I'm two whole blocks from home when I hear it...
...and my entire world freezes over.
I stop in my tracks, hooves digging into the dirt road beneath the afternoon sun.
I hold my breath, cutting off the magenta streams so that I can concentrate... focus. I hope against hope that I'm imagining the colors rippling across my eyes.
I'm wrong. For there they are. They rip right through me... setting me on fire.
Such blue... vibrant, sparkling bands of blue.
I tilt my head to the left... and then to the right.
I can no longer doubt it. The sound is—in fact—coming from our apartment. Even from this distance, I squint and see a sapphire blue aura emanating from beyond the window panes.
Gnashing my teeth, I bolt forward. The bag of store-bought cat treats falls from my flank and spills out onto the middle of the road. I completely ignore it.
Galloping, I rush to the front door. It's slightly ajar.
I burst it open, and my ears implode from the full weight of a melancholic ballad.
I jerk to the right—staring straight at my half of the foyer.
Three little fillies are seated around my record player. One of them perks up at the sight of me.
"Oh! Hey! She's here!" Sweetie Belle's voice chirps just a few blue octaves below the voice coming out of the speakers. "Oh... uh... you look surprised to see me. Eheh... Miss Melody gave me some spare house keys so I could continue cleaning for a few extra bits. But then I found this record while I was dusting things off today and—"
"Will ya just listen to that?!" Apple Bloom beams. "You sound just like an angel, Miss Scratch!"
"Heehee! Yeah!" Scootaloo smirks. "Or should we say 'Cyan Sings?'"
I'm blinded by a magenta cloud of my own hyperventilating. My shaded gaze sweeps the room, and I see the glittery vinyl cover leaning against the record player between them.
"I-I hope you don't mind." Sweetie Belle grins from beyond the kaleidoscopic implosion. "As soon as I heard your super gorgeous singing voice, I just had to let the others hear!"
"It's super awesome!" Scootaloo exclaims. "I bet you'd give Fluttershy a run for the money!"
"How come yer always hidin' behind a turntable when you can let loose like this?"
"Heehee... Apple Bloom." Sweetie Belle waves a hoof. "Don't you know anything? Miss Scratch is—"
I cross the distance between myself and the damnable sound. With a wave of my hoof, I knock the needle off, spilling a discordant crimson screech through the speakers.
Scootaloo winces. "Owwww..." She rubs her ears.
"Huh?" Sweetie Belle blinks, standing up straight. "Miss Scratch! What gives?"
"It was just gettin' to the sweet part again!" Apple Bloom stammers.
I lean in a slump, hunched over against the record player, seething. My teeth clench, visible, glistening like dagger tips.
"Uhhhh..." Sweetie Belle leans her head to the side. "Miss Scratch? Is something wrong?"
"Wuh oh..." Apple Bloom gulps. "I think you dun goof'd, Sweetie."
"But... but her voice was so awesome! Why wouldn't she want to share it with—?"
I face her. My glare must be a venomous one; the filly gasps so hard that she stumbles backwards three steps.
"Miss Scratch...?"
I point a hoof viciously at the door.
"Uhm..." Scootaloo starts shuffling away. "I-I think she wants us to leave."
"Right..." Apple Bloom sidesteps. "Sweetie Belle?"
"I... I didn't mean anything by it, honest!" Sweetie Belle squeaks, fidgeting in place. "I-I'm sorry. I should have asked before invitin' the other Crusaders over, but... but..." She nods at the record player. "That's one of the best albums I've ever heard! Why, I bet if Rarity and her friends heard it, they'd be moved to—"
I lean forward, pointing at the door with greater... angrier emphasis.
"But... but Miss Scratch, could you at least explain why—?"
The world explodes in a magenta shroud. Somepony is hissing. At the end of a massive spin, I feel the crimson gunshot of a record being smashed against the wall.
Sweetie Belle shrieks. Three sets of hooves scamper towards the door... but one of them lingers.
When my vision returns, I see cracked bits of black vinyl lingering on the carpet. I glance towards the side.
Sweetie Belle's silhouette lingers in the sunlight. The edges of her eyelids glisten, and yet she's frowning. "You know..." She sniffles, muzzle quivering. "...some of us are lucky to have a talent worth being proud of."
I simply glare at her.
"You are so... so amazing... and Cyan Sings is too." She fights back a sob. "If you can't believe in yourself... then did you ever actually believe in me?"
I have no response to that. I don't need to.
Squeaking under her breath, Sweetie Belle turns and outruns her tears. She's gone in a blink, leaving me and the crackling white noise of the emptily spinning record player.
It's not enough punctuation for this train wreck to be over.
Another magenta outburst, and I'm unleashing the rest of the deluge. I shove my record player over, and it lands in a red cacophony. I march over the debris and grab the album sleeve. An elegant unicorn in a glittery blue dress smiles at me—but not for long.
I rip straight through the spotlight, shredding the sleeve to bits. And yet—several sweaty breaths into the massacre—the many lacerated bits of garbage still shimmer with more blue than my rancid, useless voice ever will.
It's enough to deflate a living pony entirely... and it does just that right now.
I collapse with my back to my turntable. It anchors me, and that's what hurts the most. Pretty soon, I'm weeping—something I'm not allowed to do either, for the thunderous magenta salvos of each outburst pull me harder and heavier to the ground, until I'm awash in a sea of it... adrift above the void lingering below, soundless and colorless, a shade even more haunting than turquoise.
And it's a place that's invited me before... only now, the violet harnesses are starting to fray. It's my lasting thought as I dwindle upon the edge of unconsciousness, hoping for a reprieve... but receiving one.
Tavi saved you?
She showed you a path.
Please start walking it instead of dreaming of the destination.
You can do it.
We all believe in you.
Save for the possible nay-sayer. Ignore the pun and the nay-sayer.
Shattering Things
What...Vinyl...I just...why?...
*sigh*...No...no, I daresay that Vinyl did.
There's a fair chance that Tavi will find out how she treated Sweetie, and probably won't be too happy about it.
Poor Sweetie Belle....and poor Vinyl. Why do I get the feeling that this is only the tip of the breakdown iceberg?
Fifty Shades of Angst.
Ok, that makes no sense. How are those even tangentially related? Author, I know you're trying to lead up to a 'Sweetie has to find out everyone believed in her all along to get her confidence back' type thing, but this is REALLY kinda shoehorned in. I mean, 'You don't want your music listened to, you must not believe in me'?
6609681 She abused their trust.
Octavia gave her a key to do some cleaning, and Sweetie used the opportunity to go through their belongings, invite her friends over to their house and mucked about with something important to her.
Octavia would have been just as mad if it had been one of HER one-of-a-kind records that Sweetie had brought her friends over to play.
Not only that, but Sweetie's got a history of taking things that don't belong to her on impulse, no concern for what trouble it might cause others or what damage it might do.
Reading about needless self-destructive behavior is so frustrating. It makes me want to stick my foot in the story and kick her ass.
Is it weird that in this story I imagine her voice is similar to Whitney Houston's? Classy, strong, and smooth.
6609749 More importantly, it's also linked to a very big angry red button for Vinyl. She clearly hates the fact that she can't talk without passing out, and likely can't even sing due to damage.
If, for ponies, the expression of one's special talent is the greatest joy, what must it be like to be unable to express that talent? To have had it ruined?
6609787 Sweetie already knows she straight up CAN'T talk, right? I've been under that assumption, but can't remember and really don't want to go through like 115 chapters to find it
Well, at least she didn't punch anypony. Not gonna lie, I was expecting those kids to get a hoof to the face.
Not to say I wanted them to be punched. If not for Vinyl's condition, I would expect a very large rant about personal belongings and so forth.
Awwww maaan... no words for this, this was sad, *yells at cat* but also awesome.
Nice job... nice job.
6609681 Because destroying your own possessions, in your own house, and telling trespassers to vacate without any physical violence is definitely worse than sneaking into somepony's house uninvited, going through their stuff, and then not even having the decency to be ashamed when caught red-handed.
Sweetie. Done. Goofed.
6609794 The point, though, is loss. Not her current lack that they should be (and with Sweetie's indication are at least partially) aware of, but the sheer gulf separating her from what she had, and loved to do; the fact that the thing she loved to do most is now beyond her.
I would very much hate the concept of literature if I was robbed of my ability to read, I think. In much the same way, the fact that she had an excellent singing voice is a massive sore spot for our lovely leading lady, not because she can't sing now, but because she can't sing any more. It is, admittedly, a fine distinction. But often, it's those fine distinctions that are the most important.
The fact that Sweetie basically rubbed her face in it after sneaking in and rifling through her possessions, and then invited her own friends over? The last facts alone would get her a stern scolding, but that first part is definitely what set her off the most. That's why Vinyl became more and more enraged the more Sweetie talked about it.
From Vinyl's reaction I get the feeling there might be more to it than the loss of her talent.
Don't get me wrong, that is a devastating thing and for some can be motivation enough. However, from Vinyl's reaction whenever it comes up and what we've seen of how she carries herself day-to-day, I wonder if something else important, perhaps just as important to her, was lost at the same time.
6610095
Nah. It makes sense to me. One of the main differences between human and pony Vinyl even, assuming they have the same backstories. Ponies know their talents. Not assume them, know them. For all that she's vastly talented and popular as DJ PON3, Vinyl knows she's lost what was supposed to be her purpose... and has never really come to terms with it, just repressed it, run from it, and basically done everything she can not to face it because admitting the truth to herself may very well break her again.
Unfortunately, she can't run forever, and the stress just piles up until something snaps. Poor V. I wonder if she's ever really talked to Tavi about what happened to her or her condition, or if Tavi even knows what she was doing on that bridge...
Brutal.
Octavia's probably going to find her just lying there in the morning, too.
Ouch.
Hopefully, Vinyl's not in for any serious side effects due to her cutting lose and openly weeping, and that all it causes is for her to pass out.
I doubt Octavia will take any chances and we'll end up at the hospital tomorrow, regardless.
6610023 Yeah. Honestly, I'm going to be a little annoyed if Vinyl ends up being being slated as the bad guy in this altercation, simply because authors seem fond of painting the hero as in the wrong for EVER getting mad.
"She used the key we lent her to invite her friends over and use my private things!"
"That's no excuse for how you acted!"
"She poisoned the water supply, raped our land and defiled our mares!"
"So? You're an adult! You should know better than to have emotions that society decides are bad!"
On the other hoof, it could be early stardom talking... "What do you MEAN you're mad at me? People don't get mad at stars, they get to do whatever they want! Look at Bieber! ...Oh no! You must not think I'm enough of a star to get out of being in trouble! You don't think I have any talent at all!"
I really hope sweetie bell gets brought to account for this. Serriously, this is like the third or forth time they fuck over vinyl with their shit.
how much more are ya gona break CMC.
Hopefully, this breaking point will actually be good. At least she'll have to explain things, which will be better than holding it in, and maybe that will help her move on. Oh wait, this is SS&E, the Josh Wheldon of pony fic writers. The only reason a conflict is resolved is for something worse to take it's place.
Ouch; the damage children do in their innocence. I think that Vinyl is going to wake up in the hospital, given the amount of damage she's done both to the apartment and, likely, herself.
Well cms, you literally broke a Vinyl
6610421
Silly Vinyl, you don't have celebrity status, you have a cult following.
The difference is celebrities make millions, cults don't earn you anything. So no using your celebrity status and massive funds to avoid the backlash for the problems that are caused by your emotional instability and unwillingness to open up.
6610518 In all seriousness? Yes. On both counts.
6609749
6609859
Wow, I completely missed that point.
This is what I get for reading/posting while exhausted.
6611320 Hey, no worries. It happens to the best of us.
*finishes the chapter*
Yeah, I didn't think that record would survive very long after Vinyl got it.
"I think you dun goof'd, Sweetie."
Now I know why she hates her past self and that record so much, it's a reminder of what she once could do but now suffers if she so much as utters even the barest of whisper. Damn this story just goes deeper and deeper. I hope it doesn't go truely dark...
Well... I'm a bit sad to see the fate of that record. Vinyl's losing her grip on just... everything right now. I'm worried about her, because things are gonna get a lot worse if she can't face her demons and what-not.
~SolidFire