//------------------------------// // Octavia Melody's Massage // Story: RMT: Redheart's Massage Therapy // by Norm De Plume //------------------------------// This was an indulgence. Of course she had to have one or two.  What was the point in practising so much if she couldn't reward herself for her discipline and dedication? Octavia sighed in appreciation as she swirled her straw around the bottom of the tin milkshake glass, trying to slurp the last of pieces of crushed chocolate and vanilla ice cream.  This little treat was her way of saying “Good job, Octavia” to herself.  Her mother would act horrified at all that dairy, but Mother wasn't here. Between rehearsals and performances, her weeks remained full.  She had even gone so far as to put her cello away in the closet.  One less instrument meant one less thing to stress over.  Audiences had been clamouring to see her on violin or piano, so she had adjusted her schedule to give them more of what they wanted. All that had meant more wear and tear on her body.  Some musicians claimed perfect posture prevented pain (and poor performance), but Octavia despaired of that.  She swore one leg had to be shorter than the other, with the way she needed to cock a hip when she played.  Piano was easier on her back, but not so much for her wrists.  And while she liked her little leather shoes, she swore she could sometimes tell which concert hall she was in by the feel of the floor through the thin soles.  She picked up her tin to tilt it and let the melted remains of her milkshake pool.  Before she could suck up the vestiges of her drink, a sharp pain lanced through her wrist.  The shock shuddered up her arm to her shoulder and her fingers spasmed.  The tin bounced off the table with a sharp clang of metal, and Octavia barely avoided being splattered.  Her boots, however, weren't so lucky.  White splotches of ice cream stained the leather as the cup spun on the linoleum. Octavia whined in despair and bent down to swipe a napkin over her shoes with her good hand as she pressed her curled fingers against her chest.  Off-balance, she did her best to clean up, even while she apologized to the staff that approached to pick up her tin mug and mop the floor. Once she straightened up again, she tried to gingerly wiggle her fingers.  They were okay now, but rolling her wrist brought an ache down her forearm and she fought back the wave of worry that washed over her.  Oh, what had she done?  And how severe was the problem?  Visions of a tragic end to her musical career flashed through her imagination, each scenario scarier than the last: carpal tunnel syndrome, tendinitis, or perhaps even early-onset arthritis. She needed help, so she reached for her purse with her good arm.  Pulling her phone out, she unlocked it with only her thumb and began tapping.  Doctors' appointments could take weeks, and walk-in clinics would want to refer her to a specialist.  But she had friends at the Luxury Lotus Spa who could diagnose her much more quickly than either of those options. It took only a few taps to reach the spa's website, and Octavia kept her tender arm tucked against her chest as she scrolled, occasionally testing her wrist and hoping nothing would go numb.  Fortunately, the booking system showed some open spots for the spa’s therapists that evening.  Hurriedly selecting one, she stared in brief despair at the detailed form that popped up on the screen for her to fill out. Octavia supposed she could set the phone down on a clean spot on the table and perform a one-fingered hunt and peck for the virtual keyboard.  No, that won't do.  Pressing down with her thumb again, she selected the voice-to-text option and began to dictate what had happened. ----- “The details are a little rushed in places, but I suppose that would be the drawback for a voice feature,” Lotus said, handing over the forms to Nurse Redheart.  “I apologize for asking you to stay, but the booking is within your stated working hours.” Redheart accepted the clipboard.  “I appreciate the apology.”  She had been on-call for half the day as it was, and would have been honing some of her techniques in the back.  But now that an appointment had been made, she had herself a patient.  She preferred those to doing practice routines, honestly, because it meant a little more money in her paycheck at the end of the week.  “How much lead time do I have to set up?” “A little.  You know how often we get messages from people who claim it's an emergency.”  Lotus waggled her fingers, her accent turning her 'i' into a longer 'ee' and buzzing her ‘th’s.  “They claim they need to be seen right away.”,  She and her sister Aloe usually ran interference on those, winnowing the serious case from the hypochondriac.  “This ... is not one of those, but she is quite worried about her condition.  Aloe knows her better than I do, though, and says she is not one to exaggerate.” Frowning, Redheart glanced at the page.  “Octavia Melody.”  The name did stir something in the back of her own memory.  “It says here she had wrist and finger pain, with some cramping in the digits.”  Some of the words had run together and she wished whichever twin had printed off the page had done some editing to clear up the information.  “A few other complaints, but nothing as pressing as a musician that can't use her dominant hand.” “True,” Lotus agreed.  “Not many one-handed instruments.” “No referral from a doctor on this one?”  She flipped to the next page. Lotus shook her head.  “I think she wishes for your professional opinion on the matter first.  She knows we have a reliable nurse available to us, and an appointment here is speedier than waiting at a clinic.” Redheart sighed.  A registered nurse she might be, but she hadn't returned to her massage therapy roots to diagnose patients.  “Well, as long as she understands that the doctor's office will have to confirm any findings on their own.  I can try and discover the cause, but treatment is more important here.” “Which is all we ask of you,” Aloe agreed as she appeared in the office doorway behind reception.  She turned up the lights since the sun had nearly set outside.  “I've seen Miss Melody perform a few times, and talked with her at a party or two.  She's in a high-stress job.  I've told her before to come in whenever she can.  But she insists that her stress relief is jogging rather than soaking in a steam bath.”  Her shrug said that she had done her best, but people were stubborn creatures who wouldn't and couldn't relax.  Octavia Melody was obviously one. Well, that was why Redheart had joined the twins.  Emergency nursing and triage had stressed her to the point where burnout had been a real danger.  Now she divided her time between hospital rounds and therapy sessions at the spa.  The same amount of work, but two very different environments.  “I'll go set up,” she said.  “One of you can show Miss Melody back to the room when she arrives.” Lotus and Aloe had opened their spa in an old photography business, so the old boudoir rooms where people used to pose for pictures had all been converted into various spa nooks.  They had also moved the old darkroom door up to give the separation between reception area and back rooms a little extra flair. Stepping into the cylinder, Redheart swung the heavy door around with a low rumble.  The darkness enveloped her and she took a moment in the blackness to breathe.  She loved the transfer from front to back, as if she were turning around into a different world.  It added to the client experience too, making them feel as if they could leave their outside lives behind in that thick metal cocoon, even if only for a short while. The spa hallway's lighting had changed while she was up front, shifting from afternoon blue to a dull orange for the evening.  Redheart stretched as she stepped out of the chamber and headed for Massage Room #3.  Even at its busiest, the spa had no beeping machines, no terrible odours (well, aside from some of the natural products used in the mani-pedi room), and no anxious relatives confronting her with questions. Bliss. Still, nursing called to her more than being a masseuse.  It was only when the profession and pressure threatened to burn her out did she ease up on her hospital duties and start taking spa shifts instead.  Oh, one or two days a week on-call wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, and the twins paid well enough. Even when her nursing hat was off, she still helped people, but in a way that would hopefully prevent hospital admissions by fixing them sooner rather than later.  This seemed to be one of those times.  Whatever Octavia Melody had encountered, it could cost her a distinguished musical career if not assessed properly.  Redheart was determined to not let that happen. She wrapped her massage table with quick hands, tucking in the sheets and slotting the donut-shaped headrest into place.  At this late hour, no outside light would leak past the shades, so there was no need to go to full blackout curtains.  Redheart did select several battery-operated candles and placed them on various surfaces around the room.  One or two went into mesh boxes that could bathe the room in whatever colour she selected.  Once they were lit, the pale cerulean glow would add a cool layer to the setting. As she worked, Redheart kept one ear tuned for the sound of footsteps outside.  Lotus and Aloe walked lightly, but the quiet slap of their backless slippers would always give them away.  If the steps were uneven, chances were good it would be a client.  People came here to find balance again. She felt more than heard the roll of the darkroom door down the hallway.  Most customers wouldn't notice it unless the bearings needed oiling, but she had been at the spa long enough to memorize that soft rumble in the air. Redheart took a quick look around the room to make sure everything was ready, and mentally ran over her session plan again.  While Octavia had listed her biggest concern as her hands, she also had checked some boxes that strongly suggested muscle fatigue in several areas.  Well, a good once-over would determine the best place to start. Lotus peeked in, then nodded approvingly at the arrangement.  “Miss Melody is here.  Is there anything you need before you begin?” “I'm ready for her,” Redheart said.  “We'll see you out front when we're done.” “I shall have tea waiting,” agreed Lotus.  She stepped back and murmured something in the hallway, then Octavia herself came through the door.  Her slim shoulders appeared weighed down by the black suit coat slung over one of them.  Worry and world-weariness hunched her over, her chin dropped low enough to brush the pink bow tie at her collar. As she did with all her clients, Redheart immediately checked footwear and saw scuffed patent leather shoes with thick laces.  Ah, flats.  Thin ones, too.  Not that she blamed every ache and twinge on impractical shoes, but they were often the most obvious culprit. “Miss Melody, I'm Redheart, and I'll be your therapist.  Would you like me to take that for you?”  She held out her hand for the fancy little coat.  The clothes rack was on the other side of the door and she could close it on the way past. Blinking, Octavia handed it over.  “Should I start getting undressed now?” Redheart shook her head as she hung up the coat and pushed the door shut.  “Not right away.  If it's more comfortable, you can loosen that bow tie.”  She could see only the sleeves and collar of the white blouse.  The rest was hidden by a severe black waistcoat.  “Perhaps a couple of buttons, too.  You're here to relax.” Octavia nodded, reaching up to flip her collar and unsnap the button on the back of her bowtie loop.  She did all this one-handed, while keeping her other arm folded across her midsection. “Are you in pain now?” Redheart asked softly, “or just worried?  I hope I can help.”  She patted the side of the massage bed.  “Here, sit for a second.”   Octavia obeyed and settled down with her feet flat on the floor.  “It's not hurting right now,” she said, flexing the fingers of her left hand.  “I've been worried it would go numb, but it hasn't done that.” Redheart pulled up a stool and sat in front of her.  “May I?” she asked, indicating the hand in question.  Once she acquiesced, Redheart set her wrist down and turned it palm up on a knee.  She unbuttoned the cuff, pushing the sleeve up to her elbow.  Much to her surprise, Octavia's forearm was quite tanned.  “At least you're getting some sun?” “I jog,” Octavia said.  She fluffed at her thick black hair, releasing a whiff of jasmine.  “My neck does get hot under all this, though, even with a braid.” “Yes, well, staying active is helpful.  Good for you.”  Redheart examined Octavia's half-curled fingers, which was a normal posture for someone's relaxed hand.  “I'm going to try and straighten your fingers out, all right?  You tell me if there's pain.” Rather than doing one at a time, she cupped all four fingers and eased them open simultaneously.  The only reaction from Octavia was a soft puff of breath.  Feeling along her knuckles, Redheart lightly squeezed them, checking for swelling around and between the joints.  “Is this your bow hand?” Octavia nodded, but remained silent. “Okay.”  Redheart dug softly into Octavia's palm with her thumbs, working down to the wrist and keeping careful watch on her expression for any twitches of discomfort.  “No symptoms like you had before?” “My forearm's still somewhat sore.”  Octavia shrugged as Redheart turned her wrist from side to side and flexed it up and down to test tendon strength.  “But what you're doing right now doesn't hurt in the same way.” No trigger fingers or tendinitis in the forearm, Redheart decided.  She pressed up into the soft pad beneath Octavia's thumb, feeling for the small bone by the wrist.  As she manipulated her hand through another range of motion, Octavia didn't flinch.  “No numbness?” Another shake of the head. So, no carpal tunnel from the compressed nerves there, either.  Moving higher, Redheart kneaded lightly up the forearm.  At the elbow, she pressed a quick little pattern along the inside that made Octavia's fingers flex and drew a gasp from her.  “W-what?” “Just testing if your arms are more tired than you thought,” Redheart soothed, ghosting her touch back down and over Octavia's trembling fingers.  “And I believe they are.  Too much practising, perhaps?” Octavia shrugged.  “Maybe.  I do have a professional reputation to maintain.”  She held out her other arm when Redheart motioned for it.  “Mmf.” “All right.”  Redheart checked her over, pushing her sleeve up to feel her arm and testing the range of motion on her wrist.  “If it's just muscle fatigue, we can work on that.  Push against me here?”  She pressed her palm against Octavia's and waited for the resistance.  “Good, good.”  She threaded their fingers together, squeezing lightly.  Octavia had strong hands and a firm grip, even if she was simply just worn out.  “Squeeze back?  That's fine.  Now, hold still.” She got up and pressed her fingers into the top and back of Octavia's shoulder, cupping her upper arm to roll it back and forth.  Stretching her with a palm on her shoulder and upper chest, Redheart eased up, then switched sides to repeat it with the other shoulder.  Nothing seemed wrong, other than tightness.  “All right, same thing here.  I think you're just overworked and your body's been trying to tell you that.” Shifting around, Octavia sighed and visibly slumped.  “I know I'm tired.  But I don't know how to quit.  I've got so much to do.”  She gestured, her sleeves half-rolled and her collar askew.  She'd unbuttoned half her waistcoat, too, and looked much less put together than when she'd come in.  “I'm tired of standing on stage, too.  My feet get sore in my fancy shoes, and my ankle hurts, but ... you know.  Fashion.” Redheart sat back down on her stool.  “I understand we often have to sacrifice comfort for appearance's sake, but perhaps if you had come by sooner, we could have made things a bit easier.”  She patted a knee.  “Here, give me your foot and let's see if you need work there, too.” Octavia hesitated.  “With my shoe still on?” “I'll handle that.”  Gazing up into those purple eyes, Redheart waited patiently. She lifted her foot and set it down on Redheart's lap.  “If only they'd let me wear sneakers like yours on stage.” Redheart glanced down at her own pink and white running shoes, even as her fingers undid Octavia's laces.  She didn't say anything, but simply slipped the patent leather off to reveal a nearly-sheer black nylon sock.  Normally she would begin her exam by cupping the heel and pressing her other thumb up into the ball of the client's foot.  Those were the two areas that usually held the most pain from extended standing. But Octavia had said her ankle hurt more, so she started by gently running her thumb and index finger along either side of the Achilles tendon.  No inflammation there, either.  Next she wrapped her fingers around the front of Octavia's ankle and lightly moved her around, feeling the stretch.  Octavia had long, slender feet, and she perhaps wasn't quite shaped to those stiff and fancy shoes.  “Bad?” she asked. “It sometimes feels sore there and down through the middle of my foot,” Octavia admitted. Nodding, Redheart slowly hooked her thumb into the centre of Octavia's sole.  Most joggers had toughened soles and callused heels after racking up so many miles.  Not here, though.  Even through the socks, she could feel a softened heel and slim toes. With skin like that, Octavia obviously had a foot care routine that did wonders for the outside.  The inside, though, was where Redheart did her best work.  The sheer nylon sock was a small hindrance, but this was still just preliminary.  Once Octavia lay flat, things could be done differently.  “Here?”  She pressed deeper into the arch. “Gnngh.”  Octavia's head tipped back and she fluttered her eyelashes.  She stifled a giggle and wiggled her toes.  “I mean, yes, that's the spot.  Also somewhat ticklish.” “I’ll try to keep any sort of tickling out of the picture,” Redheart said.  She carefully wrung Octavia’s foot to the inside as her thumb pressed along her instep.  “You seem to take care of your feet, for the most part.  You haven’t noticed anything else bothering you while you’ve been buffing out the rough skin?” Octavia shook her head.  “No, just pumice stone and creams, for the most part.  I don’t turn my feet the wrong way for the ankle pain, though.” Redheart paid careful attention to that ankle, as it seemed to be another case of overuse.  “I feel this might be less about your concert standing and more about your jogging.  I assume the increased stress means you felt like you had to push more and go farther?” Her thumb padded down the soft curve of the instep, as if feeling between Octavia's vertebrae.  The spa had diagrams in the lobby to show the matching curvature between the spinal column and a foot, in order to promote acupressure sessions.  Even though Redheart disdained many of the holistic rituals practised there, she understood why they made the comparison. “Oh, well . . . hahh!”  Octavia shifted her hips as Redheart dug in and she gripped the table harder.  “Yes, I suppose.” “Size 8 joggers, I assume?”  If she had the wrong footwear, that would account for some of her problems.  Even the wrong lacing could affect the stability of her ankle or arches. Blushing, Octavia nodded.  “That’s, um, oh … that’s a good guess.” A quick switch and similar exploration of her other sole produced the same noises and anxious twitches, and Redheart had finally seen enough to map out the branches of pain that were growing inside her client.  “All right, I think I have an idea.  We're going to start with you face up on the table.”  She got up, brushing her white pants down.  “You can undress as much as you're comfortable with and slip beneath the blankets.  I'll give you a couple of minutes to settle in, then we can begin for real.  Any questions?” Octavia shook her head and her hands moved towards her buttons.  Taking that as her cue, Redheart turned to open the door and slip out to give her client the proper privacy. ----- When the door closed again, Octavia fumbled at the last few buttons on her black waistcoat.  Once she got it off, she slid off the side of the massage table and shuffled in her socks over to the hooks on the wall behind the door.  Her white blouse came off next, followed by her suit pants, and she tucked her nylon socks into the very shallow pockets before hanging everything up. Brushing her long black hair forward over one shoulder, she reached back with still-throbbing fingers to unclasp her bra.  Redheart's exploration of her knuckles and joints had revealed sore spots she hadn't ever been aware of, and even turning her hand to get at the hooks produced a crack somewhere in her wrist.  It didn't hurt, but served as a reminder of why she was here.  Did she need to strip down the whole way just to have someone massage her hands and feet? Octavia considered the situation, then decided she didn't want anything between her and those sheets, so she finished undressing and draped her underwear on the last free hook.  As far as she could tell, Redheart was a consummate professional and would respect her nudity. She slipped under the top sheet and blanket and settled beneath it with a little sigh, lifting her hair up and out from beneath her body.  It spread over the headrest like a dark waterfall, and a sudden worry engulfed her that she would get it caught in some imperfection in the wood.  Making as if to sit up, she hesitated at the first light tug. Before she could lie back down or rearrange herself in the hopes of not yanking any of it out, a knock came at the door and Redheart peeked in.  “All set?” “I might need my hair adjusted first,” Octavia said, subsiding with another sigh.  As if there was any stronger indication that she needed to quit overthinking and let herself be taken care of. Redheart came over and gently gathered her hair up, picking a few strands free of the join between the headrest and table.  “Slide down a little more?  Let's get your head on the table rather than the donut here.  It'll be easier for you.”  She helped Octavia get comfortable and threaded her hair safely through the headrest, then leaned in.  “Would you prefer background noise?  We can do forest rain or ocean waves.” Octavia pursed her lips.  “The forest, please, if there's no music with it.” “Very well.  Breathe deeply, and I'll be right back.”  She stepped away and the lights buzzed softly as they dimmed.  Once the darkness descended, a few small blue and white lights flared to life.  The ambient sound of rain on leaves filled the room, and Redheart came back to the table.  She laid her palm on Octavia's forehead.  “Everything okay?” As those fingers stroked her hairline, Octavia nodded. “Good. I'm only going to uncover what I need to work on.”  Redheart tucked the blanket back to bare Octavia's left arm, and moved the stool closer to sit down again.  “So, starting with hands and arms.”  Dipping her fingers in a nearby bowl, she cupped Octavia's wrist with one hand and enveloped her fingers in a slick grasp. Octavia repressed the whine in her throat as Redheart wrung each of her fingers out, starting with her thumb.  Her knuckles weren't too swollen, but each bit of pressure pulled more of the ache out from her joints. With one thumb stroking Octavia's wrist, Redheart pressed the other into the base of her palm and took her through a range of motions.  Looking satisfied, she shifted her loose grip up from wrist to hand so she could knead down between her knuckles. Now Octavia groaned as the sensations made her lashes flutter.  “Oh.  That's ... mmm ... different.  More of that, please?”  The pressure ached but dully, as if the hurt was being released from the depths of her bones. “Of course.  Here.”  Redheart eased her index finger into the spaces between Octavia's first and middle fingers, curling it around her first knuckle.  Her other index finger did the same between the ring and small fingers to wrap around the outside of Octavia's hand.  Using the leverage to spread her palm open, Redheart dug her thumbs right in. Octavia made a noise she wasn't aware her voice was capable of producing.  Somewhere between a growl and a whimper, it rolled from her throat and she pressed her hips down into the massage table.  “Hnrnrrghh!” “Ah, there's the troublesome spot.”  Redheart used her remaining fingers to press into the back of Octavia's hand, spreading her open wider.  Her thumbs worked over the metacarpals at the base of Octavia's fingers, the insides of her knuckles receiving most of the attention.  “You might not want to pick a bow up for a day or so after we're done here.” Tipping her head back, Octavia closed her eyes and just let the rhythm of the massage roll over her.  “Didn't want to pick one up now,” she murmured, feeling her fingers twitch in Redheart's grasp.  “Not with how I felt.” One hand let go and slid down the inside of her forearm to her elbow.  In long, sure strokes, Redheart kneaded away the tension and found release points that loosened Octavia's wrist.  Soon it hung limply in her grasp and Redheart shifted position as she rolled Octavia's arm from the shoulder.  Lifting it off the bed, she bent Octavia's arm at the elbow and pointed the joint at the ceiling to bare her tricep so she could work it in the same cupping and sliding motion. “This is just pushing blood back towards your heart,” she said, “to help with circulation.”  Her fingers curled into a loose fist and her knuckles dragged down Octavia's upper arm.  “We'll work on your shoulder next, then match it all on the right side, okay?” “Okay,” Octavia agreed, not wanting the delicious pressure to end so soon.  She made another pleading sound as Redheart stretched her shoulder a little more and that warm, slick touch dug into the node beneath her arm.  “Mmmfff, that tickles!” Redheart peeked over the flex of her forearm.  “Breathe through it,” she coaxed.  “I'm getting more of that fluid back into circulation.”  The pressure eased, though, and slid a little further back into the area behind her shoulder, where it wasn't so ticklish. Subsiding again, Octavia closed her eyes and soaked in the sounds of rain and the safety of Redheart's hands.  She felt her arm being returned to its original position by her side, the blanket covering her again, and the soft press of hands down on her shoulder. “That's one,” came Redheart's voice, followed by the soft noise of the stool's wheels as they moved around the head of the massage table.  “Now, for the other hand.”  Cool air wafted over Octavia's skin as Redheart bared her other arm and delicately plucked at her wrist.  “Just let go and give me the weight ... yes, that's good.”  Redheart quickly slipped her fingers through Octavia's again and repeated the slow butterfly spread on her palm. “I like this,” Octavia told her, keeping her eyes closed.  Watching the process would take away from all the relaxing sensations it stirred.  “Have I mentioned that I like this particular treatment?” “It is nice, isn't it?”  Redheart did something intricate with her fingers that rolled the pressure down Octavia's palm and dug into the soft pad beneath her thumb.  “Not one of my usual techniques, but it's very worthwhile for solving your type of issue.”  She applied a little more pressure and sent aches fluttering through the base of those stretched fingers as they splayed out even wider. “Oh, quite,” Octavia agreed, breathing out and feeling Redheart's touch slip lower.  Finger and thumb encircled her wrist and a quick little squeeze produced a low pop to loosen her up even more.  That one pulled a squeak from her. “There we go,” Redheart said soothingly, “it's just tired muscles and weary bones.  We can fix most of that, but you'll have to sit out front and sip tea for a spell before you go home.”  She began the slow drag of her fingers down the inside of Octavia's forearm once again, working into her elbow.  “No pressing performances in the coming days?” Octavia tried to think about her schedule, but it was so difficult with oily hands kneading around the inside of her elbow and up her bicep.  “M-maybe?  Should I postpone?” “It's one possibility,” said Redheart.  “You might be a little sore tomorrow from all this, and going right back out on stage wouldn't do you much good.”  She cupped Octavia's upper arm and lifted her elbow to get at the underside once again.  “Especially if we do the back of your shoulders, too.” “Would that mean turning over?” she asked.  Staying right where she was and melting into the padded table felt like the much simpler option. Redheart stretched her shoulder out one last time, then straightened her arm again and draped the blanket over it.  “No need.  Just lie still.”  That soft, comforting squeeze came on her shoulder again. Then Redheart got up to stand at the head of the table and smoothed Octavia's hair back off her forehead.  “I can tell you're starting to feel better already.  Your energy levels are lower, because you're relaxing more as we fix the aches.  That's good.” She slid her hands beneath Octavia's bare back, feeling around softly for her shoulder blades and working inwards from there.  “Okay, I'm going to have to get close to you now,” she said, leaning over so Octavia was looking at her upside down.  “This might be sore because I'm going to stretch your back muscles out.  Feel free to make noise.  It's perfectly normal.” As those fingers kneaded into the space between shoulder blade and spine, Octavia breathed in and tasted the sharper pain that seemed to flare there.  “Ahhh!” “Tension transfer, yes,” Redheart noted, pressing her fingertips deeper, the touch feeling almost as if they had turned into claws.  “It's moving around, and we're going to get it out.  Okay, slow pulls outward, like we're spreading a pair of wings for you.” The first one was just as she'd promised, producing a low cry out of Octavia as the pain flared brighter.  All the hunching and curling of her shoulders meant she was tight in the upper back.  Now Redheart had found the knot and was pressing up into it, pulling the pain to either side and letting it disperse in a series of long stretches. Redheart bent down, her breath ghosting across Octavia's cheek as her fingertips dug in on either side of her spine again and kneaded in sharp circles.  The scent of the fabric softener from her white blouse filled Octavia's senses as she took another deep breath.  “It's okay to make noise,” murmured Redheart.  “I know this can hurt.” She stretched her out again and Octavia yelped, eyes widening at the ache that spread out from the middle of her back.  “Nnnghhh!”  She breathed out hotly, exhaling the hurt as Redheart's fingers kneaded beneath her shoulder blades. “Good,” Redheart coaxed again.  “Last one.”   The final pull hurt much less and Octavia's whine fluttered through her nose instead of her throat.  One shoulder already felt much lighter and she rolled slightly into the pressure, hoping to feel the tension give way on her left side as well. “Ah-ah.  Stay still, still,” Redheart told her, pressing her back down and shifting all her attention to that particular shoulder.  “I know you want to feel better, so let me just ...”  She pressed the heel of her hand into the top of Octavia's shoulder, moving her around.  Then she cupped the shoulder blade from beneath for some slow stretching and rolling. Nothing popped this time, but Octavia could feel those fingers digging into the small knot behind that shoulder and her breath caught in her throat.  Slowly but surely, the ache unwound and her airway opened up at the same time. As Redheart slid her hands out, Octavia settled back down into the soft table and heaved a sigh.  “Does it scare other customers when you make your clients yell?” “Some people beg for Lotus and Aloe as their masseuse,” Redheart said, “but looks are deceiving.  They know some techniques that are guaranteed to make you cry if your pain's already past the point of a simple relaxation massage.”  She readjusted the blanket over Octavia's shoulders and throat, patting her collarbone.  “Almost done.” She paid brief attention to other parts of Octavia's body as she worked down towards her feet, pushing at her hips to line them up again, and resting a palm on her stomach to press down slowly.  “All okay when I touch you here?  No pain, no desire to tighten up?” Octavia grunted a little as Redheart's fingers worked around her pelvis.  “Well, when you do that, it isn't exactly comfortable.” Redheart massaged over the front of her hip, testing the muscles.  “But nothing sharp, right?  Sometimes lower back or hip issues show up as pain here.” Nodding in understanding, Octavia slipped a hand out from beneath her blanket to wave off the concern. “All right.”  Redheart hooked the stool with her ankle and rolled it closer, sitting down and uncovering Octavia's feet.  She gently tapped on each bare toenail, running her fingers over the unvarnished nails.  “Just checking for brittleness.  Nothing wrong here, either?” Giggling, Octavia wiggled them.  “No, but no one's ever done that to me before.” “Aloe insists we check,” Redheart said, smiling and selecting Octavia's right foot.  “If there was any concern, she'd have a solution for fixing your nails.  One of our clients breaks them often while she's working, so the spa has a homemade remedy for her.”  She curled her knuckles into the sole beneath Octavia's toes and cupped her foot with the other hand.  “Let's loosen you up here now.” Octavia's head thudded against the table and she hissed against the pressure.  Redheart seemed to have found the spot right away and Octavia clutched at the sides of the table as her leg trembled.  Another indecipherable noise escaped her, but Redheart seemed to understand her meaning. “Okay,” she noted, somehow able to pick out the difference between good and bad sounds, even when she was torturing her clients.  She turned her wrist slowly clockwise, twisting her knuckles to dig into the tension there.  “Just a few of these, and we can move to your ankle after.”  She switched from a curled fist to thumbs and pushed in and up to make Octavia's toes flex. “Guuuhhhh!” “Breathe,” Redheart told her, peeking around her leg and catching her eye.  “You aren't as bad as some other people I've treated, so this shouldn't take long.”  She padded her thumbs up and down Octavia's sole now, kneading into her arch and along her instep to work her tendons.  “See, it's not so bad.” Octavia growled beneath her breath.  If this wasn't so bad, why were her feet so sore?  How had she not felt all this before? Redheart cupped her heel and squeezed, wringing her foot out slowly from side to side.  She didn't push too hard, though, seemingly content with mild torture.  “Higher or lower?” “L-lower?” Octavia said, gasping a little as the pressure of Redheart's touch in a tender spot sent a throb up the middle of her leg.  “Ooommphhh!  Maybe right there instead?” “I see.”  Redheart circled the tip of her thumb at that precise spot.  Octavia couldn't tell what she sensed compared to the flare of delicious agony that was lighting her up, but the slow press, release, and repeat was doing wonders for the ache. Octavia felt the stretch in her tendons as her toes uncurled to open up her instep, right where Redheart could press her thumb in and walk it all the way up the inside to the ball of her foot. “Okay, deep breath, in and out.”  Cupping her just there, Redheart turned Octavia's foot into the pressure and stretched her out, curling her toes down and then back and up.  Her thumb stayed beneath the lump of bone beneath the big toe, digging into the ache and dissolving it, despite Octavia's sudden gasp and kick of her other foot. “Well, that was the right spot,” she said, not flinching at Octavia's twitches and noises.  She hadn't even reacted to the flailing so close to her head.  “Are you all right, Miss Melody?” Octavia nodded, wincing.  Her foot still hurt, and probably would for a good while, but that was the price she was paying for waiting so long.  “Feels sore, but ... better?” “That's normal.”  Redheart set her foot down and kneaded around her ankle, rubbing up and down the front tendons.  Then she reached for the other foot.  “I think we'll find roughly the same here, so if I happen to hit the right spot, please don't kick me.” Blushing, Octavia shifted a little guiltily.  “Sorry, it was ... intense.” “Mm.  The emergency room prepared me for a lot, so I do have fairly strong nerves but I'd rather not have to duck.”  Redheart ran her thumbs down the front of Octavia's right foot, flexing her toes and pressing between the slim bones.  “Do your best to relax, and if it gets too painful, try not to twist away.  If you use your voice and not your feet, I promise I'll be gentler near the end.” She settled into some slow kneading and Octavia closed her eyes, willing herself to relax.  It wasn't difficult, since so much of her body already felt heavy.  Her arms hummed, the back of her shoulders buzzed, and she was very much looser than when she'd first stumbled in. As Redheart used lighter pressure and slower turns on her foot, Octavia peeked out from between her lashes at the dim ceiling, taking in the patterns from the flickering candles and the light boxes.  The sound of rain in the forest pattered away in the background.  She never quite realized how soothing that was, too. Mmmf.  Whatever Redheart was doing to her instep right now felt much better than anything she’d done before.  Octavia twitched a little bit at the careful dig beneath her toes, but before she could muster up anything more energetic, her eyes flicked shut again.  Her chest rose and fell, slower than before.  Then her head lolled back and she went somewhere else. ----- Redheart sauntered out of her final session of the day, having realigned Spitfire's spine into something much straighter and put the strut back into Lyra Heartstring's step.  She had the rest of the afternoon and evening to relax before picking up another shift at the hospital the next morning. Before she could remove her spa headband and head into the employee room to change back into her street clothes, a woman with electric blue hair and red-mirrored shades straightened up from the front desk.  “Hey, are you Redheart?” Keeping her expression neutral, but sighing internally at the roadblock, Redheart nodded.  She peered past the woman's shoulder at Lotus at the front desk, as if to say what are you doing to me?, but received only a shrug in return. “Miss Scratch would like a word, I believe,” was all Lotus said. “Yeah, Vinyl Scratch.  My roommate Octavia was in here just the other day.”  She seemed to have a lot of energy, bouncing on the balls of her feet and rocking from side to side.  “She conked right out when she got home.  What the heck did you do?” Redheart raised her eyebrows.  “What we usually do here at the spa: I helped her with the pain she was feeling from months of neglect.  If you're interested, I'm sure Lotus or Aloe can make you an appointment ...” “Oh, that part I get.”  Vinyl had scuffed high-top sneakers in a variety of colours and they squeaked on the floor as she hopped around.  Redheart was getting tired just watching her.  “But Bon-Bon said she heard Octy yelling back there when she was here for a steam bath.  You don't look like you've got it in you to cause that much pain to someone.” Shooting another glance at Lotus, Redheart managed to not roll her eyes.  “I wasn't causing it, Miss Scratch, I was working it out of your friend.  No one's in perfect shape, not even Celestia or Luna.  They run everything, so I'm sure there's plenty of stress one could wring out of them.” Vinyl looked back at Lotus, surprised.  “She’s kidding, yeah?  No way a plain old massage makes my friend shriek like Bon-Bon said she did.” Lotus shrugged, using her whole arm and upturned palms.  “Miss Redheart is our therapist.  What she does is not simple relaxation, but she goes deeper to where the hurt is.” “Really.”  Vinyl raised her shades and tucked them up on top of her head.  She held her hand out.  “May I?” Slightly confused, Redheart stared at her, then picked up on her request and laid her own hand down on Vinyl’s palm.  “What is it?” Hefting her palm, Vinyl cocked her head and smiled.  “I mean, you have really soft hands here.  Twenty-five bits says you can’t pull those noises out of me.” Redheart stared back at her, then withdrew her hand, stepped to one side, and cocked her head at the front desk.  “Do we have any other clients for the day, Miss Blossom?” Lotus made a show of checking the planner in front of her.  “There is no one currently here.  And no sessions until the evening.  Aloe will be handling those, if you were curious.  They're all of the, shall we say, holistic persuasion?” “I wasn't curious, but thank you.”  Redheart winked at her, then swung around to face Vinyl Scratch again.  “Tell you what.  We've got a perfectly good massage chair out here.  You get your shoes and socks off, and it'll be 30 bits if you make a loud enough noise that Aloe sticks her head out of the back to ask about it.  Deal?” Vinyl grinned, tucking her glasses higher into her shock of wild hair.  She had little black musical notes for earrings.  “You're on.”  Spinning around, she sat on the arm of the recliner to unlace her high-tops and kick off her white socks. Redheart glanced over to take in Lotus's amused look.  “What?” she said, pitching her voice nice and low.  She'd seen the headphones around Vinyl's neck and guessed that her hearing wasn't that strong.  “You'll get your share.” Lotus waved her hand in a shooing motion.  “Please.  All yours if you wring her dry.  If you convince her to sign up for a session of her own after, there'll be a bonus.” Grinning, Redheart shook her hands out and approached the now-lounging Vinyl.  “Very well, Miss Scratch.”  She pulled a nearby stool up and used the levers on the base of the recliner to raise Vinyl's bare feet up to a manageable level.  Thick tendons on this one, along with slightly curled toes and the rougher heel patches she had expected to see on Octavia.  Now here was a woman who spent a lot of time on her feet.  “ I won't be so rude as to do something that hurts you right off the bat.”  She patted an ankle, smiling.  “In fact, if there's anything that you'd rather I not touch, best to let me know right away.” “Hey, I'm good.”  Vinyl rolled her shoulders back and waggled a foot.  “Whatever you've got, bring it.” With a nod, Redheart cupped the side of Vinyl's pale foot and pressed a thumb in to test her sole.  “Well, let me see here.”  She wasn't sure about starting cold like this with a client, even one she was going to reduce to sobs.  It wasn't the responsible thing to do.  But she'd also seen Vinyl undo very tight laces on those sneakers and that meant there could be too much compression on her toes.  “Let's just stretch your toes first, to feel you out.” That part went fine, as Vinyl seemed perfectly relaxed beneath the tugging and slow twisting.  “Not bad,” she commented, flexing her toes. Redheart smiled at her.  “We are very professional here, Miss Scratch.” “Eh, call me Vinyl.”  She lazily flapped a hand on the arm of the recliner.  “And no need to hold back.” “Oh, of course.”  Redheart slipped her grip down a little lower, pressing her thumb into the middle of Vinyl's arch and cupping the top of her foot with her other hand to increase the pressure in the center of her foot.  “How about this?” Vinyl's head tilted back and she blew out a breath.  “Whooo.  That's, wow, that's something.” Nodding some more, Redheart began to walk her thumb up and then back down over Vinyl's sole.  “Keep breathing.  This may get more intense as we go.” “More?  You sure about hnnnNNNGGHH!”  Now Vinyl widened her eyes and clutched at the armrests with both hands as Redheart found a spot higher up.  “Owwwww!  Holy ...” “Ah-ha, there it is.”  Easing up on the pressure, Redheart curled the hand not holding Vinyl's foot into a loose fist and rolled her knuckles up and down.  “Bear with me, Vinyl.  This is something that needs work.” Vinyl looked as if she wanted to wrench herself out of Redheart's grip, but all she could do was twitch her hips in the depths of the massage chair as she was knuckled from toe to heel.  “Ahhh!  Owwowwwow!” Turning so she could tuck Vinyl's ankle beneath her arm, Redheart cupped her foot and dug in a little more.  Most people rarely thought about their feet, except when something hurt, and she had finally gotten beneath the surface numbness on Vinyl Scratch to uncover her tender spots. “You might need a proper session after this,” Redheart told her.  Spotting her toes curling, Redheart straightened them out again, keeping Vinyl from tucking them away to hide the ache in her tendons.  “If your left foot is as sore as this one, it might be best.”  She caught Lotus's grin and looked back over her shoulder at her customer. “Hahh.” Squirming, Vinyl winced as her foot trembled in Redheart's grasp.  “Maybe not?” “Oh, please, leaving you in this state would bring neither of us any pleasure.”  Redheart found the proper angle and used both thumbs to knead in.  She could feel the tension there at the ball of the foot and just as she applied a little more pressure, there was movement beneath the surface. The pop was more metaphorical than audible, and Vinyl's yelp had Lotus both hiding her laughter and looking concerned. Seconds later, the darkroom door rolled aside and Aloe leaned out, an identical expression of concern on her face.  “What is going on out here?” she asked, looking from Redheart and Vinyl to her twin sister.  “Are we holding torture sessions in the front lobby now?” Redheart unwound her arm from Vinyl's calf and patted her knee.  “First of all, that will be 30 bits.  Secondly, let's see about that other foot before I let you up.  You'll overbalance right now if you try to stand.” Looking shocked, Vinyl nodded.  Her cheeks appeared flushed, the same shade as her eyes, and she gingerly extended her other foot towards Redheart.  “Uh, yeah, sure.” Redheart could almost taste the milkshake she would be buying for herself later tonight.  Doing her best to not gloat, she wrapped her hand lightly around the bare instep, Vinyl gasping and quivering at the touch.  “Let's put you right, shall we?”