//------------------------------// // First Meetings // Story: Simple Melodies are for Fillies // by bahatumay //------------------------------// Vinyl stumbled into her house and collapsed on the couch, tossing her backpack aside. “Hopeless!” she proclaimed, burying her face in her hands. “It's hopeless, Lyra!” Lyra didn't even look up from the book she was reading. “It's never hopeless,” she said playfully. “If you’re short on cash for this month's rent, there’s always a market for strippers.” Vinyl's jaw dropped. “H- hey! I wasn't talking about rent! I was talking about going out with Octavia!” Lyra’s smile faltered. She put her book down. “You saw her again today, huh?” “Yeah. At a restaurant. With that guy she's going out with.” Vinyl pouted. “I swear, he treats her like a trophy and not a person. She deserves someone who gives her the respect she deserves.” “She does deserve better,” Lyra agreed, sliding her book aside on the couch. If Vinyl was finally going to make her move, she wanted a front-row seat; not only to watch, but to provide any assistance she might need. “She deserves you.” “She does, doesn't she?” Vinyl said slowly. "You know all about her music, you know all about her life; I'm telling you, you just need to make a move and the next thing you know, her heart's in your hands and her shirt's on your floor." Vinyl sat up. “Yeah! I'm going to do it! I totally am! I'm going to walk up to her and I'm going to ignore that buttface she calls a coltfriend and I'm going to grab her hand and I'm going to look her in the eyes and...” Vinyl collapsed and buried her face in her hands. “And I'm going to run away without saying anything, like the coward I am,” she whimpered despondently. Lyra quickly walked over and sat down next to her and began rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. “Introvert,” she corrected softly. “You're an introvert. You're not a coward, you're not broken; you're you.” “Yeah, well, sometimes me sucks,” Vinyl groaned. “I can't even talk to her on the street. I can barely say hi to her. How am I supposed to ask her out?” Lyra thought about this for a moment. "You don't have to straight-up ask her out, you know. It took me a while to get Bon Bon to warm up to me. We started by just hanging out after her work." "You don't just 'hang out' with Octavia," Vinyl protested. “She's got things to do. She's a very busy person.” "Maybe," Lyra said, a slow smile spreading across her face as an idea which should have occurred to her long ago slowly formed in her mind. "But people do record with Octavia, right?" "Yeah. She's done everything from classical to that cello rock cover group to soloing." Vinyl smiled and interlaced her fingers. "I love her solos. But what's that got to do with anything?" "Well, you write music. You could accidentally run into her, and while you're talking, mention your songs and ask her to ‘befriend’ you or whatever you electronica types say when you collaborate on a song. It's good because you're working with her and not revealing your real intention is to get inside her panties." Vinyl sat up indignantly. “I am not an electronica artist,” she protested. “I am a DJ who happens to write her own house music with strong rave influences.” Lyra was mildly disappointed that she had chosen that phrase to react to. “Fine. But I think it's a good idea.” “And where would I just run into her?” Lyra thought for a moment. “How about the biyearly musician guild meeting? It's next week, isn't it?” Vinyl shook her head. “I let my membership expire.” She crossed her arms. “It's no fun going to those, and it's not worth the tiny sandwiches and weak punch they serve there.” “We both know that the sandwiches and punch are not the point of the meeting,” Lyra said flatly. “You're expected to talk with other musicians and brag about your successes and how much money you’ve made since the last time you met.” “Yet another reason I let my membership expire,” Vinyl grumbled. “You know how much I hate talking about myself.” “You're a very interesting person!” Lyra protested. “Right.” Vinyl rolled her eyes. Lyra decided to tactfully ignore the facts that Vinyl could play five different instruments, had maintained a 3.8 throughout college, and could improvise almost anything from a single motif, not to mention she had a very fascinating alter-ego. She gently nudged Vinyl. “Come on. It'll be fun! And Octavia will be there…” Vinyl sighed. “Fine, I guess I'll go for a bit. It could be ok, I guess.” * * * It was not ok, and Vinyl was definitely not having fun. She tugged at the dress she was wearing. It was too loose in the top—she just didn't have the measurements necessary to fill it out—and the slit up the side went far too high up her thigh for her liking. She leaned over towards Lyra. “This was a terrible idea,” she hissed. “I want to go home.” “We just got here,” Lyra protested. Her own strapless seafoam dress was a bit more modest, losing most of its fabric down her exposed back. Vinyl had the tiniest inkling of a suspicion that Lyra had chosen these dresses on purpose. “And it's still been far too long,” Vinyl insisted. “Just breathe. Octavia isn't even here yet,” Lyra said placatingly. “I don't care. I'm going home.” She turned to leave, but Lyra grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. “You didn't get what you came for,” she pointed out. “Come on. You got here, didn't you? And you managed to stay this long. That's like getting three-fourths of the way there but not finishing.” “A seventy-five percent is a C,” Vinyl retorted. “That's still passing.” “But not finishing,” Lyra insisted. “And people really, really like finishing.” Vinyl paused. Knowing Lyra, that probably had somewhat sexual connotations. She turned and narrowed her eyes slightly. If she did mean it to be taken in a dirty way, though, Lyra didn't dwell on it. “Come on, Vinyl. It's just a little bit longer. You can do this. You can be strong for your lover.” Vinyl sighed. When she put it that way... “I guess.” Lyra laughed lightly and clapped her on the shoulder as she passed her a drink. “Atta girl! Welp, I'm gonna go mingle. Have fun!” And she bounced off. Vinyl scowled. She hated that word, mingle. That's what her mother would always say to her. 'Vinyl, go mingle! You need to be more social! Make friends, Vinyl, make friends!' she would say, as if it were just that easy. Maybe it was for some people, but not for Vinyl. She leaned back against the wall, nursing her little cup of red punch, watching everyone and looking down. Currently, her attention was held by the punch. Why was it red? Especially if so many women were wearing light-colored dresses and the men wore mostly white shirts and fancy tuxedo-thingies that had to be dry-cleaned. Perhaps this was the more affluent way of living dangerously? It definitely looked like a safer alternative to some of the crazy stuff DJ Pon-3 had seen from behind her decks. She’d gotten quite adept at noticing paramedics working their way through the crowd. She stared at her punch for a while before draining it in one shot, luckily not spilling a drop. She was tired, exhausted, and just about to just leave and go home without Lyra when she suddenly saw her. Octavia. She stood at the top of the stairs, wearing a pearl necklace that went perfectly with her gray dress. Her jet black hair was done up and flowed down like velvet waterfalls, her pale skin looked flawless in the light, and Vinyl's breath caught in her throat as she looked her over. Of course, this feeling of elation at seeing the object of her desire was quickly quashed by the appearance of her coltfriend. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and Vinyl subconsciously crushed her cup in quiet rage. How dare he. “He doesn't know what treasures he takes for granted, huh?” Vinyl nodded… then jumped. She looked over to see Lyra, grinning widely. She gave Vinyl's butt a push with her hip. “Go on! Ask her! She's right here! Go!” “I… I can't,” Vinyl whimpered. Her heels seemed to have suddenly grown roots, and Octavia looked as though she were a hundred miles away. “Sure you can,” Lyra said. “I'm your wingmare here! What can't we do together?” “Get a gallon of ice cream to last longer than a week?” “…” Lyra found she had no rebuttal for this. In their apartment, ice cream had been placed on quite the pedestal. Everything from passing a test (protocol eight) to a lousy gig (protocol thirteen) to a combined celebration (protocol four) to a devastating event (protocol seventeen) to making enough money to pay the rent (protocol nine) was answered with ice cream. “Don't ask a question if you don't want the answer,” Vinyl grinned cheekily. “Ok then,” Lyra said. “Here's a question for you. Will you be able to masturbate happy tonight knowing you passed up an opportunity to get to physically hang out with Octavia?” Vinyl blushed about the color of the punch as she looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “I do not masturbate at night!” she hissed. “Go ask her, and tonight you might have a reason to,” Lyra winked. “There is something seriously, seriously wrong with you,” Vinyl grumbled. But when she looked up at Octavia, she was alone once more. A new sense of daring filled Vinyl, and she decided to take this chance. Swallowing and steeling herself, she began to walk up the stairs. They seemed to be getting taller and taller and harder and harder to climb, especially in heels, but she managed to arrive. And then she looked up and Octavia was no longer alone. She didn't even recognize the female pegasus that Octavia was talking to, but that was enough to spook her. She quickly stopped and turned around and headed back down the stairs. Unfortunately, the stallion right behind her hadn't known about her intentions, as stallions have since the dawn of time been unable to read the minds of mares. She collided with him and they tumbled down the red carpet to the next landing, with him winding up on bottom and cushioning her fall. He recovered quickly, and he pulled his red tie off her face. “Please don't take this the wrong way,” he said with a smile as he brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, “but aren't I supposed to buy you dinner first or something?” The surrounding musicians chuckled. Vinyl blushed a deeper red than the color of the punch and, ducking her head, quickly got up and headed back towards the corner. Lyra appeared suddenly beside her, reaching for her shoulder. “Vinyl, you were so cl-” “No!” Vinyl hissed, not slowing her pace until she was back safely against the wall. “No! You don't get to talk now!” “But-” “I can't do it! I can't talk to her! See? This is what happens when I go in public! I screw up something, and this time it was in front of her! She saw, I know she did!” “Who?” “Octavia!” “Yes?” Both jumped at the new voice breaking in, and then slowly rotated towards the speaker. Octavia stood there, head cocked slightly. Vinyl's eyes widened and she froze completely. She hadn't planned for this. Lyra gave her another none-too-gentle nudge, but Vinyl still was unable to move. Octavia tried again. “I couldn't help but notice that you wanted to talk to me?” Lyra realized that Vinyl was totally and completely drowning, and so she jumped in to save her. “Vinyl here is an artist, and she was looking for someone to play a solo in one of her newest songs, and I suggested you.” “Yeah,” Vinyl said, grateful for the lead-in. “I just didn't want to interrupt, you know? I mean, I've heard you play in a lot of songs and you're the best and I really wanted to know if you'd be willing to come record with me?” Octavia smiled modestly and averted her eyes slightly. “Oh, 'best' might be a bit of an exaggeration; but I must admit I have a weakness for new music opportunities. I truly believe music can be found anywhere, even in the strangest of places.” She smiled, and Vinyl felt happy chills run through her body. “I accept.” Vinyl smiled widely. Success! Nothing else could go wrong tonight! There was a moment of silence. Lyra shuffled her heels slightly. Octavia coughed lightly. “When should we…?” “Oh, right,” Vinyl said, blushing slightly. She'd spoken too soon. “Probably should tell you when and where, huh?” Octavia smiled. “It might help.” Vinyl looked around and grabbed a napkin off a table. “Do you have a pen?” “Always.” Octavia reached inside her top and pulled out a pencil. Vinyl took it and briefly reflected on how strange it was to see someone so classy do something so... normal. As she wrote down her information, a shadow fell across the group. “Octavia. There you are.” A cold shiver ran up Vinyl's back as she turned to see Octavia's coltfriend. “What's going on here?” he asked, with just a hint of suspicion in his voice. “Who are your friends?” Vinyl kept her voice level as she held out the napkin she'd written on. “Vinyl. Vinyl Scratch,” she introduced herself. “Not too much; Octavia just accepted my invitation to come record something with me.” Though Octavia reached for it, he was faster; he snatched it and examined it before passing it to Octavia. “Ah, I see. Make sure you treat her right, eh?” Vinyl sniffed. “I'll treat her better than you do, you wanker. You wouldn't know how to treat a mare right if she gave you illustrated step-by-step instructions.” At least, that's what Thought Vinyl said. Real Vinyl meekly said, “Don't worry, I will,” and smiled politely. He smiled and gently but firmly dragged Octavia away. “Come on over here, Octavia. There's someone I want to introduce you to.” Octavia waved as she was pulled away. Vinyl's anger was mitigated by the fact that she had succeeded; she had successfully obtained a date-not-date with Octavia. Feeling as though she could fly, she floated home with Lyra. * * * That night, as both mares were getting ready for bed, Lyra leaned over and grinned impishly. “Sooo…?” Vinyl pulled her pillow over her face. “For the last time, I'm not going to masturbate tonight!” she screeched.