//------------------------------//
// Requiem, Part 1 
// Story: Living with a DJ 
// by Background_Pony 
//------------------------------//


I said a word, 
it got caught in my throat, and it burned. 
Slipped off my tongue and I choked, 
you were concerned for a second. 
Then cries echoed into the night, lesson learned 

Because you heard a word 
that I said, and this word how it rang. 
In your head, it was loud and glorious, yes 
and from where you lay on my chest... 
Well, you heard it best 




Vinyl stares at you with a hellish grin, white teeth gleaming like knives in the moonlight. 
You forcefully bring a hoof to your forehead. The flashy sign of the nightclub glares with a bright, unwanted enthusiasm that stings your eyes when you look up. You'd despise this, but Vinyl swore she wouldn't play her 'songs' on max volume for ONE MONTH. 
What a deal. 
You let out a hefty sigh and push the door open, lip-glossy music immediately pounding over you like a riptide of acid. Ponies are twisting and shaking half-used glowsticks to the uneven rhythm of the song roaring from the large speakers set up at the back wall of the room. You have a cold feeling in the pit of your stomach as three stallions sitting in a sweaty, bunched together group look you up and down like you're on a menu. They seem all too much of lemurs, eyes wide and searching. You're tempted to slap them in the cheek, but you focus on the young bartender who's whisking a washcloth across the counter. 
"Excuse me?" you call to the bartender in an annoyed voice, throwing an angry look to the stallion from the group that has decided to wriggle towards you. You can hear his heavy breathing from here. The bartender gallops over with a cheery expression. Her tail is long and black, like a thick mass of crow feathers, her eyes yellow and glowing in the sickening neon of the rave. 
"Moondust, at your service!" She has a well-meaning voice with a touch of inebriation at the edge, but overall she seems extremely sober, "what can I get you, miss..."
"Octavia. Got anything that'll knock me out and is legal?" you ask her in a nonchalant voice. Your eyes roll at the stallion from the group who is scooting towards you, his wings slowly but surely inching off his back and outwards. You grimace at the notion of this heckler already sizing you up.
"No," Moondust responds, like the precise 'snick' of a guillotine, " but I do have some good wine if that's your taste."
"Yes please. Anything to take my mind off of this whoremonger of a stallion beside me," you growl, pushing the stallion backwards with a strong hind hoof. 
Moondust snickers at the comment and brings you a small serving of fine wine in a fancy shot glass. You press the wine to your lips, and it instantly relaxes your sore shoulder. Suddenly, your lungs feel like they're on fire. You cough sporadically, and Moondust passes you a glass of water.
You shake your head and pound a hoof against your chest, gradually making the gagging die down. 
Turning around, you see Vinyl dancing with a strong looking earth pony. His cutie mark is a speaker with little sound waves coming out of it. 
She looks so at home on the dance floor. Lights pour onto her white fur, making her ordinary coat look almost bioluminescent. She moves in perfect rhythm to the music, her tail swishing and her head bobbing. Scratch is so perfect out there, twisting and twirling to the bouncy rhythm, occasionally flirtatiously bumping her flank into the stallion's cutie mark. 
He brings her close and tries to kiss her, but Vinyl pushes him away and laughs playfully. They continue dancing, Vinyl  shaking a glow stick above her with her magic. 
The three stallions glare and point at you, whispering something about 'friendzone' and 'nice guy'.
One of the members gets pushed out of the group and towards you. He looks younger close up. You estimate he's barely 17, with a scraggly orange mane that looks like shredded carrots. 
"Hey baby, can I get your number?" he asks you in a nasally, toothy voice. His face is greasy and his wings fight against his will to burst off of his back. His purple eyes seem to be glued to your treble cutie marks and you're enraged with his unwanted brashness.
"Why, you need a foalsitter?" you hiss in a scornful voice. He looks at you as if you've kicked him in the stomach. He narrows his eyes and storms away, muttering under his breath.
The stallion dancing with Scratch tries again, five minutes later. He seizes Vinyl by her waist and yanks her forcefully into his chest, his eyes angry and his lips moving closer to Vinyl's. She squirms away from him and looks at him with a hurt expression, rubbing at her sore arm. You jump up and give the stallion a piece of your mind, your blood boiling.
"Will you stop it with the aggressiveness?!" you shout over the song pounding out of the speakers. 
"I don't get it," he yells back to you, an angry look in his eye, "why are mares so uppity about being struggle-snuggled? I thought they like dominance."
He makes you furious. He makes your heart pound in your chest and your ears twitch wildly. He has a smug expression that you want to tear off and shove down his throat, then take Vinyl far away from him and leave him to choke.
Struggle-snuggling. The word burns like hot acid on your tongue.
With the rage and venom of a rabid manticore, you swing a gray hoof across his jaw, leaving a big red mark. He winces and presses a hoof to the mark, and you shriek at him.
"I don't get it," you sneer, "why are you acting like such a foal? I thought you like acting tough."
Vinyl grins at you with a thankful smile and hurls her glowstick at the stallion, hitting him in the back of his disgusting head and making him stumble forward.
You exhale and drag yourself back to the bar. The orange and purple is sobbing like a moron, his friends glaring at you.
You regret nothing.
"Give me your hardest whiskey," you mumble to Moondust, "and don't talk to me 'till I come up for air."





You don't remember how many drinks you had, but everything hurts. Your legs ache, your eyes sting, and your head throbs, something pressing down hard on your stomach.
You raise your head a little, but instantly regret it. A blinding light makes your eyes water. 
You lie there for Celestia-knows-how long, breathing and trying to block out the high-pitched shrieking noise that pounds at your eardrums.
Once you've finally come to your senses, you find you're on your couch back at your house. 
Vinyl brings a cup of coffee to you and you chug it down without talking or breathing. Finishing your cup, you glare at the white unicorn in front of you and shove your mug forward.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Scratch calls from the kitchen sarcastically, pouring more breakfast-ambrosia into your mug. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail and her glasses are perched on her horn. A blue apron with her cutie mark on the front is hastily wrapped around her stomach, although you don't know why she needs an apron to make coffee. 
"Fuck you," you growl, digging your head into the pillow beneath your head. 
"Love you too, Octy." She passes you a steaming mug with three little ponies on the front. Their unwanted enthusiasm mocks you as you yank a brush through the rat's nest you call a mane. Standing up is the worst challenge you've ever encountered.
After trials and tribulations (namely trying not to fall over), you walk to the bathroom. Your mane sticks out in all directions and there are dark bags under your eyes. You absentmindedly begin to brush your teeth, and Vinyl is humming a sweet little tune as she cleans up the kitchen-
Cleans up the kitchen?
Vinyl never does that! You decide not to question good things and put down your toothbrush. 
At least you look mildly less like a beer-bellied cider addict. A solitary calendar hangs on the corner of the mirror, and you turn towards it while smoothing out your tail.
Scanning the page, you see absolutely nothing....
Except a concert.
Today.
In eight hours.
You double take and nearly trip over your own hooves, flinging open the curtain to the shower-bath and slamming the faucet on. You tear off your bow tie (now dusty and fraying) and throw it into the sink. Your chest begins to hurt, but you push past that pain and step into the tub. 





"Ten minutes!" Vinyl Scratch shouts from her bedroom, and you practice your piece for the last time. Each note is played with ease, and the last note just scrapes by. 
You let out a sigh and set your cello into its case. Vinyl steps out of her room, and you seize up in shock at what you see.
She's wearing a long grey dress that trails behind her, like silken ribbons on a present.
You look down at your black suit. It has a blue flower tucked in the breast pocket. You were almost certain that Vinyl, the definition of rowdiness and shattering social expectations, would wear a suit.
You stand corrected.





"Octavia!" Beauty Brass calls in her thick middle-eastern accent. Her words are breathy, and her tuba is wrapped tightly around her stomach, "Quit looking at yourself like you're about to sprout a fifth leg and get out here! We're about to start!"
"Coming..." you respond in a small voice.
"WHAT?" Beauty yells back. 
"I'M COMING!!" You shout, trotting to where your trio stands. Rolling your neck around, you take your cello in one hoof and your bow in the other. Beauty Brass simply taps her hoof twice.
"Curtain in two!!" A stout stagehand with a bushy mane that reminds you of the old end of a broken mop whispers to you. Half moon glasses perch at the end of his blocky snout and his eyes are the color of dishwater.
Two.
Such a menial number, two. One more than one, one less than three.
Tick.
Tock.
The stage lights dim to a royal purple and the curtain inches its way upwards. 
Your face relaxes as you see the crowd. Some might crack under pressure from the many judging eyes in the audience, but you see their criticism as a form of praise, if not flattery.
Working your hooves deftly, note after note after note after note resonates out of your cello. Beauty comes in with low bass notes that seemingly fill the room with suspense. Harpo drags a well-placed hind leg and a strong front leg across the long strings of his harp, and Fredric begins to play high notes, teetering between a lullaby and a broken music box, more sour than sweet.
Half way through the song, your heart begins to pick up its pace. The room seems to be hot, and your chest burns with a searing pain. You lean tiredly against your cello, your notes slowing down and becoming less precise.
Vinyl, of all ponies, immediately jumps up with a look of terror on her face. 
"Octavia!!" she shouts, sprinting towards you from the back of the audience. Your vision begins to darken around the edges. You don't notice it, but you've fallen to the floor and your chest is heaving. The floor is cool against your hooves, suddenly some voice snaps you awake.
"OCTAVIA!!" Vinyl screams again, crushing someone's tail and stepping in someone's cake.
Your heart feels like it's about to tear itself apart.
Howling breaks out from the audience.
"Doctor!! Is anypony a doctor! Please, somepony, ANYPONY!!!" One voice caterwauls, accompanied by the crash of plates. Vinyl is hunched over, saying something over and over again, talking quicker than lightning.
"GET A PHONE, QUIT YELLING!" A stallion's voice thunders from the audience.
"SETTLE DOWN!" This is repeated by several different ponies. Why do you feel so weak?
The roars die down as you drift off.
The last thing you hear?
Vinyl's horrified, frenzied shrieking.
For once, nothing hurts. You're left with a dull throbbing in your chest.
Everything is warm and quiet, two of your favorite things.
There's no burning in your chest, no brash unicorn to annoy you, nothing.
The scene from before plays again in your mind's eye, except the white and blue demon crouches over the gray-robed goddess, sapphire tears falling from her eyes and onto the goddess' porcelain skin.
The goddess does not stir.





You're sitting in the audience at the symphony when the curtains lift up. Octavia looks like a hawk, shoulders held high and eyes like amethyst. She takes a deep breath, then plays. A sorrowful melody pours out of the bass and surrounds you like a thick blanket of snow. A blue pony beside her plays dark notes on a tuba, and a stallion strums a harp while another weaves an intricate melody of high notes. 

It bores you half to death.

You sink further into your seat as Octavia begins to falter with her music. The notes are all off and her tempo is going haywire- something's up. A couple of ponies in front of you tip their heads as Octavia begins to sway sleepily against her cello. You jump up and race over to the stage- she's fallen over now. Her legs twitch and she lets out heaving breaths, all too ragged and sharp. You shriek her name as a cake gets crushed, but that doesn't stop you.
"Octavia, Octy, Tavi, Tavia, Octavia, please please just a little longer, you'll be okay..." you whisper to her, tears beginning to fall out of your eyes- You're crying? 
You're crying over a mare you barely know that just so happened to let you live in her apartment. You're crying over a mare that hates you. You're crying over a mare that you hate.

What's wrong with you?

Sirens wail in the distance, and a husky pony with strong arms pulls you off of Octavia. You lash out at him like a wounded animal trying to escape, but his grip is strong. You get pulled backwards, away from that mare that hates you and vice versa. She's curled up in a weak little heap, her chest fluttering like a moth with a hurt wing. Howling and sobbing, doors slam in front of you before you know what's happened. Words die in your throat, your eyes sting with hot angry tears, you feel like you're drowning. The mare you were sheltered by just passed out while you fart around like a hair-brained idiot, you're the worst! 

Paramedics rush into the symphony with a stretcher clamped in their hooves, shouting orders to each other like dogs. Why couldn't it be you? Something inside you dies as they carry Octavia, nothing more than a weak shell of a pony barely clinging to life, out of the concert hall and onto the ambulance. Tears fall to the ground, leaving little circles of moisture on the ground as you finally break down.

You fall to your knees and bawl like a newborn filly.