Unconventional Intoxication
“Octavia! Symphonic Keys! What’s up?”
The blaring voice of the DJ causes you attention to slip, making the keyboard cover you had been levitating crash down with a loud clack. The ponies around you wince at the noise, and you glance in their general direction, hoping that you look apologetic. “Hello, Vinyl,” you say wearily.
“Is it too much to ask for you to confront us after we get backstage?” Octavia asks pointedly. She’s fastening the clasps on her cello case, making sure that the velvet lining on the interior isn’t escaping at the edges. She locates a black corner of fabric, and pokes it back inside before clipping the last metal clasp in place.
The ever-eccentric Vinyl slides onto the piano bench beside you, her faintly lemon-scented mane whipping your face. “Sorry, Tavi, but I just can’t wait that long. I sat through that four-year-long symphony for you—I can’t be expected to sit still for another half hour while you pack up.”
“You actually stayed here for the entire time?” you ask incredulously.
Octavia points at the pair of headphones dangling around Vinyl’s neck. “I suspect that those helped you cope with the boredom.”
Vinyl looks down at the offending contraption and smiles sheepishly. “Heh . . . Maybe a little. But that’s not the point. I was here for moral support, wasn’t I?”
“You sure were, Vinyl,” says a passing Royal Riff, who is supporting a music stand and a violin case on his back. “Here in the physical aspect, but your mind was lost in the world of electronica.”
Vinyl waves an errant hoof, batting Royal Riff’s comment away like a persistent fly. “Funny you should mention that though, Riffs. I’m making an appearance at one of the ‘classier’ clubs tonight, so I thought you might want to tag along . . . Keys and Octavia are welcome too, if you want.”
Royal Riff slides the stand off his back, sliding it neatly into place with the others, lined up against the stage wall. “You seem to have forgotten that the last time you took me out, it tarnished my view of the night life. It is far too soon for me to be forgetting that grudge.”
“Naw, man. It’s cool. This place rarely is has any bar fights.” Vinyl puts a fair amount of stress on the word. “I mean, it’s been at least a month since anypony was hospitalized.” When she sees the look on Royal Riff’s face, and realizes that the assurance has done little to boost the violinist’s motivation, she adds, “But it was only a minor leg fracture. Seriously, it was just some idiot who got a little too hammered and tried to dance on three tables at once. It didn’t work out so well.”
“Is that so?” says Royal Riff grimly.
“I don’t know, Riffs.” You nudge Vinyl off the bench so you can slide it under the piano. “That sounds pretty promising.”
“See?” Vinyl jabs a hoof at you triumphantly. “This kid knows what I’m saying!”
“Symphonic, you and Octavia are at perfect liberty to accompany this maniac to that rave, but I will have nothing to do with it,” says Royal Riff, with a firm sense of finality.
“Fine, Riffs. I see how it is.” Vinyl jerks her head to the side briefly, suggesting that she had just winked at Royal Riff, who shakes his head in exasperation. “But what say you, Keys? Octavia? C’mon, help me out here.”
Octavia stands up, satisfied that her cello is sufficiently secured in its case. “I’m a little reluctant as well, but I would accompany you nonetheless. I have a free night, and I might as well get my . . . dosage . . . of electronic music.”
“Excellent!” Vinyl ignores Octavia’s implication of the DJ’s style of music being akin to unpleasant medication. “Keys?”
Whatever reservations you had possessed before Octavia had volunteered are now nonexistent. There isn’t a question of whether or not you’d deny Vinyl’s offer. “Why not?” you say casually, not alluding to the fact that your heart rate has crept up from your slow resting pace to a frequency that would be associated with running a mareathon. The prospect of spending the night with Octavia has made you more than a little excited. “Might as well,” you echo the cellist.
“Righty, then! Let’s get a move on!”
****
“Alright!” Vinyl crows, throwing both forelegs around you and Octavia, and you wince as your heads are banged together. “Trust me, guys, this’ll be the best night of your life!”
“Famous last words,” Octavia mutters darkly.
“You’re a funny mare, Tavi.”
The three of you stand in front of the mass of neon lighting marking the entrance to Vinyl’s preferred club, watching the steady stream of ponies coming in and out. Oddly, the building doesn’t seem to have a name—the swirls of violently turquoise light don’t form any type of comprehendible written language—but Vinyl had assured you that it’s called “The Lunar Princess.”
“It was named after Princess Luna,” Vinyl had explained. “Back when she was Nightmare Moon and all, and wasn’t around to complain about it.”
Present Vinyl drags both you and the cellist along with her, none too gently. “Now, you two should be just fine. There are just a few things to remember: keep an eye on your drink at all times, and if you see a suspicious-looking puddle on the floor, don’t touch it.”
As you draw closer, the pounding of a dubstep beat begins to reach your ears. It’s too far to make out the synthesizers and electronically-tuned vocals, but it’s enough to give you the gist of what you’re in for. You swallow.
A muscular grey stallion with a baby blue mane guards the double doors, his nose in the air. He sports an air of superiority about him, as if used to being in a position of power.
“Twilight Sky!” Vinyl calls jovially. “What’ll it take to get you to let my sidekicks in?”
The bouncer, Twilight Sky, blinks, his eyes sliding into focus. It takes a second for him to locate where the DJ’s voice is coming from, but once he’s found her, a wide grin breaks across his face. “Vinyl Scratch! It’s been a while, dude.”
“Too long, mate. I’ve been crazy busy lately, and I haven’t been part of the night life since forever ago. This is a good place to get back into it, eh?”
“You said it, Scratch. Who’re the buddies?” Twilight Sky’s gaze drops from Vinyl’s face to the two ponies she’s holding in a practical double headlock. You try to smile politely when his eyes falls to your face, but it probably turns out as more of a cringe.
“Symphonic Keys.” Vinyl jostles you a little to indicate that she’s referring to you. “And Octavia.” The cellist receives a similar treatment. “Can I sneak ‘em in?”
Twilight Sky sighs deeply. “I guess, Scratch, but don’t go spreading around the fact that I went easy on you. I’ve got a reputation, you know.” The bouncer steps aside, surreptitiously surveying the surrounding area. Making sure that nopony had noticed his lapse in stringency.
“You’re the best, Sky.” Vinyl releases you and Octavia—you both clutch at your throats, gasping for air. A little more dramatized than necessary, but since Vinyl’s watching, you want to get your point across that your experience so far has been altogether unpleasant. The DJ ignores your retching and trots up to Twilight Sky, an odd smile forming on her lips. Next to you, Octavia’s jaw drops as Vinyl boosts herself up on her hind legs and plants a kiss on Twilight Sky’s cinereal cheek.
The bouncer’s complexion reddens significantly, tarnishing his image as the stoic warrior of the night club. His jaw locks, his teeth clenched, eyes wide and staring. Vinyl trembles as she holds back her laughter, beckoning for you and Octavia to get a move on.
As you near the doors, the music quickly gets more defined—now you can make out traces of lyrics, but cannot interpret them as actual words. The blaring buzz of the synthesizers grates against your ears even out here, and you shudder to imagine what the sound would be like inside the confined building—with terrible acoustics, no doubt.
Once you’re past the doors, and they’re securely closed behind you, Octavia turns on Vinyl, her face incredulous and impressed. “What in the name of the Solar Princess was that about?”
“What?” asks a surprised Vinyl. Her violaceous gaze falls on the cellist.
“You just kissed the bouncer to convince him to let us in.”
“Crazy talk, Tavi. He was already cool with it. I just gave ‘im a little thank-you gift. Me and Twilight Sky go way back, it’s cool.”
“You’re not . . . going out, or anything?” Octavia says tentatively.
“Naw, nothing official. Just a friendly peck, y’know? Why the sudden interest, Tavi?” A curious grin breaks across the DJ’s face.
Octavia’s face assumes a delicate shade of pink at the question. “Just trying to keep up to speed with your social life, as difficult to follow as it is.”
“Darlin’, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I won’t even ask what that is supposed to imply.”
“Probably best if you didn’t.”
Your trio emerges from the short hallway leading to the main thoroughfare that is The Lunar Princess, and is immediately assaulted by the full power of unobstructed dubstep.
Your entire being trembles at the sheer force of the bass slamming into you in rhythmic waves. Your teeth are set on edge, grinding against each other with every pulse. And as fate would have it, traces of a headache begin to form at the base of your skull; not a good start to the night. Hopefully, the discomfort will only be temporary, and not escalate into a full-blown migraine.
The room is a labyrinth of multicolored lasers and white pinpricks of light thrown off by a slowly-revolving disco ball. Puddles of prismatic glow congeal on the floor, deliberately patrolling across the dancefloor, which is occupied by a good dozen ponies in varying states of intoxication. It’s remarkably easy to determine which ones who had been at the bar for the longest.
The vast majority of the patrons, however, are not participating in animalistic gyrations to accompany the music. Ponies are scattered about the room, sitting at the small circular tables or making casual conversation with their fellow club-goers. All in all, more polite—more civilized—than you had expected them to be, and this realization helps to improve your outlook on the night.
Up on an elevated platform, a light blue pony with reflective black shades and a spiky onyx mane bobs his head in time to the pounding beat, his hooves a blur over the turntable, flipping switches and prodding sliders.
“Now, my loyal companions, watch your buddy in action.” Vinyl rolls her neck, eliciting several audible pops. Octavia winces at the noise. “Let’s command this club.”
Vinyl breaks into a run, mounting the stage and playfully shoving the DJ out of the way, relieving him of his headphones and shoving them over her own ears. She triumphantly thrusts a hoof into the air to deafening cheering. The other DJ pushes his face close enough to the microphone to shout, “Fillies and gentlcolts! DJ . . .” He leaves the J hanging longer than necessary, for dramatic effect. “PON3!” he finishes victoriously.
The resulting scream from the dancers is enough to blow out your eardrums. You give a slight, imperceptible gasp at the sudden shock.
“Are you okay?” Octavia inquires loudly.
“Did you . . . hear that?”
“That undignified explosion of noise? Or your little outlet of pain?”
“Uh, the latter.”
“Apparently so. Going back to my previous question, though: are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just surprised, that’s all. But my question is how could you possibly hear that? I’ve noticed lately that you have an . . . advanced sense of hearing.”
Octavia smiles proudly. “There is a beauty in silence. Any disturbances thereof, I have a knack for picking up and identifying.”
“Octavia, this is by no means silence.” You gesture widely around the room at the writhing dancers and throbbing music.
“Perhaps not, but after a time, I was able to train myself to split the noises in an area into defined layers. A method of organization, you see? If there is an irregularity, or a sound that is not a part of any of my designated layers, it is remarkably easy to pinpoint and locate. Your intonation was not consistent with anything else in this room, so it was a beacon.” Octavia laughs breathlessly. “Does that make sense? Or do I just sound insane?”
Your eyes are wide from that revelation. You had always assumed that the cellist just has naturally advanced hearing, but you had no idea that she had developed such a sophisticated system for understanding her surroundings. “No, that’s actually very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve actually done something similar, but not with sound. I organize my thoughts into planes of consciousness, keeping my mind focused on one thing, but my subconscious is left to attend to less important tasks. It makes multitasking much easier.”
Your heart skips a beat. The words had started to come with little to no warning from your layered mind. You’ve never told anypony about your mental processes, and the thrill of finally letting your “secret” out is exhilarating.
Octavia looks interested. “How so?”
You rack your mind for an example. “Er, for instance . . .” You clear your throat. “The piano,” you decide. “When another unicorn musician plays, he focuses on one note, or one chord, at a time, because his mind is used to only used to managing a single task. But when I play . . .” You pause uncomfortably. Your explanation is verging on being boastful. Octavia looks at you expectantly, and you continue. “I command the entire keyboard at once. Each plane of mind is concentrating on one octave, and it makes it easier to transition. It just gives it a bit more of a flow.”
Octavia moves closer to you. “So the secrets of our mysterious pianist are finally revealed. That is truly impressive, Symphonic.”
You like the sound of your name coming from Octavia. Her voice carries a sweet innocence, and the annunciation of the single word is heart-melting. You smile sappily, too happy to care about the image you’re setting.
“Octavia?” Something from a previous conversation comes back to you. “Why did you care about Vinyl kissing Twilight Sky so much?”
Octavia doesn’t bother protesting that she had already answered that, because you both know that she hadn’t been entirely truthful. “About that . . .”
“Yes?”
“I was sincerely hoping that Vinyl was dating him, because I’ve never seen her in a relationship, and I was hoping if she was seeing somepony, just maybe I could pick up . . . some . . . advice.” Octavia trails off, having said more than she had intended to. The run-on sentence had run on farther than she had expected.
Your mind is instantly left to contemplate the possibilities of the meaning of her accidental admission. Not your immediate consciousness, of course—your surface thoughts are completely and blissfully blank. Only your subconsciousness is active enough to consider anything.
Octavia leans into you. You look over to find her face screwed up in pain, her teeth clenched. You hold her in your forelegs, tighter than necessary. “Okay, now are you okay?”
Octavia forces out a grunt. “Headache.”
“How bad?” Probably not the most educated question to ask, but you’re no doctor.
“Uh . . .” Octavia blinks, her eyes squinted tightly. “Bad. Very bad.”
You look up at the sound board, where Vinyl is commanding the crowd with effortless ease. “I don’t think Vinyl will mind if we back out a little early. You should get home.”
“No,” Octavia mutters. “You stay here. Don’t want you to . . . leave on my account.”
“Not a chance. You won’t make it back to your apartment in this state. I’m coming with you. Anyway . . .” You smile weakly. “I’ve had about enough of this madness.”
You lead Octavia outside, despite her quiet protests. Twilight Sky glances at you curiously, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. The weakened cellist has given up trying to talk you out of accompanying her. She gestures to your right. “That way.”
“No, it’ll take too long. And honestly, I’m a little scared of Canterlot at night, now.”
“Understandable,” Octavia mutters.
“We’re taking a shortcut. Brace yourself, this might be uncomfortable.”
A quick prompt of elation. A white flash. A few seconds of weightlessness.
You land heavily in front of Octavia’s door.
Octavia nearly tumbles onto the ground. “You weren’t exaggerating.”
“Sorry. I’m still working out the kinks.”
Octavia opens her door, fumbling with her doorknob. As soon as she has managed to push it open, she promptly falls face-first on the floor. She tries to push herself up with trembling forelegs, and only manages to slam herself on the tile again. You bend down to help her, and she accepts gratefully.
“How are you doing?” you whisper.
“Not better . . . little . . . worse. Since when . . . did you have a . . . twin?”
You blink. Not good.
“I think you should get to bed, Octavia.”
“Yes . . . bed. Bed is . . . desirable.”
It seems like your teleportation had accidentally induced some minor delusions. Coupled with your exhaustion, the jaunt could have been flawed enough to send Octavia even farther along her waterfall of pain.
You lead the magically-intoxicated cellist into her bedroom, where she blissfully collapses onto the bedclothes. Your horn lights to surround the blankets and sheets, gently tugging them out from under Octavia. You float the heavy coverings over her, tucking her in tightly, as you remember your own mother doing so long ago.
The cellist’s eyes are closed, and her breathing is steady. You turn to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go.”
Octavia’s bleary gaze is fixed on you. “Stay here.”
You cautiously climb into the bed next to her, moving as close as possible to her. Octavia carefully extracts one of her forehooves out from underneath the covers and wraps it around your neck. “Stay with me,” she whispers. Her eyes close once more, and her breathing instantly falls into the rhythmic pattern of a pony deep in slumber.
“I will,” you answer. The cellist does not respond, but traces of a contented smile play about her lips.
(Pic from BauledaireGaudi from DeviantArt)
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No music for this one, but if you have a suggestion, I'd gladly incorporate it into the context. I'm just not educated enough in the realm of electronica. Thanks all!
A picture...?!
This supports my theory that there is no such thing as a night when "nothing" happens.
Good job, mate. This story is going quite well!
And you don't necessarily need music to make this good! It's already awesome!
AFTER READING DESCRIPTION...
It sounds almost like Guitar Hero 3...
DON'T SIGN THE CONTRACT WITH LOU!!!
Can't wait for the next chapter when one of them wakes up
1249129
Oh dear.
I haven't thought about that yet.
. . . This should be interesting.
That is adorable, CAN'T WAIT FOR MOAR!s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/please-sir-can-i-have-some-moar.jpg
I have just sat here and read all 25 chapters in one go. Damn you have captivated me in a way so few have done before. Keep it up.
Woo fuck yea i cant wait for the next chapter
1250356
In one sitting?
Man, you've got some determination.
I'm glad you're having a good time! Cheers!
Saw this in the featured box earlier and I am glad I did, it has been quite good so far.
You just got bumped to my #2 most anticipated upcoming chapter. I can't wait to see how they handle themselves in the morning!
Can't really classify this as dubstep, but this song came to mind after the chapter (Forumfield 3 is actually good for something
)
1249350
"I swear! We didn't do anything! You only asked me to stay!"
...
"But you were pretty stone-"
*hoofslap*
1250356
You mean I'm not the only one who reads all the way through stories? I'm not alone :D
1256585
I know, but I'm sure with all that raw talent you've got going on, you might be able to manage!
1256649
Oh, you . . .
Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy!
1252263
Just out of curiosity, what's #1?
1256720
"Life and Times of a Winning Pony" by Chengar Qordath. Probably my favorite ongoing story as of right now. And to further satiate your curiosity, number 3 would happen to be "University Days."
1247973
This one might be appropriate, considering the title
I'm sorry i couldnt find any heavy bassdrop dubstep with synthesized vocals so this will have to do
My heart just stoped for about 10 minutes when i saw that picture.
hehe i showed that picture to my brother and even he was like Dwaaaa.
I think I'm close to shedding manly tears of joy and pure adorableness over that picture
man this is like the third story i'v read through thats moar than 30 chapters need to stop and eat
GOOD STORY BRAW
must...not...break...manly...shell...HNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I got two suggestions for ya music-wise.
Have some music by the official Vinyl Scratch herself:
Or one of my personal favorite dubstep songs ever by Skrillex:
Both will cause intense headbobbing and are really catchy in their rhythms and melodies. :)
“Naw, man. It’s cool. This place rarely is has any bar fights.”
uhh...What?
rarely has?
Oh gawd that picture shattered my shell of manlyness...
HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG MUST HUG HARD!
//glomps and squees
Awesome! HNNG