My Dear Cello

by Persnickety Pegasister

Chapter Two: The Art of Backstabbing

My Dear Cello,

My roommate is absolutely horrible! I cannot stand her in the slightest. She sleeps all day flopped out on her bed like a colt, awaking only during the late afternoon to shamble down to the canteen to wolf something down. Her manners are despicable when she eats; it really is a sight to behold. And then she leaves, only to return in the small hours of the morning, stinking of sweat and smoke and painted with neon body paint. I can only imagine what she’s been up to, although I really shouldn’t imagine such depraved things.

She’s constantly rude, a horrible little mule (pardon my Fancy). The worst part is that she does know quite a bit about music – and I mean actual music, the kind that requires skill to play, not the obnoxious, thumping nonsense she plays all the time. I only wish she’d use that knowledge towards something constructive, like an actual instrument, instead of skipping about with records and jukeboxes.

I’m getting so agitated just writing about her, and I won’t use another inch of precious space writing about her. I speak to her as little as possible, thankfully, and we try to stay out of each other’s manes as much as possible. I introduced her to some of my friends, Stanza and Sweetchime, I’m sure I’ve written about them before, and we had such a good laugh about her afterwards! She really did make a horrible impression. They promised me to tell them any other stories about her, and I will. It’s only fair that I tell a few little things about my roommate here and there, especially when she’s such a royal pain in the flank.

Ugh. I said I wasn’t going to write about her any more, and I won’t. I’ll bid you adieu, my precious instrument, and we’ll practice again tomorrow. My hooves hurt from practicing this afternoon, and I’m sure your strings took quite a pounding. I didn’t mean to play that long, but homework is homework, and I’ll not be shown up by my snotty roommate.

There I go again!

Your faithful companion,
Octavia Philharmonica-

________________________________________

“And then, she just sprawled out over the floor with the silliest expression on her face,” Octavia continued, and leaned back in her chair, imitating Vinyl Scratch’s goofy smile. Stanza and Sweetchime dissolved into giggles, leaning against each other in an attempt to muffle their noise. Octavia preened a little, and tried to quell the unease that always rose up in her whenever she spoke about her roommate this way. Her mother had taught her it was rude to talk about ponies behind their backs; but it couldn’t be helped. Really, if Vinyl Scratch hadn’t come along, Octavia wouldn’t have had any friends. The rest of the ponies in EMU disliked Vinyl as much as Octavia did.

“Oh, darling, I don’t know how you got stuck with the worst roommate,” Stanza said in her deep Canterlot drawl. “She really is a fright. I can’t abide her in class; she’s always interrupting the professor and trying to show him up.”

“If she wasn’t so dreadfully smart,” sighed Sweetchime in her whispery little voice, “and a little uglier...”

“A little uglier? Darling, have you seen her mane?” Stanza snorted.

“Oh, but that leather jacket she wears is rather dashing,” Sweetchime said softly, lowering her lashes.

“Well, she happens to leave that dashing leather jacket everywhere,” Octavia said, miffed. “Including on my pillow. And it’s covered with paint, if you get a good look at it.”

“Sweetchime, I do believe you have a crush on her,” Stanza guffawed. “You really are a ridiculous little filly!”

She blushed deeply. “I have nothing of the kind! She’s not my type, anyway, and I find her just as ridiculous as you. I think it’s just a bit unfair to go on talking about her all the time, especially behind her back like we’re a couple of snitches.”

Octavia felt the lump in her stomach grow. “Let’s not talk any more about her, then,” Octavia said hurriedly. “You’re right, Sweetchime, we should be kinder to Vinyl Scratch.”

Stanza’s magenta eyes opened wide. “You two are really a riot,” she muttered, but got to her hooves and trotted over to the other side of the canteen to where Vinyl was sitting by herself.

“Is she...?” Sweetchime gasped.

“Don’t, Stanza!” Octavia hissed, but it was no use; Vinyl Scratch followed Stanza across the canteen and plopped herself down at their table.

Octavia could feel the stares of the whole canteen burn into the back of her head. Her ears went flat.

“Hey, roomie,” Vinyl said with no trace of bitterness; but did she stare perhaps a second too long and hard at Octavia? The gray pony colored and looked down at her daisy salad, feeling her appetite vanish.

“I told Vinyl we were just talking about her, and we thought it rude to do it behind her back,” Stanza said, settling back in her chair and smiling her smug cat-and-canary smile. “So, Vinyl, what made you decide upon EMU instead of Canterlot University? They had a wholly appropriate musical course there.”

“Aw, I needed to get out of Canterlot,” Vinyl said easily, munching on her hayfries. “Plus, I wouldn’t have been able to annoy any of you if I hadn’t come here, so that’s a plus.”

Sweetchime and Stanza giggled in unison again. The stares got hotter on Octavia’s back, and she felt the fur on her neck grow damp.

“You don’t annoy us, Vinyl,” Stanza cooed. “In fact, Sweetchime here was just complimenting your jacket. She said you looked rather dashing in it.”

Vinyl opened her mouth, looking pleased and foolish and confused all at once, when Octavia cut in. “Really, Stanza,” she said quickly and loudly, “that’s rather mean of you to bring Vinyl over here just to embarrass Sweetchime.” And embarrass me, she added silently.

“It’s chill, Octavia,” Vinyl said lightly. “Lighten up.”

“No, really, I can’t stand for any more of this,” Octavia stood. She flicked her tail harshly. “Sweetchime, are you coming?”

Sweetchime nodded, biting her lower lip, and hurried after Octavia. The gray musician heard Stanza exclaim loudly, “Well! I suppose there’s no accounting for humor.”

________________________________________

She drew the bow across the strings, feeling the quiet hum of music beneath her hooves. It was always a beautiful, intoxicating feeling to be alone on a big stage in an empty auditorium. An even giddier feeling would be alone on a stage in front of an auditorium full of ponies. The quivering strings increased in sound as her bow glided across them, and she began to play a slow, sweet melody. Practicing by herself was usually fun, but today had been so frazzling that she couldn’t even concentrate on the music. Octavia closed her eyes and tried to quiet her thumping heart.

My dear cello...

The cello had not been her first instrument. When she had been a young filly, Octavia had played the piano; she played for hours in their cramped, stuffy apartment in Fillydelphia, her hooves pattering against the ivory keys. Her mother and father had claimed her to be a prodigy.

The piano was a fling. The cello was a lifetime companion.

And Octavia loved music too much to give it up entirely. The song beneath her hooves changed into something lower and quicker, her hooves sliding up and down the bridge more quickly.

The competitions, the lights, the cameras...

The tantrums, the arguments, the tears...

Piano was a performance instrument – it needed to be played in front of a crowd, it begged to be shown off. But a cello was a complete background instrument, adding the quiet melody of an orchestra in its low hum. A cello was perfect for a pony who wanted to disappear as a filly. No one paid attention to the cello player.

And wasn’t that both a blessing and a curse?

“Hey!”

The bow shrieked against the strings.

“Sorry to interrupt, are you going to be done soon?” said an unfamiliar voice, definitely belonging to a stallion. Octavia squinted off the stage and saw the sturdy form of a pegasus colt standing next to the stairs with his wings folded.

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry,” Octavia stammered, nudging her cello back into her case.

“That’s okay. My band is gonna come soon, and I just wanted to make sure there would be enough time for a sound check,” he said with a half-smile. He was darkly furred, with a blue and silver mane cut in a crisp, almost militaristic style. And above all that, he was quite good looking.

“Of course,” she said, picking up her cello case with her teeth. It was always awkward getting it onto her back, and she struggled for a moment or two before the pegasus bounded up the stairs.

“Here,” he said, and settled the case on her back. “Want me to carry that for you?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Octavia laughed in what she desperately hoped was a courtly manner. “I can manage quite well. Thank you, though.”

“Not a problem.” He studied her with deep golden eyes for a moment, and Octavia felt her whole body give a little. “I’m Thunderlane, by the way.”

“Octavia Philharmonica,” she replied. “I’d shake your hoof, but I believe I need all four of them to stand upright under this, ah, rather large instrument.”

“Sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, but he was growing distracted. His band would be arriving soon, Octavia guessed, and he was already starting to forget about her. Oh well, she couldn’t hope for everything.

“Believe me, I’m fine on my own,” Octavia reassured him. She took the stairs as quickly as she could manage, and was up the hallway before she heard Thunderlane call from behind her.

“Wait a sec! Aren’t you roommates with Vinyl Scratch?” he asked.

She felt her teeth grind together involuntarily. “Why, yes I am,” Octavia replied pleasantly between clenched jaws.

“Awesome. Could you remind her that she’s mixing tonight? I know she’s been going through some rough stuff with her mom and everything, but last we talked, she said she could do it.”

Octavia blinked. “Of...of course. I’ll see her in a few minutes, when I get back to my room.”

Thunderlane was unwrapping microphone cables. “Thanks a lot!”

Her mind full of questions, Octavia went back to her dormitory. There were things to be asked, and more importantly, things to be written.

________________________________________

Vinyl was, surprisingly, awake and sitting on her bed writing a paper when Octavia came in. She put her cell case beneath her bed, as usual, and cast a slant-eyed glance at her roommate. Thunderlane’s words were ringing in her head. The knot in her stomach had grown to a monstrous size, and Octavia was feeling as though she’d eaten crabgrass. She knew what it was like to have family issues, but how could she speak to Vinyl after storming out of the canteen earlier? This is what happens when you put your hoof in your mouth, Octavia thought bitterly.

“That was pretty cool today,” Vinyl said, breaking into Octavia’s thoughts. “You standing up for Sweetchime like that, I mean.”

“What?” Octavia said distractedly. “Oh, yes. That. Um...thank you.”

“I know she was trying to make me a punch line,” Vinyl continued, “but you really should’ve stuck around. I threw peas in her face.”

Octavia’s jaw dropped.

“It was pretty funny,” Vinyl said with a smirk. “She wanted to know why we hadn’t met, since we were both from Canterlot, and I told her that I didn’t attend snooty art galleries or garden parties. She called me...oh, Celestia, what did she call me? Oh, yeah, a ‘rube in all but place of birth’, and then told me that DJs don’t have skills, so I threw my peas in her face.”

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Octavia gasped. “That’s one of the rules, no food fights in the canteen!”

“It was hardly a food fight,” Vinyl said with a furrowed brow. “I just, y’know, threw some food. She just sat there for, like, ten seconds, so I just walked away. You’d think I dumped a bucket of water over her face or something.”

“Still,” she persisted. “You could have gotten into trouble. It’s not...well, from what I hear, it’s not wise to get on Stanza’s bad side.”

“Is that why you hang around with her all the time?” Vinyl said wryly.

The knot in Octavia’s stomach grew. “Partly,” she said uncomfortably, “but partly...because they enjoy my company. And that’s always a novel feeling, to be enjoyed.”

“I guess,” Vinyl shrugged. “I never particularly cared what other ponies thought.”

“You’re one of the few,” Octavia said truthfully. She sighed, and then sat down on her bed, willing herself to look at Vinyl Dash. “Um...I’m not exactly sure how to say this, but I met a pegasus colt named Thunderlane in the auditorium.”

“Oh, yeah, I know Thunderlane,” Vinyl said. “What did he say?”

“That...” Octavia swallowed. “That his band was having a concert tonight in the auditorium, and you were supposed to mix.”

“Oh, Celestia!” Vinyl Scratch shot to her hooves, paper and quills going everywhere. Octavia flinched away from the upset inkwell. “Yeah, I was supposed to do that. Things kinda got crazy, and...yeah, whatever, thanks for reminding me.” She snatcher her battered leather jacket and zipped it up with her horn.

“With your mother.” Octavia felt the words tumble out of her mouth.

“What?” Vinyl stood perfectly still.

“Things got kind of crazy...with your mother. Thunderlane said you were having some problems...” Octavia felt hatred for herself prickle beneath her fur. “I mean, I’m probably not the proper pony to offer help...”

“You’re right, for once,” Vinyl spat, her voice so heavy with contempt and fury that Octavia cringed away, curling her tail around her flank. “You’re not the right pony. I don’t know what the buck Thunderlane told you, but he had no business to be in my business. And neither do you! You nosy little...Fillydelphia snob! You keep your perfect grammar and your perfect posture and your perfect family out of my life, you got that?”

“Perfect?” Octavia said, her eyes going very wide. “Vinyl, my family is far from perfect! How dare you make such assumptions!”

“How dare you try to butt into my life!” Vinyl shouted back.

“I wasn’t trying to butt in, I was attempting to help you, you stubborn little filly!” Octavia cried, feeling frustrated and cornered.

“I don’t need any help! Especially from you! What were you gonna do, laugh at me behind my back with those stupid little friends of yours?” Vinyl Scratch snarled. Despite Octavia’s shame, she felt heated anger spike up in her chest.

“They are not my friends, they are merely acquaintances! But if you think they are, then I’ll show you exactly how much we can make fun of you! I was trying to stand up for you today!” Octavia shouted, lying in her anger. “I felt terrible, but I won’t any longer!”

“Don’t feel terrible,” Vinyl sneered. “And don’t feel pity! Don’t feel anything, you got that, Princess Prim?”

Vinyl slammed the door so hard they rattled in the hinges, and Octavia could hear her storming down the stairs. Each step Vinyl took battered into Octavia’s mind a little more.

She hated being yelled at.

________________________________________

“...and then she just stormed out like a spoiled little filly! Her nose in the air, her tail twitching...oh, it was a lark!”

Stanza fell against her bed laughing, and even Sweetchime had to suppress a giggle. The three of them were lounging about in Sweetchime’s room, giving each other hooficures, and of course Octavia had related her latest episode with Vinyl Scratch. The hard knot in her stomach had disappeared – or at least, made less uncomfortable – beneath her anger and Vinyl Scratch’s bold assumptions.

Perfect family.

Pah.

________________________________________

My Dear Cello,

I really don’t know what to write. For the first time, I feel truly despicable – like a whole different pony inhabits my body. Mother always used to say that integrity was what you did when nopony was watching; well, it’s been confirmed. I have no integrity. I’ve been making fun of Vinyl Scratch ever since we met, just to get the other ponies to like me. I feel so cruel, so dirty. I wonder if Mother will be able to tell if I write a letter to her. I best leave it until tomorrow morning, when I’ve settled down.

A very nice pegasus (I’ll talk about him later) told me accidentally that Vinyl Scratch has been having problems with her mother. I felt horrible, of course, but when I tried to offer her an olive branch – reasonably, in my mind – she spat in my face and shouted at me. She tried to insist that I had a “perfect family”. It hurt, because that’s what the whole world thinks, and Vinyl Scratch has never even met my parents. I understand she was just lashing out; in retrospect, I really should have been more understanding.

But I hate it when ponies assume about me. I can’t stand it. The only thing I detest more is being shouted at, and Vinyl Scratch did both tonight.

And I was so cruel to her. I marched straight down to Sweetchime’s room and told them the story, making it humorous, of course, and got a hooficure. Just like a proper little backstabber.

Father was right. One day, I’ll make an excellent trophy wife. I’ll sit still and look pretty, be educated and elegant, and know exactly how to hurt ponies, how to needle them and whisper about them and spread rumors. I thought going to EMU would prove Father wrong. All it’s done is proving him right.

I don’t know what to do.

Your faithful, sad companion,
Octavia Philharmonica-

Author's Note:

*wince* I hope I haven't made Octavia too unlikable. That wasn't my intention at all, really. She's a complicated character, at least in my head, and I'm not sure if my writing it doing her justice. I think someone more talented could pull this off, but the more I re-read this, it makes her come across as a nasty little...well, you know.

Anyway, please comment, critique, or even send me a private message! I don't bite. :) I'm by no means perfect, and though I try to go over it with a fine tooth comb, I usually miss several typos and such. Oh, and upvoting helps as well. ^^

Comments

[Paddle Steamer]

No one paid attention to the cello player.

I wouldn't be so sure about that Octavia, you have a fairly large following for a background character who appeared in only two episodes and doesn't have a single line of speech.

I saw about half a dozen typos, nothing too bad, but right now I'm too tired to look for them and point them out, just letting you know they're there.

As for the Author's Note; I think you got her personality fairly well grounded, no one's perfect after all.

[The Notebook]

My only problem is the fact that it's not in Vinyl's nature to grow that angry that fast. Might want to tweak that.

(Going off of the thousands of Vinyl fics out there. Exception to this rule being the ever great and awesome story "My Roommate's A Vampire"