//------------------------------// // Well, Okay Then // Story: Not My Fault // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Chapter 8: Well, Okay Then While getting to and from Fancy Pants’s home was easy enough, getting anywhere else without being the troublesome topic of gossip was proving to be rather difficult. Even my friends, my fellow ensemble members, were being harassed because of some dirty gossip and a reporter with a stick up her- No no. I am a lady, and I shall prove myself nothing less. Of course, doing so involves going out in public. As of now, my friends and I were holed up in Beauty Brass’s house. Reporters came and went from the front door, trying to get interviews, and there didn’t seem to be any end to them We weren’t exactly swarmed, usually just three or four people at a time, but still. Bothersome is bothersome.. Why these people had nothing better to do than harass me and my friends about some cheap romantic gossip, I had no idea. “This is ridiculous.” I’d probably said it a thousand times, but it bared repeating. To me, at least. The rest seemed to ignore the comment. They were too busy talking about how to get out of the house without being bothered. “We could always just walk out the back door.” Frederick’s deadpan made it seem less like a suggestion and more like a bad punchline. Harpo just shook his head. “What if we just distract them somehow?” Beauty Brass seemed hopeful. Not one to lose faith, her. Frederick rubbed his chin. “Well, how do we do that? The reporter out there right now is that ridiculously nosy reporter mare from last night.” Then, Harpo surprised us all by getting up, and walking towards the front door. And proceeded to say the most frightening thing we’d ever heard. “I have a plan.” None of us moved. None of us wanted to. Harpo talking was rare enough that you never missed a word, but him volunteering for anything meant something was about to happen. He didn’t say anything after that, he just nodded his head and smiled. I’d never been more motivated to NOT follow him. But we did, and I believe all for the same reason: morbid curiosity. He opened the front door, and in an instant, that nosy, manipulative- no, no. Be polite, I told myself. That... reporter was in his face, asking him a series of questions. I felt myself laugh inwardly, entertaining the thought of Harpo answering questions for a newspaper. Or, really, anyone. Then, he put his dubious plan into action. Giving us a hoof wave to move forward, we all trotted towards the door. The reporter spotted me and instantly tried to squeeze past to interrogate me, but Harpo was ready. He grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her. For a moment, just a moment, I felt jealous. I know Beauty Brass did, too. We’d both been on the receiving end of that kiss. The true mark of Harpo’s reputation as a gentleman wasn’t that he never spoke: it ws that he never needed to. He could say a lifetime of pleasantries in a single gesture. More than once he’d kissed Brass and I, when we were down, or lonely. When we needed it. It was obvious the mare he was kissing now hadn’t felt that kind of compassion before. She didn’t even fight back, she just melted. And the reporting crew she was with went nuts. Her assistant mare took a bunch of notes while the stallion with the camera went berserk taking pictures. It was the easiest thing in the world for the three of us to just mosy past. They didn’t even notice us. When we were halfway across the block, we heard a soft moan, which meant that the reporter had her lips to herself again. I turned and saw Harpo trotting up to us, a satisfied smile on his face, while the crew regained their composure. Or, rather, the mare Harpo had sucked face with tried to stand up while the other two either laughed or ‘helped’ her to her hooves. I applauded Harpo, stamping my hooves on the concrete. “Well done, my friend. Now, I would LOVE to go home.” The others nodded their agreement. Well, except for Brass. She just followed Harpo around for awhile. ---------- Spitfire and I had just been sharing small talk and giggling at each other like schoolgirls for the last few minutes. “So, ok, how do we actually DO this. I mean, saying ‘Yeah, she’s my marefriend’ is easy enough. Hell, it’s kinda fun to say.” I laughed again. “You think I know?” Spitfire smiled. “If you’d asked me like four years ago I’d just say we’d go out on a date and all that cheesy romance stuff you were talking about. But I mean, we’re not exactly small-town fillies, are we?” I had to think about that. “Yeah, you’re right. The paper practically exploded when they were talking about Octavia and me this morning. Imagine what they’d say next?” Then I say it. That classic Spitfire grin. The kind of smile you see on that one pony you know at the top of the halfpipe they usually wore right before they said ‘Watch this.’ “Well, why don’t we give them something to talk about? I can’t imagine you being the type to hide your relationships.” I was liking this idea. “Your fanbase will explode, you know this.” “So will yours. I can’t imagine all those fillies you’ve been with or who wanted to will take kindly to you going steady with a Wonderbolt instead of another musician.” “Ah, let ‘em sweat. Dating other musicians sucks. They always want to collaborate and it always turns sour. Bad karma.” I shuddered. Experience was a nasty teacher. Like a Colthlic School Nun. “Ok, so do you just want to... go out on a date? I’m totally cool with that.” “Sure, we could...” she still had that grin. “Or we could make something of it.” I saw where she was going, but something bugged me. “Why don’t... why don’t we save it for later. This is still an experiment, or something like it, at least. What if we make a big deal about it and then it goes all south?” Spitfire nodded sagely. Something she really shouldn’t do. “Ok, I get ya. I mean, I don’t think it will go south on us-” “Neither do I!” I waived my hooves defensively. “I’m just saying-” “I know, I know. But,” she rapped her hoof on the coffee table, “Knock on wood, if it does go south, we don’t want to make it worse than it could be. So what are you thinking?” “I say we make a big deal out of it. But not right away. We wait till it feels right. One of those ‘We’ll know it when we know it’ moments. I know it sounds all sleazy and Made-For-TV-Movie, but... you know?” She nodded. “I do. So... what do you want to do until then? We could always...” she waggled her eyebrows. Even still, for the first time in a while, I didn’t want to. “Not... not after the last couple of days. Let’s just go get something to eat.” She seemed a little disappointed, but if it’s one thing she’s always been, it’s understanding. “I got ya. Besides, I’m starving. PASSING OUT does that to you.” “You’re not gonna leave that alone, are you?” “Never.” -------- I’d finally made my way back to my apartment. After everything else, it was good to be home. And then I remembered the note I’d left for Vinyl. I hadn’t even unlocked my door when the realization hit me. SO instead, I turned around and knocked on hers. I wasn’t looking forward to this. It took a few moments for her to open it. When she did, I saw Spitfire in the living room behind her. She didn’t look particularly happy to see me. Then again, neither did Vinyl. “Listen, Vinyl, I’d mentioned that we need to talk-” “You’re right. We do. Get in.” She didn’t seem angry. Just... determined. I didn’t argue. I just walked in, and sat on the couch, where Vinyl pointed. Vinyl sat on the floor, facing me, and Spitfire stayed where she was, in a little beanbag chair. I can’t really say I’d paid attention to Vinyl’s apartment before, and honestly, I don’t think I’d even been in it yet. The place was the same size as mine, but seemed a lot smaller. I guess it had to do with a large quantity of stereo and sound equipment set up in one whole half of the living room. Everywhere else was scattered records, music memorabilia, and some stuff I didn’t even recognize. It was like living in a recording studio. Which at some times it probably was. VInyl just looked at me, expecting me to say something. So I did. I told her all about my conversation with Fancy Pants. It took me a while, as I stumbled over some of the more embarrassing parts, and kept looking around, waiting to be interrupted. But they didn’t. They just listened while I unloaded a whole afternoon’s worth of revelations over years worth of distress. It was rather surreal, to be honest. When I was done, Spitfire looked less agitated and more confused. Vinyl looked like she understood a little better, but no less tense. “So, um... does that... clear things up a bit?” Vinyl thought for a moment. A very tense moment. A moment I thik that lasted much longer than it should have, at least to me. “Ok. So I get the whole finding me attractive thing. REALLY I do.”She smiled a bit. A good sign, at least. Spitfire just rolled her eyes. “And the whole satisfaction thing. I can’t say I haven’t been there. Well, not like this, obviously... maybe not obviously... nevermind. Anyway, what I wanted to know is, what the hell set you off?” That was something I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask me, but I was at least a little ready for it. “Part of me wants to say I have no idea. But another part of me does. Know, I mean. That first night, when you hit on me... that was the first time in years that anypony had expressed an interest. Part of me... wanted. No. Needed to take advantage of that. I needed something. It’s been years since I’ve had anything even close to a romantic encounter. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess it got to the point where I didn’t really care. I mean, I don’t honestly know what I’d have done if you’d said no any of those times, but you didn’t. SO part of me rationalized that I could just take it... you... whenever I wanted.” Spitifre looked like she’d been reading some poor pony’s psych file. Vinyl just look pensive. “Well, I’m going to tell you know, so I don’t have to tell you later. No.” I wasn’t getting it, at first. “No?” “No. We’re not doing it again. I’m... current circumstances aside, I can’t. You may have felt satisfied, and I’ll admit, at some point, I did too. But mostly? I felt used.” I wasn’t expecting that. It ht me harder than I’d like to admit. “I... used? ...I guess I can’t say I don’t understand why. Can I at least say, I’m sorry?” At that, she smiled. Even Spitfire grinned a little, too. “Yes. That I am totally okay with.” I let myself smile a little. Okay, more than a little. “Okay. So... what do we do now.” For the first time, the Wonderbolt in the room spoke up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to take my marefriend to dinner.” She walked up to Vinyl and gave her a hug, and Vinyl nodded for me to get up. As we made our way out of the apartment, Vinyl locked the door behind us. It wasn’t until they turned the corner down the hall that it hit me. “MAREFRIEND?!”