//------------------------------// // But, My Love, You're So Delightful // Story: The Last-Minute Masterpiece // by Silent Whisper //------------------------------// It was with no small amount of frantic panic that Octavia paced in the kitchen, considering her options. What would make a good gift for Vinyl? It had to be something marvelous, something as unique as the mare herself, and that truly limited her options. Regifting something was the first thing that crossed her mind, but was just as quickly dismissed. Most of the items in the house that she’d consider worthy of Vinyl were either gifts that Octavia had given her already, or things Vinyl had given her that she treasured. The few remaining things she could think of, like new strings for her bow that her parents had given her early so she could use them for her pre-Hearth's-Warming concerts, weren’t things that Vinyl could put to use. The obvious answer was to give her something they both loved, and anypony who’d been in Ponyville for more than a week knew their shared interest was music. Perhaps she could write a song for Vinyl? The thought made her pause in her relentless pacing. It’d been persistent in the back of her mind for a while, but she’d initially dismissed it. After all, composition was more Vinyl’s expertise; Octavia played music that other ponies selected, and the few times she’d been asked to improvise were met with a hasty mix-up of other classical themes she’d hoped few in her audience would recognize. Vinyl deserved better than whatever few notes she’d be able to put together. No, there had to be a better idea than that. She’d have to get creative. What would her friends do, if faced with a similar dilemma? Bon-Bon would recommend that she cook Vinyl something, and certainly if the house smelled of fresh-baked cookies or a delicious dinner, that would be a gift in and of itself. Usually, it smelled of whichever candle Octavia kept burning in the main room, to keep the lingering scents of whatever party Vinyl had last attended at bay. The biggest issue with that was the (minorly embarrassing) fact that neither Vinyl nor Octavia could truly cook. The results of Vinyl’s best attempts to make dinner were a few edible bowls of instant noodles, and Octavia’s forays into the wonderful world of cooking had left four pans burnt beyond repair before she’d admitted defeat. Still, it had to be worth a shot. Octavia hooved through the pantry, trying to see if they had anything that’d make for a decent gift. A few cans of soup stared remorsefully back at her from the front. That wouldn’t do! While it was their usual sort of meal, and what they’d planned for Hearth’s Warming supper, it didn’t quite count as cooking. She dug through the back. Maybe they still had something that somehow hadn’t withered into dust? The only thing her search revealed was a box of pasta so old she could’ve sworn it had come with the house when they’d moved in a few years back. Octavia brushed the dust off the top of the box, sneezed, opened it, and hesitantly gave it a few sniffs. Could pasta go bad? She wasn’t sure, but Vinyl might not appreciate homemade food poisoning as part of her gift. She threw the box of questionable pasta away and turned her attention to the countertop. There were a few boxes of plain Sugarcube Corner gingerbread ponies and a few peppermint twists left from Bon-Bon’s shop, but unless Vinyl’s definition of creative baking included the stacking of one atop the other, there wasn’t too much she could do. Baking them again wouldn’t do much more than burn them, and the ashen remains of what once were cookies wouldn’t make for a good present. Unless… perhaps she could frost the gingerbread ponies with the peppermint sweets? Octavia racked her memory. What was it Pinkie Pie had said? Frosting was just sugar and milk, right? Why, she had cream for her tea in the fridge (one of the few things they kept in there that wasn’t leftovers or sandwich materials), and there was both sugar *and* the peppermint twists to use! Surely a few of the peppermints could be sacrificed for the cause? She picked up a few peppermint sweets and set them in a bowl. Frosted treats might not be the best possible gift, but maybe they’d be part of the best possible gift, given the circumstances. Cautiously, she took a spoon and smacked it firmly against the peppermint candy. It made a dull thwack, but didn’t split into conveniently small pieces like she’d hoped. She’d need more force. Well, she was an earth pony. If a spoon wouldn’t cut it, her hooves certainly could - with appropriate sanitary measures, of course. Octavia wrapped one of her front hooves in a bag, giggling to herself. Oh, this would be simple, and it’d be such a surprise for Vinyl. Setting the bowl on the floor, she reared up and stomped down on the candy inside with a good amount of her weight. The bowl, not being quite as strong as the average apple tree, shattered. The candy inside was not quite as lucky, and exploded in a puff of pulverized peppermint powder. Fantastic. Simply wonderful. It was a miracle that Vinyl hadn’t come in to check on the noise. For the second time that day, Octavia reached for the dustpan. The candy dust had stuck to her fur, giving it a red and white speckled look around her hooves as she swept up the shards of the bowl. Cooking was a terrible idea. It was probably best if she quit whilst only slightly worse off and things could still be salvaged. Nothing had caught fire, and only one bowl was smashed, so it was a better outcome than some of her others, so she should be happy it went so well. At least, that was what she’d told herself as she threw away the bits of ceramic bowl. Rarity would most likely create some sort of outfit for Vinyl if she were in her horseshoes, but even if Octavia had the materials necessary, Vinyl had a particular sort of style that Octavia couldn’t really predict. It wasn’t quite avant-garde nor exactly modern, neither rebellious nor conservative. If Rarity were here to consult, she’d struggle for a few minutes to find the proper combinations of terms for it, but Octavia suspected that Vinyl wore whatever she decided at the moment was interesting. It made her a wonderful pony to shop with, but extremely difficult to shop for. Still, perhaps it was worth a look. She raced to her closet, leaving behind a trail of peppermint-scented dust as she dug through the few articles of clothing she rarely wore. There were a few mismatched bows (gifts from fellow musicians who’d fallen over with laughter at the mental image of her wearing something as horrifying as purple-striped plaid in public), a few hats from Vinyl she couldn’t bear to part with, and a horrendous old sweater that her aunt had insisted was hoof-knitted and asked about with just enough regularity to make her feel guilty enough to keep it. Nothing there (minus the hats from Vinyl) was something she’d been upset to part with, but she couldn’t think of any possible way she could combine them and create something that Vinyl had a chance to appreciate. If Rarity had been there, perhaps she’d be able to work her usual magic, but there wasn’t anything she could think of doing that would somehow make the horrible items even remotely passable as a present. Lyra would tell her to write some sort of romantic poem or verse, something heartfelt and maybe rhythmic, like one of the beats in Vinyl’s songs. While it was true that the music Vinyl adored had a tempo that stuck with Octavia long after she’d wandered out of earshot, she wasn’t quite certain that it’d be the best gift for Vinyl. While her marefriend insisted that she had a way with words, she suspected that her attempts to rhyme things cohesively would be met with barely-suppressed giggles and a loving smooch for her effort. The thought of a theoretical kiss made Octavia smile slightly. Maybe her effort would be enough, and Vinyl would appreciate her attempt at poetry, and- -and then she remembered she didn’t know of anything that rhymes with Vinyl. Nothing romantic, anyway. Spinal? That wouldn’t do, and while her marefriend was forgiving, if Octavia wrote a poem about how much she loved her spine, she’d never live it down. It was no use. There wasn’t anything she could create that Vinyl would love, nothing that was both meaningful and doable with the limited resources she had. Nothing… except, she remembered with no small amount of weary acceptance, to compose a piece of music at the last possible minute. It wouldn’t be perfect. It might not even be good. However, Octavia was out of options and rapidly running out of time, so it would have to do.