Dear “Vinyl Scratch,” March 24, 2013
That’s quite a name. Though, of course, with a name like “Octavia,” I suppose I can’t say too much about it, can I? Anyway, I’m just going to guess this is some elaborate prank. That’s been going on for awhile, admittedly. When I first heard about the “Talking Oak” out in London’s east park, I thought it was a bunch of hogwash. I mean, really? Leave a note, and get a response? And here I thought my ‘leave a CD, get a response’ was clever.
Your music though… it’s brilliant. I never imagined myself a clubber, really, but that wasn’t just club music. Those vocal pieces… you have a truly beautiful voice. That, or you know someone with one. Or just have a reliable internet connection. I can’t truly be sure anymore, considering I live in whatever dry hole I can find. Yes, I’m homeless. Go ahead, laugh when you read this. ‘Gullible homeless teenager,’ or whatever. I’ve gotten over it a long time ago. Didn’t have much choice about it, really. All I have is a violin, a cheap one at that, and a CD player, that I can call valuable though. So if you’re just some idiot or predator, I don’t have much to steal.
And… if this IS real, somehow, well… I’ve sent another CD along with this letter. I hope to get something back from you. If the legends are true, and this tree here is magic, well… think you can prove it?
-Octavia
Dear Vinyl Scratch,
You either have alot of downtime or… well, I don’t know. This scrapbook is amazing. All this scenery, these pony creatures. How did you do this? CGI? All of these characters have so much detail to them… and what’s with the marks on their butts? That seems a bit odd.
I also got your next CD. That was incredible. You synced with my music? I’ve never heard classical and electronic actually blend like that. I have to admit, I was in tears listening to it, and that’s a fairly rare occurrence. I almost feel bad sending mine again, with just plain violin. But, if you can do that again…
And I probably should explain a few things. I get my CD’s made at a studio nearby. It’s… kind of like my home. Sort of. The director there was a friend of my father’s before his passing, and he lets me sleep there some nights. When I do certain things for him. Don’t ask.
Please.
But he does let me record free of charge, and it’s one of the ways I can earn a few dollars on the corners. Maybe I should try to mix too, hrm?
See you again?
-Octavia
How is this possible? I stayed at that tree all night, and no one showed up! I saw your package appear. One minute the inside of the tree hollow was completely empty, and the next…
Could you really be from another world, Vinyl?
-Octavia
Dear Vinyl Scratch, June 12, 2013
Thanks again for the CD, and please thank your friends for everything they’ve sent too. Bon-Bon’s candy was absolutely delicious, and Lyra’s lyre was fun to learn to play! Adding another instrument to my repertoire is always worthwhile, and I’m thinking of adding a new song on the next CD I send you. I’m also sending you something else along with this letter.
The locket is from my mother. Please don’t break it. I’m not sure how dextrous your hooves are. It’s the last thing I ever got from her before she passed, and my father was soon after. If you can’t get it open safely, the only thing inside is a small picture of them. Please. Be careful. I’ll send you another letter tomorrow.
Your friend?
-Octavia.
Dear Vinyl Scratch, July 30, 2015,
Vinyl, something really bad is happening. A city worker tried to keep me out of the park this morning! Apparently it’s been re-zoned for development by some big-wig at city hall, and they’re plowing it all down in the morning. Even the tree.
Vinyl, I don’t know what to do.
These past two years, you and your friends have done so much for me. The gold coins I sold for those camping supplies. “Bits,” I think you called them. All the encouraging letters, and that scrapbook… god that scrapbook. The smiles you all had in those pictures were utterly infectious.
And you Vinyl… if it wasn’t for you, I would never had had the courage to call the police on that scummy studio director. Hell, I’m not sure if I’d be alive right now. There are some days out here, on my own, when I’ve asked myself what’s the point of it all, Vinyl. And some days, I can’t think of anything. Just you. You, and Lyra, and Bon-Bon, and Ditzy…
Be at the tree tonight at eight. I want to try something. Doubt it’ll work, but…
Just be there.
Your friend always,
-Octavia
Octavia panted softly, half in exertion, and the other half in mind-numbing terror, as she darted across the dark street, eyes focused on the massive, many-branched oak tree. She had gathered everything she owned- her violin and lyre cases, her backpack with the scrapbook and little food she had saved up, a few of Vinyl’s t-shirts… Not that Octavia was entirely sure what she was going to do. Send it all back? It’d definitely give Vinyl something to remember her by, but…
But what? Could Octavia really go on without the weird group of friends she had collected through her letters? Days had been the same monotonous cycle of begging and eating just enough to go on for ages, till that Oak. Vinyl’s packages had brought her the gift of music, and of hope. Of friendship. It had been the first time in years that she had felt any of those things, and-
“HEY!”
Oh fuck.
“The hell are you doing back here, kid?”
The city worker was wearing a bright orange vest and wielding a maglight as he marched over, the brilliant light blazing into Octavia’s corneas. She held up her violin case, squeaking as a firm hand grabbed onto her wrist.
“I told you to get LOST! Fucking homeless… come on, I’ll calling the police. Can’t have you-”
Octavia wasn’t sure what ran through her mind when she swung the lyre case. Outrage? Possibly. Though in all honesty, it was more likely fear and utter desperation that gave power to the swing, shattering the man’s ugly nose with a spray of blood and LOUD curses. Tugging her arm loose, Octavia raced as fast as she could force her legs to the hollow tree, darting inside the dark hollow and frantically digging for a flashlight.
“Oh fuck, now what do I do?” Octavia whimpered to herself as she searched for the cursed torch in the darkness, “I’m so going to jail, what do I do, what…”
“Octavia?”
The young woman froze, gaze slowly trailing up as a blue glow suffused the inside of the tree. On the far wall of the tree’s heartwood was a mirror-like finish, and peering through it was… Vinyl. Just like the pictures she had sent. A small, bright white pony, her mane a shock of electric blue, spiked up. Her tinted glasses were raised up above her ruby-red eyes, which were filled with happiness and slight concern. In a daze, Octavia slowly walked up to the mirror, setting her bags down and reaching her freed hands up slowly. Vinyl reached out as well, pressing forward against the mirror. Squeaking, Octavia watched in awe as a delicate human hand slid out of the mirror, pressing warmly against Octavia’s palm…
A hand grabbed Octavia’s hair and, drawing a pained yell from the surprised girl, yanked her forward, slamming her head against the mirror. A thin crinkling rippled from the surface, and Octavia sobbed in fear. The city worker, blood pouring from his ruined nose, panted roughly as he pressed Octavia against the mirror, too focused on the girl to notice the stunned pony staring down at him.
“That is IT, you stupid bitch,” he hissed, wheezing past the blood and snot coating his face, “The boys in the pen are gonna have fun with you, AFTER I get done with-”
“HEY, PAL!”
Stunned out of his rant, both the man and Octavia gazed up at the mirror. Two ponies stood in frame now- Octavia recognized the glaring, mint-green unicorn as Lyra- both looked absolutely livid.
“What the-”
Two fists leaped from the mirror and, at that close of range, slammed hard into the man’s face, sending him sprawling onto his ass with an undignified yelp.
“Come on, Tavs!” Vinyl yelped, both her and Lyra’s hands opening and offering to the stunned girl.
Tavs? ...she… had a pet name? With a teary mewl, Octavia grabbed her instruments, pressing into the hands desperately. Both hands, oddly not using their fingers to grab, wrapped around Octavia’s shoulders, pulling her against the mirror. The feeling was strange, like a bowl of pudding closing around her head, blocking all sight for a moment.
“Shit, she’s heavy! Ditzy, Bons!”
“On it!”
Two more sets of limbs wrapped around Octavia, and she gave a small yelp as the added strength sent her tumbling free onto the ground. Octavia’s first sight of her new home was that of four mares, all gazing down at her in awe and affection, smiles spreading across their face as they ignored the crinkling and crumbling mirror behind Octavia. Vinyl’s smile was the brightest, and her surprisingly soft, yielding hoof traced across Octavia’s now soot-grey, silken cheek.
“Welcome home, Tavs.”