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.