//------------------------------// // Part 3: Transposition // Story: Scratch in the Record // by tencentpartycannon //------------------------------// Scratch in the Record Part 3: Transposition Of course... Octavia thought as she looked into the computer room to see her marefriend slaving over the computer. Octavia had developed a nasty habit of waking up in the darkest hours of the morning for the sole purpose of having the house to herself. Even if it was only for a couple of hours every day, the longer she could go without hearing Vinyl's "music," the more bearable the morning was when it did gain momentum. It only seemed fitting that Vinyl had woken up this early to write; with this "no restrictions" on her next LP, Vinyl must be spending ungodly amounts of time on it. Even now, her head hypnotically bobbling to the odd rhythm of her music, Octavia could see the determination and concentration in her marefriend's demeanor; her eyes were glazed over, fully engrossed in the software screen, editing parameter... after parameter... after parameter.... It almost inspired Octavia. But her calling was the symphony, and the rich sound it caused. It's rich history and amazing composers were far more interesting than the main producers in electronic music, who probably made most of their music for the sole purpose of the money. Even though Octavia knew this was not Vinyl's intent at all, she did wish Vinyl picked up a real instrument and learned it, instead of the computer's programmed sound. "Hey... Vinyl..." Octavia said, realizing how fruitless trying to get Vinyl's attention would be as soon as the words left her mouth. Vinyl had her noise-cancelling headphones in, and was blasting her breakbeats so loud Octavia could hear them. Seeing no use in staying up when Vinyl was within twenty feet of her, Octavia decided to simply go back upstairs and get more rest. What she neglected to notice, unsurprisingly so in the pitch dark, was the 10 digits on her table and the phone off the dock. "Wow, 'Gio, you... you don't look too hot." "It's just sleepiness, Vinyl," Arpeggio responded assuringly. "I'll be fine." Arpeggio had decided to join Vinyl on the walk to work again, although this time it was much less interesting; "Monday morning" interesting in Canterlot was far different than "Sunday evening" interesting. It was far harder to have a casual conversation with someone when you're surrounded by frantic ponies on their daily commute to work. Vinyl knew Arpeggio was bullshitting her; she had woken up many times not fully "woken up," and they were nothing like this. But she held her tongue; she didn't want to get into an argument with the person that gave her a paycheck every month. "So what are you gonna do today?" Arpeggio inquired. Vinyl considered this question thoroughly; usually, Arpeggio gave her interns to show the ropes to, but with the recent news, there was no use in hiring interns, and therefore no job for Vinyl. "That's a great question, 'Gio." Vinyl chuckled. "What do you want me to do?" Arpeggio over at Vinyl, sipping from his coffee and rubbing his eyes. "How about you work on your album? I don't care how you do it, but your last LP is going to be the last BIG thing this company produces, and I want to go out with a bang. So that's what you can do during your day now." Vinyl was pleasantly surprised by this; work was usually pretty monotonous and dull, with the only variation between one lesson and the next being the rookies' questions. But to have complete control over her day, and do whatever she wanted... well, it was a pleasant position, to say the least. "Oh dear sweet Celestia, those fucking violinists..." Octavia said that afternoon, on her lunch break with her fellow cellists, Vas and Eli. "I hear enough sour notes with Vinyl's electronica, I don't need to hear it at rehearsal, you know?" Eli sighed. "Listen, Octavia... not to invade your personal business, but you've been talking about Vinyl these days in a... continually less flattering light. What's going on with you two?" Octavia was taken aback. "What do you mean 'what's going on?'" All couples have their quarrels occasionally, right?" "Yeah, they do." Eli said, finding it increasingly harder to maintain eye contact with Octavia. "Amati and I still butt heads about certain things. But-" "What he's trying to say is that you trash her to pieces whenever you talk about her!" Vas suddenly stated in a hushed yet forceful tone. "I've never seen a couple with this much animosity between them! So I guess the question stands; what's up?" Octavia was cornered; her friends were going to find out about it, so they might as well hear it from the most reliable source. "It's just... the sense of intimacy is gone. It's like, we're not a couple anymore in the traditional sense, we just live together and share responsibilities. Those little pet names are gone; She's not 'DJ-PON3' anymore and I'm not her 'Tavi' anymore. Things like that, the simple things that reinforced a sense of wellness in our relationship, are absent now, and I don't know who to blame." Eli and Vas looked at each other, and they immediately knew they were thinking the same thing. Eli spoke up. "Do you think that the reason Vinyl isn't paying much attention to you now is because she has... well... someone else?" "Oh Celestia, no!" Octavia said unconvicingly. "I mean, who else would take her?" "His point does hold ground, though, Octavia." Vas said, recieving the check from the waiter and pulling out her share of bits to pay. "That would explain the lack of intimacy recently." Octavia sighed. "Do you really think that notion hasn't gone through my head a million times by now, Vas? I've tried justifying it with other means, but it really all boils down to that when I use logical deduction." The three stood up from the table, wiping off the crumbs from their bodies. In the Sunday afternoon sun-glow, though, the urge to talk was not there anymore. The cellists' minds were on the practice material for their upcoming concert, and not the relationship problems of one dysfunctional mare. "You sure you want to stay late tonight, Vinyl?" Arpeggio said as he locked his office door that evening. It was around eight o'clock, and Vinyl had been writing dilligently; she had used up the first fourth of her notebook for one song that, according to Vinyl, was not even good enough to put on the album. "Yeah, 'Gio, I just need to wrap up this one... part..." Vinyl muttered, her concentration obviously in a completely different place. "Vinyl, remember how Octavia reacts to your late nights?" Arpeggio said, only thinking of what was best for his coworker. Vinyl didn't seem to hear him, having reapplied the soundproof headphones and gone back to toying with the software and scrolling through plugins. It was nine o'clock when Octavia entered her dark, empty residence. She could tell Vinyl wasn't home when the computer was idle and the house was not filled with glitchy sounds. Octavia reached for the light, illuminating the living room and all its contents. She laid her cello bow down on the TV and simply laid down on the couch. It's warm softness was all Octavia needed at that moment as she took in the conversation she had over lunch. Was it really possible that Vinyl was... that type of mare? Did Vinyl really care so little about Octavia that she would just shack up with the next pony she saw? The possibility was always so foreign to her, no matter how many times it presented itself as a possibility. Vinyl had always said she detested the club scene that she fed her music to, but was it really possible that she was just another one of those raving idiots, putting Celestia-knows-what into her drinks and living in a fantasy world on that nightclub floor? Octavia decided to run from that possibility by flooding her mind with her cello's warm tones, not allowing herself time to think through the thick resonant sound. She reached for her bow, but her hand met something different, something foreign that Octavia didn't notice there. She brought it up to her face. It was a small piece of paper, with ten digits and the name "Zimmer" imprinted on it in sloppy, rushed hoofwriting.