Cinéma Vérité

by MrNumbers

First Reel

Manehattan was built like a termite’s nest. It bored deep foundations to build itself tall, growing higher even as its tunnels wove deep into the earth. And at every point of its cross section it was alive and swarming, thousands of ponies who might never see each other, or ever move at ground level.

Even before Nightmare Moon took over, Manehattan had ponies that never saw natural light, and didn’t know to mourn its passing.

Why would eternal night bother it? It always was the city that never slept.

Octavia fiddled through her red satin waistcoat pockets for the keys, the keys, the — yes, yes, that pocket. Those keys, the gold ones. The security grating clattered and rattled open. Another key in another lock, and the metal doors to the club opened too. She locked that one behind her. Opening hours weren’t for a while yet.

The lights flicked on. The bar was well stocked, and clean. Good. The pit was ready, and the instruments were set aside for tonight’s performers. Fine. She tested the strings to make sure they were in tune... They were. Good.

Was she fussing because she was procrastinating, or because of her perfectionism? It didn’t matter either way, it was just difficult to tell them apart some nights.

She patted herself down again, key, the key... yes. The inner pocket. The rusty key. She kicked the rug away, twisted the key in the hidden panel, and looked down the staircase.

The light was still on. Vinyl hadn’t left.

Octavia groaned, and closed the hatch after herself.

The projector was left out, but there was no film in it. Vinyl at least listened to warnings about fire hazards, even if she thought they were a waste of time. Both of them just wanted that one thing less for Octavia to stress about. She hadn’t dusted out the pews, though, and the lack of ventilation made that a risk with all the hot equipment around. It was hard to find a solution that didn’t compromise the soundproofing.

The projectionist’s booth was closed. Every few seconds there was the sound of gliding metal, then the dull-stapler sound of film being spliced together.

Octavia rapped on the door. Vinyl opened it, her bright blue hair stuck to the side of her face, it had been so long since she’d washed it. Octavia leaned against the inside of the doorway, as Vinyl dragged herself back into her chair to stare at the reels of film in front of her.

At least she had the courtesy to leave her headphones off this time.

“Did you sleep?”

Vinyl shook her head.

“Eaten anything?”

Vinyl gestured at three empty tubs of instant noodles. She’d taken the vegetable packets out, lest she accidentally get some vitamins in her.

“I’m going to ask if you’re hydrated, and if you point to those energy drink cans I’m going to kick you.”

Vinyl stopped in the middle of pointing, and diplomatically shook her head.

Octavia took a step out of the doorway and ushered Vinyl out. “Well, guess who’s done for the night.”

Vinyl winced hard enough that Octavia could see it around her glasses.

“Don’t give me that. Someone has to care about you, since you’re determined not to.” Octavia pointed out the door again, as Vinyl hesitated. “Besides,” she said, “You make silly mistakes when you work like this, and it just takes longer to fix, doesn’t it?”

Vinyl grumbled and looked away. Octavia smiled.

You couldn’t reason with Vinyl – you just had to speak her language. Appealing to her sense of hygiene, sanity, reason? Would never, could never work. Appealing to her work standards? She might as well have held a sword to Vinyl’s throat.

It was easy, as long as you understood her.

Vinyl picked up a reel she’d been working on from under the table, and held it up to Octavia hopefully.

“When you’ve slept.” Octavia was trying to be stern, even though she was still smiling. “If you make me watch it now, I will be absolutely expressionless, and give you no feedback whatsoever.”

Vinyl winced again.

“I might even just say ‘it’s fine’.”

Vinyl hurried to pack everything up, making a big show of it. She grumbled, but the battle was over. Nothing to be gained in being a sore loser. She cleaned up her work station, hung her strips in order, and turned off whatever small devices had been filling the room with those tiny hums and whines.

Octavia watched quietly. She could see the tiredness catch up to Vinyl as soon as she was given permission to stop working. Vinyl’s drive terrified her, but it always made her a little jealous, too. “You’re close, aren’t you? You always get like this when you’re close.”

Vinyl double-checked everything was in its proper place, nodding as she checked the labels.

“Should I arrange for the showing on Friday?”

Vinyl looked up at her and bit the inside of her cheek, tapping a hoof impatiently. She was wondering how much she could press her luck.

Octavia stared her down, before Vinyl got any ideas about puppy-dog looks. “Any sooner and I won’t have time to organize an audience. At least, not safely.” Vinyl rolled her eyes and threw her head back with a groan. “You’re really proud of this one, then?”

Vinyl nodded again, determined. Whatever it was, it was her first full length film. Normally her work was short and punchy, just the relevant bits of source material artfully arranged. This time, though, she’d taken a savage knife to dozens of movies and sources... Octavia had never seen her like this.

Vinyl also didn’t care for buildup. She treated her projects like exorcisms, a burden to be released upon an audience. She wasn’t doing it for the appeal, the fame. She just needed witnesses.

Octavia, however, needed her to help make rent. The ever-uneasy compromise an artist has to make with their producer.

She looked up, and growled. “Did you unplug the buzzer?”

Vinyl frowned. Then she scrambled into a panic, unplugging a projector, putting the buzzer back in.

“You didn’t do it on purpose?”

Vinyl was already rustling through drawers around the room, looking for... coloured tape? She wrapped the ends of the cords in different colours, so she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Octavia was just relieved it wasn’t going to be another fight, like the fire codes. “I was worried you didn’t take it seriously.”

Vinyl shook her head hard. No, of course she took this seriously. She was just absent-minded when she got into the zone. They both knew that.

“I’m still looking into finding escape routes from here, but it’s been quite the conundrum without getting the sublevel back on the blueprints,” Octavia started picking up empty drinks cans and putting them in the wastebin. “But for now, I need to know you’ll at least do what you can. Lock the hatch and hide. Alright?”

Another emphatic nod.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to mother you. I just—”

Vinyl waved it off, then jumped up and wrapped Octavia in a squeezing hug. Octavia hugged back, with a wince.

“You know I love you, but please, add a shower to the list?”

Vinyl grimaced, and gestured out of the studio.

“You can. I just got up. I’m preparing the venue. I’ll see you after hours?”

Vinyl nodded, and pointed at the ground. She had a grin, the grin she always had when she’d made a plan and committed to it. Octavia couldn’t tell if she found it attractive, or just worrying. The line always did blur, for her...

“Meet back here, then?

A precise nod.

“Alright. I can do that. I’ll leave the front unlocked for you.”

Another tight hug, then Vinyl bounced off, sniffed her pits and winced. A queasier smile at Octavia, and then she ran for the stairs, which she climbed three at a time. She’d sleep like the dead, tonight.

Whatever ‘tonight’ meant now.

Octavia turned the lights off behind her as she went up.

---

The band was in full swing. They weren’t as good as the ponies she’d worked with in Canterlot, but that meant they were also cheaper, and cheaper meant you could bring in more of them. There was just something about a big band that made for a proper nightclub, especially one with a lot of brass.

Some nights Octavia would have singers on, others not. Some nights she’d sing herself, or even play solo, if she were feeling up to it. She kept those nights few and fleeting, though. As much as she still loved to perform, she was a manager, not a musician.

Any night she headlined, she sold out, and wasn’t there to help work the bar, or play hostess, or help take the door price.

Her club was named the Mise-en-Scène, and it tried to appeal to a very specific audience: the Manehattan movie crowd. The brightly lit floor and tables around the center were for the below-the-line crew, the cameramen and boom mic holders, the clappers and the lifters.

It was the writers who amused Octavia the most. They only came in to mingle for as long as they could handle their anxieties, then one of them bought a crate of wine and they all scarpered to the nearby park. A sorry, ragtag bunch of good-for-nothing miscreants, every single one of them.

What a pity they never stayed longer.

Of course, they weren’t the only customers Octavia was fond of. There were others she went looking for whenever she had a free moment. She knew the favourite drink of more than a few famous actors and directors, and made a habit of remembering which ones were the most fun to talk to.

Speaking of: Cherry Twist had the bar handled, and Delta seemed to be handling the door. Octavia was free to play hostess for a while.

She made her way to the above-the-line booths, to see what she couldn’t overhear. She signalled to the band to segue into a lower, jazzier number, something that wouldn’t cut over conversation so much.

“Photo Finish?” Photo Finish had been a big fan of Vinyl’s since the beginning. She’d had trouble with a boom pole being in-frame for a scene they could only shoot once. Vinyl had figured out how to edit it out without cropping the shot. Octavia hadn’t understood it, but Photo Finish had been amazed.

She was a good friend, and a good customer.

“Dahlink! How wonderful to see you. We just wrapped.”

Octavia smiled and looked around. “I thought I smelled a wrap party. They’re drinking more than usual.”

“They work hard, they play hard, da?” Photo Finish sighed, and swirled a straw morosely in her very tall drink. “Work, work, work.”

“If you do it masterfully enough, it becomes art again.”

Photo Finish’s voice went sing-song, and she grumpily smiled. “You tell yourself zat?”

Octavia nodded.

“You believe it?”

Octavia shrugged. “I have to, don’t I?”

Photo Finish snorted a laugh, and sipped her drink. “Your friend though. Vinyl. How is she?”

Octavia smiled, and made a point of looking over her shoulder. “You only ever ask when you have a present for her.”

Photo Finish shifted her glasses so they covered her eyes better. “You see through me so easy? Ah, well. I’ll leave it on my seat when I go. When is our next... Ausstellung?”

“Friday.” Photo Finish shuffled up straighter, her ears pricking right up. She’d have to remember to tell Vinyl that later. “Apparently this one’s going to be very special. I’ve never seen Vinyl get like this before.” She baited the hook a little more, just to give Vinyl the better story.

Photo Finish’s eyes lit up, even behind her sunglasses. What was it with Octavia and girls who wore sunglasses indoors...? “Then allow me to be in charge of audience, meine frau. It shall be perfect.”

Octavia squirmed, looking to the other tables. She’d spent too much time here, now. “I was thinking the usual crowd.” The safe crowd, she meant, but you learn politeness when you run a nightclub. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Would that satisfy Vinyl, though?” Photo Finish smiled with her teeth. “Never.”

Octavia knew she just got played like a fiddle, and the worst part was that knowing that didn’t change it. “You have to vet them, then, if you’re bringing new people,” she said, frowning. “Personally. Every single one.”

Photo Finish’s snarl became an easy smile. “But of course!” she said. “Though I must say, they are... how do I say this? Ponies who would have a lot to lose if they trusted... poorly.”

“You can’t mean...?” Octavia hissed, and Photo Finish nodded enthusiastically. “No. Too dangerous.”

“And just who do you think your wife’s biggest fans are?” Photo Finish laughed. “The frau makes political movies. She attracts... political ponies.”

Octavia twisted her head. Ponies were starting to pay attention to what she was doing, she was lingering far too long. She had to make a decision and move, now. “Alright. As long as it’s perfect.”

“Wunderbah.” Photo Finish clapped her hooves in delight. “Now, go. Go! Do your things. Ta ta.”

As Octavia walked away from the table, the brass section crashed their way into the next number, and her lingering was immediately forgotten, unnoticed again.

Her singer for the evening was a unicorn named Ebon. She was older than Octavia, and had practiced her whole life, but never got her break. Never been taken seriously enough to quit smoking. Now, though... she was silky black like an alleycat, her voice layered and rich.

Tonight would be her first paid work.

Octavia paused from her mingling, and lingered at the edge of the raised section to hear those first few notes. She always looked out for the hungry ones.

Ebon didn’t so much as sing as breathed the notes, letting the words roll around her chest, and out like plumes of so much smoke.

“How lucky can one gal be?
I kissed him and he kissed me...”

She’ll only sing like this again once, Octavia thought to herself as she moved back towards the guests, and it will be when she sings for the last time.

Ebon had a future here, though.

---

The instruments were cleaned and back in their cases. The money counted and in the safe. The last of the drunks sent to the park to chase the writers away.

Of course Photo Finish had stayed behind, sipping her last drink at the bar. At first it had looked like she was going to leave with the rest, she’d walked out the door and everything—just to come back right after. She’d ‘forgotten her bag’.

To her credit, she really had left her bag behind. Octavia had already taken the canister in it and dropped it down to the basement. It was just supposed to be understood she wouldn’t come back for it until tomorrow.

Octavia grit her teeth, wiping off the glasses. “What if anyone asks questions?”

Photo Finish laughed dismissively, waving the question out of the air with a hoof like it was a bad smell. “You worry so much. There is nothing suspicious about this. But Vinyl! Ah! You keep her all to yourself. I must see the star.”

“She’ll be here soon. She always is.”

“The look on her face when she sees this one. I must have it.”

Octavia bit her tongue before she could say anything. She couldn’t kick Photo Finish out, not really. She was wonderful on her own, but she and Vinyl were terrible influences on each other. But Vinyl did love to be recognized by an... equal? They did entirely different things, but it was rare to find someone who not only appreciated what Vinyl did, but understood it, too. Octavia could admire the end results, but she never knew the right questions to ask.

Photo Finish looked over towards the front door and beamed. “Ah! Her ears must have been burning. Vinyl, my star, we were just talking about you!”

Vinyl waved from the door, rested and freshly showered. Octavia could tell, because she hadn’t bothered to dry her hair before coming over.

She blinked, and Photo Finish was wrapped around Vinyl in a hug, one kiss on each cheek. “There you are! Oh, how long has it been?”

Vinyl shrugged, and blushed a little bit.

“Ah, no guilt, though. You have been busy. I have heard, ja?”

Vinyl nodded, and hugged Photo Finish back. Photo Finish jumped again, grabbed the film canister from behind the bar, and was back at Vinyl’s side again faster than Octavia could turn her head.

“I have this for you. A review copy, for the censors. How clumsy they are, to lose such things, ah! Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy. You won’t lose this, will you?”

Vinyl grinned and shook her head, then snapped off a sharp salute.

“What is it?” Octavia asked. Vinyl looked curiously at it, gingerly pulling the celluloid out and holding it to the light.

Photo FInish smiled wolfishly. “Oh, this little thing? I was made a producer for the newsreels our Princess does love. All of that is the raw footage for this week... before it is censored. Tsk, I wonder what is in there that they would cut out?”

Vinyl gaped.

Octavia stared at it. “Usually, what you bring for us is merely treason. This might finally bring us up to high treason.”

“Oh, verehrte Dame, I would not worry.” Photo Finish waved it off, “They would not execute you without a trial!”

Vinyl snorted laughter. Octavia felt her stomach drop through the floorboards and flop about in the basement.

Photo Finish laughed. “I trade you. This, and you make my friends very pleased with your next showing, yes? Your best work.”

Vinyl snapped off a smart salute.

“That is all. I will leave you two alone now. Yes?” Photo Finish tilted her head and smiled, but then it was all business again. “I just wanted to see the look on my star’s face. Now! I go.”

Then she was gone, leaving them alone with it.

Vinyl held the film reel to her chest and bounced up and down. She sniffed, and rubbed at her eyes underneath her glasses.

Octavia wanted to burn it, right here and now. But she couldn’t do that to Vinyl—even if it might have been the sensible thing to do.

“Get it into the basement,” Octavia said, poking Vinyl in the chest “There’s some loose bricks in the back wall. Wrap it in some of the drop cloth we have down there, and hide it behind them. Everything you make with it, if you’re not in the basement, brick up. Even if it’s just for five minutes. Yes?”

Vinyl had an amazing talent. You could tell she was rolling her eyes even when she was wearing sunglasses. But still, she nodded, and no matter how exasperated she was, she always did it.

Octavia still worried, but Vinyl always did it for her.

Vinyl went downstairs. Octavia stood at the bar for one last cleanup before heading out. When she looked up from cleaning a glass that Cherry Twist hadn’t quite managed to get spotless, Vinyl was waiting for her.

“What?”

Vinyl gestured down the hatch so hard she lost her balance doing it.

Octavia put the glass down and followed after her.

“Is this a draft for the new thing?”

Vinyl said nothing. Right, silly question. She was going to be finishing that now, and she never showed anything that wasn’t ‘finished’ in some way.

Octavia just wanted to go home after a long shift, but she didn’t say that. They already didn’t have enough time together, recently. They’d both been working too hard. Just being in the same building wasn’t enough.

Vinyl pulled a couch out from the side, dusted it off, and set up a projector behind it. The film she put in had a masking tape label where, instead of a name, there was a doodle of Vinyl with a hoof to her lips, hushing the reader. Secret, then.

But everything down here was secret...?

Vinyl nudged her and pointed at the screen, then snuck both her arms around her neck and pulled her close.

The movie started, and Octavia gasped. It was their wedding.

Their wedding hadn’t been filmed.

Vinyl had taken all the photos and made them move somehow. Added a -- what did she call it? — parallax effect to make them three dimensional. The foreground moved differently to the background, so it was like a camera was panning through the shots...

She’d even found a recording of her old band to play over it.

It was a proper movie. They could never go back in time with the cameras they had now and filmed it, but Vinyl had done everything she could to add motion to the still pictures themselves, and gliding between them. Octavia had never seen anything like it before.

Octavia wiped her eyes against Vinyl’s chest. “How?”

Vinyl grinned and pointed back at the screen.

A good shot of Octavia’s wedding dress, of Vinyl’s tuxedo. She looked so good in it, and without the sunglasses. You could see her eyes so clearly in this one.

Their vows.

“Yes, yes,” Octavia muttered as she pressed tighter into Vinyl. “You’re quite the clever one, aren’t you?”

Vinyl kissed her on the top of the head.

The movie cut back to their kiss after Octavia had said their vows. The sunset drew back as they drew closer. They’d both been crying then, too.

Then the film stopped. There was a flutter as the last piece of film pulled through, and the projector switched itself off. They were left in the dark, pressed against each other, in silence.

Octavia’s throat was so tight she could barely whisper. “You are splendid at what you do, you know that?”

Vinyl kissed her cheek.

They’d been too tired after the wedding to do anything. Octavia had even fallen asleep in her wedding dress, eyes closed before she hit the pillow. It’d been a lot like that, recently, keeping everything going so Vinyl could do her work.

Octavia squirmed until she could see Vinyl’s face. “I’m going to bed. Will you be there when I wake up?”

Vinyl smiled, then frowned. Shook her head.

“Friday. Right.” Octavia sighed. “Photo Finish had to go and be her dramatic self... I understand.”

Vinyl looked at her again, and kissed her cheek, kneading her hooves into the hard-rubber muscles in Octavia’s neck. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head. It made for a very sincere apology.

“Well, a break then, after this? I’ll find someone to manage the place for a week.”

Vinyl kissed her again, then paused as Octavia got her breath back. She was counting something in her head. Counting down?

The music changed, from the projector. It was one of her solos.

Vinyl closed her eyes, ignoring the pictures themselves. The pictures of crowds watching her play. But she smiled at them, at the music.

Take the time off, she was saying. But perform if you want to. Octavia nuzzled back into her, and thought: If I’m taking the time off, I’d rather it be just for you. Like this. She didn’t miss the crowds as much as Vinyl did. But that’s why this particular present meant so much to Vinyl, because it was the thing she wanted so much and couldn’t have anymore.

Octavia fell asleep smiling in Vinyl’s lap, as her wife moved on to work the stress out of her shoulders.

---

Octavia woke up, and panicked. She was still on the couch, she never left, nobody had seen her leave. She checked the wall clock hanging from a nail in the exposed wooden beams. She hadn’t slept more than two hours.

Vinyl was quietly shut in her editing room, working. Should she knock to say goodbye? Best not startle her.

She was curious about something though. She checked the brickwork, and the reel that Photo Finish had left was behind it. She didn’t want to mix it into her current project? No last bursts of inspiration from it?

Whatever she’d made must have been quite special, that she wasn’t tempted.

She carefully bricked it back up, looking for some mortar, something that would be easy to knock out later. Not too easily, though. It needed to stand up to a guard tapping it, looking for loose bricks. If they already found their way down here, they’d be curious enough to look.

Hopefully Vinyl wouldn’t be too mad, but Octavia was a bit terrified about how well this showing would go. If there were undercover detectives in the audience, if it were a sting. She was scared enough hosting these when she personally curated the guests... Photo Finish might have less sound judgement.

Octavia went upstairs to the bar’s kitchen, cut up some carrots and got some smoked eggplant dip from the fridge. She dropped it off on a projector table downstairs, drew a big love heart on a piece of paper and taped it to the table’s edge, where Vinyl would see it next time she stopped for a bathroom break... however long that took.

It was better to look thoughtful, than to look like she was just bullying her wife into eating some vegetables before she got rickets.

She left for home, watching to see she wasn’t followed, looking to see nobody noticed how long she’d stayed behind.

She didn’t see anything of the sort. That didn’t mean they weren’t there.

---

Vinyl didn’t come home much that week. The times she did were just to shower and sleep. These times always felt the loneliest, when Vinyl became so focused that she simply didn’t have room in her head to think about her.

It didn’t mean that they loved each other any less. It didn’t mean Vinyl loved her any less. It just meant she was stressed, and it was best to wait until it was out of her system.

When Octavia made it to the security door, she found Ebon waiting in there. There was a cigarette at her lip, burned to the stub, but she didn’t drop it.

“Ebon,” Octavia said, looking at her. “A surprise, but a pleasure to see you.”

Ebon nodded. “I want to perform tonight,” she said. Straight to business.

Octavia paused in reaching for the keys in her vest. “I was going to perform tonight, you realize,” she said.

“You weren’t going to sing, though,” Ebon pointed out, “You were going to play cello.”

“I was,” Octavia nodded, unlocking the door, giving Ebon a curious look, “But I hardly see what the cello has to do with it.”

“Have you ever had a singer with my range for bass notes? A woman, at least.”

A woman? Octavia thought. With a voice like hers? Never. “Not very often,” she said. “You had ideas, I take it? A song already in mind?”

Ebon smiled, and crushed her cigarette between hoof and pavement. The gesture was slow and measured, the controlled movements of someone who’s overthinking every small thing. Someone trying not to tremble with nerves. “Is that presumptuous of me?”

“It is,” Octavia agreed, “But I like that.”

“La Vie En Rose.” The same unsteady steadiness in her voice, “In E minor.”

“Translated?”

This smile from Ebon was more genuine, and just a little smug. Just a little proud. It was a much better look for her. “En français, as intended.”

Octavia kept her expression neutral, “Tu m'impressionnes.” In her heart, though, she had to admit she was a bit excited. Ebon had only sung once, and Octavia used to play for Celestia herself. It was presumptuous to ask to share a headline.

It sounded fun, though. It sounded like exactly what Octavia needed.

“It’s early enough that we have some rehearsal time,” Octavia gestured inside. “Why don’t you warm up, while I prepare the venue.”

Ebon’s knees almost gave out. The tension holding her up had gone. “You mean it?”

“Success is a mountain.” Octavia’s mind went back to sunny Canterlot. “Some at the top like to throw boulders down. Always try to be the one who offers a ladder.”

Ebon was quiet as she followed. Octavia’s ears burned as she realized just how condescending that might have sounded. Or worse, arrogant. She did mean it, though.

Octavia went about her usual routine. Checking the glasses, tuning the instruments, wiping the tables. But this time as she did, she got to listen to the silly sounds singers make when they warm up. The tongue clicks, trying to sing while biting their tongue, the weird gargling and the exercises like you were trying to hack up a furball.

It was impossible to do those exercises with any dignity. If you could do them without looking absurd, you weren’t doing them correctly. Octavia kept to her work, because every time she watched Ebon, the poor woman lit up like an emergency flare.

Musicians could separate themselves from their instruments to tune them. Singers were the instrument. Being seen doing the tuning process was... well, Octavia had practiced long ago, and knew for a fact that she’d never be able to do it in front of anyone, herself.

Most got used to it, over time. Ebon hadn’t had the opportunity.

The interesting thing, though, was—Ebon could have warmed up beforehand, saved herself the embarrassment. She hadn’t, which meant she had expected to be turned away, she’d been certain Octavia would say ‘no’.

She wondered what that meant.

“Would you like to go straight for the main event?” she asked, once Ebon was done warming up. “Or is there something easier to warm up with?”

There was a pause. “The main event,” Ebon said, finally, “Drill it to perfection.”

Being married to Vinyl meant sometimes she forgot the nuances of conversation. “Why the hesitation?” she asked, wincing at Ebon’s reaction. Perhaps a bit too blunt. “You paused there for a moment.”

Ebon stared at the microphone stand, rather than Octavia. “It’s an intimate song. If I play it for a crowd, it’s for them. But if it’s just us...”

She almost laughed, but of course Ebon really was new to all this. Octavia went to her cello, and pulled it from its case. “If you sing it right, everyone in the crowd should feel like you’re singing just for them. It’s good practice.” She played a few notes. Tuned before she’d put it away.

“Like I’m singing just for them?” Ebon repeated to herself. “Not to the crowd, but to every person in it...”

“See if you can hold eye contact with me while you sing,” Octavia added. “It’s going to be mortifying, and you will be very embarrassed, but that’s the difference between a pony who sings, and a performer.” She smiled. “There’s a reason I only play the cello most nights, you know.”

Ebon tried to smile back. “Next you’ll tell me I should be rolling around on the piano, showing my legs off.”

“Why not?” Octavia shrugged. “You have the look and the voice for it. It’d suit you.”

Ebon walked over to the grand piano and ran a hoof across it, like it might bite her, like she’d been given the keys to the kingdom. “I thought they only did that in movies...”

“You can practice that as well, if you want. Feel ridiculous about it now, so you don’t have to later.”

Ebon laughed nervously, looking back at Octavia for the first time. “You’re serious.”

“It was your idea. You had it for a reason, didn’t you?”

Ebon went up to the piano, leaning a hoof onto it, looking terrified she was going to break it. She looked back to Octavia for reassurance, and Octavia just waved her to go ahead. Ebon climbed onto the piano awkwardly, lying across it. She looked down, eyes wide. “This is surprisingly comfortable.”

Her sleek black fur matched the grand piano perfectly. “You look like you were made for that spot.”

Ebon smiled and rolled onto her back, sprawling. “I always did sing better lying down. More support this way.”

Octavia watched, and waited for the novelty to wear off a bit, before she started playing a few scales, getting used to the E minor. Enough to let Ebon remember what she was doing up there in the first place. Vinyl had showed her the theories on what different keys meant. An E minor was ‘effeminate’, and ‘restless’. Like a princess locked in a tower longing for her rescuer and future lover.

The whole thing had read like horoscopes, but some people took it quite seriously... though the same could still be said of horoscopes.

Octavia started at a slow tempo, to suggest a pace. It worked; Ebon closed her eyes and smiled, like she was in a dream. Octavia was good at playing with others, and living with Vinyl had made her pretty good at knowing what others wanted before they got to say it.

Then Ebon started to sing.

“Il me dit des mots d'amour-”

Ebon sang it sultry and seductive, but classy. Younger girls who sang well sounded like bluebirds, to Octavia’s ear. Very pretty, but there were enough of them to fill a tree with. Ebon brought a richness to it that they couldn’t have. Someone who’d made too many mistakes to succeed, but come too close to stop. A character those bluebirds could never quite possess.

It paired well with the cello, which had the closest a string instrument can get to a throaty sound. Big, gulping bass notes. The high range leads made it sink into the background, like how nobody noticed the baritone in a barbershop quartet. With Ebon, though, it matched like a classical voice paired with a violin, complementing each other rather than letting the cello be subsumed by the lead.

It was funny, actually. As good as she was, the cello was too easily put into a supporting role. But Ebon’s delivery presented it as an equal. Just as Octavia, poking Ebon into being braver with her performance, was being careful not to crush her beneath herself.

If Ebon did well tonight, she might be a big draw in her own right, not just a filler act. Someone Octavia could put on stage to draw a crowd without worrying who’d keep the place running smoothly.

But that meant the crowd seeing Ebon and Octavia. Not Octavia and Ebon.

Ebon sang La Vie En Rose, deep and yearning. She made sure to look Octavia in the eye, and she sang it like she was singing it just for her. For a moment, Ebon draping herself over the piano like she belonged there, there was no world outside the two of them.

Her heart skipped a beat. Ebon was a mare who knew longing, and she knew how to play it for all it was worth.

Yes, Octavia thought. This could work.

There had to be a big crowd tonight, to make it harder to tell that the number of ponies who came in didn’t match the number that came out at closing. This would draw them in nicely.

“How was that?” Ebon puffed, putting up a fragile confidence.

“Splendid.”

Ebon’s voice creaked under the pressure of trying to keep her hopes down. “You’ll let me headline with you?”

“I won’t put you on the headline,” Octavia made a ‘let me finish’ gesture as she said it, “but that’s only because I haven’t seen you handle a packed-out room before. It might be more intimidating than you can handle. That way, there’s no pressure for you to back out at any time.”

“This might be my only chance at this, though. Isn’t that pressure enough?”

Octavia snorted, then went to the bar to pour them both a drink. Scotch for herself. Ebon got water with lemon in it. “If you’re cautious, you allow second chances for yourself. If you’re not on the headline, then nobody knows you were meant to perform. There are no rumours. If you can only do one song, we can play it off as all you were meant to do. I risk nothing by letting you try again after you’ve had some practice with audiences.”

Ebon nodded slowly. “You’re right. You’re right of course. I think maybe I’ve just been watching too many movies, and that’s how they always go.”

“I think that largely comes down to the kind of people who are compelled to make them.” Octavia noted, sipping her scotch. “They feel chilly without a bridge to burn.”

---

The performance went well. The club had been packed, standing room only in parts of it. Ebon’s nerves held up flawlessly, and whatever silliness she had felt about rolling around on the piano disappeared as she got into the act.

She’d left an hour ago, with a high-voltage look to her. She’d sleep a day, at least, after this.

Which left Photo Finish’s crowd as everyone else filtered out.

There were a lot of ponies that Octavia recognized, and even more that she didn’t. She recognized some of the more eccentric writers here, the ones with the wild eyes and wilder hair. Others, she could only guess, would refer to themselves as ‘activists’ in polite company—and polite company would refer to them as radicals.

Manehattan was, after all, much like a termite’s nest. A lot of destructive creatures could hide unseen, and you might only notice they had been there at all when something big fell over.

The most that Octavia had between her and a charge of treason for hosting the Resistance was Photo Finish’s sense of judgement.

Octavia closed the curtain in the middle of the room to open the hatch downstairs. It was her magic trick that not even the trusted regulars knew about the basement. The curtain closed, the curtain opened, and suddenly Vinyl was there, all set up with her projector and speakers.

Beyond the security measure, it gave the whole thing a magical edge.

The curtain closed. Octavia kicked the button below the bar, just once — twice was for emergencies — and made a show of cutting lime wedges for drinks with the biggest knife she kept behind the counter while looking at anyone who stepped too close to the curtain.

The curtains went up. Vinyl stood next to the projector before them in a tuxedo and bowtie. She took a deep bow as the lights dimmed and the projector kicked on.

Octavia couldn’t help but smile. All these ponies saw the mythical figure, the rebel editor, the guerilla cinematographer. Octavia just saw her wife being a big damnedable nerd.

Photo Finish sidled up to the bar next to Octavia to watch. She was vibrating with excitement.

Vinyl had taken almost half a dozen of Nightmare Moon’s propaganda films and spliced them together into a story. Most came from the recruitment films, encouraging ponies to join the Shadowbolts, or the Guard, or the Northern Expeditionary Force.

In the cinemas they’d made those forces marching in columns look gallant and imposing. Vinyl had taken the same shots and changed only the music, to make it something menacing and evil.

For the most part, that was all she needed to change—just the music. The visuals were the facts, but the music was the feeling.

It made her feel a bit guilty, but at these screenings Octavia always enjoyed watching the audience more so than the movie. She’d feel worse about it if she didn’t catch Vinyl watching her a few times, and every time she did her wife smiled at her, like they were sharing a private joke.

When the movie started, there’d been a sense of order and comfort in the club. That was gone within the first minute—everypony had begun leaning forward, clinging to the edge of their seats. As it went on, some even began to rise up out of their chairs, eyes wide.

There were excited whispers at parts, ponies bubbling over with enthusiasm for Vinyl’s work, that kept being dropped mid-sentence as something new would steal their attention completely. There was far from a lack of things to comment on.

There was a tonal shift that confused her, and she looked back to the screen to see why. It was different film stock, pictures of Ponyville. Vinyl had taken it herself, a lifetime ago, when they were thinking of buying a cottage there.

That, along with everything, had been ruined by the Summer Sun festival.

Here. Octavia began watching the film in earnest. She knew some of the ponies on-screen: Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie. She recognized Twilight Sparkle, too, from Canterlot—she’d been glued to Celestia’s side whenever Octavia had performed at the Palace.

Nightmare Moon had wanted to tell a story about defeating them. Vinyl had turned it into a story about how they’d fought her, and how they’d stood defiant. About how Twilight Sparkle had never given up.

Her victory was gloating and tragic. Octavia turned again and the audience was alive, angry. Furious. It could have been so easy to make the audience feel defeated and dejected, but Vinyl—ever the DJ—had pumped energy into it, made a clear call to action.

She’d turned Nightmare Moon’s greatest victory into a weapon.

One member of the audience was quiet and still. Octavia thought she saw tears out of the corner of Photo Finish’s goggles, as she whispered “Wunderbah...” over and over to herself.

Vinyl had made an entire hour-long movie about the loss of Equestria, using Nightmare Moon’s own propaganda efforts. It was tragic, and solemn, and beautiful.

It was her best work yet.

And it was made more powerful to the audience who all realized, at the back of their minds, if they were caught watching it right now? If the guard were to find them? They might spend the rest of their entire lives in a jail cell.

The movie ended with footage that had originally been of Nightmare Moon’s triumph over the Elements of Harmony, along with Celestia’s personal student. The film had been made after Twilight Sparkle’s raid on Canterlot Castle, and the liberation of the Crystal Heart. It had been meant to crush ponies’ faith in her, and to advertise that she was a wanted criminal.

That so much effort had been put into it meant that the Nightmare must have been afraid of her. So Vinyl ended with Twilight Sparkle still at large, a proof that resistance was still possible.

Which everyone in this room had proven to themselves, just then, by sitting through the entire movie.

One second, Photo Finish was next to Octavia at the bar. The same second she was next to Vinyl, shaking her hoof like a parched man would work a pump handle, with no time passing. Octavia didn’t even see her move, and hurried after her.

“My star! My star! How wonderful!” Vinyl’s glasses rattled down her nose from the force of the hoof shakes, “A true gesamtkunstwerk!” The audience gave a quiet standing ovation behind them.

Octavia’s prepared snack trays on the bar gave them a little privacy while they discussed the movie amongst themselves.

“Is a gesamtkunstwerk good?” Octavia asked.

“Is a—?” Photo Finish clutched her heart. “Is a gesamtkunstwerk good? Frau! Never would I have thought cinema could achieve a lehrstück, but you! You! Have done it!”

As Photo Finish hugged Vinyl tight, Vinyl shrugged over Photo Finish’s shoulder at her wife. Still, she was smiling wider than Octavia had ever seen.

Photo stepped back, all stern business. “I will have this in every theatre in Equestria.” She clapped her hooves. “You must make copies. The news reel that is supposed to play? So unfortunate that some verdammt terrorist cell replaced them all with this... yes, that just might fly...”

Vinyl didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Octavia pushed Photo Finish back, and nuzzled her wife. “Her name wouldn’t be on it, and it shall not leave this room.”

“Of course not.” Photo Finish agreed.

“No way to tie her to any of this?”

“None.”

“Good.” Octavia agreed. “Have you planned on how you’ll handle being arrested?”

“Ridiculous!” Photo Finish flicked her wrist, swatting the idea away, “Absurd!” She looked at Vinyl. Then, at Octavia, and she said, in a much lower tone: “But, if you must know. I have. I am too berühmt to take quietly, to be disappeared.”

Vinyl nodded fiercely. Even behind the shades, Octavia saw the stars in her eyes.

Octavia grimaced. “If they ask you for names, you give them mine. Not hers. And you give it before they apply the pressure on you. It might make them take it less seriously.”

Vinyl looked horrified, but Photo Finish waved it off. “It will be as you say.”

“Well. Vinyl, are you okay with that?”

Vinyl shook a little and gulped, but nodded all the same.

“I’ll be closing the club for a week after this, I think.” Octavia thought. “For renovations. I think some time off might be good right now.”

Vinyl nodded at that too, and draped herself over her wife. Octavia grinned: Vinyl really did look handsome in her tuxedo. Photo Finish beamed, and left them to it. As soon as she turned away an assistant materialized beside her, only to have orders barked at her to prepare for distribution of Vinyl’s film.

Behind them the crowd burbled. The reviews were outrageously positive. Vinyl pointed ponies out over her shoulder. A few producers, some award winning directors that even Octavia knew about. Rebels. Ponies they both admired, but that Octavia was terrified of associating with.

The ones who worked behind the camera. The names you were never meant to put a face to.

“Do you want to go bask, love?”

From across her shoulders, she felt Vinyl nod.

“Go play, then.”

Vinyl kissed her on the cheek, then zipped off into the crowd. Small groups congealed around her, to tell her just how brilliant she was.

But, of course, her wife already knew that. She went off to pour drinks and watch the snacks, to keep Vinyl’s fans in as good a mood as she was.

---

They woke up in the same bed, at the same time, for the first time in... had it been months? It might have been.

There is a difference between waking up and getting up together. Waking up together means blurry eyes, shifting your weight until you’re comfortable again. It means nervous touches, trying not to wake the other, and curious whispers when you suspect they’re doing the same thing.

It means an opiate haze of physical affection and not being awake enough for more complex thoughts.

Getting up together, on the other hand, is when other needs outweigh hedonistic pleasantness.

Hunger pains and caffeine withdrawals eventually win out, but sometimes it’s the simple anxiety that you could be doing something with that time. Especially when the pair are two irredeemable workaholics.

Vinyl and Octavia woke up together. It took them two more hours to get up together.

Octavia cooked breakfast. Vinyl made coffee. They shared at the coffee table.

They’d fight over who dragged who back to bed after, and waste the rest of the other’s day.

---

The day after was a bit more normal, after they’d gotten over the novelty of the other’s intimacy again. It still took them more than an hour to get up together, but they managed to stay up once they’d gotten lunch.

Vinyl looked stressed. Octavia sipped at the mug Vinyl had made for her. “We’ll go in together.” Vinyl’s head snapped up, surprised. “I’m just as bad at time off as you are. You’re thinking about making the copies for Photo Finish, aren’t you?”

An embarrassed nod. Octavia sipped.

“I wouldn’t mind getting some practice time in. It’s been a while since I haven’t worried about the business side of things. I’ll just be upstairs if you need me, and we’ll bother each other and generally get underfoot all day, like a proper married couple.”

Vinyl smirked, and leaned forward to kiss her wife on the cheek. Octavia was having none of that, and went for her lips instead.

“We have a lovely apartment. I’m glad we got to appreciate it for at least a day before living at work again.”

Vinyl rolled her eyes as she laughed. Octavia had to wonder how often she did that behind the sunglasses and she just couldn’t tell. Part of the appeal, she supposed.

“Let’s go in together then.”

Vinyl walked behind her and started massaging her neck muscles again. Octavia melted in her seat.

“You’re right. No rush.”

Her wife snickered.

---

There was a banging on the front door as Octavia sat at one of the upper tables. She put her reading glasses down on a pile of restocking papers and tax notes, and huffed.

“We’re closed!” She shouted.

“Manehattan Police! We have a warrant.”

Octavia swore and ran behind the bar on the way to the door. She kicked the silent alarm behind the cash register twice. She prayed Vinyl hadn’t unplugged it again.

She unlocked the big double door, and the security grate. Four officers - a lieutenant, two sergeants and a plainclothes in a black suit made to shove their way through. Octavia danced back rather than give them the opportunity to touch her. She was ready for such tedious shows of power.

“May I see your badges, officers?” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth so she couldn’t snap. “I wouldn’t be the first pony to be robbed like this.”

The lieutenant turned and shoved a badge in her face. Octavia didn’t lean back, just made sure to memorize the number as best as she could.

“Thank you, officer Sugarsnap. The warrant?”

The sergeants looked around, checking all the instrument cases, kicking the floorboards around the orchestra pit. The plainclothes was checking behind the bar. Octavia pretended not to notice him pocket one of the bottles he took from the top shelf.

Lieutenant Sugarsnap produced the warrant. It had been signed by a judge, of course. Completely legitimate. That made life harder.

“Alright. Look for what you’re looking for, then, and leave as soon as you can’t find it.”

Sugarsnap tucked the warrant back into her coat. Stout, boxer’s build. Probably not good at running, quite good at tackling. Not good at running.

The plainclothes, a dark red stallion with a crooked jaw, gestured at something. “Hey, LT. Think I found sumfin.”

Sugarsnap looked around the bar, and Octavia swore with her mouth closed. They were looking right at the button she used to signal to Vinyl.

“What you reckon?”

Sugarsnap moved to kick it, but stopped. “What does it do, Ms Octavia?”

Octavia leaned against the entrance, watching them. Keeping to the exit if they found the hatch under the rug. “Must I say?”

The plainclothes shrugged. His suit didn’t bulge around the shoulders when he did, which meant it was tailored, which meant it was expensive. “No. You are perfeckly within your right. I’d haffa say you were uncooperative in my official repor’, though. We don’t wan’ that, do we?”

Octavia smiled back, sunshine and rainbows. “Of course not, detective. It’s not attached to any bombs or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just a silent alarm, during business hours. Wouldn’t do anything now.”

The plainclothes kicked it. “Seems so.”

The lieutenant looked at it curiously, and kicked it as well. Octavia twitched toward the door, hoping Vinyl at least heard the sergeants moving cases around and... of course not. The soundproofing.

Her smile disappeared. “Would you please stop pressing that?”

The plainclothes sneered, and kicked it again.

Octavia stayed angry. She didn’t know if Vinyl would take that as a ‘hide’ or a ‘run now’ cue. She stormed into the center of the room and stood on the rug over the hatch. On the hatch.

She wasn’t by the door. Now she couldn’t run, but if Vinyl tried to come up...

Sugarsnap cleared her throat. “I notice you didn’t say this calls the guard, as well?”

“Of course not,” Octavia rolled her eyes so dramatically that the gesture took the whole of her neck with it, “I can’t afford your rates.”

One of the sergeants, a younger one, more of a boy than a man, spoke up. “We’re a public good, ma’am, we don’t-”

He noticed the lieutenant and the plainclothes glaring at him, and gulped. Octavia had hopes for him.

The last instrument case was empty on the floor. All the instruments had been cavity searched. Every chair moved, or at least kicked, just in case.

They were getting bored, which was what she had been waiting for.

The plainclothes with the crooked jaw gestured at the rug Octavia was standing on. “Where’d you get this, then?”

“I brought it with me from Canterlot. A family heirloom.” That got him interested more in the rug than what was underneath it, at least. Now she could at least deflect without seeming suspicious. “I couldn’t afford something like this anymore, so I’m sorry if you were trying to shake me down.”

“A shakedown?” Sugarsnap asked, “Is that what you think this is?”

“I have no idea what you were expecting to find otherwise. Now—” Then there was a thump beneath Octavia. Immediately she slammed her hoof down, pretending she was furious. Panic adrenaline substituting for anger. The three uniformed guards looked at her face. Crooked-jaw was staring at the floor. “—please? I feel I’ve entertained you all long enough. If you must come back, do it during business hours.”

Cold sweat. She made sure she was looking at the lieutenant, and not crooked-jaw. It was hard to keep her eyes from flicking over to him, giving herself up.

“Reckon I will, maybe.” He said, and finally Octavia had a reason to look at him. He looked... satisfied. She didn’t know what that meant. “We lot best clear out, then. It’s been a pleasure, Miss.”

Octavia didn’t bother saying anything snappy, or clever, or acidic. Her tongue was far too big for her mouth right now. She was worried her voice would just crack. Instead she just gave them all a stern glare as they grabbed their kit and shuffled out.

The plainclothes was last to go, clattering the security grating shut behind him, and bowing his head with a crooked smile that made Octavia feel the need to go soak in boiling water.

She sat on the hatch for a few minutes, waiting. She reached over to a chair, set up with her cello, and began to play.

It was halfway through her warmup that she heard the clatter of the grating. She looked up just in time to see crooked-jaw pull his head back and run off.

Octavia laughed. He’d been waiting for her to assume she’d been caught and panic. He’d given her just enough rope to hang herself with.

Appropriate metaphor. The gallows requires you open the hatch in the floor beneath the victim...

Finally, Octavia drew the curtain in front of the hatch closed. Now it could be seen as an issue of privacy, not of secrecy.

She opened the hatch to a scared-looking Vinyl. She pulled her up, slammed the hatch closed, collapsed into her wife until she could breathe again, until she didn’t want to throw up.

Vinyl held her for as long as it took.

When Octavia stopped, her wife was giving her a worried look. But it wasn’t worried about her. She seemed more focused than that.

Octavia wiped at her eyes. “You think Photo Finish invited someone she shouldn’t have to the screening?”

Vinyl’s grimace was answer enough. She hugged her again. Sometimes it felt like Octavia was too paranoid for her own good. Then they got reminded.

“That would explain how they acquired a warrant. We should warn her.”

Vinyl nodded, then paused. She was thinking so loudly, Octavia could hear it from her expressions. If they were at the screening, they knew who she was. If they knew who she was...

“I have to warn her.” Octavia corrected. “You hide here. Maybe don’t worry about copying-”

Vinyl glared.

“You can’t be serious? You think, after this, Photo Finish would still-” Octavia cut herself off. “Of course she would, you’re just as mad as each other.”

Vinyl’s glare twisted into a wicked grin. Heck yes they were.

Octavia thought back to Photo Finish’s words to her. She seemed committed. Maybe even like she was counting on it.

“I’ll talk to her. If you want to get back to making the copies, I’ll turn out all the lights and lock up behind me. Don’t come back up until someone kicks the button twice.”

Vinyl nodded, then kissed her on the cheek.

There was nothing she could do to stop either of them. Helping them meant they’d at least work on her terms, rather than going behind her back.

Hopefully they’d all survive this.

---

Photo Finish had the penthouse suite of the tallest building in Manehattan. The glass walls and open-plan design meant that, as soon as you stepped off the elevator, it felt like you were floating above the city. You could see the lights of it on every side, and look down upon it.

It was an absurd amount of money dedicated by a pony who could not live with the idea she’d missed anything. The camera equipment was always set up, with their empty cases next to them, ready to snap down in a second.

Photo was ironing when Octavia buzzed up. It was weird seeing her without a dress and her accessories. It was like seeing a knight without their armour. She was amazingly skinny under all of it, and her eyes without the goggles...

“Ah, yes, hello!” Photo put the iron down and let it gurgle as the water shifted in it. “You are always welcome at my Kehlsteinhaus,” she gestured to the windows. “You are not here for the view though, no?”

Octavia adjusted her bow tie. “We got raided earlier. The police seemed to know what they were looking for.”

Photo Finish frowned. Her face was much more expressive without the goggles. Maybe that’s why she’d kept wearing them. “You suspect me?”

“No. We trust you completely. We think someone you invited-”

“Ah!” Photo jumped, turning the iron off. “That makes far more sense. You scared me.”

“I should have scared you!” Octavia snapped, following Photo Finish to her media room, a projector screen set up with egg-chairs around it, “Someone you trust is-”

“Of course, of course, a traitor,” she said, bored, “With so many friends, it was inevitable. They’ll have me on trial within the month.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected! More insidious, yes? But far more useful in my line of work.” Photo Finish flicked through her film library, clanking canisters together as she shuffled them. A gesture as refined as a librarian’s, a sound like a burlap sack of tin cans. “I had hoped it was not the case, though this confirms it.”

“You know who it is?”

“No. I suspect no one in particular. How could I?” She picked one of the canisters out and set it aside. “I have to work with so many people. Trust them. But we are an industry of believable lies, hopeful fakes. How does the song go?”

Octavia grimaced. “Say it’s only a paper moon?”

“Yes!” Photo shouted, then began singing it, “Say it’s only only a paper moon. Sailing over a cardboard sea. But it wouldn’t be make believe if you believed in me.“ When she hit a note correctly, it was entirely by accident, and corrected quickly.

Octavia squeezed out a smile. “Yes. Something quite like that.”

Photo Finish stopped flicking through her canisters and gave Octavia a serious look. Being able to see her eyes made it more intense than Octavia thought possible. Maybe the goggles were for everyone else’s benefit. “You were safe?”

“We made it. They didn’t find the basement.”

“Good. I had faith in you. You are smart. Not like Vinyl or I.”

Octavia paused. “Wait—”

Photo Finish reeled on her. “Of course I am a fool! Reckless, reckless, always reckless. Pftah. Vinyl, as well. That is why we are able to do that which needs to be done. Caution, caution is tedium.” Photo Finish tilted her head back and forth in thought. “Prison is tedium, though. Dying is tedium...” She shrugged. “I have the faith in you I do not have in myself.”

“Oh.” Octavia didn’t quite know how to react. “Well. Thank you.”

Photo Finish took the third reel and dropped the pile at Octavia’s hooves. “Take these. Watch them with Vinyl. I will take them back when I collect the copies. We go through with the plan.”

Octavia stared at the films, and wondered if she wouldn’t need to make another hole in the wall for them. “Still? There’s an informant in your inner circle.”

Photo Finish nodded and walked them both over to the windows, to look out over the city. “There will always be traitors. You two are not. So I wish to do as much as I can with Vinyl, before I am done in. At least this is exciting.” Photo Finish looked queasy for a second, but only for a second, and then she was smiling brightly again. “Let this be my... denouement. A film worth dying for.”

“A film worth—” Octavia spluttered, “Vinyl’s movie was good, but I’d hardly call it-”

Again Photo Finish cut her off. “I do not plan to die over it. I only accept that it is possible, and still wish to go ahead. You understand?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Octavia looked at the movies. “What are these?”

“For me to know, and you to find out with that wunderkind of yours. It is for her, but... how do I put this... I have accepted my fate. I do not accept hers. Do you understand that?”

“Absolutely not. Again..”

Photo Finish threw back her head and shouted a groan at the ceiling. “She is like me! Talented! Creative! Reckless! She will go down with my ship if you give her half the chance. You must not let her have that. These,” she kicked the pile of film canisters and let them ring out, “are the bigger picture. You will see. Make sure that you do.”

A noise outside interrupted them. A pair of pegasi officers had flown up to the window and leaned on the glass, looking right at them. Octavia froze, but Photo Finish waved her off.

“The windows are tinted. They are doing that because they cannot see inside, and it upsets them. Watch.”

She picked up a scuffed rubber ball she had lying in the corner and hucked it at the wall hard, bouncing it right between the pegasus officer’s eyes. She flinched back, and she and her partner hurried away.

Octavia could see dozens of faint smudge marks on the windows all around, now that she was looking for them.

“Reckless, reckless, reckless,” Photo Finish muttered to herself. The smile never left her face.

---

Octavia unlocked the doors and locked them behind her again, the three films hidden in a cart that she pulled along behind her. She’d put the canisters in hat boxes, which was a bit of a risk—they drew less attention from a distance, but anyone looking too closely at them would notice... Well, they’d realize whatever was in those boxes was certainly too heavy to be hats.

At least the streets were dark, now. Now and always.

Octavia unloaded the hat boxes onto the bar top and hesitated for a moment. Photo Finish never seemed happy with the money she made, or the fame she had. They didn’t seem to cross her mind. She only ever seemed to think about those things in the context of usefulness - she seemed to take to friendships in the same way.

While Octavia knew what she saw in Vinyl, she considered herself to be close friends with Photo Finish as well. Which meant she had to wonder what usefulness Photo Finish saw in her...

Octavia kicked the button under the bar twice, and decided the scotch she really wanted right now would probably be a bad idea to have.

There was a knocking at the doors and she froze.

Had she not looked over her shoulder well enough? Were the guard getting better at going incognito? That crooked jaw fellow might even be visiting off-hours to intimidate her.

Didn’t need a warrant, again, just for personal curiosity.

Vinyl opened the hatch, and Octavia gestured for her to shut it as quickly as possible.

“Just a second!” she shouted, as Vinyl’s eyes went wider even than her shades, moving as fast as she could as quietly as she could.

Octavia walked at a stately pace towards the front entrance, letting the sound of her approaching steps ring out. Let that slow any impatience.

She opened the front doors. Ebon was standing there at the security grating.

“Sorry,” Ebon apologized, “Is this a bad time?”

Octavia slumped with sudden relief. She felt like she’d run a marathon. “I suppose not. You want to come in?”

“I do. If that’s alright?”

Octavia opened the grate to let her in.

Ebon walked in with a nod, and Vinyl was sitting at the bar waving to her.

“Ebon, this is my wife, Vinyl. Vinyl, this is our latest talent.”

Vinyl grinned and waved. Ebon hesitated, and she looked sidelong at Octavia. “I didn’t know you were married.”

Vinyl’s smile faltered.

Ebon flinched. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, I meant I’ve never seen you around here.”

Vinyl snorted, then went back to grabbing a cider from behind the counter. Applejack had figured out how to get cider apples to grow at night, so Vinyl kept her very own personal Ponyville shipment behind the bar, for her hooves only. She held the top of the bottle against the bar and stomped the cap off, even though she was a unicorn and it was a twist cap.

“Would you like anything, Ebon?”

“Just water, thank you.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow as she went to grab two glasses. “You wanted to practice together, again, then?”

“Yes.” Ebon nodded. “I know you’re closed, but I just...”

“You just?”

“I don’t know how else to say it.” Ebon swept the mane off her face, gave them a shy smile. She didn’t quite look like a bluebird, in that moment, but she got close. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

Octavia looked at Vinyl. “Were you planning on heading back?” Downstairs, she meant, but she left it ambiguous for Ebon’s sake.

Vinyl cocked her head at Octavia, and gestured at Ebon. Do you trust her?

Did she?

She thought of Photo Finish, trusting her even when she knew at least one, if not more, of her closest friends had already betrayed her. Just trusting Octavia when she brought it up, even though that was objectively a terrible idea.

So Octavia nodded. Yes. She trusted Ebon. Ebon was safe.

Vinyl headed over and kicked her hatch up and went to head back down it.

“Vinyl spends most of her time working in the basement,” Octavia said, looking at the hatch rather than at Ebon, until Vinyl was completely out of sight. “That’s why you never see her.”

Ebon stared. “I didn’t know this place had a basement.”

“Not even rumours?”

“No! Should I have heard rumours?”

“You shouldn’t have. I was just making sure.” Octavia smiled. “I like to keep some things secret, but it’s good to make sure how well-guarded they are.”

Ebon sipped her water and stared at the hatch. Octavia could tell she was trying not to ask any questions out of politeness, but the tension was too thick not address it.

“The basement’s not on the building plans. Officially, the Guard don’t know about it. If they found out... well, they’d be leaning on me for all sorts of regulations I’m breaking. They’d shut the whole club down.” That wasn’t even a lie, actually.

Ebon relaxed. Octavia wondered what she was scared they were doing in here. She’d have to ask later, when it was less suspicious to dwell on it. “What does she do down there?”

“Film editing. It’s just a good place to do the work.”

“Have I seen any of her films?”

“Probably not.” Octavia tried not to laugh at the question. “Vinyl is more of a hobbyist. You might have heard her music though. She performed under the name DJ Pon3?”

Ebon grimaced. “Not my thing, I’m afraid.”

Octavia chuckled, watching the hatch and speaking softer to make sure Vinyl wouldn’t hear. “Not always mine, either, But she’s very, very clever. Her theory is much better than mine.”

Ebon’s eyes bulged. “Really? A DJ?”

“Yes, a DJ. We have to focus on technique and performing, but all Vinyl has to do is work in composition. She deals with sound in its rawest form." Octavia shrugged. "So she's really very good at it. I suppose that's why she got so good at film editing so quickly."

That didn’t seem to satisfy Ebon, but she nodded anyway.

Vinyl came up with a wooden crate full of film canisters, and then she went down and got a second one. She had been busy. She pointed at the cans on the cart, and made a circling gesture. Trade you?

“Certainly.”

Vinyl switched out the gifted reels from Photo Finish and dropped the crate onto the pushcart. Its axles bowed under the weight.

Vinyl read and reread the labels. Octavia hadn’t even thought to check them herself. “We’re both supposed to watch them,” Octavia said, “But how about you watch them first, while I do some practice with Ebon? That way you’ll know what to point out to me when we watch it together.”

It wasn’t just busywork. Vinyl always had the better eye, and she’d hit the pause button every few seconds on the first watch of anything, just to make sure she absorbed all the details she could. It could take her an hour to take in ten minutes of footage, which drove Octavia a little mad.

Vinyl saluted, kissed her warmly, and took the three reels downstairs.

Octavia smiled at Ebon. “What were you in mind for?”

Ebon looked wistfully at the stage she’d headlined just days before. “Anything, as long as it’s in E minor.”

Octavia finished her cider. She only had harder drinks if she was performing. Tonight was just a practice, for fun.

It helped to remember how fun it really was, sometimes. With a pony she could trust.

---

Octavia walked down into the basement feeling a little post-coital. Her relationship with Ebon was purely platonic, but there was just something to clicking with another artist like that which made working together electric. It gave you all the satisfied exhaustion and brain chemistry rush that only a really good tumble between the sheets could match.

It wasn’t something she and Vinyl had these days, no, but it was why she always tried to organize her showing nights, especially with Photo Finish.

It was nice to have that for herself, too.

That mood evaporated when she stepped into the basement.

Movie posters had been torn off the wall. Hoof shaped holes in the plaster walls, chips taken out of the wooden beams. Vinyl lay on her back, panting, soaked in sweat.

“Vinyl! What—”

Vinyl jumped up off the floor. The lenses had cracked in her glasses. She popped the lenses out and threw them to the side, gestured for Octavia to sit. Octavia did.

Vinyl’s horn flared up as she switched the projector film out and switched it on.

The film played for about thirty seconds before Vinyl stopped it. It was archival footage of Nightmare Moon addressing her council of advisers. She recognized Rarity from Ponyville, Prince Blueblood from the Gala, and a few others from around. Most weren’t old aristocracy, but had been factory owners or business ponies.

“I don’t understand?”

Vinyl switched it out for the tape she’d taken out of it.

The same footage, the same thirty seconds as part of a newsreel, captions inserted about “Discussing plans for Equestria’s future!”

Blueblood wasn’t in any of them.

It was the same footage, but Blueblood wasn’t in it.

Nightmare Moon had figured out how to erase ponies from history.

Vinyl laughed, and there was a weary edge to it. She showed the title of the third reel to Octavia.

Octavia hissed air through her teeth. This is what had made Vinyl so upset, she knew without having to watch it. It was the film that Vinyl had edited the boom pole out of.

The techniques Vinyl had created were now being used to help make ponies disappear.

“She gave me these when I visited her,” Octavia murmured, staring at the film. “She thinks they’re about to disappear her.”

Vinyl shook her head and kicked a crate again. She stormed up to Octavia and tapped her on the head, wild eyes staring at her from the empty glasses frame.

Of course. After they had been raided. Photo Finish wasn’t worried for herself. They were figuring out how to disappear them. Or, at least, that’s what would have happened if crooked-jaw had found any evidence.

Octavia understood why her wife had gotten angry, but she just felt sick, and sad, and exhausted. Her head fell into her hooves.

“Your film, the one you made all the copies of,” Octavia said to the floor. “Have you made all the copies you need?”

Vinyl stopped her pacing.

“It would be safer to burn them, I suppose. Leave no trace. All quite flammable, isn’t it?”

Vinyl stopped her breathing.

“I’ll take them to her now. I’m better at fast-talking if I get stopped. It’s safer with her than here.”

Vinyl hugged her, and didn’t stop squeezing for a long time.

---

Nobody stopped her pushing the cart on the way there. Octavia had covered the sides of the stacks of film reels with six packs and loaded a keg onto a delivery cart, to make the delivery less suspicious. Ponies would remember her with a stack of movies. Nobody thinks twice about a nightclub owner supplying a party.

Octavia pressed the button for the elevator up. When it came down she checked the weight restriction on the wall and did a bit of mental math. With a sigh, she hit the button for the penthouse floor, and then pushed the cart to go up without her.

It probably would have been fine. But she didn’t trust the weight listed..

The doors closed, and she waited a few seconds for the grinding elevator to leave before pressing the button again. Then another few minutes for the elevator to be unloaded all the way at the top, and come back down.

By the time she arrived at Photo Finish’s apartment, Photo Finish was practically rolling around in the pile of film reels. She’d pushed the cart next to a lamp and unwound a few, checking to make sure they were all the real deal. Every few seconds, she’d bounce in place, and check another one.

Octavia cleared her throat.

“I hid it under real liquor, for the coverl. I’ll be writing an invoice for it, and I ask you actually pay it, so I can give you a receipt.” She grimaced. “Probably best if you decided to ‘throw a party’, I suppose, in case anyone was watching.”

“Of course there will be a party!” Photo Finish, disconcertingly underdressed again, laughed, “This is something to celebrate, ja?”

“Vinyl is going to be ecstatic. Once she gets over...”

“Ah!” Photo stood up straight and dusted herself off. “You did watch them, then, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.” Photo sighed, “Good. She didn’t take it too badly, I hope?”

Octavia cleared her throat again. “She’s taken things worse, I suppose,” she lied.

“Good. I did not know how to say that. To inform her. This was the best way I could think of.” Photo Finish went back to salivating over the film at her hooves, the kegs and other drinks off to the side. “I will have these in every cinema in Equestria by this weekend. That is when this will get exciting. There is electricity in the air, can you not taste it?”

Octavia frowned. “How do you mean?”

“There has been news, from Canterlot. But of course you have not heard it. Of course. You keep your nose too clean to be in the Resistance, ja?”

Octavia nodded. “It does feel like a group dedicated to fighting a battle in a war that lost before they showed up, yes.”

“I understand why you feel this. But!” Photo Finish danced on the spot. “This will be our newest weapon. Powerful!”

“I don’t understand.” She felt like she was saying that too often today.

Photo Finish grabbed her shoulders and looked at her, far too intense without the goggles to hide her eyes. “Octavia, listen to me now. Yes? If I can get these into so many cinemas, it will prove to many ponies that resistance is possible. That there are battles that can be won. Just doing this thing will prove to many ponies that it is good and right to fight.”

Octavia forced a weak smile. “I suppose that some ponies are far too swayed by what they see in the movies, these days.”

Photo Finish barked a laugh. “Ha! You are unswayed. I know, I know. You are too smart. The assistant is always unimpressed by the magician, for she does most of the work in the trick. She knows how it is done. You are not my audience.”

“You fancy yourself a magician, now, do you?”

“Of course!” Again, that dangerous glint in her eye. She hid her smile with a hoof. “But I have not told you my best tricks. I want you to enjoy the show as well, Octavia.” She grabbed one of the beers from the cart, opened it. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” Octavia tried, failed, to keep a straight face.

Photo Finish snorted, then waved the bottle at Octavia. “Good! You are smart, then. You make a very good assistant. I will tell you my first trick, then, so you know not to worry.”

“What?” Octavia raised an eyebrow, still trying — failing — not to smile. “I’m supposed to watch you disappear?”

“A good guess.” Photo Finish tilted her head back and... it would be accurate to say that she drank the beer, but it’d be more accurate to say that she seemed to pour it directly into her stomach, with every bit in between guiding it to the right place without resistance. “No. The Shadowbolts will come for me. I am going to fail to disappear. That will be my first trick.”

Octavia’s smile died, fell to the floor with a wet splat. “You really don’t plan on getting away with this, do you?”

“No.” Photo shrugged. “But it will be worth it. Trust, at least, that I would never turn you or Vinyl in.”

Photo Finish was risking a lot by telling her this, even if she wasn’t saying the whole thing. Even knowing for sure that one of her closest friends was a mole. Unless...

Something else made too much sense. What if Photo Finish herself were the informant? The footage she gave Vinyl was incriminating, she was gathering an audience, the raid happened so soon after the showing ... it would make sense to insist on introducing new people for Octavia to be suspicious of first.

If Photo Finish was the informant, then all this was entrapment, meant to take down as many ponies as possible. That’s why she was asking about the resistance. That’s why she handled trust the way she did.

It all made sense.

Or was it just easier than thinking someone actually had convictions anymore, and was willing to pay for them?

“I believe you,” Octavia said for now, and decided she’d work out if she meant it later.

Photo Finish looked at the cart. “Better leave this here, then. Add it to my receipt.”

Comments

[Quinch]

Well, I have to say that forgoing my habit of skipping stories with the romance this time paid off quite well. Just finished the first chapter {book, really... Sheesh} and the paranoia is entrancing.

Also, my money is on Ebon. But she may as well be a red herring. Let's find out!

[Fiddlebottoms]

“During the Vietnam War, every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high," was said by Vonnegut many years ago, and it has honestly become embarrassing to see generation after generation of artists sing the praises of art and its intelligence when every generation only further proves that the mechanisms of power really are just as stupid, obvious and impervious to reason as a bush jutting across a narrow path to shove a hiker off the couple inches of ledge they have and into the void.

The story's "fine," though, so far.

[berrytone]

This is incredible. I'm excited to continue this story!

[Reese]

"Octavia had already taken the canister in it and dropped it down to the basement."
"Photo Finish jumped again, grabbed the film canister from behind the bar, and was back at Vinyl’s side again faster than Octavia could turn her head."
Was the first quote from an earlier draft or somesuch thing? If not, I'm not sure what's going on here.

[The Scarlett Mare]

Photo Finish reeled on her. “Of course I am a fool! Reckless, reckless, always reckless. Pftah. Vinyl, as well. That is why we are able to do that which needs to be done. Caution, caution is tedium.” Photo Finish tilted her head back and forth in thought. “Prison is tedium, though. Dying is tedium...” She shrugged. “I have the faith in you I do not have in myself.”

Mr Numbers

I love your symbolism
And your Totalitarian regime deconstruction trope that seems to be within most if not all of your work. It's quite thrilling indeed.
You give people who focus on happy endings and too little drama a run for their money.

Yours
The Scarlett Mare