• 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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Polite Things

Author's Note:

Even now...

The violet velvet haunts me...

Trailing on the edges of my ears... itching... persisting...

While I repeat the same melodic loop over and over again, twenty seconds per twitch, trying in vain to find a way to segue into the next movement of the track.

My hoof taps against the edge of the turntable while I gaze at the blinking lights before me...

So many pieces of the spectrum and so few ways to share them...

I sigh, covering them all in magenta, and for a brief moment...

...everything is simple.

When the magenta fades, it's the color blue that takes its place. Oozing all over me like an ice cold bath.

I blink, narrow my shaded eyes, then switch the looping track off.

I slide the headphones off my ears, gazing across the foyer from where I sit in a wheelchair behind my turntable.

The source of the blue sound shuffles along the length of one of Octavia's bookshelves. She hums a folk hymn to herself, occasionally blurting a word or two out to fill the gaps in between a beautifully lazy chorus. I think it's something to do with Hearth's Warming.

Hearth's Warming in the summer...

Only this filly, I swear...

"Hmmm-hmm-hmmm..." Sweetie Belle smiles, turning around and wriggling her flank so that her fluffy-fluffy tail dusts off each book shelf, one after another. "...though quarrels arise, their numbers are few... hmmm-hmm-hmmm... will see us throughhhh..."

I stare at her.

Slowly—like a panther at prowl—I slink a hoof over to the microphone. I pivot it until it's facing the filly, then press my hoof to the record switch.

I pause.

My ears twitch.

Somewhere beyond the blue notes, I hear seven phantom voices—all giggling and chatting merrily around me. One of them resonates with the trickle of white diamonds.

I bite my lip, feeling as if some elegant pony is pushing me into someplace warm, someplace wholesome, someplace generous.

I remove my hoof from the switch.

I squirm and fidget in my seat.

Then... with a deep breath... I reach over with my magic and levitate a pad of paper.

Carefully, I scribble some notes on the page, glancing up every now and then at Sweetie Belle.

She continues her musically dutiful work: dusting a sun-lit spot of the living room... ... ...and then dusting it all over again.

Uh huh...

I finish what I'm writing, then tap a pen against the turntable.

Sweetie Belle continues humming. Dusting. Humming. Dusting.

I roll my shaded eyes. Clenching my jaw, I tap the pen harder... harder.

Crimson claps swim towards her in waves. At last, the filly stops in her tracks, turning towards me with a bright-eyed gaze.

"Oh! Uhm..." Sweetie Belle smiles sheepishly, suffering the faint fringes of a blush. "I hope you don't mind the... uh... tail-work." She points at her dust-laden posterior. "I find that it works a lot better than a normal duster. Plus, something about plucked feathers... sorta weirds me out." She briefly cringes. "D-don't tell Scootaloo."

I shrug, then waved the pad of paper around.

"Oooh!" A sapphire squeak, and she waddles towards me. "She speaks!" A giggle. "Er... well, you know what I mean, Miss Scratch." Clearing her throat, she stands on her hind legs and leans against the turntable like a happy feline. "What's up?"

I float the pad towards her.

She squints, cocking her head to the left, then to the right. "Huh... well..." She looks at me. "I guess I could stop dusting for a bit. Even though I'm not finished. But..." She smiles sheepishly. "So long as it's what you asked me to do, then Rarity can't possibly get mad at me, can she?"

I smile.

"Hehehe... so what task do you want me to work on next, Miss Scratch?" She shrugs. "Scrub the kitchen floor? Wash the dishes? Cook you another sandwich?"

I cringe.

"I actually kinda like doing housework, strangely enough. Makes me feel... accomplished. Almost like it's my... my..." Her pupils shrink. She suddenly looks at her flank, then frowns at the blankness. "Eh... never mind. Housework's still boring. Still!" Her voice cracks as she smiles nervously at me. "What would you like me to do?"

I'm already writing, scribbling, sketching.

With a calm breath, I raise the pad up to her so she can read it.

"Oh! Sure!" Sweetie Belle nods, nods, nods. "Just lemme get washed up! I do my best singing after a good hoof-scrubbing. Heeheehee—" Her eyes cross. "Wait, huh?" She squeaks again, blinking curiously at me. "That... th-that's not housework! That's... that's..."

I stare at her.

She stares back, and her face lights up. "That's totally cool!" A blue beam cracks out of her lungs, and she stifles a giggle. "Heehee—ahem... but..." She squints. "Seriously, though. Singing? How's that gonna help you? How's that gonna help anypony?"

I write on the pad, then hold it to her again.

She stares at it. She blushes. "No..." She looks at me, smirks. "Noooooo..." A half-giggle. "For real?" She holds a hoof over her fluffy chest. "Me?"

I nod.

"Eh... I dunno. I just enjoy singing." She shrugs. "Scootaloo says that you can't always be talented at what you enjoy doing. In some ways, that makes sense. But, then again, another part of me thinks that she's only saying that because she can't... she can't..." A grimace. "Well, you know."

I write some more and hold the pad up.

"Uhhhh... sure! I mean... if you think it'll help you get the creative juices flowing!" Sweetie shrugs again. "I mean... I-I don't know much about music, I swear. I just like singing, y'know?"

I write another line then hold it towards her.

She stares... blinks... then smiles. "Heheh... well... that's one nifty way of looking at it. Thanks, Miss Scratch."

I nod.

"So... uh..." She fidgets. Awkwardly. Cutely. "What first?"

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