Not My Fault

by Daemon McRae


The Calm Before the Storm?


Chapter 6: The quiet before the storm?

I woke up to a relatively familiar scene: a bedroom I didn’t recognize. At first, anyway. After the fog cleared from my head I put two and two together: I was back in Octavia’s room.

Holy crap that mare had some issues. I mean, wow. I’d never seen anyone Jeckyll and Hoof their way into hate sex before. I’ve seen some bipolar ponies before, even dated one once. But there was something about that chick that was just… damn.

Now, usually I do one of two things. Either A, I tiptoe my way out of the apartment before they wake up (which I’m not saying is a good thing, but sometimes the mare you wake up next to ain’t the one you went to bed with), or B, I stay ‘asleep’ till they either nudge me out of bed, yell at me, or go for a round two.

So this was new to me. I’d woken up alone. I mean, I’m used to sleeping alone, but I’m not used to waking up when I went to bed with somepony and that pony not be right where I left them. I got up and looked around, expecting to see a letter or something, but nada. So I rolled out of bed and went for the bathroom.

Or, tried. I got all four hooves on the ground, then fell over. I guess that’s what I get for not taking a break between sex, sex, a major rehearsal performance, and sex. Not a first for me, but I can usually plan these things ahead.

So I crawled my flank across the floor to the bathroom, set the shower for as hot as it would go, and just laid down in the scalding water for a while. Awhile meaning I fell back asleep.

I woke up I had no idea how much later, but it couldn’t have been that long, because the water was now just lukewarm instead of cold. I dragged my soaking coat out of the tub, and with what little energy I had, levitated a towel over and dried myself off. Fortunately, at that point I had enough umph in me to walk around a bit. But I was most definitely going home to sleep some more.

Well, eventually. I did have her place all to myself, after all. I wanted to explore. So I did.

Her apartment was much like what I’d expect it to be. Art everywhere, with a smaller not-quite-bedroom sized room off to the side. I peeked in and saw all of her musical stuff in there. Sheet music, her cello (I think that’s what it was. Might be a bass.), and a music stand. Plus all kinds of old records and a player in the corner. Everything was rather tidy. I peeked back into her room, thinking that somehow I’d missed something, and noticed a rather big difference: her bedroom was a mess! How had I missed that?

I looked around, and saw that there was clean floor from the bed to the bath and from the bed to the door, but that was about it. Records, clothes, and a bunch of other stuff littered the whole damn room. Hell, the only reason I knew what the carpet looked like was because I fell into it trying to get out of bed. The bed was a mess, too, but that was to be expected.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t really… dirty. Sure, there was stuff everywhere, but it was at least clean. No food, or trash, or dust. Just… stuff. I wonder if she knew where everything was in her place?

I moved on, having seen most of the apartment, and wandered about her kitchen. Then I saw it. A big piece of paper with my name written in very obvious lettering stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Oh, here we go.

“Vinyl.

I know you’re probably exhausted, and by now have used up all my hot water. Grab something to eat and get out of my apartment. I will see you this afternoon. Like it or not, we need to talk.

Octavia.”

Well, at least it wasn’t as backhanded and insulting as the last one. Really much like I would expect from her, now.

I made sure to eat till I was stuffed, then left. But I’m a decent pony, so I locked the door first.

-----------

With everything that had happened yesterday at the rehearsal, and beforehoof, I couldn’t even think about going outside.

There was no way I was going to face down anyone in public after the fiasco last night. I’d gotten a look at the papers this morning, and they didn’t make things any better:

OCTAVIA VS. VINYL SCRATCH! A LOVER’S QUARRELL?

Had I not been thoroughly exhausted myself I would have shaken Vinyl awake and had another go at her. Which, in all honesty, surprised the Tartarus out of me. A week ago I simply would have eaten the paper and had something heavy to drink. I needed to talk to somepony. Within a matter of days I’d devolved into a sexual deviant and predator. This was very much not right.

So I tracked down the most rational, emotionally stable pony I knew in all of Canterlot who DIDN’T believe everything they read in the papers.

“Thank you for meeting me, Fancy Pants.” We were sitting on his veranda, talking over a nice soothing cup of coffee.

“Oh, my pleasure. While I am dying with curiosity, I too have been a victim of the media. And I’m always happy to help somepony who needs it. Now, I understand you’ve been having some… problems with your neighbor?” His demeanor was calm, friendly, everything everypony expected about him. But I couldn’t expect to get some help without divulging at least one or two juicy details.

So I told him about how I’d met Vinyl, and the attempts we’d had at civilized discourse. And how that had gone south really rather quickly. I told him about the conversation I’d had with Harpo, and my friends. It felt good to have somepony just listen, for once. He sat there and drank it all in.

“And now, every time I reach a boiling point, my first thought is to track her down and… do something rather unladylike!” I admitted. He seemed to mull this over.

“Hmmm, let’s see. Are you attracted to her? Not emotionally, of course. But physically?” He seemed rather practical about his questions.

I hadn’t thought about it much. I assumed I must be. Her coat was rather nice, a brilliant shade of white. And her hair… well, there was no accounting for style, but the blue was nice. I did really like her eyes, I admitted to myself. And her voice was somewhat endearing, even if I didn’t like what she had to say. She did make cute noises, too. And her flank… I sighed, giving up. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“And can you think of anypony else you know that you’re attracted to?”

That question caught me by surprise. I’d known for a while that I was attracted to mares. I’d figured that out when Noteworthy had caused me nothing but confusion all those years ago. But how many mares did I know personally, let alone saw on a regular basis? Yes, I had acquaintances, and contacts. I knew ponies in high society. But I never really hung out with them. The only female I spent any time around on a regular basis was Beauty Brass. And yes, she was rather pretty, but she was straight as an arrow, and… well… not my type, I guess. “No… I don’t think so. I mean, there are celebrities I find attractive, but I don’t… I don’t KNOW any of them.”

“And how do you feel after having… been with Ms. Vinyl?” He looked at me pensively.

I had to think about that one. But not for long. I remembered how I’d felt after the first time. Distracted, a little confused. Frustrated. But I was at least a little relaxed. Vinyl said I didn’t know what I wanted out of sex, that time. I hadn’t really had a purpose. But once I’d figured that out…

The second time I was much more relaxed. I was clear headed, even a little happy. And last night was no different. In fact, those two moments were the only time I could remember being at all happy since I’d met Vinyl. Well, ok, that isn’t true. I was happy when I was performing. And when I had lunch with my friends. So I guess I could say… satisfied? Yes. “Satisfied.”

He smiled at me. “Well, in that case, let me ask you one last question: When was the last time you felt satisfied?”

“Oh, that’s easy. When I… when I… um…” I couldn’t think of anything. Of course I was happy when I played. Exhilarated, even. I was proud of my work. And I was proud when others enjoyed it. But was I satisfied? Well, yes, in a sense. I was satisfied that I’d done a good job. I was satisfied that ponies had enjoyed what I’d written. And what I performed for them. But there was always more to do. As soon as I was done, I had to think about what the next performance was. What the next piece was. There wasn’t really any stopping.

But when I was with Vinyl, when we were done, all I felt was happy. And satisfied. Yes, it’s selfish, and I know I was only doing it for myself, but it was there. I didn’t have to think about anything else. I just laid there and enjoyed it. Even after I’d kick her out or leave her lying there, I wasn’t thinking about the next time I’d see her. Or what else I had to do that day. I just… felt good.

And having thought all of that, I looked at Fancy Pants. “I don’t know.”

“Well there’s your answer.” He smirked. Like a wise old sage talking to his pupil.

I didn’t get it. “…what?”

He took a sip of coffee, adjusted his monocle, and looked at me. “The sense of satisfaction we get from something or somepony that makes us feel good for the sake of feeling good is unlike anything in the world. Yes, there is always a sense of fulfillment and joy when one completes a work of art. But then the artist realizes his work is not done. What you’re experiencing is a sensation similar to somepony who has retired near the end of their life. Or made a long journey only to reach the end. There isn’t any worrying about the next step. Or the next day. It’s the kind of happiness you get from a moment of pure calm and, like I’ve said, satisfaction. You’ve found something that makes you feel, even for a moment, no worry, or stress, or apprehension. Just the pleasure of the thing and the relaxed, tranquil state afterword. For a lot of ponies, that’s exactly what lovemaking is for. You know, aside from the obvious biological imperative. But I don’t think that’s really relevant. And for most everypony, that’s what love is about, too.”

“Love?! Now hold on-“

He raised a hoof. “Now, I’m not saying you’re in love. From what I’ve heard I’d have no reason to suspect you are. But here’s what I think: you’ve found something that brings you pleasure, joy, and tranquility. And then the world gives you pain, stress, and anguish. So you take the fastest route back to that calm, warm place in your mind: riding Vinyl like a roller coaster.”

“FANCY!” I blushed.

He grinned at me. “The way I see it, you have two options: find somepony who makes you feel like that all the time, even without sex. Now, mind you, this is the hard road. Some ponies spend their whole lives looking for it. Or, you can explain everything you’ve learned today with Vinyl, and work something out. I’m sure she’s just as confused as you are.”

I thought about it a little, and realized I’d have to think about it a lot. “Thank you, Fancy. That… that is a great help. This might take some time, though.”

“Oh, of course! The only great things in life that are fast are cars and cheeseburgers.”

“Fancy!” I tried to be stern, but ended up laughing, Fancy pants joining in.

Eventually, I did get home.

---------

Most ponies assume that my job does nothing but take up my time. Being the Captain of the Wonderbolts sounds like the most demanding job in the world without being royalty. But in all honesty, aside from running the camps, training, and the actual performances, I spend a surprisingly large amount of time in my office pretending to do paperwork that I had done hours ago.

So when Vinyl had called me yesterday I was nothing short of ecstatic. There are a few ponies in the organization who don’t like her very much. And that’s fine. Not everypony has to like everypony. But I did like her. A lot. And I hadn’t heard from her in a long time. So I took any chance I could to see her.
Which is why I’d given her my direct line yesterday before I left, so she didn’t have to blackmail my secretary just to talk to me.

Here’s the thing about Vinyl: she has never, ever cared about who you are or what you do. It’s always about the pony, not the position. I’ve seen her have conversations with Princesses that were practically identical to her talking to fans. Ponies are just ponies to her. She gets to do what she loves, and doesn’t really have room in her head for any of that social status garbage.

It’s really nice to have a friend who doesn’t care that you’re the Captain of the Wonderbolts when that’s all anypony ever sees you as.

It’s also really easy to fall in love with somepony like that.

I don’t think she knows, and that’s ok.

I was mulling over this very subject while leaning on a pile of unsigned reports when my phone rang. “Hello, thank you for calling the Wonderbolts, this is Captain Spitfire speaking.”

“Greetings, Admiral Fireflank. Got a moment.” Vinyl. My heart leaped around.

“Oh sure, Noise Pollution. What do you want?”

“I want you to go out with me.”

When I woke up a few minutes later the papers were everywhere and I was surrounded by ponies. Apparently feinting makes a lot of noise.