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// Hour Zero: Grounded 
// Story: House Arrest 
// by King X2 
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House Arrest


Written and edited by: High Rise
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H O U R  Z E R O


Another fine and peaceful summer day was drawing to a close over the towers of Canterlot, the low hanging sun casting warm colors into the cool waterfalls that flowed down the adjacent mountain. Restaurants were picking up business for dinnertime as delicious smells from the kitchens hypnotized hungry passerby and convincing sandwich specials overtook those whose hunger was only slight. Ponies napping behind west facing windows were starting to awake, annoyed by the intrusive light and cursing themselves for forgetting to close the blinds. Rush hour hoof traffic thundered back through the front gate, full of working ponies tired of their jobs in Ponyville and eager to rejoin their families. Shouts of bumping roughly into one another and angry outbursts of being late for appointments were common. Canterlot guards could be seen hauling off disruptive ponies, their captives kicking and yelling about—oh wait did I say this was a peaceful night? What an awfully stupid thing to say. We’re talking about a Friday here; the beginning of everypony’s favorite time of the week: the weekend!
And just like everypony else who were excited for the weekend, a certain pair of ponies who lived in a small home on the far end of Canterlot’s main lane were feeling the rush as well. 
Well, one of them anyway.
“Vinyl. Vinyl! I’m going to be late! You’ve been in there almost an hour!” squealed Octavia’s muffled voice from outside the bathroom door. Inside the medicine cabinet, a place where medicine and other things a normal pony kept, was a stereo. A very loud rock song was blasting through the speakers connected to it, the bass causing the whole steam-filled room to vibrate slightly. Vinyl Scratch was busy on air guitar, her head wrapped in a puffy black towel.
“Take a chill pill, Miss Overkill! After the solo!” she shouted through the noise, as what sounded like machine gun fire was going off, the hundreds of bursts in the form of musical notes. Vinyl’s towel flew off her head as she reared on her hind legs, moving her hooves up and down wildly.
“VINYL!”
BOOM. The door sounded like a rhinoceros had just charged into it. Vinyl jumped back in shock and finally turned down her music.
“Okayokayokay! Celestia, keep your bowtie on, Tavi—”
The door crashed open the instant Vinyl had unlocked it. Octavia was trotting in place with an anxious look on her face. Pushing past Vinyl with a look of great annoyance, she slammed the door on her.
“Geez, looks like somepony’s time of the month,” mumbled Vinyl, feeling her wet and frizzy hair. She turned to walk back into the living room.
A large L-shaped couch bordered the far corner of the room, white and squashy. Nearly a dozen red pillows of all shapes, sizes and texture were arranged throughout the couch. A coffee table with nothing but a neat stack of magazines on the center sat beside it. The glass top was dust-free like always, because of Octavia’s obsessive cleaning habits. Dim light was seeping through the window blinds, which were all closed. What a perfect place to take a nap!
But Vinyl never took naps on Friday nights. She ignored the inviting scene and grabbed a small blue remote from off the couch. She pointed it lazily towards another stereo in the kitchen. 
This stereo made the one in the bathroom look like a cheap transistor radio. Four layers of buttons, screens and knobs began lighting up in neon colors. Two enormous speakers the size of her whole body stood on both sides, an expensive looking turntable sitting on the very top. Beside the stereo was a cabinet with a large stack of vinyl records on top (Vinyl had disturbed this pile so often, Octavia didn’t ever bother organizing it).
“Let’s see,” said Vinyl, grabbing the stack and plopping down on the couch. She started to flip through her choices. “Smoking doobies—nah—synthetic pop—not today—indie—not enough bass—wait—the heck?”
Vinyl pulled out a record with the outline of a cello fading into a colorful sunset on the front.
“Pulling Heart Strings?” she read, looking at the title in disgust. “Wow, Tavi—” Her horn lit up and lifted the record back onto the cabinet, making sure it would remain at the very bottom.
“Lawnmowers having sex—we’re getting there—keyboards with dynamite—almost—awesome, here we go—” At last she pulled out a brand new looking record, titled “Turn Up and Shut Up.” Slipping the disc out of its case, she walked over to the stereo and slipped the sleek black disc onto the turntable.
“Time for a blow dry, baby!” she shouted.
The deafening roar of a crowd filled the entire room. Vinyl picked up a nearby mane brush and began brushing her electric-blue mane, grinning from ear to ear at the noise. The music began to rise, causing the crowd’s shouts to increase to earsplitting levels. Chills ran down Vinyl’s spine and her fur stood on end until finally—
“—RELEASE!”
WHAM. The drop hit Vinyl’s mane like a hurricane, sending her hair all over the place. A distant thud followed by a wail of shock sounded from the bathroom. Octavia must have fell off the toilet.
Like this was an everyday occurrence, Vinyl began smoothing out her cowlicks and split ends, the shape of her mane curling naturally into its normal buzz saw. Her head automatically began gently banging to the music.
It would have been remarkable if a bomb explosion would have been heard through the music. But somehow, Vinyl was able to recognize the distant ringing of a telephone in the kitchen. Throwing down her brush, she turned down the music with her horn and answered the phone.
“Berry Punch!” said Vinyl Scratch loudly. “What’s up sista from anotha mista?”
The high speed giggly voice of a filly could be heard on the other line.
“Whoa whoa girl! Slow it down a notch, I can’t understand a freakin’ word you’re saying—”
“—What? Oh haha! Sorryyyy—HAHAHA!”
“What are you guys doing?”
Crashes and joyful screams from other fillies started filling the receiver. It was like trying to talk to a dozen Pinkie Pies inside a bounce house.
“Haha Colgate no. No! Ahahaha!”
Vinyl was shaking her head, but grinning widely. She heard Octavia open the bathroom door.
“Oh my—goodness—haha—Vinyl!  Sorry—so you still coming tonight? The train for Ponyville leaves at—”
“Vinyl, I need to talk to you,” said Octavia from behind her. She did not look happy. Vinyl raised a hoof for her to wait a moment.
“Yeah I know, seven. Wait—what time is it—” She glanced at the digital clock on the counter. 6:42.
“Vinyl!”
“Dang, I gotta go!” said Vinyl, ignoring Octavia again. She had lost track of time.
Vinyl was in the process of saying her goodbyes when Octavia picked up the phone base and threw it to the ground, sending plastic pieces flying all over the floor and ending the phone call immediately.
Octavia had a glare of pure venom. Her cheeks were pink, puffed out with fury. Vinyl still held the receiver in her hoof, the cord now disconnected. Her eyes were wide with shock.
It was a while before Vinyl dared to say anything.
“Tavi?” she said timidly.
“My name is Octavia. You know how much I hate you calling me ‘Tavi’.”
Vinyl was silent. The quiet thuds of the music were still playing in the background.
“Look, Octavia, I’m sorry about making you wait so long. I lost track of time. But can we talk about this later?”
“No, Vinyl,” said Octavia, walking over to the stereo and hitting the off button harder than necessary. “You wasted my time, so now I’m wasting yours.”
“Look, Octavia, I only have like fifteen minutes to get on the train!”
Octavia ignored all of this.
“So when was the last time you helped pay for rent, Vinyl?”
Vinyl sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Oh not this again—”
“When?”
Vinyl groaned. “March, Octavia. March. I told you, I still need to pay off that other mixer—”
“That’s fine, but what about all this?” said Octavia, waving a foreleg at the enormous stereo. Since March, you have bought one of these in every room, Vinyl. Every room. Thousands of bits! And that’s not even including the ridiculous amounts of times you eat at restaurants on a regular basis!”
“Okay, fine, I’ll stop eating out all the time. But I can’t sell my stereos! It’s who I am, Octavia. It’s my job—It’s my life!”
Octavia paused, glaring at her.
“Music is a part of my soul too, Vinyl,” said Octavia. Her voice was higher now. “You know that, don’t you? Or maybe you don’t—you seem to have forgotten there’s another pony around here too—”
“You know that’s not true, Tavi—”
“—My name is Octavia—”
“—Octavia! Right! Sorry! Look Octavia, you’re my best friend. I won’t ever forget that. But—”
Vinyl glanced at the clock again. She had only ten minutes now.
“Octavia...,” pleaded Vinyl.
Octavia looked like she was about to give in. She had argued with Vinyl about the same issue several times before. But she had reached the end of her rope.
“You take one step out that door and you’re out on the streets,” seethed Octavia, as Vinyl was trying to sneak away.
Vinyl froze.
“W-what?” She looked as though Octavia had just uttered a disgusting swear word.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” said Octavia, her voice in a finalized tone. “If you leave this house for Ponyville, I swear to Celestia you will never darken this doorstep again.”
Vinyl’s mouth hung open for a few second before she could speak.
“Who do you think you are? My mom?” She wanted to laugh, but with the look Octavia was giving her, pulling the hairs off a sleeping manticore would have been a safer alternative.
“No, I’m just sick of doing everything for you all the time. Grow up, Vinyl. Just because you’re famous now doesn’t mean you’re entitled to do whatever you want.” She picked up a mirror and checked her appearance one last time before setting it down. She pulled out a slip of paper from her pink bowtie.
“I’ve got a play to get to. I worked too hard to receive an invitation from one of Celestia’s royal guards to let it be ruined by my careless friend. I’ll be home by midnight.”
As Vinyl stood there, still frozen in her tracks, Octavia gave her a menacing look and shut the door behind her.
A few moments later, the door reopened and Octavia’s face appeared.
“Let anypony in this house except me and you’ll meet the same punishment,” she said dangerously. Her eyes then flashed towards the pieces of the telephone on the ground.
“And pick up that mess. Goodbye.” The door shut for the final time. The sound of Octavia’s hooves in a quick canter faded away down the street.
A ringing silence followed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Vinyl quietly. She went to the kitchen and glanced again at the clock. Even if she was allowed to leave, she wouldn’t be able to make the train by now. Vinyl reared on her hind legs and clutched her half-brushed mane.
“Ugh!”
She felt awfully stupid. Put on house arrest by her own best friend? She felt like she was back home again as a young filly, being grounded by her overprotective mother. She thought she had left that life behind her now she lived in Canterlot. She thought she had grown up now and didn’t have to deal with that sort of garbage anymore.
“Ugh!” she growled again, picking up the pieces of the phone with her magic and chucking them into the trash bin violently. The severed cord protruding from the wall dangled pathetically, wires poking out the end.
What were Berry Punch and the others going to think? They had a whole night planned out, and she was expected to show up by dozens of ponies. If Vinyl didn't show, they would think she had ditched them all to hang out with other ponies up in Canterlot. Which certainly wasn’t true, but she couldn’t do anything about it now that Octavia had mutilated her only source of communication.
Fuming, Vinyl collapsed on the couch and grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it. The poor pillow, which hadn’t done a single thing, was forced to have all levels of profanity shouted into it. Although they were inanimate objects, you had to feel at least a little sympathy for them, subject to all kinds of torture. 
Vinyl, depleted of four letter words, threw the innocent pillow into the opposing wall. She hadn’t stayed home on a Friday night in living memory. Let alone…alone.


F I V E  H O U R S  R E M A I N