. She’d never gone to bed this angry before.

Wink at me! It was disgraceful, simply disgraceful. Octavia could hear the faint schlick, schlick, schlick of her lubricated labia become audible, and her hips shifted without her intending to shift them; her hoof worked faster and faster as she lost track, bit by bit, of her senses.

She finally managed to push that damned unicorn out of her head just before she found herself at the doorstep of an orgasm, and she brought her tip — slick with her own juice as well as her oral lubricant — upwards, towards her nub, and nestled the tip between the folds to stimulate her clitoris.

Octavia arched, shuddered, and found herself releasing a loud cry. Immediate shame followed it, but it was washed away as the orgasm spread through her flesh in a flood of endorphins and a rush of blood in her ears. She swore could hear her heartbeat when she reached this point of the ritual, and it seemed such a strange thing to be conscious of, but with her mind soaked in bliss, she could hardly blame herself for a few illogical thoughts.

After her crescendo had finished, she felt sleep crawl over her mind as soon as the pleasure was dying, and she let it bring her to the morning.

"Call me Vinyl."

The morning was a tired one again.

"This will not do," she muttered to herself, trotting into the kitchen. It wasn't a one-time thing; the mare had followed her home, no less! She actually knows where I live — that's just not safe! Some reprobate like her might be going through my trash, or trying to accost me on the street! I can't imagine what she wants from me!

After her usual breakfast (a cup of coffee and a few slices of toast) she remembered something her grandmother, Double Time, had told her about. The story was that J. S. Buck had written a piece she shared one evening with Octavia’s grandmother herself, a piece Buck had named The Sacred Sonatina.

She had interrupted her grandmother with a terminology question: What’s a sonatina? Is that like a sonata? Her grandmother answered that yes, it was just a shorter version, and Buck used the old meaning of the word, not the current one.

Her grandmother had left out details of something, Octavia was sure, but she could not pester enough to get those missing pieces of information. Double Time did tell her the reason Buck never let anypony else know about the Sonatina, though: Buck believed the piece could apparently alter the mind of a pony who listened, change what they believed, and even steal away their will.

How could music do that? It’s pretty, but how could it do that?! she had asked. Octavia couldn’t believe she was ever that small, that unaware of the full beauty of music.

Her grandmother had looked away for a few moments before trying to respond. Buck never found out, Tavi. She decided that the Sonatina was too dangerous to let anypony know about, after playing it once.

How do you know? Octavia had asked.

That doesn’t matter, her grandmother said, and somehow Octavia had wondered if she was upsetting her grandmother. The point is, Buck believed the Sacred Sonatina was a way to perform earth pony magic.

Earth ponies don’t have magic, Grandma.

They don’t have conscious magic, Tavi. You’re not old enough yet to know it from school, but earth ponies have magic too. Unicorns can use theirs; pegasi can fly. Earth ponies use it to build strength and dexterity. It’s in every movement of an earth pony, even the ones that produce music from an instrument. Buck wasn’t a unicorn, but she knew a little bit about magic even if she didn’t cast spells. She believed she had accidentally found a way for earth ponies to focus magic. What her grandmother told her seemed impossible.

Why wouldn’t she just use it to make unicorns do things for her? Or make pegasi fly her places? Or make all the ponies listen to her music?

Her grandmother had swallowed and looked away at the suggestions. Becauseit would have been wrong, Tavi. Her grandmother had moved right along to a pleasant topic. Now, I think it’s time for ice cream, don’t you? And I’ll tell you all about Buck’s other music if you want. Octavia was then at an age then where ice cream could end any line of questioning, but she was a grown mare now, and Octavia had never quite forgotten about it.

Wrong. That was what Grandma Double Time said it was, wrong. And Octavia, naive child that she was, had accepted it at face value.

But if the story were true, and I had the Sonatina, then I’d have a way to control the situation. Something deep in her mind couldn't help but wonder. What would having the Sacred Sonatina be like? To hold that sort of power over another, to simply extinguish their irritating or problematic behaviors? The idea, while “wrong” according to Double Time, sounded quite attractive in its own way. All I need to do is find the lost Buck sonatina, and then I can use it on that infuriating DJ. I could tell her to forget about me entirely! That seemed like a bad idea, for reasons Octavia couldn’t quite place. She didn’t dwell on it, though. Once I have her under control, I could — I could do anything!

Normally she'd have discussed this idea with Noteworthy, but Octavia felt it was better to keep this to herself; Noteworthy had seemed positively alarmed by inconsequential things of late, and the last thing she needed was for her only friend in the CCO to start panicking. If I head to the family home in Prance, I can look through Double Time's papers in the library. I'm sure she kept Buck's Sacred Sonatina; she said Buck asked her to personally!

She left Canterlot via air taxi as soon as the weekend started; she said her polite goodbye-for-nows to those in the CCO, since she’d be missing weekend rehearsals due to “family affairs.” My instincts had been right; Noteworthy looked almost ill just from hearing the news that I was leaving. I'll be back before he realizes it, though. She only needed a few days to look through what her grandmother, Double Time, had left behind — papers and books. She had no doubt that the Buck piece was in there somewhere.

Then I can come back, claim the family issue is resolved — and then the next time the unicorn “bumps into me,” I can invite her somewhere private for a listen. She'd probably come to my home, if I asked. Octavia shifted in her seat. She certainly showed up outside it without any prompting!

Thoughts of the plebeian mare continued to plague her, all the way to southern Prance.

* * *

Once the air taxi had landed, she took a leisurely trot out to the family home. The place was not terribly well kept, not compared to the way she remembered it as a filly, but it was functioning, and with half the rooms closed off it was even a little profitable. The staff had begun giving tours of the place during weekend hours, and it was a hit with the tourists that visited Prance.

She made her respectful greetings as she entered, and questions about her presence were hoofwaved away with a few little white lies. They didn’t need to know the truth; the fewer ponies who knew, the better.

The first day was lengthy and tedious, a dig through the bookshelves and papers. I had no idea Double Time had so many books! Most were biographies of composers and musicians, but there was a section of romance novels too. Double Time was such a sentimentalist, she reflected. The rest were sheaf upon sheaf of loose notes.

If it's in the notes, it'll take ages to find, she mused. However, there was a notable gap in her biographies — nothing on J. S. Buck, which was quite odd. I know she had several of them, so perhaps if I find that little stash of them, the Sonatina will be in it. She resolved to find any little stacks of books squirreled away in the rest of the furniture.

The next morning, she found what she was looking for. A small cabinet that had been in Double Time's bedchamber had no less than five books on the life of Johanna Samantha Buck. Leafing through each for pencilled in notes or papers folded inside, she found an envelope.

It had something written in pencil that was only partially visible; several of the words had letters that could no longer be made out, but the lengths of the words were still obvious.

"My greatest work —- — th—, but my greatest l—- —- you, — d——- beloved Double Time."

It seemed that some sort of liquid had spattered on the envelope at some point when the pencil marks were relatively fresh. Funny. I don't remember Grandmother saying she knew Buck personally.Double Time was barely a mare during Buck's last two decades. I suppose that explains how she knew about Buck's lost piece.

She tugged the paper out gently and scanned over it. It looks rather simple! Indeed, the paper she pulled out of that envelope had a deceptively simple composition laid out, again in pencil — but somehow this had lasted longer than the other marks, probably for the luck of being inside the envelope instead of outside.

She tucked it away in a saddlebag, and galloped through the halls, intent on her return.

* * *

A week later, she found herself in a a poorly-lit nightclub, assaulted with throbbing beastly sounds.

Octavia had to snare the infuriating unicorn in question to solve her little issue — but that meant she had to find her. All through the next week, the mare hadn’t 'bumped’ into her again. Octavia wanted to get this all resolved as soon as possible, but she'd never gotten the mare's name, so she had little choice but to look that weekend in the nightclubs of Canterlot in the area where she'd been “bumped into” before.

Every single one had an overall scent of liquor and sweat. Ponies moved in the near dark, like animals in the forest, half obscured by objects or other ponies they were rubbing their muzzles or sides against. The filthy reprobates. Octavia's eyes strained to catch sight of whoever happened to be up in the “booth,” as it was apparently called, in each one — and once she found one with a white coat, she'd make sure she waited and got a chance to turn some charm on. All I have to do is get her to listen to me play. If I choose my words carefully and lead her along the path, I can play her more beautifully than I play my cello. I know I can do this.

It is all about control. And control was Octavia’s strong suit.

In the third club she'd visited, one of the patrons made a gesture of communication. "Never seen you around here before," said a mare, with dulled blue eyes, in what she presumably thought was a seductive tone of voice. The female in question had breath like paint thinner, but she was a reasonably attractive mare by any objective standard.

"You never will again," Octavia announced curtly, turning around. The yellow mare mumbled something back, something that sounded hurt, but Octavia wasn't concerned. The DJ in that booth was purple; she was looking for her white unicorn.

She spotted her prey, two places later. With the particularly distasteful cacophony in the air, Octavia looked up to see the mare in the booth, a wide grin on the DJ’s face as she surveyed the throbbing crowd. She looked like a child playing with a prize possession, and she was. No, worse — she was a vandal, just as Octavia had said. A vandal of the music I love, of the sweet symphony of sound and song and silence. She turns it into this — this excrement!

The white mare spotted Octavia, somehow, and waved a hoof. Octavia hesitated. I should wave back, I think? She did so, and the white unicorn's smile widened a little. Octavia's stomach lurched. I think I'm going to be ill. Okay, Octavia, keep it together;you only need to get her to listen, and then the game begins!

The sound ended, and everypony on the dance floor, sweating and panting like farm animals, found their way to seats and tables. The white unicorn had vanished from the booth, but surely she'd have to turn up somewhere —

Octavia was jostled from behind, and spun around immediately. "Excuse you! What — "

"Hey," murmured the white unicorn. “Funny meeting you here.”

"Oh!" Octavia sputtered. "My mistake, I hadn't realized you were, ah — greeting me, in the manner which you had before." Smile, Octavia! This is a performance; make it perfect, and it'll go perfectly!

"No sweat, babe." The white mare pushed the glasses up, and looked Octavia over from top to bottom, and then back up, rather slowly. “Never thought I’d see you in a place like this.”

The mare’s eyes roamed across her body — like she was a simple animal! Stifle the anger, Octavia. She just had to keep as calm as she could, despite the warm flush she was feeling. This place is stuffy to boot. “I suppose I’m quite out of place, really.”

“It’s good to see you, all the same.” There was a pause, and then the DJ said something that was lost in the wash of a new, horrid beat throbbing from the stage.

“What?” Octavia said, trotting away from the sound. The white unicorn trotted beside her.

"I said, I like bumping into you.” She giggled. “I like that blush you get when you're angry about something, too." Octavia stifled anger, and the white mare snickered. "Like that. Sorry, I couldn't resist. But you are cute when you're angry."

"I, ah . . . that . . . that's nice of you to say." It wasn't, of course; it was infuriating and distasteful. But Octavia could falsify enjoyment with the best of them. She'd had to sit through the recitals of every other student she was ever in a music class with, after all. Octavia pushed a smile onto her face, one that she almost believed herself.

"It's only the truth." She lifted one eyebrow. "So, what's your name, anyway? I never got it before."

"It's Octavia."

"Call me Vinyl. Vinyl Scratch."

* * *

Octavia invited Vinyl back for coffee and a listen to the Buck piece. “Sure, I like old songs,” the unicorn had said with a chuckle. Octavia wanted to strangle the vandal then and there, but of course she did not. She had a plan, after all — and she had self-control, unlike the" unruly-maned mare.

They had coffee first. Vinyl's “discussion” started with a bit about clubs and gigs, but moved on to Octavia's training, which wasn't somewhere Octavia had thought the conversation would go.

"I spent my early years at Horseshoelliard, in Manehattan." She waved a hoof dismissively, as she did whenever she brought that up amongst her peers, before she realized Vinyl probably didn't know what that was.

"Hey, don't act like that's nothing! Horseshoelliard is very exclusive. I couldn’t believe it when they let me in."

Octavia covered a choke on her coffee with a little refined cough. "Excuse me, Vinyl? Could you repeat that?"

"Yeah, I went there too. I'm sure we didn't cross paths, though."

"Why are you so certain of that?" She wasn't sure what to say; it felt like the world was starting to close in a little on her. This — this destroyer of harmony and song went to Horseshoelliard, and even at the same time I was there? That can't be true, can it?

"Trust me, I'd have remembered. I'd probably have tried to follow you back to your dorm room." Ms. Scratch gave a shrug and chuckled.

What?! She couldn't have heard that right. Was she admitting she was a stalker?! What did that mean?

"You heard me. Don't go fishing for compliments." She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry.

"I kind of wonder how I never came across you before, there." This could simply be a lie. It must be! That makes more sense.

"Well, I spent a lot of time in theory classes. Practice wasn't really something that jibed with me; I can play a few instruments, but not terribly well. I spent more time doing arrhythmic analyses and transformation analyses. My concentration was in experimental music, actually."

She what? With what? Jibed what? Octavia swore she could feel blood rushing through her head now, that some thin tinnitus was at her ears just below the audible range. It's a lie! It has to be! Nopony like her could possibly have gotten through Horseshoelliard!

"Octavia?"

"Yes! Vinyl! I'm sorry. I just had a few memories coming to me and I got distracted." You evil lying bitch.

"Oh, no problem. I was asking what your concentration was?"

"Classical cello, but I suppose that's obvious." Octavia waved a hoof in the general direction of her cello case.

Vinyl nodded and had a look of . . . what was that? Envy? "I wish I could play. With my ADD I never really got past beginner-level with any specific instrument, even with the you-know-what." She tapped her horn with a hoof. "Practice was pretty much impossible for me. I'm lucky that Philomena Grass thought I had potential. I mean, I never really got into her stuff, but she told me I was destined for something better than washing out, and made me learn real music theory even though I couldn't excel with traditional instruments."

Vinyl gave another little shrug, and now Octavia got a little taste of what she wanted: Vinyl, vulnerable. "I mean, it's not like the stuff I'm doing in the clubs is, y'know, earth-shaking or anything, but . . . it's alive. It's not recording something and having to wait; I can see the effect my music has on the ponies that enjoy it."

Octavia smiled and nodded with effort. Your “music.” As if. And yes, the sweaty Philistines hump and do their 'raves' and such. Quite an accomplishment, really! "I think I understand a little.” She struggled for a moment to try to find an analogy that would suggest she believed and understood. “It's like the difference between rehearsal and recital. When the audience is there, you can really see some faces light up."

Vinyl chuckled and nodded again. Octavia wondered if she'd let Vinyl remember this, or if she'd tell her to forget and have it simply slip away. Probably better to have her forget, really — the last thing we need is all of this getting unraveled. Somehow she didn't want to make Vinyl forget the coffee and conversation, though. Focus, Octavia!

"So, anyway; not to sound eager or anything, but you said you wanted to play for me?"

There was a moment of hesitation, one Octavia did not understand. I have her here! Right in my grasp! All I have to do is start playing the piece and then I can plant suggestions! She pushed past it. "Oh, yes! Yes. I'm sorry. School days and all that." She drained the last of her cup of coffee and gestured towards the living room; some little thought of the nightly ritual came, but she reminded herself the evening was young. "Please, after you."

Octavia watched her confident prey trot along to her punishment.

"I like hearing you play."

She got settled with her bow while Vinyl settled onto the couch. Odd electric tension was leaking into her movements; she wasn't sure why, but somehow this felt like a recital squared. Perhaps it's the intentions underlying it, or the effort with which you're deceiving the vandal.

Well, she couldn't call her a vandal at this point, could she? Philomena Grass might not be traditional, sure, but she was hardly unskilled. If Grass had worked directly with Vinyl, then perhaps Vinyl had untapped potential . . .

"No," she whispered through gritted teeth, and she looked at her prey again. I won't! I will not feel whatever it is I'm feeling. She probably lied anyway! It's not like I know Philomena Grass personally, so I'd have no way to —

"Uh, Octavia?" Vinyl was looking at her, and seemed to be a little confused.

"Yes! Yes, I’m sorry. Here." She had that real-enough-but-not-real smile pulled onto her face again, just in case she'd betrayed her intentions. She was going to teach Vinyl a lesson, and a hard one.

She hesitated as she drew the bow along the strings, letting the first soulful notes pour from the motion of hair against string. The piece was so short and straightforward she'd simply memorized it, and practiced a few times; the music had no side effects as long as a pony was not given instructions or suggestions while it was playing. If they were given instructions, they would carry them out. If given suggestions, they would accept them, and those suggestions would carry over after the piece was done.

It was fiendishly simple. Earth ponies focused magic in two major ways: muscle, and movement. Applebucking wasn't simply a function of strength; it was a function of gracefulness as well. Where pegasi generated lift, and unicorns accessed magic via will, earth ponies could access it, indirectly, through their physical movements. Buck had discovered just the pattern of them to add something untouchable, something strange and impossible to the music produced.

Vinyl's ears were attentive as the piece started, but after a few dozen strokes of the bow, Octavia could see them relax. Finally! I'm going to get my revenge!

She floundered a bit; the “revenge,” in her mind, was rather ill-defined. Well, no reason not to try things out. "Vinyl?"

"Yes, Octavia?" Vinyl seemed to half see Octavia and half stare through her.

Without missing a bowstroke, Octavia murmured, "Why don't you get up for a moment?" She has no reason to get up. We'll just try some things that don't make sense and see if she questions it much.

Vinyl got up; an affable smile seemed to play on her lips for a moment, but it relaxed away after she'd finished the action.

Another long vibratey stroke down the length of the bow. "Go ahead and lay back down on my couch, Vinyl."

Vinyl nodded and did that.

She smiled as she came to the end of the piece, and Vinyl shook her head. "It's a real find, Tavi."

"Would you like to hear me play it again, Vinyl?"

"Sure!" Hesitation. "Maybe sometime I could take a recording of it, for some of the stuff I do?"

Fury burned inside Octavia, but she stifled it as much as she could. "Sure, sometime. Not right now, though."

"Okay." If Vinyl noticed the anger, or the flush that came to Octavia's cheeks after such a rude concept was introduced into the conversation — she didn't seem to react. The bow drew across the strings, and the smooth, swooping notes of the piece began again.

She seems to visibly relax at the sound of it! That's perfect. "Vinyl, do the poky pony!"

Ms. Scratch got up off the couch and proceeded to do exactly that as Buck's lost masterpiece sang from Tavi's cello, and Octavia could only chuckle. “That’s very nice, Vinyl. You won’t remember doing it after I’m done, however.”

“I won’t remember doing that after you’re done,” Vinyl said.

By the time Vinyl confirmed that suggestion, the piece was nearly over again. I should add a suggestion about coming to listen whenever, just in case. "Vinyl, from now on, whenever I ask you to come listen to this piece, you will come listen to this piece."

"Sure. I'll come over and listen to the piece if you ask me to." Vinyl blinked. She wasn't toneless, but her natural tendency towards use of slang certainly seemed dampened.

Oh! She also needs to not tell anypony! She only had four more strokes of the bow to do it in, and two were short. "Vinyl! You won't mention Buck's lost piece to anypony else!"

She shook her head. "I won't mention Buck's lost piece to anypony else."

The last move of the bow came a half second later and Tavi let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, is that taking a lot out of you?" Vinyl tilted her head, watching Octavia. She didn’t seem distant now..

"I did get a little breathless, I suppose. It's just how marvelous this piece is." That's got to be it. Or am I getting out of shape? No, that couldn't be. Why am I a little out of breath?

"It's really nice, yeah. You probably wanna tell everypony about it yourself, though. I promise I won't gab."

She chuckled a little. "I appreciate that, Vinyl." Oh, if you only knew, you arrogant wastrel! As if somehow that was your idea!

"Hey, I should be going, Tavi. But thanks for playing it for me. I'll catch you later?"

No sign of arrogance on her face; she just seemed placid. It seems Vinyl's mind actually just thinks the commands were self-generated. That's actually rather interesting. "Definitely," she smiled. The pony poky was quite literally child's play! She could do anything with this, and Vinyl deserved some real humiliation, even if she wouldn't remember any of it later.

She shut the door behind Vinyl Scratch, and went to put her cello away. She had to spend some time thinking tonight.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. "Tavi? Tavi, let me in!"

Noteworthy? She trotted over and opened the door. "Note, what are you doing here at this time of night?" Oooh! But I can tell him all about what I did to Vinyl . . . well, some parts. Perhaps not the song itself, though. That should remain private, I believe.

"I know, but I had something I wanted to talk to you about! I need to." He pushed in through the door. She might have wondered why he was so motivated, another night, but tonight? Tonight she had news of her own.

"Noteworthy, I have to tell you something!" Oh, wait. I just won’t tell him about the Buck piece. "It’s about Vinyl! I had her here earlier —

He hesitated, and there was that anxiety again. "She was just here?" he whimpered.

"Oh, yes. She was right on the sofa! I can't really talk about the details, but I assure you, she’s not going to be a problem at all."

He swallowed. "I, uh, I have to go, Octavia. I'm sorry about everything, okay? I'll see you at rehearsal, and — " The sentence was floundering at best, but he was already trotting towards the doorway. "I'll see you then!"

"But, Note!" Oh, I didn't get to tell him! I'm sure he'll understand. He has as much affection for the purity of music as I do; seeing such a vandal brought to some sort of justice would have to make him at least snicker. She wasn't about to shout it into the hallway. "Come over tomorrow, all right? I can explain!" She waved a hoof as he got into the elevator; she thought she heard a sniffle, but that had to be her imagination.

I won't let Noteworthy's anxieties get me down. Not tonight! Tonight I have struck a blow again Scratch, and all of her kind!

* * *

Octavia woke the next morning feeling almost as though she hadn't slept. Odd. And some half-remembered dream of something warm in dim light, something sweaty, and some sort of throbbing halfrhythm. No doubt residue from the exposure to those ghastly clubs.

She shook it off and looked at the clock. I've already snoozed it twice! That was twenty minutes of time; fifteen minutes was how early she normally was for rehearsal, at a minimum. She'd lost her lead on the day!

Octavia rolled off the bed and went straight to the bathroom, to work on controlling her mane. It always got snarled over night, but last night was much worse. She struggled to get it managed, then pulled her cello out the door.

When she arrived, there did seem to be some notice, but for the most part the Canterlot Classical Orchestra was a group of professionals, and that was reflected in their behavior.

Well, for the most part.

"Octavia," Baritone whispered from the row behind. She looked at him, expecting some sort of orchestra-related continuance of the sentence. "Did, um, you have a good night last night or something?"

She blinked, and felt warm flush rising. "A good night?" Anxiety and outrage found equal footing in her head. "Baritone, first I'm going to ask why that's any of your business. Then I'm going to ask what made you think that was possibly an appropriate question to ask just before we begin rehearsal, and then — "

"You're not wearing your collar, Octavia," he murmured.

Her eyes and hooves confirmed it was the truth. She had forgotten them! That stupid dream,and all because of those filthy clubs! "I, ah . . . " Recover, Octavia. Control. Control. She managed to give a dismissive snort. "Plenty of the others don't wear their collar for rehearsal, Baritone. You're imagining things."

"You always do. Well, you always did." He shifted a little, then went back to readying his instrument.

I did, didn't I? This is all Vinyl's fault! She readied her cello and gave herself a moment to close her eyes, to try to clear her mind — but somehow the only thing running through her mind was that infuriating 'DJ'.

And now it's affecting my life's work. This simply will not do.

"Okay — now that everypony's ready, we need to cover . . . " The conductor's eyes stopped for a moment on Octavia, but he recovered almost immediately. " . . . the polyharmony that some of you were having issues with." He shot a glare at the brass, and all the ponies in that section looked appropriately chastised.

Like Vinyl said; she could never play like I, Octavia thought, as they began that passage and the brass struggled to find their flow in the music.

* * *

Vinyl came over that night, just as Octavia had requested.

"Hey, babe," she said with a smile as she entered. Octavia did everything she could to hold a friendly smile on her face, keeping the rage trapped where it had percolated all day long.

"Hello, Vinyl." She let herself smile wider, and remembered to let her eyes match. "Perhaps you'd like to hear the piece again now?"

"Sure." Was it her imagination, or was there a touch of flat affect in Vinyl's voice at just mentioning the music? Oh, this is simply too good! She led the unicorn into her living room; her cello was already ready, and she moved to it promptly. Vinyl didn't even get on the couch.

"Octavia?" Vinyl said, just before she was about to draw the bow for the first note.

Don't grit your teeth, Octavia. It's bad for them and Vinyl might start to suspect! "Yes, Vinyl?"

"I like hearing you play." She certainly hadn't imagined the flat affect now! I bet you do!

"I like playing for you," she said, the words smooth and sweet.

She drew the bow, and within three notes Vinyl seemed to drift a little, her eyes becoming defocused. "Vinyl," she murmured. "Go ahead and take off those glasses."

"Sure, Octavia." Vinyl blinked; there was the merest whisper of a hesitation before she lifted them up, revealing brilliant magenta eyes. She hides those behind glasses? Octavia had seen her wink, but at a distance and in the evening, she hadn't caught the shade of Vinyl's eyes. Well, that may not be a crime against music but it seems silly. Magenta eyes weren't exactly common, nor in a medium shade such as that.

She does seem to love those glasses, doesn't she? "Vinyl, set them on the floor, and step on them. Crush them underhoof."

Vinyl nodded. Her hoof held in the air for a moment, but on the next stroke of her bow, Vinyl's hoof struck, and the glasses (well, the cheap plastic things Vinyl had worn, anyway) were destroyed. "Lovely," Octavia murmured. Somehow she'd felt distinct pleasure at destroying those things. Can’t hide those vicious eyes now, can you?

Her eyes aren't exactly vicious right now, though. They seem . . .

A knock came at the door, and only a trained cellist's instincts allowed her to keep playing after it happened. Vinyl stared at her, the glasses broken underneath her hoof by Octavia's command.

They'll go away. They have to! I'm in the middle of something here.

"Tavi?" Oh, hell. It was Noteworthy! Probably to try to talk about something “important” again, she groaned inside. Her eyes stayed on Vinyl, and her problem became clear. If I stop playing now, she won't be entranced, and she'll know something's up! But he knows I'm home, and if I don't answer he'll get all worried again. No,ugh!What do I do?

Inspiration came.

"Vinyl, you're going to hear the piece I'm playing until I tell you that it's over," she said.

"Sure, Octavia."

The cellist took a deep breath, and let her bow movement stop; the flow of actual sound died. Moment of truth. Did that work? She opened one eye to find Vinyl, standing, staring. Octavia hadn't noticed before, but there was the tiniest sway of Vinyl's head; she had been so focused on the piece and delivering it perfectly she hadn't noticed the rhythmic movement. That would certainly suggest she's still hearing it;now I even have my hooves free! For a moment, she wondered why that was a good thing, but another insistent knock came. "Tavi! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Noteworthy." She came over and opened the door, oddly out of breath.

He smiled at her, and then caught sight of Vinyl, and his features darkened as he took in the scene, and looked Octavia over. "Oh, uh, I, uh, I wasn't trying to interrupt, uh . . . " he trailed off, swallowing.

"What is it, Noteworthy? I'm playing a piece for Vinyl."

"You told me to come over today!” He blinked. “Wait, you're playing music?" He seemed a little surprised.

"Note, did you get knocked on the head or something? We're musicians. It's what we do."

"Right, no, uh . . . " He looked her over again. "Well, do you mind if I hear the piece too?"

No! I can't let him hear it! I won't have privacy . . . wait, why do I need privacy? "I'm sorry, Noteworthy. You've heard it before anyway, it's an old Buck piece." He'd recognize the composer's work, but I'm sure the Sonatina itself wasn't audible through the door.

"But I've never heard you play it," he protested. His brow scrunched up a bit. "Please, Tavi?"

"Noteworthy, what difference would it make? I'm sure you've got plenty of recordings of Buck at home."

He hesitated. "Tavi, I want to hear you play."

"Note, have you lost your mind? You hear me play all the time during rehearsals!"

"I mean I want to . . . " He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. Do you still want to go to the recital the night after tomorrow?"

The recital. She'd forgotten all about it; Nathan Millstein himself was going to be playing at the Royal Music Observatory. It was one-night-only, of course (Millstein was a busy stallion) and Noteworthy had asked her about going the day after the DJ in her living room had first bumped into her.

"Oh, of course, Noteworthy. I wouldn't miss it for the world; his note articulation is nothing short of legendary."

"Just, uh . . . just you and me?"

"Sure." She shrugged, blinking. Why is he asking that? What would it matter?

"Okay!" He gave a last little glance at Vinyl. "I'll, uh, just leave you and your friend to what you — "

"She is not my friend, Noteworthy. I would think you'd know better!" She slammed the door shut. My friend?! Please. After the discussions we had about musical purity, and he thinks she and I are friends?! Incomprehensible, that stallion. She felt that same flush creeping up as when Baritone had made that improper query earlier.

She returned to the living room, where Vinyl's head was still moving ever so slightly to music that only she could hear at the moment.

"Now, then, let's talk a little, you and I."

"Of course." Vinyl seemed almost beatific, and somehow that pushed another button in Octavia's head; an angry red one. She's even cool when she's under a controlling influence! Rrgh! How is she doing that?!

More than anything, at that moment, Octavia wanted to see Vinyl's face if she were absolutely humiliated.

"Vinyl . . . " She started, then cast about. If I tell her to do something silly, she won't know it afterwards! Unless . . . unless it leaves a trace of some sort . . . "Vinyl, relax your bladder."

Vinyl nodded, and within a moment the ammoniac scent was in the air, unmistakeable; liquid gushed down her legs and soaked into the carpet.

"Nicely done." I could do anything with her! I mean, to her, of course. She had meant 'to', not with. Of course. Somehow she felt awkward, and decided this was enough — time to see the look of embarrassment on the unicorn's face. "You won't remember that I asked you to do that. The music's finished, Vinyl," she purred.

The sway of Vinyl's head died, and Vinyl's eyes seemed to focus again, the smile on her lips becoming a touch more active. "It really is a brilliant piece, Octav — " She cut off midsentence, and horror crashed into the DJ's face. "I, uh . . . I'm sorry. It's everywhere! And — " Confusion flourished on her face as her mind tried to put pieces together that just didn’t fit. " — I guess I stepped on my shades."

True enough, Octavia's carpet had a stain now, and Vinyl's rear legs were wet with her own urine. She felt all right about that; what was a little piece of carpet? She could replace it, and it wasn't like she ever had anypony over, anyway. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you just overindulged in liquids today." Octavia's comfort was a hollow effort, and the satisfaction in the back of her head struggled to show on her face. "I mean, you don't normally go peeing on other ponies's floors, do you?"

"No." Shame was thick on Vinyl's face, and another little surge of pleasure drove through Octavia.

"Don't worry, Vinyl. I'll get some towels."

* * *

After Octavia had cleaned things up, Vinyl seemed delightfully uncomfortable. "I should probably go, now that it’s all cleaned up." She can’t even make eye contact now! Her confidence is shattered; how delicious!

The key word registered in Tavi’s head. Go?! But, oh, there's so much more I could do! Octavia wasn't sure what 'more' entailed, but she knew there were other things she wanted to try with a pony as a toy of sorts. "When do you think you might be available again?"

That seemed (unfortunately) to make Vinyl relieved. "Oh, well, maybe the day after tomorrow? I don't wanna take up all your time. I know you're busy with practice."

"I'm actually free tomorrow," Octavia said with a smile. She had intended to practice, but what was one day of practice? This was highly amusing.

"Well, I guess I could come tomorrow . . . if you're sure you want me to. I'll try not to have another, y’know, accident." Vinyl gave a weak little chuckle.

Nothing accidental about it, you bitch. "Oh, now. It was nothing. Feel free to come by in the morning!”

Vinyl made her exit, and Octavia felt somehow exhausted. This seems to really take a lot out of me! She headed to the bathroom and cleaned up a little, but she didn’t bother with every little detail — somehow her head could not hit the pillow soon enough.

Once she had her collar off, and put her cello away with loving care, she trotted straight into the bedroom, lay down, and put her hoof into her mouth. Immediately, there was a faint but distinct taste on her hoof; she hadn’t washed her hooves very well after Vinyl’s little ‘accident’.

Octavia! You need to be more careful with that. How disgusting! That nasty mare! Disconnected angry thoughts swirled in her head, and she hesitated, debating about going back to the bathroom to wash up more carefully and swish some mouthwash; but then impatience won out. Her hoof moved down, slick with spit, and she ran the tip between the outer petals of her flesh. Somehow, she was quite wound up already. Is it my imagination, or is there a little more natural lubricant than there usually is? She wasn’t sure what that could mean, but thinking about it would have involved drawing her attention away from the lovely touch of her hoof.

The faint sounds of her nightly ritual grew audible quickly, and she’d forgotten to turn on “Slipper Soft.” Somehow, her mind took the rhythm and cast about, without her really thinking much about it, to find something that matched it.

That awful sound at the club, when I heard her name;when she first said “Vinyl Scratch” to me, and I could hear it. Of course, some other damned thought of that horrendous unicorn.

The memory of the music, of the mare, of the trivial beat behind the throbbing arrhythmic noise; somehow that seemed to drive her hoof faster. She could feel anger flare warm in her throat and stomach, but she didn’t care. She needed her ritual, she needed sleep, and she’d be damned if thoughts of the mare would keep her from it.

That bitch! I showed her tonight. She pissed herself like a foal and smashed her own glasses! Ha! She found herself imagining Vinyl crying about it at home, just the way Octavia had when things had been bad for her and nopony was around.

Orgasm ripped through her, and she grunted, working furiously with her hoof, the little rhythmic shlick noises lost in a constant wet stream now. Sweat was matting into her fur, and she lost track of everything, even the amount of pressure she was using.

When she could finally think again, there were thin arcs of pain in her folds, and her joints in her forehoof ached. Octavia, you haven’t rubbed too hard in . . . in years! What is happening to you? Why? All the thoughts were of that damned DJ! Why?!

Vinyl. This is Vinyl’s fault. She has to pay!

Anger flared again and she did not want to rub more after working her sex with too much effort, so she simply lay back, closed her eyes, and tried not to think until morning.

"Goodbye, Octavia."

She did not sleep. As soon as her alarm went off, she turned it off and called Noteworthy to let him know she wasn’t coming to practice.

“Oh.” He sounded like his violin had broken a string.

“Note, you can’t be so melodramatic about everything. And think of who’s saying this to you, all right? It’s one practice. I just had a rough night.”

“R-Right, uh, sure.”

She got a leisurely breakfast, then practiced the Sonatina a few more times. Never hurts to take a run through an important piece, she mused, as she drew the bow from side to side. Particularly if it’s for an important audience.

When Vinyl did arrive, Octavia greeted her at the door with that fake smile that looked oh so real. “So, are you ready to hear the Sonatina again?”

“Yeah!” She had a smile, but she seemed just a bit relaxed just hearing the mention of the piece.

Lovely. “Well, let’s not keep you waiting, then! Come into the living room and I’ll play.” I could do anything I want to her. Anything. Anything at all. Octavia’s mind raced; she felt her heart leap at the thought. Anything, if I wanted. She’d slit her wrists if I told her to! An unsettling realization came to Octavia; she wasn’t sure what she did want.

“Sure.” She settled down on the couch.

Octavia couldn’t believe just how easy this seemed to be. She drew her bow across the strings. “Vinyl,” she murmured. “You will hear the music until I say it has ended.”

Vinyl nodded, and Octavia set the bow aside. As much as she enjoyed the simplicity of Buck’s Sacred Sonatina, it had no effect on her when she was the one playing it. She could only imagine what would happen if she played it for an audience of more than one.

Even royalty and the wealthy could be made to behave like common animals, like housepets, essentially. But what to take? What to have? Vinyl had nothing she could possibly want; the money Octavia made with the CCO plus her handful of regular side engagements was not excessive, but she wanted for nothing.

She yawned, and grumbled internally. I’m too tired to work this out. “Sit here, Vinyl. I . . . “ She hesitated. I shouldn’t leave her here, though. She’s helpless. Should that matter? “Actually, Vinyl, follow me.”

“Sure,” Vinyl said. Her head swayed gently, and her words were slow.

Octavia trotted to the bedroom, turned on “Slipper Soft,” and Vinyl blinked a few extra times, her brow furrowing a little. Octavia chuckled. She can’t lie with the Sonatina playing, I’d think. “Vinyl, do you recognize this composer?”

“It’s Philomena Grass.” Vinyl stared at the stereo for a moment, then looked at Octavia again. “I remember her.”

A quiver shot through Octavia’s mind. That can’t be true! “No, you don’t, you lying piece of filth!” She shrieked it before she realized it had come out, and struck the mare in the face before she realized what she’d done. Her foreleg felt warm as she retracted it.

“That hurt,” Vinyl whimpered, turning her head to look at Octavia. A tear soaked into the fur under one of her eyes.

Octavia, for her part, could only wonder why she was panting, why she felt warm all over and somehow confused. She tried to think. I’m simply tired. That’s all this is. I’m tired and that’s why I struck her. That’s it. That must be it.

Confusion mingled with something else on Vinyl’s face that Octavia couldn’t place, but she did not care. “Of course it hurt! You lied, you get punished.” That’s what Father always said. It was only right, wasn’t it? So why was Octavia shaking and flushed? She struggled to keep her voice level. “You lied. So tell the truth, Vinyl. Tell me where you were when I was at Horseshoelliard.”

“I was at Horseshoelliard.”

Octavia blinked, then tilted her head. She’s still hearing the Sonatina, so — so it’s the truth? That had to be a mistake! “You didn’t deserve to be there, did you?”

“No.” Vinyl’s face actually became a little sad, and somehow Octavia felt energy pulse through her body. “I can’t even play an instrument. I wish I could. The ponies at the clubs like my work, but I wish I could play the piano, or the cel — “

“Shut up!” Octavia struck her again; this was a more solid contact of hoof to face, and Vinyl was staggered a few steps backward.

“Please don’t hurt me, Octavia,” she said. Fear was leaking through the effect of the Sonatina.

“Don’t!“ She felt like she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs, like anger was coating her body somehow, sticky and red. “Don’t ever ask me that again! I’ll hurt you when I want to, you filthy degenerate!”

Octavia cracked another blow across Vinyl’s muzzle, but now, with the sentences that could be interpreted as instruction and suggestion, Vinyl nodded. Blood leaked down her lip. “You’ll hurt me when you want to.”

Octavia was panting, blinking, and rubbed a hoof over her face; blood was on the hoof, and she got a taste of it on her lip, her mind recoiling. She’d tasted blood from violence only a few other times, but it was always hers, and the thoughts of those times sent shivers through her.

I was powerless then, she thought, at the memory of adults who did what they pleased, troubling and awful. She blinked a few times at Vinyl, then at her bloodied hoof. After a moment, the conscious thought found its way into her mind, where it had never quite taken hold before.

I’m not powerlessnow, am I?

No. No, I am not. That terrible wider smile spread out as she stared at Vinyl. So what do I want? Another yawn, and she covered it again with her hoof, tasting blood and looking at Vinyl. I bet she’s never lost sleep because somepony disrupted her “nightly ritual.”

Suddenly, Octavia knew what she wanted. “Vinyl, I believe I have a job that dovetails nicely with your . . . skillset.” She chuckled and lay back on the bed, spreading herself lewdly. “You’re going to help me get to sleep.”

“Yes, Octavia,” said Vinyl, with that same somewhat-fearful look. Octavia hesitated, then tilted her head. That won’t do. I want her enjoyingher punishment! Just as Father told me to thank him when he disciplined me. She considered for a moment; simply ordering Vinyl to thank her would be hollow, just as Octavia’s first attempts at thank-yous for punishments were hollow.

They weren’t hollow very long. Father started punishing hollow thanks when they were given. Somehow she found a very real way to thank him, despite what he was doing. She forced herself to find something enjoyable in it; something about the fear, something she hadn’t let herself think since her father died over a decade ago.

I can help Vinyl with that, she chuckled. “Vinyl, any punishment or task you carry out for me will — “ Wait, what? What possible reward could a reprobate animal like Vinyl Scratch want?

“Of course,” she muttered. “Vinyl, any punishment you are given, or task you carry out for me, will make you feel a small sexual pleasure.”

Vinyl nodded. “Any — “

“You don’t need to repeat things back, Vinyl. You just need to nod.” She blinked a few times. Father had warned that he couldn’t be too soft with Octavia, or she’d never achieve her full potential. Vinyl seems undisciplined; let’s see if we can reward her for good behavior, too. “Also, Vinyl, any suggestion or command I give you will make you feel a very small sexual pleasure.”

Vinyl nodded, and Octavia caught a little tremor in the unicorn’s body.

“Did that feel good, Vinyl?

Faint confusion creased Vinyl’s brow, but she nodded.

“Vinyl, I have a task for you. Have you put your mouth on a marehood before?”

“Yes, Octavia.” Vinyl had a thin blush growing, and her magenta eyes had grown furtive. What’s going on in there? Is she still thinking thoughts, or is she simply experiencing pleasure in response to questions now too? Octavia resolved to watch her new charge more closely. Once she got some sleep, of course.

“Good. Come here, Vinyl. Put your mouth between my legs.” I’m no reprobate, she mused. It won’t matter if it’s Vinyl’s mouth or my hoof, because I don’t have these filthy needs like she does, like all of those vandals and plebeians.

Vinyl trotted over, obedient, and pressed her muzzle to Octavia’s sex; at the same time, as a result of following a command, a thin moan flowed through the DJ’s mouth and vibrated through Octavia’s cunny. The earth mare gave an involuntary squeal, and waved a hoof. “No! Stop, Vinyl! Back up.”

Vinyl did as she was told, as Octavia stared at the unicorn, trying to process what just happened. That doesn’t make any sense! That felt very . . . good! That . . . She rubbed her face, trying to clear her head. She was panting in ragged unrhythm, and sweat had broken on her forehead, and every rub of that hoof on her face was also rubbing more of the congealing blood, but somehow even that — the scent of blood itself — even that was tightening strings she didn’t think could be tightened. No, she told herself after a few moments. That didn’t feel better; this is because I’m tired! Yes. Yes, that’s got to be it.

“Vinyl!” Octavia’s voice was shredded compared to its usual melodious nature. “Go slower. Start with little licks, in less sensitive places, before you move in closer. Use the experience you no doubt have ‘eating pussy’.”

“Yes, Octavia,” Vinyl whimpered. Octavia could smell something else in the room, not the typical scent of Vinyl (she’d grown accustomed to the unfortunate smell of inexpensive soap that came off the cheap-living unicorn) but something else, something strange and new. It seemed to intensify, ever so slightly, as time went by.

Vinyl’s tongue stroked along her upper inner thighs, and Octavia stifled a moan. I don’t need to make sounds! I have control! She could tell she was getting warmer and warmer, and Vinyl’s tongue was making a slow effort to bring the little thin strokes of her tongue closer to the center, at the very middle between Octavia’s legs. She fought to stifle any sound she might make, but it was getting more difficult. I want this. I want to sleep! Just once, and I’ll try it, and then I’ll sleep. Never again after.

Vinyl’s warm breath drifted across Octavia’s cunny, and she couldn’t think any more. Vinyl’s tongue followed soon, making long, slow, deft strokes along Octavia’s outer lips. Oh, Celestia! It’s so good! I —

The working tongue stroked along her slit, pressing a little, and caught a touch of nectar. Somehow that was making everything worse; Octavia couldn’t understand what she hadn’t accounted for. Her blood was rushing in her ears, but it was more than it usually was when she climaxed nightly; her hooves shifted as her legs flexed, and she was squirming towards Vinyl’s mouth.

Vinyl, for her part, was moaning deep into Octavia’s snatch, her eyes closed. A thought came, unbidden and unbelievable: I wish her eyes were open, those brilliant magenta eyes she would hide behind glasses. Her tongue feels so good! Vinyl’s ministrations had changed, slowing but with more pressure, and the warm muscle mass had flexed to make a tip more pointed than Tavi’s hoof. That tip was probing between Octavia’s deeper petals, and she shook her head. She wanted to tell Vinyl to stop, but she couldn’t get herself to do it; she wanted too much to see how good it could feel, if she let Vinyl push her all the way.

Another thick sound of lust flowed into Octavia’s cunt, and she felt the arch of her body shift, her back and shoulders flexing, her hips trying to thrust forward into Vinyl’s face; Vinyl was still in ‘eating pussy’ mode, it seemed, because her tongue swirled around Tavi’s sensitive virgin entrance, and then slid inside.

“Mmph — Vinyl — what — “ Words wouldn’t come. Octavia felt fear shiver through her body as more shudders came, her body twitching and shifting as if on its own accord. This isn’t control! Octavia, stop! Stop her!

She couldn’t; it felt too good. Vinyl’s warm, long tongue felt simply divine inside her, where nothing else had ever been; within a moment, Octavia bucked at Vinyl’s working mouth, and Vinyl made a sound Octavia had only imagined coming from whores and lovers, and somehow the vibrations and the warm tongue stroking around her nub were simply too much to bear. A pressure that seemed to have built to a head shattered inside Octavia, and she howled out, whacking her hooves into the bed, spasms wracking through her flesh. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t control, but the thought came again —

Vinyl does have beautiful eyes

— and then after what seemed like forever drowning in pleasure, she could breathe again and think again, warmth draining from her flesh, confusion setting in. What was that? What on earth did she do with her mouth? Octavia’s efforts with her hoof had never caused that sort of explosion. Warm wet fluid was on her face; her eyes were leaking tears without her realizing it. Vinyl was looking up at her, like a housepet denied a treat or something, but Tavi swore she could see the barest hint of more than that in her expression. It’s like there was some sort of anguish or something on Vinyl’s face. It was something that seemed incomprehensible. Perhaps it’s something her mind can’t really let through because of the Sonatina.

Whatever it was, Octavia quickly realized she did not care. Warmth was overtaking her. She waved a hoof at Vinyl. “Back away for now, Vinyl. Time — “ The words fell apart into an impolite, uncovered yawn; her hooves slipped around the body pillow. “Time for me to get a little nap.”

“Yes, Octavia,” Vinyl murmured, and Tavi’s eyes shut. She was asleep almost within the same moment.

* * *

Warmth stirred around her.

She could smell Vinyl, and the memory of how she got to sleep came back as she opened her eyes. The body pillow feels very . . .

Her forelegs weren’t wrapped around the body pillow. They were wrapped around Vinyl, who was snoring. Octavia stifled a squeal. Oh, hell! What happened?! It was then that she realized she had no idea what would happen if Vinyl fell asleep while “listening,” or really any idea what would happen if Vinyl fell asleep while hearing her actually play the song. So many variables.

She tried to think and ignore the warm body of the unicorn she was snuggled against. If it breaks the currently operating suggestions, then that’s no good! She’ll gallop out of here as soon as I move! Why is she even on the bed? I didn’t tell her to do this!

She forced herself to start breathing again, and Vinyl shifted a little against her.

Okay. Think, Octavia! She’s on the bed. Why? Her memory searched, and after a few moments she realized she hadn’t said Vinyl couldn’t come up on the bed; she’d just told her “back away for now,” and that she was getting a nap.

So if I don’t explicitly forbid something, it can still happen. Interesting. Well, I suppose that’s better than the opposite situation. It wouldn’t do to have one’s playthings starving if you forgot to tell them that eating was all right, or . . .

She swallowed, and anxiety about filth came. If it’s difficult for a listener to act without explicit instruction, then they might . . . miss a bathroom trip. The image made her stomach lurch.

Okay! Focus, Octavia. We have to determine if Vinyl’s still under the influence or not. If she isn’t, we have to put her back under. If she is — then we have to be sure.

Octavia realized Vinyl’s head was giving the slightest of movements, almost like — no, exactly like before! Is she hearing it in her dreams? Wouldn’t that be just perfect?

She found herself wondering what sort of dream Vinyl was having, then pushed the thought away. It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter now at all! I don’t have to pretend to be interested in things about her any more! I can simply . . . wait, what am I going to do with her?

There was a faint warm tingle between her legs, a deeply disturbing sensation for Octavia. No. She had her nightly ritual; that was all she needed.

Her eyes narrowed at the back of Vinyl’s sleeping head. Until she came along. This is all her fault! Octavia’s hips shifted a bit, and the tingling got worse. Rrrgh. Now there are all theseurges!

She could ask a source who would know; she could even erase her memory afterwards, if she felt like it. “Vinyl, wake up.”

Vinyl turned over, blinking those intense magenta eyes. “Yes, Octavia?”

Well, she’s still under, seems like.“What does — “ Ugh, such a horrid concept. “ — being sexually aroused feel like? Describe it.”

“Okay.” Vinyl’s brow furrowed a little. “Well, it depends. I mean, it’s a little different for every mare.”

“Well, generally.” Octavia could finally indulge this little curiosity without anypony getting the wrong idea; she just needed information, of course. If she had enough of that, she could control the situation.

“Some mares get a little warm all over, or just around their groove. Some get tingly, like I do. I’ve seen mares with nipples that got firmed; that’s actually pretty common.”

“Your groove?“ Her brain translated the euphemism with only a moment's delay. “Oh.” She shifted, thinking back. I’ve been feeling this lately, then? Something strange and unfamiliar tugged at the yarn of the sweater that was Octavia’s brain. “Vinyl, how many mares have you, uh . . . been with?”

“Eight, including you.”

Octavia’s stomach clenched, but it wasn’t a nausea. This was like the clenching she’d felt before, when Vinyl had bumped into her, only something was different. A little . . . sticky? She couldn’t quite place it. Whatever it was, rage bubbled up fast behind it.

“You’re a slut, Vinyl. Do you know that?” Octavia couldn’t help but hate the notion. The irresponsibility of such a life!

“Yeah.” The unicorn’s smile spread wider. “My friends tell me that, anyway.”

Octavia gaped at the mare who stared at her, utterly unabashed. Almost proud! “Vinyl, that’s not a good thing!”

“I’m not hurting anyone. I was dating four of those mares. The rest, it was kind of on and off.” She made a little circle with a hoof in the air, and almost seemed like herself again for a moment.

“But it’s sex, Vinyl! It’s distracting and it causes other problems, like relationships. Or foals!”

“It feels good, and it makes someone else feel good.” She shrugged, and something else seemed to sink in through the Sonatina. “I’m not happy as much as I want to be, and it helps me feel better.”

“But that — “ Sounds reasonable, she stopped herself from saying. “But then you’re just following urges! You’re like some animal or something!”

“We’re all animals.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean! Like a rabbit, or cow, or dog! Just — just wandering around rutting or licking — “ The word ‘licking’ sent another warm tingle through her sex. “Dammit, this is what I was trying to avoid,” she muttered. She found herself staring for a moment at Vinyl’s mouth, and a hunger she didn’t recognize nagged at her. It wasn’t hard to remember where those lips had been before Octavia’s nap.

Vinyl watched her, blinking. “Octavia?”

Oh, Celestia! I was staring! “Yes, uh . . . “ You’re supposed to be in control, you idiot! Think, and not with your ‘groove’! You need to get rid of her! Tell her she’ll forget all about you! End this now before it becomes more of a problem! She pushed the words out, eloquent and precise. “Vinyl, when the music stops this time, you’ll forget everything we’ve done since you saw me in the street, everything we’ve ever talked about, and the Sonatina. Do you understand?”

The barest hint of hesitation. “Yes, Octavia,” Vinyl murmured, blinking. Octavia swore there was that touch of anguish again, something she couldn’t grasp the significance of.

“Very well. You’re going to wash your face, Vinyl, and then we’re going to take a little walk.” Octavia got out of bed. This is where I knew this little game would lead from the beginning, of course. It’s nothing to be unhappy about. “Where do you live, exactly?”

* * *

An hour later, Vinyl was following her to the end of an alley in part of Canterlot near the unicorn’s apartment. I wouldn’t want her to get lost.

Vinyl had kept trying to talk to Octavia, but after a gentle little command easily mistaken for conversation by passerby (“Quiet for now, Vinyl,”) Vinyl had kept quiet.

“Here we are.” Octavia smiled. This is reassertion of control, Octavia. I don’t need her. I don’t need to play with her or touch her or feel that mouth — Vinyl was staring at her expectantly.. “Yes, sorry. You can talk now, Vinyl. Nopony’s around.”

“I don’t . . . “ The words seemed to struggle out of her. “I don’t understand exactly what happened.”

“You don’t need to worry about it, Vinyl. It’ll — “ She dug around for words in her head. Comfort was not Octavia’s specialty. This is like petting an animal before it’s put down, in a way. “It’ll be all right. You won’t remember me, or anything that happened.”

“But, I want to remember you.” Conflict wrestled on the unicorn’s face. “Not the bad things, but you. I want to remember you.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Why?”

“I think you’re interesting,” was all the unicorn could get out.

Octavia swallowed. Oh, just get this over with! It isn’t going to matter in thirty seconds anyway. “I’m not that interesting, Vinyl.”

“Yes, you are.” That came out a little easier. “I come to the Canterlot Classical all the time! You’re one of the best players, but you never talk to the press or give any interviews. I always wondered what you were like, and then I realized I saw you in the street that night, and — you weren’t playing, and you just seemed like anypony else.”

Two thoughts fired simultaneously in Octavia’s brain, and they were terrifying things indeed: Why on earth would she want to know me better? and She already knew me before she met me in the street!

The second one was the one that led somewhere logical, so she followed it.

This isn’t going to fix anything! And — and I can’t strip out her memories of me altogether! There’ll be evidence! Her friends will know she used to go to the CCO! No, no! This is wrong! Urgh!

The best solution she could come up with after a few minutes of hesitation was to follow her original plan. If Vinyl never bumped into her again in the streets, then a replay of this could be averted. She’d effectively be resetting Vinyl, and she’d never have to see the infuriating unicorn again.

Somehow the first thought made a short resurgence in her brain. Why on earth would she want to know me better? She pushed it down. Not relevant.

If she reset Vinyl, then made sure she never bumped into her again, it was solved. There. Control reestablished.

“Vinyl, stay here. In two minutes, the Sonatina will be over. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” The grimace came through more clearly, and there was tightening in the lips. “Goodbye, Octavia.”

She swallowed. “Goodbye, Vinyl.” Octavia made herself trot off around the corner, and found a place where she could watch the end of the alley, in line at a grilled vegetable vendor’s cart.

After a little bit of time, Vinyl trotted out of the alley, looking bewildered and almost a little afraid, and then she headed off towards her home, lost in thought.

Octavia felt almost ill as she turned away, a lump growing in her throat; she could only imagine it was from the scent of the spiced food being cooked.

I have to get home, she thought, rubbing absently at her eyes as the pungent aroma of grilled cucumbers with cumin and pepper drifted, smoky, across her face.

She was even tearing up a little.