//------------------------------// // 3. Pretty // Story: Vampiolence // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// …. 3. …. “The incy wincy spider climbed up the water spout.” Vinyl returned to consciousness slowly and painfully, like she was dragging herself up a long black pipe using only her teeth and a rope. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out!” Damn it, her head friggin’ hurt. She felt like she had been run over by a cart. “Out came the sun and dried up all the rain!” Several times. “So incy wincy spider climbed up the spout again.” That voice. She knew that voice. “Then itty bitty pony developed such a cough.” Recognition slipped between the cracks of her returning consciousness and slid into place with a cruel click. “So itty bitty pony pulled its legs right off!” When Vinyl opened her eyes, she knew exactly who she was going to see. “Yay! You’re awake!” Even though she was prepared, her stomach still clenched at the smiling face and bright, happy eyes. “I thought maybe I hit you too hard. It’s been so long. You went down so easy, big sis. You never went down that easy before. I thought maybe I broke you. I didn’t want to break you. I’ve hit you harder than that before and you never broke.” The cupid-bow lips pouted in a way that had made many colts and stallions swoon – right before she parted them to reveal fangs that ripped out swooning throats. “You really did do it, huh?” Vinyl swallowed. The sides of her throat stuck together. When she spoke, her voice sounded sticky and rough, like she was speaking through molasses and ground glass. “Hello Vellum.” The beautiful mare clapped her forehooves like somepony half her apparent age. “Hi!” she squealed. “Hi, hi, hi! Do you know who I am, big sis? Do you know your name? How many hooves am I holding up?” She thrust one forehoof against Vinyl’s nose, knocking her off balance. “Ugh …” Vinyl swayed, realising belatedly that she was sitting upright with her back against something hard. She tried to get up but her midriff pressed against something. Likewise her forelegs when she tried to raise them. “What the-?” “Daddy said you might try to hit me when you woke up. I thought he was wrong, but you know Daddy.” Vellum shrugged. “What Daddy wants…” He gets, Vinyl thought. She refused to complete the old mantra. Vellum, apparently waiting for the second half, pouted when it didn’t come. It was an adorable expression. She looked like a china doll with her snow-white fur and frothy ringlets. She stamped a hoof and tossed her mane. The gesture was so achingly familiar that Vinyl’s heart flattened as much as her ears. “Vellum, leave her alone.” Vellum immediately backed off. Vinyl tried not to wish herself unconscious again at the slowly advancing hooves. Her brain threw images at her in a kaleidoscope of memory and raw emotion: a toothy smile, the sound of bones against kitchen tile, a spray of blood she had sworn would never be spilled, wide purple eyes... Vinyl stamped on her terror and held it, wriggling, under her hoof long enough to ask: “Where’s Octavia?” Voron was a mess. He had cleaned himself up but his fur was still streaked with blood and dirt from the kitchen floor. He wasn’t limping. He should have been limping. She has smashed his legs into paste. He shouldn’t even be able to walk right now. Why wasn’t he even limping? He caught her looking and smiled. There was one sure-fire way he could have regained his strength and healed so quickly. Bile touched the back of Vinyl’s throat. “Where is Octavia?” She tried not to let her pitch rise but it crept up anyhow. “You mean you can’t smell her?” Voron’s smile widened. “You disappoint me, Vanelda.” Vinyl’s neck prickled. She finally took stock of where she was. The combined scent of resin and dust was so familiar that she hadn’t registered it at first. The fact that the lights were off hadn’t help to orientate her either. Now, however, she identified the basement Octavia had suggested they set up as a practise room when they moved into this house. She and Vinyl had spent long hours painstakingly mapping the walls with foam to sound-proof it for when either of them wanted time to play as loud as possible without disturbing the neighbours. Right now that seemed like an extremely stupid decision. There was a pile of grey fur in the middle of the floor. “Tavi!” Vinyl’s muscles exploded into movement. She struggled against the belts somepony had cinched tight around her waist and all four legs to tie her to this chair. She struggled so hard, in fact, that the chair tipped sideways and both she and it crashed to the floor. They had never gotten around to carpeting this room, so the clatter was deafening. Even when the noise faded, her voice carried on streaming angry invectives. “Vanelda,” Voron chided. “Such language.” She flung a curse at him like a poison dart. “You wound me.” Voron placed a forehoof to his chest, seemed only just then to notice it was dirty, and frowned. He looked about, eventually settling for a cloth Octavia used to shine the wood of her bow and cello. Voron swiped at himself in brisk, even motions, speaking as he cleaned off small patches of bloodstains. “She is not dead. She was useful in helping me repair the damage you caused, but she is less useful dead than alive. At the moment, that is.” The pause made Vinyl go still. Octavia was alive. She fastened onto the thought. Octavia was alive. Her Tavi wasn’t dead. A mixture of relief and suspicion washed through her, simultaneously loosening and tightening her muscles. Voron fed on her. That fact landed in the centre of her mind like a sandbag dropped from a hot air balloon. The resultant indentation caused all other thoughts to slide towards it until she could think of nothing else. Voron. Voron. Voron. She had beaten the tar out of him and he had fed off Octavia to fix the damage she had caused. If she hadn’t done that to him, he wouldn’t have … Oh Tavi … I’m so sorry … “You’re right, Daddy.” Vellum crouched beside Vinyl, peering at her like a particularly curious fossil found on the beach while shell-collecting. “She really can’t break those bonds after all. I guess I owe you a fruit cup.” Voron snorted indulgently. “Not a bet I was eager to win, my lovely.” He sighed. “All my abilities flowing through your veins, all that power, and what did you choose to do with it?” He was clearly addressing Vinyl, though Vellum chose to answer. “She shut it all off! How did she even do that? And why would she want to?” She pushed her face into Vinyl’s, practically pressing their eyeballs together. “Why would you want to do that, big sis?” “It is not supposed to be possible,” Voron said easily. He didn’t sound angry anymore. In fact, he sounded rather bored. Vinyl wasn’t fooled. She was already tensed when he lifted the music stand, tore it in two and threw the pieces of useless metal across the room. “It is an insult.” Still, he sounded bored. “It is a crime against propriety.” He picked up a sheaf of papers Octavia had scribed over countless hours of composition. It was the work of a second for him to reduce it to fluttering confetti. “It is spitting in your father’s eye.” One forehoof met the wall, leaving a round indentation just like the mark he had left in Octavia’s chest. Vinyl realised with a jolt that he had been holding back before. It would have been simple for him to punch right through the body of an ordinary mortal pony. When he turned back to her, Vinyl found herself shrinking against the overturned chair. “I raised you not to spit, Vanelda. It is unladylike.” She silenced a whimper by biting the inside of her cheek. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, you’re in trouuuuuuuuuble!” Vellum giggled. Voron crossed the room, grabbed Vinyl by the throat and hoisted her into the air, chair and all. She choked. The combined weight pulled her down into his iron grip. His hoof was like a vice. The urge to flare her horn and hit him with everything in the room was strong, but though her wooziness had worn off now, the risk was too great, especially with Vellum around too. She couldn’t save Octavia if she got herself killed. “Tell me how you hobbled yourself, Vanelda,” Voron said softly, so damnably softly. She gurgled. “Tell me how and why you chose to rid yourself of my gifts to you.” Black dots swarmed the edges of her vision. “Daddy, she’s going a funny colour.” Vellum’s voice sounded muffled and further away than before. His grip eased. It barely helped. “My patience grows thin, Vanelda.” Vinyl opened her mouth to answer, wondering what she could say other than ‘because I didn’t want to be a monster like you anymore’. A groan made her freeze. Voron’s pupils shrank. Sweet Celestia. Vinyl’s brain jangled with alarm. She resisted the urge to look at the pile of grey fur. Don’t give him an inch. Stay strong. Look him right in the eye. He can’t control you that way anymore. He doesn’t have that ability. You looped it. He can’t break what you did. You can look right into his eyes and he can’t force you do a damn thing anymore. But if you look away first … if you do that … Looking away first meant conceding he was stronger. She had spent too much of her life letting him think that; letting him believe he was the boss of her. Right up until she took a stand and said ‘no more’ with actions, not words. To Voron, spoken language was a frivolity; something he could prettify and tie up in a nice bow of civilised phrases and decorum. He understood the language of violence much more – spoke it more fluently too. His mouth curled into a smile. …. Daddy’s smiles were scary. He had a lot of them, but they were all scary in some way. Scariest was how other ponies didn’t seem to realise they were scary at all, and smiled back, all big teeth and big eyes and big hearts bursting for something that could rip them out as easily as … well, smiling. “You two go out,” he had said, wearing a particularly frightening, predatory grin. “Daddy is having a guest over tonight and he needs to house to himself.” “Come on, Vellum,” Vanelda muttered. She held the little filly by one hoof as they trotted along. Vellum’s tiny legs necessitated such a slow pace that she half considered just picking her up and letting her ride the rest of the way. “Nelda! Neeeeeeelllllllllllldaaaaaaaaa!” “Stop being cute,” Vanelda snapped. Vellum giggled. The trees were thicker further in. There was more undergrowth too. Vanelda scented the air, picking up the unmistakable aromas of rabbit, fox urine and the old musty smell of a badger that had passed this way hours ago. She guided Vellum to a little knoll and sat her down. Vellum giggled and kicked the ground until Vanelda held her legs still. “No. You have to be quiet.” Vellum had beautiful eyes. The irises were a shade of red so pale that they were almost pink, making her look like a little china doll in the moonlight. She could pass as normal with eyes like that. In a fit of pique over the constant whining about being snagged in trees and on bushes, Vanelda had tied Vellum’s many curls into a tight braid that banged her shoulders as she walked. It had been a long time since Vanelda was able to see herself in a mirror, but she would bet money that she didn’t look nearly as adorable. Her own mane had grown in lank and straight, and fell around her face like a shroud. Her dark red eyes peered out from beneath it as if she was some moody teenager who wrote bad poetry and listened to songs about kicking back at the world. If Vanelda ever kicked at her world, it would kick back. A lot. “Stay quiet,” she said firmly. “If you stay very still, you’ll get something nice.” Vellum gazed at her adoringly. “Ooooooooh!” “Yes, nice.” “Like nice!” “I know you do. So stay still and quiet, like we practised. Remember?” “Mousey!” “Yes, like a mousey.” Vellum proceeded to press one forehoof against her mouth in an incredibly loud bout of shushing. She eventually settled down into the required silence, but Vanelda would have been surprised if anything remained in the woodland after that noise. Evidently the rabbits around here were very stupid, because one hopped out from the undergrowth less than half an hour later. She felt Vellum stiffen beside her but didn’t move to hold her sister still. Tiny muscles quivered against her flank at the sight of the little white bottom bopping across the clearing in tiny hops and skips. Wait for it, Vanelda thought. Wait for iiiiit – Vellum let out an anticipatory breath. The rabbit raised it nose, ears twitching. Uh-oh, Vanelda thought. It bolted. She exploded into motion. In a second she had cleared the distance and leaped over the fleeing creature. It tried to zigzag but she cut off its retreat. Dipping her head, she snarled and bared her fangs. It was all show, of course. She had graduated from rabbits decades ago. The snarl did what she wanted, however. The rabbit turned to escape from her and ran straight into Vellum’s waiting embrace. Vellum raised her face, smiling in absolute delight at her success. The rabbit scrabbled under her forehooves. “Got it!” she declared proudly, as if she has brought down a stag unaided in the middle of a blizzard. “Good, now finish it. Make it clean, like I taught you.” One quick snap of the neck and the rabbit’s troubles would be over. Vanelda had perfected the art of the quick, clean death and made sure Vellum knew it too. It would die of a heart attack when drunk from, and this kind. “Go on. Quickly now.” Vellum tilted her head at her sister. She looked down at the rabbit, turning it over so as to better grip its head. She looked back up at Vanelda, presumably for approval that she was doing it correctly. “Good. Come on now. Hurry up.” She looked at the struggling rabbit again, swivelling her head this way and that. Before Vanelda could stop her, she bent her head and bit out its belly. Its scream was high and ear-splitting. “Vellum, no!” Vellum tossed her head, scattering blood in a wide arc. She shook the slippery red chunk of fur like a dog with a favourite chew toy. Something thin whipped about her face. Vanelda realised with a lurch that is was part of the rabbit’s intestines. Vellum spat out her mouthful and bent again, scooping out tiny pulsating organs and gleefully tossing them aside as the rabbit screamed and screamed. And then the screaming stopped. It took Vanelda a moment to realise the rabbit was finally dead. There was still a high-pitched, ear-splitting noise in the clearing. She watched as her little sister threw back her head, laughing in pure glee. “Nelda! Nelda, look! Nice!” Vanelda took a step back, unable to take her eyes off Vellum’s blood-smeared smile. Her fangs were out but her eyes … they weren’t full-red. They were still sugar pink. She had done all that without bloodlust setting in. “Nice!” Vellum giggled again. “Big sis! Look!” Vanelda looked down at the tangled remains of blood, bone and sinew between Vellum’s hooves. She had seen worse. Voron had made her do worse. But this … Vellum snorted with laughter. “Pretty!” Vanelda turned and emptied the meagre contents of her stomach onto the grass.