“Tavi, that’s… four shots already.”

Octavia nodded, and, with a sharp wince, downed yet another whisky. “Five,” she corrected raspily. “And these are glasses, not shots.” And it’s not even half past ten.

Vinyl eyed her girlfriend in sheer fear. She was no longer scared that Octavia would take advantage of her, but now she was simply concerned with the well-being of her cellist. So much alcohol can’t be good for health…  Subconsciously, she rubbed her liver side. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“One more.” In a moment, Octavia took a deep breath. Okay. Here goes. “As you can see, I have a problem.”

Vinyl nodded gloomily. “Admitting that you have a problem-”

“I don’t mean alcohol.” The cellist gazed at the bottle, feeling her vision go slightly blurry. Now it felt like confessing to the bottle. It was much, much easier than confessing to Vinyl. “I mean my sexual orientation. The problem is that, in addition to liking men, I also like women. And most of my ‘daddy problems’ lie there.” There, Ms Vinyl. I’ve recited my homework. Can I go home now?

Vinyl rubbed her temples. “Tavi. You do realise it’s… it’s not really a problem?”

“When you live in a conservative Catholic household in rural Italy, it is.” Octavia sighed, feeling unease creeping all over her. “At least, so it was for my father.” The cellist gesticulated in the air wildly, a brief drunken gesture. “He… He wasn’t really… I mean, yeah, he was a crappy father. But he wasn’t the worst.” With attention, Vinyl noted that, despite the fact-based assumption that Octavia’s father was still alive, the cellist avoided using the present tense. “He bought me gifts, paid for my education… He even bought me a pony!” Octavia actually managed a smile. “Thing is, he really, honestly believed my bisexuality was a disease. And he… tried to… cure it,” she finished lamely. “At all costs.”

“He let a bunch of men rape you!” Vinyl couldn’t help but slam her first against the table, her skin heating up in slight pain. “That- That’s just!”

“I never said he was a good father,” Octavia countered simply. “Apart from his… prejudice, though, he was as decent as any other guy.”

“Prejudice must know limits,” Vinyl argued, her cheeks heating up - not in embarrassment, but in anger. Drunkenly, Octavia realised that she loved this woman, loved her so much, whether she was cute or smart, angry or sharp, awake or asleep. She just loved her.

“His didn’t.” Octavia reached for the bottle, only for Vinyl to slap her hand away. Surprised by such boldness from the usually shy spinner, the woman concluded, “That was it. After… that, I never returned home. Surprisingly, he was still sending me money. But I would never take it. And… that’s pretty much it. A crappy father, worse than some, better than some. As I’ve said, I’ve just… moved on, I guess.”

Vinyl opened her mouth, a barrage of questions on her tongue. However, upon a long, lasting look at her girlfriend, she closed her mouth and simply extended her arms, embracing her drunken cellist in a tight hug.

Octavia felt tears reach her throat - an old, long-won battle threatening to seize her emotional field again. Instead of sobbing and giving way to it, she merely pressed her face into Vinyl’s shoulder, soon feeling sleepy and content. There. Peace and calm. From now on and forever, with Vinyl. No more hard talk. Devil Octavia grinned: Right! Only hard se- Angel Octavia took out a shotgun.

“How…” Vinyl did not break the embrace. Okay. No more questions about her father. He’s a fucktard, Tavi is over it, and it hurts her to talk about it. No more hard talk. Devil Vinyl opened her mouth. Angel Vinyl borrowed the shotgun from Angel Octavia eagerly. “How can you, still… you know… um. Like men? I mean. Uh.” Vinyl closed her eyes, feeling Octavia’s hands on her back, finally realising how sleepy she was, and how sleepy Octavia was, probably, especially considering the commendable amount of alcohol the raven-haired woman had consumed in such short time. Devil Vinyl made a motion of searching through a dictionary for ‘fucktard’.

“Frederic.” Octavia smiled. Vinyl almost broke the hug - almost. “We dated for a while after I broke up with my girlfriend. He really showed me how kind and caring men can be. He has always been a true gentleman.” At this point, Vinyl broke the embrace, letting Octavia see her hurt, understanding eyes. “Vinyl… It’s over,” the cellist whispered softly. “Me and Frederic are not longer… Well. Now I have you. Don’t be jealous.” Tee-hee~ Jealous Vinyl is so cute!

“I’m not jealous,” Vinyl said with surprising bitterness. “I just wonder how long it’ll take you to break up with me.”

The room fell silent.

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said seriously, using the spinner’s full name - all be it her pseudonim, her pseudoname, “You are, and will always be, the only woman I’ll love. The only person in the world I want to be with.” The cellist planted a boozy kiss upon Vinyl’s lips - which made the spinner feel goofy and drunk. “I know we haven’t known each other much - hell, we haven’t even had sex yet! But you,” Octavia pointed her trembling finger at the DJ, “You are the one woman I am willing to wait for, even if it takes forever. Hell, Vinyl, if you don’t believe me, let’s go to the nearest church and get married, God be my witness!”

Vinyl calmed down at such heated - and honest - reassurance, embracing Octavia’s shoulders gently. “First, we’re in Montenegro, an Orthodox country - you said it yourself. They don’t recognise or register same-sex marriages. Second,” Vinyl smiled, “I believe you. I love you, Octavia,” she said simply, much to Octavia’s silent delight. She said it! She said it! “Love and marriage aren’t what Frank Sinatra sings them to be.” Vinyl felt a rush of warmness, an impromptu mood swing to the upper corner of bliss. “Remember Ormus and Vina in-”

“Vinyl,” Octavia interrupted apologetically. “I’m too drunk for smart talk. Let’s just maybe cuddle and kiss and sleep?” she suggested eagerly.

Vinyl smiled, for once feeling somewhat  in charge. And it was a pretty good feeling. Slowly, she stood up and took Octavia’s hand in hers. “Let’s go, Tavi.”

Obediently, the cellist followed her woman on unsteady, wobbling legs. “Wait.” A thought of concern struck her slowly, like a sledgehammer. The cellist cursed her drunkness. Confound this alcohol. It drives me to... slow-think. “You haven’t told me about… Well, about your father, Vinyl.”

The DJ sighed, walking alongside her girlfriend, holding the woman she loved - the woman who loved her - by the hand, her fingers electric from the tender touch. “He… As I said, he wasn’t a bad dad.”

“He beat you up,” Octavia observed bluntly, immediately wanting to hit herself for the drunken slip. Apparently, alcohol had an effect of easing her tongue in all ways. Devil Octavia perked up. All ways? Angel Octavia started chasing her with a stick. “Sorry.”

“He had… strange ways of parenting,” Vinyl admitted, walking up the stairs. Photographs of a younger Francisc and a younger Fleur adorned the walls. On one, the man and the woman held hands with poorly-concealed glee, standing outside a church on a bright-lit plaza. Francisc and Fleur Pantomino, United for Eternity, the golden plate below the photo read. Shouldn’t it be ‘Francisco’? Vinyl wondered. “He was just a very… stern person, I guess.”

“He beat you up,” Octavia repeated dumbly. “For any minor offence. That’s… too stern.” The cellist sighed, following the spinner into a spacious bedroom, most of which was occupied by a large, king-and-queen-sized bed, and also hosted a TV, a few drawers and a wardrobe. “You led me to the room I used to sleep in when I came here…”

Vinyl chuckled. “I had a feeling this would be precisely this room.” Not that I know any other rooms here… Will find out after some sleep.

Without any words, Octavia dragged the spinner into a fervent, whisky-scented kiss, pinning the woman to the bed, moaning into her eager mouth, her tongue attacking Vinyl’s from all directions. Vinyl moaned back, her eyes rolling back, her whole body going up in flames of passion, shivers tickling her spine violently.

For a whole minute after they broke the kiss, Vinyl lay silent, panting, her nethers burning with desire. Now - she was sure - she was ready. But it would feel so awkward to make love after the Talk…

“I can’t believe it,” Octavia complained, staring at the ceiling, panting as she rolled off Vinyl clumsily. “I can’t believe that your father, the great Immanuel Staccato, the God of cello, was such a fucktard.”

See? This is a word! Devil Vinyl exclaimed victoriously, showing her tongue to the little angel on the opposite shoulder. I never said it wasn’t! Angel Vinyl protested. Vinyl decided to shut both away until they started making out. “Most great musicians weren’t good with kids,” Vinyl replied, thinking about how she, herself, often winced at the ultra-sound that children emitted at supersonic speed, making her thankful she did not have one of her own. Neon, though… Kids love him. He’s ‘cool’. “And he was… He was just very, very demanding. Dad did beat me up, and Neon too… He loved Neon more, I think. Nini told me,” she used her brother’s sacred name, “that he was different when Mom was still alive…”

Octavia winced, placing her hand on Vinyl’s shoulder comfortingly. “Love, I am sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Vinyl stared at the ceiling. “I never knew her. I guess Dad blamed me a little: she died when I was born,” the spinner explained. “That’s why he didn’t expect much of me, and didn’t talk to me much. On a positive side,” Vinyl chuckled darkly, “he beat me up way less than he did Neon.”

“I never imagined Immanuel Staccato was an abusive father,” Octavia confessed. “He was…” Drunkenly, the woman blushed. “My hero, I suppose.”

“Mine too,” Vinyl replied, much to Octavia’s surprise. “He wasn’t, um, the kind of alcoholic abusive father they show on TV. He was… demanding,” she reiterated. “After Mom died - after I was born, he devoted himself to his music completely. But he still found time to keep us well-fed and bought us toys and clothes and paid for our studies. And yes, when we disagreed, he beat us up. He spanked me or whipped me with a belt,” she reminisced. Octavia mentally crossed out spanking from the possible fetish list. “But Nini… He made him fight him, and they fought. First, it was Dad beating up Neon. When Nini grew up, it was mostly him beating up dad. He was raising his sporting spirit or something.” That’s still a way of torture, Octavia noted mentally. Or not. Hell if I know. I need sleep. Need to stop thinking so much… negativity. “He didn’t just punish us. He rewarded us too, and…” Vinyl actually smiled. “Once, he practiced for his tour so much that he totally forgot to visit Neon’s rugby match. Neon came home in tears. Without words, Dad cancelled all concerts of his for a week and did nothing but play sports with Neon in the garden the whole week - making up for his mistake.” Vinyl fell silent for a moment. “When Mom died, he crushed his favourite cello against the wall. Neon says he wanted to kill himself but… but he had us to look after. Guess he hated us a little, for not letting him… um, be with Mom, uh, up there in Heaven,” Vinyl concluded, gulping down unwanted tears. Angel Vinyl reminded her meekly that those who commit suicide end up in Hell. Devil Vinyl told her to go fuck herself. With a stick.

Octavia silently laid her head on Vinyl’s chest, listening to her spinner’s heartbeat. She ran her hand across Vinyl’s breasts gently, feeling the woman’s nipples harden pleasantly. “Who would have thought our talk would evolve into us justifying our father’s reasons?” She chuckled, her lips now near Vinyl’s shirt-covered nipple.

Vinyl took the gesture with a delighted sigh, her own hand, hesitantly, grabbing Octavia’s ass. It can’t be wrong if it feels good, Devil Vinyl assured. Angel Vinyl began to draft a list of points proving why such a course of actions was wrong. Devil Vinyl waved the stick in the air suggestively. “I actually feel better after the talk.” Thank you, Tavi.

“Me too.” Thanks, Vinyl. Now, let’s have sssseeezzzz… Octavia exhaled contentedly, breathing in the scent of her spinner’s body, the salty, sweet sweat, the perfume she wore, the traces of shampoo in her hair, her own whisky scent that Vinyl’s pores ingested like a sponge… “It’s perfect,” she whispered, drifting into a happy, drunken sleep. “Perfect.”

“Not yet.” With a knowing smile, Vinyl freed herself from the cellist’s embrace, to which Octavia mumbled discontentedly. Yawning, the cellist blinked. What is she up to? Her mind supplied eagerly images of Vinyl returning in her latex suit. Reality told her that Vinyl most certainly did not own such an item of clothing. Fuck reality, then.

In a moment, Vinyl emerged, plopping eagerly onto the bed, the near-midday sun peeking curiously through the curtains. “Here.” She placed Mister Tummers between her and Octavia, embracing her love again, this time putting both her hands on Octavia’s ass.

Vinyl closed her eyes in content. “Now, it’s perfect.”

Next Chapter: 3. Swimming Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 27 Minutes