"We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan, and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence."
—Joseph Roux

A dreary corral of clouds hung over Canterlot. The weather-pegasi had a heck of a storm scheduled for today, and had created the darkest of skies in preparation for it. Mindful of this, Vinyl considered bringing an umbrella with her for her trip to the market. Though, she decided against it when she remembered what day it was, wanting nothing more than to let the rain wash her thoughts away.

She forsook her cloak as well, needing the rain to cleanse the sins of her flesh along with the demons of her mind. After she closed the door to her high-rise apartment-slash-studio, Vinyl glanced out a nearby window to check the weather again. The torrent hadn't come yet, but it would.

Stories dissolved into a mindless monotone of steps. Before she knew it, Vinyl Scratch burst through the doors to her building and stepped out on Canterlot's main road.

Her mere appearance—wild mane, goggles donned, famous cutiemark bared for the world to see—caught the attention of several already, but Vinyl paid them no mind.

Kicking at a stone in the street, Vinyl trudged to the marketplace. Ponies passing by seemed no more significant than multicolored blurs, even when their wandering eyes sought her attention. She gave them none, muzzle to the ground, mind a cloud and haze of everything and nothing.

The chatter and clamor of passerby and bystander was drowned out by the inner silence of today. If Vinyl would've been paying attention, she would've heard at least one pony spin on his hooves and ask for her autograph, dismayed when she continued onwards. Nevertheless, she kept her head hung low, chasing the pebble as she kicked it towards her destination.

When she reached finally the marketplace, Vinyl hurried over to a fruit stand, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. She wanted nothing more than to return home and surrender to the sanctuary of her sheets, where today could be just another Tuesday.

The merchant who’d been waiting patiently for her first customer of the morning perked up as Vinyl Scratch walked up to her stand. “Good afternoon! How can I help y—omigosh!” Bringing both forehooves up to her cheeks in wonder, the merchant exclaimed, "Are you the Vinyl Scratch?!"

"Wow! I've never seen you around here before! Doing your own shopping, too?!" The merchant gasped in amazement. "I thought I heard you had a servant who did everything for you!"

Vinyl looked up at the mare through her glasses, then back down at the selection. She said nothing in reply, letting her silence and raised eyebrow say it all. Meanwhile, she browsed the merchant's offerings. Various colorful fruits waited beneath her hooves: oranges, apples, pomegranates, a few different kinds of berries, and even some imported mangoes from the far coasts of Equestria. Vinyl grimaced when she saw the mangoes.

Ignoring the merchant's strange rumor, Vinyl merely requested her purchase. “I’d like a pound of oranges and a pound of apples, please."

The merchant nodded, her smile threatening to break her muzzle. “Just one moment, please. I’ll bag those right up for you, Miss Scratch!”

Nodding her thanks, Vinyl turned away and looked about the busy marketplace. Mares and stallions alike selected their goods, from vegetables to fine wine. A few foals skittered about with their parents, their eyes darting to and fro in perpetual boredom. The merry clinks of bits exchanging hooves filled the air, along with the ever-present chit-chat of the thoroughly blessed.

When the merchant finished preparing Vinyl's purchase for her, the unicorn lighted her horn in a flash. Fishing in her deep, heavy bit-bag, Vinyl Scratch withdrew ten bits and laid them on the stand, grabbing the fruit with her magic in exchange.

"Thank you so much! Have a nice day, Miss Scratch,” said the merchant, her bright, shining grin staying strong.

Without another word, she turned her hooves towards home and started her journey back, taking slow, careful steps.

”Alright, class! Please find a partner for our first exercise in music theory.”

The normally stern professor at the front of the lecture hall cracked an earth-shattering smile across her marble muzzle and clapped her forehooves, kicking up chalkboard-dust in her wake. When the dust settled, twenty young fillies and colts swept nervous gazes across rows of desks that, although they were adjusted to each pony's appropriate height, might as well have towered to the heavens themselves.

The Fillydelphia Musician's Academy may have admitted her with open, eager hooves, but young Vinyl Scratch felt about as welcome as an Earth pony in Cloudsdale. Here in these hallowed halls of academia, where the finest Equestrian musicians had once shod hoof, everything was quite different from what the little unicorn was used to.

Along with the pain of leaving her family behind in Canterlot, her first day had been a whirl of chaos, missed alarms, scowling instructors, and whispering students. Now, here was the terror of terrors—partner work. And it looked like Vinyl would be on her own.

Sweeping her eyes around the room, she saw that, to her horror, the vast majority of her classmates had already partnered up. With quick nods and welcoming smiles towards each other, the number of potential saviors around her began to dwindle rapidly, dangerously.

While sheet music (whether reading or writing it) struck no more fear into Vinyl's heart than a butterfly’s presence, being left alone in this sea of unfamiliar muzzles was anxiety-inducing enough to become a full-blown phobia. She began to sweat profusely as she darted her eyes all around the classroom. The pool of ponies around her pairing up was piling up, swirling and turning and draining deep and far away...

Vinyl spun around at the light touch of a forehoof on her shoulder. “Huh?!”

Sitting in the desk right behind her was one of the three Earth pony members of the class—and the lone filly of those, at that. The gray filly, her long, black mane pulled away from her face, wore a cheerful little bowtie and an even more cheerful smile. "Do you have a partner yet?"

Vinyl shook her head and swallowed hard, unable to speak due to the thundering in her chest.

At her silence, the filly only giggled and grinned wider. "I'll be your partner. My name's Octavia!"

Somehow, by the grace of Celestia herself, Vinyl was able to pry her own forehoof from its frozen position on her desk and meld it to fit the other filly's. "V-V-Vinyl Sc-Scratch."

Octavia tilted her head as they completed the hoofshake. "That's a mouthful. Can I just call you Vinyl?"

Vinyl shrugged and rubbed at her shoulder awkwardly. "Um… Well…That's what my friends in Canterlot used to call me wh—“

"Let’s be friends then!" Octavia laughed, her notes sounding like tinsel. "After all," she said with a cheeky grin, "you're not in Canterlot anymore, Vinyl." She giggled again.

Vinyl stared at the strange filly, tilting her head. However, she hadn't been staring for more than a few seconds when Octavia's light, bubbly laugh caught up to her.

Vinyl snorted, feeling her lower lip starting to tremble. Then, without warning, her snort erupted into a chortle, then a chuckle, then a full-blown laugh.

"That... well, duh!" Vinyl said as she smacked her stomach with her forehooves. "Of course I'm not in Canterlot anymore!"

"Good." Getting up from her desk, Octavia sidled into the empty one beside Vinyl Scratch and declared, "I think we're gonna be great friends, Vinyl."

Feeling a light tickle upon her fur and skin, Vinyl looked up and narrowed her eyes at the skies. She was rewarded with another light tickle from a raindrop, falling from the expectant clouds above. She smiled and stopped in her tracks.

Looking around, Vinyl realized that, in her absentminded haze, she had taken a different turn through the streets of her hometown. She stood now before Canterlot’s premiere fashion district. Stores boasting only the finest of threads circled around her like towering dominoes. She glanced over to see a mannequin clad in a fine, silken dress, its colors black and gray with swaths of pink.

Vinyl’s slight smile fell. She lifted her hooves to continue as more raindrops dotted the cobblestones.

Octavia and Vinyl stretched themselves out on the floor of Octavia’s dorm room. Each student in the Fillydelphia academy was assigned a room and roommate. The quads were barely bigger than Vinyl’s bathroom back home (though thankfully, they had a separate room for that). If it hadn’t been for the giggling, curious filly jabbing at her homework beside her, Vinyl would’ve felt claustrophobic.

Here, in the tiny room and on the first day of the biggest adjustment of her life, Vinyl felt, strangely enough, right at home.

“Yup! You’ve probably heard of my parents,” Vinyl said, levitating in a pencil in her telekinesis. Unlike many other unicorns her age, she was quite proficient with the most basic spell. This was owed in part to, without a doubt, her fascination with her parents’ record collection and gramophone.

“Oh?” Octavia set the pencil in her forehoof down and looked at her new friend quizzically. “Who are they?”

Vinyl tilted her head and began writing with the pencil in her aura. “What? Why is that so weird?”

“Well…” Bringing a forehoof to her mouth, Octavia let out another giggle. This one, however, wasn’t as innocent as the previous few. “It’s just… Nopony would’ve guessed Hoity Toity liked mares.”

Face-hoofing, Vinyl groaned and shook her muzzle with a snort. “Well… Believe it or not, my dad does. He just likes nice clothes along with nice mares… as he’s said.”

Octavia blew a raspberry and picked up her pencil again. “Colts are gross.”

“Ew!” Retching, Octavia mimicked shoving her pencil down her throat. “Sister, don’t you get all lovey-dovey on me, or we might not be best friends after all!”

Vinyl’s pencil fell from her aura, her eyes widening as she looked up. Had she really just…

Dismissing her with a wave of her forehoof, Octavia admitted, “Okay, maybe that one colt in our class is okay! You know, the blue one with the eighth notes cutiemark?”

“Whatever. Anyway,” Octavia continued, still waving her forehoof around like a conductor in the finest Canterlot concerto, “colts are still kinda gross. They smell. Besides, we’re only eleven, Vinyl! I don’t wanna see my best friend get married too young! That never works out well! Don’t you read?”

“Did you…” Pausing to take a breath, Vinyl tried again. “Did you just—”

“Oh!” Her nonchalant expression morphed into another toothy smile, accompanied by her now-trademark giggle. Octavia said, “Well, yeah! I mean… I hope you don’t mind. It’s just… well, I always wanted a sister,” she admitted sheepishly, a tinge of pink dotting her cheeks.

Brought back down to Equestria at last, Vinyl felt her inner clockwork churn once more. She straightened her head back up and scooted closer to her new friend, a huge grin on her muzzle. “I thought I was the only one. I’m an only foal.”

“Really? Me too! Hey!” Octavia slumped her forehoof across Vinyl’s homework and held it out to her. “Let’s make a pact!”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Gross! No! You thought I was actually gonna cut myself?” She withdrew her forehoof back for a second, standing up slightly. “Who do you think I am, Vinyl Scratch? One of those weird punk-rock band members who dyes their mane black and smears all that makeup under their eyes?”

Scrunching her snout, Vinyl remarked, “No. If you were like that, I wouldn’t hang out with you.”

When they began to calm, Octavia sat down close to Vinyl and held her forehoof out again. “C’mon, let’s make a pact. We’ve got seven years in this place,” she reasoned, looking up into the unicorn’s eyes with a smile. “Wanna be best friends?”

Hesitating, Vinyl replied, “Octavia, I don’t really think that’s the way it works…”

Vinyl paused, glancing around the room. While one bunk was littered with clothes, textbooks, parchment, pencils, and even a large teddy bear, the other was empty. “Hey… where’s your roommate?”

“Oh…” Frowning, Octavia bit her lip and pulled her forehoof away. “Well… she… she kinda asked to get transferred to a different dorm.”

Octavia shrugged and pulled both her forehooves close to herself. “I dunno…”

Biting her lip, Vinyl looked around the room, then back at the filly lying beside her. Octavia wasn’t a blankflank, as testified by her curling, pink treble clef—not that that would have justified anything.

Though she had been one of the first fillies in her Canterlot class to earn her cutiemark, Vinyl never looked down on those who hadn’t. Then again, she hadn’t exactly stood up for them, either. The daughter of two prominent Canterlot elites, she’d been raised to be quiet and unsuspecting, lest the tabloids and the rumor mill have their way with her.

Now, as she scanned the trappings of one filly in a dorm room meant for two, the answer eluded her. When she glanced over in a nearby mirror and saw herself next to Octavia, she understood why.

Of the three Earth ponies in her class, Vinyl had only interacted with Octavia. The other two colts, one of whom played the saxophone, the other the piano, hadn’t said a word that first day. Nor had anypony else seemed to pay any attention to them.

Turning her attention back to Octavia, Vinyl Scratch couldn’t help but reach over to her. “Hey…” Octavia looked down, finding Vinyl’s forehoof on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Turning away slightly, Octavia shrugged Vinyl’s forehoof away. “Aw, it’s no big deal,” she said, unable to hide a sniffle. “I didn’t really like her anyway.”

“Yeah, well… She’s a jerk,” Vinyl said, a touch of anger in her voice. She moved over so that Octavia would have to look into her eyes. “Forget her.”

Grinning, Vinyl Scratch stuck out her forehoof. “How about, instead of being just best friends, we’ll be roommates, too? Whatcha think?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, in which her frown was replaced by a small smile curling across her muzzle, Octavia reached over and shook hooves. “It’s a deal, Vinyl Scratch,” she said, the tear shining in her eye now reflecting happiness instead of defeat.

Spinning around, Vinyl’s gasp of surprise shifted into a forced, tiny smile. “Oh. Hello, Hot Shot.”

Hot Shot, the owner of the up-and-coming nightclub The Horseshoe, trotted up to her. The thick, tall Earth pony stallion wore a toothy grin on his muzzle, which complimented his suit and tie nicely. “Good to see you, Vinyl!” he exclaimed, grabbing her forehoof to shake. “Been a while!”

“Heh, yeah,” she muttered as she reluctantly shook hooves with him. “Been a bit of a while.”

“Where you been?” He slung a forehoof around her shoulder and laughed. “Haven’t seen you DJing down at The Horseshoe in over a month! Everypony thought you’d left town!”

“Oh… right.” Trying her best to squirm away from him subtly and politely, Vinyl chose her next words carefully. “Well… there’s just been a lot going on in my life. Lots of… personal things.”

“Oh?” Hot Shot withdrew his forehoof of his own accord, to Vinyl’s relief. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Despite his informal demeanor, true sincerity rang through his words—something that even the haze of Vinyl’s trickster consciousness couldn’t drown out.

Vinyl shrugged, picking up her hooves to trot. Though she was now directly opposite her apartment building, she felt that she had to go somewhere. Motion was commotion as well, and she loathed the prospect of being accosted by another. Hot Shot was at least a fragment of somepony who cared, and she would take whatever she could get.

He followed alongside her, their hooves clacking against the cobblestone as she headed towards downtown. For a few minutes, she didn’t reply, fighting against the inner demands of her recollection while still trying to remain in the conscious world.

Suddenly, as if he’d just spoke seconds beforehoof, Vinyl said, “It’s alright, Hot Shot. Everything is fine now.”

“I see,” he replied slowly, eying her with suspicion. He attempted to peer past her black-and-purple glasses into her eyes, but to no avail. Vinyl Scratch’s trademark was as impenetrable as her own aloofness, and there was nothing he could do to break either barrier.

“Mmhmm.” She looked to her left. An instrument repair shop waited patiently for its first customers of the day. The sign declaring repair prices also carried the painted image of a cello. Vinyl looked back at Hot Shot.

“So…” Rubbing his nape with a forehoof, he asked, “What do you have planned next? New concert? A tour? Any contract gigs?”

Vinyl shrugged. “Concert in a few months, probably. I haven’t exactly pinned things down with my agent.”

“Well…” Exhaling through his nostrils after pausing for a breath, Hot Shot explained, “I know things have been a bit… rough for you lately, but I was wondering if you would be interested in performing at The Horseshoe again. Everypony’s been asking about you since your last performance.”

Vinyl stopped in her tracks and looked fully at the stallion. Hot Shot paid well and took great care of his performers: free drinks, VIP access, and even a taxi-carriage to and from the nightclub were provided alongside a generous paycheck. This, along with his club’s down-to-Equestria decor and generally lax entry fee, was part of the reason The Horseshoe was becoming a Canterlot sensation.

So it was not fear of inadequate compensation that brought Vinyl to a pause. Instead, time became her principal concern. “When?”

“Well…” Hot Shot paused his steps. He rubbed his neck once more and cleared his throat awkwardly. “To be honest, as soon as possible. You see, er… The mare I had performing in your place, Jazz Breeze, kinda quit on me this morning.”

“Er, well… She actually quit on the whole business, to be honest. Something about meeting some stallion out West.” Hot Shot shrugged. “You know how it is sometimes. The things we do for love.”

“Yes,” Vinyl said, biting her lip as she looked away. “The things we do for love.”

Hot Shot put a forehoof on her shoulder. “So… No pressure, but if you are interested in performing again, a timeframe would be great. So I can hype it up and all, you know,” he added with a chuckle.

Looking again along the rows of businesses, Vinyl Scratch let herself fall into her thoughts. Near the instrument repair shop was a fresh-fruit market, an instrument consignment shop, and a boutique of fine clothes. All of them seemed to blend and blur before her eyes, becoming one mass of chilling familiarity.

The skies above seemed darker, and she swore she could smell the rain approaching.

“Yes, Hot Shot. Tonight,” Vinyl Scratch said firmly, bringing a forehoof up to her glasses. She pushed them more firmly against the bridge of her snout. If it was going to rain, she’d be damned if she’d let her eyes get wet. “Eight o’ clock sharp. I’ll have something for you.”

As if it took him only a few milliseconds of contemplation (visions of golden bits probably dancing before his eyes), Hot Shot whooped and threw a forehoof around her shoulders. “Sounds like a deal to me! Thanks, Vinyl!” He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll send a carriage your way around seven-thirty. Sound good?”

Hot Shot appeared to have thought otherwise, and whooped again, smacking her on the shoulder. Forcing a grin, she gave him an awkward pat on the back, which only seemed to amplify his joy.

By the time Hot Shot let her be, after a myriad of thank-you’s and more lengthy declarations of gratitude, Vinyl heard the clouds come together, and the thunder roar in the distance.

Yawning, Vinyl rubbed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes and rolled over onto her side. Looking down below (she always loved being on the top bunk), Octavia was waiting there for her, smiling around a gift-wrapped box in her mouth.

“Aww, c’mon, Octy,” Vinyl said, smacking her lips. She chuckled and peeled the covers off herself. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Octavia set the present down carefully, then wiped her muzzle with a forehoof. “But it’s your sixteenth birthday! Nopony can go without a gift on her sixteenth birthday.”

“Well, just give the mail-pegasi a few minutes,” Vinyl said, “because I’m sure my folks have sent more than enough my way.”

There was a bit of a lie sprinkled in that truth. While Vinyl Scratch knew both her parents were more than wealthy enough to afford even the most lavish of birthday gifts, their demanding schedules didn’t always guarantee that they would remember that important date.More than once, Vinyl’s gift had arrived a week or more late. Vinyl had always explained it away to Octavia as being due to weather—perhaps her folks were attending an event in faraway Las Pegasus, or Manehatten—or incompetent mail-pegasi.

To expect that clever Octavia would always buy this lie, year after year, was a mistake on Vinyl’s part. Nonetheless, she could only protest further as she climbed out of bed and walked over to her friend. “C’mon, Octy. Really, it’s alright.”

“No, you come on, Vinyl,” Octavia countered with a smirk. “The gift’s already been wrapped. Why don’t you go ahead and open it?”

“Oh… alright,” Vinyl relented, shaking her head. She sighed and lighted her horn, bringing the box over to her. “I hope you didn’t spend that much… Otherwise, I’ll have to get you an entire carriage-load of mangoes for your birthday.”

They both grinned. Octavia, strange as it was, requested only mangoes on her birthday each year. The one year that Vinyl had purchased chocolate-covered mangoes had been an awkward one indeed; no matter how much she insisted they were delightful, Vinyl knew that Octavia hadn’t eaten a single one of the treats. She wanted mangoes, and only mangoes. Vinyl suspected it something to do with a foalhood memory, but never pried about it.

Tearing the paper open with her magic, Vinyl carved her way through layers of blue-and-white wrapping paper, until only a simple, white box remained. Carefully removing the top half of the box and setting it aside, the unicorn peered down at her gift.

“Wow…” Setting the box down, Vinyl levitated the record in her magic and narrowed her eyes, lifting up her sunglasses to read the label. “‘Elegy?’”

“It’s something I made,” Octavia said. She fidgeted with her forehooves a bit, blushing a little. “Noteworthy helped me make it.”

“Well…” Octavia coughed and rubbed her nape. “He helped me with the recording, yes, but… You’ll see. Play it.”

Walking over to the gramophone sitting on top of her nightstand, Vinyl levitated the record over to the device and placed it into position. Lifting the needle, she cranked up the volume with another tendril of her magic. Octavia joined her side as the two waited for the music to begin.

The notes were soft, gentle at first, slowly riding into a crescendo. The steady rhythm of the saxophone provided a backbone for the lilting, hopeful melody of the cello. It was far from the beats and bass of the synthesizers Vinyl Scratch adored, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

While listening to it, Vinyl felt a warmth creep up from somewhere inside her soul, rising up into a sort of flickering flame. Though she wasn’t conscious of doing so, she was smiling wider than she ever had before.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Octavia said as the notes died down, “or even your favorite genre, but I wanted to make something for you.” She smiled, that same blush staying on her cheeks. “And, well… Noteworthy offered to help, and I couldn’t say no.”

“It’s beautiful, Octy,” Vinyl said, turning to her at last. “But why ‘Elegy’? Seems too much of a happy song to be an elegy, don’t you think?”

“Elegies were written to be tributes to the dead, yes. Lamentations.” Octavia wrapped a forehoof around Vinyl’s shoulders. “But I wanted to give you a tribute… A thank-you for being my friend for all of these years, Vinyl,” she said quietly, pulling her into a hug.

“Aww…” Vinyl laughed and hugged Octavia tightly, shaking her head. “Of course I would be! You’re awesome, Octy.”

Octavia sighed as she let her friend go. “Eh, I’m not sure about that…”

“Well, I am!” Vinyl declared, moving the needle off the record with her magic. She turned back to Octavia. “You’re the best cello player I’ve ever seen. And given how many concerts we’ve been to, how many musicians we’ve had to study… That means something.”

Slumping down on her bunk, Octavia shook her muzzle and looked down at her hooves. “I don’t know…” She sighed heavily.

“Hey.” Sitting down beside her, Vinyl pulled her friend into a sideways-hug. “Noteworthy’s a great stallion, too. The best I’ve seen on saxophone, too. You’re both awesome. I mean… you and him, with that duet? Sheesh, Octy! You two could go on tour, a traveling Earth-pony team!”

“But that’s the thing!” Octavia snapped, looking up to face Vinyl with tears in her eyes. “Earth ponies! That’s what everypony sees, Vinyl! How will anypony ever take me seriously?”

“Aww, c’mon…” Frowning, Vinyl began to rub Octavia’s back, saying, “That’s not true. We’re only a few years from graduating, Octy, and I’m sure by now all the instructors know that that isn’t a big de—”

“I don’t care about the instructors!” Octavia flinched and spun around, crossing her forehooves across her chest. “Two years, Vinyl! Two years to convince Equestria that I’m not some sort of joke.”

Vinyl grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Though not an Earth pony, she was strong anyway. That, or Octavia was too distraught to fight her. “C’mon,” Vinyl said again, lifting Octavia’s chin with a forehoof. “That was a beautiful duet you made for me. And I know you have many more in you.”

“You… you really think so, Vinyl?” Octavia asked, sniffling the same way she had when she was a much younger and much more scared filly.

“I know so,” Vinyl affirmed, giving her another strong hug. “I love Elegy. In fact…”

Smirking, Vinyl Scratch pulled away from their hug, grinning at Octavia. Looking over her shoulder, she sparked her horn to move the needle to the record. “I’d like to listen to it again.”

As the record began to play once more, Octavia pulled Vinyl in close for a hug. Whispering words of encouragement, Vinyl hugged her back, listening to Octavia’s gift as the music rose and fell to that same crescendo. It was unique, but beautiful. And anypony who didn’t realize that was either deaf or a foal.

Within a month, Vinyl had scratched her record deeply, making it skip. She listened to it anyway.

The rain came with a vengeance, accelerating quickly from a steady pitter-patter of raindrops to an absolute, drenching torrent. Noble-ponies in fine threads ducked for cover, using umbrellas, their coats, or even newspapers to protect their coifed and permed manes. Mares and stallions alike galloped through the streets, seeking shelter from the storm. Thunder boomed and the heavens themselves seemed to roar with the kick of the pegasi, the twisting and turning and vaulting dance of clouds on high.

Not even bothering to pluck a discarded newspaper from the ground to shield herself, Vinyl trudged onwards, seeking an alternate route towards home. Hot Shot was long gone, but she was loathe to cover her tracks. Running into the same star-struck merchant might have been the last straw.

Vinyl nearly laughed as she gazed up at the blanket of stormclouds. She adored days like this, when the atmosphere matched her heart. She knew, in all honest rationality, that the heart was solely a blood-pumping organ—that her mind would be a better metaphor. And even then, as pockmarked and oxygen-starved as her mind was, it wouldn’t be gray.

Long ago, when Vinyl Scratch was first learning the fine art of sheet music, eons ago in the faraway land of her foalhood, she’d come to a startling conclusion.

Music was poetry of its own. Tempo, melody, harmony. Sharp, flat, rest. Key, note, repeat, refrain. All the marks and trappings of it were indicators of an even more mysterious language—one that not just anypony, but anyone, griffon or buffalo or zebra or dragon alike, could be capable of reading. In music, there was a universal symbolism, a common tongue.

In another life, Vinyl Scratch may have well been a poet. But here she was—a DJ, and a lonely one at that.

As she passed by more and more distraught ponies, she contemplated going against her promise to Hot Shot and choosing to dance in the rain all night instead. After all, as the maker of a promise, she, too, could break it.

She could blame it on illness, whether mental or physical, or a family emergency, or a sudden career change. She could simply stand up the taxi-carriage and wait until the driver gave up and moved on to actual fares. She could flee town or, as was easier and even more dangerous, hole herself up in her apartment until everypony presumed her missing.

Of all days to resume her performances after a month of hiatus, this Tuesday was the most nonsensical of them all.

Perhaps, Vinyl reasoned as the rain began to drench her mane and trickle down over her shades, that was why she had spontaneously decided to do it.

First, she trotted through an alleyway, ignoring several trashcan’s worth of garbage strewn about all over the ground, along with the slumbering drunk who had probably kicked them over. Next, she turned up a side street, deserted but for a few taxi-carriages. Then, as she neared the corner, a familiar building came into view.

Feeling the rain begin to soak through her coat and burrow towards her bones, Vinyl Scratch headed towards the store in search of relief.

As she opened the doors and made the bell above them jingle, the shopkeeper greeted her, though without the fanfare of the fruit-merchant. Even when she paid the majority of Equestria no mind, Vinyl Scratch made an appearance at this liquor store every week. Sunday was her date night of choice to tango with the whiskey stallion.

“Morning,” Vinyl replied. She knew his name by now, but didn’t bother using it. It was probably for the better, both of them reckoned. She approached the counter and levitated her bag of bits onto the glass.

Using his magic, the stallion selected two bottles of single-malt, twenty-one-year griffon whiskey from the shelves. He returned them to the counter and began to bag them up. “You’re a bit late this week. Where were you Sunday?”

He snorted a laugh as he finished bagging up the beverages. “What’s worse than a hangover?”

Vinyl passed him the bits in her aura, which he gladly accepted with his own. “A lot of things.”

“Hmm.” Stashing the bits away in his register, he mused, “You know, whiskey may be good medicine to soothe a sore throat, or clear nasal congestion, but it’s not good for everything.”

The stallion lifted a forehoof, contemplating a reply. Opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, he merely watched as she turned around and headed towards the door.

Placing the heavy, paper sack inside her saddlebag next to the apples and oranges, Vinyl Scratch turned down another street. Above her, thunder boomed and a bolt of lightning flashed in the distance.

Before her roared a crowd in the thousands—no, the millions. Their eyes wide with adoration, they watched in open-mawed awe as Vinyl Scratch brought yet another masterfully mixed record to her turntable. The boom and thunder of the bass and the flash of the stage lights only served to—

Vinyl jolted awake with a gasp. “Huh?! Wha?!” Sparking her horn, she squinted through the darkness, though there was no need.

Octavia was at the hoof of her top bunk, holding herself up with both forehooves as rivers of tears streamed down her cheeks. “Vinyl…” she choked, a sob breaking her words.

“Octy, what’s wrong?” Vinyl sat up, then crawled over to her friend. When Octavia didn’t respond, she hoisted her over the bed, pulling her up onto her belly beside her.

Strengthening the glowing, red aura of her horn, Vinyl narrowed her eyes and scanned the darkness of their dorm room. Like at the Fillydelphia Musician’s Academy, the dorm rooms at Julimare held two roommates apiece, bottom and top bunk. Regardless, break-ins or even the occasional assault weren’t unheard of.

Charging up her horn, Vinyl searched through the blanket of night for naught. They were alone here in the sanctity of their dorm room, the only sound piercing the silence that of Octavia’s steady sobs into Vinyl’s chest.

Once she was sure nopony had burgled or forced their way into the room to prompt Octavia’s tears, Vinyl Scratch turned back to her distraught friend. “Octy, what’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Vinyl… he’s…” Octavia coughed, gasping for breath. “He’s… Vinyl, he’s… He’s…”

“Shhhhh. Relax,” Vinyl soothed. She lit her horn again and turned on a lamp in the middle of the room.

Octavia, her mascara and eyeshadow rolling off the hills of her tear-matted cheeks, looked up from Vinyl’s chest, whimpering pitifully. Stunned, Vinyl said nothing, only watching as her friend struggled to catch her breath. Vinyl rubbed her back comfortingly, waiting until her quivering, shaky breaths became smoother, steadier.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to wa-wake you,” Octavia choked, sucking down her tears with great, heavy sniffles. “I-I-I th-thought h-he, h-h-he wo—”

Vinyl rubbed her back again, trying to calm her friend. “Who’s ‘he’?”

“Noteworthy,” Octavia said, wiping her eyes with the back of a fetlock and taking a deep breath. “He… He…” She trailed off, visibly struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to send her into another fit of wracking sobs.

“Wait…” Vinyl paused, searching the haze of her post-awakening mind for recall.

Though it was only their first year at Julimare, Octavia’s coltfriend had shown clear signs of distress. He seemed depressed—almost despondent—for no reason at all. He avoided Octavia, though he seemed to insist that it was due to conflicting class schedules and the rigid demands of study. When Octavia was with him, she told Vinyl, he seemed distant, yearning. Unhappy.

At first, Vinyl had hesitantly counseled her friend that there may have been another mare in the mix. While Vinyl wasn’t exactly the greatest with relationships, an ex of hers—the Earth pony pianist, Frederick Horseshoepin—had acted the same towards her in their final year at Fillydelphia Musician’s Academy.

While she and Frederick had never been as strong as Octavia and Noteworthy, Vinyl had still seen the signs, and hurt less than she expected when he’d finally broke it off.

In the past few weeks, Octavia had told Vinyl, Noteworthy spoke of leaving. But where, not even he knew. He’d asked Octavia if she would come with him if he left.

Though she hadn’t said it explicitly, Vinyl Scratch knew that Octavia’s answer would have been no. After almost eight years of struggling to prove herself—studying late into the night, practicing her cello until her hooves bled, hashing and examining her fears until they seemed less significant than dust—Octavia would not be willing to give up her spoils for a vagabond’s dream. Julimare treated nopony graciously, but it was a dream realized, no nightmare.

Now, with Octavia inhaling through her tear-congested nose and matting Vinyl’s chest fur with her sobs, everything assembled itself before Vinyl Scratch, and she could only frown and wait for Octavia to finish.

Vinyl wrapped a forehoof around Octavia as she laid down again, burying her face in the unicorn’s chest. “He’s gone! He left! He’s GONE, Vinyl!”

Raising her head to stare at the wall, the trembling in Octavia’s voice rose several octaves, brushed away by cries of anger. “Of almost eight years! Up and leaves me! Leaves everything! And for what! For bucking what, Vinyl?!”

Vinyl rubbed her back more rapidly, lost for any soothing words. She could say everything and nothing, and both would have equal chance of bringing Noteworthy back.

“What am I? Huh? What am I to him?!” Octavia let loose a low growl and wiped her eyes and muzzle of tears and snot. “I was going to bucking marry the bastard someday… And he just goes and leaves?!”

“When…” Though she knew silence would be her ally, Vinyl couldn’t help but ask, “When did he leave?”

Octavia sighed and shook her muzzle, shifting back to Vinyl. “I dunno,” she said nasally, sniffling. “He… He left me a note… He…”

She swallowed. “He asked me to meet with him, Vinyl. He left me a note, saying to find him at sunset. Meet with him. To say goodbye.”

Vinyl looked into Octavia’s eyes, watching as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“But I couldn’t do it… When I got that note… I… I didn’t tell anypony. I just went to the practicing rooms, and played my cello, and I…

“Thanks,” Octavia said quietly, the tiniest smile flashing across her muzzle before it disappeared into the void.

“Anyway, I…” Octavia ran a forehoof through her mane, straightening it, as if by combing her mane and taming it, she could tame Noteworthy, too. “I just… I didn’t want to think about it. To think about him leaving. I thought this day would never come. I thought it was a phase, that he was bluffing.

“And I got so lost in my music and my thoughts that… by the time I checked the clock… it was past nightfall.”

“And I headed to the gates… He said in the note that he would meet me there. It was raining, and dark, and so, so late… I kept him waiting for hours, hours…

“Yes, it is,” Octavia said quickly, rising to her haunches. She clambered off Vinyl Scratch and laid down beside her, slumping onto the mattress and bringing her forehooves behind her head for a pillow. With a sigh, she stared up at the ceiling, no more tears dotting her eyes.

“Yes, it was my fault. I missed him, and now he’s gone,” Octavia said with finality, seeming resigned to her fate.

“Well… Did you go and talk to Cedar?” Vinyl asked, referencing Noteworthy’s roommate.

Octavia shook her head. “He’s already gone. Cedar said he boarded a train already.”

“He’s gone, Vinyl,” Octavia mumbled, bringing her forehooves to her cheeks and pulling them down. “He’s gone and he’s never coming back.”

“Aww, c’mon,” Vinyl said, trying to sound cheerful but failing to do so. Rolling over onto her side, she gave Octavia an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s just a phase. Maybe he just needed some fresh air. Stallions are like that sometimes, you know. Wild, reckless. I’m sure he’ll come back. Maybe he was just getting tired of school.”

“If I was good enough to keep him here, he wouldn’t have left,” Octavia lamented, her lower lip quivering.

Sighing, Vinyl pulled her into a hug. “C’mon, Octy. You know that’s not true.”

“How do you know?” Octavia challenged, though she still wrapped her forehooves around her friend.

“Because I just do. Do you remember what I told you on my sixteenth birthday?”

Octavia paused. Then, she looked up into Vinyl’s eyes, pure and piercing without her shades, and replied, “That I’m… how did you say it… ‘awesome’?”

Vinyl laughed. “Well… basically, yeah.” With a gentle sigh, she continued, “Octy, I know you really loved him, but he’s made this choice, for whatever reason or another. Maybe he’ll take it back tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Hay, even next year. You never know. But you can’t let it bring you down. You’re a good mare, Octavia, and you deserve a good stallion. And if Noteworthy can’t see the good in you, well, that just means that there’s a better stallion out there.”

Silence settled between them, a mixture of heavy contemplation and welcome peace. A smile twitched at the corners of Octavia’s mouth, reluctant to bloom into a full-blown grin of understanding.

“You know what?” With a smirk, Vinyl sat up and slid a forehoof under her pillow, rather than her magic. “I think I know just what you need, Octy.”

As she pulled her forehoof away to reveal her treasure, Vinyl said, “A pick-me-up.”

In Vinyl’s forehoof, she clutched a fifth of single-malt whiskey, aged twenty-one years. This brand was imported from far beyond the shores of Equestria—a product of the industrious Griffon Kingdom. At nearly one-hundred proof, it packed quite a punch; it was not a drink to be sipped casually.

And while both mares were of age to drink, Julimare did not allow alcohol on its grounds. For this reason, Octavia’s eyes widened to a size bigger than the bottle itself. “Vinyl!”

“C’mon,” Vinyl urged, using her horn to rummage through a drawer of her dresser across the room. “Just a little shot to help you sleep.”

“Vinyl…” Octavia glanced worriedly as two shot glasses were located and levitated over in the red aura. While Vinyl took one, she hesitated at taking the other. “I’m not sure. How long have you been drinking this?”

Vinyl shrugged. “It was a gift from my father, Octy. For Hearth’s Warming. I haven’t really drank that much of it.”

Vinyl forced a laugh, feeling tension creep its way into the room. “Maybe a shot or two a week. Just when I have trouble sleeping, that’s all.”

“Vinyl,” Octavia said firmly, leaning up on her forehooves, “you shouldn’t do that.”

Shrugging again, Vinyl agreed, “Maybe not, but when we’re studying like all us Julimare undergrads are, a shot of whiskey or two a week is tame compared to what some of the others do. And right now, I think you could use a cheers. C’mon. Just one, for me?”

With a slight sigh, Octavia grabbed the other shot glass. Vinyl used her magic to pour them each a shot, then capped the fifth and slid it back under her pillow with her aura.

Lifting the shot glass in her forehoof, Vinyl declared, “To good friends and better stallions.”

Octavia couldn’t help but smile. Her worry fell away as she lifted her glass and clinked it against Vinyl Scratch’s. “To good friends and better stallions.”

They tossed their whiskey back. Octavia stuck out her tongue and coughed at the burning, charcoal taste. Vinyl licked her lips, relishing the fire in her throat as it burned its way down to her belly.

“It’s an acquired taste, Octy,” Vinyl admitted. “Are you feeling better?”

A little grin formed its way across Octavia’s tear-streaked muzzle. “I am. Thank you, Vinyl.”

Giving the unicorn one last hug before she climbed down into her own bunk, Octavia replied, “Friends are for forever.

Now her mane and coat were thoroughly soaked. Seeking to avoid the possibility of electrocution, most of Canterlot’s residents who hadn’t sought shelter by this point did so now the best that they could. Only a few blocks away from her apartment building, Vinyl Scratch was not afraid.

While her saddlebags did weigh her down a bit, she still trudged on. Puddles soaked her hooves and a galloping taxi-pony drenched her entire coat in even more rainwater. She groaned and grimaced at this, but made no motion to run after him or even curse, as a younger Vinyl Scratch would have done.

Seven years. Even throughout her four years at Julimare, Vinyl Scratch had perfected her art, DJing at everything from the seediest night club to the Royal Wedding. With the assistance of her magic, her musical instincts, and more than a little experimentation, she created mixes, records, and performances that wowed nearly everypony who heard her music.

Sure, there were critics and detractors, but Vinyl paid no attention to them. They made her lose maybe a total of an hour’s worth of sleep over the years—far less than either of her famous parents could say.

The tabloids had their way with her at times: once, Vinyl was dating Octavia; another time, she was dating Hot Shot; and yet another time, she had shacked up with a vagrant in an alleyway whom she brought a sack of apples. She laughed at each and every one of these articles, knowing that the truth in them couldn’t be measured by any Canterlot microscope.

No, throughout her crazy, upside-down career, Vinyl had never once tipped a glass over critics or tabloids. There were other far more compelling reasons to do so.

As her apartment building finally came into view, Vinyl ran the reasons through her mind again.

One: Alcohol tasted good. Admitting to hedonism in more than a few ways, this was a truth Vinyl could not deny.

Two: It helped her sleep. Vinyl struggled with insomnia since foalhood. Not due to nightmares or boogeyponies, of course, but to something else: her racing mind.

When Vinyl Scratch closed her eyes, melodies and rhythms of bass and treble soared through it, up and down and back and forth like some sort of twisted carousel. Liquor could calm this inner clockwork, bring the gears to a grinding halt, so that, maybe, she could get a little peace.

When she was younger, Vinyl had had to cope with her insomnia the best she could. Once she turned eighteen, everything changed, for better and for worse.

While she climbed up the steps and fumbled with the key to the front door of her building, Vinyl Scratch realized that there was a third reason she paid the liquor store a weekly visit. A third reason that she tipped more glasses than she cared to count anymore.

Dripping with rain, her full saddlebags making her back ache, and the key trembling in her magic, Vinyl was too occupied to fight her mind’s onslaught, her recollection…

Stumbling, Vinyl Scratch swayed to her hooves as she scrambled off the couch. She brought a forehoof to her head and groaned. Despite it being over twelve hours since last night’s party had ended, she still felt as if she were flying inside her mind.

Somepony knocked at her door again, the noise drilling deep into her skull. Vinyl groaned and called out, “Coming! Just give me a sec… urgh!”

Focusing on her horn, Vinyl cried out in pain, nearly buckling to her hooves. Though she was still drunk, she was also a touch hungover. Magic eluded her. Her only reward for calling upon her horn was a sharp headache. Clutching her forehead again, Vinyl swayed her way over to the door, glancing around her apartment before she opened it.

Streamers, confetti, and deflated balloons decorated the ceiling, the walls, and the furniture. A “Congratulations!” banner hung listlessly from the ceiling, though Vinyl struggled to remember why it was congratulating her. Upturned, empty ice buckets, empty and half-empty fifths of various kinds of liquor, and a pyramid of beer cans littered the floor.

Grumbling to herself, Vinyl realized that any attempt to clean up this mess would be in vain. Her visitor was probably a few seconds away from knocking again or shouting at her, and both prospects seemed equally painful. Praying that her parents hadn’t paid her a surprise visit, Vinyl hesitantly opened the door.

“Oh… Hey, Octy,” Vinyl said, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. She stumbled a bit as she held the door wide. “Wanna come in?”

Saying nothing, Octavia walked in, her nostrils flaring as she gazed around the room. Vinyl shut the door behind her and locked it. “S’been a while, Octy.” Vinyl hiccuped and threw a forehoof around the mare’s neck. “How you been?”

Octavia took a step back, slinging Vinyl’s forehoof off her neck. “Vinyl, are you still drunk?”

“Umm…” Vinyl paused and brought a forehoof up to her mouth. She exhaled and tried to smell her own breath. “I… I think so.”

“Lovely,” Octavia snarled, looking all around the living room. Shaking her head, she kicked a nearby whiskey bottle away. “Had one hell of a party, didn’t you?”

Vinyl laughed and rubbed her neck. “Heh… I… I guess. I don’t really… remember.”

Trotting over to the half-hanging “Congratulations!” sign, Octavia narrowed her eyes as she looked at her friend. “And what was this party for?”

“Ummm…” Vinyl rubbed her forehead. “I don’t… I don’t really remember either.”

“Figures you wouldn’t. This is, what, the fifth party you’ve thrown this month?”

“Um…” Opening and closing her mouth dumbly, Vinyl shrugged and glanced around, hoping for an answer. She couldn’t find one amongst the mountains of bottles and deflated balloons. “Something like that.”

“And probably the tenth or twelfth you’ve attended. Gotta count those down at the nightclubs, right? Can’t forget those, huh?” Octavia sneered, trotting over to Vinyl.

Raising an eyebrow, Vinyl staggered and tried to think of a reason behind Octavia’s behavior. While she’d tried inviting Octavia to most of her post-graduation parties at first, the cellist declined almost every invite, stating she needed to practice. When she wasn’t practicing, Octavia was performing.

In fact, both she and Vinyl performed at least several times a week at several different venues throughout Canterlot, or even the rest of Equestria. If one took away the frequent parties thrown for her by clients or vice versa, Vinyl reasoned, their lives were about the same.

“Octy… what’s wrong?” Vinyl asked, slurring her words. She leaned up against an armchair, relishing the cool sensation of the oak against her cheek. “You could’ve come to last night’s party if you wanted.”

“No, I couldn’t have,” Octavia snapped, stepping closer towards her. Now within a foot of Vinyl’s muzzle (which reeked of liquor and more liquor), she pointed a hoof at the unicorn as she demanded, “Do you remember what last night was supposed to be, Vinyl Scratch?”

“Um…” Leaning her back against the chair, Vinyl stretched and groaned. “Uh… well, last night was the opening of that new karaoke bar, The Golden Microphone or something…”

Glaring daggers at her, Octavia brought a forehoof up to her bowtie. Slipping it under the tie, she produced a piece of folded paper, which she threw over at Vinyl. The paper landed on the unicorn’s horn, making her groan again.

“Urgh?” Bringing a forehoof up to the paper, Vinyl began to unfold it slowly. Left without the use of her magic due to alcohol, her hooves were clumsy. As she straightened it out and leaned against the chair, Vinyl read aloud:

“‘Octavia Melody, Performing ‘Elegy’ At The Canterlot Opera House.’”

Silence, as sickening and permeating as the worst hangover, filled Vinyl Scratch’s living room.

When she looked up from the paper finally, Octavia’s glare had intensified to the burning heat of Celestia’s sun. “I was playing your song, Vinyl. The song Noteworthy and I wrote and recorded for you.”

“There was no Noteworthy with me this time, so I was just playing the cello part,” Octavia said quietly, a strange mix of bitterness and remorse in her voice. “I played for a crowd of almost four hundred. Filled the Opera House up, Vinyl.”

“I looked all over for you in the stands, the crowds. I looked all over, but you weren’t there, Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said, her volume rising. “I looked all over, but you weren’t there!”

“Octy!” Vinyl brought her forehooves up to her ears and groaned. “Please! Let me—”

“No,” Octavia said firmly, stomping a forehoof on the floorboards. Ignoring Vinyl’s cry of pain at the noise, she continued, “I didn’t confront you when you missed my birthday last year. I didn’t scold you when you forgot to tell the bouncer at the last nightclub that I was coming, or the one before that. I didn’t even raise my voice when you blew off our lunch last week to sleep off your hangover.

Weakly looking up, Vinyl tilted her heavy head and narrowed her heavier eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a drunk, Vinyl!” Octavia exclaimed, taking an angry step towards her. “Almost three years out of college and still partying like an undergrad!”

“So I like to drink,” Vinyl spat, lowering herself to all four hooves. “So what? I’m sorry for missing your event last night. I honestly forgot.”

“Forgot?” Octavia rolled her eyes and waved a forehoof. “Ohhh, suuuure you forgot, Vinyl. Just like you forgot about my birthday last year?”

Vinyl rubbed her shoulder, darting her eyes around the room. “Well, I was—”

“You were hungover! Hungover again! Hungover like you are almost every single day!”

“No, I’m not!” Vinyl’s voice had a sharp, bitter edge to it. Against her better nature, she felt herself taking a step towards her best friend. “I just like to party, okay? Have a good time, you know? Oh, wait,” she muttered sarcastically, throwing her forehooves up, “you wouldn’t know about that, because you’re too busy moping over Noteworthy all the damn time!”

Octavia narrowed her eyes further, almost squinting. “You take that back, Vinyl Scratch.”

“Why should I?” Stomping, Vinyl swayed in circles around Octavia as she said mockingly, “It’s been seven years, Octavia! Seven years and you won’t relax or get over it or date anypony else! Seven years that I’ve tried to get you to relax, to let your mane down, and all you want to do is bury yourself in your music!”

“Just because you don’t care about my career, doesn’t mean that I can’t care about mine!” Grabbing Vinyl by her chin, Octavia stopped her in her tracks and leaned towards her, muzzle-to-muzzle. “Just because I grew up and you didn’t, doesn’t give you the right to blow me off!”

“‘Grew up’? Do you call whining over an old coltfriend growing up?” Vinyl shot back.

“At least I still have somepony to pine for!” Octavia objected. “Since Frederick, who have you gone after, Vinyl? Nopony! I set you up on dates and you stand the poor stallions up!”

Vinyl blew a raspberry. “Because I don’t need them, Octavia! And... And I don’t need you foalsitting me!”

Vinyl continued as she squirmed out of Octavia’s grasp, “I don’t need anypony tying me down! I’m the best bucking’ DJ Equestria has ever seen! Who played at the Royal Wedding?” Thrusting a forehoof towards her chest, she declared, “Me! Who’s going to play at next year’s Grand Galloping Gala? Me! Who gets into the VIP room of every nightclub and bar in Equestria? Me!

“And yeah, maybe I like to party a little! But that’s my business, Octavia, and not yours,” Vinyl said with a low growl, tossing daggers of her own.

If Vinyl were a pegasus, her wings would’ve flared in challenge. If her head wasn’t throbbing, she would have sparked her horn to show her might. But she was neither, and the drunken unicorn merely swayed and leaned against her armchair again, waiting for Octavia to fire another round.

Shaking her head, Octavia sighed heavily and looked down at the floor. “I never thought it would come to this…”

Octavia looked up, sorrow shining in her eyes. She locked onto Vinyl’s, fire and crimson burning brighter there than denial. “Vinyl… I grew up. Yes, maybe I still hang onto the idea that Noteworthy will come back, but still… I grew up and you didn’t.”

Sober, determined, and strong in ways Vinyl Scratch would never be, Octavia unlocked the door, opened it, and slipped away, closing it behind her.

Though it didn’t echo, it was this noise that would hurt Vinyl the most, drilling its way into her mind, her consciousness, her clockwork, long after the liquor demon left her at last, long after the party ended and it was just her, sitting on her dirtied floor and staring at the door.

Though that last party and last meeting with Octavia had been only a month ago, the bottles were still here. Added to those was a fresh round of them, empty fifths of her whiskey lying about. The same brand that her father, the famous fashion designer, had given to her on her eighteenth birthday littered the floor.

Because she wore glasses most of the time, nopony had to see her bloodshot eyes, or the dark circles that hung beneath them. Since she spent most of her time inside, nopony had to smell her breath or observe her swaying, slow, staggered trot. Due to the fact that most assumed that she was working on a new playlist or record when she was holed up in her studio-slash-apartment, nopony bothered her that whole month, when all she felt was sorrow.

For the first time in a month, she’d gone outside, let herself get soaked in the rain. Vinyl hoped that the rain would clean her, cleanse her, as ancient priests had believed in the time before Celestia and Luna.

Instead, she only found the hollow chilling of her bones and the emptiness of her home.

She set down her bag of apples, her bag of oranges, and her paper sack containing two fifths of her favorite poison.

Octavia had never lived here, but she’d been a familiar face. She’d come by almost every week those first two years. Then, in the third, when the parties intensified and the gigs doubled and Vinyl Scratch spent more and more time with her best friend, twenty-one single-malt, Octavia’s visits became more infrequent. Staggered. Fewer and fewer, as either Vinyl or Octavia found reasons not to visit there, or at all.

Truth be told, Vinyl knew it was almost always her blowing off the other mare, not the other way around.

Slinging her saddlebags to the floor, Vinyl trotted over and fell into the couch. Sinking into the cushions, she closed her eyes, willing herself to decide.

With close to eleven hours to go before Hot Shot’s taxi-carriage arrived for her, Vinyl Scratch knew she could compose a new piece. She’d done so in even tighter time constraints. On the other hoof, she could just choose a tried-and-true set—one of her many mixes that, she knew from experience, the audience would enjoy.

However, Vinyl realized as she closed her eyes, this was not just an ordinary Tuesday.

The taxi-pony waved as his patron stepped out of the apartment building. Though the storm had passed, she hurried nonetheless, a pair of saddlebags on her back.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am! Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Glancing towards a nearby clock-tower, he saw that it was a few minutes past seven-thirty.

Waving him off with a forehoof, Vinyl insisted, “No, no, it’s fine. Right on time.”

Climbing into the carriage, Vinyl shut the door and settled into the plush, velvet seat inside. There was nopony to share a seat with on this private ride, so she took off her saddlebags and laid them beside her.

With a nod and a whinny, the stallion began to pull the carriage away, leaving Vinyl to her thoughts and the record concealed in her saddlebag.

Hot Shot was waiting outside as the carriage pulled in. He scurried over and opened the door for Vinyl, who hopped out, saddlebag slung over her shoulder.

“Vinyl! Glad you could make it!” he exclaimed, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Let me help you with that bag.”

Vinyl clutched the bag closer to herself, enveloping it in her magic. “No, it’s alright. Tonight’s record is inside.”

“A new record?” Hot Shot gasped and laughed, leading her inside with a forehoof around her shoulders. “Well, aren’t we here at The Horseshoe lucky!”

Ignoring the stares and cries of surprise from various club-goers, Vinyl followed alongside Hot Shot as he led her past the double doors of the club. Inside, the dance floor of The Horseshoe was teeming with ponies of every race and gender.

A short, pudgy unicorn stallion currently directed the ebb and flow of the music at the turntable, scratching records, messing with volume, treble, and bass knobs, and switching records. Vinyl couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. There wasn’t enough parchment in Equestria to document all that the stallion was doing wrong. Nonetheless, the crowd danced their hooves into the ground, twisting, turning, writhing, hooting, and hollering at his music.

Pleasing the crowd wasn’t something that intimidated Vinyl. Tonight, when she spun her record, there was only one pony she wanted to please.

Leading her up the steps, Hot Shot leaned in close to whisper, “Do you need some time backstage? You know, psyche yourself up? Need a drink?”

“Alrighty, then,” he said with a grin. They reached the top of the stairs and clambered up onto the stage.

At the sight of Vinyl Scratch, the sea of dancing ponies ceased their writhing and looked over. Cheers and hoof-pumps into the air followed, along with eager forehooves stomping into the floorboards. Equestria’s finest DJ had arrived, and those at The Horseshoe knew that they wouldn’t have to feign a single dance move.

Trotting over onto the stage and grabbing a microphone, Hot Shot bellowed to the crowd, “How you doin’, everypony?!”

“Alllllll RIGHT! Everypony, may I present to you, DJing for the rest of the night—the one, the only, Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnyl Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch!”

While the crowd went wild, the squat unicorn stallion at the turntable stepped aside, bowing not in thanks to the crowd, but in recognition of the famous DJ walking up to him. Setting her saddlebag down, Vinyl Scratch opened it with her magic, then levitated the record in her aura.

Without addressing the crowd—no introduction, nothing to hype up the crowd, not a single word—Vinyl switched the previous DJ’s record with her own and let it play.

Holding her aura on the needle, Vinyl knew that there was no need to scratch this record. The melody that emanated from it—a mixture of cello, saxophone, and electronic beats—had been engineered to need no scratching, and no adjustments beyond initial volume. It was a pure, holy piece, full of bass, treble, melody, harmony, and rhythm…

The crowd looked up as the song began, first with the gentle rhythm of the cello and accompanying saxophone. Then, like a thief in the night, the bass dropped, loud, echoing off the walls.

In that same moment, Vinyl Scratch lit up her horn, shooting spirals of light towards the ceiling.

Swirls of gray, pink, blue, black, and white swirled in perfect harmony, charged with magical energy and connected to Vinyl’s horn. The crowds cheered as circles of magical light began to dance and tango with each other, in time to the thumping, bass rhythm.

Cello and saxophone joined each other, building, becoming a tempest. The bass behind the melody and its accompanying harmony remained, strong and steadfast. Vinyl kept her horn steady, groaning under her breath with the strain of the spell. She didn’t waver, watching as the five tinges of color continued to dance together.

Now, the crowd began to dance, thumping their hooves to the tempo, kicking them up to the steady crescendo and diminuendo of the melody. The cello and saxophone, tuned in perfect harmony with each other, began to fade, the cello now matching the bass perfectly. Up and down they soared, twin melodies, twin harmonies, twin waves of light. Blue and white dipped to gray and pink, swirls and tendrils of magic light uniting, coming apart.

As the end drew near, Vinyl took a step back and braced her forehooves against the turntable. Now would come the finale, and, regardless of who was here to witness it, she would disappoint the one for whom she made this record.

A flash of white light appeared as the steady bass rolled towards its climax. Vinyl gritted her teeth and churned her magical energy, from tip of snout to tip of tail, into her spell.

There, against the ceiling of The Horseshoe, in swirls of gray, pink, blue, black, and white, Vinyl Scratch’s magic declared:

For the first time in almost fourteen years, Vinyl Scratch, having received no invitation to the party, gave Octavia a gift anyway.

The crowd burst into even louder cheers, if that was possible. Vinyl’s record rose and rose, accompanied by the sound of hundreds of hooves thumping and jumping and clacking together in celebration of life.

Finally, as the music began to die down, Vinyl withdrew her spell. The magical letters glowing against the ceiling slowly climbed down, down, down, flowing back into the source from which they flowed. With a gasp, Vinyl kept her magical grip tight on the turntable, waiting as the final note rang out through the nightclub.

Then, with sweat dripping down her neck and mane like the rain from an unrelenting storm, Vinyl Scratch stepped away.

Her eardrums throbbed when the crowd burst into a final set of thundering hooves and booming hollers, echoing even as she took a low bow and ducked behind the curtain to rest.

Six hours later, the clock struck two A.M. Witching Hour at hoof and the last call for liquor past, Hot Shot, with the aid of his bouncers, ushered the last dancing straggler out of The Horseshoe.

Once the doors were shut, he made his way up the stage and back behind. There, Vinyl Scratch was resting on a comfy couch, staring at the wall and sipping at a glass.

“That was incredible, Vinyl!” He whooped and sat down next to her, grinning wide enough to split his muzzle. “The whole night, sure, but that first song! How long did it take you to make that?!”

“A few hours,” Vinyl answered, swirling the ice in her glass. She took a drink. Cherry soda.

“Damn,” Hot Shot muttered, shaking his head. Giving her a firm pat on the shoulder, he said, “It’s great to have you back, Vinyl.”

Looking over from the wall, she managed a slight smile. “Thanks, Hot Shot. You know, I was thinking, and—”

The glass of cherry soda fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces upon impact.

Jumping to her hooves, Vinyl rushed over, along with a very perplexed Hot Shot. “How—”

“When I told the bouncer I was here to see Vinyl Scratch, he let me through,” Octavia said, shooting a smirk towards the stallion. “Might wanna up your security there, Hot Shot.”

Bewildered, Hot Shot swept his gaze between each mare, then smacked himself with a forehoof. “Oh, that bucking—!”

With a snort and a snarl, he kicked off his hooves, rushing from the backstage and leaping off, leaving Octavia and Vinyl alone while he dealt with his incompetent guard.

“Um…” Vinyl looked up, a sheepish smile on her face. “Ha… Happy Birthday.”

“Um… I don’t really have anything to give you,” Vinyl muttered, digging at the floorboards again. “I’m sorry.”

Sensing her confusion, Vinyl looked up and said with a nervous grin, “Oh, I dropped my glass when you came in. Broke it. Heh. Didn’t mean to.”

Octavia shifted from one hoof to the other. “Oh, I’m sure Hot Shot won’t be mad. Things happen.”

Clearing her throat, Octavia looked up and walked over to Vinyl. “So… I heard that song you played.”

“The first song. I heard you were going to be playing here tonight, so…” She looked away for a moment, then turned back to Vinyl after taking a breath. “A few of my friends and I stopped by for a drink before we headed out on the town, and I heard it.”

“Oh…” Blushing slightly, Vinyl muttered from the corner of her muzzle, “I see.”

This time, Octavia was the one to dig a forehoof at the floor. “What’s… what’s the title of it?”

A little, light giggle escaped Octavia’s lips. “Of course. You weren’t exactly being sly with that, Vinyl.”

The silence settled in for a third time. This time, however, it bore no suffocating weight of the silence of strangers, of friends turned against each other, of comrades-turned-acquaintances. Instead, it was a light, calm silence, reminiscent of the way things had been, and might be again, someday.

“Happy Birthday,” Vinyl said again, stepping closer to Octavia. She opened her forehooves, a question in her eyes.

Elegy Of Emptiness

by Bad_Seed_72

Elegy Of Emptiness