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The Dull Afterglow1,444 words
The Best You Can Do (10 Year Rewrite)1,956 words

The Dull Afterglow

It was six in the morning, and Octavia lay alone on the queen-sized bed.

She could barely keep her eyes open. Her energy was not drained by waking up so early; on the contrary, she normally woke up a full hour earlier. The face of her mother flashed before her.

“And just what draws you to this, this… louse-infested nightcrawler?”

Octavia didn’t know anymore. The sex was amazing, sure, but when did they ever see each other?

She looked over at the other side, where Vinyl had been when she fell asleep. When she had been there, the bed had felt warm. Inviting, even. Sure, it sometimes felt a bit crowded if they didn’t snuggle, but Vinyl’s hooves wrapped around her just seemed to fit.

Now the bed was cold and barren. She laid in the very middle, drowning in the ocean of loneliness.

Why do I do this? Octavia asked herself. Do I really want to wake up to this?

She didn’t know.

Her stomach growled. She slowly slid off the bed and onto the bare hardwood below. Scratching noises followed her as she shuffled into the kitchen.

Even in her current state, Octavia found the oatmeal on the second shelf of the pantry without even looking. She filled a kettle with water and began boiling it.

It was still only ten past six. Vinyl had likely crashed in some hotel room, not to return until noon or so. She could pack up in less than half that time and be gone long before Vinyl got home.

“You always were one to run from a fight, Octavia,” her mother’s voice chimed. “But I’ll be waiting when you leave her—assuming she doesn’t beat you to the punch.”

No. She couldn’t do that. For all her flaws, Vinyl would never be somepony to just leave like that. It’d hardly be fair to do that to her.

The shriek of the kettle broke her from her reverie. Octavia walked over, filled a bowl with oatmeal, and poured in the boiling water. She stirred it with a spoon, then left it to cool.

She filled a french press with a few scoops of coffee, pouring in the rest of the water. There was no tea in their apartment these days—Vinyl couldn’t stand the stuff. It hadn’t been important enough for Octavia to challenge her on. There was never any milk, and Vinyl tended to use up all the sugar.

Having prepared her coffee, Octavia poured it into a mug. She grimaced as she took a gulp of the black coffee. Vinyl had assured her she’d get used to it, or maybe learn to love it, even. She poured the rest down the drain. No such change in her taste buds had occurred.

Feeling slightly awake, Octavia ate her oatmeal and trotted over to her cello. She played for no one now—Vinyl couldn’t listen without wanting to remix it again—but it still brought some sense of comfort to her. It reminded her of home, it reminded her of—

“This is what you were born to do, Octavia!” Her mother clapped her hooves loudly. "With talent like yours, you’ll make it into the Royal Canterlot Symphony for sure!”

She bit her lip. Her bow hovered at her side, attached to a shaking hoof. She’d had an audition once for the symphony. Every note had been hit, and the judges nodded occasionally, slight smiles creasing the corners of their mouths.

“Well, Miss Octavia, I must say, I’m rather impressed. Rarely have I heard such talent from one as young as yourself,” the stallion in charge said. His cohorts nodded.

“Did she make it?” Vinyl said, running onstage.

The stallion frowned. “We will… let you know,” he said, eyes never leaving Vinyl. He held up her audition forms. “This is the correct address, yes?” She nodded.

“Very good. Dismissed,” he said.

Octavia walked with her marefriend toward the wing. As soon as they were offstage, Vinyl began speaking at a mile a minute. “Hell yeah, Tavi! They friggin’ loved you! Did you hear what they said? I bet you’re a shoo-in! Hay, if they don’t take you…”

Octavia tuned her out. Behind them, she heard the judges talking.

“She’s remarkable! I’ve rarely seen that level of skill from somepony with years more experience!” a mare said. “We’re accepting her, aren’t we?”

“Hm,” the stallion said. “No doubt she is talented, but that friend of hers gives me pause. I’ve seen that type.” He paused. “Her kind ruins the careers of real musicians.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” another mare said.

“It’s just such a waste of talent,” a stallion said.

It had been no surprise when the rejection letter came in.

She put down her bow. Perhaps playing the cello was a poor idea to boost her mood. Yet she stood there, not moving toward the violin or the bass or even the piano.

Had Vinyl cost her her dream? How many other things had Vinyl cost her?

“Mother, I’m not leaving her.”

“Then I don’t want to see you again, you ungrateful tramp!”

Well, there was that. But who was to say that schism wouldn’t have formed anyway?

Octavia sighed and lay down on the floor. She looked around the apartment. A gramophone sat in the corner. Dozens of vinyls sat on a shelf nearby. A few others sat on top—her Clopin and Neighthoven.

But those aren’t all of my records, Octavia reasoned with herself. She made room for some of mine. She blinked. A few. After hers had all been put away.

She looked at the walls, where posters of DJs whose names were an amalgamation of letters and numbers sat. Only one was hers—a simple poster of a piano, beside which were the words, “Music is the language of the soul.” Vinyl liked that one.

Looking around, she now saw that most of the decor was selected by Vinyl. Only the bedroom was hers, with the treble clef blankets and the grey sheets and the bare walls.

Was that all she was to Vinyl? A body to keep the bed warm for when she got home? Another stop on the Party Train Express?

No. No more. Octavia was now decided. It was over. She would march right up to Vinyl and tell her—

The door opened, revealing Vinyl standing behind it.

“Vinyl!” Octavia squeaked. “You’re home early…”

Vinyl smirked. “Well, I couldn’t stay away from you, babe.” She kissed Octavia full on the lips. Her lips were firm and moist. She wanted to linger like this, to stay in Vinyl’s embrace forever and—

No, Octavia. Focus. She’s no good for you.

Octavia pulled away. “Vinyl, we need to talk,” she said in what she hoped was a stern tone. Vinyl cocked her head.

“Yeah, what about?”

Well, what do I say now? "Sorry, Vinyl, but I think we’re only together because you screw me on a nightly basis and I need to leave?"

“Why—why do you like me?” she managed.

Vinyl chuckled. “Well, you’re a very pretty mare with the hottest flanks in Equestria.”

Octavia blushed, and she found herself leaning closer to Vinyl before coming back to her senses. “But is that the only reason?”

Vinyl’s head tilted back. Her hoof tapped her chin, but her smirk never vanished. “You’re also the most adorkable mare I’ve ever met, you’re incredibly talented at classical music, even if it isn’t my thing, and I love the way you squeak when I do this.” She poked Octavia in the side, causing her to squeal. Vinyl laughed.

Her grin shrank back down to the familiar smirk. “So, feel better now, babe?”

Octavia paused. Vinyl’s words were reassuring, but she still felt they were a little... off. Rehearsed, even. It wasn’t that Vinyl didn’t know her. On the contrary, Vinyl possibly knew her too well.

She felt a hoof run down her side, sending shivers down her spine. Octavia looked up, into Vinyl’s smirk.

“Come on, babe, lighten up.” Vinyl’s hoof dragged over her cutie mark.

Octavia’s mind went hazy. Vinyl knew how to work her. There was no way to resist.

In the end, there was no choice. Octavia leaned in, her lips meeting Vinyl’s, her tongue wrestling against Vinyl’s waiting tongue...

…

It was six in the morning, and Octavia lay alone on the queen-sized bed.

Author's Note:

So. I'm really not sure what I was thinking when I wrote this. What was originally supposed to be like this turned into something more like this. I still think it turned out rather well, but I was very surprised at the sort of tone it took as I wrote it. Hopefully you all enjoyed it, though. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this in the comments below!

Thanks for reading, everyone!

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