Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fighting a losing battle against the unyielding material. “Right, well. I suppose that it would be best to start at the beginning.”
Vinyl didn’t answer her, choosing to merely stare at Octavia. The DJ’s eyes had dulled slightly from their earlier bright red, but had kept their sharp gleam. Octavia found her gaze shifting from bed to seat to nightstand; anywhere but into those cutting eyes.
Octavia cleared her throat. Somehow, the act of promising an explanation was far easier than actually speaking. “I suppose that it all began at the Conservatory. You know that Frederic, Harpo, Lyra, and I all attended at the same time?”
Vinyl slumped into her seat slightly, staring at the cellist.
“Right. Of course you do. Stupid question.” Octavia shook her head, taking a deep breath. “In any case, Frederic was a year ahead of the rest of us, but he was the first pony that Harpo ever met at the Conservatory.” Octavia paused, waving her hooves slightly. “You see, there’s this orientation period where incoming students are paired with upperclassponies and they walk us around and get us acquainted with campus and… I’m rambling. Sorry.”
Throughout this, Vinyl had sunk deeper and deeper into her seat, her head almost touching the fabric at this point.
“Are… are you okay, Vinyl?” asked Octavia.
Vinyl’s head snapped back into place. “Just keep going.”
Octavia hesitated the slightest bit before nodding. “Well, yes, as I was saying. Frederic was really the first pony that Harpo knew in the Conservatory for… various reasons. I didn’t meet either of them until the second semester of the first year. I mean, thinking back on it, I’m sure that I must have seen them around campus on some occasion or another, but I certainly never spoke to either of them.
“That is, until the second semester. Every year, the Conservatory puts together and end-of-the-year concert for the seniors. It’s rather a big event, taking up a good week of time and months of time of preparation. Like a festival, in fact. Except that there hadn’t really been a proper performance from the first year class in quite a long time, whether because of lack of experience among prior students or some case of bad luck or some other cause.”
“Why do I care?” asked Vinyl. “What the hell does this have to do with anything?”
“It’s the beginning, Vinyl,” answered Octavia. “I’m starting at the beginning.”
Vinyl sighed, gesturing for Octavia to continue.
“Right. End Concert. Well, Harpo and I were asked by a professor to represent the first years of the Conservatory. Apparently, we had made a name for ourselves; I’m not entirely sure how. That’s really how Harpo and I met. I was not the easiest pony to work with, but we began to practice together in preparation for the concert and, while we certainly were not fast friends, we became friends after a fashion. Then, as I grew closer to Harpo, I also grew closer to Frederic and I first met Lyra, though I didn’t spend much time with her.” Octavia paused. Something had crossed Vinyl’s eyes, for the briefest of moments, something that seemed familiar but that the cellist couldn’t quite place.
Viny nodded, to show that she was still listening.
Octavia continued. “That brought my first year at the conservatory to a close. We were all friends, but… Well, there were a few complications.” She paused for a time, staring down at the floor. Vinyl stayed silent until Octavia spoke again. “I said before that Harpo and I had made a name for ourselves by the middle of our first year, but the End Concert fully cemented that fact. And in a competitive environment like the Conservatory, that kind of attention can draw a certain amount of ire as well.
“It was never too bad, I suppose; more of a cold war than anything, and I never felt the full brunt of it, but Harpo was being Harpo even back in those days. He never came to class, always put off his assignments, seemed to be drinking more often than not, yet he still pulled better marks than most other ponies in his class. Ponies grew jealous.” A pause. “Frederic grew jealous as well.”
“So that’s it?” asked Vinyl irritably. “The big thing is a school jealousy? Why the fuck is that supposed to be such a massive deal?”
Octavia shook her head. “I’m not finished yet. Frederic grew jealous, but he never really… well, he tried to change Harpo, tried to get him into better study habits, tried to get him to actually apply himself. At one point, Frederic actually hid Harpo’s supply of liquor, thinking that that would force Harpo into a more productive mindset. That went about as well as you’d expect. But we were all still friends.”
“Then what happened?!” asked Vinyl. She rubbed at her eyes. “It’s late, Tavi. I just wanna clear this up and head to bed, so that I can actually get to sleep once on this damn trip!”
“Vinyl, have you not been sleeping well?” Octavia straightened slightly. “You of all ponies have to make sure t—”
The DJ waved her hoof. “Just keep telling the story.”
Octavia scowled, meeting Vinyl’s eyes properly for perhaps the first time that night. Their bright red color had died down to a reddish purple, but even as Octavia watched, the faintest flecks of red began to creep back into them. The cellist looked away first.
“Quickly then,” said Octavia. “Yes, Harpo, Frederic, and I were friends, and rather good ones at that, for the first two years that I was in Conservatory. And then Harpo and I began seeing each other.”
“Wait, what?” asked Vinyl.
Octavia glanced away, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor and her hooves tugging steadily at her bowtie. “Towards the end of our second year, Harpo and I began to see each other.”
“As… as a couple?”
Octavia nodded.
“Huh.” Vinyl paused, scratching at the back of her head. “That’s, uh… weird.”
“It was never anything serious,” said Octavia quickly, “really nothing more than a friendship. I could never really have feelings for Harpo, no matter how I tried to convince myself back then.”
The room was silent for a time. Octavia watched Vinyl, trying to gauge her reaction, but whatever emotion the cellist could have read was covered by an impassive weariness.
It was Vinyl who broke the silence. “Then what?”
“Then Harpo and I… dated, I suppose, though it didn’t feel any different than before. And we saw Frederic less and less. He was still there, but he seemed to phase himself out of any conversations. By the end of the second year, we wouldn’t see him for days at a time.”
“He was jealous,” said Vinyl.
Octavia nodded. “Yes. He cared far more for Harpo than anypony else back then.”
Vinyl nodded slowly. Then the realization hit her. “When you say ‘care’, do you mean?” The question trailed off.
“Yes. Frederic, despite his jealousy of Harpo, was in love.”
“Oh.” Vinyl sat still for a few moments, blinking. “I, uh… huh.”
Octavia nodded. “Harpo didn’t know, nor did he return the sentiment. He saw Frederic as a friend and, perhaps, something of a big brother figure. Frederic was aware of this. It still hurt him, and it probably hurt even more once Harpo and I were together.”
Vinyl frowned sadly, but offered no other comment.
“In any case, my relationship with Harpo obviously did not last. And, really, this is where our current troubles come from.” Octavia paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I wasn’t comfortable with myself until the end of the second year of Conservatory. Once that year came to a close, I gathered my courage and told Harpo that I was a fillyfooler. It made things awkward, to say the least, but we stayed friends.
“And then Frederic heard about it. He was furious, convinced that I had effectively used Harpo as a cover-up for my sexuality. He thought that I was just protecting whatever image the Conservatory had of me and, one day, Frederic confronted me about the… issue.” Octavia reddened with every passing word. “Things got heated and we both began shouting. He had found me in a rather secluded area that all three of us often visited, so there was nopony else around. Until Harpo showed up. And then he joined in on the argument and… Frederic said some rather insulting things about both of us.”
The room went silent. Neither mare moved; Vinyl simply watching, as Octavia sat in her seat, her purple eyes fixed on the floor and the slightest shake to her form.
Octavia continued. “Harpo hit him first. He lost his temper, Vinyl. The first time that I had ever seen that happen and certainly the last time I’d ever care to see it. Before long, they were fighting, striking each other with everything that they could in any way that they could. I shouted for them to stop, but they didn’t. They kept going until they both fell one too many times and couldn’t keep fighting. Then they turned around and left. Today was the first time any of us had seen Frederic since then.”
Silence again.
After what felt like an eternity, Octavia glanced up towards Vinyl. The DJ was watching her steadily. Vinyl’s eyes had dulled even more, a purple that was very nearly grey.
“Is that the story?” asked Vinyl.
“Vinyl, are you alright?” Octavia began getting out of her seat.
“That’s everything, right?”
“Yes, bu—”
Vinyl swooned suddenly, slipping out of her seat and crashing to the floor. There was a sickening thud as her head slammed backwards.
“VINYL!”
***
“Great.” Harpo sighed, roughly tapping the bar top. “The first day that I actually need a drink in Fillydelphia and the bar is already closed.”
“It’s late,” said Lyra.
“In a few hours it’ll be early.” Harpo rested his head against the cool wood. “And the bar will still be closed. You don’t suppose that I could sneak a bottle off of the wall?”
Lyra scowled. “How could you think about drinking right now?”
“I can always think about drinking.” Harpo sighed into the bar. “Unfortunately, I can’t always engage in the drinking. It’s a shame, really.”
Lyra slammed a hoof onto the counter. “Holy shit, Harpo! Vinyl and Octavia are up in their room, talking about the past, your past, and this is how you act?! Vinyl’s fucking pissed right now! At you! She’s pissed at you!”
“She’s always pissed at me.”
“Not like this!”
“No… no, I suppose not.” Harpo thumped his head lightly against the counter. He could almost feel Lyra’s gaze boring into him. “Can we not do this?”
“What?” asked Lyra.
“This entire situation.” Harpo straightened slightly. “I know you, Lyra. I know how this plays out. I know that you, more than any other pony, wants to force a real, serious conversation out of me. You want us to have a heart to heart, just like Vinyl and Octavia are, but I don’t, Lyra. I would like nothing more than to sit here and allow for everything to blow over without once having a serious moment.”
“And this isn’t serious for you?” asked Lyra.
“No, I’d say it’s more a clever way of subverting a serious moment.”
“Harpo!” Lyra almost groaned the name. “What the hell’s the point of trying to avoid something when there’s no way to avoid it?! What are you afraid of?”
“Spiders.”
“Don’t try to make this into a joke!”
“Spiders aren’t a joke! They walk on eight legs, Lyra, it’s absolutely horrifying.”
Lyra shook her head. “Somedays, Harpo, I wonder whether you ever actually grew up.”
Harpo thought for a moment. “I wonder the same thing as well. I’ve decided that I’ve grown just enough to stop caring.”
“Fucking shit.” Lyra rubbed a hoof over her eyes. “There’s no way to get through to you, is there?”
“Nopony’s been able to yet.” Harpo glanced around the lobby.
“Frederic tried.”
“Yes, and look what good it did.” Harpo smiled suddenly, his eyes fixed on a pony dressed in a white dress shirt and a black vest. “Well, I do believe that our bartender was just on a break. Lucky me.”
Lyra scowled, staring angrily at Harpo. “You’re gonna have to break the funny colt act one day, Harpo.”
The composer grimaced. “I assure you, Lyra, I don’t think that I’m funny.”
The bartender slid into his place. Harpo smiled, unzipping a pocket in his collar and producing three gold bits.
“A Maker’s Mare, please,” said Harpo. “A double if you can.”
Lyra’s scowl deepened and she got to her hooves, walking to an empty seat and taking it. Harpo stayed at the bar, steadily working through his drink. They stayed like that for a while.
Octavia raced passed both of them, her hooves slipping against the floor of the lobby. Harpo and Lyra hardly had the time to register the white shape flung across her back before she was through the hotel’s entrance.
Fleur de Lis followed close behind, her magic flaring as she jerked Harpo and Lyra to their hooves. “Get up!” she shouted, her mane frazzled and out of place.
“Wha—”
“Don’t ask questions, just run with me!”
Harpo and Lyra ran alongside their employer, barreling past other hotel patrons and stopping just on the other side of the large glass entrance.
They watched as a white carriage with a red cross painted on its side sped down the street and turned the corner.