The Sacred Sonatina

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.