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.