//------------------------------//
// The Coffee Shop 
// Story: The Most Beautiful Sound 
// by Caineachu 
//------------------------------//

After you pushed Painted Prize out of your house with barely a goodbye, you set to work furiously cleaning your house. You had never noticed before, but it was a bit of a pigsty, even though you weren't in it much during your usual weekdays, or your usual week at all. But this was quickly turning out to be a rather unusual week, and you were in a mad rush to get the place spick and span. After picking up and trash you found lying around (mostly drink cans and empty paper bowls or plates), you even dusted the place, and then you vacuumed on top of it.

When you were satisfied a few hours later, the house was almost impeccable, looking almost brand new. You, on the other hand, smelled of dirt and sweat. Letting out a "blegh" from your own stench, you quickly trot into your bathroom, turning the shower on with your magic. You let the water warm up while you walk to your hallway closet, getting a towel before you peek back out into the living room to check the clock.

Alright, it's 6 right now. I have time, but I can't dick around too much or anything.

You go back into the bathroom, testing the water with a hoof. It's almost perfect, so you set the towel down on the floor before you step in, not bothering to pull the curtain over or anything. One perk of living alone was that you knew no one would ever intrude on your privacy, since the whole house was a private space.

You tilt your head down, letting the water flow over your wild mane until it was matted down over your eyes. You get to work washing the hair, squirting shampoo into a hoof before you massage it into your head, getting it nice and soapy and clean. After a few minutes of making sure you did a good job, you rinse it out and watch the suds slowly flow down the drain. You levitate a bar of soap with your horn and rub it along your fur, the bubbles cleaning the grime from your coat. You rinse all of that off as well before you turn the water off and step out, shaking yourself mostly dry.

Floating a towel up to your head, your hooves move it with furious motions until your mane is just as wild and crazy as usual. You hesitate for a second as you look at yourself in the mirror, pondering if you should make yourself look nicer, but you shrug it off.

"This isn't really a date, or anything." You say outloud, as if giving yourself some kind of pep talk, or just trying to convince yourself that it isn't. "Just be casual, be yourself, don't say something stupid..."

The last thing was easier said than done, and you sigh as you hang the wet towel up on a rack. You move back out into the living room, checking the time. The clock reads that it's just past 6:30.

I should probably get there a little early. You nod once, as if confirming your own plan. Levitating your saddlebags onto yourself with your magic, you slip your shades over your eyes and make your way to the front door, opening it with a hoof. You glance back inside, confirming again that your house is presentable before you close the door behind you. You lock the entry into your home before you begin your walk to the coffee shop.

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The setting sun casts brilliant orange hues against the city around you as you walk. There's a slight breeze tonight, and each time it touches your fur, it send chills rippling down your body. You realize should've brought a scarf along or something, but all you can do now is brace yourself as best you can.

It doesn't take you too long to get to Donut Joe's from your house. When you arrive, you check the time, noticing you probably have a good 10 minutes or so before she turns up. Your heart suddenly beats faster when you remember who you're meeting here, but you push those thoughts aside. Get a goddamn hold of yourself, Scratch. You got this, just don't be stupid about it.

You step up to the counter, ordering a coffee that's about as black as you can stand it before you hand over the bits. Within seconds, you get your steaming hot cuppa joe, and you nod your thanks before you pick a booth to sit at. Setting your saddlebags next to you, you look out the window as Celestia's sun sets further, causing the shadows to grow even longer as the light fades. Soon, Luna would be lifting the moon high into the sky, and then your favorite time of any day would begin: the night.

The front door opens, and your head whips up to see who it is. When your gaze is met with only a random stallion, you huff a bit to yourself and turn to look back out the window, continuing your casual observation of the streets outside. You lift your cup to your lips, forgetting that it was scalding hot, and you almost yelp when the near-boiling liquid hits your tongue and rolls down your throat. You slam the cup back down onto the table, the ridiculously loud clink causing a pony or two to turn to look at you as your tongue hangs out of your mouth, as if that would make it feel better faster.

At that very moment, with you looking like a moron, a familiar light grey mare walks through the door, scanning all the seats until her eyes rest on you. You watch her smile and giggle, and she waves over at you. You wave back before you notice your tongue is still hanging out of your mouth, and you quickly roll it back into your muzzle as she orders her drink at the counter. So much for not being stupid about it.

After a minute or so, Octavia trots over to your booth and sits down across from you, offering you that small smile that you've come to love seeing. Part of you is disappointed that she didn't sit next to you, but another is glad that she won't be so agonizingly close to you. "Hello, Vinyl." Her smile turns into a playful one. "I take it your drink was too hot for you earlier?"

You pause, and then remember the sight she saw when she walked in. You let out an embarrassed chuckle. "Uh, yeah, I forgot it was just made and stuff...totally burned myself trying to drink it. Stupid of me." You shrug, trying to embrace any kind of nonchalance you have in you.

Octavia simply waves a hoof at you. "Oh, come now, we've all done something like that before. I always try to drink hot things right away, thinking I can handle it. I never can." She gently blows on her drink, the steam flicking off of it as the liquid in the cup ripples from her breath. She glances up at you, stopping her cooling of her drink. "How have you been since we spoke last?"

You pause before you offer another little shrug. "Okay, I guess. Didn't do much of note, really." You hesitate for a second, and she seems to pick up on this, looking up at you fully. Her eyes are terribly distracting. "I was...thinkin' a lot about you." You manage to smile a little, and she smiles back at you, and you swear you see a little blush on her cheeks just like you did earlier.

"Oh? What about me?" You should've expected that kind of question, but long story short, you didn't and it caught you off guard. 

You stop mid breath and bite your lip before you speak. "Well, uh..." You quickly plan out what you're about to say. "I was thinking about your performance this morning. About the presence you commanded up there on stage."

About how good you looked the whole time.

"And, uh...about the way you kept looking at me through it. And how, um...how nice your eyes were. Are. How nice they are." The very eyes you're talking about are looking up at you, and you never want to turn away from them. You swallow, your throat suddenly very dry. "And how they...seem to shine in any kind of light. And...how I could just get lost in them."

You feel a familiar heat in your cheeks, and you notice a similar one on her's. Blinking, you realize that you were slowly moving yourself forward as you were talking, and your body moves itself back to rest against the seat. You look down at the table between the two of you, shuffling your hooves awkwardly before you let out a chuckle. "Heh, I bet you get stuff like that from fans all the time, huh?"

"Well, actually...I don't."

You look up at her, surprised by her answer.

She continues. "Most of my fans are not very...passionate about my music. Or me, for that matter. I am simply considered to be a musician worthy of the upper class. I am not saying it's all bad, it pays quite well and I do like playing. But it's hard to find myself excited by it when most of the people who I play for will not show similar excitement back to me." She frowns and looks down at her drink, which is still steaming. Her hooves are holding the cup, as if to stay warm.

You can't help but feel bad for her, even though you haven't personally experienced something like that before. The crowds you played for were some of the most passionate ponies around. You could probably release garbage and they'd still love it, and love you playing for them. You never realized how good they were to you.

You reach out to set a hoof on one of her forelegs. "I thought you and the song you played were amazing, Octavia. I'd consider myself lucky if I could see you and hear you play every day." Offering her a sincere smile, she smiles back at you in return. And it made you fall for her even more.