-Star Catching Girl-
(Brother Brown)
When the sun hit her face, Octavia opened her eyes, rolled out of bed, and groaned. She'd gotten barely an hour's sleep in the three days since her return to Ponyville, regardless of how hard she tried. After spending time sleeping in trains and hotel rooms in big cities, the silence of nights in a small village seemed almost deafening to her. Had it always been so quiet? She couldn't tell.
Still, it was refreshing to wake up ('wake up', as if she hadn't been awake for the entire night anyway) alone in the mornings. By some unspoken agreement, she and Vinyl hadn't seen each other since they'd gotten back; after all, they'd been in near-constant contact with each other for almost a week, and everypony needed a little time to themselves. It was telling that Octavia half-expected to find her sitting at the kitchen table when she came down, staring balefully into a bowl of cornflakes and doing the crossword in a glossy magazine. When your imagination started tricking you like that, it was time for a break.
Satisfied that Vinyl had not, in fact, broken into her kitchen and made merry with her cereal supply, Octavia poured herself a bowl, sat down at the table, and started thinking of what she was actually going to do. By far the biggest problem since she'd gotten back was filling the hours until news from Vinyl's manager trickled through; she was, after all, unemployed and unused to it. The first day she'd spent appraising her garden, rigorously feeding, de-weeding and watering, but it was only a small garden, and plants only needed so much attention. By the second day she was already running out of ideas; she'd spent time lounging around the house, cleaning the kitchen that she never used, rereading a few old books she'd inherited from the previous occupant, and eventually just going to bed a few hours early out of boredom. And all of that was after doing her usual practice one-and-a-half times over.
Today, she toyed idly with the idea of seeing if Lyra, Ditzy and perhaps even Cloudkicker were interested in a mare's night out. It had been a while since she'd really gotten together with them, and it was certain to be entertaining. But then, there'd be the obligatory gossiping session halfway through, and she'd have so much to explain – not only had she been fired, but she'd started a relationship and went on a trip around the country.
Happily, the decision was taken out of her hooves when she heard a knock at her door. Octavia fell still for a moment, concentrating on the sound; sure enough, it was a measure for measure percussive rendition of a recent pop song. She smiled. No need for a doorbell when your caller was a musician. She paused to run a brush through her mane before going to greet Vinyl.
“Wow. You're a wreck,” Vinyl greeted.
“Oh, sorry. The correct answer was, 'Good morning, Octavia. You look good today.' Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred bits,” she sighed, waving the DJ in.
Vinyl walked past her into the kitchen, and stared (balefully, of course) at Octavia's cornflakes. After a second, she nonchalantly sat down and began eating them. “Never said I didn't like it. Nothing wrong with a punk aesthetic. Especially not on you.”
Octavia sighed and poured herself another bowl. “Five points for a successful recovery. So, did you just come here to flirt and steal cereal, or has there been any news in regards to the job situation?”
“All of the above. I got word from my manager. She's in town, so I'm gonna meet her later today and get some info on what's happening. She says she wants you to come, too, but I'll leave it up to you.”
“Why wouldn't I want to come?” Octavia asked.
“Usually when I see my manager face to face, we go out drinking. It's like a tradition. Don't know if you're into that kind of thing,” Vinyl said, and momentarily paused, as if annoyed that she didn't.
“Well, I can always just have a glass or two and then beat a hasty retreat. Or we can talk business first and then I can let you two go drinking. I'm not much for it, myself. Outside of extenuating circumstances,” Octavia added, seeing Vinyl's eyes flick to the place on the counter where the wine bottles had been.
“That's cool. She's not free until six, though. You doing anything today? I liked that thing you did with the progressive genre changes back in Canterlot, so I've been working on a track using the idea since we got back. I've just about finished it, so I was looking for an opinion,” the unicorn said, her voice becoming more focused as she got to the subject of music.
“I'd love that. I haven't had the chance to hear you play privately before.”
“Well, it's more of a production track. I won't be mixing anything. I can if you want, though. I also wanted to get you to help me out with a few cello samples.”
“A jam session isn't quite as romantic, but it'll do. Why don't we go out, do something, grab some lunch and then go back to your house?”
“Sounds good,” the unicorn replied, before pausing. “…If I tell you something dumb, will you laugh at me?”
“Not if it's something you don't want me to. If it's a dumb joke, then maybe,” Octavia winked.
“…I never really realised how big my house is until yesterday. I woke up in the morning and the whole place was just empty. I only use the music room and my bedroom, so I never even bothered putting furniture in the rest of the place,” the unicorn shrugged, trying a touch too hard to be nonchalant. “I like your house better.”
“Well, I suppose it is a little more cosy. I'd say we could come back here instead of going to yours, but unfortunately, I have these things called neighbours, and they would almost certainly object to the noise we'd be making,” Octavia said, and pushed her bowl away. “Now, I'm going to go and shower, so I don't have to spend the day looking like a punk rocker. Before you ask, you may not join me.”
Vinyl smirked, and nudged her temple. “I wasn't going to. You're the one with that stuff on the brain.”
Octavia frowned, and looked over the conversation in her head; to her surprise, that was exactly what it looked like. It was probably nothing, she thought. But best to make hers a cold shower, just in case.
Ponyville's tavern (which was most definitely not a bar, the owner insisted, although he never really explained the difference) was...wooden. The floorboards were made of wood, the counter was made of wood, and the stools were made of wood. Some parts, like the darts board and the window frames, were made of a different flavour of wood. The only reason the mugs weren't made of wood was because everypony kept getting splinters in their lips.
To the citizens of Ponyville, however, that was just what their tavern was. If you took away the woodenness, it simply wouldn't be their tavern. And then where would they drink? It was an establishment that was loved for, despite and because of its flaws.
It was also loved for the fact that it was within a stone's throw of the region's best apple orchard, and had a tendency to use them for its own in-house alcoholic cider (served warm or cold as the customer desired). It bought pretzels en masse from Sugarcube Corner and warmed them up on hotplates when the customers rolled in, and there was always a pie of some kind baking in the oven. The barkeeps were strictly local, and paid to guide stragglers back to their houses. As the owner liked to say, you got three things when you came to the tavern: you got dinner, you got drunk, and you got home, which was all anypony could really ask.
It wasn't a busy evening when Vinyl and Octavia walked in. The likely faces were all there (as well as Berry Punch, who seldom wasn't), but the more excitable customers were evidently busy saving the world or some equally important pastime.
“So, what does your manager look like?” Octavia asked.
Vinyl took a moment to snap back to reality, her mind still on the afternoon's jam session, tumbling over notes and beats and chords. “She looks like my manager.”
“How helpful.”
“No, I'm serious. She goes out of her way to be inconspicuous so she can scout new talent easier. I'll know her when I see her,” the unicorn said. The 'probably' was only implied.
For the next few minutes Vinyl made her rounds of the tavern, giving each pony a once over and moving on to the next. She didn't bother being subtle about it. Octavia trailed behind her issuing quiet apologies to anypony who looked offended. After a few circuits, the unicorn pulled out a bar stool, motioned for Octavia to sit at the next one, turned to the mare on her other side and said, in a deliberate tone, “Hey, boss.”
“You got me,” the pony conceded. “Shall we talk business first, or are we drinking?”
Although she took a long, hard look at the mare, Octavia found it nearly impossible to describe her. There was no salient point about her, no one thing to identify her by; she looked a little bit like everypony else. If she were in a crowd, she'd be the one left of the middle with the blurred, nondescript face. She wore earrings, tiny gold ones, but that was the closest she got to standing out.
“Business. Octavia, this is my manager, Emi.”
“Good to meet you. I've seen you play before, but I don't think we've spoken,” the mare said, and extended a hoof for Octavia to shake. “I hear rumours that there's a romance going on between you two.”
“Er-”
“There is,” Vinyl answered bluntly.
Emi gave them a bright smile. “Oh, wonderful! It's been so long since you've had a love life. Do you mind if I tell the tabloids about this? The publicity would be insane.”
“No tabloids. You know the rules, boss.”
“Always worth a try, though,” she replied, still wearing the same smile. “Good luck to you two, by the way.”
“Ah…Thank you,” Octavia said, the uncertainty slipping through in her voice. For such a bland appearance, the impression the mare gave was powerful indeed: kind, very blunt, and cheerfully amoral. Something about the direct way she behaved and spoke was very close to how Vinyl was sometimes; Octavia wondered if the DJ had picked it up from her.
“So, business! I have news,” Emi began.
“Would that be good news, or bad news?” Octavia enquired.
“'All news is bad news for somepony',” Vinyl and Emi said together, Vinyl reciting it like a bored foal reading lines from a blackboard and Emi speaking like a wise old hermit.
“On one hoof, your main plan – getting the maestro to hire you again out of spite for his old schoolfriend in Canterlot – failed completely.”
Vinyl began to frown. Emi saw it and laughed. “I'm always surprised by how badly you take failure. It was nothing to do with you this time. The guy just had other things to worry about.”
“But this still leaves me without a job, does it not?” Octavia asked.
“Well, sort of,” Emi shrugged. “I'm fully capable of pulling a few strings and getting it back for you, and I wouldn't mind doing so, but I'm not going to. You know why?”
Octavia shook her head. Behind her back, she felt the warm glow of magic begin to braid her hair, but got the feeling it was more for her comfort than anypony else's.
“Because you'd only have to look for a new one when the place goes bust in six weeks.”
“Wait, what?” Octavia gasped. She'd known it wasn't exactly an affluent music hall, but bust?
“Oh, yeah. You wouldn't believe how far in the red that place is. Why did you think they made such a fuss about the night with all the rich patrons – the one you got kicked out for? They were trying to get some donations, extend the lifespan a bit.”
“You aren't saying it's Octavia's fault.” It was more a statement than a question, flat and toneless and full of smoke.
“Oh, no. She's not that important. Honestly, the place was beyond all hope. Maybe it would have lasted a couple of weeks more if she she'd stuck to the sheet music, but it was on its way out,” Emi shrugged. She paused and went through the menu, before adding as a belated afterthought: “No offence, of course.”
“None taken,” Octavia replied, more out of habit than anything else; her mind was still on the music hall. There had been no sudden lay-offs, no drop in the maintenance of the site. Certainly, the paint peeled from the walls in places, and the floorboards had been scuffed, and they never quite had enough chairs somehow, but it hadn't seemed in dire straights. “What caused all this?” she wondered aloud.
“Probably mismanagement. I didn't think about it at the time, but I always wondered why you were always playing classical in an area where folk and techno are way bigger,” Vinyl replied, nudging her temple. “Said it before, didn't I? Your maestro's an idiot.”
“I shall miss him. The more idiots there are in the business, the less I have to compete with,” Emi sniffed, before returning to the same easy, cheerful tone she had been using throughout the conversation. “Anyway, I should be getting back to my accommodations. I need to take stock of today's changes in the industry. Do let me know what you decide to do, Octavia; I'm sure I can be persuaded to help.”
She pulled out a business card and wrote an address on it in loopy, elegant hoofwriting, before passing it over to Octavia. Then, she turned to Vinyl. “We should have at least one drink before I go. Tradition.”
“Tradition,” the DJ agreed, and ordered two glasses of Sweet Apple Scrumpy. “You in, Octavia?”
“I'll pass. It's your tradition, after all; I don't want to intrude. What's the story behind it, anyway?” she asked.
“To put it simply, I met Vinyl back when she was quite into the party scene. I wanted to scout her, but when I asked if she was interested in a manager, she told me that she wouldn't work for anypony she couldn't drink with. Long story short, we both went out and got very drunk, and I've been her manager since then.”
“Bottoms up, boss,” Vinyl said, and unceremoniously drained her tankard in one go. After a moment's hesitation, Emi did likewise; upon finishing, she shivered then winced.
“There,” she said, giving her empty tankard a sour, almost paranoid look. “I shall be in town tomorrow, and moving off after that. Keep me informed.” With that, she stood up and left, never looking back.
“Don't worry,” Vinyl said, seeing Octavia's look of concern. “She doesn't actually like the whole drinking thing – before she cleaned up and joined the music industry, she was a pretty bad drunk. When we drink together…it's like a trust thing, I guess. She makes a personal sacrifice to keep me on her payroll, so I know I'm worth more than a payslip. Maybe that's weird.”
“No. It's just the way you two work, I suppose. But, my job… Oh, Vi. What should I do?”
Vinyl nudged her temple, and stared into the bottom of her tankard. The flow of thought through her mind was almost palpable. But, even as the tavern grew ever noisier, Vinyl said nothing. Perhaps, Octavia realised, it was because she didn't like the answer.