8-B3AT was a good DJ, a great DJ even, and she knew it.
The floor was full of ponies jumping, raving, and in some cases even dancing to the sound of her entrancing, electronic beats. Timing became second nature to any good performer; Octavia could tell that her set should be drawing to a close and with a flick of her hoof sent a series of tuneful pulses throughout the club's atmosphere.
"La Maison Nuit" was popular: less popular clubs would have had long queues outside extending the length of the street and beyond. Not such here: you either got in or you didn't, and if you had to ask about it then you probably weren't getting in. Even the most persistent of youths had long ago given up on trying to talk, bribe or fight their way inside through the wall of solid, stoic, and highly paid muscle at the doorway on Canterlot's main street. The bouncers knew every permitted pony by name and accepted no half baked excuses from any others.
Once they were inside they were Octavia's customers. The club's clientèle, and by extension, hers.
Once she was inside her hood went up, her glasses went down, and her name became 8-B3AT. She was a legend.
Oh, and her voice fell by about three social classes.
The music began to quieten to a steady background throb as 8-B3AT stepped down from her podium, mane falling out of her hood in strands after the exhausting set. Cheers of thanks and moans of disappointment arose simultaneously from the ponies on the dance floor. 8-B3AT gave one last whoop to the crowd and, with a subtle mental shift, Octavia Melody walked slowly towards the bar.
With her charcoal grey hair let down she looked completely different from the energetic mare that had whipped the club's ponies into a frenzy only minutes before, for one thing she looked worn out. Had it not been for the distinctive plum coloured hoodie and purple shades she could've passed for just another face, albeit a pretty one. The barkeeped paused in cleaning a glass with his rag to offer Octavia a hoofbump as she sat down at the bar, she took it.
She noted that her replacement was already taking his place at the mixing desks and allowed her voice to slip back into its natural, more refined, accent with a sigh of relief.
"15-year Glen Fillioch, Blend."
The barcolt, Smooth Blend, smiled and nodded. It always amused him to watch Octavia once she'd dropped her stage persona. He knew for a fact that most of the club's customers would expect her to get hammered on pina coladas and pass out on the dance floor. He'd never even seen her drunk, though not for lack of trying. Not for the first time, the luckless stallion wondered if she attributed the extra attention he gave her to her position as DJ. It didn't matter, he reasoned, she'd figure it out eventually.
Hopefully, anyway.
"Coming right up, Octy. Tiring night?"
"Indeed, I love the work but, well, it does seem to take it out of me somewhat doesn't it?"
"Oh don't worry about it." The barekeep handed Octavia her whisky with a smile and went back to wiping his glass. "It doesn't show." This was a lie: the mare was visibly sweating, her mane was bedraggled and lay in strands across her forehead and the trademark purple hoodie, that Blend secretly suspected would be worth a fortune if Octavia ever decided to sell it, was crumpled, messy, and fell about the DJ's shoulders like worn cloth. Octavia, however, seemed to believe him.
"Why thank you," she smiled at him, seemingly genuinely relieved. "you're a great friend, Blend, you really are."
The stallion, as he always did at times like this, died a little inside.
Octavia nodded along the bar to another pony, one that she didn't recognise, who was sitting morosely on a barstool nursing a glass of scotch and soda.
"I didn't know that we were expecting new clients."
Blend turned to the object of Octavia's interest. "Oh, yes." He began. "I've been serving her all evening. A friend of the boss's apparently, though Luna only knows why she came here in the first place, she's been doing nothing but sit and drink depressedly so far tonight."
The newcomer's mane was the first shocking detail about her; it shot out from behind her ears in spikes of dark blue and cerulean. Her coat was a pristine white, the overall effect looked like some sort of walking toothpaste ad wearing a tailcoat.
Her eyes were red, or purple; they changed as the light struck them and reflected the club's lights making it hard to determine their true colour in any case. The white unicorn's cutie mark was that of a black treble clef; Blend compared it to Octavia's: a pair of purple quavers.
"Another musician?"
"Looks like it, why's she so down? This is a party for Luna's sake!"
Blend shrugged at the question. "You could always ask I suppose, you should know how'ta cheer up somepony right? Didn't you take classes?"
"Indeed." Octavia nodded slowly, remembering fondly her tutelage under Pinkie Pie in the subtle, and not so subtle, arts of "partying down". The lessons had proved invaluable: nowadays she could get through an entire night without tiredness, (exhaustion was another matter) and it was far easier to let loose in public, an invaluable skill for a DJ. It was Pinkie that'd taught her the whole fake accent thing too, it'd been so hard not to laugh at first.
Shaking her head, Octavia refocussed on the present.
"Whu- Sorry, did you say something?"
"I just asked if you were ok," Blend replied, concernedly, "you seemed a little spaced out."
"Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes watching the unicorn at the other end of the bar. Eventually, Octavia could take it no longer.
"That does it, that mare needs cheering up." She placed her glass, now bereft of whisky, back on the bartop and climbed down from her stool. "Keep them coming, Blend: I have a feeling that I may have my work somewhat cut out for me."
Scotch seemed to make life easier; but Vinyl couldn't help but wish that it could actually solve problems rather than merely numb them. Not for the first time tonight she found herself wondering why she'd taken up Fancy Pants's offer to, as he'd put it, 'Have an enjoyable evening unwinding in the most exclusive club in Canterlot, as you young people do.'
"You young people", does he even know me? Vinyl glanced about casually at the madly dressed ponies on the dance floor before returning to stare into her glass. Some famous club DJ was running the dancers ragged; purple laser-light shot overhead in beams and illuminated the expensive attire of the "Maison". Vinyl's inner voice demanded that she calm down.
The exam went fine, you know it did.
No, I won't know until I get the marks back.
True, but you do know what I mean. You're the best pianist in Canterlot, stop worrying!
Would you mind if I drank the scotch anyway?
Vinyl's conscience shrugged. Not really.
With that, the unicorn went back to her drink.
The music had stopped briefly, Vinyl didn't care much but having it in the background, however loud, had made her feel more at home. She preferred Trotchovsky, but music was music. At least she'd managed to pace her whisky, Beauty Brass had told her that she was a mean drunk and she'd rather not offend Fancy Pants, however little interest his nightclub held for her. Vinyl was no great connoisseur of spirits but she could tell that her whisky was not only rather good, but rather old.
Hmph, she mused, I suppose this is Fancy Pants's club after all.
The barcolt had wandered away to serve another customer, Vinyl took a peanut from a bowl on the bar and popped it into her mouth absently. Her leg began to twitch anxiously, she focussed on it and it stopped.
Look on the bright side. Her mind insisted, At least nopony's bothering y-.
"Hi there!" Vinyl groaned internally, "How's your night going?" She turned to source of the annoyance: a grey mare wearing a dark plum hooded jacket and a pair of purple-tinted shades on her forehead. Vinyl gritted her teeth internally and forced her best, 'talking to strangers' smile.
"Oh, just fine, thanks, what about you?"
Whoever this mare was she could identify such a blatant deflection, an eyebrow was raised. "Now now, never mind me; I'm not the mare who's been sitting drinking scotch and soda all evening."
Vinyl sniffed the air. "Really?"
The stranger didn't flinch. "Just one, honestly." Against all odds, her eyebrow rose yet further. "Now what about you?"
Vinyl sighed quietly. She couldn't help but appreciate the inquisitive mare despite her own desire for solitude. Reclusive thoughts temporarily cast aside, she submitted to the interrogation.
"Two."
"Only two this whole evening?"
"Yea, my friend, Beauty Brass, says I'm no fun when I'm drunk, which is a pity."
The grey mare's purple eyes expressed concern. "Why?"
Vinyl hesitated, then knowing full well that she was in the tank already either way, opted for honesty. "Because I could do with being drunk about now."
The earth pony sat down next to Vinyl and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with one hoof, smiling as she did so. "Oh, come now. Look, I'll get us some more scotch, 13 year Mount Saddleback is a personal favourite, and you can tell me about things."
Vinyl mumbled into the remains of her whisky. "I don't even know your name."
"Octavia Melody," The DJ extended a hoof, "nice to meet you."
Vinyl looked up at the DJ, who smiled encouragingly, then grasped forwards at her jacket and broke out into loud, messy, and rather gooey, sobs. Octavia held her gently and patted her on the back with a hoof, murmuring generic comforts.
She waved a silent request to Blend, it seemed necessary. Then, mind turning, she began to plan.
All Vinyl really remembered next morning was a vague peaty flavour and a generic feeling of happiness. Though some further details could be inferred from her headache and exhaustion.
No gig today, no problem.
She lay in bed for another half an hour before hunger roused her by force from her slumber. Climbing to her hooves, she noticed her tailcoat, clean and pressed, on the back of the door, with a note on the lapel. A quick burst of magic brought it before her.
Morning Vinyl, hope you slept well,
Apologies for the whole "red wine gets out white wine" thing, I must've been at least three kinds of drunk at that stage. Anyway, I had the barcolt, Smooth Blend, take your tailcoat to an all night dry-cleaners (yes, those exist) and got it fixed up for you. Hope you're hungry!
- Octavia
Vinyl's brow furrowed for a moment as she read the signature, then fragments of the past began to run their way backwards across her brain, and the name clicked into place.
Octavia! That nosy mare with a clubber's dress sense and a posh accent! She-
Oh.
Even in the confines of her own home, Vinyl blushed.
Why did I wind up crying like that? That's not me! I keep calm! Cool! Collected! Was it the scotch? Vinyl pondered this for a moment. Yea. Definitely the scotch.
She smiled gently as she set the note down on her bedside table and tried unsuccessfully to remember how she'd gotten home last night. After some musing, she remembered the last line of the note.
"Hope you're hungry..." She muttered, "What're you up to now filly?"
Opening her bedroom door, Vinyl made her way into her house proper.
Two living rooms were linked by a short corridor branching into one bedroom and one bathroom, the walls were painted light grey and decorated with various musically themed trinkets and the kitchen, towards which Vinyl now walked, took up half of one living room, the other half offering a second floor view over Canterlot that was nothing short of stunning. Shielding her eyes from Celestia's sun as she entered the room, Vinyl didn't notice a note tacked to the front of the fridge until she reached to extract milk from it for coffee. Vinyl took this note in her magic like the first and browsed, a smile creeping across her face once more as she read.
Morning again Vinyl!
I believe that I'm sober at present, though if I'm drunk then of course I would do. Either way I baked some cookies when we got back to your flat (nice place by the way, love the view). Assuming relative sobriety they should be rather good, if I do say so myself. I put them in the fridge for you last night (or was it this morning, whichever) for breakfast (go on, treat yourself!). Do tell me how they turned out next time you see me.
- Octavia
Vinyl was grinning widely when she lay the note down on the kitchen counter but as she reached for the fridge handle she noticed a second piece of paper behind the first. Withdrawing it curiously revealed a fresh poloroid photograph that turned her cheeks red.
The image depicted a crowded dance floor: in its centre were two figures, raised on hind legs, jumping energetically to the music and hypnotic light show of the club itself.
A second image, taken a moment later, depicted the same two figures. The first was Octavia, she was reaching confusedly for her forehead and smirking drunkenly. The second dancer was herself.
She was wearing Octavia's purple shades and shouting energetically in what appeared to be mid-leap. Her tailcoat was crumpled, her mane a cyan mess, and her eyes a vivid magenta.
Vinyl grinned as the memory came back, it'd been too long.
She lay the poloroids down beside the note and opened the fridge door. True to her word, Octavia had left a plate of cookies, apparently untouched, inside the cool interior of the machine. Vinyl withdrew them with a smile and decided that Octavia's recommendation that she "treat herself" be taken under serious consideration.
Ten minutes later, she felt stuffed. The TV seemed like such an inviting prospect.
Wandering between rooms, Vinyl noticed a small package sitting on her TV set and, surprised, levitated it over.
It was a box, it was grey, it was wrapped with purple ribbon, and Vinyl knew exactly who it was from.
With a grin greater than any she had yet given today, Vinyl unpackaged the box down to its cardboard shell and read the note on top.
Hey Vinyl! Hope the cookies were good.
I hadn't the heart to take them back, you seemed so attached to them.
Besides, I've a dozen pairs at home.
- Octavia
Puzzlement growing, Vinyl opened the box and gazed on its contents.
Inside sat a shining pair of purple-tinted shades.
Vinyl began to laugh. Not a chuckle, not a satirical, amused laugh, but the full and mirthful joy of the truly happy. It couldn't have lasted for more than a minute, but the white unicorn had no concerns for time. She laughed until she gasped for air, until her sides hurt and her eyes watered and she went on laughing. When finally it subsided she found herself on her living room floor, tiny droplets of chuckle still escaping from the brimming cup of mirth that she remained. Eventually she could stand. Taking the glasses from the box and placing them on her head with a grin, she noted a third scrap of paper in the box, at the bottom.
It was far shorter, and far more affirming, than either of the others.
I do hope you like the glasses. Either way, it's Saturday today Vinyl, feel like coming out? Call me.
Vinyl turned the note over and saw a number, a mobile number. Without a moment's hesitation, and remembering both her morning's joy and evening's melancholy. She picked up the phone on her deck, and dialled.
Fancy Pants swivelled on his chair.
Octavia's natural friendliness was the best marketing policy he'd ever had.