The DJ and The Cellist

Chapter One

***

"Tavi, what'cha'd like?"

Octavia straightened her bow tie, her fingers touching the silk confidently. She sighed. "Nothing, Vinyl. First of all..." The young woman left the bathroom, not without adding a touch of perfume to her neck. "I don't eat Japanese food. Secondly..." She took a brush from a nearby shelf, running it through her long black hair, very carefully, just slightly touching the obedient hairs, caressing each of them. Not to keep the form, no. Just to put a nice finishing touch to the preparation. "I am performing tonight."

"Oh, sure!" Vinyl's voice reached her ears from the 'computer room'. As soon as they'd moved in together, Vinyl and she, all those years ago, they had made an agreement: one bedroom for Octavia, one bedroom for Vinyl, a shared living room, one extra room for Octavia, and one extra room for Vinyl. Very simple, given the spacious five-room flat, right? Wrong. One of the rooms had been claimed by the DJ as her 'DJing room', while Octavia's 'extra room' was made a computer room, with Vinyl proudly putting her old PC there, while her new Mac served the role of her 'music-making boxie'. Thus, no room for the poor cellist.

Octavia sighed once again, walking into the computer room. Vinyl was sitting there, staring at the screen, a menu full of sushis and rolls commanding her utmost attention. The black-haired cellist couldn't help a smile, looking at her flatmate, this cute, wild-haired, tatooed DJ, whom she (with time) had come to consider her closest friend. Despite all the differences between them.

Vinyl looked back, the image of Octavia replacing the image of tasty Japanese food. She had come to value her cellist friend, over all those years they'd shared this (quite amazing) flat. Octavia cooked, cleaned up, washed the dishes, played games with her, and was a wonderful person to talk to. In return, she, Vinyl, contributed her extra awesomeness to the firm, friendly relationship. If she could read Octavia right, it was enough. Right now, though - again, if she could read Octavia right - the cellist was irritated. Or, about to be irritated. One way or another.

"Um... Something wrong, Tavi?" Vinyl chuckled sheepishly. "I'm thinking of ordering extra sauce with that salmon. I'm in an adventurous mood." Don't yell at me don't yell at me don't yell at me-

"Vinyl Scratch!" Octavia roared, making the DJ wince and shift uneasily. "Why on Earth are you still not dressed?" Indeed, all that Vinyl was wearing was a bra that contained her (pretty big) breasts, and white panties, with a proud DJ Pon-3 sign. At least I've taught her not to walk around naked... Yes, that was certainly an achivement for the cellist. While she really didn't mind Vinyl's nakedness (For... reasons), it was for the better that the DJ had learnt to put on at least some clothing. Now, though, Octavia expected her friend to be dressed in the finest sense of the word, that is, in a dress suitable for the occasion. "Don't tell me you're considering skipping my performance!"

"Um..." Vinyl scrunched her face. Not gonna blow it! "Well..." The blue-haired woman rubbed the back of her head slowly. But I'd SO rather stay at home and eat sushis... "I..." Octavia was watching her sternly, her arms crossed, her brows furrowed. What to choose? "Kinda," she admitted, finally. How many points do I receive?

"Vincenza Staccato Scratch!" Octavia yelled, her face lighting up a fine, angry red. Vinyl winced. Apparently, that's not the right choice. "You will get dressed this instant!" The DJ sighed in defeat. If Octavia was using her full name, shit was going to get real unless she obeyed. "And when I say, dressed, I mean, wearing a formal dress!"

Vinyl gasped. She briefly considered using Octavia's full name in return, but quickly condluded that it wouldn't make her arguments more valid. If anything, Octavia could smack her upside the head for that. And that she never hesitated to do. Instead, the DJ opted for puppy eyes and a pleading trembling lip. Seeing Octavia's impression soften a little, Vinyl scored a success to herself. It's super effective! "Taaaaviii. Pleeeease." Octavia kept glaring at her flatmare. "At least make it a suit, not a dress!"

The cellist frowned but nodded reluctantly. "All right. You can wear a suit. Though, I don't see why you don't like dresses. You are a fine lady, Vinyl. Dresses suit you perfectly."

Vinyl grinned. "Nope. Suits suit me perfectly." She put on her trademark purple shades. "Aww y-"

"Don't," Octavia warned her friend, her eye twitching dangerously. "Just don't. Or else."

Vinyl pouted. "Aw well. Still, dresses are for ladies." The young woman puffed out her chest broudly. "I'm a chick. A cool, hot, party-loving chick."

Octavia came up to the DJ and enveloped her in a hug. "For me, you'll always be a lady."

Vinyl couldn't help but blush at the gesture. She'd got used to Octavia being huggy and sappy, but... sometimes, she even liked it. More so than she would admit to herself. The DJ stood up, practically shaking the cellist off, gifting her with a small peck on the forehead. "Thanks, Tavi, you're cool too. Now, I will get dressed and try to sit through your concert without falling asleep. On one condition." Vinyl raised her index finger and held what seemed to her a dramatic pause. The cellist raised her brow. "You're treating me out to dinner after the concert."

Octavia exhaled in relief. Here she was, thinking that Vinyl was about to set some ridiculous condition. But no, thankfully, it was just a dinner. Just like any other time Vinyl agreed to be taken to one of Octavia's performances. And that was rarely. The cellist smiled and offered her hand. "Deal."

Vinyl took the cellist's small, white-ish pink hand in her own veiny, yet soft, hands and kissed it gently, prompting Octavia to blush. "Deal. M'lady." The DJ grinned. "Now lemme get my suit." The blue-haired woman ran off to her room, bouncing on her naked feet. "And no peeking!" Vinyl's voice reached Octavia's ears from the DJ's bedroom.

The cellist giggled. With a warm, content sigh she checked her dress. The concert was going to perfect. The night was going to be perfect.

She knew it.