Vinyl took a deep breath, walking down the hastingly-paved street, the asphalt cracked and crispy with tiny bits of long-aged cement. Hop, skip, and jump! Vinyl jumped over one of the cracks dramatically, smiling to herself, not giving a damn about the passers-by observing with mild interest a grown-up woman, in her middle twenties, no less, acting like an utter child. Let them think what they wanna think.

After all, Vinyl thought as she took a turn around the corner, past the sad, grime-rotten steel of the lamppost, she had never been prone to public opinion. And that's actually good in this business. Past the coffee shops she went, with the clucking of cups and the murmurs of talks and the swishing of coffee in cartonboard cups; past the banks with the clinking of coins and the hissing of banknotes and the sopranos of the demanders; past the shoe shops with the clicking of soles against the floor, her own trainers sprinting as she stepped on the pavement; past the music stores, ill progressive house blaring from the speakers; down the street she went, humming to herself, her fingers clicking, a melody surfacing within her mind.

I walk alone, I walk alone~ Vinyl sang mentally as she passed dry, shallow people all about her - suit-dressed and dress-dressed, and jeans-dressed, and phone-attached, and ring-bearing, and music-listening, and mouth-talking - cursing herself for leaving her earbuds at home. Maybe I should've taken my headphones, better. The vocals were very well present in her mind, floating about in their no-autotune glory, but the music was absent, as it always was when the DJ tried to pick up a song from memory and play it in her head. Yet, the woman concentrated, and the melody surfaced in her mind: not rock, not in the in the slightest; it was a new melody, covering the chord progression roughly, autotuning the voice in her mind, making it more... female?

The drums beat softly, reverberated, and the bass was deep and smooth, and the synths blared away in her mind as Vinyl finally came to a stop before a tall skyscraper that was zooming out to the sky, looming above the area, watching over it sternly and fatherly. The DJ smiled and opened the door, walking into the lobby, shaped like a short hall, with a red carpet already stained by thousands of shoes stepping over it. Trying to pass the receptionist's desk as quickly and quietly as possible, Vinyl tiptoed to the left, towards the lifts.

"Good morning, Miss Staccato!" a sickly sourly-sweet female voice called out from the receptionist's desk.

Damn. Vinyl froze, putting on her best 'genuinely artificial' smile as she turned slowly towards the desk in its paper-filled, computer-adorned, coffee-stained mahogany glory. "Good morning, Miss Harshwhinny," she greeted the blonde woman. "No need to use my surname, please." Because you're, like, twenty years older than me.

"Nonsense, Miss Staccato." The receptionist hmphed sternly. Vinyl sighed. Yes, everything I say is nonsense to you, you old- "Would you mind handing this letter to your agent?" Vinyl took the offered envelope, taking a step towards the weighty woman, nodding. "He ran off without a word, just swished by me," the woman grumbled disapprovingly.

Vinyl nodded again, backing down to the lifts. That's because you were napping as always. One of the lifts opened, releasing a bunch of lawyers from Roganberd & Tumms that took up four whole floors, crowning the skyscraper with a huge R&T sign. The DJ immediately slid past the three-piece-suited and two-button-jacketed men and black-bloused women, chiming into the spacious lift. Pressing the button, Vinyl finally let out a breath she'd been holding and leant at one of the walls, closing her eyes.

In some half a minute, the doors opened with a ding, letting the woman outside. Vinyl stepped out, walking past the familiar glass doors with the proud Staccato Records sign above them. We should get our own receptionist, Vinyl thought, walking past offices and equally-dull white-doored soundproof recording rooms, toying with the envelope in her hands. After a minute internal debate that had consisted, surprisingly, of a tiny angel Vinyl and a tiny devil Vinyl arguing on her shoulders, with the devil Vinyl persuading her angelic counterpart at last, Vinyl tore the envelope open, skimming through the text. "Neon, Octavia is very happy to be working with DJ-Pon3. Thanks, buddy. Next drink's on me. Freddie." Vinyl humphed. Who the hell is this Freddie and what does he have to do with my new session cellist?

Determined, the DJ marched without knocking into Neon's office, where the man was napping at his littered desk, his face covered serenely by a broadsheet newspaper, snoring loudly. Immediately, Neon's secretary, a two-metre hunk of a man who would make a better bouncer than secretary, burst into the office, panting. "Sir! Your sister wanted to see you!"

Neon woke up with a start, falling down with his chair, the newspaper floating sadly on the table. "Krebs! Out!" he yelled at the secretary sternly; tumbling down, evidently, had not brightened his mood. Equally sternly, he looked at Vinyl, upon sitting up on the floor and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. "Morning, sis. What's the matter?"

Vinyl chuckled at her brother's antics and handed him the letter. "A letter for you, Nini. From Someone Freddie. Know him?"

Neon staggered up, taking the letter swiftly. "Never heard of him."

Vinyl eyed her agent sternly. "Neon. He seems to know you pretty well. You and Octavia." What are you hiding, Nini?

Neon rubbed his eyes again. "Ah, that Freddie!" he exclaimed with a smile. "Sorry, sleepy brainses refusing to roll. He's the guy who suggested Octavia as your session cellist. A fine fella." Neon picked up the chair, placing himself in it one more time, his legs once again crossed on the table.

Vinyl frowned. "Nini, are you two planning something behind my back?" she demanded sternly as she approached the man slowly.

Neon looked at her sister in surprise, picking up his shades from the floor and brushing specks of dust off them. "Vinyl! Whatever are you talking about? He recommended Octavia, I had a talk with her, now she's gonna record your song. That's it. Freddie is my friend back from college. Besides," he smirked, "if we were really plotting something, we'd be using codes and text messages, not work-sent letters."

Vinyl sighed, rubbing her temples. "Sorry, Nini, I'm just on edge a little. I'm really nervous about this Octavia and I thought that maybe you two decided to play matchmakers behind my back." And probably Octavia's, Vinyl added mentally, knowing her brother like the back of her hand.

"Rubbish." Neon got up lazily, dragging his arm across the DJ's shoulder. "Don't worry, sis. She'll come, you'll record stuff, she'll go home. A few sessions, and that's it." The dark-haired man smiled assuringly. "You're always worrying, Vinyl. Every time you get a new session musician."

"Every time I get a new female session musician," Vinyl corrected him with a sour expression. "It's just that..." It's just that I need a girlfriend. But I'm too damn shy. "It's just that I keep worrying that it might evolve into something..."

Neon groaned a little, releasing his grip. "Fine. Octavia comes tonight, sees how beautiful you are and you have hot kinky sex." Vinyl flushed fiercely. "Is that what you think will happen?" Neon smirked, watching his sister eep something indistinguishable. "Vinyl, romance doesn't work like this. It's not like in your romance novels from your 'secret' bookshelf behind the cupboard."

Vinyl felt slipping away from the world as her face flushed with red. I... I thought I'd hid it well... "I... Neon, stop embarrassing me!" she demanded sternly. "Just a recording session. Okay. I can do that. No... that kind of stuff." Vinyl averted her eyes. Because I'm scared of having sex. Because I wanna find a book-ish higher love. Congratulations, Vinyl, you're going to be a virgin forever.

"Great." Neon smiled with a wink and put on his shades. "On a side note, that girl was amazing!"

Vinyl chuckled. "On to the next one, tiger?"

Neon kept his smile, although it became... warmer? It was the kind of smile he only gifted his sister with. "No. Madeline is... different. We didn't even have sex. She's so... So. You know." Neon looked away. "We're having a second date today. I'm sorry I can't drop by tonight."

Vinyl laughed, with an exaggerated gasp, covering her mouth with a hand. "My God, Nini, are you ill? A second date? And you know the girl's name?" The DJ came up to her agent and placed a finger against his forehead. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Har har har." Neon kissed Vinyl's finger, brushing it off subsequently. "What are you doing here, by the way?" he wondered, placing himself in the chair yet again. "Shouldn't you be home, preparing the equipment?" Neon gestured with his hand in the air, folding the paper with the other.

Vinyl smiled a little sad smile, brushing the carpet with her shoe. "I want to drop by Dad's office. You know... Just to... You know."

Neon stared at his sister, his expression unreadable behind his shades. "Vinyl, you... That's your office now," he said sadly. "You know that. You can show here any time." His tone seemed to be on the verge of breaking.

Vinyl shook her head firmly, turning towards the door. "No," she dropped behind her shoulder. "It'll always be his office." With that, she left the office, feeling Neon's stare on her back. Now, he would order a tea and sit there for hours, doing absolutely nothing, Vinyl thought. As always.

A few steps from Neon's office, a large wooden door torn by age proclaimed "Immanuel Staccato" proudly in golden letters. Vinyl knocked at the door diligently and waited for a few seconds before gripping the handle and walking in. The empty office met her with a pristinely-washed desk, countless books on the shelves, and a few friendly velvety armchairs positioned around a small table, on which a single photograph rested. Vinyl made her way to the table, taking the photo with a smile. A stern old man in a tuxedo looked at her intently from the photograph, his lips curled up in a tiny smile, his face mostly serious, but his cheekbones trembling with laughter and his beautiful brown eyes dancing with fires of mockery.

"Hi, dad." Vinyl sat in one of the armchairs, leaning back as she kissed the man in the photo on the forehead. "How's it going?" For a few seconds, she was silent. "I'm fine. I'm having a new session musician drop by tonight. A cellist." Tears made their way to the DJ's eyes. She gulped them down. "Like you. Y-you played the cello so well. Nobody will ever be like you. She... I... I think-"

Vinyl felt a lump at her throat, her thoughts tangling, rolling in a mess. She straightened herself. "I really want to find a girlfriend, dad. A girl that I'd really love. Every time there's a session musician working with me, I... I picture her as my girl. I hope we can fall in love, like... And I'm scared... And-" Vinyl chuckled, tears bubbling in her throat, itching it from the inside, tickling painfully. "You always told me to find a nice boy, but I can't even seem to find a nice girl. And this cellist... What do you think, dad?"

For a whole minute, the spacious office was silent, save for Vinyl's laboured breathing. The clock on the wall had long gone dead, and no one had changed the batteries. Finally, Vinyl placed the photo on the table. "I get it, dad. I'll just focus on the music, and not potential relationships. Music first." The DJ got up. "Thank you, dad."

With that, she walked out of the office.

Octavia stood before the door, shifting from foot to foot in her tailcoat, her bow tie pressing into her throat through the collar, strangling her, her trousers itchy, her shoes squeezing her feet. Five past seven. Not early, just a little late. As she had to be. The haunting image of a two-metre vampire DJ-Pon3 floated before the cellist's eyes, making her gulp. No use waiting any longer.

Octavia pressed her finger against the doorbell. In a moment, the door opened, revealing a young woman in a blue T-shirt and white pants, slippers on her bare feet. "Hi!" the woman waved at her. "Come on in!"

Octavia stepped into the small studio flat that looked if not clean, then at least decent. The couch was clean, and so were the chairs, and there was a set of turntables in the corner, and a bookcase propped against the wall, and a computer in the corner, to which the turntables were linked. Octavia placed her cello case against the wall, watching the hostess close the door. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the woman's round, barely-held by the bra, beautiful breasts. I want boobs like these, Octavia thought wistfully. Gimme these boobs, please.

"You must be Octavia," the blue-haired woman spoke with a smile. "I'm DJ-Pon3, but you can call me Vinyl." She offered her hand. Octavia shook it, her eyes finally meeting Vinyl's, diverted from the DJ's envy-inducing breasts. The reddish magenta of Vinyl's eyes matched her earrings perfectly, Octavia observed, letting go of the woman's hand. Vinyl had turned out to be not that high, not scary at all, and definitely not a vampire. If anything, she's rather... cute? Octavia shook her head a little. Come on, Octavia. Sex isn't everything. ...Mmm, sex.

"I wanted to ask you to come straightaway, but I thought you'd be tired after the talk with Neon, so here we are," Vinyl said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head.

Octavia nodded. "Yes, your agent was... very... vigorous," she found the word eventually. And boy, did he wear me out.

Vinyl chuckled. "Yeah, that's why I love him," she said simply. Octavia gasped involuntarily. "No, it's not like that!" Vinyl laughed with a soft blush. "He's my brother. I... I have a preference for women. Hope that won't put a strain between us."

"Not at all." Octavia smiled softly, remembering what Neon had said about Vinyl and honesty. "I'm bisexual."

Vinyl flushed crimson and coughed, averting her eyes. Octavia felt awkwardness creeping over the room as the two women just stood opposite each other. You're not very sociable, are you, Vinyl? The flat smelt of friendly perfume and hidden traces of mold, with scents of food reaching Octavia's nose from the kitchen, bread, and cheese, and butter; and other smells, of which Octavia did not want to think right now, out of sheer embarrassment. Her sensitive nose could be a burden sometimes. "So... Would you like me to take a look at the music?"

"Oh! Of course!" Vinyl chuckled, her hands limping at both sides of her body as she turned round, as if in seach of something. "That's why I've invited you to my humble studio!" Vinyl's face brightened suddenly. "Get it? 'Cause it's a studio flat and I record music here..."

"Yes." Octavia offered a sour smile. That was dreadful, Vinyl. Simply dreadful. A very... flat pun. Damn. "Very amusing." Vinyl did not seem to hear her, already having run off to the computer, sending a file to print. Very good at preparations, too, Octavia observed as she looked about the room, searching for a place to sit. "May I take a seat on the chair, please?" she enquired politely, placing her case on the floor and taking her slender cello out of it, rubbing the fingerprint-stained wood lovingly, plucking at the strings experimentally, a dull pizzicato sound escaping the finely-crafted instrument. Taking the cello, Octavia sat on the chair, her back straight, her fingers running up and down the neck of her instrument.

Smiling, Vinyl came up to the woman and placed freshly-printed sheet music before the cellist on the small table that seemed to have been cleared specifically for the occasion. "Here you go, Octavia. That's the cello part."

Octavia took a quick look at the sole sheet of paper, lifting her brow quizzically. Only one page? The music seemed terribly easy. A few passage, very repetitive, very in-key, no deviations. Then again, it's EDM. So, that's all right. With a draw of her bow, Octavia began to play, keeping her eyes on the notes, her bow gliding across the strings easily, prim, stately notes escaping the instrument's body. Some forty seconds later, Octavia stopped, having finished the short passage. "Something like this?" she asked with a smile, turning to face Vinyl. We can record it today, and I'll collect my money and buy... an enormously huge ice-cream. For one.

However, Vinyl met her with a sour wince. "Um..." The DJ blushed a little, averting her eyes. "That was nice and all, but maybe... you could play a little more... lively?" she suggested, smiling finally.

Octavia nodded with a polite smile. She must mean the tempo. Taking her bow once again, she repeated the tune, a little faster this time. And yet, upon looking at the DJ, the cellist saw her new employer was disappointed. "What am I doing wrong?" Octavia enquired, a little down on the inside. I'm doing everything right...

"You..." Vinyl sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're just playing the notes I wrote." The DJ looked at the cellist with her reddish eyes.

"So?" Octavia blinked, taking another glance at the sheet music. It just lay there on the table in its sheer simplicity. She placed her bow next to the paper. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

Vinyl shook her head. "Not quite. I'd rather you played... what's not there, not what is there."

Now it was the cellist's turn to frown. "What do you mean?" That doesn't even make sense! Octavia felt irritation welling inside her, and only the thought of a huge ice-cream kept her steady.

"Do you listen to jazz?" Vinyl asked suddenly. Octavia nodded slowly. "Great! Do you have a vinyl player at home?"

"I have a gramophone," Octavia called out, still puzzled as to where the conversation was heading.

"Great!" Vinyl grinned, getting up, a little more confidence in her step as she approached a stack of vinyl records and took three. "Here you go!" She handed the records to the cellist, who took them in surprise. "I'd like you to listen to these at home. This is Thelonious Monk, the high bishop of bebop himself. That's what I had in mind when I was writing that."

"That..." Octavia sighed. "That's awfully nice, but... That's jazz, and what you wrote is... No offence, but it's very plain."

"That's the point!" Vinyl exclaimed, not disturbed in the slightest. "I wrote only the outline. It's your job to fill it with all the tasty stuff!" Octavia looked at the spinner in disbelief. "Look." Vinyl sighed. "There's a reason why I pay my session musicians so much." Octavia gulped, remembering a villa and a pool and a whole lorry of ice-cream. "The cello part is very important to the whole song. I want you to work on it. I want you to make it perfect." Again, Vinyl smiled, with Octavia noting that her smile, indeed, was extraordinarily cute, what with those lips curling up and those cheeks tinting a faint pink. "So... Do you think you can do it?"

Octavia smiled, genuinely this time. Apparently, she's not a hoax. She's a musician. "I'll listen to the records straightaway and start working on the music tomorrow." Or the day after tomorrow... Or on Wednesday...

"Great!" Vinyl exclaimed, shaking Octavia's hand once more. "I'll see you tomorrow, at seven, to see what you'll have done by then."

Octavia felt her eye twitch. Tomorrow?.. But... The cellist's laziness screamed in agony. Big money, Octavia, the rational part of the woman's brain reminded her. You'll have to put some efficient work into it. "Okay," the cellist agreed, getting up. "I don't know if that'll be much..." She grabbed the sheet music and the records, putting them gently into the outward compartment of her case. "But I'll try to do my best by tomorrow." Octavia smiled again. "See you tomorrow?"

"You..." Vinyl blushed slightly. "You don't want tea or something?" she offered hopefully.

"I'd rather get down to working on the music as quickly as I can," Octavia replied, not dropping her smile as she clasped the case. And then getting shitloads of money for it. "I think we can have tea after we've recorded the part."

"Sure..." Vinyl offered the cellist a smile of her own and followed the raven-haired woman to the door. "See you tomorrow, Octavia."

Octavia nodded and disappeared behind the door. Vinyl slammed it shut, walking towards the couch with a heavy sigh. Jesus, she is so hot. The DJ wanted to cry in despair. And she's obviously not interested. Vinyl closed her eyes, leaning back, emotionally spent and exhausted from the little exchange. She's probably more into men than women. And definitely not into me. She didn't even stay for tea. ...And she's so beautiful. Vinyl's hand found its way into her pants skilfully. I want her so much... Those lavender eyes... Vinyl's fingers entered her inner folds that were getting wet already. Those cheeks... Those pretty breasts, flat and alluring... One finger. That slender body, and that round ass... Two fingers. And that beautiful hair... Three fingers. Vinyl moaned at the pleasure.

"Sorry, Vinyl, I- EEP!"

Vinyl's eyes shot wide open, her hand still in her pants as she looked, panicking, at the open door, where Octavia stood, staring at the masturbating DJ with a soft blush. Vinyl felt fear, terrible fear and humiliation command her whole. She saw me! She saw-! She saw me! "Get out!" Vinyl yelled, tossing a pillow at the cellist.

"I... I just wanted to take my bow and-" Octavia stammered, not moving a step.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Vinyl grabbed the bow from the table, launching it at the cellist. "Get! Out!"

Octavia grabbed the bow swiftly and ran out of the flat, shutting the door behind her. Vinyl sprinted towards the door, locking it and leaning against it with a sigh. So... humiliating. Vinyl felt tears in her throat. She saw me and now she'll think I'm a pervert. The DJ sniffed, sitting on the floor next to the door. She'll never love me. Off came the slippers, the carpet brushing softly against her bare feet. Nobody will ever love me, a stupid virgin sex-deprived girl! Vinyl sniffed again. Not... Not even Dad really loved me!

Finally, the dam broke, and Vinyl cried on the floor of her studio flat, leaning against the locked door, with a blue moon peeking curiously through the open window. Next Chapter: 4. The Preparations Estimated time remaining: 6 Hours, 31 Minutes