Octavia woke up with a terrible sense of deja vu. She found herself on an island, next to Vinyl, with a terrible headache…

For a moment, the grey mare’s mind froze as she had this crazy idea that all that had happened during the past year or so had been her imagination, and she was still stuck with Vinyl on the bloody island.

However, seeing Lyra and Bon-Bon snoozing next to them on the sand, the cellist-turned-chef immediately felt relieved. With a groan, she got up and tried to wake up her marefri- wife. A giddy feeling surfaced in her chest as she realised, once again, that she was married to the love of her life.

Even if the love of her life was apparently committing adultery in her dreams.

“Mmm, Tavi will never know,” Vinyl mumbled, rolling over on the sand. “Lezz do it.”

“Tavi will never know what?” Octavia enquired, shaking her wife diligently.

Vinyl’s eyes shot wide open. “Hi, Tavi. Uh.” The white mare’s eyes drifted up and down Octavia’s body. “Tavi will never know I’ve been using her shampoo?” Ha! the DJ congratulated herself innerly. Nice save. After all, she’d been dreaming about-

“You’ve been using my shampoo?” the cellist advanced on her wife - and not in an entirely pleasant manner.

“I’ve been using your shampoo too,” came Lyra’s voice from the behind.

Octavia turned round, only to see the captain’s… No, the Captain’s grinning face. “You too, brute?” she joked, then realised immediately that, much like the musical jokes she had tried in the past, this one would fall flat on the audience.

“Your shampoo is like that cheap mare from Star Whores,” Lyra confirmed with a nod. “Everypony uses it from time to time.”

Vinyl blinked as she got up, not without Octavia’s help, and shook off the sand, still remaining as dirty as ever. “Is it porn? I thought it was called Star Horse, and was about equine anatomy of the intergalactic ponies.”

Octavia didn’t even wonder where Vinyl had learned the word “intergalactic” from. Instead, she closed her eyes, memory flushing back to her.

“Steer the sail!”

Lyra’s voice was drowned out by the sound of the impending doom as the captain tried to rush to the mast.

“Technically-” Octavia shouted back, holding Vinyl close while the white mare squeed in glee. “You steer the boat-” She threw the ecstatic pony off her. “Not the sail!”

“Technically-” Lyra retorted in a loud yell. “Steer the bloody sail!”

Octavia sighed. Okay. Apparently it didn’t go that well. She was brought out of her reverie by Vinyl patting her shoulder and pointing with a grin at Lyra and Bon-Bon, who were sitting aside, with Lyra gently stroking Bon-Bon’s belly. “Aww,” Octavia said loudly. “How cute!” To Vinyl, she whispered, “If you ever get me pregnant, my foal will only have one mother. Because the other one will be dead.”

Surely, Vinyl had other things to say, including, but not limited to, them using horn condoms, as well as her general inability to raise a plant, much less a foal, as well as pointing out that she, Vinyl, was much of a foal herself - but a loud noise coming from the jungle made her freeze and look in that direction.

Everypony followed her gaze, and, indeed, there was something to marvel at. Several dozen ponies, with tattoos covering their muzzles and bodies, and all but one having spears in their mouth. How unhygienic! Octavia lamented in her mind. Also, she concluded that the pony with the most ridiculous tattoo (What is that? A butt? A dick? A buttdick?) and without a spear was the chief.

“I got this, ladies.” Vinyl took a bold step forth, stopping before the apparent chief of the tribals. The savage ponies lowered their spears threateningly. Vinyl patted her chest. “Me. Vinyl Scratch. DJ.” She made a motion of spinning a disk with her hooves. “Wub wub wub.” Then she pointed at Octavia. “My wife, Octavia. I rut her. R-U-T.” Thankfully, no gesture followed. “Very much.” The white hoof switched over to Lyra. “Our captain. Lyra.” Vinyl tapped her head with a hoof. “Very stupid.”

“Hey!” came Lyra’s disapproving yell.

“Don’t ruin my diplomacy!” Vinyl retorted, then pointed at Bon-Bon. “Captain’s wife. Very nice. We.” The DJ slowly moved her hoof around. “Peace. We want peace. And food. And rum. But mostly peace. No war. No fight.” Vinyl shook her head. “No punch-punch-punch. Better, smooch-smooch-smooch.”

Finally, the chieftain blinked and looked at Bon-Bon, who, apparently, to him seemed like the sanest pony of the bunch. “She does realise we all speak modern Equestrian, right?”