//------------------------------// // Chapter 9: An Octave Lower // Story: Moonlight Sonata // by Lynked //------------------------------// "What..." Octavia's voice cracked in the darkness of her room. The quartet of knocks from her door was insistent on driving her mad. It had to be at least midnight! Who in Equestria would bother her now? As she finally gained enough strength to kick her sheets off herself in an abrasive display, she was struck with the realization that this may be the one pony that was notorious for stunts like this. Heaving herself into a sitting position, she let a low, guttural growls seep through her clenched teeth. Her mane was a mess, and her tail matched, both clumpy, slick and matted down. Her eyes were more painful than ever; in fact, she firmly believed that their burning could light the whole room by itself. All down her fur were patches of oil and grime, collected from a day of not showering and a night of uneasy dreams. To top this cake off, she had no recollection of how she had even made it to her bed. If this was her bed, that is. Everything seemed wrong for some reason. Sore and stiff though her neck was, she craned it around, taking in the room. In the darkness she could make out the glossy outline of the marble counter beyond the foot of the bed. To her right was the wall, and behind her was a silent, gaping maw that led her into the - for whatever reason - rank bathroom. Turning left, cracks and pops echoing through the whole journey, she landed her eyes on another bed. And then it hit her. That was her bed over there. She had managed to stumble her way into Vinyl's. "And thus was the pain," she said, twisting her neck with a symphony of audible pops. What's more: there was a chilly solid next to her, lying on her flank. The cold was just now tapping her mind, hitting it with even more pain than before. As fast as her tense muscles could go, she snapped her foreleg to her plot, crashing her hoof to a dark, unidentified object with a tiny clank. It was a familiar sound, one that she had heard mostly at night. For some reason, it made her angry. A scowl touched her lips as she shook her head, even more pain riveting her body. She tapped the thing repetitively, listening to the light little clanks that echoed into the darkness. Then it clicked like the clanks. This was a miniature wine bottle: merlot, if she remembered right. Not much, of course, but enough to wind her up in the wrong bed. What was worse: her eyes burned unnaturally. Octavia had had hangovers-a-plenty, but this kind of burning came only from some kind of serious eye strain. In fact, she only recalled feeling this when she read in the dark, was repairing her cello, or... Her hoof came up to her eyes, tracing the slick lines that trailed from the ducts down to her cheeks. Once sat straight, she slumped, her mind now wrapped entirely around the situation. A sudden nausea swept through her, a system shock for somepony who'd just awoken. She gripped her gut, writhing as her world began to spin around her. The knocks came again. "I'm coming!" she called out. She immediately regretted it; heaving, she did her best to stay stable. It wouldn't last long. The swaying of the ship, gentle though it was, mixed with the new spinning was a combo of disaster. Another dry heave and a metallic taste built up in the back of her throat. She gripped the silk sheets in one last attempt to stop it, jerking them up to her chest, yet with one final heave, it was done and done. *** "I don't know Bonbon, she sounds...sick. Here that?" Lyra asked, pressing her ear to the door. Bonbon did the same, and soon both could hear the revolting sloshing and rasping cries from inside. "Yikes, I do," the mare agreed, a worried flicker in her eyes. "It sounds pretty bad in there." She hopped down from the door, shaking her mane back into its normal frothy pose. Lyra did the same, dropping down and landing on the firm carpet with a thud. The harpist fell to her seat with a sigh, shaking her mane back as well. "I don't know what to do." "Well she said she'd be right out. I suppose we'll just have to wait," Bonbon said, placing her hoof under her chin. "Why? Let's just go back inside. It's almost lunch, I mean. She's been sleeping all day, and honestly, I'm getting annoyed," the mint unicorn said with a shrug. "Lyra, what...what has gotten into you lately? I'm trying to be patient, honestly, but I can't do this," she warned, pointing her hoof and darting her eyes. Lyra stepped back, looking offended. "Do what?" "Put up with Octavia, Vinyl, and you! Please," her tone softened, "honey, just please can you ease up with the...well, everything, for me?" The relaxing pony stepped towards her marefriend, leaning in and kissing Lyra on her neck. "Please, for me." The harpist huffed, slamming her haunches down and crossing her forelegs. She whipped her head left, saying, "How about you drop it, for me? I mean...think about it. It's over. We're still friends with them, sure, and we will be. But right now, and I'm talking about right now, we should spend time with each other. Not bickering like those two." She waved her hoof at the door, from which only whispers were leaking through. "It's our vacation. Not some therapy session! And ,and you know what...?" "All right, let's calm down," Bonbon said, reaching out to her marefriend. Lyra's eyes had shifted from hard and angry to soft and droopy. Her lip was no longer steady, holding the slightest quiver. She bit it, trying to stop it as she looked away. Swatting down Bonbon's kind hoof, she said, "You deal with this. I'm done. If you want to spend time with me for a change, then come find me. Have fun with Octavia." Then, she jumped to her hooves, and stormed off, marching down the hallway and doing her best to keep her chin high. Bonbon didn't try to follow; instead she simply sat on the red carpet, her words failing her as her lips did their best to work. Just as the mint unicorn swerved around the corner, disappearing from sight, she could hear the door beside her creak open on its hinges. She did not look up; her eyes fell to her hooves, her head following soon after. *** Octavia, having hidden her little bottle somewhere in the darkness, carefully opened her door. Her coat reeked of something foul - slick, and foul - just as her bed. The room released an awful odor as the door swung wider and wider. Bonbon, who was just on the other side, snapped up from a sunken in state, turning to the cellist with a scrunched nose, grimace, and darted eyes. "Octavia...? What is that? We thought you were sick, but..." "We?" the mare asked, rubbing her eyes and looking down the length of the corridor. Her friend sagged for a moment, before coming back up. "I. Anyways, you look awful. Is it...is it in your coat? Oh Octavia, what happened to you..." She rubbed her eyes with her hooves, shaking her head and sighing. "I, um, oh dear it was a...rough night," the cellist said, examining her sickly coat. Snarling and shaking her head, she quickly added, "I feel much better now though." "It smells," was all Bonbon said as she too snarled and pinched her nose. "Indeed." She sighed. Behind her, a putrid, foul odor wafted out, filling the hallway with wave after wave of disgust. Wiping her tainted lips with a hoof, she said, "And...it seems as though I...didn't make it to the facilities in time..." The cream mare leaned in, her nose still held tightly shut by a hoof, and observed her friend. The mare's sunken, seemingly sleep-deprived eyes sagged, with dark circled encompassing them. Her shoulders were encumbered, or so it seemed; they too drooped. Her dark sepia mane was a wreck. Her coat was thick with grime. All around her a foul odor seeped out, no doubt from her inability to reach the bathroom in time. "I, um, I'm sorry to hear that. Look, we - er - I came here to talk, but...maybe you should go get cleaned up. I can call room service up here, have them send a maid," Bonbon said, extending her hoof apologetically. All Octavia did - all it seemed she could do - was nod, spin, and retreat into her suite. Behind her, with a scowl that was directed towards the smell more than the cellist, Bonbon followed in. The grey mare stumbled her way in, past the filth-ridden bed, and into the dark portal that led to the bathroom. She flicked on the blinding lights, squinting as she made her way to the small shower stall. Carefully she flicked on the dials - a lukewarm temperature seemed to fit. As the water came on - freezing though it was - she immediately stepped in, slamming the fogged glass door behind her. The water took hold of her, matting her fur down, but doing nothing to release the pungent gunk that stained her lower belly. That would have to be done manually. A voice called from outside the bathroom, beyond the soft pattering of the warming shower - a voice that was accompanied by a few tiny clinks. Clinks, Octavia knew, that came from thick glass being fondled in dry hooves; like that of a wine bottle, perhaps. "Octavia, were you drinking?" Bonbon's sweet, concerned voice came from afar. The cellist felt her heart lose its rhythm, cringing and retreating to a corner of the ceramic stall as if it would help. "W-Well, not necessarily," she called back. Her eyes focused on a shampoo bottle that sat on a little metallic rack. It was close, all she had to do was cut through the steam with a hoof, and she would make progress. But it was so far away, and the safety of that corner - falsely placed or not - still eased her deep frown a bit. "Then what is this?" A few little taps on the glass echoed around the room. "Bonnie, it was simply a bit of wine," the cellist said with a nervous chuckle. She reached out, snatched the bottle, and yanked it back. It pressed against her fur with a sloshing sound, tightly held to her pounding chest. "Wine...? This is whiskey, bourbon to be exact." That wasn't going to fly. Octavia set the bottle down, opened the door by just a sliver, and popped her muzzle out. Baring her teeth to the bite that the cold air held, she said, "It's wine dear. Merlot. I remember ordering it." There was a pause. When Bonbon did reply, she did so in a matter-of-fact tone, tapping on the glass and saying, "I don't think you do. Right here, it says: Woodford Reserve Bourbon...Distiller's Select." The showering mare froze, her face contorted into a mix of a scowl and a frown, with darted eyes that drooped ever further. She backed up into the shower, falling to her plot and gripping her head with a groan. She shook. She rocked. Her face flushed a deep crimson as the water trickled down her cheeks, doing nothing to ease the twisted look of pain. "Octavia, are you all right in there?" Things began to spin again. Once more the ships gentle sways became tsunamis in her mind. Even still, she forced a smile and said in the best voice she could muster, "Of course. I'm quite alright, thank you." "Are you sure? You sound...not well. If you need-" The sweet, soothing voice of her loyal friend was chopped by a horrid gagging sound. Full of force, the rasping motion knocked Octavia forward, her mouth barely sticking closed. She pressed a hoof to her lips, pressing as hard as she could. Her other hoof wrapped itself around her belly as she cringed lower into the showering water. The gag came again, forcing her lips to part. Nothing yet, but the feeling worsened in her gut. Her belly gargled, her mind swirled. "You sound bad. I'm coming in," Bonbon said, peering her head through the steaming archway. It was precise timing, too; the cellist could hold on no more, and finally, the ragged sloshing, putrid odors, and raspy cries filled the room again. *** "Indeed. At least, I would hope," Octavia said as the cleaning crew finished up, dragging away the stained, now replaced sheets. "Are you sure? If you're feeling sick, I don't think you should do much," Bonbon advised, closing the door as the last maid dragged out with her carpet cleaner. "I've told you, it was simply a side effect. I haven't drunk like that in a good while, so this is a simple system shock," she said, tossing her head up with a huff. She jumped up onto her own bed now, sitting tall and defiant. "If you say so, but why were you drinking in the first place? I haven't seen you really drink in, well, months," her friend said as she joined Octavia on the bed. Her eyes locked with those dark, sunken in pink eyes of the cellist, searching, scanning, waiting. "It was a good whiskey," she snorted. "I had no intentions whatsoever to drink as I did." "I see. And this had nothing to do with the past few days?" "Nothing at all," Octavia said, looking away. Her eyes trailed down through the sunlit room. The blue curtains on the wall had been tossed aside, revealing the warmth and light of the sun in a large, wavy rectangle. It was almost eleven in the morning; she had slept much longer than she thought. But, then again, when had she even fallen asleep? "I don't believe you. I just simply can't believe it." "Well no one said you have to," she snapped. "All right, all right, calm down. It's early, and the morning's not been so good. Let's go get some lunch, eh? Or breakfast. Whatever." Bonbon shrugged, fell from the couch, and trotted over to the door she so recently closed. "I don't know. Room service sounds good right about now," the cellist said, placing a hoof beneath her chin. "Aw, c'mon, you need to get out a bit," her friend said with a smile. "Weren't you just saying that I didn't have to go anywhere if I wasn't up to it?" "And didn't you just say that you felt fine? Come on, it'll be good for you. We can go to a topside bar, get a couple cheese omelets, soak up some sun..." She cracked the door open with a commanding nod. A smile still graced her face though, compassionate and understanding as ever Bonbon was. Octavia paused, carefully eyeing her cream friend as though to search for lies. But, her harden expression gave way, letting her eyes fall back to normal and her gritted teeth loosen up. "I suppose some food would do me well." "That's the spirit!" Bonbon said, tossing the door ajar. Falling from the bed and almost tripping over her own hooves via an unexpected rock of the ship, Octavia hurried to her side, shutting the door behind her and making her way down the long, now foul hallway. *** It was, as usual, warm, sunny, with a slight breeze, crisp and salty. The upper deck wasn't crowded - though it wasn't deserted by any means - making things a bit more breathable. The smell of the salty air meshed with the warm scent of fine food and drink, and the oceanic serenity that surrounded the ship with its calm, rolling waterscape mixed with the bustle of the various activities that the top deck housed. Many were already in the pools just behind Bonbon and Octavia, and even more in their current restaurant. Warm steam rose from the twin omelets that sat on the pair's wooden table. The bar itself was open - a hole in the wall, more or less. Theirs was one of the few tables housed within its three blue-splattered walls. Thanks to this, the sun was not beating down on them, the crisp breeze that seemed to always flow in from the bow was brushing against them, and the smell of their savory meal was trapped within reach of their senses. As Bonbon, who was on the exact opposite of the rounded table, took a bite of her fresh meal, she passed her friend a wary glance - a glance one would pass to a sickly pony to check on their health. But there was more. There was more to it all. "So, I've said it before, but I'm sorry about you and Vinyl," she said, gulping down the chunk of cheesy egg. Octavia sent her own bite down the hatch, darting her eyes to the adjacent mare. "Yes, well, as I've said before, it's perfectly all right." "I guess...How do you think she's taking it?" The cellist took another bite of her omelet, saying nothing. She only scoffed, chomping brutally on the gooey chunk. "What about you and Lyra?" she asked, almost coldly. "Where is she?" Bonbon cringed, coughing up her little bite of food. "Well, uh, she and I kind of had a...falling out. Sort of. Nothing major I suppose. She's just been so moody lately." She sighed, leaning her head on a hoof and pushing her half-eaten omelet away. "Oh?" "Yeah, she's been snappy. Especially when..." Bonbon downcast her eyes, staring at her hooves. "When what?" the cellist asked. Having gone back to casually munching on her omelet, her expression was lax and easy. "Don't take this the wrong way, but she gets in a...'mood' every time we try to deal with you and Vinyl." Now the musician's expression tensed, her face scrunching, her eyed flared. "Us? Deal with us? Her. You mean her, not 'us'. Vinyl has caused many problems, and I apologize for that. But it's all taken care of," she said. "No need to worry anymore." Bonbon sighed, her eyes not lifting from her hooves. "I guess so... But don't you think you were being a bit rash? Even in the slightest? It's just that you and she have been together for what, a year and something? And you don't feel bad at all?" "Bonbon," Octavia said, slamming her hoof down on the table. There was a dead seriousness in her squint. "She brought it on herself. I was tired of her dragging me down. Now that's enough, all right? I would actually like to enjoy my day if you don't mind." "Right. Sorry." The grey mare shook her head with a sigh, shoving her own meal away. There was silence now, and her eyes once again drifted away, this time to the bow. They stared blankly, with glints and shimmers for movements. "Well what did you want to do today - anything in particular? I've got nopony else," Bonbon said with a heavy sigh. Octavia, not looking away, said quietly, "I don't know." "So...anything then?" "Yes," she said. Bonbon sighed, turning towards the bow herself. Out beyond the steel hull of the lively ship laid the vast, rolling sea. Soothing, relaxing, but only on the surface. What pony could even fathom what lay at the depths? What kind of chaos was erupting down there that not even the Princesses knew about? A quick snap of her eyes back to an unaware Octavia made her realize that this mare and the ocean weren’t so different. “Look, we can head on down to the spa again if you’d like,” she said, her eyes still soaking in the oncoming breeze. “Or we could go swimming, golfing even. Anything strike you in particular?” “Not quite,” Octavia said with a long, drawling sigh. Her friend took a sharp glance at a small circular clock that hung on the wall. “Well it’s high noon. I’ve got to meet up with Lyra at five, so we’ve got that long...” Across from her, there was silence. A waiter came by, asking if they had finished their omelets. Bonbon gave a polite nod, and the stallion swept up the plates with his wings, curtly leaving them to their own business. But apart from the minor interaction, there was no more than silence. Octavia was content to staring out; her eyes were as empty as the night sky over a large city, hardly moving. Brushing her mane from her face, she gave in, saying, “Then a day of sunbathing. How about that?” She motioned towards two empty white lounge chairs on the forward deck. The grey mare - in both color and emotion - slowly nodded her sagging head. Bonbon felt a light smile crease her lips. Dropping from the chair and walking out into the warm sun, she waved her hoof for Octavia to follow. She did, and the two made their way across the warm deck, taking their own chair, and reclining. Bonbon, stretched out and sunken back, let that tiny smile expand just a bit further, touching her lips up. Her ears perked up finally, after a good hour of laying flat. The sun beamed down rays of encompassing warmth, seeping into her skin, and melting her worries - even if no more than partially - away. *** For hours they laid there, sprawled beneath the sun, the brisk breeze rolling over them in spurts. The rocking of the ship alone was enough to drown out the slight noise made from the pool; it seemed as though these fancy ponies had no problems respecting a mutual peace. That is, until one peculiar pony, mint green with a seafoam mane, walked up to a chair of her own a few rows down from Octavia and Bonbon. This unicorn had a white towel draped across her neck and a pair of cheap sunglasses that hardly covered her amber eyes. “Hey, look,” Bonbon said, tapping her friend and pointing to Lyra. “I’ll be right back all right? Stay here.” “I am a lady, not a filly,” Octavia grumbled. She crossed her arms and threw her head to the bite of the wind. But on her face was not a hardened expression of anger, but rather a soft expression, lips flat and eyes sporadically searching. She opened her mouth, lips moving as though they had more to say. Only silence rang out. Even Bonbon could feel the unease. Quickly standing and trotting a bit off, she said, “I know. I’ll be right back.” She then turned and trudged her way across the deck. She didn’t bother waiting for a response; she wasn’t going to get a response. Instead, she simply approached Lyra with wary eyes that scanned the unicorn’s entirety. “Lyra,” she said. The unicorn was at the edge of the pool, about to dive in when her name rang out. She was still for a moment, before turning around. A smile as blunt as a mallet hung on her lips. “Hey,” Lyra responded. Turning from the pool she gave a weak wave. Her whole body seemed reluctant to move: each smile was sluggish, each blink hesitant. “Are you okay?” the cream mare asked. She leaned in, giving Lyra a little peck on the cheek. “No.” “Why not, is something wrong? It did feel like you were a bit hot, are you feeling-” “How’s the day with Octavia?” Bonbon backed away, her lips trying to form words. “Well, it’s good I guess. Are you still upset about this?” “You haven’t seen Vinyl today?” Lyra slowly turned back to the pool. “I, uh, no. You haven’t?” She asked as she joined her marefriend’s side. “Nope,” was all Lyra said. “Oh. Well...I, uh-” “Look, I appreciate that you came to check up on me,” Lyra said. Her voice rang with sarcasm. “But I’m going for a swim now to, oh I don’t know, relax maybe. That is what you’re supposed to do on a cruise, right?” She didn’t wait for a response, but rather, tossed off her towel and sunglasses. She leapt from the deck, hurling down and splashing her marefriend with a good spurt of lukewarm water. Bonbon sighed, turning away and walking back over to her sunbathing, sulking companion. But just as she approached, Octavia turned her head slowly, a soft frown on her lips. Her posture was lax; her shoulders slumped and back arched, despite being in a sitting position. Locking her dull, flat eyes on the oncoming cream mare, she said, “Dear, I...enjoyed the day. Truly, I did. But I’d like to return to my cabin now, if that’s all right and fine.” The mare’s heart sunk at this. “I, um...yes, I guess. I feel like I could use a nap anyways...” Octavia was up in a heartbeat, though her face showed no changes - still soft, dull, and blunt. “Let’s be off then.” *** Octavia slammed the door behind her, with much more force than she had intended. Yet she did not look back. Making her way to her own bed, she felt weak. Her legs finally began to give, shaking like loose pillars. She stumbled on her hooves, barely staying up. Her eyes, however, fell to the carpets beneath her, landing directly on the discarded bottle. Sure enough, it was whiskey. Drained, empty, it sat on the floor as a vague reminder of something worse than her morning sickness. She bent down and grabbed the bottle with a shaking hoof. Soon, her whole body began to spasm as she stared down at the putrid bottle, reading its labels. She was alone. Not even the falling sun could keep her company, nor did she want it. She was alone, and that was how she wished to be. "Dammit..." she muttered into the evening light, "Dammit all...I'm no better than her..." The words stung, causing her to recoil and wince. But she had things to say, things to hear. "I'm no better than her..." I'm a lady, not a filly. "No better..." This is whiskey. She shook her head and bit her lip. A twitch of her eye, and her whole body tensed. She flung the bottle at the wall, causing it to split in two large chunks, surrounded by tiny slivers of shimmering glass. The crunch and crash echoed in her ears like the barbs of a wasp. "Six months! Six bucking months!" she shouted. She gave the bedside table a good buck, denting the little cabinet beneath it. Her strength was not great, but one more good buck, and she split the fragile thing in two. "Buck you Vinyl!" She gripped Vinyl's sheets beside her with her teeth, she gave them a good yank, ripping the bedspread from its holster. The sheets flew off, crashing into the marble counter and falling limp. "Octavia? Octavia!" Bonbon called from the door. Pounding knocked reverberated through the suite. "I, um, I'm fine," she responded. "Just open the door." "Honestly, dear, I'm fine! I just want to be alone for a bit." "Octavia..." "Go away!" "Open the door Octavia, please?" "Celestia damn you! Go away Bonbon!" she hissed. The knocks came again, and Bonbon yelled something into the door, but Octavia had long since tuned her out. The slumped cellist retracted her legs, letting her pulled muscles relax. She stood and trudged her way over to the blue stained glass doors, sliding them ajar and letting the cool evening breeze lash her face and toss aside her mane. She stepped out onto the deck, slowly sliding the door shut behind her. When she heard the little latch click, she turned back to the ocean, the setting sun, and the crisp breeze. She fell to her haunches; there was no more fight in her. Her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. A whirlwind brewed in Octavia's mind, kicking around her thoughts and jumbling her altogether. And there was only one pony - one reason - for it. Giving the deck table a horribly weak kick, she muttered to the wind, "Buck you Vinyl..." A weak chuckle slipped her lips. She stood again, trotting over to the couch and hopping up on it with a thump. Another chuckle with a bit more strength escaped her mouth now, the corner of her lips curving up into a small grin. "Ah, buck you," she sighed. "Octavia?" a voice rang out. It came from the left, behind the large ceramic privacy shutter. "Octavia, is everything all right? Are you there?" "Yes, Bonbon, I'm here. And things are fine dear," she said. "It didn't sound like it. You know...the shouting, the cracking..." "Well Bonbon that's what happens when...when you accidentally make a pony poke her eye! Yes," Octavia said with a nervous giggle. "Oh, I'm, um, sorry about that. Would you please let me in?" "Hey! If you two wouldn't mind, some ponies come outside for a bit of peace!" a hoity-toity voice called from beneath them. Strange, Octavia thought, seeing as the rolling waves and unwavering breeze was already stealing her voice away. "Sorry," Bonbon said. "Octavia, please?" "Fine, fine," she said with a sigh. She fell from the couch, and reentered her suite, carefully trotting over to the door, her eyes locked on her mess. Yet she couldn't help but smile. At her door, she decided to let that tiny smile burn on - it would serve her well for this. She cracked it open, peering her head outside. Bonbon was just now closing her own door, and turned to face the cellist with a somber smile. "Hey, can I come in?" "Um, well, I suppose..." She slowly opened the door wider, exposing the splinted cabinet door and shattered glass. "Octavia...what happened in here?" the mare asked as she entered. The cellist shut the door, spun around, and headed for her bed. "It, um, well when you startled me-" "Don't even," Bonbon said. Her voice became stern, commanding, condescending. She sat on her friend's bed - the sheeted one - and gave a serious, knowledgeable glare. "I've been around you long enough to know that this isn't because you 'poked your eye'." Octavia stopped dead in her tracks. "W-Well, I - Are you insisting I've lied?" "Yes. Yes I am." Looking down at the cellist, eyes unfaltering, she shook her head and let loose a long, drawled sigh. "I'm insulted!" she scoffed. "Me too. I've been trying to help you and Vinyl for the past week or so, and at my own expense, too. Now I've got to try to keep my own relationship together, and deal with this drama. Octavia, I love you. I love you like a sister, but please, I can't put up with destruction. If you need to vent, you can do it to me." Bonbon opened her arms wide, as if to offer a hug. Octavia shoved herself atop her bed, her intense stare fixed on the cyan eyes before her. "You listen to me, I am not creating 'drama'. It has been a hard time for me, and I think it would be best if you respected that." "I do. I respect it completely. And that's exactly what I'm getting at - it's been a hard time for you, why not talk about it instead of...this." She pointed down to the shards of broken glass and splintered wood. "Because...well, I just-" "C'mon. I'm here for you. Just tell me what's wrong, I won't judge." Octavia's eyes shifted to the open deck door, staring out as faint streaks of orange and pink shot across the dimming sky. "I suppose. Look, whatever I say, you mustn't judge." Her voice had lost its harsh, commanding rasp, replaced by a soft, whimper-like tone. "I won't, I promise." She sighed and turned back to Bonbon. "It was about six months ago. I...it was late. Very late, and Vinyl had offered to take me out for the night. And, of course, we went to a bar..." her tone became unbelievably quieter. "I was a bit more...promiscuous back then." *** "So you're the joke of the neighborhood, why should'ya care if you're feelin' good, oh take the long way home..." Vinyl sat on her hard cot, staring out the portside window at the lowering sun. The room around her was hardly big enough for her: there was her cot, a mirror, and a door, all surrounded by an ugly green wallpaper. Her eyes were tired and worn, sunken in with dark rings around them. Her mane was a mess, and her coat was greasy and matted. And even her hooves were ruined, with glowing scrapes piercing her white fur up and down from constantly beating on the door whilst in a drunken stupor the night before. "This buckin' sucks."