//------------------------------// // Manners - Terrasora // Story: The Jazzy Fillyfooling Group Collab // by The Princess Rarity //------------------------------// A table dotted with red, a fork coated with the remains of its last victim, a satisfied belch from the pony who had just committed an atrocity. Octavia looked on in horror as Vinyl finished her meal. The unicorn leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs and picking at a piece of spaghetti lodged in her teeth. “Great meal, Octy. Still don’t know how you cook like that.” Vinyl Scratch got to her hooves, walking into the living room and flopping onto the couch. Octavia didn’t even move. She had expected a far more pleasant evening with her fillyfriend, some nice conversation a few jokes, and then some dessert. A perfectly good chocolate cake gone to waste, Octavia thought to herself. That mare will be asleep before I finish my own meal. The cellist glanced at her full plate. Her mind was filled with the sound of slurped noodles and the sight of a lonely and ignored napkin. I’ll never be able to look at spaghetti the same way. Octavia stored her meal in the refrigerator; Vinyl would eventually find her way to it. Indeed, it would probably be gone within the hour. But this time, Octavia thought in her most determined voice, Vinyl will eat rather than inhale her food. *** Vinyl sat in front of the meal table. Well, it was at the moment only a table, considering that there was no meal on it. Instead, Octavia had laid out an assortment of forks, spoons, knives, and various colored pieces of cloth. The grey mare was rubbing her eyes. “Okay, let’s go over this again.” She picked up the left-most fork. “That’s a fork,” said Vinyl with a grin. “And that’s the fourth time you’ve made that joke!” “Aaaaaw, c’mon Octy. Remember that time you held up a spoon? That was fun.” Octavia sighed, Honestly, what was I expecting? “Well, Vinyl that was a salad fork.” “Octy, they’re all salad forks. We eat pretty much nothing but salad. And when we don’t eat salad, we eat pizza. Oooooo, which one’s the pizza fork?” “There is no pizza fork!” “Lame.” The cellist rubbed her eyes again. “Okay then Vinyl, let’s make a deal. If you can prove that you can maintain your manners I will treat you to a restaurant of your choosing.” Vinyl gasped excitedly. “Let’s go to Shakey’s! There’s one around here that still has games. And beer! Imagine it Octy, an arcade with BEER!” “That wasn’t exactly what I meant—“ “Salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork (I would definitely use that), dinner knife, fish knife (but I’m not a pegasus so I wouldn’t use that), salad knife, soup spoon, fruit spoon, fish fork (still not a pegasus), and waaaay over there is the butter knife.” The DJ pointed at each utensil in turn, Octavia’s jaw dropping further and further at each name. Vinyl looked up excitedly, “Now we have to go! Hurry up, before the place gets too packed!” She dashed up to her room, grabbing two scarves and running back down. Vinyl wrapped one of the scarves around a flabbergasted Octavia, kissed the cellist on the cheek and then ran outside. “What… What just happened?” stammered Octavia. Vinyl’s voice carried into the room. “C’mon Octy, move your sexy flank!” The cellist shook herself out of her daze, again reminded to never ever underestimate Vinyl Scratch.