Sisters at Heart

by Lunatone

Chapter Six: Our Lives to Come

Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Six

Our Lives to Come

For two weeks, I didn’t see my father at all. I woke up, every day, hoping that he would be in the dining room helping Dusty out with the making of breakfast. Instead, for the past two weeks, I woke up to the usual: Breakfast on the table, Dusty and Vinyl calling me down to join them with still no sign of my father. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the smell of water vapour from Jazzmere’s smoking pipe. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to Jazzmere singing old Equestrian songs about the Princesses and how they formed the kingdom. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the hissing sound of the iron Jazzmere used to iron the clothes I wore to school.

My clothes for today were ironed and folded, left on the cane seat chair my father used to do his ironing. This was Dusty’s doing. Ever since the incident happened back at the town square, he had taken the role as a father toward me though he would never be a replacement for Jazzmere. Nothing could ever change that. Ever. Now only folded clothes, Dusty, and Vinyl greeted me. That, and a breakfast I could barely get down.

One grim and overcast morning, as I was spooning down a bowl of cereal, Dusty walked in levitating a pile of firewood for the wood burning stove. I asked him where my father was. “I don’t know, Octavia,” Dusty said, kneeling before the stove. He opened the little square door with his magic.

“Will he ever come back?”

Dusty paused with a log in the air. A worried look marked his face. “I sure hope so. I miss him, despite everything that had happened with him and Bulldozer. And I know you do, too. But lately, it seems all he wants to do is be alone. Maybe he needed some time to himself... Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Does he know about you and Vinyl having an intimate thing going on? I asked her if she thought Jazzmere knew anything about it, but she told me that you haven’t said anything to him about it.”

I took a spoonful of Music-oos, but didn’t say anything.

“Did you tell your father about you two?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. He would be the last pony I would ever tell this to.”

Dusty put the rest of the logs in the stove. “Okay, just making sure.”

§

Later that night, I asked Vinyl if we could spend time together. She was in her room, drawing an abstract depiction of something I couldn’t decipher. One of the many talents Vinyl had was drawing. Ever since Dusty had taken her to the art museums in Manehattan, she had been inspired by all sorts of artworks done by famous ponies. One day, she hoped she would be a successful artist. She put her pencil down, then took off her glasses. “Why not! I love spending time with ya, Octy.” Lately, Vinyl agreed to everything thing I asked. Not only that, just four nights before, she had asked me out to dinner so I could get my mind off things.

“Wanna lie down together and talk?” she asked me.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Great. The two of us can have fun together.” Vinyl smiled. Winked. “I’ll keep you warm.”

§

Vinyl and I lay in my bed, her back pressed to my chest, my face buried in her prismatic mane. I remember the night when we shared our first kiss, not too long ago, and when I experienced love for the first time. I remember holding her close that night, whispering until our eyes drifted shut. That night, while the fire was dwindling, Vinyl had asked me something. She asked me if we would ever be together one day, start a family together, have foals of our own. I didn’t say anything though. Until now.

“Vinyl,” I said, my hoof stroking her mane.

“Sup,” she said. A long breath escaped from her mouth.

“I want to talk about the question you asked me a few nights ago. About us.”

“Oh, you mean about us being together and starting a family one day?”

“Yes, that one.”

Vinyl rolled over to face me, a smile creasing her lips. “Octavia,” she said, “I’d love to have that with you. Because you’re the one I love.”

If there was something I already knew, it was that I never wanted to be without Vinyl in any given case. And the idea of motherhood unleashed a swirl of emotions in me. Although Vinyl and I were both female and too young to even consider having a foal, I found the idea scary, dubious, and vigorous all at the same time. I wondered what kind of mother I would be. Would I be as kindhearted as my own mother was? I didn’t know.

“I’d like to have that with you too, Vinyl.” I drew her in, wrapped my hooves around her body. Seeing her smiling at me, her eyes watering over a little, I had a picture of the kind of mother Vinyl would be. “You know, Vinyl, you’d be a really good mother. You’d treat them with love and dignity, just like you do to me.”

“Aww, c’mon, you.” Vinyl kissed me on the lips, and I had zero intention of denying it. I imagined what it would be like if she and I were married, living together, making love together every night.

Pulling back, I then said, “I love you, Vinyl. And I always will. No matter what. You will always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.”

Vinyl stopped with her frequent strokes. Then a worried look crossed her face. “Do you promise me, Octavia?”

“I promise. No, I swear to you, Vinyl. You’ll always be mine. Always.”

“Always…” Vinyl whispered. “I want that to be our thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you know when you read a cheesy romance story, and the characters are all like ‘we should have a thing and make it ours’, sorta thing? We should do that with the word always.”

“I love that idea, Vinyl. Consider it our thing then. Always.”

“Always,” she said. She was pulling me in, our noses touching. Our lips were only millimetres apart, and it was then when a vortex of emotions spiralled inside me. Vinyl was like a sister by blood and I loved her for everything, including this side of her. The idea of having her, the one for whom I have nothing but genuine love and admiration toward, with me until the time of our passing made it invigorating, almost overwhelming to death. We were always going to be together, and nothing could ever change that. Ever.

Now I was pressing my lips against hers and she recuperated with the same amount of passion, love, and commitment. When I pulled back, she was smiling at me, as was I.

Later, when we were almost drained of our energy, Vinyl asked me something. “Hey, Octy.”

“Yes, Vinyl?” I said, slowly caressing her hair.

“What do you think it’d be like…being a parent?” Vinyl’s voice was sleepy.

She asked me a very good question. And to be honest, I didn’t know how to answer the question, but I did have an idea of what it would be like. So I told her.

“Well…I think it would be heartwarming…divine…bring a wave of awe just by looking at our filly kicking, laughing, crying. I think it would be the best feeling in the world to love something so small and precious, something of your blood. And I think you would do anything for your filly, which makes it a thousand times more meaningful. We’ll have our time, Vinyl. I promise you.”

“Mhmm,” Vinyl mumbled, falling asleep.

Under the wool blanket, my eyes closed, then, mercifully, darkness.

§

Waking up the next morning, still enveloped by the wool blanket and Vinyl’s hoof, I got out of bed. I don’t know why I even bothered, since waking up only brought a wave of joylessness because of my father’s absence—though I did hope he was back—while staying close to Vinyl gave me jubilance. In the event of a noise coming outside my room, Vinyl was considerably more conscious now, and she noticed me standing and staring at her.

“Morning, Octy,” she said, climbing out of bed. “Why the sad look? Is it about your father not being here?”

“For the most part, yes,” I said.

“Well, I’m always here for you if you want to talk about something, anything.” She gave me a sleepy grin and a quick peck on the lips.

“Thank you, Vinyl.” I wish I could have mustered something more than a ‘thank you.’

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” she said. “You know what makes me feel better when I’m down? Food. Let’s go get some grub.”

§

After we had eaten, I sat at the table and watched Dusty clearing the breakfast table. Waited for him to do the dishes, clean the countertops, and put more firewood in the stove. I had Vinyl to accompany me while I sat.

“So what do you want to do today?” she asked me.

“It’s quite a nice day out. Would you like to—”

My speech was interrupted by the intervention of the front door opening. My hearted pounded inside me as I waited, watched.

“Hello,” a familiar voice called out. It was my father. He walked in and closed the door behind him, then made his way to the table.

Rushing over, I clenched him with my hooves, and he did the same, though it was really brief.

“You’re finally back,” I said.

“Of course, I’m back,” Jazzmere said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you tell us,” Dusty said. He sounded angry, almost furious. “Where have you been for the past week? Do you have any idea what you daughter went through while you were gone?”

“Hmm? What do you mean, Dusty? She seems fine and alive to me,” Jazzmere said.

“Really? You think that?”

Jazzmere nodded, then ensconced himself in the cane-seat chair. “What’s with the attitude? You better watch it, Dusty. You know I don’t like rude ponies.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Vinyl had switched chairs, so she could sit next to me and keep me close.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Octavia has been living in hell ever since she found out that you went to Bulldozer’s party last week, instead of spending time with her. You know what he said to her? He said that you don’t care about her, and you said it yourself according to him.”

“Yes, I went to his party last week, but I didn’t say any of those things. I would never say those things about my daughter. How could you be so blind to think that?” Jazzmere asked, his voice insinuating sorrow. For once, he actually had a sad expression. “Did Bulldozer say that to you, Octavia?”

My throat was dry, and I could barely render the proper words to say yes to him. I was scared, frightened, and I didn’t know what he would think of me if I spoke such words about him. He’s my father after all. Luckily though, Vinyl held my hoof, squeezed it. That was enough for me to speak up.

“Yes, he did. He said awful things to Vinyl and me,” I said. Tears begin to streak down my face.

“Well, none of what he said is true, I promise you that. Come here, Octavia.”

Glancing back at Vinyl, who nodded that I should obey his command, I got up and stepped up to him. My heart raced, pumping out more blood as each second passed. “Yes, father?”

“Listen to me, and I want you to listen carefully.” He put a hoof on my shoulder. “I will always love you. You are my daughter, and you are, in fact, the most important thing to me. We may not be as close as you would like, but you are everything to me. And nothing can ever change that. You got it?”

I nodded. “Yes, father.”

“Good.” He withdrew his hoof and stood up. “And, Dusty, the reason I was gone for a week was because I was mourning the loss of my wife. It was our anniversary earlier this week and I wanted to pay my respects to her and her family. Next time, do not question my fathering toward Octavia, and do not give me attitude. We clear?”

Dusty was grumbling under his breath, his anger still lucid and obvious. “Yeah, whatever, I guess. Still, you could’ve at least left Octavia a note.”

After Dusty finished what he had to say, he went back to his work for the day.

Then all was silent.

§

The early afternoon brought in a drizzle of rain, which ruined the plans Vinyl and I had; we were going to the northern fields to play tag, something we didn’t do as much. The fight that broke out between Dusty and my father earlier this morning didn’t help either. Never had I seen Jazzmere snap at Dusty like that, not in the usual sense at least. In the past, however, I had seen Dusty snarl at my father, though my father never retaliated with belligerence for reasons I never understood. You could hardly witness them get into a disagreement or a fight, but today was different it seemed. Almost too different.

Come later afternoon, Dusty had served lunch—a fruit salad with home-grown fruits—and Jazzmere retired to his study, as per usual. Nothing surprised me there. Vinyl and I decided to go eat in my room where we would have all the privacy we needed. Dusty didn’t mind that I spent a lot of time with his daughter, because he knew Vinyl made me happy, and I made her happy. And that’s all that mattered to him.

Currently, Vinyl and I were sipping mulberry juice, squeezed from the ones that grew out back. It was a little bitter, but I had no complaints. I was spooning down the fruits in my bowl, and Vinyl was asking me if I would ever write another song or a lament based off of a story or a poem I read, and, when I swallowed the fruit that was in my mouth, I said, casually, “I don’t know yet to be honest. Do you think I should?”

“Um, hell yeah, you should,” Vinyl said, beaming. “You’ll be an amazing composer. Just you wait. One day, when it happens, I’ll be there with you.”

I didn’t know what to think, or what to say for that matter. What would the song be about, and what would it sound like? I was an amateur composer, albeit, according to Vinyl and Bon Bon, the ones with whose critiques I trust, a very good composer. But then I have my father passively saying “it’s good” without any hint or indication as to why it was of that quality. Jazzmere was used to composing his own music, and, perhaps, he felt as though my song was poorly written, but he couldn’t say anything harsh about it because he didn’t want to hurt his daughter. Didn’t he have a right to expect the same thing from his daughter?

Vinyl ate her lunch and continued to talk. I imitated to listen, but I couldn’t listen at all (and I hated myself for doing it), because Vinyl’s nonchalant question had planted a seed in my head, a resolution that I would become a successful composer. Would there not be another outcome? There couldn’t be a possible hint of failure, especially when I have Vinyl and Bon Bon’s support. Maybe I would be successful. Then, when I do succeed, maybe my life as a phantom in this very house would finally come to an end.

I let myself dream: I imagined good conversation and positive laughter with my own father, instead of the dead silence that cast itself upon us during dinner. I pictured Jazzmere and I attending a high-culture music show in downtown Manehattan, where all the successful musicians go. Maybe after all of this, my father would forgive me for killing his beloved wife.

But then I thought about Vinyl, pictured the life I would have with her come my success. She would be very proud of me to achieve such a task, a goal, an achieved status. I envisioned her being with me throughout my life, helping me get through the impediments that feel almost impossible to overcome. Then I saw the joyous look on her face when I told her I had finally done it, that I had finally reached my dream.

Through my reverie, Vinyl was telling me all the things that I could do. I smiled, nodded, and laughed at all the right places, but I barely heard the words she spoke. It was then when I had a mission, an endeavour: I would become a successful musician no matter how arduous it would be. And I wasn’t doing it for my father. I was going to do it for Vinyl.

§

It rained heavily come evening. Vinyl and I were still in my room. We were playing a classy game of chess, something I had taught Vinyl a while back. Dusty had bought me this glass chess set for Hearth’s Warming Eve day. When I first got it, Vinyl and I spent countless hours playing chess, mainly because it was cold outside, and that was something Vinyl hated.

Vinyl killed my last knight, checked me twice, then killed my queen for the final elimination. Although Vinyl wasn’t book smart, she sure was able to come up with tactical plans to win games in chess. I wasn't bad at chess, but I was nowhere near as good as Vinyl. Ironically, I was the one who taught her, and she was better than her teacher.

Next door, in Jazzmere’s study, Jazzmere and Bon Bon were having their weekly business talk. I could hear loud laughter through the thin walls of my room.

Vinyl checkmated me, and I was forced to knock over my king. “You know, Vinyl, one day you might just become a chess grandmaster.”

“Is that good or bad?” she asked, handing me my lost pieces.

“Very good. Grandmaster is the highest possible title you can get in chess.” I began to place the pieces back on the proper squares. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you won a chess tournament.”

Vinyl giggled. “Oh, c’mon, Octy, I’m not that good. Okay, maybe I am good, but there’s no way I’ll ever get a grammaster title.”

“Oh, you will. Just like how I’ll be a successful musician one day,” I said. Another thought came to me. “In fact, I bet you’ll be an awesome painter, and a chess grandmaster.”

Vinyl’s face brightened. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“One day, I’ll make you a painting of me and you. I’ll be grand.”

Her saying that made me happy. Happy for who Vinyl was, and how she came to be about. For how’d she accepted the truth of reality, without blindness, of how she would grow to be a successful pony, despite her illiteracy and inability to write well.

Our chess pieces were back in place, and it was Vinyl’s turn to go first because she was the white side. “Get ready to lose again, Octy.”

I smiled.

Comments

[Bynoan]

Ah i missed this

How could you be so blind think that?” Jazzmere asked,

to think that?

[Lunatone]

5964423

To think that.

Thanks for spotting out that minor detail/error.

Also, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Chapter seven is completed, and all it needs is to edited.