Shattered

by PessBont

Chapter 1

“Barkeep, another!” barked Vinyl, her voice cracking slightly, slamming her glass on the counter with almost enough force to shatter the poor thing within her magical grasp. The unicorn colt tending the bar shot the disgruntled DJ a look, but complied regardless, pouring her another glass of her usual vodka-7. Apart from her every-so-often rude bursts of drink orders, the mare mostly (and uncharacteristically) kept to herself this evening, and she wasn't causing any trouble, so he had no reason to throw her out. Most of her attention was focused into her glass, a complex combination of anger, resentment, regret, and sadness dominating her facial features. The bartender colt heard her let out a small whimper every once in a while, and occasionally wiped away a tear from her eye with one hoof. He had lost count of how many vodka-7s he had poured for the mare, but he knew that she was a pony who could hold her liquor. After all, apart from being a regular bar patron, she was the renowned DJ-PON3, and a sizable alcohol tolerance was almost an occupational requirement in her field. He had no idea why she was in such a foul mood this particular evening, but knew better than to pry; if Vinyl Scratch of all ponies wasn’t in a sociable mood over something that was clearly troubling her, best let her be.

Vinyl’s vision was blurred and she felt her perspective wavering about, and she began to lose track of the last 10 or 15 minutes, yet it still wasn’t enough to make her feel any better. She took another big swig of her drink, hoping each time that that particular sip would magically erase her immediate memory of the night’s events, but all it would do would inebriate her further, without the comfort or solace that usually brings. She felt her lower lip begin to quiver again, and she couldn’t help but let out another small wimper, lowering her head with the hopes that it would be inaudible to the other patrons near her. This time, she couldn’t help but let a few tears escape from her, so she, as quietly as she could, wept for about 20 seconds before pulling herself together once more with a loud sniff.

She was drunk enough to have almost forgotten what her stupid fight with Octavia was about in the first place, yet it wasn’t enough to alleviate the anguish she felt as a result of it. And how could she? Vinyl was hardly the kind of pony to apologize for the person she was, but even she was able to recognize that she had crossed a significant rubicon with whom she considered one of closest and, honestly, only true friends. She kept going back to the incident despite her mental protests to move on, but she felt the need to keep torturing herself over and over out of some masochistic need to punish herself.

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“Oh, so now this is my fault!?” Vinyl responded defiantly, now going on the offensive.

“Now? When has it ever not been your fault?” Octavia replied, ice in her voice. “Please, Vinyl, refresh me, give me one occasion where something that has gone wrong has been been a direct result of you? You are, perhaps, one of the most uncouth and classless ponies I’ve met, you’re a struggle to be around sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t give me that hoighty-toighty high-class crap, Octy. You’re free to turn me down whenever I offer to hang out, and yet you never do, and tell me that I’ve never been able to show you a good time,” Vinyl responded.

“As if I could turn you down even if I wanted to. Apart from classless, you’re also as stubborn as a mule. If I give you even a single word of protest, you wouldn’t waste a second shoving me out the door against my will!” protested Octavia.

“Because I have to! You don’t fucking do anything without me! What else would you be doing with yourself if I weren’t around, huh? Sitting here all day, every day, playing your fucking cello over and over, maybe leaving your apartment once or twice a month to play a concert and then plopping your plot right back here to do it all over again? You need to get out more, Octy, it’s almost tragic how little you do anything!” said Vinyl, her voice beginning to reach a shout.

“Then why do you constantly ask to go out with me, huh? If I’m such a damn bore to you, why do you always insist that we just have to hang out together, huh? I’m sure you must have plenty of other DJ friends, ones that share your interests more than me, why don’t you go bother them for once?” asked Octavia.

For the first time that she could remember, Vinyl didn’t know how to respond to that question.

“I choose to stay and practice playing the cello because I have to. I don’t think you can possibly understand how hard I have to work at it to not only be as good as I am at it, but to stay that good. Unlike the mind-numbing, ear-shattering drivel you play for your crowd of punks, my brand of real music requires dedication and hard practice, something I’m sure you couldn’t and wouldn’t understand,” said Octavia, trying to maintain her calm (proving more difficult than she expected).

“Oh, shut up, Tavi! Because I totally got to where I am today by winning the fucking Canerlot lottery, right? You don’t think what I do requires talent or expertise? You have no idea, so don’t go running your mouth off about things that you clearly don’t know,” responded Vinyl through gritted teeth. Octavia’s words stung pretty bad, but Vinyl refused to show it.

“Then perhaps you should go associate with other mares that share in your particular tastes and let me enjoy mine. The music I play is timeless and classic, for ponies with sophistication greater than you will ever understand. You cater to a fad, a fleeting, bit-a-dozen piece of disposable pop culture that’ll probably go out of style just as quick as it arrived. If you ask me, I’ll be surprised if you still have a job in five years...” said Octavia with ice in her voice, turning and walking down her hallway, away from Vinyl.

Vinyl began visibly shaking, snorting loudly like a bull watching a matador waving a cape in front of it. She didn’t know if she was more offended than pissed off, or vice versa, all that she know was that she had reached her limits.

“Fuck you, Octavia!” Vinyl hollered to her down the hall. Octavia stopped in her tracks, Vinyl’s uncharacteristic use of her full name startling her, yet she maintained her resolve to not stoop down to her level. She continued walking away.

“Hey! HEY! Don’t walk away from me, we’re not done here!” Vinyl shouted.

“I’m done, Vinyl. You can see yourself out for all I care,” responded Octavia coldly, turning to meet Vinyl’s rage-filled gaze. “Why don’t you go out and have your bloody world-of-fun without me? I’ll be better off for it, that’s for bloody sure...”

That tore it, Vinyl was now seeing red. She ground her teeth together, threatening to pulverize them into dust. She drooped her head and let out a deep growl that was more animalistic than anything. Without even meaning to or realizing it, her magic had taken a hold of Octavia’s prized cello sitting on a stand in the corner of the room and, with a loud yell of indignation, flung it towards the opposite wall.

The crash was a cacophonous mix of wood splintering and metal strings snapping, yet on that moment of impact, Vinyl could swear she could hear each string individually break apart and every splinter crack away from each other. In an instant, the hardened look of seething rage devolved into a horrified look of self-realization and remorse, instantly aware of just what she had done. She would have said something, but the words seemed to lock up in her throat.

Octavia ran back down the hallway, her expression matching Vinyl’s look of horror as she saw what remained of her prized cello, now a crumpled heap of strings and wood chips underneath a sizable dent in her wall. Without missing a beat, she ran up to the wreckage and pathetically began picking up the parts. Vinyl was frozen in place, unable to move, speak, think, anything. Finally, her lower lip began to quiver, as the reality of what she had just done began to hit her.

Octavia’s tough defensive exterior immediately broke as she began to cry almost on queue as she pathetically tried to reattach the pieces of the broken neck to the belly, as if they were parts of a jigsaw puzzle that could so easily be put back together. She let out a few soft whimpers as she, too, began to face the reality that her cello was completely destroyed.

A tear ran down Vinyl’s cheek almost unconsciously, watching the miserable sight of Octavia and her livelihood in ruins in front of her. She finally found her voice again, weak and muted as it was.

“I...Octy, I’m so sorry, I....I didn’t-I...’m so sorry...” was the most she could muster.

Octavia seemed to ignore her attempts at an apology, pathetically whispering to herself, “It’s okay, I can fix this...I can fix this, I c-can f-f-fix this...” in between tears. Eventually, her emotions got the best of her, and she began to openly weep into the heap of instrument parts, hugging them close to her as if they were a small baby.

Vinyl would have crumpled into a heap herself had her legs not locked up entirely. She continued to attempt to form some sort of an apology, stumbling over her words, realizing that nothing she could say could make up for what she had done. Instantly, all of the anger she felt towards Octavia in that moment was redirected at her; she wanted to disappear, to run away somewhere into the Everfree Forest never to be seen again. Finding control of her legs again, Vinyl ran towards the door and left the apartment without another word. Octavia paid her no mind, continuing to weep into the destroyed cello in front of her.

Comments

[themanesix]

well............

[prince Midnight-Sun]

This looks like it will be a good story but the best part is when i scrolled down to the bottom of the page and found an ad for anger management

[femikol]

The poor cello.

AND IM A CELLIST!!!

[Shenzy]

“Because I have to! You don’t bucking...

You hit an f instead of b
:p

[Shenzy]

Gore tag?
Cruelty against Cellos!