//------------------------------// // The Amora Crescendo (Part 2) // Story: Not My Fault // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Chapter 15: The Amora Crescendo (Part 2) As soon as Octavia gets within a hair’s breadth of me, I react. And step back into the hall, nearly tumbling over the banister. “Whoa, hey now. What’s going on with you?” I try to seem mildly composed, and not at all like I was considering kissing the mare who’s been all kinds of trouble since day one. While I already have a working relationship for once in my life. Octavia blinks, and takes a step back. She looks like I just hit her or something. “I-I thought that... maybe you... I don’t know. I just... it’s what I wanted to do?” Her last statement is both a question to me and herself, I can tell. Like she isn’t entirely sure. I do my best to help her laugh it off and lighten the mood. “Hey, no problem, I totally get it.” She looks up timidly. “Really?” “Sure.” I wave a hoof nonchalantly in her direction. “I’m totally hot, I just had a bunch of sex and smell like every mare in heat ever, and you obviously had something going between you and that cello. Heat of the moment, right?” Octavia blinks, taken aback. I can tell that’s not what she thought I was going to say, but she doesn’t seem to have any kind of retort to it. “Yes, yes I suppose it must have been. I... apologize, for being so forward. Especially given our... history.” I silently congratulate her on bringing it up first. She’s normally not one to talk about it if at all, even when it’s relevant. “No biggie. Listen, I’m gonna go pack up and get ready to move home. You want some help with your stuff?” Octavia smiles, seemingly grateful for the change in topic. “No, thank you. I was actually almost done before I started playing. I just have to resort all of my sheet music, and put my cello back.” “Wait, there was sheet music to that?” She chuckles slightly. “Not exactly. I was looking over all of my songs, looking for something... intense to play, when I realized most everything in my collection is practiced showpieces. Nothing that really incites... emotion.” “What, like musical masturbation?” “Vinyl!” I laugh loudly. “Hey it’s not like I don’t do the same thing. Why do you think I like bass so much?” She gets all indignant and huffy at me being to ‘callous’, and rushes me farther down the hall. “Go finish packing, you ingrate!” she yells, but I can practically hear her smile. Spitfire and I must be rubbing off on her. I happily trot down the hall, situation defused and homeward bound. -------- After shoving Vinyl out of my personal space, I quietly close the door, and lean against it. Even so, I can’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles after only a few seconds. I guess if Vinyl feels comfortable enough around me to make jokes like that, then we must be rather close to being completely over our earlier troubles. Having laughed myself dizzy, I look about the room, and instead of seeking an outlet for my... pent-up emotions, all I see is a mess that needs to be cleaned. Which is a much more manageable situation. The cello itself is rather easy to put back, although I do flinch at the sight of my bow on the ground. I’m usually insidiously more careful with it than that, but I decide not to dwell on such things, as there is work to be done. The papers take a bit more work than I’d hoped, as many of the sheets have become scrambled. After carefully arranging them into their proper stacks, and organizing them enough to fit back into my suitcase properly, I stack all of my luggage and the few boxes I bothered with out in the hall for when we leave later. I took the time to arrange a moving cart for the afternoon, which I believe will go much more smoothly than everything else thus far. I also try not to dwell on that, lest I jinx it. With not much else to do, I decide that maybe I should go out to lunch with a friend. I track down the phone at the end of the hall, and dial up Beauty Brass. “HELLO?!” she screams at the phone. ...after I stop the shaking, I gather up the phone from the floor, and say, in a rather controlled and slow voice, “Hello, Beauty. It’s Octavia. How was practice?” I hear her inhale to talk again, and somepony in the background say something. She makes a sheepish squeaking noise, and when she returns to the phone, she’s much quieter. “Hi, Octavia. Sorry. Practice was good. How have you been? We haven’t seen you outside of practice for a while.” “I’ve been well. I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch with me.” I hold the phone away from my head in anticipation. “WOULD I?!” I wait a few seconds, then return it to my ear. “Oh, sorry. Yes, Octavia, I’d love to. Would you like to meet at our usual restaurant?” I mull it over, and come up with another idea. “Actually, there’s a small place nearby that I would love to share with you.” ---------- I’d just finished with my packing, and decided to call up the apartment complex to see if there was gonna be somepony there that could help us get all our stuff up the stairs, unlike last time. It rang through to voicemail, so I decided to just leave a quick message and try again later. Food sounded pretty good right about now, as Tavi had left only half an hour before, saying she was going to lunch with a friend of hers. I scrounged around the kitchen for something left of the food I’d brought with me, which wasn’t much. As it turned out, I hadn’t had much in my fridge when I’d left, and I wasn’t privy to the shopping spree. So I decided to peruse the other girls’ food supplies. That didn’t last long, as all of their food amounted to healthy athletic stuff and dainty good-for-you foods. Boring. I wanted something so not good for me. With like, a bunch of salt. Hayfried potatoes sounded delicious. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any with me. Fortunately, I know my marefriend well. I made my way back to the hall with the phone, and dug around the space between the endtable and the wall. While Spitfire may have a knack for eating healthy, and a reputation to uphold, there is one thing she absolutely can’t resist. Take out. And, feeling my hoof brush the edge of a piece of paper, my suspicions were confirmed: she always, for as long as I have known her, hides a take-out menu somewhere near the phone. I browsed the list, seeing a bunch of stuff guaranteed to make a cardiologist cry, and found what I was looking for: hayfried potatoes. Also just called hayfries. I dial up the joint Spitfire refuses to acknowledge she frequents, Greasy Geese, and order a huge batch of them. And a chocolate shake, because I can and Octavia’s not home to freak out. With my order placed, I decide to try calling the apartment complex again. And again, it goes to voicemail. I look up at the clock, and almost facehoof. Of course nopony’s answering the phone. It’s lunch hour. There’s probably nopony at the desk. So now I have food on the way, and time to kill. I’d work on mixing some tracks if I could, but all that’s been packed up. So, I go to the next possible solution for my boredom. I sneak around my marefriend’s room. Now, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been in her room plenty of times before, and I know where most everything is anyway, but there are still places I haven’t found yet, little nooks and crannies I just haven’t thoroughly sniffed around. Under her bed? Please. First place I checked. Hell, I helped her move her mattress. The closet? Oh, honey. Closet sex is amazing. No, there’s only two places I have yet to completely violate the privacy of, like a good curious troublemaking marefriend: her dresser drawers and her safe. Now, the safe I leave completely alone. There are boundaries, of course. I’m no hooligan safecracker. Her dresser, however, is completely unlocked. Totally free game. The top two drawers are basically what you’d expect. The stuff she goes for first: spare uniforms, workout clothes, sweatbands. She’s not really one for clothes. The next drawer down is more seasonal stuff. Scarves, shirts for when it’s cold but not sweater cold, sweaters, and a little beanie I remember her wearing years and years ago, that I think I actually bought her. Yup, it’s in my colors, all right. The bottom drawer, however, is interesting. Not in the least because it’s hard to open. There’s no obvious lock, it feels more like it’s jammed, so I sniff around the edges. And bingo, a nice little button underneath. With a satisfying click, I hear the drawer unlock, and I slide it out. And It’s awesome. It’s all lingerie and nighties and stuff. Most of which I’ve seen her wear. A few ones I haven’t, but that are little more than palette swaps of other outfits. Then there’s the little black box. Innocuous, and actually kind of hard to see, tucked away in its corner. It’s unlocked, so I just tilt the lid a little bit, just a peek. I don’t wanna disturb things too much. And what I see amazes me. It doesn’t surprise me, as much, because I had my suspicions already, but having confirmation is another thing. I’m about to pull out the whole stash when I hear the doorbell ring. Oh, right, food. FOOD! I do my best to put everything back the way it was, knowing I’ll probably have to explain myself later, and close the drawer. I make sure it clicks shut before I leave, and I close her door behind me, racing down the stairs. The delivery guy is your usual pasty-faced teenager just trying to make a few bucks. he’s also apparently a fan, as he freaks out when he sees me. I give him a smile, an autograph, and a tip, and take my precious precious fries and slam the door shut. I am SO hungry right now. I don’t think I could ever properly describe the delight of a good plate of hayfries. Greasy, salty, heart-attacky goodness in almost crunchy kinda mushy delicious carbo-heavy amazingness. The plate doesn’t last the hour. After having thoroughly gorged myself, and setting some aside for later, I make sure to put the take-out menu back where I found it, and make plans to tease Spitfire with the leftover fries. Hopefully as a way of getting out of her being mad at me for snooping in my room, cause I just know she’s gonna find something. I take some time to make another call to the apartment complex, and this time, I actually get somepony on the line. “Hello?” Figures. The secretary never cared much. “Yeah, I had a question. I’m moving my stuff back in tonight and I was wondering if you had a couple of hired mooks I could use to take all my stuff upstairs?” “Move your stuff back in? Oh, honey, haven’t you heard?” ...uh oh. ----------- I meat Beauty Brass outside the cafe that Spitfire took me to. She looks obviously out of place, much like I must, but she greets me with a smile. “HI OC- I mean, hi, Octavia.” I can’t help but grin at her infectious enthusiasm. “Hello, Beauty. Shall we?” She gives the cafe an inquisitive look, but doesn’t seem to find anything quite wrong with it. “Sure, I guess.” “Oh, trust me. They are delicious. Come on in.” The two of us sit ourselves down at a booth in the corner, and Beauty seems absolutely entranced by the surroundings. It’s such a quaint and homey place, much different than the high society restaurants we make ourselves frequent, that the drastic difference in environments is quite amazing. It’s also significantly more welcoming and cozy here, and within moments Beauty looks absolutely at home. “This is so cool.” Her voice is awed and quiet, and she’s got this big childish smile. It’s rather endearing. It kind of reminds me of Vinyl’s smile, actually. I stop myself, shaking my head of the thought, and pick up a menu. “The last time I was here I just had some coffee and a croissant, but I’m rather more hungry than that.” Before Beauty has time to respond, Cafe Latte walks right up to us. “Well, hi, Octavia! Good to see you again! This another friend of yours?” Beauty Brass gives a tiny wave to the owner. “Hello! I’m Beauty Brass. Octavia and I work together in an ensemble in Upper Canterlot.” Cafe Latte looks politely impressed. “Well how about that! We have a few musicians around here, too. Matter of fact, one of our regulars is a DJ!” Beauty thinks about that. “You mean Vinyl?” Latte nods. “So you know her, huh?” Beauty looks ready to say something, but I know the dangers of letting her ramble on. “Vinyl was working at the awards ceremony several months back. Our ensemble played during the intermission, and I introduced her to my friends then.” Latte gave off the aura of someone who wants to listen but has work do so, so we gave her our orders, and she trotted off. Beauty looked back at me. “She seems really nice.” “She’s a sweetheart. She’s also good friends with Spitfire and Vinyl, so please don’t say anything that might give her a poor impression of us, ok? I do like it here.” Beauty nodded knowingly, and decided to change the subject. “So how are things with you and the girls? I know you were pretty nervous about sharing a roof with them.” I sigh, leaning back in my seat. But it’s a happy sigh. “It’s much better. I’m making some progress, personally, but it’s like none of it happened. I know there’s still some... tension, and unresolved issues.” I decide not to tell her about the incident this morning. I can still feel Vinyl’s breath on my muzzle- NO. “But we’re becoming... friends, I think. It’s nice. They’re really very good ponies, Beauty.” She nods approvingly, and we talk back and forth amongst ourselves, sharing anecdotes and laughs. Even when our food comes, we still find time between bites to catch up. “So what do you think of Vinyl, anyway? I know you were pretty upset with her when you first met. How’s that working out?” Beauty asks around the lip of her coffee mug. I’d made sure she didn’t put anything in it, and it shows. She flinches slightly when she sips. “Much better. She’s actually quite fun to be around in small doses. Although she does snore.” Beauty almost spits out her coffee. “You’re SLEEPING TOGETHER?!” I practically jump out of my seat. Whipping my head around, I see Cafe Latte giving me a stern, unhappy look. “NO! No.” I readjust my voice to NOT match hers. “We’re just roommates. Spitfire’s house doesn’t have a lot of guest room. We just share a room.” Beauty taps her chest. “Oh, Sweet Celestia, I thought you were gonna tell me you were fooling around with a Wonderbolt’s marefriend!” I bury my face in my hooves, and can practically feel it when Cafe Latte trots up to the table. “What’s this about fooling around?” I look up to her in earnest. “It’s nothing. Just a bad choice of words. We’re sharing a room at Spitfire’s, and I happened to mention that Vinyl snores.” Latte’s expression goes from one of a mother lion protecting her cubs to a jovial smile. “Oh, yeah! I love her to bits but she’s like a lawnmower! You girls enjoying your meal?” Beauty nods enthusiastically, somehow completely recovered from the near heart-attack I seem to have given her just moments before. “It’s delicious!” Latte nods approvingly, and trots off. “Well, it’s great that you get along so well, now. I’m glad.” Beauty takes another healthy bite of her scone. “Yeah, they’re both great. Spitfire is rather relaxed and collected, and Vinyl’s just... fun. Once you get past the culture differences between the two of us, it’s really rather pleasant to be around her. She’s great, I love her.” I hear Beauty Brass choke on her food. “You what?!” “What?” ---------- The walk home from the cafe, which we left soon after my easily-misunderstood comment, is spent assuring my friend that I am not, in fact, in love with Vinyl Scratch. Just because she’s fun to be around, and attractive, doesn’t mean I’m in love with her. Beauty Brass still doesn’t entirely buy it by the time we get to my house, but all the same, we find her a cab home, and I make my way inside. Waiting for me in the living room, almost predictably, is Vinyl Scratch. I giv her a once over, as it seems she’s showered recently. Big red pretty eyes, stylish blue mane, nice white coat. Yes, she’s attractive, but I’m not in love with her. Just because I want to have sex with her- -ed. Want-ED. Oh, bloody hell. I flinch slightly as part of me somehow quietly possible admits I might have feelings for this erratic DJ. Well, at least we’re moving out tonight, so I don’t have to worry about being around her all the time. Before I can so much as say hello, however, Vinyl seems to have found her voice. It’s at this moment that I realize she’s been trying, and failing, to say... something since I walked in. “Vinyl, are you ok?” “Yeah, I’m fine, I... ok, look. Before you ask, this is SO not my fault...”