//------------------------------// // Octavia, Chapter 11: Octy's Eight // Story: Never Miss A Beat // by TaleweaverTheUnicorn //------------------------------// “So, that is the present situation.” Octavia tossed back the shot of vodka, prompting the filly across from her to do likewise, immediately choking on it. “For Celestia’s sake, it’s like you’ve never been drunk before.” “No, that’s definitely not the problem.” Tradewinds wheezed, smacking herself in the chest with an elbow. “This crap just tastes like gasoline! Where the heck did it come from?” “My family farm.” Octavia stared back cooly, gently lifting the bottle in the crook of her wrist. “Another?” It wasn’t really a question. “. . . Sure! Did I say gasoline? Haha, everypony knows gasoline is delicious!” Trade slumped, shaking her head like a dog. “. . . So be straight with me. Vinyl really scored with the actual Princess?” “It appears that way.” Octavia took a long sip. “And a Queen, perhaps.” “Well. Fudge.” Trade sighed, and tossed back the glass once again. She let her head slowly droop, muzzle first, to the table. Octavia wordlessly refilled the glass.  “Fudge indeed. However, in this instance, it may be a blessing in disguise.” Octavia set down the bottle, crossing her hooves on the table between them. “Since Her Highness might be a potential addition to our little two mare crusade.” “You think so?” Trade glared at the glass, staring it down like it had insulted her. “Is she gonna care that much?” “I happen to know from scuttlebutt that she once flew to Ponyville because her student had a temper tantrum.” Octavia pressed, leaning forward. “I think there is a good chance. That is, as long as you yourself agree.” “I hate agreeing to stuff formally, it always goes awry.” Tradewinds ran a hoof through her already too spiky mane. Octavia followed it.  “And yes, I realize that’s literally my job. Don’t say it. I have to say, though, that you seem to have become very Vinyl-ish yourself. Hard drinking, calling up strange mares, causing problems for the nobility. . .” “You say that as though you are either complaining or disparaging.” Octavia sipped her cup, casting a cool glance at the pegasus. “If you have tired of my company, or have issues with Vinyl, I will cheerfully take myself elsewhere-” “Whoa, sheesh, it’s just a joke! Obviously I don’t want that, c’mon.” Tradewinds flared out her wings, which were, admittedly, quite large and pretty. Octavia’s eyes traced them, and the powerful limbs they were attached to. “And yes, I’m in. I want to help Vinyl. Maybe I even need to help her. Even if she never wants to see me, I need to do something to make up for how bad I blew it, and no time like the present.” “Excellent. In that case. . .” Octavia tapped her hooves. “I believe you are familiar with the attack on Canterlot? Royal wedding, huge mess?” “Sure. Yeah. Why?” “I have reason - multiple reasons- to believe that the same villain is at play here.” “You can’t be serious. That Changeling Queen is after Vinyl?” Tradewinds wheezed out a laugh, banging her hoof repeatedly on the table. Octavia waited patiently for the storm to pass. Trade slowly wound down into a concerned stare. “. . . You’re serious?” “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Her considerable shapeshifting talents. Talents that are resistant to usual methods of detection.” Octavia stamped on the plush carpet without taking her eyes off Trade. The Pegasus wriggled uncomfortably under the glare. “Some degree of mind-affecting magic. And a large amount of insight and acting talent that allows her to form herself into the perfect partner for a potential victim. I don’t know why she’s interested in Vinyl, she told me plainly that this is business for her, so perhaps she’s being paid. It matters little in the grand scheme of things, however. The bottom line is that Vinyl is in trouble, and we are the only ponies who are capable of helping.” “Sheesh. I dunno, this is. . . well above my paygrade. But it is Vinyl. . .” Trade hemmed and hawed, nibbling on the tip of a feather. Octavia growled softly, her ears flattening against her skull. “Whoa, hey, chill, please! Of course I’ll help. I just don’t know what exactly I can do. . . I’d have to think-” “Do not, please. You are clearly not very good at it. You are here to look pretty and give me legitimacy as I present this case to the princess.” Octavia hid a sigh of relief, slapping the ancient book closed. “We go tomorrow, first thing. I suggest you rent yourself a room and sleep off the vodka you are clearly too uncultured to appreciate.” “Okay, three things.” Trade jabbed a hoof upwards thrice, a vaguely offended look about the muzzle. “First, Ouch. I’m a Feather 500 company head, I think I think just fine. Two, I think I’m more handsome than pretty, and I’m proud of that~” She preened, smoothing over her rakish mane cut with a slick hoof.  “Acknowledged.” Octavia stared expectantly. “. . . and three? You are failing spectacularly to sell me on your supposed Feather 500 mental prowess.” “Can it! It’s just this gasoline. The, ahem, delicious, delicious gasoline I can’t stop drinking!” Trade rapped the table, flapping her wings nervously. “Look, can’t I just crash on your couch or something? I don’t feel up to wandering Canterlot right now, and this place is sorta. . . pricey.” “Hah! Did you not just furiously brag about your company? You can afford it.” Octavia guffawed, pushing herself to her hooves. “I’m a savvy buisinesspony specifically because I don’t waste my bits.” Trade hovered backwards, keeping herself in Octavia’s view. “C’mon, Tavi. Pretty please? Cherries, the whole nine?” “Fine. If you will remain out of sight and silent. I need my rest for tomorrow.” “Won’t even know I’m here. Unless you want to~” Trade winked and rolled over in her chair, curling into a tiny ball of feathers and fur. Octavia’s eyes rolled of their own accord. How did she find herself in the company of such strange fillies? She moved towards the bedroom, snapping up the vodka jug in her mouth as she went. In typical fashion, she had just shed her tie and gotten prepared to sleep when a knock sounded at the door. Also typically, she contemplated ignoring it. Unfortunately, she was just tipsy enough that her brain was able to insist, foolishly, that it might be a distraught Vinyl. And so, with laborious steps, she made her way to the entrance, and pulled the door open. The air pressure equalized, and it seemed to take Octavia’s breath with it. The pegasus that stood before her was not Vinyl, but she was striking. She bore an asymmetric mop of blonde mane, one side loose, the other tied in a traditional pegasus braid, matching her tail, a short cut shock in her bangs was dyed a beautiful sky blue. Her coat and feathers were a soft, flowery yellow, and her wings were ruffled, but long, and elegantly shaped. This radiant filly smiled nervously, opened her mouth, and asked; “Ah, hello Miss Octavia. Is Miss Vinyl Scratch here with you, by any chance?” “No, she’s not.” Octavia felt embarrassingly drunk and unkempt, and really, truly, did not want to talk about this, particularly with whoever this floozy was. “Why would you ask such a thing?” “Oh. Well, the front desk said you were booked here with a filly when I asked after you, but I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed.” She didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Even a salacious look would be better than pure disappointment at the lack of Vinyl. And the disregard for her own presence. “I realize now I know very little about you except for what Vinyl told me. And that my sister adores your music and wanted me to pass along her appreciation for your original compositions.” “Well, I thank your sister for her impeccable taste.” Octavia tried to inflect the statement in such a way that implied And no thanks to you for disturbing me. “But you could not be more incorrect. There is no Vinyl or any other filly in here. Now, if you’ll pardon me-” “No other filly, huh? I see how it is. Who is- Whoa, hello there gorgeous. Do those wings go all the way down?” Trade leapt clear over Octavia’s head, casually colliding with and then leaning against the doorframe, one hoof worrying a loose bang.  “She was asking after Vinyl, actually.” Octavia said, sharply, as the radiant pegasus giggled. “Which we don’t know anything about, do we? So, if you’re quite done. . .” “You too, huh? Well, you- OW!” Trade winced as Octavia slammed the door on her midriff. “Some ponies, sheesh. I was just saying, this filly has the look of somepony who just got Scratched with extreme prejudice.” “You cannot possibly know that by looking at her.” Octavia glared. “Maybe you can’t. But check it, she’s totally Vinyls type, she’s all dolled up to slay at like 11pm, prime club time, and-” Trade caught the door on her wing as Octavia tried to slam it again. “And! She came up here to pester you even assuming you and Vinyl were booked into a hotel together, so. . .” “Ah, well. . .” The newcomer grinned broadly and slightly sheepishly. “This may not have been the most well thought out course of action in my life. . .” “Then lie and say she’s wrong, you idiot!” Octavia snapped, slapping a hoof to her already bruised forehead. “Don’t buy into her smug insight! She’s just making it all up. Trade, will you either get back inside or go outside fully to flirt, so I can slam this moon-cursed door properly?” “Octavia, maybe we should just hear her out. C’mon, I’m sure you have gasoline enough for three fillies-” “Not on your life, this is thrice distilled, pure potato, small batch only-” “Thank goodness for that. Seriously, I’d rather drink gryphon gin-” “No, I didn’t come here to drink. Just to check on her.” The filly nodded politely at the bickering pair. “Tonight was the second show in as many weeks she’s canceled, and I just wanted to make sure she was alright. So please, don’t put yourself out on my account.” “Canceled gigs, eh?” Trade glanced at Octavia, who slammed the door on her wing again. “You think that could be the bug bit- GAH! Enough with the door- OW!”  “That’s enough, Trade. Sorry, Miss, we cannot help you.” Octavia clamped her jaws around Trade’s tail and yanked her back inside. Most unfortunately, the filly managed to slip by the rapidly slamming door and step inside. Octavia blinked, her beleaguered mind still processing the physics of the act. “Perhaps. . .” The filly said, and removed her bracelet, blossoming from stunning filly to Celestial Princess. “I can help you, instead.”