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A Disaster Waiting to Happen1,931 words
Stormfront Ahead2,644 words
Ground Zero2,794 words
Now Where Did I Leave All That Ordinance?2,487 words
This Can Only End Well for Everypony. Really.2,342 words
The Calm Before the Storm?2,540 words
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The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 1)2,255 words
The Great Ice Cream Incident (Part 2)2,080 words
The Amora Crescendo (Part 1)2,640 words
The Amora Crescendo (Part 2)3,138 words
The Amora Crescendo (Part 3)2,651 words
Fallout! at the Disco2,422 words

Ground Zero

Chapter 3: Ground Zero

I could not BELIEVE how pissed off I was at that high and mighty... whatever-the-hell-instrument-she-played... -ist. Didn’t care. I’d gone straight home and made myself something to eat. AGAIN. All the while vocalizing my disapproval (others call it bitching, but who cares?) to the unlucky soul who had called me right as I walked in the door: Neon Lights.

“I’m telling you, dude, it’s not even cool. She totally trashed on my friends, made fun of my career, ooh, I just wanna strangle somepony!” I yelled in his general direction as I ate, floating the phone around my head. Magic makes everything better. Because MAGIC.

“I heard you the first time, Vinyl. Look, you live next door to her, right? You’re going to see a lot of her. The least you could do is find some kind of common ground, or at least call a truce.” I opened my mouth to yell some more, but he cut me off. Somehow, he just knows. “I’m NOT saying you have to like her. Just lay out some ground rules so that you don’t yell at her every time you see her, or something, ok? I’ll be honest. I don’t want every phone call to be about how bitchy your neighbor is. AGAIN.”

“...fine. So, listen, about the set tonight.”

“Yeah?” he seemed happy to change the subject.

“Are the Grammy’s really that big a deal? I mean, I’ve never gotten one.”

I could hear the headdesk from over the phone. “I... but... yes. Yes Vinyl, the Grammy’s are a big deal. It is a very huge gig. All those zeros? Yes. It is a BIG. DEAL.”

“...Neon, do YOU have a Grammy?” I was curious. I was more interested in the Golden Table awards, anyway. You know, the one for DJ’s? Biggest musical accomplishment for anyone who’s ever touched a turntable?

“NO I do NOT have a Grammy because that NO TALENT MOTHERFU-” I won’t talk about the rest of his rant. It goes on for a while and there’s more important stuff to talk about.

So like, after 5 minutes of this, he calms down. “...huff...huff... no. I do not have a Grammy, Vinyl. Although I am going to the awards ceremony.”

“Oh, sweet? Are you performing?” I loved working with Neon. He had some of the best gear. We played off each other really well. And to be honest, if I liked stallions, I’d have pinned him to a wall already.

“NO I’m not performing! That HACK of an artist Headstone Alive took my-” and off he went some more.

It’s good to know you can always have friends to yell at for no apparent reason. It’s therapeutic.

-------

I had decided to forgo eating alone at a restaurant I’d been ditched at for the second time, and went back to the auditorium to regroup with my ensemble.

They were approximately where I’d left them, getting ready for practice for the invite only rehearsal tonight. I must have looked rather distraught, or at least upset, because Beauty Brass picked up on it right away.

“Oh, Octy, are you alright?” She was really a very sweet girl. Much more polite than SOMEpony I know. Parish and Frederick were paying at least some attention. Those two really could be all work.

I heaved a much-needed sigh, and told them all the whole story. How I met Vinyl, the dinner that was NOT a date, me apologizing, and the lunch.

“WHY am I not surprised she’s friends with that boorish pink disaster?” Frederick’s drawl was filled with disdain. None of us very much liked that pony, but Frederick always made his opinions... readily available.

Beauty Brass tried to smile. “Well, it’s not all bad. We’re playing the Grammy’s, right? Anyway, You said you lived across the hall from her?”

I tried not to think about that. “Yes. I do.”

“Then you should probably try and say something. You don’t have to apologize, or anything like that. But it isn’t healthy to be so mad at someone you see all the time. Like, maybe agree to disagree and just not spend time together? I mean, a hello in the mornings won’t kill you, right?” Brass always had a tendency to be the voice of reason. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that none of us really tried. Well, I might have. I was usually more focused on being right.

“Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. I’m NOT apologizing to her, but you do have a point. Being this angry at somepony I’m going to see every... day... ever...” I tried not to think about it really at all. “Is NOT good for me, nor is it very ladylike. SO yes, I shall have a talk with her. Especially if we may have to work together, being who we are.” The thought disturbed me a little.

I should have considered that an omen.

--------

So after I finally get off the phone with Neon, and finish eating, I realize I have a whole hell of a lot of time to kill. Like 6 whole hours. I’m already set up, and it’s not like I need to practice how to change songs on a sound system. I mean, really. I even have a little screen that tells me what to play, when. If not for the fact that I was actually involved in some of the performances that evening, they could probably have just paid some random dork to do this job. It just wouldn’t have been anywhere near as cool.

SO I tried to think. What could I possibly do in Canterlot for six hours? I don’t really know any good clubs, even if it is the middle of the day. I just ate, and I don’t really like shopping. I tried to think of anypony I might know who lived in Canterlot...

Like my best friend on the planet, Spitfire. Duh.

I called her up, or, more specifically, called the Wonderbolts Hotline, and waited.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I’d be calling the lame, not-being-best-friends-with-the-captain way. Well... “Hello, and thank you for calling the Wonderbolts. If you’d like times and locations for future shows, please press 1. If you’d like-” I just held down 0 for a while.

Beep. Some cheesy hold music. “Thank you for holding. How may I help you?” Bingo, just who I thought it would be.

“Yes, I’d like to speak to Spitfire.”

The ‘operator‘ got all snooty at that. “I’m sorry, the CAPTAIN of the WONDERBOLTS is currently very busy and-”

“I know where you hide all your toys at work, Wind Whistle.”

Silence. I waited for a moment. “OH! Miss Vinyl! Why didn’t you SAY it was you? Just a second!”

Really, it’s just to easy, sometimes. It rang a little more, and clicked. “Hello?”

“Guess who lives in CANTERLOT now?!” I all but yelled into the phone.

Spitfire gasped. “No. Way.”

“Yes way. ALL the way. I’m on the 31st floor of the Blueblood complex. You have ten minutes.”

“Please.” I knew she couldn’t resist a challenge. I heard Wind Whistle in the background as Spitfire took off, forgetting to hang up, again. There was some nervous muttering, then Wind Whistle came on the line.

“You’re an evil pony, Vinyl Scratch.”

“I love you, too. Bye.” Click.

Not even four minutes later, I heard a tap on my window. Moving large amounts of loose boxes and furniture out of the way, I cleared a path between the window and the farthest wall. Then I opened the window.

One disaster-averted-tackle-hug later, Spitfire is pinning me to the wall on the opposite side of my living room. “Why didn’t you TELL me you moved here?!”

I tapped her shoulder. “Can’t... air... off...”

She relaxed a little, and I gasped for air. “How long have you been in town?”

“All of like, two days.”

She looked ‘offended’. “And you didn’t call me? Oh, how cruel!” she threw herself onto the floor in despair.

Now, here’s something you might have figured out by now: Spitfire is weird. You’ve probably seen her be all calm and relaxed at a party, schmoozing with guests. Or watched her be all military hard-ass over her cadets. But the real Spitfire? The honest-to-Celestia, right-at-home, being herself Spitfire? She’s a total drama queen, and probably has more energy than I do. How she maintains herself during shows I have NO idea. “Oh, you know you love it. Besides, the only ponies I’ve talked to since I got here are Neon Lights (he just called), and the girl across the hall from me.”

Spitfire sat up and gave me a big pleading look. “Girl? Really? Is she hot?”

Why yes, my best friend is a lesbian, why do you ask? Little fun fact: in a matriarchal society, being a fillyfooler is actually a lot more common than you think. When pretty much everypony on the planet looks up to and adores a Princess who has nothing but love for her subject, (and if you believe some of the history, has had her fair share of either gender over the millennium), being fond of mares isn’t that uncommon.

Not to mention most of my friends are gay. How do you think I met them all?

“Yes, she’s hot. But before you get any ideas, allow me to enlighten you, my dear Spitfire...” and I told her everything I told Neon, except without all the yelling. I think.

By the time I was done, Spitfire looked more than peeved. “Why that... Pinkie Pie is great. She’s the Element of Laughter! I mean, I have the Element of Loyalty in boot camp right now, is she joking?”

“...I don’t see how that means anything to her... How is that new recruit, anyway?”

“You know how I’m totally not this amazing all the time? Like, when I’m being all Captain Flankstick or sucking up to the Hoity-Toity’s of the world?”

“No. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder if I tried. And I tried. Ow.

“Well, she’s like me. A little. The real me, not any of those masks I wear or whatever. Which is as exhausting as ever, thanks for asking. But anyway, she’s totally all about flying and being cool to your teammates and stuff. She’s just... really REALLY enthusiastic. I want to be annoyed, but she reminds me so much of who I want to be ALL THE TIME that I just can’t bring myself to admonish her for it.” She looked almost wistful. Weird.

“So what do you do?”

Then she smiled like a maniac. That’s better. “Oh, that’s what I have Drill Instructors for.”

“...you’re a horrible pony.”

“I know, isn’t it great?!”

I had to give her a hug. It was good to see her again.

Of course, Spitfire being Spitfire, she translated the hug as meaning ‘nibble on my ears.’

“H-hey! Spitfire!”

“What? Didn’t you say you had like, 6 hours or something before work?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I gave her a look. Or tried to. Sometimes the shades get in the way of the snark. It’s a necessary evil. “Just because I’m back in town and have free time doesn’t mean we automatically become ‘friends with benefits’ again.”

“Yes it does, stop lying.”

“... yeah, it totally does.”

----------

I ended up having lunch with my ensemble (a civilized meal for once), and made my way back to the apartment to talk to Vinyl. Beauty Brass said I should clear up any hostility before tonight’s show, just to make things easier on everypony else. However, when I got to her apartment, the door was locked. And there was a... Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle. I could also hear noises coming from the apartment. Best not to disturb her...

I was a little incensed by the situation, but decided to approach it rationally. You already know she’s a fillyfooler. She’s a much more... sociable and enthusiastic pony than you. She’s also a famous DJ with lots of fans. It just makes sense that she’d have somepony to... spend time with during the day.

I still didn’t want to leave things as they were, so I wrote her a quick note, taped it to her door, and went back to practice.

That should have cleared things up.

The results... MAY not have been my fault.

-----

Spitfire and I lay panting on the floor, completely tired. “Hey. Hey Spitfire... what time is it?”

She groaned a little, and tilted her head back to look at the wall clock. “It’s only like, 3 or something. Why? Wanna go again?”

“No. I mean, not yet. Too tired. But I gotta go... talk to this mare across the hall before the... before the show.” Damn I was exhausted.

“What? Why?” SPitfire rolled over and looked at me.

“Neon’s idea. I mean, I agree with him. We may not like each other really at all, but I live literally 5 feet from her. And we’re already working together, on the Grammy’s or whatever. So he said I should talk to her, cause being all mad at somepony you see all the time isn’t healthy.”

“Pfft, where does Mr. Anderhoof get off being right all the time?”

“...Mr. Anderhoof?”

“You know. From the Maretrix. Neon Lights? Neo? Mr. Anderhoof?”

I rolled my eyes as much as a I could. Which wasn’t a lot. “Try harder, Spitfire.” I rolled over and stood up, and walked over to the shower.

It shower helped. A lot. I actually had some energy back. Spitfire climbed in after me, smelling almost as bad. Or good, depending.

“So what are you gonna say to this girl?” She yelled over the sound of rushing water. I worked on getting my mane to it’s natural spiky levels of rocktitude.

“Don’t know yet. Probably something like ‘Hey, I know we don’t like each other, but let’s NOT be total flankwholes to each other all the time?”

She choked on some water laughing. “Sounds legit.”

By the time we were both clean it was almost four. I might as well get this over with.

Spitfire followed me across the hall, where I knocked on the door. And waited. And knocked again. I was about to knock a third time when Spitfire pointed out, “Hey, Vinyl, you got a note or something.”

I turned around to see what she was talking about, and there it was: a little piece of paper with my name on it, folded in half and taped to by door. I peeled it off with magic and read it out loud.

“Dear Ms. Vinyl,

While I may not condone your actions, and indeed some of mine were regrettable, I have come to the conclusion that us staying mad at each other the entire time we are neighbors would be unhealthy, and could cause some serious problems for each other, and ponies we know.

So, it is with hope that we can be amicable to each other in the future that I write this note. I expect we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future, so I would like to clear the air once and for all, and be the bigger pony here.

I want you to know that I forgive you. I know some of my behavior was less than acceptable, and I ask that you forgive me, too. I believe that, even if we cannot be friends, we can at least be neighborly. So it is with this hope that I would like to say that I hold no animosity towards you or the company you keep.

Respectfully,
Octavia

P.S. Please get some soundproofing for your door.”

I was full of mixed emotions. For the most part, the letter said everything I wanted to. It was basically the same thing I was going over to her place to say. But SHE forgives ME? The bigger pony?! Oh, hell no.

Spitfire looked about as mad as I did. “She forgives YOU?! Are you joking?! You know what this means, right?”

I did. “THIS. Means WAR.”

Author's Note:

Shit’s about to get real, son.

I’m trying to get a good baseline of chapters up so that people new to the story have at least something substantial to read once I get into a more solid update schedule. I have absolutely NO idea how long this story is going to be.

Also, you may not agree with how I portray some of the characters. That’s ok. This story is just for fun.

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