Yet again, Vinyl Scratch had found herself trotting down the empty moonlit streets of Manehattan. Like the streets, she too was beamed upon by the giant orb in the sky, and so she glowed like an angel ascending from heaven. As if the moonlight was not enough, there was a slight bounce in her step, and, like a spotlight, her face had also been shining at the very thought of what she was going to do.
Next to her her, levitating within a glowing red field of magic, was a black case, a bright white quill, a lamp, another paper bag, a carafe halfway filled with black fluid, which sloshed around with each and every step, and some paper.
Purple-tinted window after purple-tinted window fell behind her as she led herself to the modest pub from before. When she approached the red brick building—complete with wooden sign, windows, and two floors—she turned a sharp right. Vinyl entered the familiar alleyway, where she was greeted with a nod and a pair of magnificent violet pupils standing out against a silhouette. She stepped towards the figure and gave her own, more verbal acknowledgement. “Hey, Octy,” she said. She sat down next to her, set down the quill, lamp, carafe, and paper, and she grinned as she removed a biscuit and some cheddar cheese from the paper bag. She levitated the biscuit alongside a helping of the cheese to Octavia.
Lifting her hooves to grab the cheese and the piece of bread, Octavia nodded her thanks and gratefully said: “Thank you, Vinyl.” As saliva built up in her mouth, she lifted the biscuit up to her muzzle and took a bite. Afterwards, she sampled the cheese in her other hoof. She slowly melted from the glorious taste of the two foodstuffs in her mouth. “Mm…so good….”
Vinyl, amused by Octavia’s sudden and seemingly exaggerated expression of pleasure, chuckled. She grabbed the black case beside her, opened it, and wrapped her magic around the instrument inside to raise the well-polished violin. For a second, she merely stared at the musical instrument as it reflected moonbeams off its hard surface. She plucked the strings of the device with her magic and adjusted the knobs at the end of the violin accordingly.
“What are you doing?” Octavia asked, her ears perked up at the sound.
“Tuning my violin.”
“Oh…,” the earth-pony sighed and looked down at the concrete. “Okay.”
When Vinyl Scratch was finally satisfied with the adjustments she had made to her violin, she levitated a bow out of her case, looked up at the music covered brick wall, and began to play. Note after note flew off of the paper to take their proper forms, the rhythm making Vincenza’s hindquarters tremble with the need to dance alongside the beautifully crafted tune.
Octavia noticed what Vinyl was playing and smiled. She had never thought that she ever would get the chance to hear her song again in her life, yet now she was finally listening to it once again. It sounded different because it was played on a violin rather than a cello, but it was still as lovely as ever to her. In her mind, Vinyl had given her a gift that she could never hope to repay.
Eventually, Vinyl reached the song’s abrupt halt. She laid the violin back in its case and, looking back at Octavia, she grinned at her. “So, how’d you like that?” she asked.
“I loved it. Thank you, Vincenza,” Octavia said.
“Well, don’t thank me just yet. The night isn’t even over!”
“Oh?” Octavia searched her mind for an explanation of what Vinyl could have possibly meant by that but returned from the trip with empty hooves. “…What do you mean?”
Vinyl pointed a hoof in the direction of the ground-bound paper, white quill, and ink-filled carafe. Upon closer inspection, one would notice that the paper had many black lines streaming across it, revealing that it was sheet music paper. Octavia’s eyes slowly fixated on the objects, and they both bulged to the size of a frying pan when she realized what the objects were.
“Vinyl...you are not implying that…—”
Vinyl’s grin grew wider every passing millisecond until it was, seemingly, as wide as her head.
“Yep,” she said.
Octavia could not believe it—she truly could not. Here, not only had Vinyl given her food, something to keep her warm, and reunited her with her child—her song, but now she was giving her writing utensils and paper and allowing her to not only finish her song but write new ones. This was too much for her to just take.
“Vincenza…I cannot. You have been far too generous to me already. I refuse to leech off of you,” she stated.
“Leech? Octy, you’re not leeching. I’m willingly giving this to you.”
“Like I said, you have already given me so much. I cannot take any more from you.”
“Tavi…?”
“Yes, Vinyl?”
“Take it,” Vincenza demanded. She stared at Octavia with her pleading red eyes. Octavia could not say no to them even if she tried her hardest. They spoke of sadness and, for some reason, helplessness, and the oddly burning desire to help this random, homeless filly.
“Okay,” Octavia acquiesced. She raised the quill and dipped it in the ink, then placed the tip upon the paper and began to write.
Vinyl let out a sigh of relief. Any tension that once had been in her body was suddenly expelled by Octavia’s decision. “Thank you, Octy.”
Hours upon hours were spent inscribing Octavia’s inner thoughts into sequences of notes until, eventually, the candlelight of the lamp slowly died and she could no longer see well enough to continue. When she looked up from her paper, her eyelids drooping, her gaze fell to the bricks and stone of the alley’s wall. She turned her head and panicked when she did not see a trace of Vinyl. It was only when she heard a light snore that she realized she was looking in the wrong places.
Vinyl Scratch was sleeping on the ground. She was evidently uncomfortable: her eyebrows and nose were scrunched, her lips were strained, she was shivering violently, and every few minutes she would roll across the concrete, onto her side, into a new position.
Octavia smiled. Might as well keep her company, she thought. She joined her newly found friend on the ground and embraced her in a warm hug. Soon, Vinyl settled, as her face pulled upwards into an expression of internal tranquility.
“Thank you, Vinyl, for everything,” Octavia whispered. She slowly descended into the realm of dreams.