“That’s some damn good hot chocolate,” Octavia remarked, sipping the lukewarm drink from a big white mug that looked so pristine that it seemed it had been cleaned up with sparkling powder. “Very delicious, Bonnibel.”

Bon-Bon, a plump, busty woman with a wide, honest smile and weirdly-coloured hair (even Vinyl winced at the pink-and-blue of her hairdo), laughed from behind the counter. “You’re welcome, Octavia. And please, do call me Bon-Bon.”

Octavia laughed back. “But then I’d have to ask you to call me Tavi, and Vinyl would certainly object.” She looked at her girlfriend, who was drinking tea after tea. “Would you, love?”

Vinyl shrugged and smiled warmly at the playful cellist. “I certainly object to the way you call your cocoa ‘hot chocolate’.” She pointed at the mug. “I mean, Bon-Bon is kind enough to let this slip, but I am merciless when it comes down to sweet stuff. It’s cocoa,” she repeated pointedly, “not hot chocolate.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Lyra chimed in, walking to the counter and wrapping her arms behind Bon-Bon, “that Bonnie’s menu states that this is hot chocolate.” She kissed the confectioner’s neck tenderly.

Vinyl frowned theatrically. “Lyra, while I do like the fact that you invited us for breakfast to your fiancee’s cafe, and while I am enjoying the tea and the pastry, I simply cannot let it slide. Cocoa,” she said knowingly, “is the milky drink that you drink. Hot chocolate,” she motioned towards nothing in particular, still making the three other women follow her gesture, “is the food that you eat with a spoon, and then wash down with water.” Devil Vinyl looked at woman proudly. That’s how you show them! Angel Vinyl only sighed. Why are we arguing about terms again?

“When I lived in Italy,” Octavia said, making Vinyl flinch a little, for the only connection she could make was between Octavia and her father, “there was this tiny cafe I liked to visit. They said the difference between cocoa and hot chocolate is that cocoa is made with milk, and hot chocolate is made with hot water.” She sipped on her not-quite-chocolate-according-to-Vinyl and still enjoyed it immensely, regardless of the title that was given to it.

“If we ever visit Italy,” Vinyl said carefully, remembering just how much pain Italy carried with it when it came down to Octavia, “you’ll have to show me that cafe so that I can properly…” She paused, choosing her wording. “Educate them.” Devil Vinyl whipped out a riding crop. Angel Vinyl blushed and mumbled something, retreating to the divine bedroom.

“Vinyl is right,” Bon-Bon said suddenly, emerging from behind the counter and carrying a plate of muffins. “It’s just that all my recipes are old family recipes, and in my family’s recipes…” She put down the plate, with Octavia immediately taking one for herself and Vinyl pondering which one to taste first: the glazing was all different! “In my family’s recipes, this drink is called hot chocolate. So deal with it.” She showed her tongue to the grumbling Vinyl, whose eyes suddenly lingered on the confectioner’s breasts… more than a little.

Immediately, Bon-Bon noticed the look and decided to have some fun at Vinyl’s expense. “Why, Vinyl, “ she said, turning left and right so that her breasts jiggled a little behind her T-shirt. “I am absolutely honoured that you look at me that way…” Vinyl blushed thickly and wished she were somewhere else right now. Even a secluded island would do. In fact, a secluded island would be best. “But I am sure my wife would object.”

“Your wife?” Vinyl asked, blinking obliviously, embarrassment forgotten, her gaze shifting from Lyra to Bon-Bon and back to Lyra. “Don’t tell me…”

“We got married just a few hours ago,” Lyra announced proudly, grinning at her friend. “We basically called you two to celebrate.” With that, she wrapped her arms around Bon-Bon’s neck and engaged her in a brief make-out session that made Octavia ‘aww’ and Vinyl blush even more.

“I thought such an occasion would benefit from a grander celebration, no?” Octavia wondered, making Vinyl assume, for a second, that her girlfriend was secretly French. Imagine the possibilities! Devil Vinyl urged.

“Oh, we are having a real party tonight,” Lyra assured, popping out of Bon-Bon’s mouth. “We’re gathering all our friends at Bonnie’s place tonight and we were wondering if you’d like to come.” She approached the table and snatched a muffin. “I mean, we would totally understand if you can’t but…”

“Are you kidding?” Vinyl grinned a new grin, the kind of grin that told Octavia it wasn’t entirely new, but was rather rooted in some childish determination that was all gone, but was now being recovered. “We would love to come to your party!” She turned towards Octavia, who was finishing her muffin, much to the displeasure of Angel Octavia, who urged her to watch her figure. “Right, Tavi?”

“Absolutely!” Octavia agreed with a firm, honest nod. Devil Octavia snatched a tiny demonic muffin and retreated to her hellish room. Angel Octavia ran after her, waving her hands in the air: Watch your figure!

“There’s just one rub…” Lyra rubbed the back of her head, chuckling at how she mimicked her own words. “I mean, it’s not that big, it’s just…” She sighed, spilling the beans at last: “We don’t have music. We wanted to hire some musicians, but it’s not exactly a classical type of event, you know.”

“We wanted to book a DJ,” Bon-Bon chimed in, now wrapping her arms around Lyra’s neck, placing her head on Lyra’s shoulder from the behind. “But we couldn’t find a-”

“You.” Vinyl squinted her eyes, not feeling bad for interrupting in the slightest. “You wanted to hire a DJ? Well, why didn’t you hire DJ Pon-3?” she wondered, the corners of her lips down.

“Oh!” Bon-Bon waved her arm in the air like spaghetti. “She would never agree. We’ve heard her music, and it’s divine. But to assume that DJ Pon-3 herself would-”

“Bon-Bon,” Vinyl said very quietly. “I am DJ Pon-3.”

For a moment, the room froze in unspoken shock. Vinyl could hear the static in the air, the white noise reflecting off the walls of the confectioner’s establishment. “I am DJ Pon-3,” she repeated in a louder voice this time. “Don’t you ever check photos of performers when you google music?”

Lyra stared at her childhood friend for a long time, then, silently, took out her phone and tapped it. Then tapped it again. Then tapped in the name. And yet another tap. And then- “Holy fucking shit!” She looked up from the phone to look at Vinyl, then showed the phone to Bon-Bon, whose reaction, albeit wordless, was no less shocked than her wife’s. “Goddamit, Vinyl! Who would’ve- I mean! You were so-! And now-!”

Vinyl finally laughed, the corners of her mouth once more up, her white teeth shining in the light of the cafe. “The look on your face! And yes, to preface your question, I would love to DJ at your wedding party tonight.”

“Holy shit!” Lyra stared at the spinner in awe and fear. “You are DJ Pon-3. Yeah, well, I could have guessed, what with the name ‘Scratch’, but I’ve always thought this was one of your whims.” She turned to Octavia. “I mean, do you know her real name is Vincenza?”

“Well,” Octavia replied very calmly, “considering that I have sex on her with a daily basis, I suppose it’s only fair for me to know her real name.” She offered Vinyl a tiny smile - which did not prevent the spinner from blushing and losing her confidence. Octavia reached out for Vinyl’s neck and drew her in for a kiss. “Come ‘ere, Vincenza.”

“Well,” Bon-Bon said finally, coming to terms with what has happened, “then I guess you can stare at my boobs all you want.” She winked at the terribly flushed spinner.

Devil Octavia looked up from the shoulder. Can we have a foursome, please? However, Octavia’s phone ticked once, which signified a text message. The woman automatically reached in her pocket, taking out the device.

“I… I wasn’t-” Vinyl tried, but a tap on the shoulder from her girlfriend brought her out of the reverie. She glanced at the screen, where a high-quality photo of an official letter told her… that… “What.” She looked at Octavia, uncomprehensive. “What does that mean.” Her tone was plain, non-questioning in the slightest.

“That means…” Octavia said slowly, reading over the document again. “That means that Frederic has resigned from his position at F Records and has given you ownership. It has the public notary’s stamp. All it takes is you stepping into the label and signing the papers and…” Octavia half-smiled, half-winced. “And the label is yours. And only yours.”

Vinyl sat there in place for some time, then sighed and rubbed her eyelids. “They don’t pay me enough for this.” Devil Vinyl raised her finger: Actually… Angel Vinyl took out the stick and waved it in the air menacingly. Devil Vinyl shut up.

“Something you wanna tell us, Vinyl?” Lyra wondered, still standing by her wife. Octavia looked at the two, feeling both happiness and envy. People might say that marriage doesn’t matter, that it’s the relationship itself that is important, but she could see how homely, how right two married people were. How great it was that same-sex marriage was legal where they lived. How great it was that she and Vinyl… Could… Eventually.

But now, Octavia thought with determination, I need to talk to Freddie. Something tells me he needs a listening ear, now more than ever. “Vinyl.” She stood up, still snatching a muffin for the road. “I think I need to talk to Frederic and find out what it’s all about. Meanwhile you can tell y- our friends the situation.” Suddenly Octavia felt strangely warm, and slightly elated: finally, there were so-called ‘friends of the family’ - even if Vinyl and she weren’t technically a family. Yet.

Vinyl just looked at her strangely, then sighed and shrugged. “Sure. If it gives me back my label, why not. We’ll meet at your place or my place?”

“My place,” Octavia provided quickly, feeling in her bag for the present that was long overdue. Finally, she fished out the second set of keys. “Here, love. Another set of keys to my place.” She tried to keep her voice as dispassionate as possible. “Just in case you come earlier than I do.”

Vinyl opened her mouth to say something - object? Octavia thought in fear - but Lyra spoke out: “Hey, does that happen often? I mean, you coming earlier than your girlfriend?”

Vinyl blushed furiously and looked away sharply, while Octavia just laughed and gave her spinner a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, more than you can imagine.”

With that, she vanished into the hot, stuffy city morning.

***

“Thank you.”

Frederic looked at the cellist and smiled sadly, nodding his head as he passed on the papers. “It’s for the best,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “After all, it is her label, after all. I just hope she won’t let this whole label thing come between us.”

“It won’t come between us, for sure,” Octavia assured her friend, placing a hand on his hand, just like countless times before. “I… Frederic, you know that you are my very best friend. What I did… back then… when you sang the lullaby…” Octavia couldn’t find the words, and just choked on them.

“Shh.” Frederic took off her hand and took up his mug, drinking some tea. “It’s all right. Let’s forget that. That never happened.”

Octavia was almost ready to agree, when, suddenly, a realisation dawned upon her. “No,” she replied firmly. “We shouldn’t forget that. That was my old ways. Now, I realise that I have to remember my mistakes, and become better for them.” Octavia smiled at Frederic’s surprise. “Took me a stab to the shoulder to realise that.”

“You got stabbed?” Frederic looked over the woman with fright and caution. Of course. He glanced at her shoulder. How could I not notice that?! “Do you need any help? Harpo knows a doctor-”

“Thank you, Freddie.” Octavia shook her head, packing the papers in her bag carefully. “You giving Vinyl the label is help enough.” He’s so kind, she thought, watching over the pianist as he sipped his tea. Just like he’s always been to me. But there had always been something off about the man, as if something were haunting him constantly. Now, though… Now, his face was as bright as the sunny day that it was, and there was no sign of inner struggle.

“Well, at least now I know I’m staying in this flat for a while.” Frederic laughed, and Octavia expected the laugh to come out bitter, but it was in fact soft, chiming, jingly laughter of a man who had done something right.

Octavia shifted uneasily on her stool in the tiny kitchen. The few times she had been at Frederic’s, the flat had always seemed so small, the walls crushing you, the light barely entering the rooms. Of course, her flat wasn’t much better - but it was still better. But, I guess, it’s cheap so Freddie doesn’t have to overpay for it. “It’s so small,” she blurted out. “Just like I remember.” That’s what she said! Devil Octavia exclaimed victoriously. “Why don’t you play piano for money? I mean,” Octavia quickly supplied, “people would hire you. Parties, restaurants, session piano?”

Frederic rubbed his chin, as if considering this question for the first time in his life. “You know. I honestly have no idea why.” He put the mug away and stretched, showing the muscles Octavia had so loved once, the body she had devoured so many times. In the past. “In the past, I guess, I was too focused on the whole quartet thing, but now…” He chuckled sadly. “Now that the quartet is gone, who knows?, maybe I should start taking odd jobs.”

“Don’t say that!” Octavia protested heatedly. “We’re on hiatus. Once Vinyl and I have finished our project, I’ll go back to the quartet. I am sure Harpo and Bea will love to play as a quartet again.”

Frederic looked like he wanted to argue, but, as many countless times before, he had simply let Octavia remain entitled to her opinion. “We’ll see. For now, of course, your project takes priority. And hey!” Frederic grinned - a gesture that made Octavia somewhat happy. “I still expect my share from what she pays you.”

Octavia laughed and showed him her tongue. “We’ve agreed that she’ll pay me in sex. So sorry, you’re out of the league.”

“Oh!” Frederic slapped his forehead suddenly. “Speaking about payment, I haven’t paid you… or Harpo… or Bea… in a while. Money’s been tough, what’s with no performances, but we still have some surplus left from-”

“Freddie.” Octavia smiled, pressing her finger against Frederic’s lips. “Shush. I have a lot of savings, and so do Bea and Harpo. You’ll pay us when we’ve actually done something as a quintet.” She paused, then laughed. “And dammit, make a bank account already! I swear we’re the only musicians that get paid in cash, like drug dealers!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Frederic laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Tax inspectors don’t like cash transactions either.” He tapped the table thoughtfully. “All right. I’ve ordered a sushi delivery so unless you want to pay half the cost, I suggest you go grab a bite somewhere else.”

Octavia showed him her tongue and laughed merrily. Being here was good. Sanity was good. “Thank you, Frederic,” she said again. “For everything.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome.”

***

“I’m better.”

Neon listened to the words escaping his mouth and wondered if they were true. Something clicked in his head again, prompting him to amend his wording, “At least I think I’m better.” He sighed, looking at the black man opposite him. “Every time I think I’m better, though, my head grows heavy and I have those obsessive thoughts. But,” he lifted a finger, “if I don’t tell myself I’m better, I am fine.” Oh really? “Well, as long as I don’t remember that I have obsessions, they don’t bug me. When something triggers those thoughts, well, I’m having thoughts.”

The doctor finished scribbling on a large piece of paper and looked at Neon curiously. “Yes, this sounds like OCD.” He began scribbling again, much to Neon’s disgruntlement.

Thank you, Captain Obvious. ...Well, technically, Doctor Obvious. “But I’m better still, now that I’ve talked with Madeline,” he pressured. “I think I’m on the road to recovery.” He smiled sheepishly at such posh grandiloquence.

“Neon,” the doctor addressed the man correctly from the first try, “I know you are aching to leave this place. I understand you. But I have to make sure that you will pose no threat to yourself or to others. Which is why, I am afraid, I’ll have to extend your stay for about a week. Of course,” the shrink quickly supplied, “that’s up for discussion.”

Neon shook his head slowly. “No, doc. I think I belong here, for a while.” He sighed and looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the happy chicken. “Who’s the little girl who drew this?”

The black man’s face swirled into a grimace of pain and displeasure, but just a moment later he gathered his composure. “That’s… That’s not what is important right now.” He chewed on his bottom lip, then managed a smile. “You said you wanted to show me something?”

“Yes.” Neon took out the folded paper and passed it to the shrink. “I’ve been drawing recently, for whatever reason I can’t say. But this is the portrait of Vinyl, my sister. You’ve seen her.”

The doctor stared at the drawing breathlessly, marvelling at how simple pencil shading could make such a huge difference. “Just…” He caught his breath. “Just like she used to draw… So… beautiful…”

Neon stared ahead of him for a while, then took out the pack of cigarettes Frederic had smuggled in for him. He offered the doctor one, and the black man took it, all without taking his eyes off the drawing. “Hey, doc,” Neon said finally. “I know it’s all about me - and half a dozen other patients you have - but if you wanna talk, I’m here for you. I’m not a specialist but sometimes you gotta talk to a simple man to get simple compassion, instead of analysis.”

The doctor sighed, then took out the brandy, motioning for Neon to take the plastic glasses. “That’s not a story one tells while sober…” Neon fetched the glasses, and the doctor poured the drink. “I… I really shouldn’t. You are my patient. Talking about my problems would be unprofessional.”

“Doc,” Neon said, drinking his brandy. “I like to say that we gotta help each other out in this ‘life’ thing, whatever that is.”

“Hm.” The doctor laughed and sipped his drink as well. “Indirect Vonnegut quotes to start off a conversation. Not bad.” He scribbled something in his paper. “Will have to keep that in mind with my reading patients.”

“So…” Neon shrugged. “Let’s have a deal. You tell me about the girl, I rant about my father in return. How’s that?”

The doctor finished off the brandy. “Hm. Unprofessional. But highly intriguing.”

With that, he began to talk.

***

“So, how does it feel?”

Vinyl rolled her eyes at her girlfriend’s antics. Octavia had taken out a red leather overcoat and fished out a microphone, which she was now poking on Vinyl’s cheek. “Octavia Philarmonica, from Sexy Cellists and Spinners Daily. We are wondering how it feels to have your own label and to have such a sexy, beautiful girlfriend at that?”

Vinyl, however, was in no mood to jest. “Did he struggle?” She immediately winced at her wording, which prompted Devil Vinyl to think there was a murder involved. “I mean… He gave me the label, the papers you brought me are signed and valid, but he… How did you persuade him?”

“Vinyl,” Octavia said very seriously. “Frederic is a good guy. He may seem weird, but he’s the most honest, caring person I know. If you don’t trust me, trust Neon. They are good friends. “He gave the label because it was the right thing to do. And, while he may err, he will eventually do the right thing.” Octavia smiled knowingly. “And no, I’m not saying that just because he’s my ex.”

“I trust you, Tavi,” Vinyl quickly supplied. “It’s just that…” She sighed and decided to speak out. “I dislike him… well. I don’t know if I really dislike him. But. It’s not just about the label,” she confessed. “It’s because you used to date him. I feel… jealous? That I’m not your first one.”

For a few moments Octavia was silent, then she laughed lightly. “Vinyl, love, if you were my first lover, I wouldn’t have been able to… tend to you with such experience and passion. Concerning Frederic, our relationship is in the past.” She pondered. “Think of it as… treatment. He treated me from being afraid of men, and now we’re just good friends. And,” she added pointedly, “I’m sure you two will become good friends as well.”

Vinyl shrugged. “We’ll see. Well, I think I should get my records and the portable turntables,” she said, getting up. “I’ll perform the standard progressive trance routine.”

“Love, I’ve had an idea…” Octavia interrupted, taking off her overcoat. “Why don’t we try to perform the current version of our song? The tune we’re writing? It’s eclectic, but it has trance in it.”

Vinyl rubbed her chin, watching her girlfriend undress, only to undress more, in order to put on some formal clothes. “I don’t see why not. That will give us the initial feedback. With a project this big,” she said, “it always pays to hear some opinions. We’re too in love with the tune to see its flaws, so if the guests comment on it, we’ll see… Yeah, sure,” she concluded. “I’ll get the sheet music and the laptop with the files.”

“Great.” Octavia smiled. “Let me get my cello.”

***

Vinyl felt rather nervous.

She couldn’t exactly pinpoint why she was nervous and when she would be nervous. Those little spurs just came on their own. Sure, she hadn’t performed in front of a crowd for a while, and, frankly, even when she would perform on a daily basis, there would still be anxiety, no matter how carefully she hid ti. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t know anyone at the party apart from Lyra and Bon-Bon. And, of course, Octavia, who, having put the cello case in the corner of the improvised “stage” in the Large living room (which was bigger than Octavia’s flat and which Vinyl immediately christened the Ballroom), was now mingling with the dozens of guests, many of which were Bon-Bon-invited, and, thus, were mostly members of high society.

Vinyl quickly noticed that no one wanted to watch her toy with the crossfader, so she put on the playlist that would last a while and departed to the snack-stand. She had barely grabbed the salmon sandwich when she experienced a rough, powerful slap on the shoulder. With an eep, the spinner looked around, frightened; but what she saw immediately made her face change into a wide grin. “Spits?”

The tall, gruff, Irish redhead smiled back, showing her perfect teeth. “Vinyl! Vinyl Scratch, a DJ! Imagine that!” Immediately, the woman crushed Vinyl in her strong embrace, barely leaving enough space for the spinner to breathe. “So you totally followed your dreams!”

“Spitfire!” Vinyl exclaimed happily, hugging the woman as hard as she could. Which was… not very hard. Casting a look at the parade military uniform, Vinyl offered, “Well, as I can see, you’ve followed your dreams too. When you left for the Academy, you wanted to become a Lieutenant, correct?”

Spitfire lazily flexed her muscles, leaving Devil Vinyl in lusty awe. “Now I’m a Captain. Glad to see you here, after all these years.” She released Vinyl from her embrace, much to the gratitude of the choked-out spinner. “You and Lyra been in touch? God knows we haven’t.”

“Not really.” Vinyl yawned and glanced at her turntables. “We met a few days ago…” In interesting circumstances. “And she invited me and my girlfriend Octavia to the party. I’m the DJ, as you can see.” Vinyl chuckled.

“Damn,” Spitfire swore under her breath. “All of my friends are lesbians. With things going this way, it’s a matter of time before I am seduced by some girl.” The military woman laughed light-heartedly, while Devil Vinyl just stared at her and mouthed, I can arrange that.

“Having fun, love?” Octavia approached Vinyl from behind and wrapped her arms around the spinner, kissing her neck passionately. Vinyl blushed at such a sign of affection before so many people.

“Captain Spitfire, Marine Corps,” the redhead introduced herself, extending her hand for a shake. Immediately, Octavia felt just how powerful a marine’s handshake can be. “So you are Vinyl’s girlfriend, huh? Happy to see my childhood friend found her love.”

“What about you?” Vinyl asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Have you found your prince?”

Spitfire laughed, taking a sandwich for herself. “Seems all the princes are taken.” She winced at her own wording. “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait for a duke.”

“Sooo…” Vinyl looked around, finding no one but Octavia. “You’re a virgin?” she wondered curiously, making Spitfire choke on her sandwich. “Don’t worry, I was a virgin before Tavi came and… um.” Devil Vinyl’s nose perked up. “Made me…” Yes! Make that lousy pun! “Come.” Aww yeah!

“Love, while I am sure it is interesting to discuss our sexual life with your friend, pretty much everyone has toasted the newlyweds already.” Octavia winked twice at her girlfriend and nudged her, pointing at the corner with the turntables. “So… Time for our ‘toast’.”

The two women marched towards the DJ set unnoticed, with Octavia grabbing a stool on her way to the little improvised stage. She was calm and collected, as always before a performance. In fact, it was just another chamber performance. Not as a quartet, but as a duet. Sure, it wasn’t a chamber hall, but rather a spacious, roomy flat; but, if she closed her eyes, the smells of people were the same. The odour of light sweat mixed with copious amounts of perfume. The scent of alcohol breath when people talked to one another. Just another performance.

“Um, uh, hello!” Vinyl took up the microphone and addressed the audience. It was different. So different. Usually, at a party, she would be able to let go eventually, because of how the sounds mixed: the roar of the crowd, the loud music, the yells and moans and shrieks and shouts, all directed at her like a sound cannon blasting away emotion. Here, though, there was silence. And silence was making Vinyl uncomfortable. Octavia, sensing this, moved closer to the spinner and placed her hand on her shoulder. “My girlfriend Octavia and I, we want to present something special for Lyra and her wife.” She glanced at Octavia, who blinked and nodded in approval. “It is an unfinished suite, written for a DJ and a cellist to perform.”

Once the silence had settled, Vinyl turned on the programme and pressed space. A soft, luminous beat erupted from the speakers, like a tiny country river lazily flowing around in spring. Octavia closed her eyes and took up the bow. And one, and two- She pressed the bow against the strings, pushing out sharp, elongated notes.

The beat grew sturdier, more concrete, less sublime. The little country river was gaining power, lushing its waters away towards the grand waterfall. The cello followed swiftly, with the notes quickening, piercing the ears like razor blades, the little rocks in the river flowing along with it, swept away by the current.

The drums quickened, the bass grew deeper: it was sizzling, rasping, the waterfall was in full view, and the cello knew it, it quickened again, running forth with sixteenth notes, and, just as the music ceased, Octavia lingered on one note-

And the bass dropped, the mind shattered, the river fell with the waterfall, and the cello notes fell with it, ridiculous, broken-up rhythm of their lives, yes, because this was the music of their lives, not just their relationship, the river carried a little Neon, just like the cello carried a little Frederic, and both carried each other, and then several long, thoughtful notes-

And then silence.

Then, a thunderous applause. The high society were losing their shit, clapping like the filthy commoners they usually disliked, or pretended to dislike; Spitfire was standing there, her mouth open, breathless. Lyra and Bon-Bon, wrapped in one another’s embrace, eyed the little stage in shock. Another round of applause followed swift. Somebody yelled “Bravo!”

Vinyl and Octavia descended, the heroes of the day, to the applause and people offering them champange and Lyra and Bon-Bon saying something but they couldn’t hear it well anyway and the music was still in their ears, it was there in their hearts as they sat next to each other in the corner and relaxed, finally, Octavia’s head on Vinyl’s shoulder, Vinyl kissing the lovely head.

“I said,” Lyra’s voice reached their ears, “that it was the most amazing performance I’ve ever witnessed.” Bon-Bon agreed with a silent nod. “Are you going to record this?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Vinyl replied, still brushing the top of Octavia’s head with her nose. “Once we get all the session instruments - I want a real drummer, for one, not the samples.”

“Oh yes, a drummer. A piano would be nice there, don’t you think?” Lyra suggested, sitting next to the couple. “In the first part, when it’s all slow and flowy. And a piano plus cello intro would be nice too, and then the beat comes in and conquers the music. Kinda like…”

“Kinda like our life,” Vinyl agreed in a whisper. There was a Cello and a Piano, and then the Cello met the Bass, and the Piano faded voluntarily, giving them their life, happy for it. “But where would we get-” Oh. Of course.

Octavia laughed and raised her head. “I think I have an idea.”

***

Frederic took a deep breath, patting his belly, which was now full of Japanese food. Delicious and cheap Japanese food. He looked at the mug still full of hot tea. The warm summer evening definitely didn’t prompt tea-drinking in such a manner. He rose to fill the glass with water.

Back then, in Poland, tap water was undrinkable… Here, though…  A new land, a new life. He fell silent for a moment, listening to the silence that filled the room. Complete, empty silence. A beautiful, uninterrupted sound of silence. Finally. After so long.

What now? Well, now he had to rebuild the quartet, prove to Vinyl he was worth trusting, see to it that Neon got well, and… And who knew what else life would bring? Good or ill?

At least the stern, chiding voice in his head was gone, so it didn’t matter anymore.

Next Chapter: 9. On the Way Home Estimated time remaining: 29 Minutes