Rain by Divine Path
Cumulus. Tiny droplets fell casually from a height one thousand eight hundred and twenty eight point eight meters. Water stained my windows, a wind blew unrelenting toward the house. A silent roar permeated through the building as the trees outside shook agonizingly. I believe I should thank Vinyl when next I see her for having the foresight to request help for repairing the leaky bits. Droplets hit and beat against every surface outside; 'plip, plop' and a 'plp.' Were I of the simpler sort, I would perhaps have found the sounds they made charming, melodious.
It seems I must be brief. I am Stradivari-Philharmonica Octavia Melody, although the full title has since lost its charm. You may call me Octavia. Octavia Melody. This is the name my friends would know. I am a cellist, I perform before the Canterlot elite beside my friends and colleagues within the Royal Canterlot Symphony. Very recently did I obtain the position of first chair cellist. It is still such a shock to me that I now perform before the noble blood, and at occasion, the regal sisters themselves. But enough about that. I imagine you came for a rather different story, did you not?
I began with Rain. It possesses a rather sentimental value to me, I admit. Of course, there have been a multitude of explanations for the phenomenon's less prosaic presence. These including the cleansing of souls, a premature grieving for the nearly departed and the sign that those have indeed reached their enlightenment or haven in the afterlife. Naturally, the pegasi hold power of the skies themselves. They, and the apt spellcasters may bend the tempests and winds to form the weather they desire. That including clouds. Rain. An arbitrary and minor orkan was apparently scheduled for today, which would be the stormy weather I saw outside where it is stronger. I felt a pleasant wistfulness gazing at the distinct blue, the colour of vitality, youth. But, enough about that. We have much to discuss, and oh so little time. I hope to bring just a little clarity to the situation.
Vinyl Scratch is a DJ, an operator of the musical medium 'turntable' as it is used for playing the "modern" form of music found in private celebrations in recent years. Unlike myself, she is a unicorn, donning a pair of violet shades and always with an electric blue mane resulting from a less than fortunate choice of dye. I still cannot enjoy this...music to the extent that she adores it.
We met once at the doors of the Sélection de Masque, my choice of 'diner' during my time in school, and even now. It is a fantastic space with excellent food. Hence the name, the establishment is also known for entertaining their guests with various form of dance, play and music. I have performed on this stage a few times in the past. I cherish those moments, for they were witnessed by my friends and family. I was more childlike then, I assume, standing by the doors that evening. I recall vividly the eyes which perplexed me as I had gazed further into them, scrying for something I could recognize. An enigma, she was. She was out of place, of course. I could tell.
The visible contempt of a noble of the unicorn house, the self-centricity of the privileged, the confidence of a prominent spell caster, assured of their own skill; these qualities were not in her eyes that day. Although, she did return my gaze.
Confidence was something she never lacked, I suppose. Do forgive the slight mistake. That might have been the reason why she, immediately upon being ushered in with me, suggested I sit by her over the course of our meal. "It would have been, totally awesome— I mean, it would be most kind of you to sit by me for this meal. I would be honored to say a few words." Says she, the white disc jockey who breaks walls with her music. I will never let her live that down.
Let me briefly break pace with the following warning; Vinyl Scratch. As much as I love you, Vinyl, I will be forced to withdraw your allowance and banish you to your room should you continue to correct any instances of my typical Canterlot syntax. I'll see you shortly, "honey."
Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The de Masque. "Certainly." I suppose the name of the diner inadvertently came to form significance in my life, as the Rain. Curiously enough, there were few available seats, so we found ourselves a tighter spot to sit in. There was only a booth at a wall where we could sit together, so we had to share it, in close proximity. Back then, I had felt something that could be described as almost amorous. I have little doubt this meeting was what possessed me to ever consider dating a disc jockey, much less a mare. Yes, you did not misread. I, Stradivari-Philharmonica Octavia Melody, came to fall for a pony of the same sex. "Thank you very much for your offer. My name is Stradivari- Philharmonica Octavia Melody. I play the cello in the Canterlot Symphony." For it was our name at the time, unknown to the general public as we were. "It is a pleasure to meet you." A blush, I recall, had festered on both of our cheeks. Mine was accompanied by a teensy smile. Hmhm. Ah, how lovely it was. "Who could you be, my lady?" I have her a pleasant smile, further raising the level of pheromones in the air. Ah, forgive me. I feel so amorous with the current melancholy of the Rain.
"Right. Uh, sorry." You wouldn't believe this poor girl was the famous DJ PON3, who even then was a popular character within the modern music scene. I feel nostalgic, recalling how cute she was as she struggled to maintain the charade of a noblemare. All...the night...long. I believe she introduced herself as 'Vinyl Richter Percussio-Laud Scratch.' I commend her for putting together such a ridiculous name within three seconds of my question.
We spent an hour eating in silence, save the compliments to the cook. I myself felt uneasy. As we continued, I tried my best to introduce a topic, anything at all to disperse the hints of tension lingering about our space. I hated that I never learnt the finer point of conversing. I felt a vast despair looking at the mare. This was supposed to be a nice evening with a prospective friend. Why had she lied about her rank? Why was she acting this way? I felt insecure, foolish and scared.
We kissed.
It wasn't intentional. We simply happened to, in our awkwardness, look at one another a bit too swiftly, a bit too closely. The kiss was brief, though it stuck for a moment. I cannot possibly describe the emotions that had surged through our heads that moment. A blush formed on my cheeks. Vinyl galloped. The doors closed, and suddenly I was alone.
I ran too, swiftly throwing the appropriate amount of bits on the table, and rushed outside. The mare fled, and I pursued. Like a twisted game of tag, mirrored by the playing of foals in the background, I chased the snowy white mare, tarnished by her own tears and the despair. I couldn't make sense of anything. I hunted her across the town, dodging nobility and rambunctious foals, gallop did I, flee did she, continuing into an unrestrained fear I could not comprehend.
Finally, she stopped, and she looked at me. A sob surfaced, and I no longer thought. I embraced the foolish girl earnestly. She sobbed into my hooves. I felt my own eyes burning with salt. I couldn't understand why.
Vinyl Scratch threw her lips unto mine. The more wet, the colder we became, it all fueled our struggle to hold on tight. Her mane tickled my cheeks, and I wept as I felt an uncanny euphoria with my muzzle plastered to hers. The coldness didn't exist. All that was, were the mysterious mare, and I. The fact we were strangers were of no importance. I immediately loved her for showing me this. It was selfish, perhaps, but it did blossom into something genuine.
Finally, the spell was broken. I was shivering. She too, likely felt the elements hard against her coat. She gazed intently into my eyes.
"Tavi...I think...I think I'm in love with you."
It was only then that I noticed it was raining.