“Our dearest Octavia,
We are so very proud of you! The big Canterlot finish of your Equestria-wide tour was absolutely fabulous last night! Your father and I couldn't be happier. You've done everything we've you've ever wanted. You are a world famous cellist, toast of Canterlot, the princesses' favourite.
As such it occurs to us that you won't be needing our financial support from now on. Not that we couldn't spare some money – frankly, we've got bits pouring out our ears – but we think you need to learn to fend for yourself.
All you need is to play the cello for high-class ponies for the rest of your life and you'll be set. Easy enough, your father says. I'm inclined to agree.
Love, Mum.”
Octavia let the letter fall to the floor. She walked to the window and leaned out; her spire provided an excellent vista of the sparkling Canterlot night. She couldn't help but sigh.
That has to be the sorriest excuse for exposition I have ever seen, she thought. Is that the best you can do?
Well, something needed to establish the popular fanon that everybody already knows, so I supposed it best to get it out of the way quickly.
Octavia rolled her eyes. Right.
Anyway. Rich parents, high expectations, and overwhelming ennui; such was Octavia Melody's life. All her life she's been striving to live up to her parent's wants. She completed music school top of her class, she became a renowned cellist in Equestria's most sought-after band, and now money was thrown at her left and right.
One might say she had it all.
Damn right I do, Octavia thought, trying to conceal even from herself the crushing emptiness that was in her heart.
Yet no matter how hard she tried to bury her feelings of loneliness and inadequacy, something was missing from Octavia Melody's life. Something that would rekindle a youthful spark in her. Something wild, something crazy, and possibly neon haired.
On a whim, Octavia decided to do something entirely uncharacteristic of her. She left her hoity-toity, high-and-mighty apartment in the tallest tower of Canterlot, walked on down to the buzzing streets, and didn't take two looks at the snazzy theatres and classy restaurants she otherwise so frequently frequented.
No, this time her hooves took her to the parts of the city she'd never visited: those with dirty clubs and flashing discos, where drug-dealers stood on corners and a cacophony of electronic music echoed from sunset 'till rise.
Why was Octavia doing this? She thought it was best not to question it, but instead go with the flow. Perhaps fate had something nice in store for her.
She soon found a club that suited her liking – it smelled a little less horrible than the others, perhaps – and Octavia walked in. Immediately her ears were assaulted by “wub-step” and “dropped bass” and other such music-like things that the new generation liked.
Positively horrendifying, Octavia thought, even if she could barely hear herself think. Maybe she shouldn't have come, after all. She'd never find anything worth her while here.
“Hey, Tavi!” somepony called.
Octavia turned her head and scanned the room full of erratically dancing ponies, trying to discern the source amidst the flashing lights and booming loudspeakers.
“That you, Tavi?” the voice asked again.
Octavia found her now. The voice belonged to none other than the DJ herself. Her hooves worked away at the scratched vinyl discs, pulling and pressing, and all around doing their best to ruin even the semblance of rhythm the computer-generated music had.
The DJ beckoned Octavia over, and, raising an eyebrow, Octavia complied. She had to stick her face right into the DJ's to have any hope of her words reaching the white pony.
“Do I know you?” Octavia shrieked.
“You should,” the DJ replied.
Octavia tried to ask who the pony was, but the DJ couldn't catch it over the noise. After a prolonged deaf back-and-forth, the DJ grabbed her hoof and pulled her into a back room, away from the noise near the dance-floor. She locked the door behind them and grinned at Octavia.
“Who in Equestria are you?” Octavia asked, relieved to hear her own voice.
“Don't you recognise me?” the DJ asked. “Oh, hold on.” She removed her oversized sunglasses and swept her blue jungle of a mane from her face.
Octavia wondered why anypony would wear sunglasses at night, much less inside. Clearly, whoever this insane yet strangely attractive young mare was, Octavia had no business with her.
“It's me, Vinyl Scratch,” the DJ said. “Don't you remember me?”
Oh, of course. Vinyl Scratch used to be Octavia's high school dorm room mate, she recalled now. Or was it college? Her memory failed her. Could have been both, actually. Whatever the case, what an absolutely unforeseen yet amazingly convenient happenstance.
“I remember now,” Octavia replied. “You are the one with the dysfunctional family, always broke, and zero inhibition. I come from a high-class family, and that means I do not like you. What do you want?”
“I just thought it was kinda crazy, you turning up in my club. Oh, and I wanted to tell you you're hot.”
Octavia's jaw dropped. “Pah, the nerve. That is exactly what I was talking about. I never! We are complete opposites.”
“Well, we both do music,” Vinyl replied. “So we've got that going for us.”
“Still, what makes you think I even bend that way?”
“Everypony bends that way.”
Octavia couldn't deny Vinyl's impeccable logic. She did bend that way. Apparently.
Vinyl batted her eyebrows and bit her lip, eyeing Octavia up and down. “So?”
“I am not interested in you, you unwashed delinquent,” Octavia said, looking away and putting up a hoof in protest.
The two then engaged passionate intercourse.
It was that awkward kind of passionate intercourse, where you're not sure if you want it at first, but then you get a little more into it, and you realise you really did want it all along. By then you're some crazed animal, given in to your deepest, carnal desires, and your partner is screaming for help because you brought out the whip, but when you stop, they ask that you continue.
And since there was no bed in the room, they had to do it on the table, and on the floor, and wherever you kinky bastards like, in whatever positions small lesbian horses can. Long story short, there was a lot of cleaning to do afterwards, and they both felt great shame that it happened.
So overall, it was a good sex.
Vinyl and Octavia lay beside one another on the thoroughly sticky floor. Octavia's tongue hung loose from her open mouth, and one of her hind legs was still twitching. Vinyl, still huffing, climbed on top of her and gave a cheeky grin.
“I would appreciate if my parents were left unaware that this ever occurred,” Octavia whispered.
“But we're going to do it again, right?” Vinyl asked.
“Yes, yes, quite,” Octavia answered.