The Snow on Her Cheek

Chapter Nineteen

How Blue Can You Get?

***

Octavia closed the door behind her with a sigh and tossed the keys on the table. Though she had spent the whole day with Vinyl, she only felt worse and worse. Although the pianist had been rather cheerful, and even accepted all the medicine she'd been given, the grey mare knew that it was fake. Or, at least, partly fake. Vinyl was suffering, and she, Octavia, couldn't do anything about it. Anything, apart from...  No, don't even think about it, Octavia. You are not buying buck for Vinyl. She frowned and took off her scarf, placing it on the sofa.

The cellist trotted into the kitchen, noticing a mug of coffee, the liquid inside covered by a thin cold film, and an open newspaper, as well as some letters which she hadn't yet opened. Sure, I remember father mentioning a few points of traffic... she thought involuntary as she sat at table and took the paper, her eyes running through the pages. Politics, Economics, Sport, Music... What?..

The cellist's gaze fell upon a short passage devoted to the modern classical scene. She saw her name mentioned in it, and decided to read the paragraph which contained it. However, there are many traitors nowadays, the paper read. For example, the famous cellist Octavia Philarmonica, who has been pleasantly soothing our ears with the music of the great Beethoofen, Coltbert and Motzcolt, is said to have betrayed the classical scene. What did she do, you may ask? It's simple: she has joined the ranks of those so-called 'jazz ponies', musicians that oppose the very foundation of music, disregarding all rules and customs. Our reporter saw her in a local jazz bar one night and-

Octavia stopped reading, the blood in her veins running cold. Doomed, I'm doomed...  She gulped and carefully put the newspaper away. Soon, the whole city would know about her devotion to jazz, and her ensemble... Her eyes fixed on a golden envelope with a crown on it. The letter from the Royal Orchestra! she thought, shocked. Even without opening it, she already knew the standard form: We hate to tell you, but you no longer meet the demands of the Royal Orchestra. Of course, they knew as well. Of course, they would no longer accept her. Of course, all this jazz had ruined her career... She opened the envelope, considering that there was nothing more to lose.

Having read the short message, she leaned back with a sigh. Just as she had expected. She was no longer playing for the orchestra. Being a jazz lover, she "no longer met the demands" of those conservative, old-fashioned ponies who subsidised the Royal Orchestra. She could turn to her father, she mused. He would pull some strings here and there, and she would be restored in her position. But... she didn't want to trouble him any more. And she also didn't want to play classical music any more, she thought. Now that she had got to know Vinyl, and Double Bass, and George, she knew that her heart and soul belonged to jazz.

But jazz won't pay the bills, she thought, her attitude darkening gradually. I just lost my job, and Vinyl's in the clinic... How am I going to carry on with no way to earn bits? ...How do I move on? Only now had she realised how much she had got used to her job. And now a sombre feeling enveloped her, a feeling of uncertainty about the future. The fear of the unknown. The greatest fear.

She rose to her hooves, shaking. She needed to think this situation over. And she knew exactly where to go.

***

"And I can't even tell the world 'bout my feelings!" Octavia exclaimed, slapping her hoof against the bar counter, her mind hazy due to the amount of alcohol she'd consumed. "But don't tell anypony!" she whispered to the bartender. "They will put me 'n' Vinyl in prison!" Her eyes widened and she waved her hooves in the air in what seemed to her a conspirational manner.

"Don't worry," the barman said, pouring her another glass. "In this bar, we've known Vinyl for years, and we're all happy that she found such a great marefriend as you are." He went on to clean the counter.

"I'm not great..." Octavia said sadly, shaking her head. For some reason, whisky hadn't been able to raise her spirits; on the contrary, it only sent her deeper into the depths of self-pity and disapointment. "I'm a good-for-nothing mare, who can't help her marefriend, or even earn for a living!" She exclaimed, hiccuping, hitting her hoof against the counter again.

The bartender didn't reply; he knew better than to argue with drunk ponies. In fact, he was rather glad when the mare mumbled something about "buck", or "bucking" - he didn't quite make out the phrasing, and left the bar, tossing some extra bits on the counter.

"Bans on filly-fooling, war threats... Celestia, where are we going with all of this?.." he whispered, gathering the money, and returned to his work.

***

Octavia held a spoon in her hoof, balancing unsteadily, letting the fire of the candle warm the object. The cellist knew that she was drunk; and immensely so. But at the same time, her depression had finally reached its peak. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen... I am a worthless musician... she thought as she counted. Ten, nine, eight... I am a worthless marefriend... Four, three, two, one... Ready! The grey mare put out the fire and carefully poured the hot liquid into the syringe, holding the spoon with her trembling hooves. That should do it...

She sat down and looked at the syringe. This was for Vinyl... right? She realised why Vinyl had been so obsessed with buck. The liquid in the syringe was alluring. It practically screamed, I can help with your problems! I can help you with anything! And she sure wanted help. She wanted to forget her struggles. She wanted bliss and happiness.

Maybe she should test it? Just to make sure it was ready? She didn't want to bring Vinyl something that would be raw... if such an adjective could be applied to drugs.

No. Octavia shook her head. What was she thinking? One dose - and she would be addicted. One dose - and her life would be shattered. She looked at the syringe again, its form strangely puncuated by the moonlight. ...One dose - and her troubles would fade away. ...One dose - and she would no longer be worthless, and tired, and sad. ...One dose - and she would be bright, and happy, and brave...

Octavia inspected the syringe closely. It just lay there idly, waiting to be used. No... she can't! Or... can she? Life was terrible as it was. Maybe she just needed some change? Something to brighten up her lonely night spent without her lover. Something to raise her mood and give her an idea what to do. Something to give her the strength to go on. The needle goes into the leg vein... right?

She stood up and raised her leg, her hoof an inch away from the syringe. The wind rushed into the kitchen through the open window, making her shiver. One dose...

She took the syringe.