Vinyl sighed and fidgeted as she stared out the open window. The cushioned bench beneath her was soft, but not so soft as to be considered comfortable. The cool night air swirled around her, rustling her vivid blue hair and tugging at her nightgown. It was cool enough to give her goosebumps, but not quite cold enough to consider closing the window. The night air held too many smells and carried too many sounds for Vinyl to want to block it out.
She was up late, again. Vinyl had always loved the night. Even though she had to be at work barely after the sun rose, Vinyl simply couldn't resist the urge to sit by her window and gaze at the cityscape below. It had a subtleness to it that the daytime lacked. Waking hours were always busy and hectic, everyone in a hurry. The nighttime was more often people going home, to a friend’s, the bar, the movies. They were happy. Vinyl was happy.
She sat for almost an hour gazing at the sidewalk below, until she felt that she had seen most of what there was to be seen below, and so turned her eyes to a more parallel line. The buildings on this side of town weren't nearly as tall as the ones in the center, but they still conveyed a sense of minisculity to anyone in their shadows. Most were apartments and flats, with a few luxurious penthouses within view. Almost all were dark. Vinyl loved to stare at the lit windows, trying to discover what the inhabitants were doing. After many sleepless nights, Vinyl had found certain windows had a pattern.
That one, several floors up and down a block, was on from sunset until ten every weeknight. That one across the street, a few over and one floor down, always came on at midnight, and went back off shortly after one. That penthouse up there was always lit, all night.
And then there was that one.
Two blocks down, other side of the street, two floors up, third window from the right.
Vinyl couldn’t explain it, but one window kept her interest more often than not. Maybe it was the fact that there sometimes was a figure visible, simply standing in the light. Only a dark outline was discernible at the distance, but Vinyl thought it was female. She passed the building most every day walking to work, and she doubted a guy would keep such a pretty flowerbox outside his window.
Vinyl liked to invent stories about the figure. A brooding wife in a bad marriage? A mysterious and charming spy, long undercover? An author, hoping the city after dark could cure their writer’s block? Each story was more detailed than the last, and Vinyl had often thought of writing them down. She could write a book.
Vinyl imagined it would be a romance. Maybe one day, she happens to meet the owner of the window. Maybe it would turn out that the mysterious woman would enjoy the same nighttime voyeurism, and had noticed Vinyl’s lit window and silhouette deep into the night.
The thought made Vinyl smile as she rose and closed the window. Turning out the lights, she surrendered her body to the bed, and hopefully to sleep. A single lit window glowed in her mind, the nondescript outline unmoving. She smiled again as she crafted more details into her little story of the lovers, brought together by their beacons.
It never hurt to dream.
---
Octavia slammed the short glass onto the table, grimacing. The drink had flavor, but sometimes it was hard to distinguish from the fire that chased down her throat and singed her nostrils. She had swore numerous times to never buy cheap alcohol again, but that was a promise often broken. Sometimes, she just simply didn’t feel like going several blocks out of her way just to spend more money for the same end result.
Pouring another generous helping, Octavia went to the window, glaring at the city around her. She was far too low to the ground to open a window, lest the winds blow in the foul stench of the streets below. That smell always took days to get out, no matter how many candles and incense she burned. She wrinkled her nose at the very thought. She meant to bring the little flowerbox that hung outside the window into her study, but every time she went to do it, she thought about opening that window and paused. It can wait.
Sipping her fierce drink, Octavia glanced upward, trying to find solace in the buildings above her. They were giant, silent monoliths, apathetic to the people around them. Scattered windows shone through the darkness, signalling another restless soul. The musician in her attempted to find a pattern, a beat to which the windows shone and extinguished, and sometimes she could. Most nights she didn’t care, others she was seeing far too many windows.
Octavia knew her drinking habits were what other people would call ‘bad’. She knew that drinking oneself to sleep every other night was discussed on talk shows as ‘destructive behavior’. More often than not, Octavia would tell herself she was going to bed sober, at least mostly. But as she threw her carefully ironed suit onto the floor every evening, she would catch a glimpse of a bottle on the table, and couldn’t resist a glass. And another, and another. Damn those musicians, they drove her to drink.
The thought of work made Octavia grimace more than the drink she downed. She had preferred being an unremarkable cellist, rather than the conductor of the entire ensemble. She had never realized how unruly they all are. Nor had she ever realized how noisy it can get with fifty seven people all mumbling to each other. A whisper plus a whisper plus a few more equals a dull roar. She had spread rumors through the grapevine about abdicating and going back to the cello section, and was disappointed by the reaction. Or, to be more accurate, the lack of reaction. The apathy made Octavia want a drink.
No matter who waved the baton, the musicians played whatever music was in front of them, perfectly and mechanically. Octavia had spoken to the leaders of the various sections about putting some spontaneity, some soul into the music, but what happened was cringe-worthy at best. She had attempted selecting the most vibrant and rousing pieces she could find, but they played that too perfectly, turning an intricate and emotional melody into just another song. It confounded Octavia, and drove her to drink.
Turning from the window, Octavia sighed, taking a seat behind her desk. Opening the first drawer, she took out a pack of cigarettes. Pulling one out, she lit it and searched for her ashtray. Failing to find the proper receptacle, she instead grabbed an empty shot glass. Taking a deep drag, Octavia closed her eyes as she felt the nicotene sweep through her brain. It was a disgusting habit, to be sure, but nicotine helped scratch an itch that alcohol just couldn't. On the really bad days, Octavia would make her excuses to disappear for ten minutes, just long enough to pop up the roof for a quick smoke. So far, she hadn't killed anyone, so Octavia took that as a good sign not to drop the habit just yet.
Glancing at the clock, Octavia rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. It was far later than she wanted it to be. A hot shower, then she would be able to get a few hours sleep before tomorrow. The last show of the year, at least until Christmas. Three months without the ridiculous hassle that was getting a stage set up for a concert. Putting on these shows was the entire point of the orchestra, but Octavia desperately wished for someone who knew how to set up the performance.
None of the musicians knew, they only worried about playing their part. The orchestra wasn't quite big or illustrious enough to have a horde of trained minions, either. Part of the reason Octavia was nominated for conductor when Harmony had stepped down was that she knew how to do the chores. Mostly, set up. She knew which sections to put where, exactly how to curve the arrangement for the hall, the order the pieces should be played, all the things that she thought would be common knowledge. Octavia had made a pact with herself that if she could find an actually helpful assistant, she would pay them the same she made, and would do many more shows. She hadn't told the orchestra that, obviously, lest they nominate any monkey who had adjusted their own music stand.
One last swig and the glass was empty. One last deep drag and the cigarette was finished. One last look out the window, and Octavia turned out the lights and left the room. The hot shower was nice, but the alcohol had numbed her nerves too much for it to be truly pleasurable. Her expensive satin sheets were comfortable, but still she was fidgety. A familiar anxiety had crept through her veins, causing her to toss and turn restlessly. Octavia's last thought as she fell to sleep was a lonely one.
-------------
Vinyl hummed as she skipped her way to work. She was wearing a daffodil yellow sundress that clashed beautifully with her electric blue hair, and she loved every odd look that came her way. She had always adored being the oddball in a graceful, flower-child kind of way. She had resisted the urge to wear her favorite neon red pants, for today was the day of a concert, and she knew the managers would have a fit if she didn't at least attempt to dress somewhat presentably. It was one of the few times Vinyl was grateful to work behind a desk off to the side. She didn't have to worry about hiding her bra straps and the other nonsense the ticket counter girls had to fuss over. She just had to be pretty enough, and she was just fine with that.
The sun had barely cleared the horizon, but the city was already alive with the typical hustle and bustle. The windows on the bakery were already open, so Vinyl skipped her way through the door and straight to the counter. Coming to a halt, Vinyl bounced on her toes as she waited to be noticed. There were sounds of work coming from further within, but so far, her presence had gone unnoticed, and Vinyl wanted to be on time today. She called out in a sing-song voice.
"Carrot Toooop!"
"Comin!"
A large, fire-headed woman sidled her way through the doorway from the kitchen, stopping and putting her hands on her hips as she regarded Vinyl.
"Well good mornin, buttercup."
"Daffodil!"
Vinyl sang out her indignation at being called the wrong color. It was an old game, springing from a discussion about modern fashion and thier insistance on using more and more mysterious words to describe their colors. It was a daily ritual, as Vinyl always made a point to stop by the bakery ran by the woman only known as Carrot Top every morning, or at least the mornings she could afford the time. Vinyl wriggled back and forth in front of the glass case that housed the fresh pastires, wrought with indecision.
"I want..."
She trailed off as she almost said cinnamon bun, but then almost said croissant. She had almost arrived at a consensus when she was interrupted.
"I gotcha somethin back here. A bit of an experiment."
Carrot Top vanished and reappeared a moment later with something that smelled extraordinary wrapped in a paper towel. She thrust it at Vinyl.
"Here. No charge. Lemme know if it's any good."
Vinyl chirped her agreement and skipped out the door, holding the mystery pastry in her arms as of it were a baby. Once she was out on the sidewalk, Vinyl slowed to a walk and unwrapped her present. It resembled a very large cinnamon roll, all spiraled up, but without the frosting. Examining it closely, Vinyl made a plan of attack and bit in. A delighted squeal barely oozed past the burst of frosting that came from hidden inside the roll. Another bite found more frosting, as well as a sprinkling of cinnamon. Examining the pastry as if it were a science exhibit, Vinyl walked on towards work.
Glancing at her watch, she found that she was on schedule so far, and so continued her leisurely walk. The pastry was chomped down on again, and an unruly glob of frosting landed just below Vinyl's bottom lip. She just so happened to catch the eyes of a construction worker across the road, and Vinyl couldn't resist the urge to wink and seductively lick the frosting from her lip, making effort to make it look as suggestive as possible, licking her finger a bit to heighten the illusion. She giggled in fiendish delight as he dropped a hammer on his foot, and continued on her way. He wasn't even vaguely her type, but Vinyl felt assured she had made the poor man's day.
Another block, and the pastry was gone, the paper towel used to wipe away the last of the crumbs and filling. Another block after that, and she arrived at her place of work. Forgoing the main doors, Vinyl wandered over to the side entrance and found it held just open with a brick, the keypad on the door blinking ostentatiously in protest. Swinging it open and allowing herself in, Vinyl walked down the short hallway to her desk. Her coworker was already there, typing away fastidiously.
"Morning, Bot!"
"Morning Vinyl. Ready for another lovely day in the H.R. department?"
"Our little slice of hell!"
Vinyl hummed as Morning Glory went back to her typing. She worked as diligently as a machine, and so Vinyl took to calling her The Robot, or Bot for short. It was her belief that everyone had a name that suited them more than their birth name, a kind of personal identifier. She took perverse pleasure in devising the perfect name for everyone.
And on the subject of nicknames, Vinyl booted up her computer to find an email from the one person she worked with that she hadn't been able to find an alias for. It wasn't for lack of personality or uniqueness, but Vinyl hadn't been able to spend enough time with Octavia to know her very well. Morning Glory's voice floated from behind her.
"Hey, did you read the conductor's email yet?"
"I just opened it."
Vinyl scanned the email, enough to see it was a building-wide email, asking if anyone knew where the spare extra-soft sticks to the kettle drums were. Apparently the slight leak in the drum closet wasn't fixed, and it had dripped onto the normal stock, rendering them soggy and unusable.
"Hey, Vinyl. If the mallets are wet, can't they just dry them out? We have, like, twelve hours until the performance. They'll dry out by then."
"They'll dry out, but they'll still be useless. The cotton will shrink, and the mallets will be too hard. The second movement is when they use the softs, and it's a very delicate piece indeed. The drums are supposed to sound like a smooth rumble of distant thunder, and any harder mallet would make it sound like a galloping horse."
Without another word wasted, the two girls went about their tasks, email forgotten. Important notes were categorized, and important people were communicated with. The day was going about as well as could be expected until lunchtime, when another email was sent out, again about the mallets.
"Jeez. Still no luck, I see. I feel bad for Octavia. She works too hard for those silly lumps in there."
"It's her job."
"I guess, but it's not her fault the percussionists can't store their equipment properly."
"Kinda is. She's the manager of the musicians, as it were, and I think it's part of her job to make sure they know what they're doing."
"I still feel bad for her."
More hours passed by in close to silence at the H.R. desk. Vinyl hummed from time to time, tuneless melodies that caught her fancy. Morning Glory popped away from time to time for her smoke breaks, but Vinyl didn't partake. The urge to inhale dirty smoke from toxic chemicals never really appealed to her. A disgusting and expensive habit, one Vinyl was glad to not bow to.
At around mid afternoon, while Morning Glory was away on her sojourn, another email appeared. It was from Octavia again, and practically begging anyone for information on the extra-soft mallets, or at least a nearby source of some. Vinyl clicked away from it with only a tiny pang of guilt, the thought that she knew of an alternative. No, she thought, her old high school concert days were no match for the professionalism of this assembly. The taped-up-and-zip-tied solutions weren't welcome here.
With only an hour until the doors opened to admit the rich and influential, another email appeared. It had a red exclamation mark above it, indicating importance designated by the sender. It was another email from Octavia, this one a bare-faced plea, begging for some soft mallets, else the second movement was sure to be a failure. Vinyl sat back in her chair and thought. She had encountered this problem before, years ago, but she had assured herself that her fix was sure to be shot down. But, she thought, here we are, barely an hour until go time. Worth a shot.
A few key clicks later, her reply had been sent, to only Octavia, else she be mocked by the others that worked there. A few tense minutes were spent watching anything but her computer, almost afraid of the scathing reply that awaited her. The clock on the wall ticked it's perfect rhythm, and after only a single minute, a reply appeared on her inbox. Vinyl clicked, with only slight trepidation.
The reply was not the one she was expecting. In fact, she barely knew what to make of it. There was only a single sentence, requesting her presence in Octavia's office immediately. A small fear tried to make it's home among Vinyl's thoughts, but she quietened it. She numbly told Morning Glory to hold the fort, then set about navigating the labyrinth that was the path to the conductor's office. She demurely knocked on the door, hoping like hell that Octavia wasn't in, or was too busy, or some other excuse. She couldn't put a finger on it, but something about meeting Octavia made her nervous.
Her soft knock on the door was met with a dull "Come in," so Vinyl did as bade. The office was smaller than she expected, and far more cluttered. Sheet music made up the majority of the debits, but other documents made sure their cameo was noticed. The desk was nearly incomprehensible under the ungodly task of supporting the plethora of stuff, and the woman behind seemed as if she was determined to be mistaken for a part of the unorganized mess around.
Octavia sat at her desk, head in her hands and looking down. Her gorgeous black hair was barely contained in a ponytail, and her eyes were haggard. Rest seemed like a distant memory to this woman, as did peace. Vinyl gingerly picked out a path to the desk, and just as gently perched upon a stack of papers that had conquered the only other chair. Even in such a trying circumstance, Vinyl couldn't help but analyze the woman with an appraiser's eye. The woman was slim and smooth, her outfit fitting perfectly. Her jacket flowed gracefully over her curves, but her shirt seemed to be straining around the top buttons. Vinyl felt a slight excitement somewhere behind her belly button upon viewing the figure before her, as she did when spotting a promising specimen. She longed for Octavia to stand up, to better gather observations, but her wish was naught. She remained seated, ignorant of Vinyl's lingering eyes.
"You said on your email you might have a fix for our problem."
The sentence was dry, one born of begging past desperation. Only then did Vinyl notice the small bottle tucked away under a sheaf of papers, crammed into hiding at the last moment. Vinyl abruptly remembered why she was here, and had to put a lot of effort into controlling her nervous stammer.
"Uh, yes. Well, in a manner. I once ran into the same problem years ago in my school's concert band. We took the soggy heads off and wrapped the sticks on a roll of toilet paper, taping it on place. Then we wrapped the tape in a ripped shirt to soften the impact. It worked for us pretty well, but I wasn't sure if you would like it or not."
Vinyl sat in a tense silence for a moment as Octavia raised her eyes to meet Vinyl's. The eyes were a startling shade of purple, and Vinyl couldn't help but imagine the face of a supermodel in an advertisement, those violet eyes jumping out of the page, begging to be noticed. She knew her shockingly blue eyes were attention whores, but Octavia's eyes were far more beautiful. Vinyl couldn't help but grow increasingly anxious in the silence.
"I, uh, understand if you think it's dumb. I just thought, you know, you were so desperate..."
"Yes, desperate we are indeed. Fine. Go grab one of the wet mallets and do one right quick. We'll see how it works."
Octavia waved one hand on a dismissive gesture and wordlessly turned to her computer. Vinyl took this as her sign to leave, so she did wordlessly. Once out in the hall, Vinyl oriented herself and set off towards the equipment storage.
The walk was a short one, and soon Vinyl found herself sitting on a toilet seat in the ladies bathroom, holding a drumstick. Carefully pulling the cardboard tube out of the roll, Vinyl slid the stick into the now vacant center, and squeezed it tightly as she secured the roll with some tape she had procured. Examining her handiwork, Vinyl smiled. It was going as good as it could be, given the circumstances. The old rag that was to become the outer layer had been procured from the percussionists, and even though it wasn't as soft as a cotton shirt, it would do. Wrapping the shirt around the makeshift head, she twisted the rag around the stick and there taped it tightly.
Hitting her leg with the new stick a few times, Vinyl grimaced. The cheap toilet paper was still too stiff, with far less give than she wanted. Grabbing another rag, she wrapped the head again, smacking her leg again. This time was far more satisfactory. Vinyl left the restroom and went back to the percussionists, giving them the new mallet to test. While not quite as smooth as a store bought extra-soft, it was better than any of the other mallets. Explaining to them how it was made, Vinyl made her excuses and left, heading back to Octavia's office. She found the conductor just as she was locking up her office. It was now only half an hour until show time.
"Octavia! It worked pretty well. They're doing the rest of the sticks now."
"Fantastic! I cannot thank you enough for this."
The relief on Octavia's face was grossly apparent, but not complete. Vinyl guessed it was because Octavia hadn't heard the new mallets, and probably wouldn't until the concert itself.
"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad to help. It'll be fine, no one will notice the difference."
Octavia didn't respond with words, instead choosing to lean in and give Vinyl a quick and professional hug. Seeming to not notice Vinyl's blush, she hurried off to prepare for the concert. Vinyl clenched herself and forced her cheeks to return to their normal color. Once she was as sure as she could be about the color of something she couldn't see, Vinyl turned and headed back to her desk. There she found Morning Glory typing away, just as she left her. She almost thought her absence had been unnoticed. She settled back in and continued her typing.
Several minutes later, Vinyl heard a sudden increase n volume that indicated the door had opened. Out the office door, she could see a veritable flood of soft fabric and sparkling jewels that the rich and famous adored. She turned her eyes back to her work and tried to ignore them, even though her gut held a small knot in the center. If the last second fix on the mallets weren't satisfactory to their ears, Octavia would be displeased.
She knew it was unlikely she would get fired for something so far outside what she had been hired for, but she would probably lose the respect and trust of Octavia, and for some reason, that bothered her. She barely knew the conductor, but she desperately wanted to know a woman that gorgeous. Silly thoughts, interrupting Vinyl from her work. She shook her head to clear it of distractions, unsuccessfully. She attempted working like a machine, typing many words and reading many emails. That did the trick, and Vinyl gratefully spent several minutes in ignorant bliss.
The crowd stopped roaring at each other, indicating the orchestra had begun to take the stage. She had managed to banish the thoughts until the concert started, and the music swelling in the abrupt silence. The first piece sounded as good as ever, and Vinyl hummed the tune. She had heard the song far too many times this season for it to be truly enjoyable anymore, but that wouln't stop her from trying. Far too soon, the piece faded, and the second song began. Vinyl held her breath, hoping to hear a nice, smooth rumble, but then realized it didn't come in until later on, and resumed normal breathing.
A particularly vexing bit of typing grabbed Vinyl's attention, and by the time it was done, the second movement was over. Vinyl sighed, as she had completely zoned out and missed the drums. She wanted to know whether or not her sticks had worked, but it looked as if she'd have to wait until after the show to complete, which was after she was released to go home.
"Hey, Bot, got a coin?"
"Yeah, here. What for?"
"Wanna flip to see if I'm gonna wait around here to ask if the mallets worked well, or wait until Monday and ask Octavia then."
"Screw it! It's Friday! Go home, put on something short and slutty, and go get wasted at the nicest bar you can afford. That's my plan. It's only ten minutes until quitting time, and the show should go on for another hour, I think."
Vinyl ignored her coworker except to roll her eyes, and thumped the coin. It went high, almost hitting the ceiling, and Vinyl caught it with deft hands. Slapping it against the table, she turned to Morning Glory.
"Call it."
"Tails."
Vinyl lifted her hand, and wasn't sure of she wanted to grimace or smile.
"Heads it is. I'm staying. You suck at this."
"If you wanna leave, then leave!"
"Not that. I just can't remember if you've ever gotten a flip right."
"You cheat."
Vinyl rolled her eyes again and smiled. She used a coin flip to decide anything trivial. Turning back to her computer, Vinyl began the closing process. Once the computers were shut down for the weekend, Morning Glory left, pausing to invite Vinyl to the club with her one last time.
"Come on, Vinyl! Let's go drinking. I think tonight I want to go to the Bannered Mare, out on Whiterun Road. Last time I was there, I went home with a surgeon! It's near super high-end apartments and such, but not too expensive. You might meet some rich sugar daddy."
"You know that's not how I roll, Bot."
"Okay okay, you don't have to go home with someone, just meet some guys! When's the last time you had a night on the town?"
"See you Monday, Bot."
"Alright, bye."
Vinyl smiled to herself as she sat at her desk, twiddling her thumbs in time to the music. Morning Glory wasn't a bad girl, she just had different views on life than Vinyl. Sometimes she wondered if Morning Glory ever believed her when Vinyl told her that she was gay. Morning Glory didn't have a serious bone in her body, and the few that weren't sarcastic were melodramatic.
Vinyl yawned, and realized she was tired. But , she never failed to follow through on a decision made by the coin, and so far it had worked for her. A decision suddenly arose and was made, and Vinyl left her desk. Leaping up a deserted staircase, Vinyl emerged at an upper balcony of the concert hall, which was mostly empty. Finding a vacant seat, Vinyl settled in to watch the performance.
---
Octavia hoped her perspiration wasn't quite visible from the audience. Waving one's arms about for extended periods of time was tiring, no matter who you are. Not to mention, it was moderately warm on the concert hall. Still, it was nearly over. The rest of this piece, then one short yet rousing song to end on a high note.
Not soon enough, it was over. Octavia turned to bow to the crowd, ever so graceful and modest. She left the stage as quickly as she could while still in possession of her dignity and immediately headed to the stairs. Finding the floor she desired, she headed to the door that would open to the balcony she desired.
Finding the door, Octavia opened it and peeked through, searching. The garish blue hair was immediately spotted, and Octavia moved towards the object of her search. Vinyl was still facing the stage and applauding along with the rest of the crowd. Moving along the aisle and then edging along the seats, she arrived beside Vinyl, where she took her part in clapping for the musicians as the last of them left the stage. She noticed Vinyl glancing to the side, then doing a double take as she recognized who had snuck up beside her. Octavia also noticed the trepidatious smile, and her mind was resolved.
Finally, the applause silenced, and the auditorium was overtaken by the sounds of a few hundred people gathering themselves and departing. With as friendly of a smile as she could muster, Octavia turned to her savior.
"Hello, Vinyl."
"Oh, hi Octavia. You surprised me."
Octavia's smile grew from being forced through weariness and into true cheer. The girl before her was a perfect amalgamation of joy and freedom. Her yellow spaghetti strap dress and her frighteningly blue hair were indications of an independent soul, one Octavia wished to inherit.
"The mallets you engineered worked perfectly."
"Thanks. I just reenacted what I learned back in high school, in concert band."
"Well, if you wish, I would like to buy you a drink. As a thank you, from me."
"A drink sounds lovely."
"Very well. Let me run to my office for a moment, and we shall go."