Octavia Philharmonica, as she had done so many times in the past, awoke in her bed. What made this particular awakening so special, however, was that she didn’t begin her day with the usual condemnation of all things morning-related. This is mostly due to the fact that it was no longer morning when Octavia finally woke up.
It was one in the afternoon.
The cellist stared at the clock on her wall, marveling silently at her sleeping ability. She also felt slightly disgusted with herself, but that feeling was pleasantly covered by 15 or so hours of sleep.
Octavia stretched luxuriously, taking a certain satisfaction out of the cracking sound her joints made. I should sleep in more often. It’s a rather nice sensation. Her eyes, still slightly clouded with sleep, settled on her double bass.
The cellist sighed. No practice today. I have to spend the next twenty-four hours doing essentially nothing. She flopped back into her bed, drawing the covers around her. I might as well just go back to sleep.
Well… there’s no scheduled practice. A small voice in Octavia’s mind made her sit up again.
I mean, continued the voice, I don’t see a reason not to practice today simply because I’m not reporting in to Harpo or Vinyl. Indeed, we’ll be taking an initiative that most other ponies will commend.
With a grin, Octavia sprung from her bed. The voices in my head can be exceedingly logical! She paused for a moment, thinking over her statement. I’m sure that there’s a better wording for that.
About half an hour later, Octavia stood in her living room, carefully balancing herself against her double bass’ weight. She had forgone breakfast, deciding that food played second fiddle to practice. Indeed, the grey mare had argued with herself before deciding that hygiene was slightly more important than practice. But only slightly.
It’s not as if I’m directly disobeying Vinyl, Octavia reasoned. She never said that we couldn’t practice today, only that we wouldn’t be holding a formal practice. As it stands, I am not holding a formal practice. I’m merely trying to kill some time. Besides, we’ll be playing in the Lighthouse Café tomorrow! What pony in their right mind wouldn’t be practicing? Doubts momentarily put aside, Octavia straightened her sheet music, which was more a formality than a necessity, and put her bow to the strings.
There was a knock at the door.
The grey mare visibly winced and threw a glare at the door. She laid her bass on its side and walked to the door, grumbling all the while. “Why does the universe hate me? I am placed in ironic situations on a nearly daily basis. This never happened when I was in the Conservatory.” Octavia painted over her annoyance with indifference and opened the door.
Vinyl lifted a hoof. “Yo.”
“Vinyl,” said Octavia with a wry smile. “Of course.”
The DJ arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you not happy to see me, Octy?” She pouted and took off her glasses, revealing her widened and slightly teary eyes. “Don’t—Don’t you love me?”
Octavia sighed. “It simply means that the universe has a rather drab sense of humor. One that is directed towards me, apparently.”
Vinyl nodded, putting her shades back on in one practiced motion. “I know that feel. But don’t worry, the one and only Vinyl Scratch is here to make it all better! Have you had lunch yet?”
Octavia smiled sheepishly. “Well, not in a sense. You could say that I’ve only just woken up and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
The other mare gaped. “You slept in?! I didn’t even sleep in today! Not that I didn’t try, but Harpo showed up and—Well, the important part is that you got more sleep than I did.”
The cellist arched an eyebrow. “I enjoy sleep as much as the next pony, Vinyl.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Vinyl mentally breathed a sigh of relief. “So, can I treat you to a breakfast-slash-lunch… thing?” She grinned hopefully.
“Brunch?” offered the cellist.
“Yeah, breakfast-lunch thing.”
Octavia glanced back into her home.
The DJ’s grinned wavered slightly. “Is that a maybe? Should I take off my glasses again? I’m really cute when I take off my glasses.” She chuckled, trying to cover up her nervousness.
The cellist closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Vinyl, but there are some rather important things that I have to attend to.”
Vinyl’s ears drooped, but she tried to keep her voice bright. “Oh, well ya gotta do what ya gotta do. I mean, if it’s important… I’ll be leaving then.” She turned and walked a few steps.
Octavia re-entered her home and closed the door.
Vinyl kept walking, kicking at any leaves or pieces of litter in her path. “It was a stupid idea anyway,” she muttered to herself. “She’s been working really hard; Tavi probably just wants to relax for a day or something. I mean, she even slept in!”
A balled up piece of paper hit the DJ.
“Ow!” she cried, more out of shock than pain. “Great, now somepony’s throwing things at me! WELL, YOU CAN GO TO HELL!” she shouted at the general direction the ball had come from.
She levitated the projectile. “If I cast a strong enough ‘Return’ spell, this thing will probably get the asshole right in the face.” She turned it over and found, barely legible over the ball’s crumpled surface, the words ‘Read Me.’
Vinyl snorted and unfolded the paper.
“Wait a bit,” she read aloud. “Hugs and Kisses, Cupid #1.” The DJ glanced around, her eyes eventually picking out a rather familiar purple stallion. Harpo grinned widely and blew her a kiss.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” mumbled Vinyl. “He suggests this whole damn thing and then he decides to follow me around?! I’m gonna shove this paper right up his—“ The DJ felt a hoof on her shoulder. She turned and found herself face to face with Octavia.
“I’ve decided that the important things can wait.” Octavia blushed slightly. “And, I am rather hungry,” she added quietly.
Vinyl swore that she heard a snicker, but Harpo had managed to disappear before she could confirm it. However, the case of the disappearing composer did little to dampen the DJ’s uplifted mood. “Cool!” she nearly squealed. Vinyl cleared her throat. “I mean… cool. Okay, let’s go get something to eat, Tavi!”
Octavia nodded. “Lead the way.”
The DJ strode off, head held high. The cellist had to trot slightly to keep up.
“I think you’re really gonna like this place, Octy. It’s not the classiest restaurant, but it makes some really good food! And it doesn’t have a lot of that super-healthy crap.” She glanced back at Octavia. “Unless you like the super-healthy crap. I’m sure that there’s something on the menu that isn’t drowned in cheese and butter.”
The cellist pulled a face that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “I’ll be rather satiated with a salad.” Her stomach gurgled slightly. “Perhaps a big salad.”
“Suit yourself,” said Vinyl with a shrug. “I’m just saying; cheese, butter, and deep-fried things are totally worth turning one or two arteries into rocks.”
“Charming.”
“That’s me, Tavi. I’m nothing but charm. And cheese. Charm and cheese.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Octavia smiled slyly as Vinyl sputtered.
“Hey! That’s mean! I was just kidding; you weren’t supposed to actually agree with me!”
The cellist put a hoof to her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.
The DJ pouted. “And after I’ve gone out of my way to treat you to a breakfast-lunch thing. I’ll actually be spending money on a pony that isn’t me! Do you realize how rare this is?”
“I wouldn’t particularly mind paying for my own meal.”
“Tavi, there is no way that you’ll be paying today.” Vinyl stopped and held Octavia at full length. “Do you hear me? You’re not allowed to touch your bit bag today. Upon penalty of…” The unicorn looked around for a moment before settling back into staring into Octavia’s eyes. “Belly-rubs. And that’s not an idle threat.”
The cellist shrugged off Vinyl’s hooves. “Belly-rubs. Terrifying. You are quite the intimidating pony, Vinyl Scratch.”
“And no sarcasm either! Upon belly-rub penalty.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Pray tell, why are you so fixated on that particular physical interaction?”
Vinyl lowered her glasses slightly and winked at her companion. “Because that’s how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“You know!” The DJ paused slightly. She could only read confusion in Octavia’s expression. “’When a stallion loves a mare.’ Wait, that doesn’t really work in this case. ‘When a mare loves a mare.’ Or, actually, I could start with ‘when a stallion loves a stallion.’” Vinyl shrugged. “I don’t really care who’s with who. Sure, there are some ponies out there that would care, but they’re assholes so I don’t really give a crap what they think… Octy, what were we talking about?”
The grey mare’s cheeks had taken a decidedly pink hue. “I—I’m pretty sure you got your point across.”
“Mmmkay. Anyway, we’re here.”
The mares stopped in front of a small building. It was squat, with a single lit up red sign that said ‘DINER’ above the door. The bulbs in the ‘N’ and the ‘R’ had apparently gone off.
“‘DIE’” read Octavia. “That’s rather foreboding.”
Vinyl put a hoof on the cellist’s back. “Don’t judge it just yet. And, um, don’t pull out you bit bag in public. And try not to look rich.”
There was a slight pause. “You’re kidding, right?”
The DJ winked and opened the door, bowing slightly as she gestured for Octavia to pass.
The interior of the diner was markedly different from the exterior. It was well-maintained and well-lit, fresh flowers adorning every highly polished table. A pleasant chatter filled the room and Octavia was surprised to see that the restaurant was brimming with ponies. It seemed as though everypony was speaking to each other.
The cellist stood still, slightly gaping at the warm atmosphere. Vinyl chuckled, purposefully bumping into Octavia as she passed.
“Doesn’t feel like Canterlot, does it?”
The grey mare shook her head.
The DJ chuckled again. “Come on, let’s go get a table.”
Octavia glanced around, noticing that a few other ponies were waiting to be seated. “Shouldn’t we be waiting?”
“Nope,” said Vinyl. “I know the owners.”
A warm, old-sounding voice broke over Octavia’s response. “Vinee! It’s about time you showed up, you haven’t visited in a lifetime, honey!” A small, white-haired, yellow unicorn rushed over and hugged Vinyl. Or at least she attempted to rush. It was more of a quick shuffle, given her old age.
“Hey, Ma,” said Vinyl as she hugged the mare.
Octavia’s eyes widened slightly. Ma? Is this Vinyl’s mother?
Ma leaned back and poked Vinyl in the stomach. “You get skinnier every time I see you! Do you ever eat?”
“Of course I eat! I always eat! I’m starting to think that you want me to be fat.”
“Oh, hush up,” said the elder mare, waving a hoof. “Wait for a moment and I’ll get you a table.” She turned and seemed to notice Octavia for the first time. “Hi there, sweetie. Are you one of Vinee’s friends?”
Vinyl stepped closer, gesturing to Octavia with a hoof. “Ma, this is Octy. Or Tavi. It’s really up to you what you want to call her. And yeah, she’s my friend.”
Ma sharply rapped Vinyl’s hoof. “Don’t point like that, Vinee; it’s rude.”She hit Vinyl again. “And let your friend speak for herself.”
The DJ backed away, laughing as she did so. “Watch yourself, Octy. Ma hits harder than you do.”
“Oh, hush up.” Ma turned back to Octavia. “Now dear, what’s your real name?”
“It’s Octavia, ma’am. Octavia Philharmonica.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Octavia.” The elder mare smiled. “I’m Ma. I own this here shack of a diner. You can’t see him right now, but my husband Pa is cooking in the back.” She turned to Vinyl. “I’ll have him come out to say ‘Hi’ in a little bit.”
“Remind him that he still owes me ten bits from that hoofball game.” Vinyl glanced at Octavia. “Not that I really need it,” she added hurriedly.
“Of course dear,” said Ma in that noncommittal way that elders have. “Follow me, there’s a table in the back we keep open for things like this.”
Vinyl and Octavia followed Ma to a table. The elder unicorn conjured a notepad and a pen. “The usual for you, Vinee?”
“Yup,” said the DJ with a smile.
“And for you, Octavia?”
The cellist quickly went through the menu. “A fruit and oat salad for me, please.”
Ma nodded. “A health-conscious choice. Not like Vinee over there.”
“Hey!” protested Vinyl. “You think I’m skinny now; imagine what I’d be like if I ate like Tavi!”
The diner owner chuckled slightly and flipped her notepad closed. “I’ll be back in a moment, dears.” She walked off.
“So,” said Vinyl. “That was Ma.”
“Yes it was. She seems like a rather nice pony.”
“She’s evil.” Vinyl put on her most serious face. “The way I hear it, Nightmare Moon came back 200 years ago and Ma scared her back to the moon.”
Octavia arched an eyebrow. “Ma’s 200 years old?”
The DJ wiggled her hooves, switching into a warbling ‘spooky’ voice. “Noooopony knooooows.”
The two mares shared a laugh, and then fell into a quick silence. Octavia looked around, noting that those ponies who weren’t sitting with their family seems to be on dates. I wonder if Vinyl and I look the same way.
Vinyl was looking at Octavia, noting the way that the cellist blushed upon realizing that this was a common date spot. Right, Harpo said that Octavia probably won’t curse me out and walk away… Probably. Out of the corner of her eye, Vinyl noticed a purple pony reading a newspaper. An upside-down newspaper.
Harpo, catching the unicorn’s gaze, winked.
Vinyl facehoofed before she could stop herself. The sharp sound the self-slap made drew Octavia’s attention back to the table.
The DJ smiled sheepishly. “There was a… fly. I hit it.”
The cellist smiled slightly. “You hit you.”
“Same thing.”
Silence fell back onto the table. Vinyl rubbed the back of her neck. Is it just me or is this getting really awkward? I should say something. The DJ opened her mouth and, for the first time in years, found that she had nothing to say. C’mon Vinyl, get your act together! This isn’t even a real date. Vinyl flinched slightly. It really isn’t a real date. Wow. That’s kind of sad.
Octavia broke the silence. “Am I right in saying that Ma isn’t your mother?”
Vinyl knit her eyebrows. “My mom? Ma? I wish.”
“I thought so. But it was slightly confusing when we first walked in.”
“Nope, Ma’s not mom. Ma’s nothing like my parents.” There was a slightly bitter note in Vinyl’s voice. “What about you?”
The cellist frowned slightly, Vinyl’s quick change of topic not escaping her notice. “Yes, actually. Ma and my parents would probably get along swimmingly. Though I’d have to meet Pa to make a proper judgment call.”
Vinyl snorted. “Lucky.”
A dark green stallion trotted up to their table, levitating two plates in his magic. He put down the food: Octavia’s salad and a pizza that practically dripped with oil and cheese.
“You’re back, huh,” said the stallion with a slight frown.
“You owe me ten bits, old colt,” replied Vinyl.
Pa snorted. “And you owe me fifty.”
“Hey! I’m buying something, aren’t I?”
That coaxed a small smile out of Pa. “Yeah, you are. Eat up, enjoy it. I’ll take the ten bits out of your bill.” The stallion acknowledged Octavia with a nod and then leaned in and whispered something to Vinyl. Pa trotted back to the kitchens.
Vinyl pulled away a slice of her pizza, strings of cheese stretching nearly half a foot away. She looked up at Octavia and smirked.
“What?” asked the cellist.
“Nothing,” said the DJ slyly. “So, what’s your judgment call?”
Octavia considered it for a moment. “It would help if I knew what Pa told you.”
Vinyl grinned. “He said that we looked cute together.”
The DJ’s grin only widened as Octavia grew progressively redder. A few tables away, an eavesdropping composer pumped his hoof.
The cellist kept her head down, taking a few pieces of fruit from her salad. “And… what do you think?” she asked quietly.
Vinyl’s eyes widened from behind her shades. “Wh—What was that?”
“Nothing,” said Octavia quickly. “Nothing. We should eat before the food gets cold.”
Vinyl decided not to mention that Octavia was eating a cold salad. The DJ glanced over at Harpo who had, at this point, put down his newspaper. He gestured for Vinyl to keep talking.
“Well,” said the unicorn as she ran a hoof through her mane. “I’m sure that you’d make anything cute.” That was smooth, right? I think that was a good compliment.
Octavia smiled. “Thank you Vinyl.”
“Anytime, cutie.” The unicorn winked. “And, of course, everything gets a little more awesome when I’m there.”
“Of course.”
Vinyl wasn’t done. “So if we were together, we’d probably be one of the coolest things in Equestria. Well, even more than we are already.”
Octavia picked at her food.
Yeah, thought Vinyl, I probably messed that up. Well, she hasn’t left the table so… that’s a good thing.
Octavia’s mind was in a somewhat more chaotic state. Vinyl likes me. Unless she’s joking. But she probably wasn’t joking. Unless she was. Would she joke about something like this? Yes. Undoubtedly. But the real question is whether or not she’s joking at this very moment! Dear Celestia, I’m acting like a teenage filly. Honestly, I’m a grown mare; I should be able to handle things like this easily! All I have to do is ask her whether or not she’s serious. And then things would build from there.
But if Octavia had learned anything in her relatively short time as an adult it was that teenage problems were still very real in the adult world. She had not gained a sudden sense of clarity on her eighteenth birthday. Indeed, things had only become more confusing when she entered adulthood.
And so, Octavia Philharmonica kept her eyes on her salad.
Vinyl felt a shroud of disappointment fall on her. A few stray tears threatened to fall from her eyes. Hell no. There’s no way in hell that I’m crying right now. I’ve dealt with disappointment before. And she didn’t cry.
The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, punctuated only by various attempts at small talk. These conversations would only last for two or three responses. Without speech, lunch didn’t even last an hour.
The two mares bid their goodbyes to Ma and Pa. Vinyl found that Pa had indeed taken off the promised ten bits. Vinyl and Octavia walked out onto the busy Canterlot streets.
It was nearly three o’ clock. The Sun hadn’t even set yet.
The two stood awkwardly outside of the diner.
“So,” said Vinyl. “What’s next?”
“I’m… not sure. You don’t have any ideas?”
Vinyl shook her head.
“Then I suppose that I’ll be heading home… Do you really not have a suggestion?”
Vinyl shook her head again. “No.” I wish I did though.
Octavia nodded sadly. “In that case, thank you for brunch, Vinyl. It was lovely.”
“Don’t mention it,” said the DJ, fiddling with the receipt.
The cellist began to walk away. Vinyl noticed some writing on the receipt’s back. ‘Ma and I saw you looking at her. Don’t let her get away. – Pa’
The unicorn read those two sentences at least three times before the meaning set in. She raced to catch up to Octavia.
“Hey Tavi!” shouted Vinyl. She skidded to a stop beside the cellist. “Look, there isn’t much to do right now but that’s because it’s only the afternoon! I’m actually doing a set tonight so, ummm… If you want to come?” I really lost steam towards the end there.
Octavia arched an eyebrow, but the questioning effect was lessened by her slowly growing smile. “You’re doing a ‘set’ today? The day right before a performance?”
“It’s a short one!” protested Vinyl. “Only about an hour and a half. It’ll be over by nine, so I’ll be fresh for tomorrow. So what do you say?”
“I’d love to, Vinyl.”
Yes! The DJ was practically hopping in her mind. She’s coming~, she thought in a sing-song voice. She’s coming~. “So, um, pick you up a little before seven?” Dear Celestia, I’m so smooth I should be a criminal.
Octavia nodded. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” She trotted off.
“Very nice, Vinyl,” said Harpo as he materialized at the DJ’s side. “I nearly thought that the day was over after your little brunch fiasco.”
I’ll assume that a fiasco is bad. “Hey, it wasn’t super bad! We ate and everything!”
Harpo considered this for a moment. “Yes, it could have been worse. Good job.” He patted the unicorn’s head.
Vinyl ground her hoof into his side.
“Ow!” The composer rubbed at the point of impact. “Okay, point taken. Now, let’s move on to bigger problems.”
“Problems?”
“Yes, my dear miscreant, problems.” He paused dramatically. “You just invited Octavia. Octavia Philharmonica. Miss Prim and Proper herself! To a nightclub.”
Vinyl waved a dismissive hoof. “Oh come on; it’s just a club! Even Octavia won’t have a problem with going to a—“ The realization hit the DJ like a whale fired by an atlatl. “Oh, buck. Octy’s going to a club.”