Chapter 1: A Disaster Waiting to Happen
Now, I’d like to think of myself as a reasonable pony. I’m calm, collected, well-bred and polite, or so I try. A large part of me wants to believe that I can keep my temper under any circumstances (outside of having my performances blatantly interrupted). Lately, that has not been the case.
I don’t know where things went wrong. I really don’t. I’d like to say it all started with my performance at the Grand Galloping Gala that started my life going downhill, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, I actually started making MORE money, and playing more and in greater venues. Apparently, as an apology, Princess Celestia mentioned to somepony that our ensemble was the best she’d heard in awhile, and it was a shame we didn’t get to finish. If you’ve never had a Princess vouch for you personally, go out and make that happen.
It’s rather ridiculous how effective it is.
No, that wasn’t the start. I was making more money, like I said, and as a reward decided to move myself into a nicer apartment uptown. A rather cozy, spacious one bedroom on the 31st floor of the building, it was more than enough room for me, and just short of being enough room for two. If that makes sense. I thought it was perfect. For the first time, I felt like I was living as a member of high society.
And then my neighbor happened.
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I like to think I’m a pretty chill mare. Colts like me, I play great music. I play AWESOME music. I host outrageously amazing parties and get invited BY THE PRINCESS to play AT WEDDINGS. Hence all the cash. Princesses ROCK. But anyway, like I said. I’m a cool cat. Er... pony. Whatever. Ponies love me.
Well, most ponies. I think it all went South of the border when I decided to get a new apartment thanks to all the popularity, cash, and outright swag I was carrying around. Had to have a better place to put it all. Really, a girl can only carry so much awesome without having to put it down every now and then.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ponyville was sweet. Great ponies, folks who really knew how to PARTY, and a bunch of crazy-awesome stuff happened ALL the TIME. Like once, the God of Chaos showed up. Discord. He turned my amps into giant bowls of pasta. I was so stoked. I’d probably have been more upset if everything hadn’t gone back to normal in like, a day. Like it usually does. I didn’t need to eat for a week.
But I thought it was time to move on. I was getting some really fancy gigs, which usually meant going to Canterlot, either to play there or take an airship somewhere else. An AIRSHIP. How cool is that?!
Then that snooty-tooty across the hall happened.
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My first impression, and I’m ashamed to admit this, but it’s true, was that someone had hired a working girl for the evening. Surely someone as boorishly put-together as this didn’t live in such a high-rent locale? Then she asked me, “Hey, you my new neighboor? Sweet.”
I was shocked. However, I like to think I maintained my composure.
But really, who wears hoodies in the summer? And what the devil was with those sunglasses?
“Um, yes, I am. My name is Octavia Melody. It’s... it’s nice to meet you.” Courteous, punctual, to the point. A proper introduction.
And then, “Oh, that’s cool. Octavia Melody? That’s a sexy freakin’ name. I’m Vinyl Scratch. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Best DJ in Equestria? Turntable Mistress to the STARS?”
Oh my god she’s a crazy pony. “Um, no, I’m sorry, I can’t say I have. I don’t really... listen to music that requires a... a DJ.” Just be cool, be calm.
“Oh, no sweat. You probably like Jazz and Classical stuff, right? That’s cool. I love jazz.” Oh, thank god. She has some taste. Finally.
“Yes, I’m rather fond of jazz-”
Then her eyes lit up. I don’t know how I could tell behind those shades, but I could. It was the eyebrows, I think. “THAT is super sexy. You are without a doubt the prettiest mare I’ve seen in Canterlot for like, the entire time I’ve been here.”
“Um...” I honestly didn’t know what to say. “Th-thank you?”
She giggled a little. “Hey, you wanna go out for dinner or something? I haven’t actually lived here that long, but I’ve visited a bunch of times. Never got a chance to try any of the restaurants or bars here.”
Be polite, she’s just being sociable. “I... guess we could do that...”
“SWEET! I have like a flankload of stuff to unpack, so how about later tonight? I sooo don’t feel like cooking after moving all this bunk.” She seemed rather excitable, but genuinely happy. I thought maybe it was a good idea to go along with it.
I was very, very, wrong.
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At first, I thought life was super AWESOME. My neighbor’s a total hottie and I already had a date that night. Life was turning up the volume to eleven.
Then we actually WENT somewhere.
It was cool at first. Nothing super fancy-shmancy but it wasn’t a total dive. ‘So she’s got some class’, I thought. ‘That’s pretty cool. She looks classy.’ I’d never gone with anyone classy before. Mostly groupies and girls I’d met at bars and stuff. There was that one time with this blue pegasus, but she was a little too athletic and not enough music. I was all excited to be going out with a girl who knew the finer points of music.
I mean sure, she didn’t listen to techno or anything, and probably didn’t like rock that much, but jazz was plenty cool. I’d listened to enough of it while trying to put together some Electroswing. I even had like, two albums. TWO.
So we end up at this place called Dusky’s. It sounded a little like a bar, but Tavi ( that’s what I call her) told me that it was named after the owner, who’s special talent was... something night-related. I wasn’t really paying attention to details.
I did like the ambiance. At least, it didn’t suck. It was all dark and kind of moody, but not like those crappy emo clubs. Just candlelight and smooth jazz in the corner.
I wanted to fall asleep. Not my fault.
So we get a table or whatever, and we sit down. So far, so good, right? I’ve been kicked out of similar places much faster. It’s usually the hair.
I think they knew Tavi or something, cause they just gave me a look, then talked to her and sat us down. Hey, as long as I got food, right?
Then we started talking. It was okay at first, just normal conversation stuff. How long have you been in Canterlot? Where do you play? What are you having for dinner?
Then she asked me a harder question. “Um, Ms. Scratch-”
“Vinyl, please,” I hate Ms. anything that isn’t a cool stage name.
“Oh, ok. Um, Vinyl, can I ask you something?” She seemed kind of timid, or something. I thought it was just nerves. I am pretty cool. Or maybe it was the whole of the restaurant giving us looks. Whatever.
“Sure, go ahead.” Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?
“Why do you wear sunglasses everywhere?”
Ding ding ding. The million dollar question. Literally everypony EVER has asked me that question. But she couldn’t have known that, so I decided to be cool about it. “Well, the fancy answer I give everyone is that they’re AWESOME. But really?”
“Mm-hmm?” she leaned forward.
I figured I’d tell her the truth. Classy girls really dig honesty, you know? “I’m partially colorblind. These lenses are tinted to help me compensate. With the kind of work I do, reading levels on audio equipment and working with laser lights and all that, being able to see the whole spectrum is kind of important. I don’t like taking them off because the change is so drastic it usually causes me problems trying to readjust.”
“Oh, I had no idea. That’s...” she seemed a little off-put. I guess she saw it as more of a personal question than I did.
“Nah, nah, it’s ok. Besides, it’s kinda cool to wear em wherever I want. Freaks some people out, you know?” True story.
“You... um, like freaking people out?” She raised an eyebrow. So cute.
“I like keeping ponies on their toes. Everypony is so complacent nowadays. I think people should be more focused on the world than their own heads, you know?”
Then she got a little huffy. “Surely there’s a better way to do that than dressing so... weird all the time.”
Excuse me? “Weird? It’s not like I get a whole lot of choice. Sure, I could change the frames and stuff, but who’d want to. These are great.”
She gave me a once-over, and all of a sudden seemed... disapproving. “You’re wearing a hoody. I’m pretty sure THAT isn’t prescription.”
“Ok, what? I just happen to like this hoodie. I feel confident in this hoodie. I thought that might be important when I’m on a date.” Jeez, what was her problem?
“A date?! You think this is a date?!” She shrieked. Like bad microphone feedback.
Oh, boy, here we go.
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I couldn’t believe she thought we were on a DATE. The nerve! “I agreed to go to dinner with you because you were new in town. I was being POLITE.”
“You’re joking, right? I spend like, five whole minutes hitting on you, then I ask you to dinner and you say yes? How am I supposed to NOT think that this was a date?!”
I could feel a rather large migraine coming on. Something I wasn’t used to. “Hitting on me? That was more like sexual harassment! But of course you wouldn’t recognize someone just being polite. I doubt you have any experience in the matter.” That might have been a bit harsh, but I was angry.
“Oh, sure! Just because our jobs and lifestyles are different I don’t know how to be courteous? I was going to pay here, treat you to a nice dinner at a restaurant you said you liked, and walk you home!”
“Walk me home?! We live ACROSS THE HALL from each other!” I couldn’t believe this mare. She obviously thought I was going to... do... things... with her. “You’re just trying to get me into bed, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?! I HAVE a three-date rule, you know. Obviously that doesn’t mean anything now, so let me save you the trouble of walking all the way back to the apartment with me. I’m leaving!”
And she did. She slammed her hoof on the table to punctuate her sentence, and stormed out.
I ended up having dinner alone that night. It wasn’t very comfortable. But it’s not my fault.