Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!

by AcreuBall

First published 26th of July, 2012

Octavia sees Scratch after having been gone for 3 years. Tavy plays jazz now.

Vinyl Scratch hadn't been expecting to see Octavia again. They'd had a fight—the kind of fight that an apology won't quite fix—and Tavy had left to go to school in Canterlot without another word spoken between them.

Now, three years later, Octavia is back. But this isn't the aloof, introverted mare Vinyl had been best friends with, way back then—Tavy is different now. She's straightforward and down-to-earth, has given up cello to play the upright bass... and she smokes now?

And what's with all this talk of jazz?

A music fic about two ponies and jazz.

(Rated T for Teen: suggestive steamy romance scenes)
Cover art by me. Used with permission or something.

Intro

The grey mare glanced from side to side as she approached the town square. Her well-sculpted mane, which sat in an elegant poof atop her head while the crest flowed down the back of her neck, suited her classy and stylish bow tie, the magenta colour of which, in turn, complemented that of her light purple eyes. What didn't quite fit, however, was the mare's current disposition. In fact, anypony who happened to look at her would probably go so far as to say it contrasted rather sharply.

Octavia parted her clenched jaw only long enough to expel a tense huff—the closest approximation to a sigh of relief that she was currently capable of—as she finally neared her destination. It did little to ease her agitation.

Octavia tried to recall exactly when this had seemed like a good idea.

It’s true she hadn't been to Ponyville for several years. Even so, when she heard from a passing pony that there was a town meeting that everypony was likely to attend, she didn't think she had forgotten the town to the point where she needed to ask for directions to the town square. That had almost turned out to be a mistake. After a few wrong turns, Octavia did manage to come out where she had wanted to, though a bit later than she had hoped. By the looks of it, the Princesses were getting set to change shifts, and the light was fading fast.

She scanned the crowd, trying to pick out one specific pony. Octavia thought she had lucked out, with this town meeting that just happened to be tonight. She had had no idea where she was going to begin her search, and this would have given her an excellent opportunity to check nearly the entire population of Ponyville at once. That was, however, before she saw the crowd of ponies moving towards the square. Though the town of Ponyville wasn't especially large by any standard, seeing all the residents out and in one place made it clear that it was large enough.

There was no way she was going to find Vinyl Scratch in this mess, despite even that pony's very distinct appearance. It would take an act of Celestia to pull this off—an act other than lowering the sun, that was. She glanced irritably up at the darkening sky.

Octavia pulled out a cigarette and struck a match; it was a bad habit, but one she could blame her new band mates for. She took a deep drag and tossed away the extinguished match.

What had she been thinking, suddenly looking for Vinyl like this? She had no idea what she would say, even if Octavia could somehow locate her. And merely locating her was turning out to be an unforeseen problem—though it should have been an obvious one. Vinyl wouldn’t still be living in the dorms, and she had no idea what that unicorn even did these days, besides DJ. Octavia supposed she could try and catch her at one of Vinyl’s gigs . . . but an image popped into her head of herself battling through fans and admirers to get Vinyl’s attention like some crazed groupie. Pass.

She blew smoke into the air.

Of course, she wasn't sure if that pony even wanted to see her. By all rights, Vinyl Scratch should completely hate her. Octavia had said more than a few things she would now rather not recall, and they had broken off all contact.

It was even possible that Vinyl had more or less forgotten about her, by now. Octavia tensed up even more than she already was. She hadn’t considered that before.

She flicked her cigarette, dislodging the ashes at its tip, then returned it to her mouth.

Now that she thought about it, it was a definite possibility that that white unicorn had put Octavia out of her mind completely. It had been more than three years since they had last seen each other. Octavia realized it was nothing short of arrogant to think that she would have any influence, whatsoever, on Vinyl's life now.

Even though Vinyl Scratch still occupied a fair bit of Octavia's mind.

Octavia was beginning to realize just how crazy the situation really was, and how crazy she was for thinking that this had even the slightest chance of accomplishing anything. There was no way Vinyl still cared about her in the slightest. Even if she did happen to miraculously find Vinyl, and then—even more miraculously still—get an opportunity to talk with her, it'd just bring up painful memories of their lost friendship and probably change nothing.

Octavia began to turn and leave, taking a final, resigned draw on her cigarette before reaching up to take it away. This was pointless; she shouldn't have come.

Her hoof was halfway to her cigarette when she caught a flicker of light out of the corner of her eye. Octavia looked over to see the last few rays of the setting sun catching on somepony’s glasses. Very large, purple, and rather ridiculous glasses. Along with an unmistakable shock of an electric blue tail and mane attached to this white unicorn, there was no room doubt. It was her.

An unexpected well of emotions sprung up inside Octavia, almost overcoming her. All of Octavia's previous thoughts disappeared from her mind as the cigarette fell from her lips, forgotten and inconsequential.

But the crowd had closed up; that pony was out of sight.

“Vinyl!” Octavia shouted. Several other ponies turned to look, fairly sure their names were not Vinyl, but checking so as to be absolutely sure.

“Vinyl!” Octavia shouted again, but to no effect. “By Celestia, I'd forgotten she's nearly deaf—she's always got that music up way too high . . .” Octavia babbled to herself like a crazy-pony as she bolted up to the crowd. But she couldn't really get in, and had lost track of where Vinyl had gone.

Octavia now felt a slight panic shoot through her. She was suddenly so close—like hay she could let this chance slip away now. All she could think about at this instant was finding Vinyl. She began shouting with reckless abandon, leaping into the air to get a look over top of the crowd.
“Hey! Vinyl Scratch! Look over here you deaf clopping pony!”

A ways away, Vinyl Scratch could hear some kind of commotion going on. It was coming from a general behind-and-to-the-right sort of direction, so she was going to just keep on walking. It seemed whatever-it-was had the potential to be a bother, and this unicorn so didn't want to bother. Other ponies, however, began to turn and look, a few of them then turning to look at her, compelling Scratch to stop and see just what everypony found so clopping interesting.

Upon turning around, she noticed a head appearing for an instant above the crowd, and then descending, only to reappear once again—presumably in an effort to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that this bizarre bouncing pony was looking for. The dark poof of a mane that crested the top of this pony's head looked thoroughly ridiculous as it rose into the air, hung there for an instant, and then fell back down in time with the earth pony's unsuccessful attempts at flight. The fact that this pony was not pink made its bounding seem particularly odd, and Vinyl squinted through her shades to try and make out who exactly this strange pony could be.

Now, Vinyl's sunglasses were many things: “awesome” generally being the first to come to mind; “purple” and “large” also fell onto the list; and some ponies would even throw “ridiculous” in there—but Vinyl didn’t usually like talking to these kinds of ponies. What was not on the list, however, was “practical in low-light situations” (in fact “practical” was not a word that typically came up at all when describing Vinyl’s glasses). As the bounding pony arched ever closer, though, Vinyl did notice that it seemed to be wearing a bow tie.

“A bow tie?” thought Vinyl, “Better be wearing that ironically . . . bow ties are so not cool.”
But this caused her to pause, and Vinyl suddenly felt rather pensive.

Bow ties . . .

Vinyl's thoughts began to trail away from coherency as she slipped into old memories—memories she usually tried to avoid. They tended to instill in her a proper wad of mismatched emotions, all of which were pointless at this point. That ship had sailed: the pony they referred to hated her, and she doubted she would ever see her again. Also, thinking about this kind of stuff always messed with Vinyl's cool, and that was never okay.

But at that moment Vinyl Scratch caught a few of the words that the bounding pony was shouting (she assumed it was the bounding pony shouting them, as it had since stopped bounding and was now out of sight), and Vinyl's cool was fully and completely messed.

“Hey! Vinyl Scratch! . . . over here . . . deaf as a stump from all your music . . . your Luna-forsaken glasses . . . see a bucking thing (. . . still wearing them . . . sunglasses at night) . . . Hey Vinyl! . . . oh. Vinyl.”

The nearly hysteric grey mare finally quieted down as she emerged through a gap that had opened up in the crowd.

"Tavy!” Vinyl said instantly. She was shot through with a tingling that began in the pit of her stomach and aggressed outward until it reached from her ears to her hooves. Her mind reeled. She stood and blinked as her mouth hung open.

She had not expected to see Octavia.

Her brain chugged for a moment, then recovered. Vinyl adjusted her glasses. She recalled where she and Tavy had left off, those three long years ago, and was then shot through with an entirely different sensation—one that surprised her by its intensity, one that made her want to run home, shut the door, and drink ‘till she couldn't feel feelings anymore: in essence, not a good feeling. But Vinyl managed to keep that feeling in check. Mostly.

“. . . or, um . . . ‘Octavia’, I guess I should call you? Or you don’t really like being called that. . .” Vinyl looked away meekly. “ ‘Tavia’, then? Whatever the hay normal ponies usually call you, I don't—”

Suddenly, from the direction of whatever-she's-called, Vinyl was struck full-on by something large, rather heavy, and moving quickly.

Vinyl's first thought was: “Tavy’s thrown her bucking bass at me.”

But that didn't quite add up. For starters, Vinyl recalled Tavy correcting her, for about the millionth time, that her instrument was a cello and not a bass. This seemed to be splitting hairs to Vinyl, but that did mean that it was probably not a bass that had struck her, at all.

Furthermore, basses were generally not soft, nor warm, and don't typically cling to things. And they're not usually slightly damp.

Vinyl rearranged herself in the spot on the ground she found herself occupying, trying to get a proper look at the not-a-bass that had put her there. Vinyl could feel Tavy sob as she buried her face into Vinyl's neck.

“. . . Uh, can I help you?” Vinyl asked.

“I'm, uh . . . well I guess—oh Celestia, I'm crying now—this is . . . well I mean it's . . .” Octavia spluttered almost coherently, her poof of a mane now thoroughly de-poofed, with strands of hair sticking out in random directions or hanging down in front of her face.

At the sight of her old friend breaking down in a thoroughly complete way, Vinyl's resistance shattered. She was now hit full-force by that entire wad of emotions, her mind staggering from the bombardment. And coupled with each different emotion came a different question, all of which had been burning in her since Tavy had left, and all of which tried to get out her mouth as quickly as they had all just sprung up in her head: at once.

“Eheei, uh? I . . . wha . . yoo?”

Luckily, as Vinyl cycled through unconnected vowel sounds, her brain was one step ahead of her, quickly finding the most common denominator for the majority of these questions: “Wuh . . why?”

“I . . . well, I'm sorry!” Octavia managed to get out, “I'm really sorry!” she paused for a moment. “For lots of things, I think.”

Vinyl stared at her. “Uh . . . really?” Vinyl said eventually, “I . . . was kinda thinking that you hated me.”

“What? No! I thought you hated me!” replied Octavia. Octavia thought about this a moment. “Wait, don't tell me we haven't seen each other in all this time over a silly misunderstanding?”

Vinyl looked straight into her eyes, an action which Octavia couldn't reciprocate because of the unicorn’s large purple shades.

“No,” Vinyl Scratch said evenly to the mare pinning her to the ground, “we haven't seen each other for all this time because you left without saying anything. And I didn’t hear from you. Even once. In three years.” She paused. “You had the first bit right: I do kinda hate you. Just a bit!” she added at the end, catching the look on Tavy's face.

Octavia's face leveled after only a moment, though. “Yeah . . . that makes sense. Anyway, that's why I'm here. To apologize.”

Vinyl looked around. “Well, I don't think we need to be on the ground for you to do that,” she said, escaping from underneath Octavia, and helped her up. Vinyl turned to address the crowd which had been watching everything that had passed between the two.

“Alright, move along little ponies,” she said. “As if you haven't all seen stranger things happen in Ponyville before, am I right?”

The ponies surrounding them mostly indicated agreement. None of them could really argue with that. They began to continue on to the town square.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere we can talk,” said Vinyl, and began walking away from the crowd. Octavia followed beside her.

Octavia had turned bright red. “I guess . . . that made a bit of a scene, hey?

“Yes. Yes it did.”

“Oh . . . now those ponies think I'm crazy . . . I bet—wait—lots of ponies know you around here, don't they? I mean, you're DJ PON-3! Oh no! Did I embarrass you in front of them? I hope I didn't hurt your . . . ‘rep’, or whatever. I'm sorry, I—”

“What? Naw, that’s fine,” Vinyl replied, “fillies throw themselves at me all the time. Nothing new.”

“Oh, okay then. . . . wait, what? Really?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh.”

A bit of an awkward silence began to settle in as they walked. Octavia got out a smoke and went to light it.

“What's this now? You smoke?”

“Oh, sorry, does it bother you?” Octavia said, hesitating before touching the flame to the cigarette.

“No, no, its fine. Its just, well . . . smoking, right? And . . . well, you. Ya’know?”

“Yeah, well, I only smoke when I play music.”

There was a pause.

“Or in really uncomfortable situations . . . apparently.” She lit the cigarette, taking a long draw.

Vinyl glanced over at her estranged friend. Was this really that aloof, introverted mare she used to be inseparable with all those years ago?

Who had left without a word, and who she had never heard from since. Why the hay was Tavy back now?

“Anyway, what's this about strange things happening in Ponyville?” asked Octavia, breathing out smoke. “All those ponies seemed to know what you were talking about when you said—”

“Um, hello? I was talking about all the crazy stuff that happens in this town. You know, the crazy stuff? Like, the kinda crazy that ends up destroying the whole town? It's happened more than twice.”

“What?! The town got destroyed?” Octavia exclaimed, letting a cigarette drop out of her mouth for the second time that evening.

“Yeah . . . more than twice. What, you really didn't hear about any of this?” Vinyl shot Tavy a harsh glance—but it was hidden behind Vinyl's glasses.

“No, I didn't hear anything at all. Well, I have been in Canterlot . . .” said Octavia. She cast a downward glance as a Vinyl-hoof ended the happy little glow, and Tavy briefly mourned her loss as she reached for her now dwindling supply of cigarettes.

“They don't have newspapers in Canterlot or something? Oh, that's right, everypony's nose is stuck so high up in the air, no one can look down far enough read one anyways, that it?”

Octavia’s head snapped up, her new cigarette frozen on its path to her mouth. But she could guess where this was coming from, and, once completing the smoke's journey, took the barbed comment with a fair amount of stoicism. “Well, I guess I just missed those articles, then," she said around the cigarette, and fumbled for her lighter. "Who reads through the whole newspaper, anyway, right?”

“Yeah, definitely not someone who is bent on forgetting about all the small-town noponies,” Vinyl pressed on, “who clearly weren't worth your time anymore once you moved up into all that high society trash . . . with its moon-sent Royal Conservatory of Music . . . Celestia buck it!”

A few moments passed. Vinyl sighed, then looked up at Octavia.

“Um. . . wow. Sorry. Disregard that last . . . ?”

“It's alright,” Tavy replied meekly, as she succeeded in lighting up her cigarette.

Vinyl Scratch realized her cool was getting dangerously close to getting lost again—something about this pony seemed to be doing that to her. Perhaps it was the part where Octavia had left without saying anything at all, and had been gone for several years. Why the hay was she back now? Vinyl adjusted her glasses.

“Yeah, anyway, about Ponyville: it definitely was always pretty quiet around here,” Vinyl said. “Until that one group of ponies became the Elements of Harmony—I’m sure you heard about that, at least? Anyway, ‘been non-stop mayhem ever since.”

Vinyl lead them on in silence for a bit, broken only by Octavia, occasionally, as she exhaled smoke. Vinyl could feel the tension building inside herself. She wished they would get there already; this walk seemed to be taking a really long time. She was anxious to hear that musician pony’s reason for showing up out of the blue, after years of absolutely nothing, but there were still ponies everywhere, on their way to the meeting. Why the buck was Tavy here now? Vinyl felt her brain was becoming like a broken version of her namesake.

Well, the wait was almost over, as they were nearly at . . . Vinyl now realized where she was going. By the clopping moon, why was she headed there? She glanced around—no, it was too late turn and head somewhere else without being obvious about it. That was that. On the other hoof, there was something very fitting about going to that particular place to hear Tavy's story. Vinyl adjusted her glasses.

“Vinyl, why don't you just take those moon-sent things off already, it’s practically nighttime!” Octavia said casually, tossing away her now spent cigarette. Then she flinched, realizing she might have just brought home a parasprite with that comment.

But after a moment, a smile found its way to Vinyl's face. “Psh, whatever. They're prescription, you know?” Tavy gratefully returned her smile, but raised an eyebrow, prompting Vinyl to continue. “It's that thing! Where ponies need those purple glasses, right? And it totally makes you see better somehow. Like, it only lets in the awesome frequencies of light, and reflects all the lame ones. Or something. Anyway, that's totally what these do.”

“Okay, easy with the technical jargon. Not everypony understands all these scientific terms you're using.”

“Yeah? At least I don't have a ridiculous bow tie!” Vinyl was properly grinning now. “Why are you even wearing that, didn't you usually just wear it for performances? And don't even say it's 'cus bow ties are cool, 'cus they're totally not!”

“It's because bow ties are— ” Tavy began primly. “—oh wait, hey! Yeah they are!”

They smiled at each other. Okay, this was a bit more like the Tavy she used to know. Vinyl Scratch finally began to relax a bit. Tavy was back now. Vinyl realized she had been focusing on the “why” to the the point where she hadn’t yet considered the “now.” And the more she thought about it, the more she would say she felt almost giddy about it—if “giddy” weren’t a bit foalish and not at all cool.

“Oh, hey, uh, where are we going?” asked Tavy, pulling Vinyl back to the awkward reality of their destination.

“Oh, well, I was thinking we could go someplace where we can sit for a while. Like, that's open late and stuff. And would still be open even though there’s the town meeting. So I was thinking—”

“Oh! I recognize this part of town now! We're going to The Double-Double, right? Yeah . . . that would be fine.” Octavia's expression was unreadable.

Vinyl hadn't been to that particular cafe since Octavia had left. And more relevant to the current situation: that had been the last place they had both gone to together.

As they arrived at their old hangout, it became apparent that it had changed very little over the past few years. In fact, it was even the same mare who always used to stand behind the counter who was standing there now, just as she always had, her dark amber coat making her seem almost a part of the deep brown wooden decor.

The Double-Double was completely empty, as most ponies were at the town meeting. Arabica Bean, the proprietress of the cafe, was not expecting any customers—but thought she had better stay at the shop just in case. It’d be simply terrible if somepony came in for a coffee and there was no one there to serve them. Coffee was an undeniably crucial commodity, and Arabica would do her duty to Ponyville and provide that commodity, no matter what the cost. Even if that meant missing out on another one of the mayor’s long-winded talks about some sort of thing or another.

The well-aged mare lounged against the service counter, running her hoof casually through her flowing orange curls as she inspected her likeness in the mirrored back wall. The unexpected jingle of the opening door surprised her a bit, pulling her out of her contented musings. Her surprise was multiplied by about 12 as she saw who it was.

“Send me to the moon! Now here's a sight I haven't seen in . . . what, years? Several years!” the mare flustered. “How the hay have you guys been?”

“Hey Arabica. Yeah, been good, or something,” replied Vinyl Scratch. Vinyl fought the urge to make an excuse and go somewhere else. This was another reason why she had wanted to avoid this place: she wasn't really looking for a grand reunion just now.

“Celestia's withers! Come on, sit down! I didn't think you two would ever be back to this clopping place!”

Octavia, however, seemed quite happy about being back at their old haunt. “Arabica, you old hypocrite! I can think of about a dozen times where you were telling us to watch our language in here, and here's you: cussing like a workhorse!”

“Oh, it’s fine, there's no one here! I'm just so surprised to see you, swingin’ in like you were just here yesterday!” Her face then fell into a hint of a frown. “. . . And I’m not that old,” she mumbled. But she brightened right back up. “Anyway, what can I get my two used-to-be-favorite customers? First one's are on the house!”

They made their way over to one particular table in the back corner, which had practically been reserved for them, way back when.

“Oh mare, what was it that we always used to get here?” Tavy said brightly, regarding the drink menu. “Probably something ridiculously pretentious and overpriced. Celestia, we were such hoofsters back then!”

Octavia's suddenly bright mood was a bit infectious, and Vinyl caught herself smiling.“What's this now? If I remember correctly, you were the one who was the hoofster! I was way too cool for all that pretentious crap!”

“Hmm? How about you always striving to be so ironic? And also that band that you liked so much? Besides all your electronica stuff, of course—Imperial, was it? The one who did 'Cold Gun Fillies'?”

“Hey! Imperial are geniuses! After they went mainstream, instead of selling out, they like, totally made songs that made fun of all the people who didn't really understand them! It’s amazing!”

Octavia laughed. “Vinyl Scratch, you're still totally a hoofster!”

“Oh yeah? And I'm supposed to believe that Miss 'None of these ponies have any idea what real music is' suddenly isn't all opinionated any more?” Vinyl grinned.

But Octavia's smile fell noticeably, and there was a brief pause.

“Actually, things have changed a bit . . .”

There was a moment of silence, then Arabica Bean coughed politely and smiled, “If you want a minute to decide what you want, I can . . .”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I'll get a—” Vinyl quickly looked down at the list of drinks, grateful for the interruption. With her sunglasses on, however, she couldn't read anything in the dimly lit cafe, and promptly gave up. “—Oh, I don't know. I guess I could go for an awesome smoothie or something. How ‘bout you just bring us something delicious, Arabica? What do you think, Tavy? Fruity and delicious?” Vinyl smiled at her.

“Yes, fruity and delicious, please,” agreed Octavia.

“Really? Not coffee? After coming into a coffee shop? Well alright, I'll go make you up something nice, then. Oh, I know just the thing!” Arabica Bean walked off.

Octavia smiled as the store owner went to get their drinks, but the smile fell away as she thought of what they had come here to talk about. She tried to figure how best to start.

Vinyl Scratch finally took off her glasses and took a look around. Her red coloured eyes flitted from this to that, looking at everything that wasn't Octavia, as she collected her thoughts as well. She’d been so anxious to get away from all the other ponies (which could really be an aggravating task, in Ponyville), but found herself hesitating now.

Her threshold of hesitation was far lesser than that of Octavia’s, though. Eventually, Vinyl took a breath, and spoke first.

"Tavy, what are you doing here?” she began. “When you left without saying anything, I thought it was because you hated me . . . I mean, anypony would have thought that, with the way stuff had happened, right? And it’s been years—but now you're suddenly back. I guess what I'm asking is: why now?”

Octavia looked away for a moment, “I . . . well, it’s . . . hm,” she collected herself, then looked at up Vinyl.

“ ‘Why now?’ To answer your question: it’s because I dropped out of the Royal Conservatory of Music.”

At this particular moment, Vinyl was glad that they had just placed their orders, and the drinks had not yet come. If they had, she may have taken a sip. Had she have done that, Vinyl would now, most definitely, have spewed it all over Octavia and the table in front of her.

“You—*cough*—wha—*cough*—?” Vinyl choked, despite not having had a drink.

“Yes, you heard right, I dropped out of the RCM. It was . . . it was just . . .”

As Octavia thought of how best to explain herself, Vinyl tried to make sense of this. She recalled how Tavy had wanted to go to that school so badly, it seemed to be all she had ever thought about. She had been talking about it for years before she even had the chance to audition. And then that night of Octavia’s audition . . . but besides that, Octavia had been willing to give up everything and move to Canterlot to go to that school.

She had chosen it over Vinyl.

“Well . . . why?” Vinyl said, “I just don't get it.”

“Why? I just don't get it,” said Vinyl. “You're seriously freaking out about this?”

They were at their table at The Double-Double, it being about 20 minutes until the call time for the Royal Conservatory of Music's placement test. The test, which would determine whether or not potential students would be accepted into the prestigious school, would be in the form of an adjudicated solo performance, and was to be held at the Ponyville auditorium, just down the block from The Double-Double.

It had come to be a sort of ritual for the two of them to stop by the cafe before going to the auditorium—whether it was for one of Octavia's recitals (which Vinyl incessantly referred to as ‘gigs’), adjudications, or some other performance that Tavy was dragging Vinyl out to go see. (How they had ever become such close friends was a mystery to pretty much every other pony who knew them). The current evening, however, did not conform to the ritual's usually casual and excited mood that would have preceded such an event.

“What the hay? You were so bucking confident about the whole audition thing up ‘till now—it was getting a bit annoying actually. And anyway, we both know you're going to make it. You're the best musician in Ponyville, not just the best . . . whatever that thing is you play.”

“You can't know I'm going to 'make it'! No one knows!” exclaimed Octavia, “I might not! That's why there's a placement test in the first place: to weed out all the ponies who aren't qualified to go to the most prestigious music school in all of Equestria!” She looked this way and that. “I mean, everypony's always saying how I'm so bucking mechanical and freakishly precise with my playing! They say I'm like a clopping gramophone!!”

“Watch your language, girls!” came a drive-by scolding from Arabica Bean. They continued talking without missing a beat.

"Tavy, they mean that as a compliment. Kay, now you're just being ridiculous.”

“I'm being ridiculous?! Am I Vinyl?! Am I?!” Tavy practically shouted, her lower left eyelid twitching noticeably, several hairs escaping her usually well-sculpted poof atop her head.

“Um, yes. Yes you are.” Vinyl forcibly turned Tavy's head so she was looking at the mirrored wall beside their table. Tavy flinched back from her own reflection, and conceded that she may, in fact, be acting a bit ridiculous.

“Come on, things'll be fine. Here.” Vinyl reached over and ran her hooves through Tavy's mane, attempting to realign and repoof from the damage that had been done by her brief episode.

But Tavy recoiled from her touch, and brushed Vinyl away. “No—uh, don't worry about it.” Tavy looked down, “I guess it’s just . . .” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I've never really talked about this with you, but I always freak out a bit when it's some exceptionally prestigious pony that's adjudicating me . . . it's a bit silly, but I get concerned about them judging me on things other than my playing, and well, you know . . . my cutie mark being what it is . .”

“Well, yeah,” Vinyl replied, “I mean, I guess you just gotta—wait, what?” She scrunched her brow. “What's this about your cutie mark, now?”

“Well obviously, it's . . . you know, I don't really like talking about it that much. Actually, I'm really glad you've never teased me about it before—you've teased me about pretty much everything else . . . you must have realized that would be crossing the line. I've never properly thanked you for that, you really are a great friend every now and then—”

“Wait, you got a problem with your cutie mark? Why's that? I always thought it was quite elegant. Suited you or whatever—”

“You what?!” Octavia looked straight into Vinyl’s purple shades, whatever calm she had found was now gone. “You thought it suited me?! I take it back, you are a complete inconsiderate ass, Vinyl! Or are you actually that clueless?!”

Vinyl stared at her, cluelessly.

“Oh Celestia, you really have no idea.” Tavy got up and turned sideways, making her flank visible. “Look at it! What do you see?!”

“It’s that, uh . . . swirly thing . . . that they put at the beginning of each line of music, right? I mean, you play music, so it—”

Tavy dove over to reach into her instrument bag, whipped out some of her sheet music and thrusted it in Vinyl's face. “Look! Look at the start of the first measure, what do you see?”

“It's that—wait, it's not, it's . . . it's some kinda backwards 'c' with a colon after it, what's—?”

“It's a bass clef!! This,” she gestured wildly at her flank, “is a treble clef! I play a cello! Everything written for the cello is in bass clef! Anypony with half a brain knows that! It's so embarrassing . . . every time I go on stage . . .” She tossed herself back in her seat, flung the music approximately in the direction of her case and shot a hoof through her hair—which succeeded only in further frazzling her already very frazzled mane.

“So what, I got half a brain then, is that how it is?” Vinyl said, bristling with annoyance, “ Tavy, look, you're starting to—”

“No, Scratch, you would need a whole other brain in your head before you would have half a brain!” Tavy suddenly let loose. “You are a complete foal when it comes to anything—”

“Oi! Lay the buck off! The hay is this?” Vinyl said, raising her voice slightly. “You're being a bucking idiot. As if your cutie mark is such a big clopping deal! It doesn't have to literally make sense. It's like symbolic of music, or whatever. Chill the buck out, already!”

“Girls! Honestly, how can I—”

“Yeah, I guess it'd all have to be a big clopping metaphor,” Octavia continued on, unabated,“in order to explain away your cutie mark, right? A pair of eighth notes? I bet you didn't even know that's what they were called! Or that the ones on your flank are totally backwards (that’s always bugged the hay out of me)! Have you ever even looked at a piece of sheet music before?!” Tavy's gestures were becoming more and more wild. Vinyl rolled her eyes, an action that was safely hidden behind her shades.

Vinyl could see what was happening. The pressure had finally gotten to Octavia, and she was just lashing out. This is what happens when a pony is constantly internalizing their emotions. Everything seems fine up to a point, then: bam! Total break down. She would burn out eventually, though, realize that her stress had got the better of her, apologize, they'd hug, and everything would be swerval. Vinyl knew it . . . but she could quite feel it.

“What kind of music-pony can't read music? You're illiterate, Vinyl! Illiterate!” Octavia's pupils had become comparable to heads of pins. “Who's illiterate, these days?! No pony! That's who!”

This was getting stupid. Why did Vinyl have to sit through this? Where was this very-specifically-Vinyl-directed assault even coming from? Anyway, it wasn't like Octavia was going to be able to get a rise out of her or anything.

“It's like you're clopping retarded! Why don't you go hang around that derped bucking mailmare you like so much—”

“What did you just say?!” Vinyl shouted at her, slamming her hooves on the table. Other customers began to take notice of what was transpiring, but Arabica just stood there, frozen. “Say what you like about me,” Vinyl continued, “but don’t you bucking talk about my friend like that! Derpy's an amazing mare, and a great friend—”

“Yeah?! Why don’t you go bucking kiss her next time then?!”

Vinyl stopped short. “Wuh . . . hey, that was . . . I'm . . .” Vinyl looked away. Now it made sense.

“Here was us: all best friends, 'lah-dee-dah,' everything's great, and then you go and—” Octavia shouted, tossing her hooves in air, “—and now it’s all . . . and every time I'm around you . . . buck it all! Why did you have to go and bucking do that?! Now I gotta go play this bucking thing . . . that has nothing to do with any kind of talent I may or may not possess . . . the whole future's gonna’ be determined by it . . . why'd you have to go and bucking screw everything up, Vinyl Scratch? You’ve bucking screwed everything up!”

Other customers were outright staring, now. Arabica Bean was looking from one mare to the other, concerned about the other customers, but far more worried by the fact that her beloved Vinyl and Tavy were fighting. But she couldn't think of anything she could do.

“I'm . . . I didn't think . . .” Vinyl stumbled over her words.

“No! You didn’t! And it’s screwed everything up now! Celestia buck it!” Tavy's eyes were streaming.

“I . . .but Tavy . . .”

“Don't you clopping 'Tavy' me like everything's all bushels of apples—Celestia, I don't even want to look at you right now.” She turned away, her hysterics finally beginning to wind down. She wiped her eyes. “Just go Vinyl.”

“But I—”

“Go!”

Vinyl got up and galloped towards the door. She didn't see any of the ponies staring at her. She didn't see the look on Arabica's face. She burst out of the cafe.

Her glasses started to fog up. She removed them.

“Bucking glasses,” she said, wiping a hoof across her eyes.

She cantered down the street, wanting only to put distance between her and that place.

“Bucking Tavy.”

She continued on, with no specific direction, turning down streets at random. Eventually she slowed to a walk.

“Bucking Vinyl Scratch,” she addressed herself. “Apparently you screwed everything up.”

Adjudicator's Notes

From what others had said about her, I was under the impression that this student was parallel to none in her note precision—so such were my expectations as she came onto the stage. I found, however, Octavia’s playing this evening to be quite contrary to this reputation.

Both aggressive and powerful, this young cellist gave a remarkable performance that was emotive and moving—even though the notes weren’t quite all there.

Though precision is paramount for good musicianship, I believe the Royal Conservatory of Music would be privileged to have a musician as passionate and bold as Octavia as one of its students. She has a great amount of potential, and I expect we shall all be hearing a great deal about her in the near future.

Head

“Hmm, I guess I never really got into the swing of things at the Royal Conservatory of Music. It was so far away from anything that was familiar to me.” Octavia said. She and Vinyl Scratch were sitting at their table in The Double-Double, sipping on the smoothies that Arabica Bean had just brought for them. “On top of that,” Octavia continued, “I wasn’t really all that passionate about the music anyway.”

“What?!” exclaimed Vinyl, slamming down her smoothie. “What do you mean you weren’t passionate about music?! That was all you did—and you were always saying how it was the only thing that you were actually any good at!”

The sun had gone down completely, but a few ponies could be seen passing by outside. The town meeting must have finished up, though Vinyl and Octavia were still the only two customers in The Double-Double.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what the problem was, I think,” said Octavia, sighing. “I saw all the other musicians there—musicians who were really, truly passionate about classical music—and I could tell that they were different from me. I began to realize that what I had liked about playing classical music had less to do with classical music and more to do with how it felt like it put me above everypony . . . automatically made me feel superior to them, like it was some higher form of music than all the music that everyone else listened to.” Octavia looked down into her drink. She let out a short, mirthless laugh. “It really sounds terrible when I say it like that, doesn’t it? I guess I was kind of a terrible pony back then.

“And all those things I said the last time we were together!” Octavia’s head snapped up as she said this, looking straight at Vinyl, finally able to look into her eyes now that Vinyl had taken off her glasses. “I’m so sorry, Vinyl Scratch! You have to know, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how horrible I had been to you! Not even once, the whole time I was gone—”

"Tavy!” Vinyl cut her off. “Why didn’t you bucking just come see me, then?”

“Well, after what—” Octavia began.

“Language, girls!”

“Arabica, you said it yourself, there’s nopony here!” said Octavia, frowning slightly after being twice cut off.

“Ah, well, even after all this time—old habits and all that.” Arabica said, and turned back away from them, where she pretended not to continue listening.

“Anyway—” Octavia turned back towards Vinyl, but didn’t meet her gaze, “after what happened, I didn’t think that you would forgive me,” Octavia said. She shifted as she sat. “Not after what I had said,” she said quietly, looking down. She hesitated a moment, then let it all out in a rush, “I insulted you, your musical ability—I even brought Derpy into that somehow (how is it that I can remember our argument almost word-for-word, but couldn’t remember how to get to the town square?). I said all kinds of things, and I was completely terrible to you. I’m so sorry, Vinyl, I really didn’t mean what I said!” Octavia’s eyes were beginning to tear up.

“What? Dude! It’s okay! Don’t worry about all that! I get it, you were just stressed out and stuff. I can’t believe you were freaking out about that so much!”

Tavy looked up, surprised. “Really? So does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

"Tavy.” Vinyl once again put her drink down on the table, though gently this time. “It’s not about those things you said. There’s no way I’d have held something like that against you. Not after all this time. Even though they were really bucking horrible, hateful things to say.” Vinyl said, considering this. “I mean, wow, just so bad. And you were a pretty terrible pony for saying them. And really, you should feel bad because of it—”

“Okay, I think I get it,” said Tavy, evenly.

“Right,” said Vinyl, trying to remember where she had been going with this. “Even though what you said to me was uncalled for, way harsh, and completely awful, it’s not like it was something I could never forgive you for!” Vinyl thought a moment. “Or, at least, it’s not something that would’ve prevented us still being friends, regardless of if I completely forgave you for it or not!” Vinyl finished.

“Vinyl . . . really? That . . . I can’t believe I thought that—”

“Come on. You were like my best friend ever. You’re such a bucking idiot sometimes.”

“Oh, Vinyl . . .” Octavia trailed off. Then something occurred to her. “Wait, so why did you say you still hate me then?”

“Octavia! It’s because you left me for three years without saying a bucking word, and I haven’t seen or heard from you since! How is this still not clear?!” Vinyl turned to her own reflection in the mirrored wall beside them. “Was I not clear? I got nothing. Maybe you want to have a go at this?” Vinyl asked of her likeness.

“I thought it was pretty clear!” said Arabica.

“Wasn’t talking to you!”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I concede that I was Equestria’s biggest clopping idiot and a stupid friend. I’m really sorry . . . I want you to forgive me . . . I want to be friends again. And it’d be great if you didn’t hate me,” Tavy added at the end.

“Well what do you want me to say? ‘I forgive you, let’s be friends again’? Then what? It’s not like the time you were away is going to go anywhere,” said Vinyl, looking down to watch her straw stir around in her drink, enveloped in her magic’s light blue glow. “We’ve changed over that time, neither of us are the same ponies we were back then. Especially you! (And smoking? I’m still geeking out about that!)” Vinyl magically pinched the top of the straw and lifted it out to get at the bit of smoothie now trapped in the length of it. She avoided looking at Octavia. “We can’t just go back to how it was like nothing happened.”

Octavia inspected her own drink, not saying a word. Vinyl sighed and put down her straw. “I do forgive you though. And I probably don’t really hate you that much anymore—it is really good to see you again,” Vinyl said with a bit of a smile.

“Really?” Octavia brightened by a magnitude of about four. “Great!”

“Anyway, you somehow managed to not quite answer my question.” Vinyl pointed her straw at Tavy. “You said you didn’t really like it there right from day one, but didn’t want to go back to Ponyville on account of you getting it in your stupid clopping head that I’d never forgive you—so why suddenly now? What changed?”

Octavia thought about it. “Well, it’s true that I pretty much hated it, but I hadn’t really been able to see an alternative. And, well, I was actually doing alright for myself in Canterlot. I was getting some pretty high profile gigs with various ensembles. I played at the Grand Galloping Gala, did you know that?”

Vinyl’s eyes went a bit wide. “What, really? Wow, that’s pretty something.”

“Yeah,” Octavia laughed a bit. “It was most definitely was . . . something. Anyway, playing music I wasn’t really passionate about was still better than doing lots of other things. Like working retail! Or an office job . . . there is definitely a sliding scale of ‘miserable’, you know?

“But then I somehow ended up playing with this crazy bunch of ponies that were unaffiliated with the RCM,” she continued, “and suddenly I’m playing all these gigs with them! Then, their sax player tells me he’s moving to Ponyville to start up this ‘killer’ ensemble with one of his old friends, and they wanted me to be in it!” Octavia’s eyes were glowing as she told Vinyl this. “Something about having a proper reason to be back in Ponyville . . . all I could think about was seeing you again, and I immediately accepted his offer, dropped out of the RCM, and here I am!”

“Wait,” said Vinyl, clearly unimpressed by this explanation. “You couldn’t stand playing music anymore . . . so you ditched it to go play music? When does this start making sense?”

“No, no, the group I joined is a jazz group! Well, more sort of hard bop—but also kind of modal jazz, actually. You know, if I were going to to be specific. Though, genres of jazz aren’t exactly hard-and-fast rules. See, they’re more—” began Octavia.

“Hang on,” interrupted Vinyl, now doubly unimpressed. “You’re trying to tell me you’re playing a cello in a jazz band? You know I don’t know much about that kind of stuff, but isn’t that kind of weird?”

“Oh, yeah, I actually play the stand-up bass now. Though you’re actually kind of wrong, because a few notable pony’s have used cellos in jazz groups before, so it wouldn’t have been unheard of. No, I wanted to switch instruments, though. That’s another part of what makes it so different for me, now! I just kind of wanted to get away from all that, in a bit more of a . . . concrete way, I think. Well, I do still play the cello, just not—”

“And that’s a big difference, is it? Aren’t the two things just, like, different sizes, or whatever?” asked Vinyl, who never had properly differentiated between the two.

“Huh? No way, you tune them differently! The strings of a cello are tuned to fifths, like a violin, whereas a bass is tuned to fourths, the same as a guitar.” Octavia explained, textbookishly.

“Right. ‘The more you know’—yeah, but actually, what you said means buck all to me.”

“What it means,” Octavia said, bordering upon a glare, “is that I basically had to relearn the instrument. And I wanted to do this so I wouldn’t fall in to my old habits and play like a ‘square’!”

“You? Not being a ‘square’? Hmm, you’re right, I’m starting to see now—that would have been a big switch for you,” said Vinyl, her brow straight.

“Because, jazz is completely different than classical, you know! It’s hard to do coming from a classical background. It’s all about the feel and groove! It’s syncopated and swung, and bop is more-or-less atonal music, what with things like flated ninths and tri-tones! (Tri-tones! ‘Tartarus’s music!’ Ninth chords with sharp elvenths, written right there on my page!)” Octavia said with all the fervour of an enthusiast. “It’s totally insane and wonderful and it couldn’t be more different!”

“Kay, yeah, I get that jazz is different than classical, and that you’re playing bass now,” said Vinyl, “but I don’t see how this was such a complete revelation for you.” Vinyl Scratch couldn’t really get her head around what Octavia was saying. The DJ pony’s passion for music was for music. Sure, she liked electronic music, but that was hardly a definitive genre. She sampled from all types and forms of music. It was music that defined her, not specifically any one genre. And she couldn’t imagine losing her “passion” for any kind of music—she would cease to be Vinyl Scratch. What Octavia was saying didn’t really mean anything to her.

“It’s . . . well,” Octavia began. “Hey! I know! I’m playing with my new band tomorrow night! Why don’t you come see us? I’d be much easier than trying to explain it all. We’re playing at . . . wait, I don’t know where we’re playing at . . . here I got the address . . .” She fumbled around with a piece of paper.

“Hey, hold up a sec, I didn’t say I was going to go, yet.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Arabica.

Tavy looked up at Vinyl, a bit crestfallen. “Oh . . . really? Um, please? I mean, I’d like for you to come.” She fidgeted with the piece of paper. “It doesn’t go that late . . . I thought we could hang out after? Maybe try and be friends again? Because . . . well, I want to be your friend again!” As she began to build momentum, she handled the paper in her hooves more vigorously. “I know it probably won’t ever be the same as it used to be, but it’s great just to be around you again, and also finding out that you don’t hate me anymore is nice! And I still can’t believe I even found you at all! And that I’m talking to you for the first time in three years! Even though it’s my fault its like this . . . I can’t believe I threw away what we had . . . gah, I’m so stupid . . .” she trailed off, slumping down slightly, now crushing the thoroughly marehandled piece of paper.

“Alright, alright,” Vinyl said with a chuckle. “I’ll go. I can’t really say ‘no’ if you ask me like that, can I?” A loud squeal of delight could be heard from the direction of the counter.

Vinyl’s horn lit up, and she replaced her glasses on her face. Vinyl could tell that the classically trained musician had changed, and that it probably went deeper than she had thought at first. The old Octavia used to be so aloof and introverted, she would rarely have put down exactly what she was thinking, like she just had. And if Vinyl was being honest, she would have to say she rather liked this new Tavy—and was more than a bit curious to see this thing that had caused such a huge switch in her.

“So where’s this thing at tomorrow?” Vinyl asked. Tavy looked down at the paper in her hoofs, now crumpled almost beyond recognition. She put it on the table and flattened it out as best she could (which wasn’t very flat at all), putting on a small smile as she gingerly passed it over.

Once they had finished their drinks, they said goodbye until tomorrow, and parted ways.

Upon returning home and attempting to go to bed, Vinyl found that sleeping was not something she could do in her current state. Her mind was quite active to begin with, and it was now on complete overdrive.

Until that evening, Vinyl had thought she lived in a now-Tavy-less universe. Even stray thoughts about that mare had had to be dealt with swiftly and without mercy—and suddenly she was here, and they had a date the very next day. Well, a friend-date. In any case, the fact that Tavy-related thinking was suddenly back in-bounds had caused a sort of a dam to collapse in her mind, and Vinyl found herself slightly overwhelmed with a vague slew of Tavy-thoughts. She tried to focus on something concrete, and her thoughts shifted over to the date tomorrow. The friend-date, tomorrow. Obviously it was a friend-date. It was obvious enough that she shouldn't be clarifying this for herself.

So why was she?

Vinyl could see where this train of thought was headed, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that sleep wasn't happening until she had let it travel for at least a few stations down that track. She only hoped that it wasn’t going to get derailed anywhere along the line.

There had been something that had happened, back before the audition, that neither of them had brought up this evening. Vinyl considered this further. Maybe Tavy had forgotten about it? Put it out of her mind, or whatever? No, judging by the way Octavia had apparently obsessed over their years-past argument (seemingly as much or more than she herself had), Vinyl doubted it.

Her estranged friend must have been thinking about it, and had purposely glossed over any mention of it during her apologies this evening.

There had to be some kind of reason for that. Was she too embarrassed? Or still mad? Or didn’t care? Vinyl thought back to that party—Tavy’s farewell party—which felt like it had happened not three years but a lifetime ago, and the question tore at her: what did that kiss mean to Tavy, now?

Vinyl rolled over and moshed her face in her pillow. And what did that kiss mean to Vinyl?

Though sleep had taken a long time to come to the agitated pony, it took its sweet time leaving her the next day. She got up well after noon—though felt poorly rested and irritable, despite the fact. It was a day off for the DJ, and she had no other plans before Tavy’s performance in the evening, so she groggily loafed around her apartment for the rest of the afternoon. It did little to improve her disposition.

As the time approached to leave for Tavy’s gig, Vinyl felt even worse than she had upon waking. Tossing back a glass of whiskey in an attempt to improve her sour mood, the worse-for-wear DJ pony begrudgingly walked out the door.

Vinyl Scratch tried for the life of her to remember how she had gotten conned into going to this thing. She was pretty sure—at the time—it had seemed like the potential revival of their friendship had hinged upon Vinyl attending this gig of Tavy’s. Upon reflection, Vinyl thought that that pony could have come up with a less bothersome alternative, had she had the desire to. When had Octavia gotten so wiley? And what’s with all her talk of jazz, anyway?

Vinyl made a mental list of everything she knew about jazz. The first thing that came to mind was that sort of classy little ensemble playing background music for a dimly lit, late night soiree. That sounded like it was right down Tavy’s alley . . . but it also sounded very similar to what she had already been doing, and did little to explain this sudden change that had taken place in that classically trained musician. Maybe, instead, she had joined one of those larger groups that play at those retro swing dance things for old ponies? That didn’t make a lot of sense, either. Something cooler, maybe?

The DJ pony knew of jazz influences in electronic music. Acid jazz was known to toss in some pretty tasty—though now fairly dated—synth layers. As well, some forms of house music, most notably deep house, made use of trumpet or sax samples, syncopation, and really jazzy sounding chords. This was starting to sound less and less like Octavia, though.

Vinyl looked down at the nearly-destroyed scrap of paper that was telling her where she was headed. She began to grow uncertain as to whether she was reading this correctly as she came upon the street the venue was supposedly located on. Vinyl couldn’t think of any auditoriums or music halls around this area, although it had been years since she was in the habit of going to that kind of place.

She thought back to when she and Tavy had done this kind of thing frequently. They had perfected a sort of system: they would work out, before hoof, the timing for when Octavia had to be there to set up, and at what time the doors opened for guests to be let in; they would discuss when they’d meet up at The Double-Double, and coordinate when each of them needed to head over; and when the time came to go to the venue, Vinyl would already have her ticket ready to go, and would have been briefed on the dress code and relative fanciness of the whole ordeal. The night would run like clockwork. The DJ pony doubted she would have gone to so many of Tavy’s fancy little performances had it run any differently. Like how it was running now, for instance. All Vinyl had been told was six-ish. Well, she though, it was just about half-past now—did that count?

As Vinyl Scratch approached the building that matched the address, she would have been absolutely convinced that it was the wrong place had she not been able to hear the muted sounds of music coming from it. The unicorn found herself facing a treacherous little stairway down to the basement-entry of a building that she would not otherwise have willingly stopped in front of. It was smokey coloured and in shambles. Descending the stairs to the tattered little door at the bottom gave the impression of approaching a poorly-covered hole in the wall.

“Why the buck am I going to this thing?” a thoroughly put-out Vinyl Scratch demanded of the scrap of paper in her hoof.

“Why the buck are we going to this thing?” Vinyl asked Octavia as they walked down the street, the sun just beginning to set behind the houses of Ponyville.

“Well, isn’t this a switch? Who would ever have thought Octavia would be dragging Vinyl Scratch to a party, hmm?” the classically trained musician said, her nose in the air, giving her friend a sidelong glance. “But that’s beside the point,” she continued. “This is going to be my farewell party!”

“I don’t think it counts if you and I are the only two ponies who know that, Tavy,” Vinyl said, her brow cutting a straight line across her forehead. “And how can this be your farewell party if the audition isn’t for another week? You’re talking like you already made it!”

“Oh, the playing test is more of a formality when you’re as good as I am.”

“Kay, let’s assume it is. Even so—contrary to popular belief, it seems—we’re not going to a party; what we’re doing here is gatecrashing a party. (At least I am, you’re the only one who got invited.)”

“As if the best DJ to ever have attended Ponyville College is going to be turned away at the door to a college party.” Tavy knew that the pony’s ego wouldn’t allow her to contest the point. And it was true that Vinyl Scratch was the best DJ at their college, and at least close to that in all of Ponyville.

Something else occurred to Octavia, and she turned to address Vinyl again. “Part two of that statement: as if you haven’t gatecrashed parties before, Scratch!”

“What? Me? Gatecrash? I’m hurt that you would even suggest that!” Vinyl said, managing almost to appear so. “Wounded, even!”

“Hmm? Then what about that fashionista pony’s party last week? Or the party my pianist threw the week before that?”

“Hey, you said you’re piano player would be cool with it if you brought me as a guest! And how was I supposed to know it was going to be that kind of party, anyway?” Vinyl said, adjusting her glasses. “Also, that party last week was a Pinkie Party! You don’t need to be invited to a Pinkie Party!”

“Well the party tonight is being thrown by Pinkie Pie as well, didn’t you know?”

Vinyl paused for a moment. “Wait, what? Really? Oh. Well maybe this party won’t totally suck then.” She picked up her pace ever so slightly. The unicorn’s comment made Octavia smile—the real reason for the previous reluctance to go to the party now making itself clear.

“Hey!” Vinyl said, stopping short, turning on Octavia. “Why did you get invited and not me?”

Octavia laughed. “Probably because they didn’t think you would attend, even if they had.”

“Yeah, well they got that bit right. Like hay I’d want to go to some lame house party. Probably won’t even have good music. Why are we going to this again?”

They approached the party house and Tavy knocked on the door (more out of propriety, than anything) while Vinyl hung back and tried to make sulking seem as cool as possible. To both of their surprises, the knock on the door seemed to have been heard over the pounding boom of the music coming from inside, as the door was then opened. This initial assumption was quickly discredited, however, as the look of relative shock on the unicorn’s face who had opened the door made it clear that it was a complete coincidence, and that no knock had been heard at all.

“Oh, hey Tavia,” shouted the green mare with a harp for a cutie mark who stood in the doorway, once she had realized who was standing there. “I was just stepping out for some air. Why don’t you go on in!”

“Hello Lyra. Yes, we’ll do that—”

“Hey!” Lyra cut her off. “Vinyl Scratch! I didn’t see you there. The music totally sucks here—we’re saved!” Before either Tavy or Vinyl could say anything, the green unicorn turned back towards the party-in-progress and somehow yelled over top of it all, “Yo! It’s DJ PON-3!”

There was a chorus of shouts and cheers. From the midst of the crowd burst an exploding unit of pink mirth, with an outrageously curly mane that was apparently caught in the very process of the aforementioned exploding.

“DJ PON-3! Woohoo! I thought you would never show up!” the pink pony shouted as they entered into the house, perfectly audible over the deafening noise from the party. “You’re going to DJ for us, right? These ponies here need to PARTY!”

“Actually, Pinkie, I came with—wait, you were expecting me to come but hadn’t invited me?”

A pony Vinyl didn’t know leaned in from the crowd behind Pinkie. “Pretty much!” he said. “She knew inviting Tavia would be the only way to get you out here!”

“Hey!” the pink pony turned on the colt. “That’s a mean jerky-jerk thing to say, you know! That makes it sound like we didn’t really want Tavy here! Which is just crazy—who wouldn’t want such a super great awesome-talented cello-playing pony at their party? I know I sure do!” She turned back to Vinyl and Tavy. “Don’t mind him, he’s just clopped squiffy!” Pinkie paused for half-a-second. “Though he is right, it was the only way to get you here, Scratch!”

Pinkie Pie bounded forward, stopping not quite an inch from Vinyl’s face. “So are you gonna DJ for us? Hey? Hey? Hey?! Areyouareyouareyou?!”

“No, I’m just here because—well, hey, where’s Neon Lights? Isn’t he here? Just get him to do it! He’s almost as good as I am (don’t tell him I said that),” Vinyl said.

“What, MC W1SH? No, he’s off on tour in Canterlot!” said Pinkie.

“Wha—Really?” asked Vinyl. “Wow, good for him, I guess. But, look, I wasn’t really planning on . . .” she trailed off, glancing at Octavia.

“It’s fine,” Octavia said, smiling. “These ponies want you to DJ for them, ‘pone three’! You can’t let them down!” Octavia winked at her.

Vinyl signed, “Tavy, you say it just like ‘pony,’ you don’t say the ‘three’ anywhere in it.” But she smiled, and turned to Pinkie. “Alright, alright, let’s get me to a turntable,” she finally conceded, and there was nearly a pink combustion reaction that took place in front of her, followed by her being lead to Pinkie’s turntable that had been left to itself with a single record spinning on it. “Kay, let’s get me some tracks, and brace for impact, yo!” Vinyl said, switching into character.

Vinyl Scratch took off her large purple shades as she begun to get everything set up. She brought out a mic and proceeded to plug it into the still live sound system.

Plugging the mic in—without muting the channel first—created a loud pop and boom from the speakers, followed by a brief moment of feedback as the jack went in. Having had a fair amount of experience with many of the technical aspects of making noise, she did this knowing full well that it would, in fact, cause the speaker heads to shoot out as far as they could go in the shortest amount of time that they could do it in—potentially causing irreparable damage such as blowing the speakers every time it happened, as well as generally reducing their life-expectancy. Vinyl felt, however, that it was completely worth the risk (doubly so, in this case: they weren’t her speakers): the effect was one of those unmistakable sounds—akin to the cocking of a gun—and signifying something similar.

A hush began to fall; excitement hummed through the party.

Vinyl took this moment to glance through the crown, and spotted Tavy, who had found her way to a couch at the back of the room. She was sipping a drink and talking to no one.

The DJ leaned into the mic, performing her standard sound check before getting started. “Test test. One two . . . testes. Testes, one, two . . . check!” The response was a few inebriated guffaws.

“Yo, this DJ’s got balls!” came a shout from a pony who was clearly one moderately well versed in realm of biological sciences.

“You know it!” Vinyl called back, a wide grin on her face. “And you better believe they’re bigger than yours, chump!” How she loved the pre-show banter. But it was time to get this going.

She leaned further into the mic until her lips were brushing against it, gripping the volume dial in a magic glow and spinning it with force enough for it to reach eleven. “HEY! DJ PON-3 IS IN THE HOUSE!” The room exploded in noise, and she tossed on a nice solid track, all levels down but the bass. She kept it pretty mellow (relatively speaking) so that her voice could still be heard for what she was about to say.

“Now, I’m gonna DJ for all y’all, but that means that this is DJ PON-3’s party now!”

(A pink pony, who was now in the air above the crowd, made clear her protest to this. The DJ caught up a pair of huge purple glasses in her blue magic aura, lifting them up and around with a great flourish, and slapped them down onto her face—following up the gesture with its accompanying response. The pink pony threatened that there would be another party tomorrow if this usurpation were to continue. There was much rejoicing.)

“And now that this is my party,” Vinyl continued, talking over top of any and all other comments from the floor, “I say that it isn’t my party any more, but that it’s a farewell party!” Vinyl loved being in front of a mic. There was no arguing with a pony in front of a mic. “And that this farewell party is a farewell party for Ponyville’s own freakishly talented, extra gorgeous Octavia! Who’s going to rock her audition next week and land a spot in the scary-amazing Royal Conservatory of Music! AEYOW!”

The party ponies turned to look at Octavia and all cheered and yelled.

“Wow, I wish I was banging the DJ!” came a shout from “that pony.” Every party has one.

Not that Vinyl was offended—she and Tavy were more than used to comments like that. (To hay with it: pretty much everypony thought it was the only reasonable explanation for how two ponies so different had become so close.) But they were just friends, and they both knew that. And that’s probably what they always would be.

Especially if Tavy left for Canterlot, Vinyl thought.

“Maybe you’d have half a chance if you were even half as cool as Tavy!” was what she said. The party ponies laughed. “Now shut up and DANCE!”

As Vinyl dropped the bass—which was so absolutely mind-melting and rather destructively powerful that it nearly flattened all the ponies lucky enough to be near the front—she glanced around, noticing a small crowd had formed at the couch at the back of the room. The DJ then had a most peculiar and foreign sensation crawl its way through her: being behind the turntables was not where she most wanted to be at that moment.

Solos

Author's Note: So this chapter has music in it. The idea is that you get to the link, open it in a new tab, skip the youtube add, then let the song play as you read through the story and it's all supposed to match up.

...yeah, if the music's not working for you, just listen to it before or after, or whatever. It's supposed to add to the story, not distract from it. The story should hold its own without it well enough, anyway.

Vinyl Scratch entered through the ragged door down to what awaited her on the other side. Upon entering, she found the roughness of the exterior of the shady little establishment was closely mirrored by its interior. This was not what struck her first, however.

The band was playing at the far end of the room, with little tables set up near the sort of stage they were playing on, the trumpet’s licks floating around the room. Against one wall were booths where a few ponies sat, but most were near the stage. The bar was on the other side of the room.

Octavia was playing in a pub!

Vinyl’s immediate reaction to this piece of information was, “sweet, no need to take off my shades.” Her second reaction was directly correlated to her sudden change in heading, as she adopted what she deemed to be the most direct route to the bar.

As she sat down and ordered a whiskey, the two saxophonists in the band began soloing, with one playing for a while, then switching off, and the other playing for a while. As Vinyl started properly listening to the band, she interrupted the bartender as he was about to pour her beverage. “No ice in that,” she said, and after a few more licks from the saxophones jumped out at her, she added, “and I’m gonna need a double.”

Vinyl was beginning to find that this barrage of notes sounded less and less like music and increasingly more like noise.

Now, Vinyl was no stranger to the use of noise in music. The type of music she typically sampled in her mixes was a testament to that. Hay, she made a solid use of dubtrot, and Celestia knows there are ponies out there who think that’s only a clop away from noise. But what she was listening to now was different—this rapid-fire tuneless barrage of notes held very little appeal for her at the moment. She slammed a fair portion of the drink in front of her.

She examined the band, hoping to somehow glean a hint as to why she was listening to this. Octavia stood playing her bass, and there was also two saxophonists, the pony playing the trumpet, a pony on piano and another on drums. With just a glance, Vinyl could tell that they were proficient musicians. They were playing about a thousand notes per second, and, judging by the lack of music in front of them, they had memorized the written music and were improvising the rest as they went.

The DJ pony glanced around, looking the other ponies in the pub, seeing if they had any clue what was going on. This only served to make Vinyl even more like a crazy-pony, though. A few ponies had their eyes absolutely riveted to the sax players, a few of them bobbing their heads or shaking them left and right. One unicorn’s drink was tipped almost to the point of spilling, seemingly forgotten about in the magic aura that held it. Vinyl could see one pony with a bit of drool coming from their mouth as it hung open for some reason, and another pony . . . was he actually crying? Vinyl was reminded sharply of the hoofsters that she had seen in various coffee houses as they listened to some obscure band or another.

She turned to the bartender, who had yet to pick up Vinyl’s empty glass. It had not had any whiskey in it for a while, and the second glass she had ordered (also a double) had yet to appear in front of her. The bartender was also fixated on the band, his eyes unblinking.

“Um . . . tell me what I’m listening to here? I think I’m missing something.”

The bartender looked at her incredulously for a moment before replying. “Naw! Naw! You’re doin it wrong, mare! Ya’ gotta’ listen to the notes they’re not playin’!” Vinyl was struck with the feeling that she could probably do just that—and do it very well (if not better)—from the comfort of her own home.

The bartender’s response did make her reevaluate her previous judgement of the ponies here, though. Not hoofsters: stoners.

After Vinyl received her beverage, she turned her eyes to Octavia. Vinyl had not properly looked at her yet, distracted as she was by booze and stoners. What she had noticed upon coming in, but made special note of now, was that Octavia held no bow for her bass, and was instead plucking the strings with her hoof. Vinyl now watched Octavia swaying back and forth as she played, cigarette dangling from her mouth (wasn’t there some kind of law about “smoking” and “public places,” or something?), and her hooves flying: the left one up and down the neck of the bestial instrument she balanced against while standing only on her hind legs; her right hoof back and forth as she plucked the strings at an amazing pace.

Vinyl listened for just the bass as the band played, as Octavia ran the notes up and down, popping out lower or higher ones sometimes. No music sat in front of her, either. There was no way that Octavia had memorized the approximately ten-thousand notes that a song of that length must require her to play, reasoned Vinyl, not with the way she was jumping all around the instrument is such a loose, free way. She must be making it up—or at least playing a lot more notes around the notes she did have memorized. Vinyl conceded: this was way different that the classical music Vinyl had seen Tavy play.

Octavia had picked up her bow, now looking more like how Vinyl had been accustomed to seeing her. But the similarity ended there. She rocked the bow back and forth almost spastically over the strings, her left hoof mimicking the other as it move jerkily around. Tavy’s expression was anything but the serene focus that it always would have been—she had her eyebrows furrowed, squinting upwards, distractedly puffing out smoke, looking for all of Equestria like she thought she could find the notes she was striving to play by staring and smoking hard enough. Her cigarette swiveled precariously in her mouth as Octavia twitched her head slightly this way and that, in time with the spasming of her bow as she tossed out notes, sometimes pausing for the briefest of moments in between licks.

Tavy pulled out snippets of little melodies, moving them around, changing them, then abandoned them for something else as whimsy compelled her. For the briefest of moments, Vinyl saw herself pushing and pulling around snippets of tracks as she stood in front of her turntable.

Then this image was gone and Vinyl slammed back the rest of her second glass. “And a third, if you’d be so kind.”

Vinyl smiled, despite herself. Seeing Tavy so completely taken over by the music she was playing was something that Vinyl hadn’t seen in such a long time, she had nearly forgotten about it. Though now Vinyl did recall always being surprised by just how intense Octavia could be when she was playing music. Never did she look quite so much like she belonged somewhere as when she was playing on stage—even a dirty, smokey little stage like this one. Or maybe especially a stage like this one, now that Vinyl was seeing it. Tavy glanced over as she played, and their gaze met for a moment. Vinyl was struck by just how ‘Tavy’ Tavy looked as she was up there.

Vinyl then felt a pang through her chest, thinking of how Octavia had said she had lost that for a while, when she was in Canterlot. Vinyl couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like for a pony that lived for this as much as Octavia did, if how she looked now was any indication that she did. At least Tavy had gotten through it.

Vinyl now felt another pang shoot through her—but this one was different, and confused Vinyl for a moment. After brief consideration, she realized what it was. Tavy must of had to deal with a lot, going through that—probably more than Vinyl would likely understand—and she had gone through it alone. And all the while Octavia had thought that her best friend wasn’t somepony she could have turned to. What Vinyl was feeling was regret.

Vinyl wished she could have been there for Tavy, even if it had just been the knowledge that Vinyl hadn’t hated her. Though it was mostly Octavia’s fault that things had been like that, Vinyl knew she hadn’t exactly been a paragon. There must have been something she could have done for Octavia—but it was too late for this kind of thinking. She couldn’t change the way things had happened.

And they had all turned out alright in the end. Tavy was back now.

Vinyl smiled as she drank away the rest of the performance, finally having shaken off the gloom she had woken up with.

As the band finished up their set, Vinyl sent herself, as best she could, in the direction of the stage. Carving a moderately straight path, she approached the band, and Tavy came up to see her.

“So what’d you think?” asked Octavia, her eyes glowing in excitement.

“Yeah, that was . . . you guys sure played a lot of notes.”

“It’s fine,” laughed Tavy. “Bop can be a bit much for those who aren’t used to it!”

“I . . . don’t think being used to it was exactly the issue here . . .” mumbled Vinyl.

One of the saxophone players, a very large, stout earth pony, walked up toward the two of them. “Ah!” he said in a rich, deep voice. “So this must be ‘Vinyl Scratch’ who you told us so much about, then, hey Tavia?”

“Hey, yeah, this is my friend, Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said, blushing at the hardly-concealed look she got from Vinyl at “told us so much about.” “Vinyl, this is Cannonball! He’s more or less the reason I started playing jazz in the first place.”

“Good to meetcha’!” came Vinyl’s enthusiastic reply. “It seems my reputation here precedes me!” Vinyl shot Tavy a grin. “I’m not sure exactly all of what you’ve heard, but I feel like I need to thank you, Cannonball! If it hadn’t been for all of this jazz business, I don’t know if this stupid filly would’ve ever come back to see me!” Tavy looked at Vinyl, a bit horrified by her friend’s (drunken) brashness, then turned to look to the large pony beside her.

But the stallion let out a hearty chuckle. “Glad I could do my part! Just don’t let her get away again, hey?” He gave Vinyl a nudge. “Wouldn’t do at all if the band lost a killer bass player like ‘Tavy’ here!” He laughed again.

Vinyl slung her foreleg around Tavy, who was blushing deeply, and at a bit of a loss. “You got it, bud!” said Vinyl. “Doubt either of us could do much better than her!”

“And that’s probably the truth, at that!” said Cannonball. “I like you Scratch! I’ll be seein’ you around, I imagine? And I’ll see you at the next practice Tavia!” he said as he went to go pack up his things and the two mares bid farewell.

“Ha, he’s great!” said Vinyl, turning to Tavy. “I approve! Not that I have any idea what the buck you guys played, though.”

“Vinyl, you—you’re one smarmy clop, you know that?” Octavia smiled, resignedly, her face still a bit flushed.

Why thank you,” replied Vinyl, sixty percent sure she knew what that meant. Octavia just continued smiling and shook her head.

“Anyway,” Vinyl said, nudging Octavia, “I didn’t realize you talked about me so much to your friends. What exactly did you say to them?” Vinyl was grinning. “This could be quite revealing, you know? Like, wow, I didn’t know you thought about me so much!” Unsure if Vinyl had been at the butt end of that previous statement (what did “smarmy” mean, exactly?), she was determined not to lose any ground.

Octavia blushed again. “Well what was that about you saying you ‘couldn’t do better’ than me, then, hmm?” Tavy said, smiling slightly, avoiding Vinyl’s eyes as she sat on her haunches to put away her instrument.

“But it’s true!” Vinyl said, staggering over and resting her forelegs on Octavia’s shoulders, putting her full weight down and almost knocked the sitting pony over.

“Gah, get off me you drunk!” Tavy said, giving Vinyl a playful shove (which nearly did topple the admittedly rather inebriated unicorn right over). “You shouldn’t tease me, you know, I’m a professional musician now!” said Tavy, sticking her nose up with mock-pride.

“Alright, alright,” said Vinyl, giggling more than a little bit. “But you’re gonna hafta’ properly explain why you go around calling that music!”

Octavia laughed out loud. “Now, that, Scratch, is what a pony calls ironic. I’m not entirely certain: would that have been twelve times that I have said that exact same thing to you? Or was it closer to twenty?”

“Har, har. Yeah, the irony isn’t lost on Vinyl Scratch, (not even on Drunk Vinyl Scratch),” she said as she moved around beside Tavy, plopping down on the floor next to her. She craned her neck around to get her head in between Tavy and her instrument. “But the question still stands!”

Octavia, failing at keeping a straight face, put a hoof on the side of Vinyl’s head and slowly but firmly moved it back out of the way. Once her instrument was securely in its case, she stood up and hefted it over her shoulder, the strap across her chest. Vinyl got up, too (and on the first try, no less).

“Actually,” said Octavia hesitantly, but with that sort of glow in her eyes that Vinyl was beginning to pleasantly grow accustomed to, “I was thinking I could show you some music that I think might help you start to appreciate this kind of jazz.” She looked to the side. “So . . . if you wanted to hang out for a bit, and do that?”

“Yeah, I dunno, I’m actually pretty tired . . .” Vinyl said, turning to the side. She felt her heart-beat actually flutter a bit as Tavy’s face instantly fell in disappointment. So easy! She used to have to try so hard to get this kind of response from the old Octavia; that pony used to remain so guarded all the time, Vinyl recalled.

“Please?” asked Tavy. “As a DJ you should jump at the opportunity to learn about different kinds of music, right?”

“Ha, yeah, alright. Let’s go listen to your weird music 'till I’m a better pony because of it. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?”

“Yep!” said Tavy, quickly brightening right back up. She adjusted the instrument lying across her back so it was sitting in a more comfortable position. “Okay, it’s settled. We’ll swing by my place to grab a few records, then we’ll head over to your place!”

Vinyl looked at her. “Wait, my place?”

“Yes, well, I don’t have my record player here yet—I’m still waiting for the rest of my stuff from Canterlot . . . but besides that, you’re a DJ! Of course we’d go to your place to listen to music! Now come on, let’s go!” Tavy walked past the slightly stunned DJ pony, heading towards the door. She called back a farewell to her band as she was leaving.

Vinyl shook her head and followed Tavy out. Vinyl was having an increasingly harder time figuring out who had gotten the better of who in these little exchanges.

They walked only a short distance once exiting the pub, before they came upon one of Ponyville’s main hotels. Tavy stopped in front of it, turned to go in, and said, “Kay, just wait a minute or two, I’ll be right back.”

“Tavy, you’re living in a hotel?” Vinyl asked, turning to look at her.

“Um, yes. I haven’t had a chance to find a new place yet. And my parents . . . well, they still think I’m at the RCM. It’d just be such a bother trying to explain all that . . .” Tavy said, frowning. “Anyway, just wait here!” She went inside the building.

Vinyl felt that she had been waiting quite a while by the time the grey earth pony finally came back out. She had set of saddlebags on her back, and no bass anymore.

“Alright, let’s go!” said Tavy, setting off in a direction. Vinyl watched her walk a slight ways, until she predictably came to a stop and looked around. “Uh, why don’t you go first!” Tavy said. Vinyl laughed at her, and lead them off in the opposite direction.

Upon arriving at Vinyl’s apartment, the first thing that made itself apparent on entering was that Vinyl’s place happened all in one room. The kitchen, living area, and sleeping area were distinguishable only by what kind of furniture was positioned in the various spots around the single room. The term “loft” would be very generous if it were to be applied to to this place: the small size, low roof, and general feeling of claustrophobia caused Vinyl to lovingly refer to it as a “studio apartment.” And studios were awesome, right? The DJ liked nothing better than the idea of living in a “studio.”

Adding to the feeling of claustrophobia, though, was the fact that there was very little actual floor space visible. Part of this was due to the large turntable unit set up along with speakers whose size further dwarfed that of the room. The rest of the floor was covered by . . . lots of things. Papers, miscellaneous packaging, various devices, and even records were all placed haphazardly in the middle of the floor (and in the front, back, and sides of the floor, as well).

“I . . . wasn’t really expecting company,” said Vinyl. “Well, for now, step only where I step!”

“Vinyl, this is . . . small.” Tavy was trying not to scrunch up her face as she looked over the room. “That dorm you used to live in was bigger than this. Hay, I think my hotel room is bigger than this.”

“Whatever,” said Vinyl, making her way through the fire marshal’s nightmare that was her floor, picking up various things with her magic and tossing them to a less obstructive location. “Some pony’s have big apartments: I have a turntable and sound system. Also, saved a ton on sound-proofing, this way.” She gestured to the walls, which Tavy now noticed were a series of large, padded panels. “Asylum” was a word that immediately sprung into Tavy’s head—feeling that it may not be that far off, knowing the kinds of music Scratch mixed in this place.

Vinyl’s futon mattress glowed a light blue as she lifted and folded it, adjusting the wooden frame to form it into a sort of couch. She maneuvered a little table (which she had had to clear off first) around and in front of it. “There! Go and put on your weird music!” She gestured to the turntable and speakers. “I’m gonna get a drink, you want one?”

“No, I’m alright for now, thanks,” Tavy said as she walked across the floor towards the sound system.

“Alright suit yourself.” Vinyl put away the second tumbler. She poured her alcoholic beverage of choice into just the one glass as she performed what had become known as a “Vinyl-pour”—which was similar to another pony’s pour in most ways, except for it being significantly larger. Once completed, she maneuvered over to the couch, and set her glass down as Octavia stared blankly at the turntable she had just placed the record on.

“Um, help?” came her plea. Vinyl got back up, went over and hit a single button, and the song began. They returned to the couch.

“Yeah,” Vinyl said, taking a drink from her tumbler, “Tavy, this is weird.”

“Here, just wait,” Tavy said. The piano and bass set into a steady rhythm—the sort of rhythm that had you tapping a hoof, but not quite one that passed easily through you. The saxophone and trumpet came in after a few repetitions of this, and set into long and steady notes, ascending and descending, building up and down as they did. Vinyl felt that she could not really fall into this groove too well—in fact it was a bit offsetting to her. She couldn’t quite place a hoof on it though; perhaps it was the bass progression that wasn’t quite gelling with her. She glanced at Tavy briefly, but refrained from saying anything else, and just sat through it.

Then the two horns fell into several shot-notes, with a cymbal shining out slaps as they did, throwing off the evenness that was set in with the long tones. The effect was a bit . . . eerie almost. They flung out the various notes, tossing them into the air without belaboring them. After a bit of this, he rhythm section fell into their groove once again, with the piano following the progression the horns had played previously.

“So when am I supposed to start ‘getting it’?” asked Vinyl.

“Just wait!” she urged Vinyl. “Just listen for a bit! Anyway, that trumpet player’s name is Miles Ahead: he’s who you saw playing tonight with my band. And the saxophonist is Cannonball!” This mollified Vinyl slightly; she sat back and took another sip of her drink. She did like Cannonball well enough, from her brief encounter of him. At least on a personal level. This song did seem to be going in a much different direction then the song she had heard at the pub.

Then the band switched it up, with a sharp click on the snare drum, the bass setting into spaced, evenly placed notes, foregoing the rhythm that had been previously established. The trumpet came through into a distinct melody, and the drums set into a shuffling groove, along with spaced tinkling of the piano.

This was kind of a neat groove, Vinyl admitted, and sat back to listen. The melody from the trumpet was undeniably . . . piercing. Haunting and passionate, it pulled Vinyl up and down with its deliberately paced tones. Vinyl knew buck-all about any acoustic instruments, for the most part, but she could tell that this was a good sounding trumpet.

Vinyl wasn’t exactly sure if it was the amount of alcohol she had in her system, the fact that she was fairly tired at this point, or the sudden torrent of emotions she had been struck with over the past 24 hours or so, but this eerie, penetrating melody was striking her more than a little bit. She felt the notes like they were going right through her, and resonating in and around her body as they did.

She couldn’t help but let herself be drawn into it, absorbing the melody being laid upon her. With a timeless sort of feel, it pulled her this way and that as the bass plunked out notes around the melody of the trumpet, as the drummer swirled brushes on the snare drum, keeping the groove shuffling along.

As the trumpet shot into a long high note, she almost felt her vision swim for a moment. She looked over at Octavia to see her listening intently to it, her brow furrowed slightly, absorbing it all with a concentrated effort. Vinyl had a passing wonder of how Tavy listened to the music, and if she herself wasn’t now beginning to get an inkling of what Tavy felt listening to this.

She took another swig of whiskey. She had to say, this music was pretty alright—though it seemed to have little to do with the barrage of notes that she had sat through earlier that evening. This deliberate, obviously melodic trumpet notes had none of the rapidfire, random pace of the solos she had heard earlier. The simple, controlled melody was very listen-to-able—much more so than the wall of saxophone notes from the other performance.

She turned to Tavy, about to say something, but then the trumpet stopped playing and the saxophone came in—being played by Cannonball, according to Tavy.

The saxophone wasn’t playing any kind of melody, but flew around playing notes in quick succession. He danced and flew around, going up and down, punching out certain notes not quite when Vinyl was expecting them to go. She felt herself being pulled around by Cannonball as he played. Rather than being “wall-of-noise”ed by it like she was at the performance earlier, she felt as though it was freely leading her around, as he shot out different notes that didn’t quite feel as if they should have gone there—but had—and took it off in a captivatingly different direction because of it.

Vinyl tossed back the rest of the whiskey and set down her tumbler. Maybe she could understand a bit of why Tavy was so entranced by this kind of music. She glanced over at Tavy, taking a long, calm look at her.

If Vinyl had felt she had been pulled in by the music, then Tavy had been sucked in through to the very center of it, at which point she had surrendered herself completely. Her eyes were glowing at a magnitude a fair bit more intense than Vinyl had ever seen them before. Vinyl wondered if Tavy even remembered where she was.

Vinyl felt an odd sort of twinge shoot through her, at this. Tavy had never looked at Vinyl like that. Had she really come back to see Vinyl again, or what that more incidental to the fact that coming here allowed her to be involved with the ponies that made music like this? Vinyl may have balked at the fact that she was more or less getting jealous of music—if Tavy had not abandoned her for it once before. And at that time, Vinyl had let her go.

Vinyl reached over and put her forelegs around Tavy, leaning into Tavy from where she sat.

“Wha—Vinyl?!” said Tavy, pulled slightly out of her trance. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No!” Vinyl replied. “Well, yes, but that’s not what this is about.” She held Tavy fast, ignoring her slight shifting, pulling her friend in closer.

“Are you drunk?” asked Tavy, looking over her shoulder at Vinyl as the unicorn wrapped her forelegs around her.

“What? No, I only had, like, one or four drinks,” Vinyl said defensively. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m doing this . . .” she trailed off. “Just be quiet and let me hold you.”

Vinyl had finished DJing for Octavia’s commandeered farewell party, finally managing to escape from behind the turntable without being dragged back by any more ridiculous drunken encores—as if it were a paid gig instead of something she’d been conned into doing. She had come over to sit with Tavy, who had been lying down on the couch, taking up the whole thing. Tavy had moved slightly to allow Scratch to sit down, but was mostly leaning against her when Vinyl put her forelegs around her.

“You’re leaving in a few weeks, anyway, what does it matter?” Vinyl added. Tavy maneuvered in place to get a look at the mare behind her.

“Vinyl, I—” Tavy began. “Never mind.” She began to turn away. Vinyl moved her hoof from where it was around Tavy, and placed it on the side of her face, preventing her from turning any further.

Vinyl pulled Tavy towards her, pressing her lips against those of the pony in front of her.

“Scratch! What—” Tavy pushed away slightly. She glanced from side to side, her face flushing. “Th-there’s ponies watching . . .”

Vinyl considered this. Not “what the buck are you doing, I thought we were friends;” not “get away from me you clopping filthy fillyfooler;” but instead, “there’s other ponies watching.” Vinyl took a moment to survey the room. There was not a more than a hoof-full of ponies that had any attention focused on the two of them —the party had progressed well past the point where something as mundane as two mares kissing would have warranted any particular interest.

Plus, Tavy was leaving her in a few weeks.

She drew Octavia back in, slowly but purposefully kissing her. Octavia didn’t pull back, letting her lips be taken by the unicorn. Vinyl reached her hooves around the back of Tavy’s head and brushed them through the crest of her mane, along the back of her neck. She felt Tavy wrap her own forelegs slowly, hesitantly, around Vinyl.

Vinyl gently but firmly gripped the back of Tavy’s neck, pressing her lips harder upon the other mare’s, and Tavy began to reciprocate the kiss. Vinyl drew back slightly, almost breaking the kiss, then leaned back in. She did it again. She pressed her tongue against Tavy’s mouth as she did, not forcefully, but stubbornly and repeatedly.

Tavy opened her mouth, letting Vinyl in. Tavy still seemed hesitant, though. The unicorn was going to have none of that from her soon-departing friend. Vinyl shot through Tavy’s mouth, leaning her body in closer as she did. She sucked and pulled at the mare’s tongue, finally drawing her into action.

Octavia kissed her back, now pressing back against Vinyl. Vinyl leaned back on the couch, Tavy shifting on top of her. From her vantage point, Tavy took the opportunity to draw back for a moment, breaking away from the unicorn.

“Vinyl, why are you doing this?” she asked, looking at the image of herself half-reflected in Vinyl’s shades.

“It . . . you . . . you’re going away.” answered Vinyl, lamely. Tavy fell back into the kiss. Several more ponies around them were now beginning to take notice.

“Then why are you doing this, Vinyl?” Tavy asked, not looking back. They sat on Vinyl’s futon, Vinyl with her forelegs around Tavy, and looking at the back of Tavy’s head as the music floated around them.

“It’s . . . just be quiet, we’re listening to music.” Vinyl could feel Tavy give a short laugh.

Vinyl let herself get pulled into the music again, but still remaining sharply aware of the mare in front of her. After so long being away from her—and now having placed herself in such very close proximity—the last Tavy-related partition in her mind fell away.

Combined with the alcohol and the piercing, haunting music around her, she let herself go. Vinyl gave in completely, and buried her nose and face into the back of Tavy’s neck, nuzzling into the dark, sleek mane of the pony she was holding. Vinyl breathed deeply. Tavy smelt of smoke and pub and varnished old wood. She let the smell envelop her, permeating her completely. She saturated herself in the mare in front of her, tightening her hold on the earth pony.

“V-Vinyl!” Octavia shifted herself, sitting up on her haunches beside Vinyl, turning to face her and pushing her away, gently, with a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. Vinyl’s hooves fell off of Octavia and to her sides as Vinyl lay on the couch.

Vinyl looked away, blushing fiercely, realizing she had compromised herself more than a little bit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . it- it’s this music! It’s messing with my emotions! Or whatever!” She picked up her purple shades from the table beside the futon in a blue glow, floating them towards her.

Octavia reached out and caught the levitating glasses in her hoof, pulling them away and depositing them back on the table. She put a hoof on Vinyl’s other shoulder and looked down at the unicorn lying beside her on the couch.

Vinyl couldn’t read the expression on Octavia’s face. Or rather, she knew what she thought the expression was—what she hoped, almost desperately, that it was—but doubted because of this, thinking she might be seeing only what she wanted to see. She closed her eyes, not chancing to trust in them.

And she felt Tavy’s forelegs wrap themselves around her neck. Vinyl tilted her head upwards, parting her lips slightly, relinquishing the notion that she would ever be in any kind of control when it came to this pony. She felt Tavy’s grip gently tighten on her, and felt lips press against hers, pulling her into a slow, soft kiss.

Vinyl let herself get swept away, wrapping her forelegs around Tavy as Tavy ran her hooves through Vinyl’s mane. Octavia slid into Vinyl’s mouth, and Vinyl did so in return, their tongues entwining. Tavy’s mouth tasted of smoke and what ashes probably taste like—not unlike the smokey aftertaste of a Scotch whiskey Vinyl once had had, which she hadn’t much cared for at the time, but suddenly felt inclined to give another try. She pulled Octavia in tighter, trying to get closer. She moved her hooves along the grey pony's back and down her sides.

Tavy returned Vinyl’s passion for a time, breathing harder as they sucked in gasps of air in around each other’s mouths. She ran her tongue faster and more wildly around the other mare’s, and held Vinyl tighter in her forelegs. Then Tavy slowed, gently releasing Vinyl and pulling away, though still breathing fast.

Vinyl opened her eyes, looking up at Tavy. Octavia was deeply flushed, and her mane had fallen out of its shape and hung around her loosely, her bowtie well off-kilter.

“I . . . it’s—” Tavy giggled slightly, brushing her mane out of her eyes. “It’s late. I should go.” She smiled, and kissed Vinyl again, lightly and quickly.

“But . . . you could also . . . not go?” Vinyl suggested, her words coming a bit lethargically in her breathlessness.

Octavia rolled off of the futon, standing up. “No,” she said looking down at Vinyl. “No, if something more is going to happen between us, I want you to remember every. Single. Moment,” Octavia whispered, leaning in and brushing her lips against Vinyl’s ear. Vinyl leaned over to get closer to Tavy’s mouth as she did this—and toppled ungraciously off the couch, sprawling onto the floor. “And with you being clopped drunk, I have my doubts,” Tavy finished.

Vinyl slowly flailed her legs in the air, attempting to roll over. “What—hey! I’m not all that drunk . . .”

“Vinyl, I had my tongue in your mouth. You taste like a lot of booze. I think I feel a bit tipsy just from kissing you.”

“Thas’ just ‘cus I’m so sexy,” Vinyl said, now beginning to give in as she felt herself falling down from her emotional high. “What about your mouth, then? Think I got a smoker’s cough comin’ on . . . *cough*”

Tavy snorted uncharmingly, then hefted Vinyl back onto the couch. She went to the door, preparing to leave, turning off the lights.

“Hey . . . lunch,” came the broken speech from the direction of the futon, barely audible over top of the final repetition of the song's head trailing off though the darkness. “We should have . . . lunch. Tomorrow! And I have to buy stuff, too . . we should totally buy stuff. Together.”

Octavia laughed, and found herself smiling warmly. “Yes, alright. That’d be nice.” She left.

Vinyl rolled onto her side, bringing her forelegs in close to her. She let the lingering scent and warmth of the other mare wash over her. She chalked this evening down as a successful evening—all things considered—and allowed herself to succumb to the alcohol and the sleepiness that beckoned her into unconsciousness, the last haunting trumpet phrases fading out around her.

D.C.

Vinyl awoke to a loud pounding. She lifted her head up, the room shifting uncomfortably as she did, and began to search for the source of such a noise. A pounding in her ears had continued on after the initial pounding had stopped—but it was an altogether different noise that made Vinyl proverbially scratch her head for a moment, before a brief jolt shot through her and she sprung up.

Stumbling on over, she switched off the turntable that had been running all night long, and disengaged the arm. She flipped the record into the air to inspect it and, ensuring that it was fine, replaced it in its sleeve and set it to the side. Leaving a record spinning on the machine, even throughout the night, really wouldn’t pose a serious risk to Tavy’s record, but it wasn’t all that great for the needle of Vinyl’s turntable. How typically “Tavy,” Vinyl thought. And the second turntable in her set-up already needed its needle replaced, so this extra wear wasn’t all that welcome.

That small burst of adrenaline had served to kickstart Vinyl’s brain, though the pounding in it seemed to only amplify because of it. However, now thinking about the pounding once again, the source of the initial disturbance gradually became apparent to her, and she made her way across her apartment. Squinting her eyes, she opened the door.

“Good morning, Scratch! How are you today? Ready to go?” came an altogether more energetic greeting than Vinyl was prepared to receive. Before her stood a bright, sandy-grey pony, whose charcoal mane casually hung down, flowing around her face. She was bowtie-less, and almost too shiny to look at, with the sun streaming in from the window in the hall. Vinyl nearly averted her eyes.

“Do—do I know you?” asked Vinyl.

Octavia blinked for a moment, then broke from her brightness just long enough to give Vinyl a wry smile upon determining the reason for the remark. “I don’t wear a bowtie everyday, you know. And do you think my mane poofs naturally?” she asked, as she flicked her head, tossing her mane slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I know. You just look . . . different. Whatever.” Vinyl brought a hoof to her forehead, trying to coax some of the pounding out of it. “Anyway, what are you—wait, lunch right?”

Octavia patiently waited for Vinyl’s hangover-addled brain to catch up. “But, ya’know—lunch,” Vinyl explained. “How are you even here? It’s like . . . morning time . . .”

“Vinyl, it’s already half-past one.”

Vinyl peered out from around her hoof that had been eclipsing the sun, and saw, through the window in the hall, that Celestia did seem to be at least half done with the searing yellow orb, already. “Hmm . . . yes, that sounds plausible. Yeah, and I have to get that thing,” Vinyl recalled. “For my stuff,” she clarified. Vinyl motioned for Octavia to come inside. “Here, just give me a minute to get ready.”

Tavy trotted in while Vinyl plodded into the bathroom, the only other room separate from the rest of the apartment. “I can’t believe you’re here already—you should’ve just stayed over,” came Vinyl’s voice.

Octavia blushed and fell into a shy grin. “I thought . . . that maybe you would have forgotten last night . . .”

“What? Come on, I totally remember last night. You kissed me, I saw your gig, we were kissing, we listened to some kind of weird music, and at some point I found out you’re living in a hotel. Oh, and we totally made-out.” There was the sound of running water and splashing. Vinyl came out, wiping her face with a towel that was held in her magic’s light blue glow. “Alright, maybe I’m a little hazy on the exact sequence of events—but all the important things are there,” she said, running a hoof through her mane as she tossed the towel back in the general direction of the bathroom. “Kay, ready.”

“Vinyl, does ‘getting ready’ happen to be the same as ‘washing your face, and that’s all’?” Octavia asked.

“Um, maybe. No, wait—” Vinyl levitated up her purple glasses from the table beside the futon and put them on, covering up her reddened red eyes and blocking out the merciless sunlight. “—Kay, now I’m ready.” Vinyl turned to go out the door. Just as she was about to exit, she noticed Tavy wasn’t coming, and she looked back to her.

“So . . . you remember all of last night, then?” Octavia asked, not looking at Vinyl.

“Yeah, I said that already. I can totally handle the somewhere-between-four-and-seven drinks I had last night. That mostly all happened to be doubles. No problem.” Vinyl looked away from Tavy. “Why? Are you—were you . . . I dunno . . . expecting me to forget last night?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” Octavia said quickly. “I just meant—well I mean—so you’re okay with it, then?” Octavia asked. “Like does this . . . are we . . . ?” She looked up at Vinyl.

“Oh. Um, yeah? Maybe, I guess?” Vinyl glanced up, meeting Tavy’s gaze, then broke it again, looking off to the side and blushing slightly. “I dunno . . . l-let’s just go eat, or whatever. It’s just way too—morning right now.”

Octavia leaned in and kissed Vinyl on the cheek that was turned towards her. “Okay, let’s go,” Tavy said. She went to go out the door, smiling rather obviously.

Vinyl hesitated a moment before following. She was trying to fully process all of what was happening, and to file it away in the correct compartment of her brain where it could return some kind of concrete significance for her. As it stood, she had yet to do so with anything that had happened since Octavia had shown up two evenings ago.

The events of the past couple days flowed by Vinyl in a torrent, passing through and around her—but had yet to really sink in anywhere. She had half expected to wake up and for Tavy to be gone again, and for Vinyl’s everyday routine to just fall back into place, everything returning to how it had been like after Tavy had first left. But she now looked at the grey mare (who really didn’t seem that grey at all in the daylight), and she realized that a sort of something had kind of clicked.

Tavy was here. Now. Really and properly here. This fact had securely lodged itself inside of her, where it nested comfortably in a place where it gave off this simple truth. And it felt good.

As if in response to her thoughts, Tavy turned her head and smiled at Vinyl, brushing up against her slightly. Vinyl was worried for a moment that Tavy had somehow overheard her brain-noise—but reasoned this to be unlikely, as Vinyl felt the odds were pretty high she had not actually said any of it outloud.

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” Octavia asked, snapping Vinyl out of her head-space. But then Tavy’s eyes lit up and she answered her own question. “Oh! We should go to Sugarcube Corner! I definitely missed that place while I was living in Canterlot!”

Vinyl agreed, as she brought herself out of her thoughts. Octavia was here now—there was no point in worrying about how everything exactly fit together. This was good, just as it was.

They approached the bakery, and the bell above the door dingled as they went in. One of the store owners, Mrs. Cake, greeted them. Octavia barely contained her excitement as she all but skipped up to the counter to see what baked goods were awaiting consumption.

Vinyl strolled up to counter. “While we’re deciding, could I get a macchiato with two shots of espresso? But, like, with not so much foam on the top?”

Octavia managed to pull herself away from pouring over the baked goods long enough to mouth the words, “hoofster,” to Vinyl. Then she said it again out loud, in case Vinyl had missed it—it being hard to tell though Vinyl’s shades.

“Hey! It’s a more direct way of getting caffeine into the system! And the milk makes it taste better. But the foam is too . . . foamy!” Vinyl said.

Similarly unable to tell where Vinyl’s gaze was directed, Mrs. Cake responded as though Vinyl had addressed her. “Alright dear, it’s no problem, really!” She turned, a bit taken aback, to go prepare the beverage, as Octavia seemed no closer to making a decision, if her still-rapidly darting eyes were any indication.

“Hey, you made me look like a jerk!” Vinyl whisper-shouted to Octavia.

“Look like a jerk?” she quipped back, in a normal speaking voice. “Now, which one of these should I get. Ah! I can’t decide!”

At that moment, a pink pony came bounding down the stairs, perhaps intrigued by hearing a voice she didn’t immediately recognize. “Oh, hey Pinkie. How’s it going?” greeted Vinyl. Pinkie shot up into the air, caught in a windowpane-rattling gasp. “Same as always, I take it,” Vinyl said, without reaction, turning back to the baked goods.

Part way through Pinkie’s display, however, she suddenly stopped and returned to the ground, her expression switching instantly. “Hey, nevermind, I know you!” Pinkie said. “You’re Octavia! You totally used to live here.” Then her expression flipped again, just as quickly, now subjecting Octavia to an intense stare. Then she gasped again—loudly, but rather closer to the level of an average pony. “And if you were wearing a bowtie and playing a cello, I’d also recognize you from the Grand Galloping Gala!” At this, Pinkie’s face dropped into a shy sort of smile. “Oooh. I am so super sorry about how that turned out . . . oh, and the Canterlot Garden Party, too—though there was much less actual running and screaming at that one . . .”

Octavia laughed. “No, that’s alright! It made for . . . memorable performances.” She thought about it. “And I still got paid, in both cases, so, well, no worries!”

Vinyl looked between the two of them. “Yeah, I’m not even going to ask.”

They got their pastries, and Vinyl her coffee and Tavy a tea, and they went to sit a table, where Pinkie joined them. “Since you used to live in Ponyville,” said Pinkie, “I can’t really throw a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party—so obviously a ‘Welcome Back to Ponyville’ party is in order!”

“Pinkie Pie, thanks, but I don’t think I need—” began Octavia, but she was cut off like she had never been speaking.

“Oooh, and tomorrow night would be perfect! It’ll be a super big combo-party!” Pinkie glanced at Vinyl and Tavy, matter-of-factly. “Because a party that big will have more than enough ‘Yay!’ left over to go into even a completely different ‘Hurray!’, too, wouldn’t you think?” She didn’t give enough time for a response. “It’s just being efficient, is all!”

“Pinkie, what are you talking about?” Vinyl asked, though mostly aware of the pointlessness of her words.

“The party, silly!” Pinkie said.

“And which party do you mean, now?” asked Octavia.

“The party that’s going to be tomorrow,” Pinkie explained.

They left it at that.

Upon leaving Sugarcube Corner, they were satisfied, energized, and rather confused—a combination of feelings quite familiar to ponies who were in the habit of frequenting that particular bakery.

Walking outside, Vinyl was once again thankful for her sunglasses, as the radiant beauty of a lovely morning (well, a lovely early-afternoon) glared down upon her. She still squinted from the bombardment, though, even through her glasses. The bright cheeriness of Ponyville often was difficult to handle at this particular time of day, after a night sharing commonalities with one such as the last.

Octavia sharply mirrored their surroundings as she walked along beside Vinyl with an almost throttle-worthy skip in her step—but Tavy’s mood was rather transmittable, and a few gleaned fragments of beatitude kept Vinyl from falling into headache-ridden sourness, for now. Anyway, Vinyl would have had to come out today, Tavy or no, because of the new stylus she needed for her one turntable. She had a gig tonight, so there was no way to put it off—and it’d be a bother to try and mooch one off of another DJ before then.

They then came upon a building that stood visually apart from the others—primarily due to the large set of speakers on the front of it, tastefully blaring out a contemporary arrangement of some classical piece or another to all who would happen by.

“What is it you need here?” Octavia asked as they entered the music store. “A cable, or something like that?” She thought this to be a fair guess, going by the average number of important-looking cords that were always connecting all the various bits of Vinyl’s equipment together.

“Patch cords or mic cables, you mean? No way!” Vinyl shot her down. “I’ve got, like, twelve of those. As spares. And over half of them are mine!’ she said, proudly. There was a pause. Octavia gave her a look.

“What?” Vinyl continued, just a little defensive. “That’s a lot! Cords are like, communal property. Everypony knows that. Need-a-cord-take-a-cord. It’d be like . . . I don’t know . . . picks, for you.”

Octavia continued to look at her, but her brow had now fallen straight. “Right,” said Vinyl, “you don’t use a pick. Wrong kind of bass. Bows, then!”

“Vinyl, string players would never swap bows.”

“So, like . . . strings, maybe?” Vinyl tried.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Do you know how long it takes to restring an instrument?”

“Well, buck me sideways, I don’t know. It’s just a thing, kay?” Vinyl said, gesturing in apparent effort to somehow emphasize her point. “I’m not a thief!” She thought about this. “Well, except that one XLR cable—but that was due to extreme circumstances. I was under duress.”

They walked up to the counter. “Hey Lyra,” Vinyl said distractedly, “I’m gonna need—” but Lyra wasn’t looking at her.

“Lyra?!”

“Tavia?!”

Vinyl looked from one to the other.

“I can’t believe you’re back!” Lyra exclaimed. “It’s been such a long time!” She and Octavia embraced in loud excitement over-top of the counter.

“Yeah! It’s great being back! And it’s so good to see you again!” said Octavia, beaming. They digressed into excited chatter, catching up on what had been going on, and how their old music buddies were doing and whatnot—as Vinyl stood there, rather stunned. When exactly had those two become such good friends?

As Vinyl remembered, Lyra and Octavia had been formal acquaintances, at best. In fact, they had been quite the rivals, at times. And what about the part where Octavia had made it into the RCM and Lyra hadn’t? Vinyl was pretty sure Lyra had been more than a little bitter over that. The two now bubbled and giggled while they talked. Well, somehow, three years of being apart was just what the friend-doctor had ordered for them, it seemed. Vinyl would never understand girls.

Well, like, girly-girl things, like that. Vinyl was all girl, it was just . . . she wasn’t really all that girly, right? Because, she basically lived like a colt, going by the state of her apartment, that was pretty true. And as long as she was delving into gender-stereotypes, there was her brash, straightforward way about things. Not to mention the whiskey she could drink like it was a stiff apple cider. And the fact that she liked mares, of course. Her eyes went to rest on Octavia, who was still talking with Lyra.

But with Octavia, she realized, it was a bit different. Tavy really had swept her off her hooves, coming out of nowhere like a totally glamorous prince, like she had. Vinyl’s thoughts slipped back to last night. Closing her eyes, forelegs wrapping around her, Tavy leaning forward and taking her lips, and Vinyl just letting go of herself . . . and before Tavy had broken away, Vinyl had been tracing her hooves down the side of her, and then down her shapely . . .

“Vinyl, didn’t you come here to get some mysterious item?” Octavia said, with a half-smile, her eyebrows raised.

Vinyl snapped her gaze back up to Tavy’s face. “Yeah. That’s why we’re here. But apparently you and Lyra are mysteriously best friends, now. Like, so I wanted to give you time to catch up. Because I’m so awesome and considerate. Ya’know, like I always am.” Vinyl feared her comeback was noticeably substandard—and the fact that she had been completely blushing didn’t help her facade of altogetherness, either. Tavy was well aware of this.

“Something distracting you?” asked Octavia, still with the same half-smile. She turned her head a little to the side. “It wouldn’t happen to do with where your eyes had strayed, would it?”

Vinyl paused for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “Yep. Guilty,” she admitted. “You’re just way too sexy. It’s totally not my fault.” Octavia’s cheeks changed colour slightly, and though her grin held fast, her eyes grew slightly brighter with a glint of something else in them. Vinyl pressed on. “And your mane! What’s up with that? You should really poof it, Tavy—it’s way too hot when it’s down like that.”

“You think so?” Octavia asked, with eyes half-lidded. “Well you know, now that I look at it, your mane actually looks pretty good right now,” she said, taking a step closer to Vinyl. “Of course, I did help you style it like that . . . last night,” she added.

“Yeah? Maybe I should get you to help me with it again, sometime.” Vinyl closed the distance between them, their noses nearly touching. “But hey—how did you know I’d been checking out your flank? I’ve got my sunglasses on.”

“I just had this feeling.” Octavia’s eyes had fallen almost shut, and she spoke just above a whisper. Vinyl could feel Tavy’s breath on her lips. Vinyl’s lips had parted slightly, her breathing perceptibly quickened. “You know, Scratch, if you want to kiss me, you just have to ask.” Octavia moved passed Vinyl, her mouth brushing up against Vinyl’s ear. “Perhaps you don’t even have to do that . . .”

“Whoa! Guys!” Lyra’s eyes had grown progressively wider as things had escalated. “I remember the two of you always being a bit risque with your banter—but this? Are you two . . .” she left it hanging.

“That’s a good question,” Vinyl said. “What would you say, Tavy? Are we?”

“Are we what, Vinyl?” Octavia asked, raising an eyebrow, having moved back from Vinyl as Lyra had spoken.

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Vinyl brought a hoof to her chin. “Like, a thing, maybe?” she speculated. “Is that what we are Tavy? Are we a thing?”

Tavy looked to be considering this for a moment. “You know what? I do believe we are Vinyl.” She then moved closer to Vinyl once again, reaching up and taking off the unicorn’s glasses, their faces now inches apart.

“Alright. Good to know,” Vinyl replied softly. They were held in each other’s gaze, their lips parted and nearly touching . . .

“Kay,” said Lyra, “you guys better go ahead and just get it out of—” but Vinyl and Octavia had already started kissing.

On the whole, it was a rather long and drawn-out process—and it took several attempts before they parted and were able to remain that way. They stood for a moment longer, mouths hanging open slightly, eyes staring into one another’s.

“So . . . the thing?” Octavia said finally, her breath coming fast, putting Vinyl’s glasses back on the unicorn.

“What else about our thing?” Vinyl asked, adjusting them, also breathless.

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh! Yes. The thing.” She turned to Lyra. “Right, okay, as I was saying, I’m going to need a stylus for my turntable. You know the brand I like.”

“Yeah—I sure do,” said Lyra, who had a knowing but still a bit incredulous grin stuck on her face. But she stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing over to a far corner of the store. “Okay, come over this way, I think we’ve got one of those.”

Vinyl and Octavia followed the green unicorn through the store. As they did, Vinyl suddenly realized she herself had somehow picked up a sort of skip in her step, and was inexplicably taken over by a terribly good mood. She felt positively chipper. “What do you mean, ‘you think you’ve got one’?” She smirked at Lyra. “You’re a clop away from running this place, you know every single bucking thing the store has!”

“Hmm? Okay, that is mostly true,” Lyra admitted, considering this. “But you’d be happier to get it if you thought there might not be one, though, right?” she asked with a grin. “Anyway what the hay do you need this for? You just bought one about a week ago.”

“What kind of question is that?” said Vinyl, indignantly. “You know I go through those things fast!”

“Not every DJ does you know. Do you think maybe there’s a reason you’re going through them that quickly?” Lyra suggested.

“Yeah, maybe ‘cuz I get way more gigs than the other DJs,” Vinyl said, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I’m too hard on my equipment? I take great care of my stuff! Like how many times do I come in for a new pitch control unit, or something like that? That’s because of regular maintenance, you know!”

“Yes, yes,” said Lyra, waving a hoof. They approached a section on one of the walls that had an entire mess of miscellaneous-to-very-specific turntable parts and accessories. Lyra lit up her horn and pulled several boxes forward slightly, indicating a few different models of needles all made by one specific brand. “I know you take great care of your stuff. I was just trying to get you to admit you blow through them because you’re wild and crazy.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t because of that,” said Vinyl, not contesting the “wild and crazy” part. She hadn’t yet looked at the items on the shelf that Lyra had indicated, though, and instead continued on talking. “And I know how to fix all that other stuff if I needed to, anyways. You know, speaking of it, I totally replaced a buddy’s pitch control on his set-up just a little while ago. He hadn’t been cleaning it, and it gets all this dust on it—as time goes on, you know? Can fry the thing, eventually. Anyway, it’s not all that easy, replacing one of those. See, there’s a fiddly little bit of soldering you gotta mess with in order to take the—”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there—before the entire day slips away and I’ll have gotten nothing done,” Lyra said, bringing down one of the boxes and pushed the glowing object at Vinyl until a hoof unconsciously accepted the proffered item. “Sorry I said anything, I should’ve known better,” said Lyra, grinning.

“What’s this, now?” Octavia asked.

“Hmm?” Lyra looked at her. “Oh, Vinyl, you mean. She gets going about stuff like that, or some new little technical thing she’s found out about—and then she just doesn’t really stop,” Lyra said, ignoring an indignant exclamation from Vinyl.

“Hey, come on, it’s not that bad!”

“Yeah it is.”

“Vinyl!” Octavia began, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “I didn’t know you geeked out about stuff! . . . And frequently? For extended periods of time?”

“Wha—hey, it’s not like . . . it doesn’t really . . .” Vinyl began to blush.

“Oh, you’re speechless!” Octavia said, laughing.

“She’s still talking, though,” Lyra pointed out. Both mares took a moment to observe the spluttering unicorn.

“Well, as speechless as Vinyl is likely to ever be,” Octavia reasoned.

“Mmh. Can’t argue with that.”

Vinyl, who was still spitting out sentence fragments, then stopped. “What is it?” she asked, now catching Octavia’s gaze.

“Oh, nothing,” Octavia said, looking to the side. “It’s just—that’s really kind of cute, Vinyl.” Octavia smiled a bit.

Vinyl blushed a little deeper. “What? I’m not . . . I wouldn’t—really?”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Come on you two, I’ve got stuff to do today, you know.”

“Yeah, like what?” asked Vinyl, smirking once again, her brain now switching back in control of her mouth. “Oh sorry, is your chair going to get cold if we keep you away from it for too long?”

“Ha ha. Yes, Make fun of the pony who actually has a job.” Lyra said.

Vinyl now looked at the item that had ended up in her hoof. She frowned, returning it to the shelf and selected a different box. “Psh, whatever. Jobs are for squares.”

Lyra looked at Vinyl for a moment, then sighed, closing her eyes. “You know, someday you’ll have to join the real world, Vinyl Scratch.”

“I sure as hay won’t!” Vinyl said without a pause. “I’m quite happy where I am, thanks.” Vinyl turned over the package that she had grabbed in her magic aura, reading the back to be sure it was the correct one. She grinned at Lyra. “You know I don’t even believe in that thing, anyway.”

“What, the real world?” Octavia asked.

“Yep. Doesn’t exist,” Vinyl said, pulling her glasses off to toss a look at Tavy, subjecting her to a lopsided smirk with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. But Octavia caught a sort of glimmer in Vinyl’s eyes, beyond the cocky swagger, that she wasn’t sure she recognized. It was piercing—but also, maybe just a bit . . . pleading? No, Octavia realised, not pleading. It wasn’t begging for help—it was daring the world to disagree. Then it was gone. “It’s just a scary story they tell to frighten young college students,” Vinyl continued, looking back at Lyra. “It’s all in your head.” She finished with a nod and a grin.

“So, is that your motto, or something like that?” Lyra asked.

“Yes, now stop talking about it.” Vinyl turned to Tavy and dropped into a whisper, shifting her eyes conspiratorially from side-to-side. “Talking about it gives it strength.”

Octavia smiled at her for a moment. “Vinyl, I’m glad I came back. To you.” Vinyl winked at her in reply, and gave Tavy a quick kiss, then replaced her sunglasses.

“Alright,” said Lyra, “come back up to the front and pay for what you’ve got there. The sooner you do that, the sooner you can get out of my store—you sickening love-birds.”

After buying the stylus, they said farewell to Lyra, preparing to go.

“See you tomorrow night, for the party,” Lyra said, before they left. Vinyl and Octavia both stopped short and turned to look at her.

“Wait, you know about the party?” asked Vinyl.

“Well, of course.”

“My ‘welcome back’ party?” asked Octavia.

“Hmm? Oh, is that a Pinkie Pie Party? Well, yeah, that should be fun I imagine,” said Lyra, smiling at them. The two hesitated for a moment, but then left. The two of them walked out of a store for the second time that day, feeling a combination of sensations that were oddly similar to those they had felt upon leaving the first one.

Walking through the streets of Ponyville once more, Octavia turned to Vinyl. “How do you think Lyra knew about the party already?” she asked.

“Yeah, weird, right? I guess it’s a Pinkie Pie thing,” Vinyl said dismissively. She then raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Octavia. “And speaking of Lyra, I thought you two didn’t get along!”

“Well,” said Octavia, thinking about it, “I suppose it’s true we’ve never really liked each other all that much—but we’re friends, and so we both just act as friends act, right?”

“You know what? I’m just gonna go ahead and pretend that makes sense.”

They came to a point where Tavy’s hotel was in one direction and Vinyl’s apartment was in another. Coming to a stop, both of them stood there for a few moments.

“So . . .” began Vinyl, but Octavia cut her off.

“Vinyl, did you mean what we were saying back there?” Octavia asked, looking straight at Vinyl.

Vinyl held her gaze for a moment, but then broke away. “What we said? When?” Though Vinyl had a fair guess, and felt a blush beginning to creep up on her.

“I mean . . .about how we’re—”

“Yes,” said Vinyl suddenly, “About if we’re a thing? I meant it. And if you did, too . . . I mean, I think that’d be great. Just, like, really. So good. We’d totally make the best thing ever.” Vinyl fiddled with her glasses and looked down, trying to hide her deepening blush. “Because, well—ya’know actually, looking back on it, I don’t know how I was even okay without you—‘cus now it’s all . . . and every time I’m around you . . . buck it all! I don’t know. Just ‘yes’. Yes, I meant it. Probably more than I usually mean things,” she added.

Vinyl felt a hoof against the side of her face, which then pulled it up and forwards, where Tavy’s lips met with hers.

It was slow, but strong—though most of all, as Vinyl felt Tavy’s mouth against hers, Vinyl didn’t feel a shred of doubt that it was anything but an overwhelming passion coming through from the other mare. Forceful, unrestrained—almost desperate. Stronger than any sort glint she’d ever seen in that pony’s eyes—and it was unmistakably directed at Vinyl.

It was then that another sort of something from the torrent of the past few days now clicked for Vinyl. And it, as well, lodged itself within her, where the feeling of it spread throughout her, permeating her, until she felt completely saturated by it. And it, most definitely, felt good.

As they broke apart, Vinyl Scratch found herself smiling in a way that was, for the unicorn, most unusual. It wasn’t a smirk, being free from irony or mockery, though neither was it cocky or exaggerated. It was just an honest-to-Celestia smile—an outward expression of the fact which sat inside of her and did nothing else besides simply making sense.

However, Octavia looked to the side, a slightly distant look in her eye. What Vinyl had felt during the kiss definitely wasn’t fake—so she had no idea what could be bothering Tavy. Vinyl’s smile fell a little, and she was about to say something, but Octavia spoke first.

“Do you want to go to The Double Double?” Octavia asked, looking up at Vinyl, not a trace of anything but brightness in her eyes once again. “If you’ve got time, of course.”

“. . . Yeah. Yeah okay,” Vinyl said, letting it go. If it was something important, it’d come up later, and they could deal with it then. She was fairly certain Tavy wasn’t going to be leaving again anytime soon—there were a few key things keeping her here, after all. And Vinyl would just have to be sure to keep on adding to that list in order to ensure it. “That sounds good. I’ve got a gig tonight, but that’s not until late, and it shouldn’t take all that long to put on the new needle before then. Seeking of which, you wanna come?”

They set off together towards the coffee shop. “To your gig?” asked Octavia.

“Yeah. It can totally be revenge for making me come to yours.”

Octavia laughed. “Yeah, okay.” A grin made its way to Tavy’s face. “Could it be that you want to hang out after?” she asked, giving Vinyl a look that left no need for guesswork in order to divine her implications.

“Was it that obvious?” asked Vinyl, leaning up against her as they walked, their cutie marks bumping up against each other’s.

“I just had this feeling,” Octavia said, and swished her tail where it brushed suggestively against Vinyl’s upper back legs. Vinyl felt a tingling shudder travel through her, and felt herself flush. She tried to remember whether it had been this hot out before they had gone into the music store or not.

As they came up on The Double Double, Tavy turned to Vinyl. “You know, I bet Arabica will will go completely crazy when she hears about us! She’s always seemed strangely invested in our relationship.”

“Luna’s sweet shiny moon, you're right.” Vinyl let out a disgruntled noise, her eyebrows falling straight. “That’s always chapped my flank more than a little bit.”

But, having said that—as they went in, without bothering whether or not there were any other customers there—Vinyl turned immediately to Arabica. “Hey, so, me and Tavy are a thing now. We make-out and stuff. Thought that’d tickle you bucking pink or something.”

Arabica squealed loudly, a few heads of ponies not so accustomed to this particular coffee shop, or the antics that it was frequented by, turned in surprise. (Those who were regulars didn’t so much as bat an eye, continuing with their conversations without missing a beat.) The proprietress beckoned Vinyl and Tavy over to come up and take a seat at the bar.

“That’s spectacular! It’s so great—I just always knew you two were perfect for eachother!” she gushed. “I can’t believe you finally—oh, was it because Octavia had just come back? And after seeing her again, feelings sprung up in you that you never knew—”

“Yes, yes, keep going,” said Scratch, waving her hoof at Arabica. “Just get it out of your system.”

“—or maybe Octavia came back because she couldn’t bare to be apart for another moment, was that it? Realizing her true feelings she threw away everything—”

“That’s the way, just let it all out.”

“—and you’re both just so cute together! You compliment each other so well! I bet Vinyl’s great in bed, isn’t she? Oh, I wonder, Vinyl, do you leave your glasses on, so Tavy can see herself reflected in them, all sweaty and—”

“Ho-okay, that’s probably enough. Time to stop now,” Vinyl said. Both she and Octavia had gone quite red, and couldn't help but glance around at the other ponies in the store. Most seemed not to have heard though—and the rest were making a pointed effort to appear as though they hadn’t, either—so they turned back to Arabica.

“I’m just so happy for you!” Arabica said.

“Yes, we’ve gathered as much,” said a slightly haggard Octavia. Then a thought occurred to Octavia, and, as it served the secondary purpose of changing the subject as well, she asked it. “Oh, say, you wouldn’t happen to know about a kind of party, of sorts, would you? One that may or may not be happening tomorrow night?”

“No, I haven’t heard about anything like that,” she said. Then the barista thought about it a moment. “Though . . . that would actually explain a fair bit. Now that I think about it, all day customers have been talking about something going on tomorrow, and that would tie all that together nicely.”

Octavia’s eyes went wide in disbelief for a moment, then she whipped around, putting out a general question to the floor. “Do all of you know about the party tomorrow night?” The ponies in the cafe looked up, for the most part, exchanging glances with each other, nodding or otherwise indicating the affirmative. They all were looking at Tavy as if she had sprouted hands.

“Well, there you have it,” said Arabica. “You know, I had been wondering what they had all been talking about. You’ve solved a bit of a mystery for me!”

“If it was such a mystery,” Vinyl said, “why didn’t you just ask somepony who’d been talking about it?”

“Oh, a barista shouldn’t overstep her boundaries! Wouldn’t want to seem like I was prying into the personal life of my customers,” she said with an indignant look, as if such a thing would be absolutely unthinkable. Vinyl and Tavy shared a glance. Vinyl opened her mouth, bringing up her hoof as if about to say something, but let it drop back down, just shaking her head.

Repeat

Octavia entered the club, and was struck with nostalgic images of her old self going to various gigs of Vinyl’s, much like this. She remembered always feeling so out of place and awkward—and now wondered why she had stubbornly insisted on wearing her bowtie to these things. Now, however, as she adjusted her bowtie, she felt altogether differently as she walked in.

The sleek design of the place, heavy on curves with almost no straight edges in the whole place, was accentuated by the lighting, which was placed low and sporadically. Catching sharply on odd surfaces and sweeping edges of the curved tables, Tavy almost found herself squinting from the glare. The contrasting dark tones of the walls and ceiling, along with the lack of windows, served to make it feel right about time to be grabbing a beverage, regardless of the time it was on the outside. Ponies stood around, sipping colourful drinks and wearing similarly garish smiles, chatting loudly and obviously.

Tavy felt slightly thrown off by it all—but in quite the opposite way that she would have, years back. Rather than feeling she was degrading herself by being seen in a place like this, the slick stylishness of the club seemed perhaps a bit more flashy and up-scale than she was altogether comfortable with. Used to the easy, un-self-conscious shabbiness of the pubs she often played at, Octavia felt a little intimidated here. She wasn’t completely sure she was classy enough for the place.

She was a bit late, and could see Vinyl was already set up, and looked to already have been playing for a while. Similarly illuminated by low-level lighting, Vinyl’s glasses seemed as though they were giving off a light of their own, their brilliance rivaled only by that of the electric blue of her mane as it was lit up to an intensity non-magical lighting couldn’t pull off. Vinyl was just transitioning into a new mix as Tavy found a small table with a rounded booth far in the corner, though still in a place where she could still see the DJ pony.

As she sat, a server approached her table. The mare had a pink and blue mane, with a cream colored coat. Tavy instantly recognized her back from her time in Ponyville, but there was a distinct delay in recalling the mare’s name. Something French and sweet, Tavy thought . . .

“Oh, hello Octavia. I had heard you were back in town,” the mare said.

“Ah, yes, hello . . .” Cherie? Macaroon? Octavia glanced down at the mare’s flank. “. . . Bon Bon!” She looked back up to the mare’s face, which had fallen considerably from the professional amiability it had just had.

“Good to see you again,” Bon Bon said, now looking anything but so. “Do you want anything?”

Just then a few bits of Vinyls mix jumped out at her. “Yeah . . . whiskey.”

A layer of distortion blended into the music, and the melody dropped away as a pulsing bass pulled into it. Ah, Octavia thought, there was that “wub” of which ponies speak. She caught Bon Bon’s attention before the mare left. “And how about you make it a double?”

Vinyl cut out the music for a moment, then brought it back in with a new melody over top of it and a pulsing beat—but one which Tavy felt herself nodding along to. She knew very little about this kind of music—whatever she had known, she had learned from Vinyl Scratch three years ago and then promptly forgotten—but began to realize that that didn’t really matter. The use of repetition and then variation was quite captivating, she had to say, as she listened to segments building up and down. The old Octavia would have found the accessibility of music to cheapen the experience, she thought, though she now could see how ridiculous that was. The point was to enjoy the music, not have it let everypony know how sophisticated you were for listening to it.

She looked up at Vinyl, at the other end of the club and behind her turntables, who was a complete dazzle to see. Tavy wondered just how much clop she had put her friend though in those days—and why in Equestria Vinyl had stuck with her as she had. Bon Bon set Tavy’s drink on the table, snapping her out of her thoughts for a moment. She thanked Bon Bon, but her server just spun and walked away. Tavy was pulled back to the spectacle that was Vinyl Scratch.

She let the music take her back in, as it switched into more of a driving groove and let up on the melody a bit, and Tavy watched Vinyl as she poured herself in what she was doing. Vinyl was switching back between her headphones and listening to the mix as she pushed and pulled from different elements she was tossing in, all the while bobbing her head along to the beat. She really was DJ PON-3 over there, brilliant and far away, entirely different from the altogether ridiculous mare that Vinyl Scratch pretended not to be. Vinyl hadn’t changed a bit from how Tavy had remembered her, with her love for her music causing her to stop trying to be cool and actually be cool, no matter how briefly.

She recalled how Vinyl’s transforming passion for her music always used to throw Tavy off a bit. She saw now, it may have been because she herself had always done quite the opposite—where playing music was when she had been faking it the most. Maybe now, however, she could get a little inkling of what Vinyl felt. Vinyl cut off the music once again, and Octavia’s gaze snapped up to the DJ, as she came in with a different variation a moment later. A blush crept up on Tavy’s face as she watched Vinyl’s hair bouncing and falling around her, nearly as captivating as her smile. Especially when it came to things unrelated to music, Tavy thought.

It was clear she shared Vinyl’s passion in that respect, she realized, her blush deepening. Though it had, once again, been Vinyl who had felt that way first. Tavy felt a sudden falling feeling, like something was dropping out from the pit of her stomach, as her thoughts found themselves once again at the part where she had left Vinyl like she had. What the buck had she been thinking, back then?

As the layers coming into the mix thickened, she scrambled to put back together what exactly had gone through her head to make her do that. Really, it came down to the Royal Conservatory of Music, she figured. She had been preparing to go to that for such a long time. She had been setting herself up to move away from Ponyville, and away from Vinyl . . . it was hard, and she didn’t feel that great about it, but it was what she had decided she wanted. She had wanted to go more than anything.

Then Vinyl kissing her . . . and suddenly she was confused. Going to Canterlot didn’t seem quite so spectacular, anymore. But she had convinced herself that it was too late, and that staying would have just been too easy. Nothing worth it is ever easy, she had heard. She had been pissed that Vinyl had made it so hard for her. She had to go to Canterlot . . .

She slammed her hoof down on the table. How had that ever made any sense at all? She took a large gulp from the glass sitting in front of her. The fiery warmth spreading down seemed to cover everything inside of her except the one certain bit in her stomach that this awfulness was originating from. Perhaps additional benefits were dose-dependant. She took another swig.

The last few notes of the melody trickled through, trailing down, the bass now gone. Octavia tried to shake off the feeling that had dropped down on her, but couldn’t make it budge. Suddenly a dark creeping sensation welled up, and a tingle of panic came at the familiarity of this sudden bitterness. She had thought she had left these feelings back in Canterlot. Being back with Vinyl was what was going to cure them—so why wasn’t it?

The melody trailed down, leading to the final resolving note . . . wait, she thought suddenly, were was it? That was the end? Octavia’s head snapped up. That was an incomplete IV-V cadance! She glanced around, half expecting the ghost of Beethooven to streak towards the stage and strike out the last resolving note. Vinyl had completely left her hanging! A thin smile crept onto Octavia’s face. It was a sort of metaphorical poetic justice, she concluded. Then she took a drink, her forehead creased in frustration as she caught herself teetering back over the edge of a place from which she thought she had escaped.

Octavia finished her drink as Vinyl tore down her kit. Once stored away, the DJ made her way over to the table where Octavia sat. “You . . . didn’t like it?” Vinyl asked as she saw Octavia, though not sounding or looking put out in any way. Or all that surprised.

Octavia realized she was looking rather grim, and tossed on a wide grin. “Oh, no, I actually quite enjoyed it!”

“You don’t have to pretend. It’s cool.” Vinyl pulled on a cocky grin. “I know how awesome I am, and that’s what counts.”

“Believe me Scratch,” Octavia said with a wry look, “the last thing I’d worry about is harming your ego. It’d take a pony far greater than I to accomplish that.” She smiled. “No, really, I enjoyed it. Excellent use of repetition to establish a pattern, then variation to take it off in a different direction. The way you built up the intensity and tension was great, but you also knew when to pull back to keep it fresh.”

“Wow . . . you were listening. And, like, listening,” Vinyl said, obviously trying not to seem too amazed.

“Two and a half years of intense academic music training—I could analyse the musical qualities of the buzzing of that fluorescence-magic light,” Tavy said. “And you are rather a bit more interesting than that, I will say.” She laughed. Vinyl didn’t. “Seriously though, I’ve never not thought that you have an excellent feel for music. It was good!”

“Yeah? Well . . . thanks Tavy,” Vinyl said, trying to brush off the compliment like it was no big deal. But from the light blush creeping up on Vinyl, Tavy could tell her praise meant a bit more to Vinyl than she would let on.

Bon Bon approached the table. “Great set Vinyl Scratch, as usual. Want a drink?”

“Hey Bon Bon, thanks. Yeah, I’ll get the usual.”

“So. You two are together now?” she asked.

“Uh . . . yes. Yes we are,” Vinyl said.

“Huh. Who would have thought.” She walked off.

“Was that . . . sarcasm? I actually can’t tell.” Vinyl turned to Octavia, tilting her head slightly. “Was she being snippy with us? I wouldn’t say that’s unusual for her, but . . . was she like that when you got here?”

“I, Uh . . .” Tavy looked away. “I may have had to look at her bum to remember her name . . .”

Once Vinyl had finished having a hearty and thorough laugh at Tavy’s expense, she raised an eyebrow. “What’s up? You’re totally not laughing. That was hilarious. You know, she’s totally—oh wait, no, you wouldn’t know! Okay, so, get this! She’s totally in this completely obvious ‘secret’ relationship with—awesome! Awesome. That’s just, so great. Thanks!”

“No problem . . .” Bon Bon gave Vinyl an odd look as she set the drink Vinyl had ordered on the table, and walked away.

“Hwoo, that was close!” Vinyl cracked a large grin, turning back to Octavia. But it slipped away as she caught the look on her face. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“No, sorry . . . it’s just . . . mostly nothing. Nevermind.” Tavy took another drink. She tried to shake off what she was feeling, as it was infinitely less preferable than having a laugh with Vinyl. It was just . . . tenacious.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Vinyl looked to the side a bit. “Uh . . . if it’s about us or whatever, it’s alright if you want to talk about it,” Vinyl said in a way Tavy would almost say seemed nervous—if that was not something she was quite sure Vinyl was altogether incapable of feeling. Now paying a bit more attention to Vinyl, however, Tavy could see that the earlier excitement may have been a bit forced on Vinyl’s part. The unicorn shifted in her spot a bit as she continued on. “I mean, if you’re not totally sure about . . . well, us . . . because, you know, things have gone pretty fast. It’s been, what? Two days? It’s okay if—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I . . . this is what I want. To be with you,” Octavia stated. She saw how Vinyl could be getting those kind of signals from her, but it wasn’t like that at all. “No, it’s just . . .” Tavy tried to think of what exactly it was. She tried to nail it down to something that would make some kind of sense. “Well, I guess I’m still feeling bad about how I left you—is what I think this is. Like, the kiss. I mean, you kissed me, and I yelled at you and left.”

Vinyl looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. Then she sighed. “No, actually, I think I should apologize.” She took her glasses off, setting them on the table. “I really want to say I’m sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“How I kissed you like that!” Vinyl said quickly. “At the party way back then!” She was avoiding looking at Tavy. “That wasn’t okay. It was selfish and stupid. I had, like, this totally hopeless crush on you or whatever, and then you were leaving, and then I was all, ‘consequences be bucked!’ I really didn’t think that it’d do all that to you and stuff . . .”

“Really? Well . . . it’s okay. I mean . . . I was mostly alright about the kiss actually. It made me think about things, but . . . I think it made me happy—”

“What?” Vinyl’s head snapped up to look at Tavy. “You didn’t hate me because of that?”

“No. I mean, you were my best friend. If that had really bothered me—if I really hadn’t felt mostly the same way about you—I would’ve just said something. Don’t you remember how close we were? That would have been nothing compared to some of the things we talked—”

“Then why the buck did you leave me?!”

Tavy flinched from Vinyl’s sudden volume, stumbling over her words for a moment. “You . . . I . . . I was going to leave! I had been pushing everything down—setting myself up to leave everything!” Why was Vinyl so surprised? Tavy thought they had been over this. Though, as a dark falling sensation made it’s way back into her, she realized that they hadn’t really gone over this all that thoroughly, at all. “D-Didn’t you say you didn’t care about that?” Tavy said, hearing a hint of panic sneaking into her voice. “You said you were mad at me because I left—that all that about the kiss wasn’t such a big deal anymore! I mean . . . we didn’t really say that specifically, but that’s what we were really talking about, wasn’t it?”

The initial surprise on Vinyl’s face started to seep away, but began to fall into a harsher expression. “Okay,” said Vinyl evenly, “even if there was this big secret thing that we were really talking about—even though nopony mentioned it—yeah, I’d pretty much say that I had been okay with all that.” She set her hoof down on the table. “Because I thought you were being honest about what you said you had felt! That the kiss wasn’t well received, and that it screwed with you, and set you off. And that’s why you left . . . yeah, in that case, I would’ve been okay with how everything had happened. I was an ass to do that, and would’ve mostly deserved it all. I felt bad, okay?” She ran a hoof through her mane, letting out a puff of breath that was almost a laugh, leaning back from the table a bit. “But now you’re basically saying you felt the same way?! I was bucked up after that, Tavy!” Vinyl brought her foreleg off the table, holding it out to the side a little. “Can you see why I’m freaking out a bit, here?”

“Well I’m sorry! I’m saying that now! I just . . . was so prepared to be leaving. And then you suddenly . . . and then maybe there was something I wanted more than going to Canterlot, okay? Years of psyching myself up so it wouldn’t hurt when I left, and you tore that all down in one night! I was so frustrated—”

“Kay, yeah, that’s all about you. Did you happen to think of what I was feeling? Contrary to public image, I don’t go around kissing fillies left and right. You knew that!”

“What . . . but I . . .” Octavia was caught short for a moment, her mouth falling slack. It was true, she hadn’t thought much about what Vinyl must have been feeling. But her face hardened. “Well, okay, yes, I was selfish. But you were, too! You just said so yourself!”

“But I was, like, selfishly honest, or whatever. You were being . . .” Vinyl waved her hoof in the air. “Selfishly deceptive!” she concluded.

“Huh, that’s convenient that that makes it suddenly not any of your fault! What the buck?”

“Tavy, I was bucked up after that! I mean, like, it screwed me up a bit, I think . . .”

“You think I wasn’t screwed up from this!” Octavia let loose. “Yeah, who’s being selfish right now, then? For three years I had no idea what the buck I was clopping doing . . . no idea what I was doing it for. Nothing was familiar! I had nopony I could even relate to! And it turns out I really had made you completely hate me! And you’re not really even forgiving me for it!”

“Would that actually change anything?!” Vinyl shouted back. Then she settled back down, falling into a regular speaking level. “This has already happened. We’re just back where we started. The damage is done.”

They sat for a time in silence, not making eye contact. Bon Bon shot venom at them as she passed by their table, bringing drinks over to another group.

“Clearly . . .” Vinyl began, “we both have a lot more baggage from all this than we had thought. I don’t know Tavy, I—”

“But we’re both here now.” Tavy said. “I think that . . . maybe . . . we could probably just let it go now.”

Vinyl’s eyebrows fell straight, and she stared at Tavy. “What, seriously? That’s your answer? Yeah, okay—ploof! There. Gone.” Vinyl rolled her eyes. “What the buck Tavy?”

“No. Really. Just . . . we need to forget about all that. Thinking about it hasn’t made it go away, talking about it hasn’t made it go away, and apologizing obviously won’t. Maybe . . . forgetting about it will.”

“What, just shove it back down? That’s worked so very well for both of us these last few years. I’m sure—”

“But it’s different this time. I’m here and you’re here. It’s time to let it go. Like, me, too. Both of us.”

“That . . . is just a ridiculous suggestion. Like, really—so bad.”

Octavia reached over and put her hoof on Vinyl’s. “Just . . . forget. We’ll make it okay.”

Vinyl was pointedly looking away. “That’s bucking stupid. Are you even hearing the noises coming from your mouth?”

Tavy reached over and took the side of Vinyl’s face with her other hoof, directing the unicorn to meet her gaze. “Come on. Try it. For me. For our thing?” Tavy kissed her, with no question in the action. Though Vinyl was resistant, Tavy felt her begin to relax, slumping into Tavy’s statement.

“Okay, shouting, or making-out, or whatever—it’s time to find a room to do that in that isn’t this one.”

Without breaking from the kiss, Tavy stuck her foreleg out toward Bon Bon, making an obscene gesture with her hoof.

“Gah!” Bon Bon turned away. “Whatever! We’re not serving you anymore. Pay your tab and leave!”

Vinyl and Octavia walked together, the sound of the case containing Vinyl’s kit rattling on as it rolled behind her, echoing out around the silence surrounding them. Tavy pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“You should really think about stopping that,” Vinyl said, not turning her head. “I mean, obviously it’s evil or whatever, but it also tastes bad, too.”

“What? Hey! Deal with it!”

Vinyl turned to face Tavy. She had put her glasses back on, but a frown was clearly visible from overtop them. “You deal with it! You . . . smoker!” Tavy blinked, and Vinyl opened her mouth a moment, but closed it and faced ahead once more. They walked on, and the quiet of the night set back in.

I . . . I’m sorry I got us kicked out,” Tavy said eventually.

“Whatever. That clopping Bon Bon’s just a jealous clopping mare who’s jealous.” Vinyl paused, then shook her head slightly.

Tavy rolled her eyes. “Your insults are noticeably lacking tonight, Vinyl. Thought I’d point that out.” Then she looked over at Vinyl. “And what do mean jealous? Ponies just lining up to get at you, or what?”

“Not jealous of you, you . . .” Vinyl cut out, her mouth searching for a word to form, but then she sighed. “Okay, I’m just freaking out a bit, alright? And I’m still mad at you!” Vinyl looked to the side, frowning. “Well . . . not mad at you, exactly. Though I am a bit. At old-Tavy, I guess. I just . . . she’s dating Lyra.”

Octavia said nothing for a moment. “Bon Bon, you mean? With Lyra?” she asked, going along with Vinyl’s abrupt topic change.

“Yeah,” Vinyl said. “Like I was saying earlier, it’s totally obvious that they’re trying to act like it’s a secret, but everypony knows. What’s up with that?”

“So . . . that’s why they were both giving us such a hard time today, hey?”

Vinyl nodded, and the silence was back.

Octavia watched the smoke she expelled curl up and twirl away. She jerked her shoulder, shifting the saddlebags she was wearing, thinking of the record she had brought along. She couldn’t remember seeing Vinyl like this, before. She took another puff. Maybe it’d be best for both of them to have a bit of space right now, she thought. It’d give them each a chance to work things out. She felt the creeping dark fallingness trying to sneak back in unnoticed, as if it weren’t suddenly the only thing she could think about . . . and Tavy stopped.

No, space and thinking and silence were the last things she needed. It was what had turned an ancient, baseless argument—which should have been able to be fixed in about four words—into the . . . monster it had become. She blew out smoke, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. She didn’t know if it was the same for Vinyl or not, though. Did Vinyl even want to be around her, right now?

She blinked, shaking her head, then her eyes snapped open. Tavy tossed her smoke to the ground, crushing it under a hoof. This was ridiculous, she realized—there was no point in trying to reason out what Vinyl was thinking when she was standing right there beside her.

“I want to come over to your place,” was what Octavia said. “I’ve got that jazz record I wanted to play for you, and . . . I still think we should do that. Like we planned.”

Vinyl looked at her for a long moment, her thoughts hidden behind her shades. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. “Okay.”

“Hey, look. There’s room to walk now,” Tavy said as they entered Vinyl’s apartment.

“Yeah, I cleaned up a bit,” Vinyl said, setting her packed-up kit over against the wall, and walked over to the counter. “Do you want a—”

“Yes,” Tavy said. “And make it a proper Vinyl-pour, if you would.” She made her way over to the futon couch.

Vinyl brought over two tumblers, each of which were nearly half full. Vinyl set her equipment back up in silence. Once finished, she went over to the couch and sat down, taking off her glasses. When Tavy finally spoke, their glasses were significantly less full.

“Okay, I’ll put on that record—”

“Tavy I . . .” Vinyl cut her off. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. This . . . is really bothering me. You liked me, and wanted to be with me, and still left me to go to Canterlot?”

Octavia put her hoof on the side of Vinyl’s face. “. . . We should forget about all that—”

“Stop saying that! That’s still ridiculous, Tavy, no matter how many times you say it,” Vinyl said, looking away from her. Octavia held her there for a moment, still holding a smile, before pushing Vinyl’s face to the side in a silly, exaggerated way. Tavy got up and went to get her record, and brought it over to the DJ pony’s turntable. Once setting the record down on it, she took only a moment or two before switching it on. She lowered the arm, and the needle touched the record. Tavy turned back around.

“Tavy, come on, seriously. I . . . uh . . .” she trailed off. “Wow . . . that’s—”

“Right?” Tavy smiled and made her way back to the couch.

“What is—”

“Bari sax.”

“That thing . . . it . . .”

“Doesn’t it?” Octavia said, a grin touching her face, only the slightest hint of smugness to it.

“. . . It screams.”

The saxophone tore up into it’s higher octave, then flew down, labouring a few runs going back up a number of times along the way, and muddled around on the lower notes. Tossing back up, it went into a fall, and then dropped away for an easy breath. It came back in with a sort of melody, blaring out the lowest note.

“I maintain that if Luna had picked up one of those a thousand years back, we wouldn’t be seeing much of the sun these days,” Tavy said. Vinyl rolled her eyes, but distractedly, as if she was only half paying attention to Octavia.

With a bass kick, the bari switched into a variation.

“This isn’t the original version of the song actually,” Tavy explained to a Vinyl that wasn’t listening. The rest of the band began filtering in, Vinyl bobbing her head a bit. “It’s a Mingus tune, with Pepper Tone on the bari. This version’s done by a group with a few alumni from the original band, but with mostly new players,” Tavy continued, unable to stop now that she had gotten going. “Though Pepper changed the way ponies play that horn, I think Cuber here picks right up where he left off.”

A trombone and trumpet shot around a counter melody to the bari’s licks, with the drummer slinking away on the cymbals. Tavy was having difficulty keeping still, swaying and bobbing her head left and right, and soon noticed the pony beside her was similarly afflicted.

With a switch-up on the drums, the bass plunked into a driving rhythm, the horn section pulling up around it. Tavy sprung up. “Though not strictly-speaking swing, this song swings! Doesn’t it?”

“Tavy, I actually have no idea.”

After slamming back the rest of her drink, Octavia bounded into the center of the room, lifting herself up on just her back legs. “Come on, Scratch!”

The other horns began tearing off into almost random-seeming licks, and Vinyl just sat, taking a sip from her drink. Neither of them moved for a moment.

“Hurry up!” Tavy said. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how long you can stand like that. That’s amazing!”

The drummer switched into a different beat, driving it along, with the other horns laying out a syncopated unison rhythm. Tavy shifted her weight as she got antsy, her brow falling straight. “You’re supposed to come over here, too. We’re going to dance now!”

“No way.”

Tavy sighed, plopping back to all-fours. She sprung over to the couch. Just as Vinyl looked to be plotting an emergency escape route, Tavy grabbed her front legs and pulled her up, swinging her to the center of the room. Once there, she pushed the unicorn away while holding onto her front hooves, then pulled back in time with the music—which was rather fast.

With the horns shouting out, they fell back into a unison, with the bari still ripping beneath it all. “Wha—hey!” Vinyl stumbled, trapped in the dancing mad-mare’s throw-and-catch routine. Tavy moved easily to the music, lilting side to side as she did, all the while managing to somehow keep Vinyl aloft. But then, just after been pushed away, Vinyl got her left leg hooked behind her right, and toppled backwards. Tavy caught her, and spun her into a dip.

“You’re a terrible dancer!” Tavy said, laughing.

“Wha-Whatever!”

The horns broke off into cacophony, the drummer knocking around a sort of fill behind it, as Tavy flew Vinyl around the tiny room. The pianist chomped out chords, and a trumpet yelled up over top of it all, then spiraled it’s way back down.

“This dance move’s called the ‘octopus!’ ” Tavy said, grinning like an idiot. “It sounds like it suits me, don’t you think? Look, now you move your forelegs like this . . . and then I—” Vinyl found herself standing with her back towards Tavy, all manner of hooves tangled up in front of her, and then she was suddenly tilting backwards. Then she was twirling to the side, coming to a sharp stop as Tavy remained connected to her at one hoof. A tug, they snapped back together, and everything stopped.

When everything started moving again, Vinyl found herself being kissed, and the two of them were moving back towards the couch. Tavy maneuvered Vinyl around the coffee table, while sliding a hoof along Vinyl’s back, keeping them pressed together as they kissed. Still standing upright, Vinyl stumbled, and Tavy shifted, resting the unicorn on the coffee table, the unicorn’s tail splaying out atop it. With their mouths still pressed together, their tongues pushed against each other’s, the ponies sucking and gasping out around them.

Tavy pulled Vinyl off the table she had sat her on, tossing the both of them over to the couch. Slumping onto it, still sitting upright, they grabbed at each other. Tavy pulled through Vinyl’s mane, locking them together. Flying her forelegs down to to Vinyl’s sides, her lips smeared away from Vinyl’s mouth, slipping down to her neck. Vinyl reached up and grabbed Tavy’s ear in her mouth, her white hooves tangling in Tavy’s mane.

Tavy wrapped her forelegs around Vinyl, looping around her midsection and across her back, pulling her closer. She wanted Vinyl to feel her more—to cover as much surface area as she could at once—to drive Vinyl crazy. She sucked and nibbled at Vinyl’s neck, and Vinyl gasped, tightening her grasp on Tavy’s mane.

Octavia grabbed Vinyl more firmly, lifting her up slightly and depositing her on her back. Tavy shifted herself, slipping down Vinyl’s body, kissing her chest down to her belly. She slid her hoof down to Vinyl’s flank, and across the pair of backwards eighth notes. Vinyl let a short moan escape her mouth, her hips giving a little jolt forwards. Tavy moved lower . . .

“Wait. Stop,” Vinyl said. Tavy sat up, and Vinyl lit up her horn and stopped the record from playing.

“Do you . . . I thought you—” Octavia began quickly.

“It’s not that, I do, it’s just . . . I know what you’re trying to do,” Vinyl said. “Ponies can’t just forget about things like that. That’s not how it works. It’ll keep coming up. We’re not going to be able to keep dancing around it forever.”

“Of course not—you’re an awful dancer.” Tavy said, frowning as she looked over to the turntable that had betrayed her. “I had something else in mind . . .”

“Octavia! Seriously I—”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore, alright?!” Tavy shouted. The silence nearly reverberated around them, sharply contrasting the horns that had just been wailing. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it in three years, and I just want to stop.” Tavy said. “It’s bucked me up, alright? There was a while where I . . . dreaded that I’d let my thoughts slip and that they’d land on you, because when they did, everything seemed so bleak or pointless or hopeless or whatever!” She looked up at the ceiling, taking a breath and a moment to keep from breaking down. She looked back down at Vinyl. “And I don’t want to feel that way about you anymore. I don’t want to be that far away from you anymore.”

Tavy blushed and looked away. “It’s true I can’t know what you felt, or how you feel now, except I think that maybe you might love me, and I know I . . . well I mean, obviously . . . I think it’s pretty clear I totally love you . . .” Tavy put her hooves on Vinyl’s shoulders, looking down into her eyes. “And we need to stop thinking before we turn into completely insane crazy-ponies and lose each other properly. Like, we aren’t really all that far from crazy as it stands, so that goes doubly so!” She paused a moment. The white unicorn didn’t say anything, and just stared back up at her. “And I think . . . this is a way we can do that. I mean, I love you . . . and I want to feel it. More than any bad things. More than all the mundane things. More than any things.”

Neither pony moved for quite a while, their still-heavy breathing the only noise that wasn’t the silence around them. Tavy’s mane spilt down around her face as she leaned over Vinyl, who lay, silent, holding her gaze.

“Okay,” Vinyl said, suddenly splitting the silence. With a flick of her horn, the music started back up. She reached up and pulled Tavy into a kiss.

Coda

Octavia woke up with a strong pressure across her midsection. It was a bit too constricting to be comfortable, and was inhibiting her breathing just enough to prevent her from falling back asleep. There was a bit of light outside, but she felt far from having enough motivation to get up. Her pointed headache agreed.

She shifted, trying to loosen the grip of the restricting white limb. When that failed to produce a result, she brought a hoof up in an attempt to pry a bit of breathing space. A muffled noise came from the mass behind her, followed by something resembling speech.

“. . . Why the moving? . . . It’s still . . . sleeping time.”

“Vinyl, you’re squishing me.” Nothing happened. “Vinyl,” Tavy nudged her foreleg. “Come on. Hold me differently. Vinyl?”

“So noisey . . .” Vinyl said. She did adjust herself, releasing Tavy and bringing the foreleg up to drape across the grey mare’s chest. She buried her nose in the dark mane in front of her, and moved no more.

After all the commotion, and with the presence of an entirely other pony pressed up against her, Tavy felt a bit overheated. As well, her foreleg was bunched up underneath her, and was beginning to prickle as it fell asleep. Then Vinyl shifted slightly behind her, tickling the back of Tavy’s neck, causing an itch to spring up.

Octavia tried to identify the feeling she was suddenly hit with, but was having a hard time of it. All of the descriptors she could think up for it were ones that she had used, at some point, to describe a way she had felt in the past. And that wouldn’t do at all—what she was feeling now was entirely unlike all the things she’d experienced before. To apply to it any of those same words, now, would serve only to cheapen and sully this emotion.

“Blissfully happy” or “perfectly content” just weren’t quite right enough. Short phrases like “never felt better in all her life” or “this is everything she had ever wanted” were far too cliched. They were words and phrases used by millions of ponies to describe millions of different situations—none of which, she was sure, were anywhere near what she herself now had. She nestled in closer to Vinyl, grabbing the foreleg that was around her, and pulled it a bit tighter.

“Mmnerm . . . which is it?” said Vinyl, wrapping around Tavy more securely.

Tavy put all thought of words and phrases out of her head. They didn’t really have any place here, at the moment.

Octavia shifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning and rearranging as parts of her became uncomfortable or she got too hot. She found herself with her chin on Vinyl’s forehead, a white horn sticking in her face. Then, what felt moment later, she bleared into consciousness with her face against Vinyl’s back, the unicorn’s frazzley tail tickling her stomach. After another moment—this time falling rather more into consciousness than she previously had—she found her head being held closely to Vinyl’s chest. Tavy could feel a tingling sweat had started to creep up, it being a bit sweltering with the blankets up to her chin. Then she felt a different discomfort.

“Vinyl, let me out.”

“. . . No.”

“Come on, let me out. I gotta pee.”

“Mmkay, have fun.” Vinyl didn’t move. Octavia reached over and, as best she could from under the covers, jabbed Vinyl on her cutie mark. Vinyl let out a yelp, and Tavy managed to escape. She rolled off of the floor-height bed and got shakily to her hooves as Vinyl mumbled something about “completely unnecessary.” After battling off a brief spinniness, she headed for the bathroom.

Once returning to the futon in bed-mode, Tavy noticed the sun was trying to stream in around the closed curtains beside the bed. “Vinyl, was the sun coming in that window earlier this morning?” Tavy asked.

“Hmm? No, the sun’s not coming in that window,” Vinyl stated. “Doesn’t do that ‘till the evening. S’a west facing window, see?” She emphasised her point by waving her hoof in the air, though without removing her head from under the covers.

Tavy paused and looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. She then went over to the bed and tossed herself on top of the covers and Vinyl underneath them, which elicited a muffled noise in response.

“It’s past three o’clock, now,” Tavy said. “I think even you can agree that’s getting-up time.”

“Wha . . . ?” Vinyl said, lifting her head up. “Huh,” she stated, glancing at the clock. Then she slumped her head back down on the pillow.

Tavy reached over, still remaining mostly atop Vinyl, and pulled the the curtains open. Vinyl attempted to recede into the depths of the covers, but Tavy held the sheets down with both hooves while nipping onto Vinyl’s ear, forcibly holding her in place as the sunlight streamed in. After a few moments of a half-sleeping hungover unicorn’s pathetic strugglings, both Tavy and Vinyl got out of bed.

The sun shone directly through the window, and Tavy squinted her eyes. Vinyl didn’t because hers were closed. “Doesn’t the sun seem like it’s a little too bright?” Tavy said.

“Every day . . .” Vinyl replied.

“No, like it’s . . . especially intense today, isn’t it?”

“Oh I know it,” said Vinyl. Tavy rolled her eyes. “Oh hey,” the almost still sleeping unicorn continued, “is there . . . there was something? And it was today?”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Vinyl,” Tavy said, walking over to the kitchen corner of the DJ’s apartment. “Anyway, while you’re thinking, come tell me where the frying pan is. And where do you keep the coffee grounds?”

“You planning on using those two things together? That’s likely not a good idea,” said Vinyl, but began plodding over.

“I . . . can’t tell if you’re being funny, or are just still asleep.”

“Mmm . . . could be a bit of both. Depends. What did I just say, again?” But she didn’t give Tavy time to answer. “And about today. I mean . . . what I meant. A minute ago. It’s the party, right? Your party’s today.”

“Ah, yes. Right,” Tavy said. She put down the pan on the burner and turned the stove on. “ ‘Spose we can’t skip out on that, can we . . .”

“Tavy, you can’t skip a Pinkie Party!” Vinyl exclaimed as best as she was able to, while fighting off the remnants of slumber. “At least, I’m pretty sure you can’t. I’m not sure anypony’s ever tried.” She thought about it for a moment. “ . . . I wouldn’t recommend it. Anyway, the party is like, specifically for you.”

“I really doubt my not being there would put much of a damper on a Pinkie Party though . . . ah well, I suppose you’re right.”

As Tavy continued setting things up to make a considerably late breakfast, she found that whatever she attempted to do, Vinyl managed to be perfectly in her way. “Vinyl,” she said, maneuvering awkwardly around the unicorn once again as Tavy tried to spoon coffee grounds into the filter. “You are . . . awfully inconvenient.” She then had to duck to avoid a magically airborne coffee cup as it drifted by her head. “No . . . eggs, Vinyl. Not cups yet. Cups are for after the coffee’s . . . oh nevermind, just go lie in bed until things are done,” Tavy said, rolling her eyes. “I think I know where everything is now.” Vinyl complied with a sleepy grin.

When the post-lunch-time breakfast was completed, Tavy brought it over on a tray which she balanced on her back. With competence that came from living her life an earth pony, she set the tray down on the small table in front of the bed. “Kay, make this a couch now,” she said, gesturing at the bed. There was a sort of response from the mound on it. Tavy took it to indicate a negative, due to the lack of any following action. Tavy rolled her eyes, and crawled over the futon to where the mound lay.

When she got close, Vinyl rolled over and grabbed onto Tavy, pulling her down onto her side to face her. Vinyl wrapped her forelegs around the earth pony’s midsection, catching her in a tight embrace. She kissed Tavy on the neck, and Tavy laughed. “What about breakfast?”

“I . . . think I got it,” Vinyl said.

“Breakfast?”

“What . . . you were saying last night. Yeah. I get it.” Both mares lay still. Vinyl had her face pressed against Tavy’s chest, and the unicorn’s words came out slightly muffled, but still audible. “I don’t want . . . that . . . to be something that wrecks what we got. Maybe . . . actually, definitely . . . it’s a good idea to just think about now,” Vinyl smooshed her face against Tavy’s chest, becoming more muffled. The less sound the words made, the more Tavy could feel them buzzing against her, like they had decided not to bother so much with her ears and instead go directly into her. “. . . And, like . . . about what we feel for each other right now.” Tavy looked down, only seeing a mass of wild blue hair.

Vinyl gripped tightly onto her as they both lay. The smell of eggs and coffee hung in the room, mocking the blazing sun that was scheduled to be set in only a few hours. The blue mane tickling Tavy’s nose smelled much the same as it had last night, though, and she nuzzled into it a bit more. A moment or two past before Tavy spoke. When she did, she spoke just above a whisper, though it seemed loud in the subjective morning. “And . . . what is it that we feel for each other right now?”

Vinyl pulled her head up, looking into Tavy’s eyes. “Like, that we . . .” Her eyes broke away, shifting off to the side for a moment. Then Vinyl drew them back, setting her red eyes back onto Tavy’s lavender ones. “. . . That I love you.”

Tavy tossed her forelegs around Vinyl, smacking their lips together, and secured them into a kiss. She held the unicorn tighter, locking them against one another. Rolling so she was atop Vinyl, Tavy ran her lips down her white neck.

“Tavy,” came Vinyl’s voice, breathlessly, “our breakfast’s going to get cold.”

Tavy looked up. “. . . I think I’m okay with cold breakfast.”

Finding themselves leaving Vinyl’s apartment with about half an hour before the party was to start, they went to their go-to place for time killing. It was an absolutely sweltering summer’s day—the hottest day of the year so far, without a doubt—and they were both relieved when they arrived at The Double Double. They were surprised, upon entering, at just how busy the cafe was, though. It was a rather popular place usually, but it was filled almost right to capacity at the moment. Tavy noticed with a grin that a certain table in the corner was empty, with a small “reserved” sign on it. What also came to her attention, however, was that Arabica was not behind her counter.

The very haggard looking barista was trying to take orders and direct ponies to tables while also sweeping up the remnants of a coffee mug on the floor. A grey pegasus was standing next to her, stepping through the fragments of ceramic as she apologized profusely, sending pieces skittering away from the pile the barista had been making.

“Derpy!” Tavy exclaimed, stopping suddenly. Vinyl gave her a sidelong glance, then went over to Arabica in order to provide a bit of magical assistance to cleaning up the mess.

“Oh. Hello Tavia,” said Derpy. “Did you go somewhere? I haven’t seen you around for—”

“Yes!” Tavy said abruptly. “I was gone. And now I’m back!” She smiled very widely. “It’s so good to see you Derpy! Just . . . so good!”

“Well, it’s good to see you, too!” the pegasus replied, smiling as she looked at Tavy with her good eye, the other apparently looking at the roof.

“You know, I quite missed you! It’s so good to be back!” Octavia continued on, her grin still disarmingly wide.

“It’s . . . always nice seeing a friend again!” Derpy replied.

“I didn’t realize you two were so close!” said Vinyl, leaning in on their conversation.

“Of course we are,” said Tavy firmly. “I love Derpy! Everypony does!” She stomped her hoof down as an exclamation, and there was a crunching sound. Surprised, she hopped back, sending a few pieces of of used-to-be cup—now further removed from their original state, being stepped on in addition to having been dropped —sailing across the floor. Arabica spun around to face them.

“Are you here to order something, or are you just going to stand there and cause more work for me?” the barista demanded, glaring at them.

Tavy flinched back, but Vinyl met the glare evenly. “Yeah, we’ll have a couple of coffees,” Vinyl said. “You know, if that’s not too much trouble for you or something.”

Arabica looked at her for a moment, then sighed. “Sorry, sorry. No problem. It’s just . . . so clopping busy. And bucking hot out!”

“Arabica! Language!” said Tavy, hardly holding back a smile. The barista rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin sneaking up on her, despite it.

Tavy, Vinyl, and Derpy went to a table as Arabica went to get their drinks, as well as a replacement for Derpy’s lost beverage.

“So,” said Tavy to Derpy, “ do you you know about the party tonight, too?”

“Of course!” she replied. “Why do you think so many ponies are sitting around here? They’re waiting for it to start!”

“I really am miffed about how everyone seemed to know about the party so soon, you know?” she said to Vinyl. “I mean, yesterday, it wasn’t even an hour and everypony was already talking about it.”

“It’s a Pinkie thing!” Vinyl said. “You’ve been away too long. It’s, like, totally her M.O. or whatever.” Derpy looked from one to the other in confusion.

“I didn’t even know most of those ponies—why would they all be coming to a ‘welcome back’ party for someone they don’t know?”

Vinyl looked about to respond, but Derpy’s eyes lit up with comprehension, and she beat Vinyl to it. “What, you mean tonight, right? Everypony showing up for your—no, I just heard about it being your party today, when I stopped by for a muffin.”

Vinyl and Tavy shared remarkably similar expressions on their faces, mirroring each other almost perfectly. There was a pause.

“You two forgot what day tomorrow is, didn’t you?” The two ponies held fast their identical expressions. “The hottest day of the year? A really important festival that happens in the middle of summer?” Their expressions were unwavering. “Today is the day before the Summer Sun Celebration!” Derpy said. Arabica, who had just begun setting down their drinks, slapped a hoof to her head.

“Oh!” the barista said. “That explains so much!” She glanced around. “I was wondering about what everypony meant, talking about staying up to see the sun rise tomorrow.” Then her brow furrowed. “ ‘Spose that really should have tipped me off . . .”

“Wow,” said Tavy. “How did we all miss that?”

“Ha, yeah, so that’s tomorrow?” Vinyl said.

“Well . . . so much has happened since I got back to Ponyville,” said Tavy, thinking about it, “I guess I lost track. And Vinyl’s . . . yeah, Vinyl’s Vinyl—”

“. . . what month is it?” asked the unicorn.

“—but what’s your excuse, Arabica?” Tavy finished, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey!” she replied, “I was caught up in all that excitement about you guys, too!” Vinyl rolled her eyes.

“It’s really quite amazing that you talk to ponies coming in here everyday, have a calendar behind your counter, and manage to miss one of the most important celebrations of the year!” Tavy continued.

“Sorry that I have more important things to talk about than what day it is . . .”

“It’s very strange,” said Derpy. “There was even a town meeting about it just a few days ago.”

Three ponies now succeeded in matching facial expressions with notable accuracy.

“It’s almost six!” shouted one pony in the cafe, suddenly. In a tirade of commotion, nearly all the occupants filed out of the building with surprising efficiency. In a matter of minutes, the place was entirely empty save for four mares.

“Ooh, I better get going,” said Derpy. “See you there!” The grey mare lifted off and shot for the door, sending a mug from their table teetering off the edge. It lit up in a blue glow just before hitting the ground, and Vinyl set it back as she calmly took another sip of her drink. Arabica took the vacated place at their table, setting a drink down that she had brought for herself.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, as they looked out the windows at the ponies scrambling and dashing around outside. Octavia took a sip of her drink, and looked to the other two. “Fashionably late?” she proposed.

“Fashionably late,” the other two ponies agreed.

When Tavy, Vinyl, and Arabica came to the town square, it was already dark out, and the festivities were well under way. And any of Tavy’s expectations of what that could possibly have entailed were blown away in an instant. The grey mare stopped short.

Balls of lights drifted around, dancing this way and that. As one flew closer, Tavy saw that it was in fact a balloon that was glowing. Each was lit up a different colour, creating a multi-hued ambient glow that spread over the crowd. Streamers zipped by, nimbly darting and dodging among the balloons, occasionally dipping into the crowd, forcing ponies to duck out of the way. At various intervals, giant pillars of light were shooting up into the sky, tilting this way and that. Looking at the one closest to them, Tavy saw that they were actually the product of a super-powered light set up on the ground. Her gaze turned upward to what seemed to be perpetually falling, glittering confetti that came from nowhere and somehow didn’t quite make it all the way to the ground.

Vinyl and Arabica came to a stop and turned around as they noticed Tavy had fallen back. “Oh yeah,” said Arabica, “you wouldn’t have known yet— ever since Twilight Sparkle came to Ponyville, Pinkie’s been getting her to help out with the Summer Sun Celebration. I guess this festival has some kind of special meaning for Twilight, or something. Anyway, the two seem to out do themselves every year.” Arabica frowned. “It’s a bit scary, really. I mean, combining the forces of the Princess Celestia’s star pupil—the most magical unicorn we’re ever likely to see—with . . . Pinkie Pie.”

Tavy had regained her composure slightly. “Yes, I can see what you mean,” she said. The three of them then had to spring out of the way to avoid a streamer as it careened past—which stopped, upon noticing them, and spun in a tight circle and exploded.

As they got closer to the edge of the crowd, they noticed that the general attention of the ponies was directed over to a sort of raised platform. Way off in the distance, a tiny dot of a pony seemed to making some kind of announcement on it.

“Ah yes,” said Arabica, “there’s our stalwart mayor, never passing up an opportunity to talk our ears off.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s see if the Apple family’s selling pies!”

Then there was a pink pony addressing the crowd, and a short while later, there was cheering and applause. “What’s goin on?” Octavia asked a pony walking past, who was coming from somewhere closer to the stage.

“Oh, Pinkie wants us to also be celebrating a pony named Octavia’s return to Ponyville,” he said.

“Ah, that’s nice,” said Octavia. They continued walking.

“Oh look, they do have a stand! And there’s pies there!” Arabica said, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll see you two later?” she asked. Tavy and Vinyl nodded, and Arabica began to leave. Then she stopped, and dashed back over, wrapping them in a hug.

“Oh, I don’t think I said it yet—welcome back Tavy!” she said. “I’m so happy that the two of you are together.” She broke away, smiling at them. “It warms the very something-somthings of my heart, for a just-slightly-past-middle-aged mare like myself to see you young ponies so happy!” Vinyl rolled her eyes, but Tavy smiled. Both of them were blushing a little bit, however.

“And if you two happen to disappear somewhere, later tonight,” she added with a wink, “I’ll make sure nopony comes looking for you!” The two ponies blushed quite a bit more as Arabica left into the crowd.

Vinyl and Tavy stood for a moment. “So . . .” Vinyl turned to Tavy.

“Come on, let’s walk around a little bit more.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Vinyl.

They walked through the dense crowd, jostling against other ponies, looking at stalls and booths as they passed. The myriad of colours being cast by the luminous balloons set a sort of haze over everything, taking it all a step away from what Tavy would typically have identified as reality. Music drifted up and over the sounds of the crowd, pulling her further away from any sort of feeling of normalcy.

The music was hauntingly familiar, as if it was drawing her back to a different part in her life. Not in a nostalgic sort of way—instead it almost reminded her of something rather bothersome. It grew louder as they walked, and Tavy placed it just before they came into sight of the musical ensemble playing it. Tavy stopped short and sprang to the other side of Vinyl, eclipsing herself from the band.

“Um. Yes, hello?” Vinyl said, stopping but not bothering to turn to look at Tavy. “What are you doing?”

“Okay we’re gonna keep walking, but we have to move at exactly the same speed. Start on your left hoof, and I’ll count us off. Ready? One, a-two, a-one two—”

“Yeah. I’m not doing that.”

“But that band is from Canterlot! I recognize that tune, it’s RCM students! What if they recognize me?” Tavy asked. Vinyl turned to Tavy for a moment, allowing the pony to see her single raised eyebrow.

“What? I just . . . kind of would like to avoid them,” said the all but cowering pony. “You know . . . it has definite potential to be rather awkward.”

The song the band had been playing came to an end, and they suddenly heard a shout come from directly in front of the band. “Hey! Tavia and Scratch!” They both turned to see a huge earth pony beckoning them over. Tavy hesitated for a moment, but Vinyl assisted her in her decision making process with a swift kick in the flank.

“Ow!” Tavy complained, but started off toward Cannonball.

“Cannonball’s awesome! You can’t leave him hanging because of your weird issues that make a lot of no sense. Come on, It’ll be fine.” As they walked, Vinyl wrapped her tail around Tavy’s. She smiled at Vinyl, took a breath, and faced forward.

“Hey there! Was just having a listen to the band,” Cannonball said as they came closer. “Our pony there on the licorice stick jams with a few of us every now and then,” he said, gesturing to the clarinet player up on stage. “Kid’s sure got chops. From the RCM, too, Tavia! You ever run across him?”

“Uh, no, don’t think I did!” Octavia said with a fair bit of relief. She only recognized one pony in the ensemble, and she doubted the pony would remember her. Tavy’s behavior seemed to herself to be a little odd now—now that the panic had subsided. She wasn’t exactly sure what she had been worrying about. She had thrown away that facade she had always put on to deal with the ponies there, and she needed to be nopony except herself now. Cannonball was here—there was no need to be self-conscious about her change in music style. Not that she would be, anyway. She felt the smooth bristling of Vinyl’s tail against her leg. She couldn’t think of anything that could possibly worry her.

“Ah well, it’s a big place,” said Cannonball. “Can’t expect ya’ to know everypony.” Then he paused, looking at the two of them. A half-smile appeared on his face. “So I take it this was why you were so anxious to get back to Ponyville then, hey Tavia?” he said, nodding toward them. “And here I thought it was ‘cus you were stoked to be in our band!”

Tavy looked to Vinyl, then back at Cannonball, and blushed. “Ah. Ha. Well . . . yes. Yeah, that would . . .” Tavy muddled. Vinyl grinned and Cannonball laughed.

“I had a feeling, seeing the two of you the other day,” he said. “Actually, I had myself thinking it was something like this, since right the first day time I saw ya’, Tavia. Way back—that bar in Canterlot, it was. S’good to see you took my advice, in the end.”

“You’re . . .” Tavy frowned. Then her eyes lit up. “Wait, so that . . .” Cannonball just winked.

“What’s this?” Vinyl asked.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Tavy said, smiling.

“ ‘Course I had no idea, at the time, that it was going to be a pony as excellent as Scratch, here!” Cannonball said.

Vinyl turned to Tavy. “Yep,” she said. “He can stay.”

Once parting from Cannonball, after chatting a bit, Vinyl and Tavy walked deeper into the town square. The crowd thickened, and they were being jostled on all sides. Octavia pressed right up against Vinyl, squeezed together by the density of the surrounding ponies. Tavy turned her head to face Vinyl, nearly bumping noses.

“I think . . . I’m ready to disappear somewhere now.” Tavy said.

Vinyl broke into a wide grin. “Finally!”

They both took a moment to survey their surroundings, searching for the point of least resistance in the enclosure made of ponies that they were in. Serendipitously, a magically empowered streamer shot down into the crowd, and two ponies to their left darted away from it.

“There!” said Vinyl, her eyes lighting up. Tavy looked over, but Vinyl flicked her tail in Tavy’s face before she even saw the opening. “Grab on!”

Octavia had little chance to ponder the proposed action as Vinyl began darting off. Tavy nipped onto the blue frazzely tail just as it began to escape, and let it snap her along.

Everything then became two things: blue, and the blur that was the rest. Jolting and darting, she was tugged in all directions as the two conjoined ponies bounded through the crowd—far faster than Tavy thought to be altogether safe. A huge smile tugged around the large amount of tail in her mouth, despite it, and she practically giggled around the blue as they knocked past ponies. A hasty “sorry!” or “watchout!” came from up front—Tavy’s vocabulary, however, was greatly inhibited, her mouth being occupied with holding on for what conceivably could be her life, as she smacked into pony after pony.

Finally they crashed out of the crowd, Vinyl ricocheting off of a pair of unsuspecting ponies at the very end—which caused Tavy, consequently, to do the same. The white and grey mares both stumbled on, careening away from the crowd, their momentum carrying them onwards and into a heap. The thoroughly knocked over ponies they left in their wake proceeded to pick themselves up, shake a hoof on the air at the hapless hooligans, and continue on their way, before either Tavy or Vinyl had managed to quell their incapacitating laughter long enough to even roll back over.

“I can’t believe . . . did you see all the . . . you’re bucking insane!” Tavy managed to get out around her laughter, still spitting out blue hairs. Tavy eventually got herself under control, and rested her head up on her front hooves. She looked down at Vinyl laying beside her.

“You were the one who followed me!” Vinyl said, still catching her breath. “And it was the quickest way out, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not denying that—nor the fact that everypony now knows, without any hint of a doubt, that we are both assuredly crazy-ponies,” Tavy said, small clusters of ponies around them staring unabashedly as they went to or from the square. Tavy smiled.

She had come full circle—now finding herself in a situation nearly identical to the one she had been in upon arriving. With one key difference. She leaned down and kissed Vinyl. It seemed to Tavy as if her arrival was a part of a different pony’s life now, and she had only heard tell about it. She was having a hard time accepting that that had really been her, and that it had been only a few days ago.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to give anypony the wrong impression or anything,” said Vinyl, grinning as she spit out a few blue hairs that had now found their way into her own mouth. She got up and helped up Tavy. “So, now that we’ve forcibly extricated ourselves from that crowd in record freakin’ time, thanks to me, where to now?”

“Well . . . we could go to your place,” Tavy suggested, but said it a bit half-heartedly as she looked back to the craziness that was their town’s square.

“. . . But,” Vinyl continued her thought for her, “that seems a bit lame when there’s a monstrous party going on everywhere else.” Tavy nodded.

After only a moment, Vinyl’s eyes lit up—causing Tavy to firmly clamp her mouth shut on the off chance that she was to be offered a tail to grab onto again. “Come on!” said Vinyl, leading her away, but thankfully not proffering a tail this time.

As Octavia followed beside Vinyl, she tried to think back even a few days before returning to Ponyville. All that came to her was a haze of smoke and jazz and that splitting, searing anticipation of returning here—to Vinyl. It didn’t feel like anything concrete to her now—just a disconnected stage of transitioning. Even this path they were following through the dark, lit only be the odd, straggling light-balloon, seemed more real to her than any of that.

Tavy’s thoughts came to an end as she was caught by the shimmering magical light as it scintillated off of Vinyl’s mane, the streaked blue cutting through the night along with the shining white coat. The distant noise of the party drifted by, hanging in the air, with the occasional shout or yell slicing out. They passed large, indistinct masses that would have been buildings during the day, and saw only a pony or two as they walked. Eventually, the sounds of partying grew louder once again, and they approached a towering, interiorly-lit tree.

Vinyl came to a stop in front of it. “The library?” Tavy asked. “Why . . . wait, why is there even a party going on in there?”

“It’s Twilight’s private party for her friends and close acquaintances!” Vinyl said. Tavy stared at her, a frown touching her face. “Well . . . with a very loosely applied ‘private’!” Vinyl continued. “Pinkie Pie party rules in effect! Come on!” The look remained on Octavia’s face. “It’s filled with random ponies! The tree’s probably reaching maximum capacity. Like, I hope Smokey Marshall doesn’t come by and shut this place down.” The unicorn gestured her forward. “But we’re not going to be in there long. Just passing through. Come on!”

Tavy raised her eyebrow, but followed. They opened the door to an explosion of music and ponies and noise. Steeling herself, she followed Vinyl in. Jostling and bumping around, they waved and nodded and evaded as ponies greeted them and tried to strike up conversations. Tavy continued following Vinyl through, and eventually they made it to the back. Loitering by the door to the conjoining room for a moment or two, they waited until it seemed nopony was watching before passing through on Vinyl’s mark.

The room they entered into surrounded them in darkness, and they closed the door and turned the chaos into a muffled roar. After waiting a moment for their eyes to adjust, Vinyl nodded over to a set of stairs, which she moved toward. Following the unicorn over to and up the stairs, Tavy found they lead past a hinged window. Opening it, they walked out onto a balcony. Shutting the window closed behind them, they went over to the railing and Tavy gasped.

Spreading out before them was what she knew in her mind to be Ponyville—but she was having a hard time connecting that knowledge to what she now saw. The town square, which was clearly visible from this height, lay in a dazzling cloud of drifting, swirling dots of light and shimmering masses. Ponies of every colour were lit up by lights of every other colour, shining like a rainbow superimposed over a rainbow. Beams of light shot up, seemly reaching to the stars, or maybe creating a spot of light up there of their own.

“Right?” Vinyl said, grinning. “I found this last year!” She fell silent for a while, and her smile slowly fell away. “I was thinking of you then.” Neither of them spoke. Then she turned to Octavia and smiled again—a quiet, simple smile. “I never would’ve thought you’d be with me the next time I saw it!” Tavy nuzzled up to Vinyl, and they leaned against each other as the looked at the oddly foreign town they knew so well.

Octavia felt Vinyl’s wild mane tickling against the side of her face—and found it was this, and not the surreal scene she was looking at, that she was having a hard time convincing herself was real. That this was Vinyl and she was here. Her thoughts drifted back to another scene sharing similarities to this one, where she had been completely disconnected from what had—up to that point—been her reality. Back in Canterlot—back to a seedy little bar. The first seedy little bar. She had stepped into it and left Canterlot at the door, along with the RCM, her old music and her old self. It had been the first step here. She could almost smell the cigarette smoke.

Vinyl brushed her snout over and kissed Tavy on the side of her nose. Smiling, Tavy shifted over and met Vinyl’s lips.

“Hwoo, it’s good being away from that crowd,” said Vinyl as they parted. “They look a clop away from peaceful, from up here, though.”

“Yeah,” said Tavy. “It’s nice to finally get away from all that.”

Finally, I can get away from all that, thought Octavia, as she pushed open a grimy little door into an all-but-hidden little pub. There was no way she’d run into any of those ponies here. She adjusted her cello case on her back, wishing she could have stopped by her dorm first. But she really couldn’t handle dealing with any more of her classmates at the moment.

It’s not like she actually disliked most of the ponies that went to the Royal Conservatory of Music, she reasoned. She was just so witheringly tired of it all. And that talk about music had been altogether too much.

Octavia collapsed into a seat at the bar, heaving her cello down beside her. She waved over to the bartender. He came over. “One bourbon, one scotch—wait, sorry, uh . . .” The mare took a breath. “Yeah. Sorry. Just bourbon. Thanks.” She didn’t like bourbon. She had just been caught up in songs that would spite her classmates, and her father’s musical preference popped into her head. One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer . . .

She had left her parents so abruptly. Octavia felt bad for not contacting them more often. She made a mental note to send a letter one of these days. Taking a breath to prepare a sigh, she suddenly found herself coughing instead.

It was smokey in here. Really smokey. She looked up through the haze around her she was now noticing. Nearly all of the ponies in the bar had cigarettes. Hadn’t smoking been banned in all public areas? she thought. Like . . . many years ago? Though it was it still light outside, very little of it managed to make it in.

Octavia further examined the place, and realized just how far away it was from the average establishment in the city. It had a raw wooden interior, was dirty and poorly lit—and had none of the usual brilliant dazzling white to be found anywhere. The mare hadn’t really been paying much attention to where she was going before she happened across this place—and began to wonder if she hadn’t accidentally descended the colossal mountain Canterlot was built into, and had perhaps strayed into the underbelly of Manehatten, or somewhere similar.

A hint of the typically foreign act of smiling touched the corner of Octavia’s mouth, as she went to take a drink of the beverage that had been placed in front of her. Her face shifted into a grimace as the liquid struck her tongue, however. A sharp earthy tone to it was what didn’t quite manage to do it for her. It was what caused her to label bourbon as “the mouldy whiskey.” She thought she might even prefer the fuel-substitute that was Caneighdian rye, over this. She tossed it back in one go, then—purely for her own amusement—ordered a scotch.

Any amusement she had created lasted only for a moment or two, though, as prolonged thought about whiskey inevitably lead to the same place. She tried to escape, but her mind stumbled, landing not quite far enough away. She thought of the conversation she had had with her classmates, which was what had prompted her to seek out this pub. They were talking about what kinds of terrible music were popular these days, and it had managed to come around to DJs, and then to one specific DJ who was rather popular, and now Octavia felt terrible again. She took a large drink of alcohol, trying not to taste the unnameable drink. Leaning her head on her foreleg, she was struck with a horribly familiar falling feeling—one that was regrettably not yet caused by the alcohol. It tore at her, but she couldn’t think of anything she could do about it.

Then a hoof was on her shoulder. “Sorry to bother ya’, but is that a bass, there?” asked a huge, deep voice. Tavy looked up at a huge pony standing by her.

“. . . No. No, it’s a cello,” she said.

“Close enough!” said the pony. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to fill in, here, for us. See, we’re supposed to play a set right about now, but our bass player’s a no-show.”

“Oh. Uh . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Can you play that thing?” he asked.

“Of course!” said Octavia, frowning. “I’m a student at the RCM.”

“Ah! That’ll do! Means you got the chops . . . and the rest of our group plays with enough soul that we’ll be able to cover for you no problem,” said the stallion, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Excuse me?” exclaimed Octavia. “I think I can play with sufficient ‘soul,’ or whatever, to keep up with whatever kind of merry band plays in a place like this. Who are you, anyway?”

“Cannonball, here! And you’ll be acting-number five of the Cannonball Quintet this evening! Now come on over and I’ll show you what you’ll be playing, miss . . . ?”

“Tavia. And I didn’t—”

Cannonball waved over to the bartender. “Hey Span, put this mare’s drinks on our tab, would’ya?”

“Alright, I’m in,” said Octavia, slinging her cello over her back and standing up.

Cannonball lead her over to the back of the pub, where several ponies were standing around a drum kit and a piano. “You got her!” exclaimed one of the ponies there, who was holding a trumpet. “What are the chances a pony with a bass just happened to be sitting at the bar?”

“It’s a cello,” said Tavy. She was ignored.

“Nothing can stop the soul, my brother,” said Cannonball. Octavia raised an eyebrow. “No, he’s actually my brother.” He then put his hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. “Anyway—band, this is Tavia. Tavia, this is the band. Alright, let’s wail.” He stopped as something occurred to him. “Oh, anyone happen to have a head chart kicking around?”

The band members began sifting through their instrument cases, pulling out a great deal of a wide variety of items that were all not music. “Ah, here we go!” said the zebra in the group after a few minutes.

“Knew I could count on you, Zawinul!” Cannonball turned to Tavy. “He wrote the song, after all.”

Octavia looked at the music she was presented with. It was a single, slightly stained, rather crumpled sheet of paper. The mare flipped it over, then back, and looked up. “One page?”

“Hmm? Yeah, it’s a head chart. S’got the main melody and a chord chart,” said Cannonball. “For the bass, the melody will just be for reference. Trust you can read through a chord chart?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Octavia said, absently, as she looked at it. A few simple little melodies were all that was on it, with a total of about four or five different chords used throughout the whole of the piece. Were these for-real musicians? She opened her mouth to say something, but before she did, her eyes fell to the beginning of the first measure, and caused her to pause. There on the page sat a mark that was most familiar to her. Tavy smiled. The head chart was in treble clef.

“Okay,” she said, “how are we gonna run this thing?”

“That’s what I like to hear!” said Cannonball. He then leaned over and began pointing at sections of the music. “Alright, you’ll play through, once, just with the rhythm ponies, and I want you to hang around the roots. Keep it easy, and just groove. Don’t think about it too hard—just feel it through and follow with Zawinul.” Octavia broke into a full grin. This was, without a doubt, the first time she’d ever heard that set of words directed at music that she was going to be playing. “And for this section,” he continued, “just lay right down on a B flat all through that progression. See how it fits with all the chords there?”

“. . . One note?”

“Absolutely! You’ll see when we do it. You can pop around a bit in this part, though. Alright, once the horns come in the second time ‘round . . .”

Octavia couldn’t help but be caught up in this entirely foreign approach to what she had always done. She had her doubts whether or not this was going to sound like much of anything, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted to hear it out, at the very least. Octavia could just about see Vinyl having a laugh at her—Tavy intently nodding, clearly making a mental note to not think about the music and just feel her way through. Then her grin caught fast, and fell.

She felt her sudden enthusiasm trickle out of her in a cold drizzle. Regardless of how different this was, it was still music, she was still in Canterlot, and Vinyl Scratch was still where she had left her.

“You alright, mare?”

Octavia looked up, and put on an unfelt smile. “Yeah, sorry, keep going.”

He gave her a lingering glance, then continued. “So, this time through, Zawinul’s gonna be doin’ some improv, so feel free to jump around a bit more . . .”

Through Ponyville wasn’t that far a way, crossing an ocean seemed an easier task to her now than going back there. It was too late to make things right. There had been an opportunity to have something that she had actually wanted—but she’d thrown that chance away, and hurt Vinyl in the process. Irreparably so. Though, even now as she thought about it, she could still feel Vinyl’s lips on hers—feel her hooves through Tavy’s mane. And now, even her body ached from the severity of her fault. She knew nothing to say or do that could change that now. The sheet of music in front of her blurred.

“You got all that?” asked Cannonball. Octavia nodded confidently, blinking a few times to right her vision. “You ready to play?” he asked gently, giving her a soft look. She nodded again, and a grin appeared on his face. “Alright! Oh, and leave that bow in the case. You won’t be needing it!”

The band was set to play as Cannonball turned from Octavia to face the crowd. The mare hefted up her cello, experimentally plucking a few notes, and looked to Zawinul to watch for her cue. Cannonball gave one more look back at Tavy, but she didn’t see it. The crowd clapped and cheered as Cannonball stepped forward, leaning into the mic:

You know, sometimes we’re not prepared for adversity.

When it happens, sometimes we caught short.

We don’t know exactly how to handle it, when it comes up.

Sometimes we don’t know,

Just what to do when adversity takes over.

And I have advice for all of us.

I got it from my pianist, Joe Zawinul, who wrote this tune,

And it sounds like what you’re supposed to say,

When you have that kind of problem.

It’s called, “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!”

Plucking out the notes, Octavia followed along, trying to keep with the feel of the band. Thumping the strings as she was caused to whole instrument to jolt along with what she was playing. It felt good, punching out the notes like that, and she kept along as they built up into the next phrase. With another short build up again, Zawinul let it hang on the last chord. They then fell off into a low, reserved couple of chords down at the bottom. Octavia felt herself pulled right into the music, laying down the few simple notes along with the keyboard. Though there was nothing technically complex to the notes, there was a complexity to the song, nonetheless. Zawinul threw out a few more chords, then dropped away and the cymbal shone out.

With a tinkling transition, they came back around to the top of the head, and Cannonball and his brother came in. Mellow and relaxed, they eased out the melody with a groove that Tavy felt herself getting with, as she put down her notes beneath them.

As they played, Octavia had to glance at the melody written out in the music, as she couldn’t help feeling there was an obvious discrepancy between what was written and what the two horns were playing. Written on the page, it seemed so simple and generally uninteresting—what the two were playing was so full and significant sounding. No, she confirmed, they were playing exactly the melody that was written. It was hard to put her hoof exactly on what this phenomenon was. It was captivating in its simplicity, and the calm but solid passion behind it was almost palpable to her.

They came into the next section, and Tavy sat back down on one note as the band laid out. Tavy blinked, a grin from an unknown source spreading across her face. Where exactly is all this intensity coming from? The arithmetic just didn’t seem to add up. As they progressed, the intensity built, and Tavy looked back to the music despite herself, just to check if there was something in the hoof full of notes she’d missed somehow. With a simple doubled up scale progression in the key of the song—skipping the second—they built up to the top of the phrase. Cannonball shot a note up above it all, and Tavy just about laughed from some sort of odd emotion that she had been struck with. They built back up a bit, and then dropped off.

Falling once more into a mellow phrase, Tavy threw herself into the few notes she was playing, letting them come directly from the core of her body. She felt them slide through her, to instrument, and rang out of it in a way she had forgotten about. They went into the last few bars of the head, back to the simple intensity, then let it hang off after the last of it, tossing out the final notes without belabouring them.

They came back to around to the top. This time through, the horns sat back and Zawinul was going to toss around a bit of improv. Octavia popped around an easy little rhythm, which got a nod from the zebra. She grinned. The mare felt a bit of a rush at the fact that she was matching the band, and contributing to this music that was wildly disproportionate to what was written out.

The mare tried to remember the last time she had felt this way when playing music. Nothing came to her mind immediately, and she was forced to dig deep back into her memories. After passing through all recent ones involving college and high school, and even most old ones trailing back to her foalhood though elementary, she finally landed on it—the memory of an excited little filly plunking around on a bestial instrument that was easily twice her size.

The filly didn’t know what she was playing, but she knew the noises she was making rang out through the room, and through her little body. It was like nothing she’d ever done before, and she knew it was like nothing else she ever would. Shortly after, she would be discovered with the instrument in her hooves, and would be set up with lessons for it. The bow would posed a few problems, and the notes many more—but that moment would remain just as it was. It was the first moment she’d had a cutie mark. The feeling poured back into her now—so much so that she was saturated with it.

Octavia built up the phrase with Zawinul, calmly, though solidly, caught in an all-encompassing vigor for the notes she sounded out. And she felt a something lock into place, as she locked into the music. They let the chord hang out, and fell right back as they went into the next phrase, the crowd giving a whoop. The classical musician couldn’t think of a time she’d played to an audience that was this responsive, either. And neither could she remember anything she’d experienced that was comparable to this. Tavy could feel herself and the band taking in the energy of it, and putting out more, because of it.

They arrived at the top of the head once more. Tavy loosened up the rhythm she’d been playing, tossing in a few extra notes around it. Playing with and around Zawinul, she felt the music as if it was part of her—or rather, that she had become part of the music. It was almost like she wasn’t playing anymore, it was just flowing out as excess emotion. Often when she’d played, she’d locked into the music similarly to how she was now, but it was different this time. In the past, it was a simple matter of knowing the music so well that it seemed to flow out of her. Now though, what she played wasn’t a regurgitation of something she’d learned, but was something that truly came from her—and that it was just sculpted to fit within the framework of the song.

This must be what Vinyl felt when she was performing, she realized. Octavia wondered if she didn’t look a bit like Vinyl did on stage, with a confident intensity to her that could capture an entire room. Why hadn’t Vinyl told her about this feeling? Though, now that she thought about it, it was actually rather likely the DJ had. Probably on multiple occasions. Well, Tavy concluded, Vinyl should have told her better.

As Octavia thought about Vinyl, she realized that she wasn’t feeling particularly horrible in any way. The dropping, falling feeling was notably absent. Tavy could think of Vinyl with none of the terrible emotional responses that usually confuse her thoughts of her. The haze of booze and second-hand smoke in her head, and the music that she felt as a part of her, resting in her body, seemed to temper the adverse reaction to thoughts of Vinyl Scratch.

They dropped right back, laying out the soulful phrase in contrast with the previous buildup, and Tavy thought about her friend clearly and calmly for the first time she could remember, while being in Canterlot. She thought back to her time spent with Vinyl, and things seemed different, in an almost imperceptible way. It was a subtle change, like correcting a string that had been slightly out of tune, but was something that made a significant difference.

The horns came back in for what was going to be the final time through, and Octavia felt something slide into place as they did. Looking back to her time in college, she realized she’d placed the happiness surrounding that time in her life on one thing—the fact that she was playing music and following her passion. It would have made sense that living for her music would bring her happiness.

These past few years in Canterlot, however, made it inescapably clear that this was not the case. But she had been happy in Ponyville, and was miserable here. There was only one thing that had changed. Octavia would’ve torn at her mane if her hooves had not been otherwise occupied. Though she realized she must have always known it, up until now she’d failed to see how simple it really was.

The obstacles in front of her still seemed insurmountable—but there was something that she clearly wanted, and it was something she knew would make her feel okay. That was more than she had now. That was enough. Octavia would get herself back to Ponyville, and back to Vinyl.

She would throw away her carefully crafted reputation among her fellow RCM students. It’d felt good, having ponies think she was a disciplined musician and a confident, refined pony. Though, it was concealing what she felt that had put her in this situation.

If she’d been more honest with Vinyl, she’d likely still be with Vinyl. It would be difficult for Tavy to say exactly what she felt, and she knew she would be bad at it. It would likely bring up many awkward situations, and there would be ponies that would think bad of her, because of it. But if Octavia couldn’t do this, she knew she didn’t have a hope when she got back to Ponyville.

The band pulled back, falling into one last mellow phrase, bringing it all the way down.

Octavia still had over a year left at the Royal Conservatory of music. That was too long, she realized. She would drop out. She would throw away her old music, her bow, and even her cello if she had to.

She would throw herself down directly at Vinyl’s hooves. Octavia didn’t know what Vinyl would say, or if she would be able to forgive Tavy, but it was the only option that she had left for herself. There was only one thing that she could say to Vinyl.

The band shot up into the final phrase, Cannonball’s alto singing up above it all, ringing out until the band dropped away and crowd’s cheering took over.

(liner notes)

“Is that . . . seriously the first thing you brought up?” Tavy asked. Vinyl set a massive set of speakers down in front of the feature wall in the largest room, and placed her turntable unit between them. “. . . And there’s no way those are going there,” Tavy finished, as she opened another box from the stack to unpack.

“Buck you they aren’t. Priorities, my good mare!” said Vinyl, grinning as she appraised the placement of the hardware. She rolled her eyes as she caught the look Tavy was giving her. “What, you got something better to put there? This’ll be awesome!” Tavy didn’t look convinced. “Come on . . . you can stand your bass up right beside it!”

Tavy smiled, a bit reluctantly. “Maybe.” She stuck her chin up in the air. “Bribe me.”

“Well if that’s all it takes . . .” Vinyl moved up close to Octavia. She put her mouth next to the grey mare’s ear, and whispered a few things. Tavy blushed, despite herself, and a shiver of delight passed through her.

“. . . I accept your terms.” Both mares giggled as they came together in a kiss. Tongues began passing into each other’s mouths.

“Gah, get a room” said a cream coloured mare, with a pink and blue mane, as she stepped into the apartment and set a box on the ground.

Tavy and Vinyl broke apart, and shared a quick glace.

“It’s for you, really,” Tavy’s look said.

“No, you go ahead, I insist,” Vinyl replied without words.

“If you happen to take a quick look around,” Tavy said, turning to Bon Bon, “you will notice that that is literally exactly what is happening this very moment—and is also entirely the only reason you’re here.”

Vinyl caught her eye. “Most approved!”

“Right,” said Bon Bon. “I’m out of here.”

“No you’re not. Because helping friends move into their new apartment is what friends do, Bon Bon,” a green unicorn replied as she came in the door, levitating in several large boxes.

“Speak for yourself—they’re not my friends.”

“Well,” said Lyra, “if you ever make friends of your own, let me know—and I’ll come do friend things with them and we can call it square, okay?” Bon Bon made a sassy huff. “Anyway,” Lyra continued, arranging the boxes on the floor as she set them down, “remember how we were also thinking of moving into a new place? It’d sure be handy if we had ponies that didn’t hate us when that time comes along.”

“No need for two bedrooms, anymore, hey?” cut in Vinyl. Both her and Tavy grinned at the synchronized facial expressions of the two other mares. “Oh come on, you’re among comrades, here! No need for your half-flanked charades!”

“I have no idea what you’re—” began Lyra.

“What?! How did you know—?!” exclaimed Bon Bon at the same time.

There was a pause. Lyra’s brow fell straight. “Way to hold up under pressure, Bon Bon.” The mare’s mouth hung open, as she looked back and forth between the other ponies. The unicorn sighed. “And you were the one who wanted to be all hush-hush about this, too.”

Bon Bon took an indignant gasp. “Oh, as if you don’t totally freeze up when we’re in front of others! You won’t come within five paces of me unless we’re alone, inside, with the curtains drawn!”

Lyra’s face flushed a bit. “Hey that’s just . . . well, it’s because—”

“Because what?” Bon Bon closed her eyes and faced away. “Choose your next words carefully here, pony dearest.”

There was a moment of silence while Lyra’s mouth took a few experimental shots at forming phrases. She then stopped, going into a deeper blush, and took a step forward. Bon Bon’s gaze fell back to Lyra, and their eyes met. They hesitated a moment, then began to draw slightly closer.

“Make out!” said Vinyl. A grey foreleg jabbed her side. “What? It’d be hot!” A swat on the side of the head followed.

“Whatever,” said Bon Bon, turning away from Lyra, a bit flushed. “Vinyl, you brought up your ridiculous stereo thing—did you happen to consider bringing up any records? Being forced into unpaid hard-labour would be marginally more bearable with some music happening."

“You know,” replied Vinyl, “I’m gonna skip right over that implied insult to the part where I actually somewhat agree with you. Tavy, which box were the records in?”

“Uh, I don’t think we brought it up yet. Actually, I think—”

Tavy broke off as a stack of boxes appeared in the doorway, which seemed to be preparing an attempt at entering—almost as if it somehow thought it might have the height clearance to do so. Such presumed thoughts soon proved to be a moot point, however, as boxes suddenly shot in various directions as the core of the stack began to topple forward with an “oops!” before making it any further.

In a snap, two horns lit up and the boxes were caught in a split of two different glows. After a second—and as it became clear no boxes had been harmed—the two unicorns floated the boxes down to the floor, smiling.

“Maybe just bring a few at a time, hey Derpy?” said Vinyl.

The pegasus pony smiled sheepishly as she apologized. “I didn’t drop this one though!” she said proudly, presenting the sole box that had remained in her hooves.

“Hey, it’s the records!” Vinyl floated the box out of Derpy’s hooves, and brought it over to her turntables.

Derpy alit, and walked over to begin helping unpack the boxes. She solidly knocked into Lyra from behind, along the way, shooting out an apology as she did. Lyra stumbled forward, bumping against Bon Bon. The cream coloured pony’s face turned bright red.

“This is why I don’t stand close to you, you know,” Lyra said to the heavily blushing mare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bon Bon replied, looking away.

“Oh, so now you can suddenly keep a straight face.” With a glint in her eyes, Lyra moved in closer, nuzzling against the mare’s neck. Bon Bon looked as if she were about to pop, squinting her eyes shut in embarrassment. “You can see how this would be a problem if I so much as brush up against you when we’re in public.”

“It’s not my fault,” Bon Bon managed to eek out. “You’re just so . . .”

“Yes?” Bon Bon clammed back up, wrenching her head away from the unicorn. “. . . Choose your next words carefully,” Lyra said with a smirk. Bon Bon elicited a small noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a huff, and spun around. She hooked her forelegs around the green pony’s neck, pulling the mare’s lips to hers. Lyra’s smirk vanished as her eyes went wide, her cheeks instantly flushing.

“Okay,” said Tavy to Vinyl, without looking away from the two mares, “this is pretty hot.”

“Oh, watch out, a little more to the left!” said Tavy. The futon mattress floated through the air, the two unicorns focusing their magic on it while Octavia directed. “Vinyl, I think your sides too high!”

“Maybe move a few degrees to the north!” suggested Derpy.

“North? Really?” said Bon Bon, who was lying on the floor, watching the other ponies work. “Which way’s north, then?”

“That way!” said Derpy without hesitation, and gave the mare a look which seemed to be questioning why she’d asked something so obvious.

“Cool, you’re like a pigeon!” Bon Bon replied, suddenly amused. “Close your eyes, spin around ten times and tell me which way is south-west!”

“Really not helpful guys!” said Lyra, struggling under the weight.

“It’s fine you’re just about there . . . alright, set it down!” The unicorns deposited the mattress onto it’s wooden frame, and they both heaved a sigh.

“Earth ponies are supposed to be the strong, hardy ones. The hay are you making us do the heavy lifting for?” said Vinyl, with a half-smile, as she tried to catch her breath.

“Stamina comes in many forms, you know,” Tavy said, and gave Vinyl a very specific look. “You should know that, better than most.” Her lover met her look and gave her one back.

“So what’s your excuse, then?” said Lyra, her eyebrows straight.

“Hmm?” Bon Bon looked up from a magazine she had uncovered from one of the boxes she had almost started unpacking. “Oh come on, I’m way too pretty for that,” she said, giving a measured blend of confident disinterest.

“Yeah, you’re pretty something, all right” said the green mare, rolling her eyes.

“South-west!” said Derpy, pointing. and nearly toppled over as her eyes spun around in opposite directions.

Bon Bon clapped her hooves together with a cheer, suddenly abandoning the harsh glare she had been forming. “Do it again!”

“No, don’t do it again Derpy,” said Lyra. The pegasus stopped herself halfway into another spin, flaring her wings out and nearly toppling over.

Bon Bon let out a huff. “Fun-killer,” she said.

“You guys are so cute!” said Vinyl, and flopped herself onto the futon. She closed her eyes as she put her front hooves behind her head. Most of her and Tavy’s belongings had made it up into the apartment, and now lay in various stacks in the rooms which the items contained were to inhabit. Vinyl let out a sigh. “If I’d known moving into a proper sized place was going to be so much work, I would have made more friends!”

“Yes,” said Octavia, “because with your winning personality, you have to beat off hordes of ponies just dying to be friends with you, right?” She lay down beside Vinyl.

“It’s good to know there’s a pony who understands my struggles,” said Vinyl.

They lay for for awhile on the futon, neither of them saying anything more. Both of them were content at simply gazing up at their new roof that belonged to the two of them. Not even the constant bickering between two of the other mares in the room—which had continued and intensified—could detract from the moment. Nor whatever Derpy was doing. Vinyl reached over and put her foreleg around Tavy.

“I still can’t believe you’re so insistent on getting a ‘real’ bed. I love this futon!”

“It’s not like it’s going anywhere . . . there just happens to be more than a single room in this place. And this is way too hard to be comfortable for me,” said Tavy.

“Aw.”

“Hey, it’ll still come in handy,” the gray mare said, her eyes closed as she lay with her head on Vinyl’s arm. “Like when you leave your records everywhere and refuse to clean them up. Or continually neglect to do any dishes whatsoever. I mean, at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep.”

Vinyl spun her head around where she lay to stare at the pony beside her. Tavy laughed. “I’m just kidding!” Vinyl laughed, too. Then Tavy opened her eyes and turned, locking to Vinyl’s gaze. “Probably.” Octavia got up from the futon, laughing again. Vinyl followed her, giving a single uneasy chuckle.

“Come on,” Tavy said, “we’ve got to unpack our stuff.” She turned around to face Vinyl as the unicorn got to her hooves. “. . . In our place.” She took a step closer to Vinyl. “Where we live together now.” Tavy put a hoof to the side of Vinyl’s face, and brought her into a kiss. They parted, smiling, then they kissed again.

Octavia broke away and turned to the other ponies in the room. “Thanks so much, everyone, I think that’ll about do it.”

“But we hardly unpacked anything yet,” said Derpy, suddenly ceasing the twirling she had been doing in the air.

“That’s alright,” said Tavy, “we can take it from here.”

“You sure?” asked Lyra, and Bon Bon rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, no problem,” Tavy assured her. “You’ve been a great help, but I need to make sweet love to my mare now.”

“Yay!” said Vinyl.

The ponies made their way towards the door. “Glad we could help out,” said Lyra. “It was actually kind of fun. We should all hang out every now and then.”

Tavy smiled. “Yeah, alright!”

“Are we going yet?” asked the other earth pony.

“Yes, alright. Sweet Celestia, Bon Bon,” said Lyra. Bon Bon walked out the door. The unicorn turned back to Tavy and Vinyl. “Sorry about her,” Lyra said quietly, “I don’t know what’s up with her right now. I . . . it’s not you guys. I think she generally likes you two, it’s just—”

“It’s alright,” said Vinyl. “I get it. I got lots of experience dealing with mares who have ridiculous issues, and who go deciding things on their own without bothering to tell the ponies being screwed over by it. Totally know where you’re coming from.” Tavy blushed, and opened her mouth, but was stuck speechless.

Lyra gave a tired smile. “Thanks. See you around.” She turned and hurried after the other mare.

“Bye!” said Derpy from across the room, halfway out the window. Vinyl and Tavy stood and blinked. They waved as Derpy left.

Tavy turned back and closed the door. Faint voices could be heard from the hall.

“Bon Bon, what the hay’s up? You’ve been acting—”

“. . . I wish you would say things like that.”

“. . . What? What’s all this about? You mean—wait you mean like . . . the bit about ‘make sweet love to . . .’ seriously? You . . . well I—really?”

There was silence for a few moments.

“Okay. Yeah. I . . . I could say things like that.”

The voices trailed away.

“Finally alone!” said Vinyl.

Tavy turned to the mare, and moved together until their noses were almost touching. “But not really.”

“As alone as we’ll be, from now on.”

“. . . I think I could get used to this kind of alone.” Tavy fell silent for a moment. “Vinyl, about what you said—”

“I know,” said Vinyl.

“I thought we agreed not—”

“I know.”

Tavy just looked at her for a moment, and it was quiet between them for a while. Finally Tavy opened her mouth to speak. “So wh—”

“Because it doesn’t matter now.”

Their mouths met, and they moved across the room, and then they were lying on the futon. They embraced and kissed in the place where they now lived together. The walls were were bare, and boxes sat in piles on the floor, but it had already become their home.

Tavy lay underneath Vinyl, breathing heavily as she looked into her eyes. “Vinyl, I think . . . I may want it to always be like now. Is that . . . can I ask for that?”

“Yeah. And . . . I think I’d probably say, ‘okay.’ ”

And then they had sex.

The end.

(I don’t know... did I wreck it by ending with that last gag? Well, **points to comedy tag, puts on glasses**)

That’s the end of it, thanks for reading!

Now, before anything else, check out psp7master’s song he did inspired by the fic! Octavia - Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!

Can’t even begin to say how completely fantastically amazing that is! Thanks so much!

I got a few (spoiler: a super ton of) things that I want to sort of go through about the fic, mostly about the music and stuff. It’s all strictly an ‘in case you happen to care’ type thing, so check it out if you want. Also I’ll mention why I did some things that kind of actually seem ridiculous now, or whatever. Like why ‘Tavy’ instead of ‘Tavi’ and stuff.

So, if you want to check it out, do so here: Bonus Features or something

Feel free to post any comments you have about it or whatever here in the comments for this chapter!

(I secretly think it is some kind of attempt at me getting a form closure as I come to the end of my very first pony fic—about which I may suddenly be feeling all kinds of something-something about having finally finished. So I apologize in advance?)

And thanks to all you awesome readers! I can’t believe how much support and positive feedback I’ve gotten from this, and, like everyone always says, it’s definitely what makes it worth it! I was happy to bring maybe a few feels and maybe a few laughs (and hopefully some proper music!) to your various days.

I got more ideas for more fics, so stop by again sometime!