Chapter 17: Fallout! at the Disco
I really don’t say enough how much I hate cleaning. I mean, I really, really hate cleaning. I hate the smell of disinfectants. I hate mops and brooms and buckets of soapy water. Hell, it’s almost enough to make me hate sponges.
But I mean, come on. That’s ridiculous. How can you hate sponges? They’re so cool. They’re all squishy and they’re great for baths and you can tie ‘em to your hooves and skate across the floor.
Which I wish I could do right now, but that requires magic. And Spitfire said no magic.
So maybe I should back up just a little bit. That part where I rifled through my marefriend’s stuff? Well, after she went through the painstaking task of using that entire collection in that little box I found on me, she punished me by making me clean the house. Without magic. I tried to argue that I had a gig and needed to sleep and all that, but as it turns out the thing about having a marefriend with such a busy schedule as to constantly conflict with yours is that she checks your schedule to see when you’ll both be free.
So yeah, right now, I’m all about cleaning the kitchen floor. Which Tavi is enjoying just a little bit too much. “Vinyl, you seem to have missed a spot,” she jeered from her coffee-sipping perch on a nearby stool.
“Yeah, I forgot to wipe that smirk off your face,” I growled back, digging at a stubborn piece of god-knows what stuck to the tile. “Look, Tavi, just because I have work to do doesn’t mean you can sit there and make fun of me for it. We’ve both gotta find new places to live, and when I’m done here we have to move all our shit into storage.”
“My stuff isn’t shit, Vinyl Scratch, it’s-”
“-an expression. Sweet Celestia it’s just a catch-all word. And I did say ‘our’ shit. I’m not about to go admitting that my seven thousand bit turntable system is a piece of crap,” I countered, finally digging out the piece of... what the hell is this?... out from between the tiles. “Aha!”
I kept scrubbing for a little while when I realized it had gotten really quiet. I couldn’t even hear sips. So I turned to look at Octavia, who for all of Equestria had the expression of one who’d recently been assaulted by a donkey fart. “Ok, what?”
“...that turntable costs seven thousand bits?!” she finally spat out. The disbelief on her face would be priceless if I weren’t mildly insulted.
“Um, yes? Did you really think I’d do what I do for a living with anything less than the best I could find? That turntable’s not even on the market yet. It was a gift from the manufacturer after my last album doubled their sales.” Exposition, why do you feel so good?
“A... gift? A seven thousand bit gift? But... how?! Who would just hand over that much money’s worth of equipment for free?!” she cried, the coffee mug in her hoof shaking.
“Because it makes them more money, duh.” Jeez, it’s like she doesn’t get how marketing works.
“How does that work?!”
...oh sweet baby Luna give me strength. “Ok, it’s like this. I get new, high-end, unreleased equipment, and use it in al of my gigs. With me so far?”
Octavia nodded, setting her cup down.
“Then, once it’s actually available on the open market, every wannabe DJ and underground spinster who listens to me and aspires to be better buys the same thing. Then, when they develop a new model, they ship one to me so I can test drive it til it cries. Then I send it back with a list of all the stuff that’s wrong with it. And they fix it, send it back, and I use it to make an album. Lather, rinse, repeat.”
She seemed to consider this for several moments, at which point I went back to cleaning. After a small silence filled only by the sound of scrubbing, I heard from behind me, “So you get the newest models to make other ponies want them? And to... ‘test drive’ them?”
“Yup. And when I get the new model I hock the old one, with my signature on it, for about fifteen large a pop.” Wait for it.
Pbbththtbththtbth. There it is. Coffe everywhere. “Dammit Tavi I have to clean that!”
“Fuh-fuh-fuh-fifteen THOUSAND?! What do you DO with all that money?!”
I turned to look at her, again, and gave her a disbelieving expression. “I live in Canterlot.”
“...oh. But wait, even I don’t make that much! Where does it all go?!” she put her mug down again and got off the stool. I think she might be worried she’d fall off of it.
“You make it sound like I make that much every month or so. I only sell my tables once every year and a half. They don’t exactly churn out new models like crazy, you know,” I sighed, putting my rags down.
“But... they’re always talking about new models! The whatever 5000 or 6000, or-” I cut her off with a hoof.
“That’s not newer models. That’s the same model with new stuff. I only ever run the first in any model series. They come out with the 5xx and 6x crap when they want to milk the market. Any pony worth his salt behind the tables knows the first model they release is always the best in it’s class. All the extra stuff just makes the job harder. And even if it wasn’t, with all the time I spend getting used to each new deck, if I tried to keep up one upgrade at a time I’d be out on my ass in a week.”
Octavia nodded, looking like she was trying to understand. “Ok, I guess that does make a sort of sense. I mean, making fifteen grand in a month would be a bit ridiculous.”
I smiled, happy to have this conversation over with. “Yeah, I mean, if I made the extra fifteen on top of the fourteen a month I get it’d be pretty absurd.”
“FOURTEEN?!”
Hoh boy.
-------------------
I half expected the house to be a wreck when I got back. I partially expected them to be gone when I got home. I had also prepared myself for fighting, laughing, eating me out of house and home, or ridiculously loud music.
What I did not expect was quiet. Psychic, I am not.
I looked around the rather still house, and saw that Vinyl had, indeed, cleaned it. I’d ask Octavia in a bit if she’d used any magic, but honestly I didn’t care that much. I just didn’t want to do it myself. I figured Vinyl would swindle Octavia into being lax about it or something.
I could tell they hadn’t left because the front door was unlocked, and lights were on.
I looked around the first floor, and saw not a lot of anything. Just a clean house. They must be taking a nap. Or Octavia’s gone and Vinyl’s sleeping. I ran through a bunch of scenarios. I work around locker rooms, drill sergeants, and training courses all day. I also live with Vinyl Scratch.
Quiet makes me paranoid.
“Vinyl?” I asked tentatively, when I got to the top of the stairs.
“Over here,” I heard, and I looked down the hallway. She was standing outside her bedroom door, staring at it pensively. Which worried me more than the silence did.
“You ok?” I asked quietly, as if not to startle her.
“Huh?” she glanced over to me. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe. It’s Octavia that’s being weird. She locked me out of the room.”
I sighed. Now this, I could understand. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” she said defensively. Then paused. “Ok, I may have told her how much I make a month.”
I was confused. “...how is that a bad thing?”
She shrugged. “Tartarus-sauced if I know. She just-”
And then the door swung open. “It’s offensive! You make twice my salary, Vinyl! TWICE!”
I looked from Octavia to Vinyl and back. “Really? You only make nine thousand a month? How?!”
Her eyebrow twitched, and her eyes shrunk dangerously. She glared at Vinyl. “You said it was only fourteen.”
Vinyl raised an eyebrow, then the other one, as her eyes went wide. “Um... I may have forgotten royalties?”
“Raaaaagh!” Octavia screamed, slamming the door again. I heard the distinct sounds of locking.
I felt my eyebrows trying to decide if they wanted to be raised or not. “How... how does she survive in Canterlot on seven thousand bits a month?! Isn’t she a socialite? In therapy?!”
Vinyl looked just as confused as I was. “I have no idea. I mean, I have maybe a thousand left over after paying my insurance, my rent (no thanks for that, by the way), my equipment upkeep, my transportation, my contract fees, all the studio costs, and food, utilities, and miscellaneous crap.”
“Right? My health insurance is obscene. Not to mention the maintenance costs on a cloud home, my Stunt Flying license every year, and all the non-music-y stuff you just said. Who the hell can afford to live on seven k here?!”
Vinyl was about to respond when the door slowly swung open. “You... really have all those expenses?” Octavia asked sheepishly, from behind the door.
“Well, yeah? Don’t you? I mean, being a professional and attending all of those socialite gatherings can’t be cheap? Who pays for all of that?”
“...mm mdr,” she mumbled.
Vinyl tilted her head. “What?”
Octavia looked at both of us, and sighed, looking more resigned than I’d seen her in a while. “My mother.”
----------------------------
Now, I know that my mother’s identity is no secret. Treble Melody is a name most everypony in the music industry knows. Once a beautiful and successful singer and actress, she ruled over the stage and screen like it was made simply because she’s asked for it.
She was talented, gorgeous, influential.
Now she’s rich, crazy, and bored.
Both of which are extremely dangerous combinations in Canterlot.
The three of us sat in the living room while I explained things. “I honestly thought you two had somepony covering your expenses like I did mine. I’d always been brought up around ponies who’s lives were literally in somepony else’s hoof the entire time. It’s... rare to see somepony who’s come this far and been this successful entirely on their own. And stayed there.”
They both looked mildly insulted, but I kind of expected that. Seeing it on Vinyl’s face, though, was almost painful.
My ‘crush’ was getting worse.
“So, what are you saying?” Spitfire asked, rather smoothly. I could tell she wasn’t entirely pleased by my explanation.
I sighed, staring in to my lap. “When I was growing up, money was never an issue. I had all the things I ever wanted. I won’t bore you with yet another ‘my parents were never around’ story. That’s bread and butter around here. But When I first started out the only thing I had to trade on was my mother’s name. Eventually, I was able to maintain my reputation on my skill alone, but I’ve still had to rely on the family fortune to pay for everything but my bare necessities. I was rather adamant that I pay my own rent and utilities. But my mother, the... eccentric individual that she’s become, has been adamant that I make use of the family fortune. ‘A Melody should not be ashamed of their accomplishments, or their background,” she’d say. She takes it as an insult when I don’t actively utilize our money.
Vinyl stared at me for a long time. Finally, she said, “Can we trade parents?”
“...what?”
“I’m totes serious. You have a mom that is actively disappointed when you don’t mooch. How the hell did you pull that off?” she laughed. I felt some of the tension leave the room at her joke.
“Well, it’s not exactly easy. I’m not really a big fan of all those parties, but my mother’s biggest stipulation is that if I’m going to use the family fortune I’m going to contribute to the family reputation. She basically parades me around, and in return, I get to live at what is apparently half the cost of living in Canterlot as normal.”
Spitfire nodded sagely. “I can understand how that would be a bit of an annoyance. It’s like, they’re trying to make your accomplishments their own, right? My dad’s like that. Ex-military type, he is.”
I could only partially agree. “Kind of. She does flaunt my success, but somehow makes it all about me. She turns me into the biggest deal in the room whenever we go anywhere together. It’s more like it’s hard to live up to the reputation somepony like Treble Melody has built up for you every day.”
Vinyl smiled that wicked ‘I know something you don’t’ smile of hers. Part of me melted. I was getting used to her mischievousness. Even worse, I was growing to like it. “So I bet she totally flipped her wig when you told her about the Pony Pokey incident, right?”
I cringed. “Actually, she... laughed. It was kind of scary. She thought it was the funniest thing in the world.”
Vinyl’s eyes widened as Spitfire rolled hers. “I’d heard Treble had gone off the deep end in her later years.”
“Truer words never spoken,” I muttered. God, if she were to meet these two.
If she met Vinyl and Spitfire...
“Tavi? What’s wrong? You have that look Vinyl gets whenever she has a ‘bright idea.’”
I smiled at both of them, and got down from the couch. “Girls, pack a bag. We’re going to visit my mother.”
Spitfire and Vinyl paused for a moment, then turned to glare at each other. “This is all your fault,” they said in unison.