• Published 5th Nov 2011
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Allegrezza - Gravekeeper

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Concerto Sei

Octavia slumped down beside the sink cupboard, neatly trying to hide her body from view while also trying to dredge some memories from the murky depths of her mind. Sadly, one of the many benefits toted by the Pan-Equestrian Gargle Blaster is that it will buck you up in every way possible, the bottle itself containing disclaimers against causing anything from liver damage to type-two diabetes.

Vinyl watched from the living room, as the silence from the kitchen signalled the fact that Octavia was in fact not making tea, and may or may not be having a mental breakdown and stuffing her head in the oven. While Vinyl was partially worried, she didn’t want to intrude in on her, mainly because her hopes might have been shattered, and she would’ve just found Octavia moping around next to the mop pail. Instead she tried to reach out her benevolent ideals using her voice.

“Hey, Octy. How’s the, uhh...tea coming along?”
There was a sharp clattering, a fervent clopping of hooves on tiled flooring, then the rattling of pots and pans. “It’ll be ready in a moment!”
“Cool! Why are you using pots and pans...when you’re making tea.”
Octavia pulled her head out of the cupboard, halting in her frenzied effort to sound as busy as she wanted to look. “Uhhh...I like the traditional method, on the hob! It makes the tea that much sweeter, don’t you...think?”

She was confronted by Vinyl’s quite frankly irritating grin that was growing like a tumour on her mind. She let go of the wok and saucepan in each of her forehooves, and stowed them back into the cupboard.

“I’m no chef...but I don’t think you’ll get far with those. I’m guessing, that maybe you’re finding this whole situation a little awkward?”
“Indeed, what irks me most is that you don’t seem very fazed at all.”
Vinyl disappeared back through the doorway in a light giggling fit the Gargle Blasters amplified into a migraine. She recovered quite sharply after a second or two, and returned to the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s not the first time I’ve woken up with a hangover, a filly, and no idea what the hay happened.” She locked eyes with Octavia’s partially worried, partially scathing stare. “Hey, it was Uni! What pony didn’t have one of those ‘oh Celestia, no’ mornings?”
“I, for one, didn’t. I spent my time at Uni studying.”
“Well, yeh, that’s the bit in between all the fun stuff! Besides, even drunk, I think I’d pass on you.” She gave a sly wink, and watched as Octavia’s mind ripped her in two directions.

“I’ll have you know that I am a very...attractive mare...but to colts! Not to other mares, no, not at all!”
“I don’t judge, Octy. I don’t judge. You can be whatever you want to be, so long as it’s prudey; cos that’s what’s fun about you.”

”Ughh, the last thing I want in this life is an ‘it’s cool to fillyfool’ speech from you, Vinyl. Excuse me, I think I hear my mail calling.” Octavia stomped past Vinyl, eliciting another pained giggle at her indignant demeanour.

She found the offending letters, bills, coupons, and...a magazine? Tearing it open in a rare moment of fillyish glee, she glanced at the cover, then turned a remarkably similar shade of green to the dreaded Gargle Blasters.
“Hey, Octy, what’s u-ohhhh...is that us?”
“For the love of Celestia, I hope not.”

“Well, at least we’re famous...I guess, ‘The Cellist and the Charlatan.’ I gotta be the Cellist, right?” She shot a grin at Octavia, who groaned under her breath.
“I highly doubt it, Ms Charlatan. The reason I am reluctant to open it...is that.” She jabbed a hoof at the familiar image of a certain chocolate-coloured ice cream pony, gleefully rendered above the sharp artist’s impression of herself and Vinyl. Octavia had to hoof it to the mare, writing, printing, and posting it to her home over night must have required intense dedication. Suddenly, she had the urge to install more locks on her door.

“Oh, wow, it’s her. The mare from the bar!”
“Wow. Really? I simply couldn’t tell, Vinyl.”
Vinyl pouted her lip, mocking an injury to her chest by holding a hoof to her left side. “Oh, Octy, no need to get your halter in a twist. Come on, open it up, I wanna see what she wrote!”

Octavia suddenly got the overwhelming urge to throw the magazine as high into the sky as possible, in the hope it might perch itself on the moon. Or even better, the sun. “I...don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Awww, just one look. It can’t be that bad.”
“No!” Octavia gripped the paper tightly in her teeth, snarling slightly like a small terrier. “I don’t want you to read it, you’re not going to!”

“You’re forgetting something, Octavia.”
“Really, what would that be?”
“This.” Vinyl wrapped her magic around the magazine, pulling it away from Octavia while holding out a hoof to stop her getting it back. She ripped off the cellophane coating, and giggled as a note fell out of the pages. “Ohh, ‘To my two fateful little fillies, have fun, and especially important, have fun together. Here’s two reservations to a restaurant, to get you two little lovepegasi started.’”

“She really is perverse!”
“Yeh.” Vinyl cocked her head, shaking the reservation out of the magazine. “But hey, free food! Now, page seven of this little magazine is her story and...”
“You’re reading it?”
“Y-yeh.”
“Are you going to stop now?”
“No...not yet. Although for the record, I wouldn’t ever do that with a tuba. That’d be painful!”

“Can you please stop, I’m not comfortable standing here while you read that!” Octavia jumped up at the magazine, trying to snatch it with hoof and tooth. “Why are you even reading that smut?”
“A, it’s about me. And B, I’m reading it for the plot.”
“Please, I am begging you. Just stop, please.”
Vinyl peeked her crimson eyes over the magazine’s cover. “Pretty please?”
“Ughhh, ‘with a cherry on top.’”

“Because you batted your eyelids, and asked so nicely Octavia. Though, you should probably keep this, might be a weirdly accurate placeholder for last night. The pictures, though....skip them.” Vinyl set the magazine on a nearby table, before turning to Octavia with her ditsy, little grin. “But her descriptions of your socks are pretty close to the real thing.”
“Where, let me see!” Octavia snatched up the magazine, scanning the page as her face became paler and paler. “My...that is a painful thing to do with a tuba...”

* * * * * *

Octavia walked into the small apartment. She wasn't often one for intruding into other ponies' homes, but in her defence, Vinyl had left the door wide open. She entered the home, evading the various forms of detritus that scattered the apartment. She tip-hoofed into the bedroom, finding her quarry fast asleep, at a considerably late hour as well.

Octavia loomed over the unconscious mare, once more prodding her hoof sharply into her withers. Ponies are not often known for their burrowing capabilities, but Vinyl managed to counteract both nature and Charles Darwhinny, and evolved the ability to burrow ever deeper into her covers to avoid Octavia.

“Honestly, Vinyl, will you just get up? It’s ten in the morning!”
Vinyl’s eyes peeped out from her warren in the bedsheets. “But it’s Sunday! Nopony gets up early on Sunday, and I’m still hung over from those Gargle-Blasters.”
“We had those three days ago, you really are a lightweight. Now up! I have an audition to go to today, and I’d like you to accompany me.”

Vinyl exited her carefully constructed burrow of linen, dropping onto the floor unceremoniously, before propping herself up and slamming her shades over her eyes. If only to cover the tired bags, at least.

“Why’d you need me? You say I have a really bad taste in music...and I’d make you look bad.”
“Well, maybe I’m taking you with me to make myself look better by comparison?”
“It’s too early for long words, so I’ll just pretend you said something nice about me.”
“That’s probably the best course of action, Vinyl. Now get ready, we’re going to meet some high society. I need you to at least attempt to look presentable.”

Vinyl wandered off into the bathroom, the pattering of the shower emanating from within after a moment. Curiously, she’d left the door open. Perhaps Octavia should go close it, just to be safe? It was best to preserve her privacy, after all. She trotted carefully, up to the door, which lay slightly ajar. Steam wafted through the gap, as Octavia reached out a hoof to-.

The door suddenly swung even wider open, and Octavia fell to the floor in its absence of support. She spotted a contemptible Vinyl staring down at her with the lightest grin she imagined a pony face could muster.

“Now, now, Octavia. Flattered as I am, I don’t want you spying on me in the shower, thanks.”
Octavia sputtered, coughing out dust she imagined had lain on the uncleaned carpet for weeks. In doing so, she rapidly eradicated a large colony of almost sentient dust mites, that were in the process of penning up their request to join the United Equestrian Nations. Sadly, Ponykind lost this chance for a new ally to inevitably fights wars with and exploit for labour, so perhaps it was for the better that this fledgling civilisation met its end in Octavia’s trachea, rather than having to endure that whole fiasco.

Octavia herself recovered from her unwitting genocidal wheezing, and rose to her hooves to avoid the smog of dust that had plumed from the carpet upon her impact. “Spying?! I was just going to close the door, to save your privacy.”
“Aren’t you a saint, Octy. Now please, I know we’re always naked anyway, but it’s still kinda weird. Go fix yourself something to eat, you little peeping tom you.”

Octavia’s indignant defence was cut short by the door closing in front of her, and she felt her cheeks heat up in disapproval at her well-intended actions. Evidently, the best course of action would be to stuff her cheeks full of something tasty to cool them down, as Vinyl had suggested. She opened the fridge, finding the colonial province of the dust mite kingdom ruling over a slab of potentially century-old cheese. Any vegetables inside had long-since devolved back into primordial ooze, and Octavia stopped to consider whether Vinyl actually ate any of this, or simply had the digestive system of a cow.

The fridge revealing itself to be a pony-sized petri dish, she close it and roamed onwards. She clicked the cupboards open to search for anything tinned, and therefore potentially edible. Instead she found one cupboard completely filled with cereal. Cheerileeos, Zeco Pops, and ScootaBix all in attendance; cereals Octavia hadn’t eaten since she was a filly, and had no intentions of a culinary trot down memory lane at this point.

Another cupboard yielded only a shelf full of brightly coloured boxes, the vibrant yellow of Dandelion Pop-Tarts beckoned her. Vinyl had recommended these to her at one point, yes, but her taste was hardly cutting edge. Still, it appeared to be all she kept that wasn’t cereal and milk, and on a few, rare occasions, her tastes had turned out to be surprisingly finessed.

Octavia flipped the box over, eyes coursing over the instructions before she realised she was looking at the most foal-proof piece of food she’d ever eat. A pair of tarts were placed into the toaster, and she waited the intended time for the magical energies to beam through the little treats. After a fairly boring moment, the tarts were ejected forcefully from the toaster; soaring a hoof into the air before Octavia snatched them onto her plate. The packet recommended leaving them to stand for a little moment, so she gave it a hoofful of seconds before the sickly-sweet aromas got the better of her. She clamped her teeth around one such delectable slice, the outer coating feeling reassuringly cool. It was foals’ food after all, they would have to keep it cool for them.

Her teeth scissored through the tart, dandelion jam spewing onto her taste buds. One moment of hyper-sweet bliss, then a fiery stab of pain through her tongue. They were hot...very hot.

Vinyl heard the scream from the shower, even through her usual habit of humming Deadhor5 as loud as she could so ponies listening would know she was in the shower, and therefore would like to not be spied on. She leapt out of the cleansing downpour, mane and tail sodden as she crashed through the door and into her living room. She spotted Octavia sitting on the couch, gingerly touching a hoof to her tongue.

“Bese bop tards are painfuw!” Octavia’s tongue was red and inflamed, much like Vinyl’s cheeks as they failed to repress her laughter. She plummeted to the floor, a small shockwave of dust intermingling with her wet coat and usurping the entire purpose of showering in the first place. She wiped a tear, or a drop of water, from her eye, still finding humour as Octavia glared at her, tongue hanging out of her mouth like a happy puppy.

“Oh, it’s great to have you around, Octy. Let’s get you some ice, and I’ll sure to blow on your pop-tarts for you too, to stop any more nasty burns.”
“Brow it oup your rumb, Viryl!”