//------------------------------//
// 2) A Familiar Face 
// Story: Misadventures In Music 
// by TheVulpineHero1 
//------------------------------//

	Vinyl Scratch was not exactly known for being a budding fashionista. She had no opinion on the dress du jour, and she only cared about the colour of a pony's socks if it somehow affected the difficulty of rocking them off. When she and Octavia had packed their cases for Manehattan, she'd simply scooped her entire wardrobe–all six pieces of it–into her bag and called the job done.

With the inevitability of an Appleoosan heatwave, all six pieces had disappeared by the time they'd gotten off the train, lost in a snarling tangle of turntable wires and electrical tape. Even her dress, which was so bright it could cause permanent retina damage if viewed without protective sunglasses, had vanished into the ether. At the time, Vinyl hadn't worried about it; she simply trusted that they would, in a matter of months or years, show up again of their own accord. Besides, she wouldn't need them. She barely wore clothes anyway.

She was, of course, wrong.

“Have you checked your pockets?” Octavia asked, watching with benign amusement as her partner wrestled with a veritable gordian knot of power cords, her case open on the floor of the train station.

“No, because the only pockets I own are on the vest I'm looking for. If I could make my vests fit inside themselves, I wouldn't be DJing for a living,” was Vinyl's response. It was tired, terse, a limping tempo. She hadn't found time to sleep in between booking the train and getting on it, and had no better recourse than to take it out on her immediate surroundings.

“Yes, you would.”

“Yes I would. Are you going to help me or not?” 

With a sigh that was purely theatrical, Octavia knelt beside her partner and tried to divine a path through the miniature insulated jungle that had sprung up in Vinyl's case. Around them, there were snorts of annoyance as travelling ponies dodged past them on the way to and from the train; an attendant quietly installed himself a few feet behind them and looked pointedly at his watch, embellishing the act with a cough here and there. Calmly and with great dignity, Octavia ignored him.

“I don't see why you're so worried about it, anyway. I know you want to make a good impression on Mother, but you didn't go out of your way to impress her last time you met.”

“Yeah, but that was when she was just, y'know, your mom,” Vinyl replied, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth. “Now I know she's a pretty cool pony, I wanna look my best.”

“I don't know whether your priorities are progressive or just plain backwards. Was that a button?” 

“What, there in the bottom left? Think that's it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Vinyl took a deep breath and concentrated. The insides of her case were briefly bathed in arcane light before the contents began to jostle under the force of the unicorn magic. Within seconds, everything that had been on the inside of the case was on the outside, and a vest with more creases than an obese bulldog hovered in front of their faces.

“You aren't actually going to wear it like that, are you?” Octavia asked conversationally, five seconds after Vinyl had begun struggling into the vest.

“Well, I'm not gonna eat it. How do I look?”

Infuriatingly, the answer was 'not bad'. Vinyl in a crumpled vest possessed the same disaffected allure as a rock star after a night on a cramped tour bus. For a pony who had spent many hours slaving over her dress clothes with a hot iron, it was almost intolerable.

“I think you'll get away with it,” Octavia replied with a smile that was too tight. “Now, shall we stop clogging up the hoof traffic and start making our way home?”

Vinyl nodded, but took a deep breath before she did. Octavia's mother was…challenging, without a doubt. Eccentric, chirpy and oddly perceptive, she had run rings around Vinyl the last time they'd met. She could only hope things went better this time around.



She was in the middle of gardening when they found her. Vinyl's mind registered neon pink and leopard print before resolutely blocking out the image of the old mare's dress and focusing on the pure devastation she was visiting upon the local plant life. Octavia's jaw fell open, and she lurched towards her mother with panic in her eyes.

“Mother, what are you doing to those hydrangeas? That's not gardening, it's a war crime!”

Octavia's mother looked up at them and grinned sheepishly. She was holding something that wasn't quite a pair of shears and wasn't quite a machete, but would have made either of them feel very self-conscious. “Oh, I was just trimming them. You know, to encourage growth. I do occasionally listen to those tips you give me, dear.”

Octavia shook her head in disbelief. Certainly, a little mild pruning would help many plants, but she wouldn't have used a tool like that on a redwood tree, never mind a delicate flower. It was like setting off a volcano with the justification that the mineral soil would help crops grow. However, her mother had already switched targets.

“Hello, dear,” she called, giving Vinyl a look that, while kind, would have pierced steel. The unicorn stood up a little straighter despite herself.

“Ma'am.”

“Ma'am? Whatever happened to 'Mom'? I quite enjoyed that, you know.”

“Still getting used to it, ma'... Mom.” Vinyl's hoof automatically rose to adjust her glasses; with great effort, she lowered it.

“Well, at least the intent is there. Now, then! First things first. You have been using the little tip I gave you, correct? Hygiene is important, you know!”

Vinyl winced. Straight for the jugular. “Nope. Haven't really, uh, had occasion to yet. Not since I wrote you that letter, anyway.”

The mare rolled her eyes skyward. “I can't fathom why not. You get along well, and you're both good-looking enough. It's not as though it's rocket science, dear.”

It might well have been her imagination, but Vinyl was almost sure that Octavia was trying to stare a hole in the back of her head. She was also almost positive that her mother was doing this on purpose. “I know. We're still taking it nice and slow.”

“Yes, yes. Well, make sure you get around to it. I expect some grandkids out of you two sooner or later,” the mare replied, with a wink that was terrifying on a primal level.

“Pretty sure that's not how biology works, ma'am.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Octavia said, a glassy smile fixed to her face. “I feel like I only heard half of that conversation, and I'm not sure I liked the half I heard. Vi, would you please take our bags in while my mother enlightens me on what she's talking about?”

The unicorn nodded and began to work her magic, all too eager to be out of the blast radius when the discussion came to a head. To her surprise, Octavia's mother looked less scared than amused by the prospect of the incoming lecture.

“Now now, dear. I know you're not a child any more, but you really should work on your grammar. I believe 'our mother' is what you meant to say,” she said, in the same kind and unruffled tone as ever. She flashed Vinyl a meaningful look. “Go on, dear. Make yourself at home. There's lemonade in the fridge, and I'm sure you remember where the bedrooms are. You look exhausted.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes, but couldn't deny it. They'd gotten on the train almost as soon as they'd got the letter, and she still hadn't slept. It said a lot about the speed of Equestria's mailponies that their hurriedly-scrawled message to Octavia's mother had arrived before they had. A bed sounded pretty tempting.

The inside of the house hadn't really changed from the last time she was there, she noted, trying to ignore the muffled bickering from the front door. It was still a haven for loveseats and classical artwork, with wallpaper, curtains and carpets that displayed far better taste than was typical for Octavia's mother. She found herself wondering who had decorated it–builders didn't finish a house as well as this one, and from what little she knew about Octavia's father, he seemed unlikely to have had a hoof in it. Besides, she thought with a grin, she knew full well that Octavia wasn't one for ostentatious houses. Her little apartment in Ponyville was proof of that. Counting off the steps as she ascended–thirty three–she went upstairs and wandered in search of the guest bedroom.

It wasn't a large room. The last time she was here, Vinyl had let the décor trick her into thinking the house was bigger than it actually was, and she'd been surprised to find herself occupying a box room for the night. Not that it was a bad thing, of course. She'd grown fond of small, cosy rooms during her travels. Even train compartments were better than huge hotel rooms with nopony else to share them with. 

With a grateful sigh, she dumped the bags and sat down on the bed; almost of its own accord, her head fell backwards to meet the pillow. By the time Octavia came to check on her, she was fast asleep.