Octavia looked around the bar with a light, slightly confused smile. She glanced over Full House, the old stallion’s hooves meekly tapping one gold bit against another, her gaze coming to rest on Vinyl Scratch.
“Last round, Tavi,” said Vinyl, wiping away an imagined tear. “You done good, filly.”
Octavia smiled proudly. It was incredible, really. She had no idea what she was doing, had fumbled cards, could hardly even remember what combination beat out what, but she was carrying the match. A pile of bits had steadily grown in front of her, some of it from Full House, some of it from Vinyl, but all of it now belonged to Octavia.
It was glorious.
Full House grumbled incoherently. “Are we actually gonna get to playing anytime soon?”
Vinyl turned with a cheeky grin. “Dish ‘em out.”
Four cards slid across the table, each pair coming to a stop right in front of each mare. Full House slapped his own pair in front of him, with an audible crack.
“Tavi,” said Vinyl, “you’re the little blind.”
Octavia threw in a few bits. Full House grunted, then threw what little remained of his bits.
“Tavi, you’re the little blind.”
Octavia blinked, knitting her brow slightly and turning towards Vinyl. The scene changed, the pile of gold that had been sitting in front of Octavia evaporated, only to condense as perfectly stacked towers in front of a smug looking Full House. Vinyl had a respectable amount of bits. Probably a quarter of the entire pot.
The cellist had exactly two bits.
“C’mon, lass,” said Full House gruffly, “throw in what little ya have. I want my money back.”
Octavia sighed. “Can I just give this to Vinyl?”
Vinyl looked scandalized. “You can’t just give up like that!”
But Full House simply shrugged. “Do what you want, lass. I’ll just be taking it all back in the end. And what your friend owes me.”
Octavia took up her two final bits, offering them to Vinyl with a sheepish smile. “You’re the better gambler, Vinyl.”
Vinyl huffed, snatching the bits and tossing them onto her pile. “This isn’t gambling.”
Full House grinned. “That’s right. It’s a sure thing.” He tossed a few bits into the center of the table. Vinyl tossed in a few more. Full House flipped three cards onto the table. Another round of betting, Full House’s confident smirk never faltering and Vinyl’s own face kept perfectly blank.
“Three of a kind,” said Vinyl, turning over her pair of cards.
Full House’s grin widened slightly. “Straight.” He raked in the pot amidst cheers from the rest of the bar.
“I wanna deal,” said Vinyl.
The stallion raised a questioning brow. “And why’d you want to do that?”
“I think you’re cheating.”
The entire bar froze, each gaze burrowing straight into Vinyl Scratch. The DJ hardly even flinched.
Full House leaned forward slightly. “That’s a very serious accusation here. I’m not a cheater.”
“Then let me deal.”
The stallion narrowed his eyes slightly. “Alright, you will. But if I think that you’re doing something, even for a moment, you’ll be paying double what that composer owes.”
Vinyl nodded. “Deal.” Magic sprouted around her horn, the same aura surrounding the deck of cards. They floated into the air, where they quickly shuffled themselves before falling back to the table.
“Ready?” asked the DJ.
“Just play the cards,” said Full House.
Octavia fussed with her bowtie, mentally counting the bits she had bothered to bring.
And the game went on. Vinyl took a round, then Full House took one, then Vinyl took three and Full House took one. Then Full House took another. And another. The bits were split about equal, if a bit heavier on Full House’s side.
“You know how to handle your cards,” said the stallion, throwing a few of his bits into the center.
“I’ve played before.”
“Ya ain’t got the talent that the composer did.”
Vinyl gave a half-smile, flipping a fifth card onto the table. “Harpo’s got a bit more experience gambling.”
Full House nodded. “Certainly seemed like it. Raise.” A few more bits went into a rather sizable rather of bits.
“Call.” Vinyl tossed in the same amount, and flipped her cards. “Full House.”
Full House smiled wanly. “Two pair. Ya ain’t much for a bluff, are you?”
Vinyl laughed slightly, her horn flaring, the bits sliding towards her pile. “No, not really. Too many ponies around me are used to lying. But I think that I’m pretty easy to read too, right Tavi?” The DJ turned and winked, placing her shades back over her eyes. Octavia scowled in confusion.
Vinyl never plays with her glasses on. That means…
Octavia blinked. Oh, buck me with Celestia’s thick h--
Vinyl’s magic flared, pulling the pile of bits into a waiting bag just as a hoof lashed out, tipping the card table over and onto Full House. The stallion let out a cry that Octavia barely heard as Vinyl grabbed her hoof with a manic grin.
“Run, Tavi!” called Vinyl, dragging Octavia past Bigyin Bevvy and the other shocked ponies of the bar. “Run for our lives!”
The mares pushed their way out of the bar, barreling down the street without so much as a glance back. They could, however, hear the thunderous pounding of hooves on pavement behind them.
“Vinyl!” shouted Octavia. “You’re gonna get us killed!”
Vinyl was laughing, her words coming out in short, breathy bursts. “I know! It’s--”breath”--SO AWESOME!”
One set of hooves rumbled closer and closer, getting closer and closer to the mares.
“Who do you think that is?” asked Vinyl, not slowing her pace.
“Ya damn fillies!” came Full House’s voice. “I ain’t lettin’ ya get away lie ‘e did!”
“What did he say?” asked Vinyl, turning towards Octavia.
“I DON’T KNOW!” The hooves were right behind them now. Octavia could have sworn that she Full House was physically breathing down her neck. “MOVE!”
The cellist dove to the side, off of the main road and into an alley, a firm hoof dragging Vinyl with her. They hit the ground, sliding slightly, Vinyl landing on top of Octavia. Full House let out a frustrated cry as he barrelled past the alley, moving too quickly to stop himself.
“Vinyl, get off of me!” said Octavia urgently. “We have to get going!”
But Vinyl didn’t move. “You know, this is kind of hot.”
Slap.
“Still kinda hot.”
Slap.
Vinyl climbed off of Octavia, rubbing at her cheeks. “Good point. Being chased by a pony that wants to take our money.” Vinyl’s bit bag jingled happily.
“Money which you stole.”
“I won it, didn’t I?”
A voice hissed out of a window. “Hey, you two! The mares!”
Vinyl and Octavia turned quickly, ready to run. A griffon hung out of the window, light brown feathers seeming even brighter in the dingy alley. He waved a talon at them. “Come on, hurry up!”
Octavia knit her brow in suspicion. “Why?”
The griffon rolled his eyes. “Harpo’s friends, right? I’m trying to help you out, so just come on!”
The stampede of hooves got closer and closer. Shouts from the crowd began to flood into the alley.
“Or,” said the griffon, “you can stay out here and get tarred and feathered. Whatever.”
Vinyl bounded forward, vaulting through the window in one smooth movement. Octavia gave one last glance at the alley’s entrance, then followed Vinyl over the threshold. The griffon rammed the window shut and drew the covers just as the group of ponies ran down the alley.
The room was sparsely furnished, barren save for a well-worn couch and two equally battered plush chairs. A coffee table sat in the middle of the furnishings, covered in rings where cups once sat, the ground around it littered with plastic cups.
“You know,” said the griffon, “Harpo didn’t even have that many ponies chasing after him. And he stole three bottles of whiskey. Good whiskey, too.”
Vinyl collapsed onto one of the chairs, breathing hard. “Don’t suppose you have any of it?”
The griffon smiled, walking into his kitchen and returning with a glass bottle and three glasses. “Just a bit left. Got through most of it two days ago.” He poured an inch into each glass. “‘Fraid that you’ll have to drink it straight, though.”
Vinyl’s glass floated into the air. She tossed her head back, draining it in a single gulp. “That is good.”
Octavia didn’t take the glass. “You’re the griffon,” she said. “The one from the photo Harpo sent us. ‘Claws are cheating’.”
“Aye,” said the griffon, sipping at his drink. “Gerald. And you’re Octavia, and that one’s Vinyl. Harpo told me about you two.”
The room lapsed into silence. Vinyl held her glass out. Gerald refilled it.
“How do you know Harpo?” asked Octavia.
“Showed up at my doorstep, asked me to show him Scoltish folk music, just like that.” Gerald laughed. “Hardly even got his name out before he started asking for stuff. But, I suppose that it’s my job.” He finished with a shrug.
“Your job?” asked Vinyl.
“Ethnomusicologist,” answered the griffon. “It’s a fancy word that means that I listen to a lot of old music.”
“So does Tavi,” murmured Vinyl into her drink.
Gerald smiled at the quip.
Octavia let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose that you know where Harpo went?”
Gerald finished his drink, then pushed himself off of the couch. “I do, actually. I helped him buy the ticket. That was the deal and all.” He walked over to a bookcase, deftly picking out a volume.
“Deal?” asked Vinyl.
“Aye.” Gerald thumbed through the book’s pages. “I play a few songs for Harpo, help him onto a ship to Macho Pinto and he pays me in whiskey.”
Vinyl sat up excitedly. “Macho Pinto?!”
Octavia’s eye flared. “You’re the reason why half the town’s chasing us?!”
Gerald paused, glancing upwards briefly. “Mmmmm, nope. That’s still Harpo. He bought the whiskey, decided that it wasn’t enough, went back to the bar, cheated Full House out of his money, and stole three bottles.” He smiled brightly. “Then we drank everything and he left the next day. It was fun!”
“I’m gonna kill him,” mumbled Octavia. “And then I’m going to go down into Tartarus, bring him back, and kill him again.”
Gerald stared at the cellist in surprise. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. But, Harpo described you perfectly.”
Vinyl let out a chortle of laughter. “You should see her when she’s angry.”
Octavia lashed out, smartly rapping the back of Vinyl’s head.
“I’m sure it’s a treat,” said Gerald with a smile. He stopped flipping through the pages of his book and pulled out a small folded square of paper. “This is a schedule,” he said, handing it to Octavia. “The circled ships go directly to Macho Pinto. I think that the soonest one leaves sometime tonight.”
Octavia unfolded the paper. It was an old flyer, worn by the Sun, the letters faded. A few ships were circled in red marker and, yes, one was set for later that same evening, but what drew her attention was a note scrawled hastily in a corner in the same red marker. It was messy, hardly legible, and unmistakably Harpo’s writing.
“Up the mountain,” read Octavia slowly. “Breathe… Table?”
“Table?” asked Vinyl.
“Table,” affirmed Octavia. The two mares turned towards Gerald, but the griffon just shrugged.
“No idea,” he said. “Sorry, Harpo didn’t explain much. But the way he talked about it, he’s been around Equestria three times over.”
Vinyl snorted. “Bragging again.”
“Then he hasn’t?”
“Nah, he probably has.”
Gerald seemed mildly impressed. “What does he do?”
“He does crazy things and gets paid for it,” said Vinyl.
“A daredevil?”
“A composer,” said Octavia.
A pause. “Who travels the world?”
“Yes,” said Octavia.
“Crazy, right?” added Vinyl.
Gerald’s eyes darted from mare to mare. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
The griffon’s face scrunched slightly, trying to get the notion through his head. “Why? Is that what composers normally do?”
For a brief moment, Vinyl and Octavia moved in perfect harmony. Their faces contorted into a semi-pitying look at the nonbeliever. Then their shoulders come up, followed quickly by their hooves as they shrugged at Gerald, who had met but hadn’t really met Harpo Parish Nadermane.
“It’s Harpo,” they said in unison.