Hung-up and Hungover
The only reason this is even possible is because Vinyl is such an imbecile. Octavia tried, and then failed to avoid chuckling. Even at that noise, Vinyl snored on, one leg hanging off her bed and a line of slobber hanging out of her mouth. In Octavia’s exceptionally humble opinion, Vinyl deserved the coming hangover, and the current unconscious state after last night.
At precisely eleven thirty-one PM, Vinyl had stumbled into the apartment completely drunk. Octavia had helped her to the bathroom, held Vinyl up while she vomited, and put up with the incoherent rambling that spilled from her jaw when the heaving stopped. From those pieces, Octavia had gathered that Vinyl had made the club so much money that the owner had foolishly offered the DJ drinks on the house. By the time Vinyl had drunk half of those profits away, the owner had finally thrown her out, but she still tried (and failed) to get into another pub before stumbling home. Before she managed (with Octavia’s help) to crawl over to her bed and pass out, Vinyl had made a conscious effort to deliver one more sentence.
‘Ya know...you know! I want to know! How long it took you to get your cello down? Do you know? Do you--’
At that point Vinyl slipped into unconsciousness, bound headlong toward a miserable hangover, leaving Octavia grumbling while she cleaned up the bathroom. When at long last the most odious bits of refuse were removed, Octavia turned toward her room, intent on salvaging at least a little bit of rest from the remains of her night. On the way down the hall, something caught her eye -- Vinyl’s gear bag, carelessly tossed just to the side of the front door. That was where a whole mass of cables, batteries, microphones, and other electronics lived, in lieu of a real instrument. Also stuffed into the massive bag were several sets of clothes she used for on stage performance and her set!
Inside the left pocket on the bag was a large stash of records that Vinyl kept everything on. While the particulars of DJng were not in Octavia’s repertoire, she understood that Vinyl kept them in a very particular order for a reason. That was when inspiration visited her mind, but the plan would have to wait for morning to be put into action. That night was too short anyways, and after failing miserably to catch up on the sleep Vinyl had deprived her on, Octavia paid a trip to the local record store. Armed with a number of works, to include middle-romantic classical guitar and smooth jazz, Octavia had checked once again to see if Vinyl was still asleep. That was when she’d found her roommate still snoring and drooling.
From there, it was a matter of removing all the records from Vinyl’s bag without waking the DJ up (foal’s play), and going about the work before her. She took very special care to make sure to use up the roll of tape completely by the time she was done. There would be nothing left for Vinyl to be so petty with later. Some tiny voice in Octavia’s mind told her that Vinyl wouldn’t need duct tape to pull some kind of nasty prank, and that voice was equally sure that this was only going to lead to escalation, but both of those were shoved aside. Octavia’s ‘silencing’ of Vinyl had been more or less harmless, but Vinyl’s retaliation had cost eighty bits to fix at an expert carpenter’s shop.
Those were eighty bits that had come out of her tiny pile of savings for the future. Savings that could be used to buy new strings for a future performance, a new bow-tie to impress a stallion that could be a future suitor, or even savings for a nicer place to live without a terrible roommate. Sure, buying several new records hurt that further, but it had come with the twin justifications of expanding Vinyl’s horizons, and payback.
With the morning ‘chores’ complete, Octavia turned her attention to more proper matters. There was still time in her schedule for practice, grocery shopping, and making a proper dinner before Vinyl’s alarm would go off at four in the afternoon. Slob.
--------------------------------------------
Wake up, get slammed with hangover, pop pills and be on my merry way to work. I’m well on my way to the painkillers ‘n booze addiction that makes musicians famous. Vinyl finished rubbing gel into her mane as the headache slowly faded away. The realization that she was getting good at getting over hangovers would horrify the average pony, but to her it was just an item of utility. It was now Saturday, again, and it was time to make a lot more bits, rule the club, and get drunk. Her plans also had room for getting laid, especially if it pissed off Octavia. I’d recommend she try it too, but I doubt any stallion could do a prick as tight as her. There has to be a joke about having a stick up her rump in there too...
With that thought plastering a grin onto her face, Vinyl hurried down the stairs, and dug around in her gear bag until she found her shades. They were luckily still in one piece, and so she threw them on. They matched the smile nicely.
“Going to work?” called Octavia from somewhere within the depths of the kitchen.
“You know it! Time to absolve all the non-believers from their sinful wub-less ways!”
“I wouldn’t count on it, sweetie.”
“Oh, Octavia. One day I will baptise you in the name of the drum-kick, and of the bass, and the thundering wubs. Then your eyes will be opened, and you too will enjoy life.”
Not waiting for a reply, Vinyl glided through the door and threw it shut. There wasn’t any point in hanging around and trading insults when there were fans waiting to be pleased.
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Harmless? Not really. An assault on personal dignity demands a response, Tavi, and I think eighty bits should have been enough to show you just how intense Vinyl is likely to get if she feels her dignity has been assaulted. She can always buy a new roll of tape.
This can only end badly for the cellist from Trottingham. The word "escalation" likely does not quite describe what happens next. I'm truly looking forward to it.
5135746
Vinyl is a ruthless slob who is incapable of figuring out what 'finances' means until she can't pay for any more drinks.
-Sage
5137386 So, how do you feel about her, then?
5138081
Well, as a classical guitarist, I fully understand Octavia's plight. As a metal vocalist and guitarist, I think they're both missing the mark. I'm still waiting on Vinyl to learn how to play an instrument.
And yourself?
Ah. Good to see more from you, Sage. And poor Vinyl. Getting picked on by mean ol' Tavi..
5138854 Octavia has no "plight" in this story. Having a noisy housemate whose musical tastes irritate you is an irritation, not a plight. She is an elitist snob who feels she has a right to tie Vinyl up for hours for not adhering to her wishes, and is now pissy because Vinyl had the nerve to retaliate. Even if the first installment is humorously done, that fact remains.
Vinyl should have been more considerate, but that does not excuse what Octavia did.
None of this would have happened if she had controlled herself, but she did not, and what happens next? Time will tell.
As to knowing how to play an instrument? Many disk jockeys do, and even those who don't honestly are not less musicians for that fact. Their instrument is the turntable.
I look forward to seeing what happens next.
5139176 I agree.