• Published 26th Jul 2015
  • 10,697 Views, 4,220 Comments

The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Sleepy Things

Author's Note:

"So, your session went swimmingly, then?" Octavia asks from where she squats on the living room sofa.

I nod from the kitchen, smiling. I continue to wash the last of the dishes, concentrating on her purple voice through the crimson barrage of sinkwater rushing between us.

"Well, I'm most delighted to—urp!—hear that," she slurs. A sharp violet hiccup emanates from her fuzzy throat—a trademark side effect of her ardent love for red wine. Tavi never gets drunk drunk, but every now and then she allows herself a tiny bit of celebratory inebriation. It only makes her purple voice silkier. I wish I had that much class. "You deserve no less than the best reception—urp!—Vinyl. After all, you work so hard."

I shake my head, dropping the last of the plates in the drainer and cutting the crimson fountain off.

"Oh, but you—urp!—do!" Her purple breaths roll towards me, clear and unfettered. An orange beacon purs from nearby, nestled against her rump as the mare and the cat share the comfiest spot in the whole house. "Whenever I play my cello, I at least have a bevy of strings and notes to make a semblance of order with. But you?! Urp! You have to create entirely new sounds! Dredging them up from the artificial well of synthesized cacophony—urp!—as t'were!"

Shuffling towards her, I come to a stop, then gesture towards my half of the foyer—chock full of hundreds upon hundreds of popular albums and records to pilfer samples from.

"Yes... well..." She rolls her purple eyes and squirms in tighter against the couch cushions, stifling a yawn. "Mmmmf... what you do, you do masterfully. You throw the competition deep into the—urp!—wake of your innate genius. I don't quite think there's another pony I know with your exceptional talents, Vinyl. I'm actually quite blessed... envious, even."

I pointed at her with a look of mock surprise.

"Heeheehee..." Sweet, undulating violets. "Alright, so I suppose I do carry a—urp!—thick head from time to time. And it can't be denied that I'm the best cellist in all of Equestria."

I smile, nodding proudly.

"But, let's face it, Vinyl... there's a far greater market for a mare with your kind of—urp!—talents than mine. I mean, I doubt many of the partying ruffians in Baltimare were hungry for cello renditions of Beehooven's finest suites. Urp!—and even if they were, they'd probably want it butchered with... w-with any and all sorts of garish samples ripped from Sapphire Shores, Trotter Swiftly, and the Stirrup Wars Official Soundtrack."

I roll my eyes.

"Ohhhh Vine..." She sighs, her eyes growing heavier and heavier as she cuddles her fuzzy cheek against the nearest cushion. "There no reason for me to act so daft. Urp! Your medium is a most delightful one, and I know..." She yawns. "I just know that we're going to..." She yawns again. "Mmmm... win the Princess of Twilight's favor. Can you imagine it? Our very own castle..."

A breathy chuckle escapes my throat. I'm already trotting towards the nearest closet, pulling out a blanket. By the time I've returned, my roommate's eyes have fully closed, and yet her lips move, spilling ambrosia across our plush carpet.

"I wish... I-I wish I could have gone with you to Baltimare," she murmurs, and is out like a light.

I drape the blanket over her figure with a quiet sigh.

You did...

I tuck the fabric gently around her body, and she curls up underneath it, trilling like the kitten seated beside her. Then—out of nowhere—my vision is overwhelmed with a violet tidal wave.

My legs stumble, and I nearly fall to the floor. Recovering, I look down to see that my hoof had just brushed past her twitching ear. I feel my heart pounding, and I bite my bottom lip hard. Nevertheless, with quiet grace, I lean forward and give her ear the lightest of touches again.

As soon as the fuzzy contact is made, I'm engulfed in that rich violet sea, and haunting sounds from the past ride the surf towards me. They sound an awful lot like a sobbing voice, a voice that I used to have, but was righteously melted away by one color and one color alone.


A minute passes, and I shuffle backwards from the sleeping mare. She deserves her space, and I'm going to give it to her.

After all, who could deserve more reverence than the pony who saved my life?

Thus, it is with a melancholic sigh that I turn around, face the darker half of the house, and shuffle limply towards my bedroom. There, in the shadow of the once-green world, my magenta breaths threaten to drown me. I can only hope that sleep sweeps me away before I ingest too much of them.

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