Rhythm and Harmony: The Octascratch Prompt Collab

by lyra_lover777

1 Wub by palaikai

Author's Note:

The first of (hopefully) many! Feel free to contribute. None of these stories are edited for grammar or such, so there might be a few mistakes throughout. Enjoy!

Prompt: Wub by palaikai

It's been her and me for as long as I can remember now; it doesn't even seem strange any more, and no one in my laughably small social circle events comments on the unusualness. My life is one of routine, and I'm happy with that. My hoof slides down her body slowly, tracing every delicate curve of that smooth, silky shape.
The need overwhelms me and I reach for my bow; ribbon meets string, and music forms in the quiet apartment. It is amorphous and crude. My eyes are half-closed, I am lost in thought, and I let my hooves do what they will. Sad, sonorous notes sing out. I balance the cello against my chest while I fumble around for a piece of paper and a quill. The task would be much simpler were I a unicorn, but alas, I'm just an ordinary earth pony.

I quickly jot down the notes I am playing, the scratching sound of tip on parchment almost a tune in itself; the composition is rough, but it's something I can later refine. Like an author redrafting their stories. Music is another way of spinning a tale, and it has to be treated with just as much care.
Time passes and I realise that I am tiring; the cello leans heavily against me, though the cold wood is an odd comfort. Perhaps it's just the satisfaction of the familiar? I sleep, dreaming of my passion.

Wake up. Practice. Eat. Practice. Socialise. Practice. Run errands. Practice. Come home. Practice. This cello is my life and it dominates every waking thought I have … at least, it did, until this moment. A pony I've never seen before. Beautiful, wild, untamed. An electric blue mane contrasts sharply with an alabaster coat; I can't see her eyes, covered as they are by a gaudy pair of sunglasses.

The feeling is similar to the one I had when I received my cello, only more intense. I find it strange that I can feel this way about something that isn't a musical instrument. Her cutie mark is two bridged eighth notes, and I wonder … does she embody something that has been missing from my life up until now? Should I … talk to her? How do you talk to somepony who can do this to you without even realising it? What would my friends say?

“Play it cool.”

“Just be yourself.”

“The worst that can happen is that she'll say no.”

I approach her, words – stupid, pathetic words that mean so little due to overuse – being discarded as I try to find an opening gambit that won't make me appear foolish. I'm literally two feet away when my vision goes swimmy; it doesn't take me long to figure out that I've managed to trip over something, probably my own uncoordinated hooves, and am now sailing through the air.

With a thud, I collide with the gorgeous alabaster pony and she turns to look at me sharply. At least, I assume so, though her eyes remain hidden from me. “Careful,” she admonishes me bitingly, “you almost broke my stereo.”

My eyes flit to the ground and I see a rather expensive looking sound system that she's presumably just acquired, given how shiny it is. Her anger causes me to recoil and I can barely even stammer an apology.

I beat a hasty retreat back home, embarrassment etched across my muzzle. I feel sick to my stomach, so much so that I can't even muster the energy to go to my one true love. I collapse into bed, sobbing pitifully, wishing that I could take back the previous day and do things properly. Safely, boringly. Ponies like me are married to their work; they don't go on dates, or fall in love, or find a Special Somepony. Yet we're expected to write music about that stuff? What's that sound?

Somepony is knocking at the door. At this time of night, it's probably Lyra after having had another drunken fight with Sweetie Drops looking for somewhere to crash.

“Oh,” I say, opening the door, and I can only imagine the ridiculous expression on my face at seeing the last pony I ever expected standing there looking abashed.

“Hi,” she says. “Um, I hope you don't mind me turning up like this, but uh, a mutual friend told me where you lived and I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I'd had kind of a crappy day after a long gig and I just wanted to get home, but that's no excuse for my rudeness.”

“M-Mutual friend?” I asked.

“Lyra. I told her that somepony almost trampled my new stereo today, and when I described them to her, she said, Hey, that sounds like Octavia. Name's Vinyl Scratch, by the way.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming all this way to apologise, Miss Scratch. Um.” Don't screw this up now. “Uh, would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I'd appreciate that,” she says, tilting her sunglasses slightly so I can see her exquisite cerise eyes, stepping past me and into my small apartment. “Cosy. Nice cello,” she adds, spotting it lying astride the bed. “We should totally rock out one day.” She grins suggestively at me. “If you love the wubs, that is.”

My eyes darted between the beautiful pony and the cello. “I think I could learn to,” I say.

Comments

[Divine Path]

That's a rather believable first meeting, curiously enough.

Rocking in the skies of a love,
dreaming profoundly of that friendship.
Soon, perhaps,
will it blossom softly
and profuse.

Excellent work, dear Author!

[goaway]

5140894

Thank you!

[Hobbestc]

Great start off to a great new collab.

[Divine Path]

5142443
I did not see this. You're welcome!

[CallMehLil]

SO SWEET! Being a former musician myself, the depiction was so realistic