• Published 26th Jul 2015
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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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Colorful Things

Author's Note:

"But if you ask me, I think that the dry food is better for Scribbler," Octavia says, curled up on the park bench to my right. "At least when it becomes time to clean up after her, it's... well... a lot easier to manage. I'm afraid that if we switch entirely to soft food, then it'll go straight through the poor thing and it'll come out like... pure liquid. Goddess, I shudder at the thought."

I nod, feeling the rattle of earphones around my neck. All around us, ponies chat merrily from hilltops and park benches, and it is all yellow. I suppose we each have a little bit of Derpy in us. Octavia's tongue, however, threads purple seams through the golden quilt and I wrap myself tight in it.

"And it's not as if she hasn't been housetrained," Octavia says. "Fluttershy was generous enough to take care of that little issue before we took the adorable thing in. Much rather, I think Scribbler is trying to give us a message. Maybe she wants attention, or she's feeling discomfort and has no other way of communicating it with us. I mean... perhaps you understand, Vinyl."

I turn and give her a long, dull glare through my shades.

She's already wincing. "Erm... not to suggest in any way that you desire to communicate through... ahem... random acts of rebellious defecation."

My shoulders quiver with a breathy chuckle. I stare out across the verdant lawn once again. Birds flitter overhead, their chirping beaks full of gold stripes and platinum bolts. They rain down on our heads like pixie dust and fade into the green hum of the world.

"In Trottingham, my father owned a Great Dane," Octavia says. "An enormous breed of canine. You have no earthly idea! It dwarfed me by almost threefold! Granted, I was quite the petite little filly, so even a dachshund would have been a formidable obstacle to contend with, but that's besides the point." A gust of wind disturbed a lock of her hair and she was quick to brush it back into satin straightness. "Father's trusted hound went on in years, and the summer after I got my cutie mark, it started leaving... erm... essences of itself around the house. Within a week, my father had the poor thing put down. I figured he knew that there was no recovering from that. Then again, my father has never been too keen on creatures he couldn't control. I should know a thing or two about that..."

I nod, then take a hearty glug from a half-full bottle of Dr. Pony. Octavia was gracious enough to let us stop by Sugarcube Corner on the way to the park. She's far more generous than she lets on.

And then the violet bands take on a dark, wavering hue. "Do you think Scribbler's time is up too? That... this 'problem' of hers is a sign? A dark sign this early on?"

I roll my eyes and shake my head with a warm smile.

"Yes, I do suppose I am being melodramatic." Octavia gulps. "Though she can be quite taxing at times, I do care for the little scoundrel, as do you, I imagine."

I nod. An inverted rainbow of yellow, red, and brown colors echoes from across the lawn. I look to my left to see an orange filly drawing two other blank flanks across the grass in a tiny wagon. Their laughter runs the gambit of the whole vomitous spectrum, and I struggle to find a delightful cadence from it all to take home with me to the studio. The one with a fluffy mane in particular is the most golden...

"Why do we take on pets, Vine?" Octavia muses. "They live such blissfully short lives, like sweet ballads that are melancholic in tone from the start. You'd think we would have better sense than to set ourselves up for such heartache, again and again."

I look towards her, shrug, and beat a pale hoof over my chest. A red cloud emanates between us, and once it dissolves I can see a tired smile hanging off her soft muzzle.

"You're right, I suppose," she murmurs, a dull, somber indigo. "It's what lets us remember that we have hearts to begin with."

Sure, that works.

I take another swig of Dr. Pony. Wiping my muzzle clean, I can feel a deep twitch in my fuzzy pony innards. The caffeine is kicking in, and suddenly every band of color has a persistent, quivering beat to it. I smile ravenously, alive in the ever-evolving delirium around us. My eyes dart left and right, imprisoned by their thick lenses. I pierce through the translucent bars and carve a cliff. The colors bunch up against the knifing edge, and I'm already sculpting the perfect bass drop in the churning surf beyond.

Octavia interrupts it, turning the rough tide into a satin pool of purple sheets. "I know that look on your face. You're crafting a new electronic masterpiece, aren't you, love?"

In truth, I held my concentration up until that very last word. It's always the most vibrant one in Tavi's vocabulary, like a kitchen drawer bursting with violet carving knives. They slice up the dance track just twenty beats before it's fully formulated, but somehow I don't feel like complaining.

"Well, if I stay out here any longer, I fear that I may perspire." She pats my shoulder before dismounting the bench with a supple stretch of her spine. She's more like a cat than the feline she delights in complaining about. "I'll leave you to your sugary beverage. Celestia knows, it only gives me..." She looks cautiously over her shoulder, as if worried that some other soul would be close enough to register her heinous confession. "...gives me gas."

I smirk, offering a casual salute in response.

"Now imported Red Wine," Tavi coos. "Especially of the midnight sarosian variety?" She's carried aloft by the purple cloud that is her sigh, and she shuffles off towards the east end of town. "I think I'll make a quick stop by the Boutique to see how my custom gown is fairing, and then I'll make my way back home. Be a dear, Vinyl, and use the back door if you're not back by sundown? The front hinges groan in such an awful way that they frighten poor Scribbler, and I could certainly do without her scampering frantically across my chest at night."

I simply nod, watching her leave, and the purple trails with her.

"I swear, it was you who insisted that we not de-claw her." And she's gone, leaving me with the faintest of fuzzy shadows.

I revel in it briefly, then exhale. The soda bottle is nearly empty. Might as well make the best of it. I take a sip, squint into the horizon, and allow the colors to resume their frenetic march. Then, with a courageous smirk, I venture upon braving the cliffs again.

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