Octavia tapped her hoof in time with the beat, feeling her neck extend forward as she braced for the drop. She let her head begin to bob as it did, the release of tension echoed throughout her body. Delightful. She had grown to appreciate the complexity of electronic melodies over the past couple weeks, particularly when they weren’t too bassy. Just enough. She pulled out a notepad, thinned down from repeated use, and slid a note to the bartender.
“I do not suppose you have chocolate milk?” She wrote. The bartender gave her a look of pure disgust, and shook her head. Octavia sighed heavily, and just tapped her glass. Straight vodka, then. Potato mash, naturally. None of that wheat or rye based nonsense. She accepted the new glass and turned to face the stage again.
Vinyl truly came alive behind the deck. Vinyl on the piano was beautiful. Vinyl in her element was radiant. Octavia had mistaken the shadow play on the wall of the allegorical cave for the light of the true sun. The tension and release she could build was masterful, pulling Octavia along like she was afloat in a storm. Vinyl was-
She bit her lip, and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt further over her head. No. She must not get too caught up in the moment. She must remain hidden, tucked away. She was here for inspiration only. Seeing Vinyl, beautiful and wild, was only a marvelous bonus. She sipped at her beverage, forcing herself to close her eyes and ‘vibe.’ Perhaps it was the breakneck pace of the shows, but Vinyl had improved since Octavia had last been able to attend. Her track transitions were nigh seamless, dropping not one whit of tension as the music changed. Judging from the crowd around Octavia, everypony was more than pleased with the energy, too.
Octavia took mental notes, but she was nearing the limit of what she could glean from the shows. Regardless of how Vinyl was feeling, she got up on stage, grinning, dancing, and playing like she was a filly at hearths warming. Every time. Despite what Stellar had said about her behavior in the in between.
With an audible groan from the audience in question, Vinyl’s last piece dropped to a soothing post climax lull, and then slipped resonantly into silence. Octavia allowed herself a sigh of disappointment, and turned back to the bar. One more round, and then back to her empty apartment. She was almost looking forward to traveling again, even a hotel room felt more alive than her home sans Parish.
“Hey, filly.” A voice, raspy, with a hint of a Cloudsdallian accent. A pegasus, about her age, lithe and strong, pulled herself up on the stool next to her. Octavia cooly raised an eyebrow at the newcomer, who wilted slightly. “Uh, can I buy you that round?”
“. . . You may.” Octavia said, cautiously. “As long as you understand that is all your bits will be buying.”
“Yowch. Fair, but ouch.” The pegasus laughed. She had a nice laugh, ringing with genuine joy. “As it happens, I’m not after that. Though if you change your mind la- Err, never mind. I’m mostly just here because my misery loves company, and I thought yours might too.”
“Who says I am miserable?” Octavia took the refilled glass, and took a long sip.
“You’ve got the look of a pony with an itch you just can’t-” She winked, a foalish grin stretching her muzzle. “Scratch. No judgment, it takes one to know one. I’m Tradewinds, by the way.”
“Hello.” Octavia said stiffly.
“Yeah, hi. Been meaning to talk to you at the last two shows I saw you at, but never had the opportunity, I guess.” Tradewinds rambled, leaning backwards, balancing against the bar on her wings. “I guess that’s kinda telling about me, but you were also there, so, not like you can judge me too harshly, I reckon. She’s a savant, right? Nothing quite like it.”
“We could be biased.” Octavia snorted. “But. . . yes. I had little taste for this genre of music before. Now I find myself enjoying it. Odd, indeed.”
“Mmm. You won’t find many like her. Neon Lights maybe, but he doesn’t have the same passion.” Tradewinds sighed. “So. . . What's your name?”
“Octavia.” Octavia said, slowly. She could not put her hoof on it, but something about this pony rubbed her the wrong way.
“Octavia. . . Octy?” Tradewinds had the look of a pony struggling to put two and two together. “She mentioned you.”
“Did she?” That got Octavia’s attention. An uncomfortable sensation built in her stomach. That could not be good.
“Uh, yeah. Not to assume, but. . . She mentioned another jealous mare dumping her, and then you in the same breath as me and her mom, which. . .” Tradewinds winced. “Not a flattering comparison, to put it mildly.”
“Her mother? Harpsichord Delight, of the Canterlot philharmonic?”
“Well sure, but she’s also Duchess of North Canterlot. Kind of a big deal.”
“What?” Octavia blinked, looked down at her glass, and then cleaned her ear with the tip of a hoof. “Say that again?”
“Duchess, yeah. Vinyl’s nobility.”
Octavia let her head droop into her waiting hooves. That single statement explained so much. Octavia herself had been scarred enough by mere brushes with such elitism. She couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for Vinyl. Rebellious Vinyl. Sensitive Vinyl. Affection-starved Vinyl.
“That explains what happened between us.” Octavia said, finally.
“Yeah? You get possessive?” Tradewinds winced. “That’s a big no no with her. Learned that the hard way.”
“Is that why you two separated?”
“Uh, well, not exactly.” Tradewinds looked away. “It’s complicated, right? You know how it goes.”
“Tell me.” Octavia insisted. “It could help me to understand the circumstances around my own mistakes.”
“Listen, it’s kinda personal-”
“So is everything I have told you, including my very name.” Octavia stood, squaring down the mare. “From the tiny scraps I have pried from Vinyl, she seems rather traumatized about it, and I would know why.”
“Uh, in the weeks before we split, we got in a big fight because she was spending time with a stallion. I thought it was one thing, which it really wasn’t, but I got snippy and she absolutely wrecked me about it.” Tradewinds slumped. “And then I made a huge mistake a few weeks later and . . . yeah.”
“You cheated on her?” Octavia guessed. Her mind was buzzing, chemically and otherwise.
“No, worse.” Tradewinds took a breath. “But it’s a bit of a story.”
“I don’t believe either of us have ponies to get home to.” Octavia said, perhaps a bit more cruelly than intended. “May as well. I would strongly prefer to avoid repeating your mistakes.”
“Seems like I’m acting against my own interests there.” Tradewinds narrowed her somewhat bloodshot eyes.
“I myself insulted a mare she had been intimate with, and may have caused her to think I was disgusted with her proclivities and attempting to change who she was.” Octavia said, dully. “There. Now tell me your story.”
“. . . Are you disgusted with her proclivities?”
“What?” Octavia blinked. “I am here chasing after her. My only previous intimate partners have been mares. Certainly I am not.”
“Just because you’re that way doesn’t mean you aren’t kinda grossed out by yourself too.” Tradewinds said, in what she clearly thought was a sagacious tone. “Or maybe it’s the number of mares that’s the problem?”
“Hm. Perhaps.” Octavia filed that away for later examination. “I am a demanding mare, that much is true. I expect a great deal from myself, and others.”
“You seem kinda angry, too.” Tradewinds snickered.
“It’s something I am working on.” Octavia glared, remembering Vinyl’s original nickname for her. “Now, your story? Or am I merely getting fleeced for mine?”
“Sure, sure, whatever.” Tradewinds sighed, rubbing circles on one hoof with the other. “So, I met Vinyl at some kind of soiree. I was there with my brother trying to drum up investors for our business. When I first met her, I had no idea who she was, I was just taking a break from brown nosing to get my flirt on. I doubt you’ve ever seen that side of her, but she’s a perfect lady when she wants to be.”
“I have seen a glimpse of it.” Octavia pondered, remembering the ice queen Vinyl had briefly become during their fight. “Even still, I can barely imagine it, to be honest.”
“Heh, yeah. She’s definitely changed.” Tradewinds continued. “Anyway, it was irresistible to me. We snuck out of the party to hit up a bar. We did this a couple times, I’d fly her out so her mum didn’t know. I actually introduced her to EDM, for the record. Anyway, originally I was half hanging out with her in the hopes she could help me with a sponsor, but as you know, she grows on you.”
“Like mold.” Octavia smiled, despite herself.
“Uh, yeah. Guess I don’t have to hype her up to you. She was amazing, basically. We started dating after a while. I don’t know if you got to that stage. . ?” Tradewinds waited for Octavia’s headshake before continuing. “Oof. Sorry. Well, we dated for a few months. We were getting serious. At least, I was. That’s when that thing with the stallion happened. She’d always been flirty with other mares at clubs and stuff, and I saw her with him . . . Hindsight, no duh that her mum set her up with the guy, but at the time. . . Well, at the time I was an idiot. We had that fight, and right as we were starting to make up, her mom found us. Or maybe she already knew?”
“She, um, confronted us. Me, mostly. Read me the riot act, talking about Vinyl’s duties as future Duchess and so on.” Tradewinds took a deep, shuddering breath. “She told me I wasn’t worthy of her, which, like, no crap, but ow. And she said that she knew we were unhappy, and that it’d never work out, but if I hastened the end along. . . she’d give me my startup money, in full. That business was my dream, and I-”
Tradewinds cut off, suddenly. She clutched her face. It took Octavia a moment to realize she had struck the pony. So blind was her fury that her hoof had moved on its own. When Tradewinds turned back, she had a sardonic grin on her muzzle.
“Yep, that’s about what I expected. I’d like to say, though, Miss Philharmonica, famed soloist, I’d like to see you give up your career for anypony, even Vinyl.” She said, bitterly.
“That is what is referred to as a false dichotomy.” Octavia growled. “When I quit Horseshoepin’s quartet, a pony offered me much the same kind of choice. Were I to leave, I’d be ruined. Were I to stay, riches and dreams. I did not take either option, and behold, my solo career blossomed.”
“Huh. She said almost the exact same thing.” Tradewinds sighed. “Whatever. That's the story. If your point is that I screwed up, believe me, nobody knows that more than me.”
“Yes, you did ruin your relationship, but you ruined more than that!” Octavia’s temper was running away with her, as mystery after mystery revealed itself in her frantic mind. “Vinyl carries that scar with her everywhere she goes! She hoards money, likely terrified of needing it to retain relationships! She starves herself rather than buy breakfast, then throws money at everyone she knows.”
“It’s. . . not as bad as all that, is it?”
“She purchased me a thousand-bit cutie mark monogrammed cello bow. It was made from ironwood, horn carved by Everfree deer.” Octavia said, flatly. “All as a thank you for getting her a taxi home when she was drunk exactly once. When I rescued her from sleeping outside one evening, she tried to replace my whole cello, and when I balked, she got me a starspider silk tie instead. Another thousand-bit expense.”
“Buck me.” Tradewinds said, quietly, after a long moment. Her feathers utterly deflated.“I really screwed her up, didn’t I?”
Octavia let Tradewinds stew in her own self-loathing, turning her attention back to her drink. Her fury was ebbing, but only slightly. Rather than fade completely, it turned inward, at herself. In hindsight, this was painfully obvious. How had she not figured this out? Four and four make eight.
The silence between her and Tradewinds stretched. Both sipped their drinks. Neither moved away from the other. It seemed like misery truly did love company. Octavia was just considering breaking the silence when a pair of hooves tapped them each on the back.
“Miss Tradewinds. Miss Philharmonica. What a pleasant surprise.” A shiver crept up Octavia’s spine at the voice. It was colder than a Ponyville winter. “What brings the two of you here? As if I need even ask.”
Octavia turned about. Before her stood a presence to rival a princess, emanating from the perfectly sculpted and groomed body of a small unicorn. Harpsichord Delight? Here? Why? She was flanked by two stallions, a vast butler and a waifish masculine ideal who could only be her husband. Tradewinds seemed as lost for words as Octavia was, neither mare said anything, at least not quickly enough.
“Convenient, as it turns out. I came here to speak with Vinyl, but I would like a word with both of you as well. Perhaps in my limo?” She turned on her hooves, marching out without even the pretense of waiting for an answer. Her butler remained behind, the better to shepherd the two mares. Tradewinds and Octavia glanced at each other as they were politely but inexorably ushered outside.
The Duchess’ limo was parked across the entirety of the entrance, and was watched by two unicorn mares in black glasses and blacker jackets, with barely visible weaves concealing coat-of-plate. Bodyguards? Octavia suddenly felt like she had her first day of conservatory; wildly out of her depth. The right hoof mare clicked open the door for them with her magic, allowing them to step up into a vehicle that could have passed for a small apartment. The Duchess was pouring amber liquid from a bottle shaped like the moon, craters and all. The three small glasses she poured likely cost more than Octavia’s gala dress.
“Fillies. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the sides of the room, while she sat at the end, in the position of power. “I know you’re both busy, so I will cut to the chase. Tradewinds, you are coming dangerously close to reneging on our deal.”
“She asked for me.” Tradewinds said, defensively. Her voice was defiant, but she couldn’t meet the Duchess’ eyes. “Am I not allowed to respond if she does?”
“I let that occasion pass unremarked because she initiated it. The obsessive attendance of her work afterwards, however, is unacceptable.” Harpsichord floated over the glass of brandy, a somewhat innocuously threatening motion. Tradewinds took it, but did not drink. “Or did you no longer have need of my patronage?”
“Perhaps I’m thinking it was a mistake to accept it in the first place.” Tradewind’s eyes were locked on the carpet. Harpsichord’s own narrowed.
“That is your prerogative.” She said, cooly. “Consider, however, that I have it on Vinyl’s own authority, as of moments ago, that she would never consider you as a partner again. Weigh that in your mind as well. No need to answer, your presence or lack thereof at Ivory’s next show should be enough.”
“. . . Understood.” Tradewinds sipped her drink, wincing.
“You may go now.” Harpsichord turned away from Tradewinds. It was as if the pony had ceased to exist. The Duchess refocused her attention on Octavia as the defeated pegasus slunk from the vehicle. “Now, Miss Philharmonica. May I first say it is an honor to see you again. Your last performance in Canterlot, the Lunar Serenades? Beautiful. I nearly wept to hear it.”
“That is. . . kind of you?” Octavia searched the mare’s face for truth, and found no answers. She took a sip from her own glass. She suppressed a wince. Truly undrinkable. Vinyl clearly came by her alcoholism honestly.
“If it is not too forward of me, I would give you my card.” Harpsichord produced it in a puff of magic. “Your talents are more than worthy of my orchestra, and I would be pleased to offer you both orchestral and solo positions on our performances.”
“Oh my. I will. . . consider that most generous offer.” Octavia tucked the card into her tie, overworked mind churning. What did this mean? Was this her offer as well? Was she also to be tempted away from Vinyl by promises of fame and success?
“And on that note, let us discuss my daughter.” Harpsichord drained her own glass, daintily fixing her lipstick with a twist of magic. “I admit, I was pleasantly surprised to see you two together at first, and more so for later encounters. Vinyl, however, has informed me that you are no longer en flagrante, yes?”
“We, ahem, never were?” Octavia fought and lost to a blush.
“And yet here you are.” Harpsichord’s bulldozer-like stare pressed Octavia flat, squeezing her secrets from her.
“W-well, I have interest in her, I suppose, even still.” Octavia wriggled uncomfortably under the gaze, struggling to retain some scrap of her dignity.
“Excellent.” Harpsichord smiled. There was no warmth or happiness there, only a smug satisfaction. “Then pray continue. I suspect Vinyl may be more invested in her marriage prospects after my meeting with her moments ago, so you will have competition. However, should you need my assistance with your courtship, you need only ask. You are my favorite horse in this race, I admit.”
“I- Thank you?” Octavia’s head spun. To call this unexpected would be to call a dragon an iguana. This had blindsided her with the force of an army of charging minotaurs, which then took up residence in the china shop that was her mind. This would be helpful, certainly. . . but did she want to win Vinyl back this way? It felt dishonest, or disingenuous at the least.
“It is no trouble at all, my dear.” Harpsichord poured another glass of the vile liquid for herself. Octavia shook her head violently when she proffered one to her. “Do you require transport?”
“No! No, I should walk this off.” Octavia set her thankfully empty glass down and stood, then paused at the door. “Actually, I have one remaining question.”
“Perhaps I have an answer.”
“When Vinyl and I fought, there was a pony at the heart of the conflict. She was apparently in charge of preparing the Canterlot garden party.” Octavia explained, carefully watching the Duchess.
“Raven Inkwell is in charge of the Garden Party this year.” Harpsichord raised an eyebrow. “And she and Vinyl are quite close, as sisters should be. How did she cause such a conflict?”
“No, not- Inkwell herself told me that this pony was in charge.” Octavia blinked, confused. “Tall, bluish unicorn, Canterlot ancestry. “Her name was Astral Brilliance. She and Vinyl seemed. . . close.”
“Yet another conquest of my daughter’s wild living.” Harpsichord waved a hoof dismissively. “Perhaps Inkwell hired her as a party planner?”
“Inkwell seemed to defer to her.” Octavia shook her head. “Even Princess Twilight spoke to her as if she were a noble. If she is, you must know her, no?”
“There is no Astral Brilliance in the peerage.” Harpsichord said, bluntly. “As far as I know, this pony does not exist.”