“Hello?”
“Bonbon...this really isn’t the best time,” sighed Octavia from the other end of the line.
“Oh I’d figure as much. Vinyl’s put away eight cans of Buckweiser already, and if Lyra tries to get her to dance on the coffee table again, I’m throwing them both out into the street.”
“It is Thursday again, isn’t it?”
“Already. Yup.”
“I can’t keep doing this, Bonnie. Vinyl is about to lose me my job, and she is somehow behind on rent payments again! I don’t know what part of ‘If I’m late for rehearsal I might lose my job’ she doesn’t get! Thankfully she hasn’t stopped me from attending a performance, but this has grown from ‘embarrassing’ to ‘life-destructive!’”
“Well actually, I was thinking about that.”
“To what end?” moaned Octavia. “There isn’t any way I can possibly fix this, none at all.”
“Well...you could always move to a different place than Vinyl.”
Laughter drowned out any other noise from Octavia’s end. “Oh...Bonnie...who would take care of Vinyl then? She’d probably die.”
“You know, as a grown mare, if she can’t take care of herself then she probably deserves whatever she gets. You’re not her mom, Octavia. Nor are you her guidance counselor. You’re not her maid, servant, or bitch. And I don’t know why you’re still her friend.”
“I am most certainly not her friend.”
“Then end this endeavour. Post the last half of your rent, and take the couch at my place until you can find a different living situation. Lyra may be crazy, but she won’t stop you from going to work.”
“What work? After tonight do you really think I have a job? This makes twelve! Twelve times I’ve been late or skipped altogether.”
“Well, I’ll ask Lyra to pull some strings for you.”
“The heck is that supposed to mean?”
“...I really never told you that her family owns a majority of the stock in the hall where you guys perform?”
“That...may be enough clout. But there are a few more problems with all this.”
“What else could possibly matter at this point?”
“Can I come over and speak with you in person? I’m not quite comfortable discussing such things over the phone.”
“Alright, I’ll be waiting.” Bonbon hung up the phone and sighed. Maybe Octavia really was Vinyl’s bitch. It was the only way the whole convoluted mess made sense.
On her end, Octavia hung up the phone, and began to bandage her legs.
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Night normally spelled a time of quiet and hush over the streets. Life was never quiet where Vinyl went, though.
“Hey pretty colt, are you slouching or are you just that hung?!”
The slightly rear-heavy stallion in question growled and hurried on, much to Vinyl’s displeasure. Her attempt to turn and follow him was shortly cut off by Lyra’s leg around her neck.
“Dangit, Scratchy, you can’t get distracted. If you hit on every guy between here and the store we’ll never get there before it closes!”
“But he was hot!”
“Yeah, he was, which means he probably doesn’t want a drunk, crazy mare following him. Cmon, the store is right around the corner.”
Bright neon-orange words proclaimed the supermarket sized warehouse to be ‘Hiccup’s House of Heavy Ales and Hearty Spirits.’ Equestria’s obsession with ethanol was really getting out of hoof. To think that stores of this size weren't a rarity, but rather tended to exist every fifteen to twenty city blocks was probably something that would worry the aristocracy if they didn’t own most of them to begin with. Such conundrums of political and economic strife were far from the thoughts of Lyra and Vinyl as they trotted inside.
Row upon row of tired gray sheet-metal shelving sat on the chipping concrete floor, bearing bottles of all hues of the rainbow. Under the dim yellow incandescent lighting, all of it seemed muted, like the far-too-large storeroom of a apothecary or bathhouse. Combing the entire floor of the warehouse would take ages, or as too many ponies called it: ‘scavenger hunt.’ Passing the checkout counter without a further word they charged headlong into the maze.
--------------------------------------------
“What did she want again? Was it everclear?” hollered Lyra from the second aisle over.
“Nopony likes everclear!” returned Vinyl.
“Tequila with Zebracha Sauce?”
“No!”
“How about green wine?”
“What the hell is green wine?”
“Uh…” Lyra paused to read the label. “Looks like white wine with green food coloring.”
“Nope, keep looking. It was some kind of scotch. Trotter, I think. Had some kind of black label with purple stuff on it.”
After two complete circuits of the warehouse both mares had come up empty-hooved. Failure led them both back to the clerk’s counter in hopes that he might know something.
“Hello, welcome to Hiccup’s! Is there anything I can help you with?”
Such a typical and tired-sounded manager-mandated greeting did not seem like it should be coming from a pony-like form wearing a black hooded robe. Yet he stood there as Vinyl and Lyra gaped, wearily trailing a quill over an inventory sheet in a nimbus of gray telekinesis.
“Uh...yeah…” offered Vinyl. “We were looking for some kind of scotch. Called Trotter or something like that. Weird looking label. Anyways, we couldn’t find it and would like your help.”
“Something like this, perhaps?” A dark bottle floated up from behind the counter, utterly familiar to Vinyl. It was the same one she always had to shove out of the way every last time she wanted a drink.
“That’s the one, how much for it?”
“Well, I am not allowed to sell such a powerful distillation, unless it doesn’t reach the hooves of any with a surplus of magical power. And I see two unicorns here. Tell me, why should I sell this to you?”
“Well I’m a DJ!”
“And I’m...drunk!”
A deep sigh slowly permeated out from under the clerk’s hood. “Fine, it will be fifty-four bits and a half-pint of blood.”
Lyra threw the money up on the counter, and turned to Vinyl. “Uh, blood? Look, if I’m paying the gold, you gotta pay the blood.”
“Well, sure, but how am I gonna give him blood?”
“Allow me,” offered the clerk.
Chill seeped into Vinyl right foreleg, and a deep gray void appeared where the cold spread. Silently, her fur and skin gave way, allowing crimson blood to weep forth.
“Vinyl!”
“Uh...it doesn’t hurt…” offered Vinyl. The dizziness was only getting worse at the sight of her own blood, but true to her word it didn’t pain her. Instead, the cold gripped her leg like a vice, holding it in place as the beads of red welled up to the point of spilling over. As gravity reached for them, something else pulled them up and over the counter.
“Dude. Creepy.”
The clerk chuckled huskily. “Part of the job, I’m afraid.”
Just as quickly as the sensation started, warmth faded back into Vinyl’s limbs, and the cut sealed right up. Even white coat greeted her eyes, as new and innocent as the day she was born. Phfaw, innocent? Not after what I’ve done with that leg!
The clerk swept the bits up into the register, and pushed a familiar looking bottle toward Vinyl. Far too familiar. It was the Trotter alright, but smothered in plastic wrap.
“Why is it all wrapped up?”
“To keep you from dropping and breaking it. Also, the fates of hell like the irony you bring into the world.”
That last part sounded worrisome, but Vinyl couldn’t argue with the fact that wrapping the bottle would indeed keep it safe on the trip back to her apartment. Tucking the bundle into Lyra’s saddlebags for safekeeping, she trotted out into the night, still marveling that her leg was completely whole.
Every step on the way home had been ingrained deeply into the muscle memory of each leg. After all, this was a weekly trip, one made just as often drunk as not. Too soon they were back at the base of the stairs to Vinyl apartment.
“Ok, you’re still gonna take it to her, right, Lyra?”
“Of course! I’ll let you know as soon as it is safe to come on up!”
Lyra started up the stairs, only to be stopped as soon as Vinyl bit down on her tail.
“Dammit Vinyl, what is it?”
A key hovered up to float by her teeth as Vinyl let go. “You’ll need the housekey. Now go on.”
Lyra nodded and ascended the stairs, each hoof a clank on the rusting iron. Listening with both ears perked high, Vinyl could hear the subtle grind of metal on metal as Lyra inserted and turned the key.
“Hey, Octavia, we got you a prese--oh sweet Celestia what the buck did you do!?”