• 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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Signing Things

Author's Note:

I'd say that the Fault Line Bar is aptly named—if only I can see through all the rivulets of color bubbling all around me. It's not quite as jarring or cacophonous as I expected. As Beau leads me deeper and deeper into the festive hovel, I find the voices curiously melodic, the laughter rich and silky, the music samples playing overhead soft and amber.

Every voice is like golden bells, set to a backdrop of blue hums. I can tell that only musicians congregate here. I peer through my visor, attempting to make out the place beyond the sonic tapestry, and I take notice of a solid dividing line in the center of the establishment. The bar is actually lower than the rest of the raised booths and chairs and seats, almost as if someone cut a trench through the middle of the dimly-lit place.

Ah. I get it now.

Fault line.

Before I even have an urge to laugh, I am encumbered by bursting clouds of red mist on all sides. At first, I wonder if a real earthquake is happening—or some other horrific event to make everypony gasp in alarm. Then I realize that the reactions are issuing out from me, and most heads are aimed in my direction.

"Fillies and gentlecolts, do give her space," Beau says, his voice alive and auburn with amusement. "Beneath the raging success of Equestria's most highly exalted DJ, she is still a pony, after all. And I reserve the right to germane suplex anypony who so much as brushes manes with her without asking."

The room fills with a chorus of golden laughter. Somehow, it doesn't give me a headache, even in such proximity. That's how I know that I'm strangely relaxed.

I blame Beau.

"DJ-P0N3! The living legend!" A stallion with headphones around his neck slouches my way. He keeps a humble distance, tapering off the shadow of Beau. "Wow, girl. Never thought I'd have the honor of meeting in person!" He gives a feeble wave. "Simon Neighs. I once shared a venue with you in Mareami a few years back. I was even twice the nopony then, but wowing the same crowd as you that night gave me the inspiration to carry on."

I smile and nod his way.

Simon Neighs...

I think I've listened to an album of his, once. Very jazzy. Utilization of a bunch of classy, old samples. Double-dippage into electroswing.

Yeesh, this guy looks up to me?

"And this—" Beau leads me further towards a booth in the corner of the room. "—is DJ Harmonicide. Sacramentoats' latest up and coming monstrosity!"

"Tart'rus, yeah!" A stallion slaps hooves with Beau and smiles at me, eyes twitching. His voice is a mess of grays and browns trying to be amber. I certainly hope his music is less desperate-sounding. "DJ-P0N3! Whew! Scratch that off the bucket list!" He raises a hoof, filling the air with crimson thunder. "Celestia praise the Purveyors of Wubs! Wooo! Yeah!"

Around me, ponies laugh. I gulp and nod with a frazzled smile.


Right... ... ...

"Yo, girl, your stuff is the sickest! I'm only a twinkle in the shadow of you, girl!" Harmonicide prattles on and on. I can instantly tell that he has no concept of a beat. Most likely, all of his music comprises of intense bass and sonic delirium. To each their own, I suppose. "But we be throttlin' the underground to a new tempo, girl! Neigh Jersey represent!"

"That'll do, colt." Beau pats his shoulder, smirking. "That'll do." A few chuckles ebb and fall as he turns about. "Say, where's all the Dr. Pony being stashed away in this place? We come to burp and pillage, yo!"

"Mrs. Scratch, I presume," murmurs a voice from behind.

I see Beau's shoulders flinch.

I turn around to see a unicorn mare seated casually at a booth. She sports a two-toned mane and a glossy black dress. I can't tell if she's trying to be goth, punk, or an amalgamation of both. As soon as she speaks again, I feel like I'm wafting in a satin sea of burgundy. It would be a bit unsettling, if not for the cool expression across her muzzle.

"Don't be alarmed. Not as though it's such a huge secret." She smiles, swirling a mixed drink. "It took you quite a few years to land with 'DJ-P0N3.' I rather like your given name. It's... poetic, much like your rhythms."

I smile pleasantly.

"Ahem..." Beau shuffles over while all eyes rest on the mare. "And this eloquent flatterer is none other than DJ Capricorn. No doubt you've totally heard her trance mixes on tour, V."

"And in the elevators of various psychological counselor centers far and wide, I'm sure," the mare says, rolling her eyes. More chuckles. She leans forward. "You know you've hit both the highs and the lows when your deepest, most earnest sound recordings get used as plastic fodder. But... who can honestly complain when the dollars roll in?" She smiles thinly. "Your illustrious partner in chime is quite correct. I am DJ Capricorn, and I am most honored to meet you at last, Miss Scratch."

I nod, then look over at Beau.

Beau reads the expression on my face, then smiles Capricorn's way. "She's super crazy flattered. Heheh... believe me."

"Oh, please..." Capricon rolls her eyes. "We shan't use you as a wooden puppet for the rest of the night! A moment like this calls for greater means of communication." She places her glass down and suddenly levitates two drinking straws. "Let's cut to the quick, shall we? Ahem." She then looks at me with firm eyes, and proceeds to swing and twirl the two straws in the air with rapid precision.

I'm so not used to the gesture that I actually flinch at first. Then, my heart skips, and dusty mechanisms hidden deep in my brain start moving again. I watch as the straws do their dance, and my mind instantly interprets: "You. Appear. Wonderful. This. Evening. I. Hope. These. Words. Are. Easy. To. Understand."

"Hah!" Harmonicide barks from behind, nearly splitting my skull in two. "She must be drunk! Capricorn's conducting to an invisible orchestra!"

"Dude, don't you know anything?" Simon Neighs exclaims as the crowd murmurs. "She's doing Blank Speak."

"Blank Flank What?"

"Not blank flank, ya mule! Blank Speak! It's a form of communication unicorns invented long ago for ponies who can't talk." Simon smiles. "It's an art that's super old. Super cool."

"You mean DJ P0N3 can't talk?" Harmonicide stammers. "I thought that was... y'know... just her cool gimmick n'stuff?"

The room is already flooded in brown and red from the resulting groan.

"Well, guess we know who's paying the tab now!" Beau exclaims, causing the place to fill with laughter once again.

Capricorn smiles at the group, the twirls her straws at me again: "They. Are. Very. Slow. Yes?"

I blink. I motion to Beau.

The zebra scoops up a pair of straws from the bar and tosses them my way.

I collect them in a magical field, face DJ Capricorn, and start twisting and turning them in mid-air, trying to keep it steady and slow: "No. Beat. Is. Too. Slow. That. You. Can't. Save. It."

Capricorn smiles. With a twinkle in her eye, she responds: "You. Would. Know. That. I. Believe?"

I nod back at her.

"Is... that a grin that I'm seeing, V?"

I snap out of it, glancing at my companion.

He chuckles. "Well, if you two are done with all the commotion, let's all sit down, relax, and have ourselves a crazy drunk time!" He pauses to wink my way. "Or, y'know, carbonated."

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