A Sailboat, Two Mares and a Crate Full of Rum

Chapter One

When Life Gives You Rum...

***

It was a dull warm day in autumn and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Or, rather, they would be, if it weren't for the fact that Equestrian clocks had eight-hour faces. So, the clocks were striking five, which still signified the dawn on afternoon, and Vinyl Scratch was sound asleep.

Imagine:

Somewhere in Equestria, a mailmare is a dreaming of bubblewrap and blueberry muffins. A Canterlot professor is being chased by his thesis, stolen from a student: the nightmare never stops, and he is followed, crushed, bitten by the merciless paper. A blues guy is restringing his guitar, having just awoken from a drunken sleep, his hazy mind failing to comprehend he's putting the G-string on the sixth. A fashion designer in Ponyville is facing the most difficult dilemma in her life: red or blue?

Vinyl Scratch is dreaming of rum and rutting her marefriend.

Done imagining? Great, now let's get back to reality.

Vinyl's serene dreams of neat alcohol and bodily fluids were mercilessly crushed by a trademark punch by the Holy Hoof of Homemade Justice - a new technique employed by the very marefriend from her dreams. Only, in her dream, Octavia, devoid of the pink bowtie, was wearing a pirate's cap and had a wooden leg. And a parrot.

Geez, my dreams are weird, Vinyl thought as she resurfaced on the bed, eager to delve into the depths of her active subconscious once more. Alas, the Holy Hoof had other plans, prompting the white mare to leave her abode of white sheets and pillows and traverse the sad realm of reality.

Rum-devoid, sex-devoid, happiness-devoid reality.

Though, to think about it, it wasn't that true. While happiness may be a philosophic matter, thus escaping Vinyl's narrow reach, sex was a matter more close to the DJ's liking, and the glorious sex schedule on her wall was, so far, fulfilled dutifully. Also, if she searched for it, she was sure that Octavia still had a bottle of rum left in her wine cabinet. And so did she. Maybe a couple. Three bottles, I think. Vinyl reached under the bed with her levitation. Eight. Huh. Close enough.

Eight bottles was enough to keep her rum-drinking urges at bay. Vinyl made a mental note to check with her doctor regarding her growing rum (and sex) addiction. Not that she had a personal doctor, to think about it.

"Vinyl, are you going to wake up or not?"

Her marefriend's question made Vinyl rub her chin as she took the perfect pose of The Thinker, balancing on three legs against the wall as she scratched away the soreness in her posterior against the bedside table filled with wrapping paper that once belonged to chocolate as its rightful clothing.

"Why, my dear Tavi, this is a jolly good question!" Vinyl exclaimed in a very special kind of idiotic glee that only just-woken-up souls possess at its finest. "We must define 'wake' though. Is it the same as if we were following Finneighan's Wake or-"

Octavia's hoof once more proved its supremacy over any philosophical theory. Theorising her hoof at the back of Vinyl's head had an astonishing effect on the philosophising DJ. The cellist briefly considered establishing her own school of thought.

"Geez, I'm up, I'm up!" Vinyl waved her hooves in the air, backing away from the Hoof.

"Vinyl." Octavia's tone took an even sterner spin - if it was ever possible. "You used the G-word. We agreed not to use the G-word."

Vinyl stared at her marefriend. "I thought we agreed to never use the Z-word."

"Firstly," Octavia corrected, "It is 'agreed never to use', and secondly, what's the Z-word?"

"I can't tell you!" Vinyl exclaimed. "We agreed not to use it!"

"But what is it?" Octavia groaned in exasperation. Now she was getting really curious, which was a state that she had normally forgotten, living with Vinyl "in a stable civil partnership", as the DJ liked to call their relationship. As if just dating that mare wasn't enough... If anything, this formula enabled Vinyl to forego her duties in paying the rent, washing the dishes, cooking (Thank Celestia for that), and buying groceries. (Because ten packs of crisps and two six-packs, topped with rum and marshmallows does not count as "groceries".)

"Sneaky sneaky Tavi." Vinyl grinned slyly. "You're testing me, right? Well, I'm not gonna say the Z-word!"

Octavia facehoofed. Now her curiosity was channeled at the mysterious "Z-word". It even sounds silly, she mused. "Zed-word." The cellist sighed. Time to enact drastic measures. "Vinyl," she cooed, "If you tell me what this 'Z-word' is, I'll rub your belly." VInyl's ears perked up, eyes shining with hope. "Yes." Octavia smiled. "The way you like it, with a very happy ending."

Vinyl felt torn apart. On one hoof, she knew that she couldn't say the Z-word, but on the other hoof... Belly rubs... And with her favourite happy ending, no less! Vinyl loved the happy ending: after the rubs, Octavia gave her a glass of coconut milk mixed with rum and sang to her as she dozed off to sleep. My favourite ending.

Finally, the DJ decided. "Okay, the Z-word stands for..." She lowered her voice, looking around. "Zigga."

Octavia blinked. "What's a zigga?"

"Shh!" Vinyl looked around again. "Tavi, that's forbidden! It's the word ponies use to berate zebras!" the unicorn explained.

Octavia blinked again. "But... Why would they..." She narrowed her eyes. "You know what. They don't. Why would anypony berate zebras?"

Vinyl looked at her mare indulgingly. "Because ponies think that their race is superior to the zebra race?"

"That..." Octavia felt that she was hitting her daily blinking limit already. "That doesn't make sense. Nopony thinks that ponies are superior."

Vinyl smirked darkly. "That's what the government wants you to believe."

Octavia moaned a moan of a dying walrus. "Vinyl, we don't have a government! Equestria is an absolute monarchy!"

Vinyl just tossed her a conspirational look. Octavia simply sighed and made a movement to walk away from her apparently-growing-insane mare, but was stopped by the same mare tugging at her hair - a gesture that she did appreciate in bed, from time to time, but that seemed deeply inappropriate at the moment. "Tavi! What about my belly rubs?"

The cellist glared at her mare pointedly. "No belly rubs for you."

"But whyyyyy?" Vinyl lamented in a shriek like a philosophical pig dying of orgasmic glee. "You promised!"

"Because you're a racist." Octavia grinned to herself. A perfect excuse to both avoid wasting energy and irritate her mare just a little.

"Who's a racist?"

Octavia yelped, crashing into something on her way out. Something warm and mint-coloured. Something that had just asked a question. While her initial conclusion included a seapony invasion, Octavia soon came to realise that it, in fact, was just Lyra. Wait a minute.

"Nopony's a racist," Octavia replied in an even tone, regaining her composure. "How did you get in?"

"The key was under the rug," Lyra explained.

"Oh." Octavia nodded. "That makes se- wait a minute" She stared at the mint mare. "We don't have a rug."

"Um." Lyra blinked. "Oh! You remember about the thing at the place?"

"Lyra," Octavia growled menacingly. Vinyl just snickered, waiting the storm out.

"No, I'm serious!" Lyra exclaimed. "The thing... at the place. You know. That one." The mint face scrunched as Lyra's brain attempted to make something up. "With the pirates." You're a genius, Lyra! the mare congratulated herself. "The one invitation from Jeffrey we received a month ago and promised to drop by 'tomorrow'?"

"He's an entr- enter- ent- businesspony now," Vinyl corrected, a little ashamed to have forgotten about the rum-consuming, sabre-wielding, parrot-wearing pirate. Though, you can't really wear a parrot. Unless it's new slang for casualwear. It had been easy to forget that, with Octavia constantly tending to her. And, by "tending", she didn't mean coconut milk mixed with rum. She meant sex.

"Still," Lyra observed, "It has never been a good idea to make an ex-pirate wait." She pondered for a moment. "I suggest we finally pay him a visit."

Octavia sighed. She knew it was true. Still, such a visit definitely prompted an 'adventure, yarr mateys!', and she didn't want any kind of adventure. "Is that why you broke into our flat?"

"Yes," Lyra said. "No," she quickly amended. "I also wanted to see you make out."

Vinyl wiggled her brow at Octavia. Octavia hit her with a hoof.

Vinyl sighed, rubbing the sore spot, while Lyra laughed and Octavia fumed with irritation. It was just another Saturday.

Only, they were going to visit a pirate's office.