• 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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Imaginative Things

Author's Note:

"So you've been quite the busy bee today, I take it," Tavi says. "How quaint." She sips some tea, quietly places the mug down onto a table, and resumes eking a new tune from her bowstrings. "You know, I don't say it often, Vine, but I find myself quite blessed to be sharing this abode with a roommate who's so well-rounded and diligent."

I smirk slightly, shuffling around my half of the foyer as I collect several records in a wave of magic. I shuffle each vinyl in their sleeves, arranging them alphabetically in the air before me. I lean against my turntable as I concentrate on the task—something rather difficult when I've got a small warm fuzzball rubbing against my legs and filling the air with a bright orange purr.

Thankfully, Octavia's words come bursting through in violet clarity, riding the purple velvet melody of her experimental cello strings. "I truly, truly mean it, love," she says, setting my half of the apartment aflame. "A member of the Melody family never tosses useless compliments. That'd be blowing hot air up your skirt, as t'were." She stops suddenly, her muzzle twisted in fuzzy contemplation. "Come to think of it, Vinyl, I don't quite recall ever seeing you in a dress."

I shrug, shuffling over to my full wall of shelved records. I carefully space them apart and slide my floating vinyls in one at a time, making sure to keep the order perfectly alphabetical and pristine.

"Anyways, where exactly am I going with these terribly prattling words?"

There are times when I think that Octavia would speak her thoughts out loud even if I wasn't around to hear them. Perhaps the best kind of friend the mare could ever want is one who doesn't have anything to say back, nor desires to. I'm strangely proud to fill both niches.

"Oh! Right..." She resumes her words just as she resumes her sound-sawing. The air gets purple and purpler. "...as one can guess, my mind simply cannot detach itself from Princess Twilight and her Castle. I mean—think about it—Vine. If you and I are truly the ones chosen to be the Royal Minstrels, then we just might find ourselves moving into that large, luxurious place. And although I desire that far less than the golden opportunity to win the attention and admiration of the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra, I most certainly wouldn't mind the fringe benefit. Surely even a remote part of you shares that sentiment with me."

I slide in the last of the sleeved vinyls, take a breath, and then start flipping through the top shelf—looking for a long-forgotten record that I've been itching to sample lately.

"But, just lately, it's occurred to me..." Octavia's breath shudders ever so slightly. "Such a move would mean abandoning this wonderful cottage of ours. And—suffice to say—I've grown immeasurably attached to it over the years."

With that, I pause, glancing up at the ceiling with a blank expression beneath my even blanker shades. I tongue the inside of my muzzle as I attempt to contemplate this—or rather—the sudden and inexplicable absence of this. This home. This smell. These blessed acoustics that have resonated with so much gold and violet over the years. And now orange. Orange.

For better or for worse, Octavia is already mirroring my muddled thoughts. "Good news, though, Vinyl! Scribbler is no longer leaving messes around the house! I daresay, Fluttershy's good advice is paying off! Not that I ever doubted the wise young mare, of course, but I suppose a part of me was ever-so-slightly doubtful that anything could reach through to the adorable kitten. But, alas, this bodes well, because it means that—if things go swimmingly—we could even take the lil' darling with us! Oh, wouldn't that be absolutely brilliant, Vine?"

I tap my chin, thinking.

Does Princess Twilight even let her friends stay at the Castle with her?

After all, they all have their own separate homes. I could see Rarity wanting to live in a place so... uh... pretty, I guess. But Pinkie Pie is already living with the Cakes. Fluttershy has her cottage full of animals. Applejack's got a family farm, and Rainbow Dash certainly isn't the type of pegasus to let anything keep her cooped up.

But, then again, Octavia's heard from the grape vine that Twilight Sparkle is trying to renovate Ponyville's new castle, turning it into a place befitting its royal status. That means lots of servants, guards, visitors, representatives of visitors, representatives of representatives of visitors, secretaries of representatives of representatives of visitors...


Leaving this place would be one thing. But I'd rather sell my soul to diamond dogs than settle for a studio in a place that noisy and cramped. Maybe Lyra could let me produce new tracks at hers and Bon Bon's place, but I doubt it.

"I know what you're thinking, Vinyl, I'm getting an awful bit ahead of myself, aren't I?"

That's not what I was thinking, but it makes me smile anyways. I finally find the album that I'm looking for and I slip the record off the shelf.

"Then again..." Octavia lets loose an airy laugh, and it explodes with the color of her bowtie across the room. "Hmm-hmmm-hmmm... maybe Princess Twilight—in her infinite magic—can simply relocate our home inside her massive basement."

I don't know what's sillier, Octavia's imagination or the fact that I'm still standing from the magenta outburst of air from my lungs.

"Ah well." An indigo sigh. "I suppose we'll just have to let fate decide."

I nod. Standing up, I turn and reach across my studio—only to feel a purring fuzzball curled up atop my console. As soon as I make contact, the world turns orange and my eyes blink.

This is not my turntable.

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