Roses and Violets

by GenerousGhibli

Healing the Scars, Part 1

It was eleven AM, the Saturday morning following the visit to Roma’s house and for the first time in a while, I found myself in a taxi.

That’s because today was special. Today, I was going to spend an entire day with Roma’s family. He wanted me to get to know them better and to be honest, I wanted to know them better too. As I glanced over my attire, I realized I might be a tad overdressed. I was clad in a pair of pressed white jeans, blue heels, Roma’s jacket, and a tight, blue, button-down blouse.

In my defense, he’d said we were going out to dinner, instead of him cooking for us all again. I didn’t know what to expect, so I decided to risk being over dressed.

As the taxi turned onto his street, my heart began to race. What if they didn’t like me? No way… They seemed to like me well enough at dinner last time. I was still nervous. Who knew what would happen in the span of the next twelve hours?

“Hey, we’re here.” My attention snapped to the driver, who was patiently waiting for me to get out.

“Right… um, how much?”

“Fifteen thirty-two,” he said calmly and held out his hand. I promptly handed him the appropriate amount before exiting. “You have a good one, Miss.”

I wished him the same, then turned towards the grey colonial. I heard the taxi behind me pull away, and the sound of its engine was replaced with that of music. I quickly deduced that the source was the garage.

As I made came within a couple of yards from the door, it promptly swung open and a girl about my height with white hair stepped out to meet me. “Hello, Miss Vinyl! Welcome back!” Dahlia was wearing noticeably less sophisticated clothing than my last visit. Instead of her bright red dress, she now wore a long, blue, purple and green tie-dye skirt and a white blouse not unlike my own.

“Um, thanks!” I said, trying to match her cheer, “It’s good to see you again Dahlia.”

“And you, as well. Please, come right in. Unfortunately, Uncle Roma will not be joining us today,” she said. I swear, I noticed a faint twitch in her eye.

“Why not?”

“On Saturdays, Uncle works on his car,” she explained as I was led into the colorful house. The walls were all white, but furniture and fixtures like the shelves, stands and the coffee table were all vibrant blues, yellows, and reds.* “He does not make exceptions.”

“Even for Rarity or Pinkie or Suns—”

“Do not mention that witch’s name in this house!” she snapped, turning to glare at me. She seemed to catch herself and her expression softened. “I am sorry. I understand you are friends with her? Please forgive me,” she said, bowing her head. “But no, he did not. Not even for Rarity or Pinkie Pie or Fluttershy.”

“I… see. Where are the others?” I asked, looking around.

“Romany is possibly hovering over Uncle and Aunt Tragedy is likely in the shower,” she said, pointing to the garage, and then upstairs. “If you will excuse, I will go tell Aunt Tragedy that you are here.”

“Alright… Should I go get Romany?”

“If you’d like. Though Uncle Roma should be kicking her out about…” She trailed off, looking through the kitchen at the garage entrance.

“Aw, Come on Roma you never let me help!” came a girlish voice from the other side of the aforementioned door.

“Yes, because the last time you tried to help, I got a monkey wrench dropped on my foot. And I didn’t even need a monkey wrench! Now be gone, dear sister!” Suddenly, the door burst open and Romany was pushed through. She was clad in a pair of white jeans and a red tank top.

“…Now,” Dahlia said with a smirk.

“So tell me, Vinyl, how did you meet my boy?” Tragedy asked as she came out of her room, in the process of putting a belt on. She was dressed in a pair of tight leather pants and an equally-tight white t-shirt. Hanging on her right hip was a large knife with a dark, wood handle and a black, s-shaped guard. It rested in a black leather sheath.

“Well, the valet crashed my car before one of my gigs. Rarity sent him to give me a ride home,” I explained, my eyes fixated on Tragedy’s figure. Damn, she was hot. I may not share my Roommate’s orientation, but even I had to admit that I found Roma’s mom attractive. “That’s when he introduced himself. I actually met him about a month prior. I bumped into him in the hallway.” Well, it wasn’t technically a lie. Tragedy’s eyes narrowed for some reason at the mention of Rarity. I guess she didn’t really approve of their relationship.

“Gig?” Romany asked from her position on the couch. She laid on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, kicking her feet above her.

“Yeah, I’m a DJ. I had a gig at this place called The Crystal Palace,” I said, smiling as the girl’s eyes grew to the size of golf balls. “It’s how I make rent.”

“You live alone?” Dahlia asked as she fiddled with a folded piece of paper.

“No, I have a roommate. I mentioned her last time I was here.”

“Ah, yes. The giant pangolin,” she affirmed with a smile. “You know Miss Vinyl, I also perform for rent.”

“Really? What do you do?” I paused for a moment as realization hit me like a baseball bat. “Wait, you pay rent?”

“Firstly, I sing at a local restaurant. Secondly, yes, I pay rent. I have ever since I moved in here,” she said with a kind smile. “I’d love to hear some of your music some time.”

“Only if you’ll sing for me,” I said, crossing my legs and my arms. “I mean, I heard you Tuesday, but it was just a snippet.”

“Well, you can wait until tonight, or I can sing now,” she said, standing up and moving to the other side of the living room. “We will be dining at the restaurant at which I sing.”

“I’d rather hear you now,” I said. A smile spread across her lips.

“I’ll get my guitar,” Tragedy said as she walked back towards the stairs.

“Tambourine!” Romany shouted, then rolled off the chartreuse couch and sprinted up after her mother. She was so hyperactive…

“You are in luck. Romany likes you.” I turned back to see Dahlia stand and walk over to me, holding the piece of paper she was messing with in an open palm. It was an origami rose. “She typically decides whether she likes someone within the first five minutes of meeting them.”

“Why wouldn’t she like me?” I asked as she gingerly sat on the arm of my chair. I won’t lie, that made me a bit uncomfortable… especially when she leaned in closer.

She delicately tucked the paper rose behind my ear, and smiled sweetly at me. “Because Uncle likes you,” she whispered before hopping off and laughing at my reddened face.

“So… ahem, while we’re on the subject of Roma; why does he have a car? What with the claustrophobia and all… I wouldn’t think he could drive,” I asked awkwardly. I heard a loud crash from upstairs, which prompted Dahlia to jog over to the steps.

“Go ask him yourself. I must deal with Romany…” she said briefly, and then she was gone. She sprinted up the steps so quickly I barely saw the hem of her skirt vanish over their top.

His garage was a mess. There were three different motorcycles, consisting of a black R1, a large cruiser, and a pink moped (are mopeds motorcycles?), lined up in two rows beside a large, old, black sedan, not unlike Rarity’s Cadillac in apparent age. I noticed a distinct lack of a white Ninja. In front of said motorcycles was a red and white Smart Car, which I assumed belonged to Dahlia. Scattered around the sedan were numerous tools and tables bearing small car parts, as though a tool box had been dumped on the floor.

And yet, the garage was peaceful.

It wasn’t quiet; it was far from it.

But it was peaceful.

Loud, yet mellow music permeated the air that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It was beautiful, so I stopped for a moment to listen.

“It‘s Taylor Swift’s Safe and Sound.” I nearly jumped out of my skin as a certain redhead stood up from behind the sedan. He was clad in a white tank top and a pair of old blue jeans with numerous black splotches on them.

“R-Roma! Um… hi… I wasn’t trying to intrude, I just… I… Uh…” I babbled like an idiot until he smirked at me and leaned forward, folding his arms against the cars roof. I sighed and hung my head. “Hi.”

“Hi. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but why aren’t you with the others?”

“Dahlia had to ‘deal’ with Romany… whatever that means,” I said with a shrug. I raised my eyes to look at him, and immediately they locked with his.

That’s when I noticed it: their blandness.

He was smiling, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. His bright smile was only a set of lips pulled up to imitate joy. I had to admit, it was a good imitation. He couldn’t fool me though. His eyes didn’t seem to have that spark that most have. His comment about them being different from mine suddenly made a lot more sense.

His eyes, though they stood out sharply from his face, were dull and lifeless, as though they were painted on years ago and the paint was fading. I could only reason that his eyes’ state was due to all of the pain he’d felt at Sunset’s betrayal, and possibly a number of other things I wasn’t aware of.

If someone had asked me to describe them simply, there was only one thing I could say:

They were dead.

I noticed vaguely that his smile had faded. As he took his weight off of the car, I saw a large scar covering his left shoulder and extending towards the middle of his back. I couldn’t tell how far back it went.

“Vinyl, please stop staring.” I snapped back to reality with such force that it made my head spin slightly. He leaned down and opened the car’s door, then sat down in the driver’s seat and began fooling with something on the dash. “I know my scars are ugly, but please, have a bit of courtesy.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just noticed it… is that fro—” I started to ask, but he stood up and shut the car door, effectively cutting me off and making me flinch.

“I’m gonna go get a t-shirt,” he said harshly, his voice practically dripping with anger. When he came close enough, I reached out and laid a delicate hand on his right bicep. This had the peculiar effect of stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” I whispered as I stepped closer to him. “You don’t have to hide them. They don’t bother me.”

“Liar,” he hissed, turning his head to glare at me. His brow was furrowed, his lips tight, and his eyes were burning with that same intensity they had the day he had taken me to practice. I almost recoiled, but I stilled my nerves and smiled gently at him. “Promise breaking little…”

“Not about this, Roma.”

“Then prove it!” he snapped, baring his teeth. “Prove they don’t bother you!”

Prove it? How the hell was I supposed to do that? I ran through several possibilities in my head, but I could find only one that would definitely work. I whispered softly, “Okay,” then stepped around to face the scar. I leaned in and gently pressed my lips to the rough patch of tissue. I left them there for a moment, until he pulled away.

“A-alright that was a bit extreme but you’ve made your point,” he said rapidly, blushing as though I’d… well as though I’d kissed his shoulder. Which I did.

Oh fuck.

I kissed his shoulder.

Oddly enough, aside from the salty taste of sweat, it didn’t really bother me. It was bound to happen anyways, right? No, of course not. That was ludicrous. But he was right; I’d gotten my pint across. That was all that mattered.

“Alright, so what’s this one from?” I asked, gently laying my hand across the shoulder scar. “It’s obviously not from the closet, so what?”

“Grease burn. When I was little I tripped and knocked over a deep fryer,” he explained, his blush growing slightly. “It was… excruciating.”

“I bet! Is that why you never take your jacket off?” I asked, walking over to look under the car’s hood. “Oh, wow. You’ve completely rebuilt the engine…”

He came over to stand behind me, admiring his handiwork in the engine. “No, I just like my jackets. And I’ve rebuilt more than the engine. This car was a rusted up piece of crap when my dad gave it to me. Everything you see on this car is custom. The engine is more efficient, the frame is stronger, the glass is shatter proof, and the tires are puncture proof. You can go ahead and be impressed, if you’d like.”

“Well,” I started and turned in place to smirk at him. “I might be impressed if I didn’t build the Wub Machine from scratch. No pun intended.”

As his eyes widened and his mouth gaped, I smiled at him even harder.

And then he grabbed my hands. He grabbed my hands and held them up between us as he leaned in close. “That is the single sexiest thing I have ever heard anyone say,” he said quietly, and stared deep into my eyes. They burned again… but not in the same way as before. They burned with passion, not anger. He was genuinely excited about my interest in cars.

He kind of reminded me of a puppy… he was adorable.

“Well, to be fair, the Wub Machine is electric. I don’t have much experience with combustion engines.” His smile fade a bit, though, I wasn’t sure why. So I panicked. “N-not that I don’t know combustion engines, it was just easier to make the Wub Machine electric!” I rambled, mentally kicking myself for my lack of grace.

He laughed. Loud and hard, he laughed, before taking a step back and coughing hard into his arm. “Ahem, sorry… that’s not… Look, I just realized why you hadn’t got it fixed. You can’t fix it, can you?”

I stared at him for a while, even as he smiled warmly back at me. His eyes changed yet again as I stared into them. His eyes now shone with a light of kindness, not anger or passion, but kindness. He understood why I hadn’t fixed my car. He didn’t just know; it wasn’t just ‘Oh, you can’t fix it because you’re weak.’ It was, ‘I get it. I’ve been in a similar position.’

And he had been in a similar position. I figured up the math, and realized that for one person to build a vehicle like his from only a basic frame, it would have taken more than three years. It would take longer than he’d had the scars on his hands. That meant that there’d been a period when he couldn’t work on the car because of his infirmity.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, and buried my head in his chest. “You get it,” I whispered, “You get it… you get it…” I said the same thing over and over again until I felt tears stinging my eyes, and then it happened. His arms came to wrap around my shoulders and hold me tight. This time, he was comforting me.

It was true. I couldn’t fix my car; I needed help. But Octavia was too busy with her job, and I didn’t know anyone else who could help me.

“I’ll help you.” I looked up into his eyes again, my heart burning at the sight of his gentle smile that reached all the way into his eyes. “I’ll help you fix your car, but you’ve got to do something for me.”

“J-just name it…”

“Later. First, we have a family day to take part in.”

I nodded and smiled, then set to untangling myself from his arms. “Will you join us now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Half an hour later, myself, Roma, Romany, and Tragedy sat around Dahlia, waiting for her cue to start playing. I was lent Roma’s tambourine and given a quick rundown on how to play it by Romany. Roma once again held a rosewood violin in the crook of his chin, which was apparently his mother’s, while Tragedy herself held her beautiful black guitar, and Romany had a pair of tribal-looking drums with a deep sound. I made a mental note to get samples from them later.

Whilst upstairs, Dahlia had fetched a violet scarf and a mass of chain and coins that jingled annoyingly when she moved them. It wasn’t until she tied them around her hips that I realized what they were. They were something I’d seen belly dancers were on TV (Dahlia called it a jingle belt, and claimed that that was actually what they were called), but I didn’t think Dahlia would be into that sort of thing. That was really stupid, considering her accent and their heritage.

I apparently had a lot to learn about gypsies.

“Alrighty, Vinyl, when I give you this signal,” Romany said, holding up two fingers, “that means use the second variation. This signal means use the third.” She held up three fingers. “Four fingers means fourth variation, and one finger obviously means go back to the first. You got all that?”

“I-I think so? I’m kind of confused… why do I get the tambourine and not the drums?” I asked nervously. “I’ve never played either but the drums have to be easier, right?”

“Actually, they aren’t,” Roma said, turning one of the tuning keys on the violin. “Trust me, the tambourine is much easier. First thing I learned to play. Come to think of it, can you actually play an instrument?”

“The kazoo,” I replied bluntly, ignoring the laugh from Tragedy.

“Well, color me impressed,” he said with an approving smirk. “I certainly can’t. Not that I really care to… I have the violin; I’m good.”

“I used a lot of kazoo samples in an older song. They’re deceptively hard to come across, so I had to make my own,” I explained.

“As they say, neat. Well, if you are all ready, we may begin,” Dahlia said, standing and moving to the center of the living room. “On cinco. Uno!”

“Dos!” Roma said putting his bow to his strings.

“Tres!” Tragedy called, raising her hand to her strings.

I was four. “Cuatro!” I shouted, raising the tambourine and my beat hand up beside my head. Roma smiled at the sight.

“Cinco!” Romany put her hands just above the drums.

Tragedy plucked a few soft notes. Dahlia sang a gentle note, and Tragedy repeated her bit. Then her tempo picked up as Dahlia began to gently shake her hips.

The sound of jingling coins could be heard permeating through the room.

Romany started tapping out a rhythm, and raised her hand to point at me. That wasn’t the signal.

Romany’s hand pointed up, giving me the first signal. I started tapping the tambourine in time to Romany’s beat, the sound of my instrument blending in with Dahlia’s jingle belt. And then she started to sing, and by god I swear she had the voice of an angel… that happened to be Spanish.

I received the number two signal, and shook the tambourine in a quick spinning motion for a moment, before I got the number one signal.

I received the number three signal, so I started shake the instrument slower, and Dahlia’s hips slowed to match the pace. God, her hips were so entrancing, the way they shook back and forth, side to side… It was no wonder I’d heard stories about gypsies being… uh… indecent folk. But I never put much stock in the stories I heard. I knew for certain that what I was seeing wasn’t indecent; it was beautiful, and anyone who said otherwise was a fool.

I got the flat signal, which meant stop for seven beats. Dahlia’s hips jerked back and forth as she sand the next line.

Tragedy began strumming her guitar harder, as Roma began sawing at his violin just as hard. I received the flat hand again. Suddenly, Dahlia’s hips began shaking even harder, jerking violently from side to side, the sound of her belt almost as loud as my tambourine, while Romany banged out several heavy beats on her drum. I almost didn’t notice when my seven beats were over, as I was fixated on Dahlia’s hips.

Dahlia was cut off by a loud ringing coming from her phone. Everyone stopped and locked at it. As the aforementioned singer ran over and looked at the screen, she said something that I was pretty sure meant ‘shit.’

“Mierda!” she shouted, holding her hair out of her eyes to see the screen. “It is work! I am sorry, Miss Vinyl, but I must leave!”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize,” I said, stepping back when she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Thank you for understanding. Farewell!” She separated from me and ran upstairs, returning moments later in a long blue dress. She was through the kitchen and in the garage before I could even say goodbye.

I turned to the other three Hearts. “Okay, what is with this family and hugs?” I asked, prompting a wicked grin from all three of them. “Oh no… I know that look! Don’t you dare!” I turned as I stood (thankfully having been rid of my heels a short while ago), and was promptly tackled by a large person, and a mass of red entered my field of vision on both sides. Everything seemed to slow down.

As we fell, I rolled in mid-air, turning to face three very cheerful faces, Roma’s being the closest and his smile the widest. I closed my eyes as we neared the floor, waiting for the wind to get squeezed out of me when they landed on top of me. My back impacted the starch white carpet, and that was it. There was no crushing weight on top of me. There was only a light pressure against my torso, and the vague feeling of something sitting between my legs.

I opened my eyes to see Roma’s face about four inches from my own. He was grinning wickedly, his scarlet hair forming a curtain around our faces. His breath still smelled like cherry candy. I looked over his shoulder to see Romany and Tragedy‘s heads grinning like idiots. Roma had both of his elbows planted firmly under my arms, while the connecting forearms rested under my shoulders.

He had purposely landed first because…the others didn’t know.

Man this guy was awesome.

The rest of the day was spent playing cards, video games, and learning even more interesting thing about Roma.

For instance, Roma was a talented belly dancer. So good in fact, that he was at least half as good as Dahlia. It was apparently how he kept in shape. Yet, he refused to show me.

He was also an extremely skilled fortune teller.

This is what we did in his room for the hour before it was time to head out for dinner.

“Past or future?” Roma asked, holding both of my hands. We both sat cross legged in the middle of his bed, only of foot of space between our knees. He had long since changed out of his tank top and jeans, and was now clad in his familiar white jeans, red boots, and red shirt. The only difference was that he now wore a white leather blazer over a red dress shirt with the top three buttons undone. It was a spectacular look.

“Um…” I will admit to my hesitation. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what was in my immediate future. But then, he knew my a little of my past… but not all of it. “Past. So, how does this work?”

Roma smirked as he let go of my right hand and brought my left up to his face. “The lines of your palms, as well as most of the other features, will tell me most of what I need to know to decipher your past.” He paused and looked up at me over the rim of a pair of reading glasses. “I mean, a vague outline of your past. I’ve told lot’s of fortunes. Even Sunset’s.”

“Would this even work on her?”

“Imagine my surprise when I realized that it did.” He looked back down at my hand and started tracing the lines of my palm with his middle finger. As he reached the line going up the middle, his brow furrowed for a moment before he continued. “Broken…” he muttered under his breath.

“But she…”

His eyes widened as his finger lingered on the line in the center. “Short. Crosses.” His finger passed over the line closest to my thumb. “Curved… more crosses.” His finger traced over the top-most line. “Exes. Lot’s of exes.”

“I haven’t dated a lot… so wr—” He held up a hand, as he continued to scan my hand.

“Splinters… more crosses? Isolated lines…” He stopped examining the fold of my hand a started looking at my fingertips. “Calluses, developed at an earlier age… But not too early.” He moved to the heel of my hand. “Flat. No surprise.”

I started to ask why he wasn’t surprised, but he leaned up and smirked at me. “Something amusing?” I asked, rubbing my palm. It tickled where he had been stroking it.

“No, just interesting,” he replied, removing his glasses. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go ahead and tell you what I found.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Okay,” he started, then cleared his throat. “You were born into a comfortable life. It’s likely that your family is wealthy, or at least was. At an early age, you started working with your hands. I assume that this is where your mechanical skill originates. Soon after, you realized that you wanted to be a DJ, and as a result, your palm heels are flat, much like Rarity’s. She plays piano, so her hands rest in a similar fashion to yours when she plays. Halfway through life… you were traumatized. Twice.” My eyes widened as he crossed his arms. “The first is one I’m familiar with. The mark signified that it was a life changing event. The second mark… The second mark is one I’ve seen on a… rape victim.”

“I wasn’t raped,” I said sternly. His shoulders drooped slightly and a gentle smile spread across his face. I though about it for a moment, and I figured he was okay to tell. “But… I might as well have been.”

“I take it you’d rather let that stay buried?”

“Not to you Roma. I trust you, and I want you to trust me.” Roma moved to the head board and leaned his back against it, then pat the spot beside him. I quickly joined him, leaning sideway against him. “See, you’re right. I am from a wealthy family. My dad, CD Scratch was a successful violinist, kind of like you, so that’s how he got rich. When I was six, he got involved in politics, and his views made him even more well known.”

“I assume that it was in a bad way?”

“Yeah. He advocated for the legalization of gay marriage. He was gaining support, so a few of his opponents got together and arranged… they…” I felt myself choke up; a reminder of how much this memory hurt. “They kidnapped me, Roma. You know how scary that is?”

“Seriously? No. but the closet might be a good reference.”

“Yeah, sorry… Look, you were terrified for a couple of days, I was scared for a whole month,” I said, feeling his arm tighten around my shoulder. I leaned over further, folding my arms across my stomach. “My dad, he wouldn’t quit. No matter what they threatened to do, he kept going. To him, Roma, the rights of the many were worth losing his daughter. Thinking back, yeah, I agree wholeheartedly. But back then, I couldn’t stand that he would put something so simple like marriage before me.”

“And he won. I remember reading about it.”

“Yeah, he won.” I nestled in closer, resting my head against his chest. “He won, and they let me go. They were never even arrested. That, Roma… That is the worst part of it. The fact that they got away with it still bothers me to this day.”

“Vinyl I—”

“Alright Love birds, it’s time to go!” Tragedy called, making both of us jump a foot off the bed. Both of us rolled away, and over the edge of the bed, blushing furiously as we looked at each other. And we smiled. We smiled because of the sheer silliness of our reactions. We smiled because there was one less secret between us.

As we moved towards his door, he put a hand on my shoulder, and said softly, “Vinyl, if anyone ever tries to take you away, I will be there, and I will stop them. I promise.”

“Thanks… You really don’t know what that means to me,” I whispered, then stood on my toes and kissed his cheek lightly. “Now let’s go get some grub.”

“Now there’s a plan I can dig.”

And so, I had dinner with the Heart family in public. It was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and there was no emotional tension permeating the air.

It was the perfect family dinner.

The next day:

“You know, Roma, when you said, ‘Something for me,’ I pictured something different,” I muttered, forcing a scowl onto my face. The truth was, I was happy. I was sitting in a crowded restaurant with Roma, and waiting for our third guest to arrive. We sat in a circular booth, with Roma facing away from the door, and myself facing it. “And I didn’t think you would ask immediately.”

“Well, if she just sees me here, she’s gonna run away. The girl is terrified of me!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t beat her half to death…”

“I was angry. People get angry, Vee. It’s a thing that happens.”

“Yeah? Not like you. Here she comes, so shut up.”

“Um, hey Vinyl, what’s up?” Sunset Shimmer asked as she walked up to the table. Her heyes promptly caught sight of the redhead across from me, and she turned to leave.

“Sunny, wait,” Roma said quietly, grabbing a hold of the girl’s wrist. “I just want to talk.”

“Fine. But if anything happens, this time, I’m calling the police. I can do that now.”

“Understood. Now come sit down. Our breadsticks are on their way. I know you like breadsticks.”