Discord and the Doctor—Part 1 (c)
We again return to Discord and the Doctor—Part 1.
Vinyl Scratch didn't care about the chaos happening around her as she trudged through Ponyville. Solid-seeming houses folded themselves into paper cranes. Cows did headstands while playing in brass bands. A warm licorice blizzard blazed through the street. The sun in the sky—occasionally the suns—flew through the cycle of day and night, alternating with the moon or moons.
So what? It didn't concern her. It wasn't her business. No need to pry. The candy snow in her hair, the soapy ground beneath her feet, the utter emptiness in her soul—not her problem. That weird scraping noise that was approaching her from behind—not her problem.
Being hauled off the ground from behind, pulled into a flying box, and swooping up into the sky—maybe that was something she should think about. She wasn't sure yet.
“Gotcha!” said the stallion grabbing her. She found herself in a huge room with some sort of weird glowy pillar in the middle. A few mares were in there along with the brown stallion, and they all looked a bit beat up. She didn't recognize anypony, though... hang on, that's Octavia over there. She was sitting in a chair, though not by choice; she'd been gagged and tied to it with a long multicolored scarf.
“At least this one came quietly,” said one of the ponies, massaging her bruised mouth. “Now what do we do, Doctor?”
“We introduce ourselves, of course!” The stallion put himself right in front of her eyes with a giddy grin on his face. “Nice to meet you, Vinyl Scratch! I'm the Doctor.”
Vinyl said nothing. Maybe they'll go away if I don't do anything. A few seconds of awkward silence ensued.
Eventually, the Doctor renewed his sagging grin and pulled Vinyl toward the glowy pillar. “That's Bon Bon over there.” He pointed to the mare who'd been rubbing her mouth. “Can be a bit of a grump, but she has some great redeeming qualities, namely....” He paused to think for a moment, then gave up the attempt and moved on.
“And that's Lyra on the other side. Shy, very imaginative, and a pleasure to know. I'm the Doctor, a bit crazy, a bit rude, more than a bit good with spatio-temporal mechanics. That's Derpy Hooves.” He pointed to a gray pegasus standing next to the pillar's base, “Inexplicably enough, she's kind of like me but minus the rude. And that's Octavia there, but you know her pretty well already—well, knew. Careful, she bites.”
Octavia growled through her improvised gag like a rabid dog.
“Seriously, Doctor, what are we doing?” Bon Bon asked, trying to bring the conversation back to a reasonable footing of sanity.
“Seriously, we're introducing ourselves,” the Doctor said, having none of it. “And we're going to become the best of friends! Like the three amigos, except with another three, so that's six amigos right there!” He guffawed, then turned back to the console, still rattling on inanely. “That's a nice number, six. Sort of a mystical number, sometimes....” He seemed to realize he was rambling, and caught himself. “Sorry. Anyway, Bon Bon, what happens next is that you—or any of you, really—tell me our destination.”
“We tell you?” asked Lyra.
“Well, all I know is that it's a fashion show.” The Doctor paused, apparently amused at Lyra and Bon Bon's befuddlement. “Don't you remember, it was on the radio? Octavia said to Vinyl that 'ever since we met at that fashion show', then something about no respect—and before that, Vinyl said that they'd been friends for a few months. Have there been any big fashion shows recently?” Vinyl followed their conversation with disinterest.
“Oh, right!” Lyra exclaimed. “Yeah, there was one a few months back... February 17, 1002, at Saddleson Square Garden in Manehattan.” The Doctor began setting the coordinates, trying to keep a straight face.
“Okay, one trip to Saddleson Square Garden... in... Manehattan...” He gave up and fell into a fit of guffaws for several seconds. “Sorry every... pony... it's just that... eh...” Bon Bon, Lyra, and Derpy were all giving him strange looks. “Nevermind, long story. Fashion show, coming right up!” He slammed down one last lever and they were off.
Octavia noticed that her ensemble was playing a touch too loudly, and motioned for them to quiet down. After all, they'd been hired to play as accompaniment to the Manehattan Fashion Expo, not as the main event.
Not that she thought much of the Expo itself. A bunch of fashionistas and fashionistos trying desperately to one-up each other with gems and gaud. That one pony—the one with the purple mane, from Ponyville—some of her dresses could blind a pony at fifty paces. Sure, she has a few relatively subdued pieces, but the crowd isn't noticing them. Subtle never gets you very far.
Octavia made sure to halt these somewhat resentful thoughts before they could affect her technique. She might have been no more than a background to the expo, but by Celestia she was going to do a good job at it even if nopony noticed. That was her role, after all: to provide a backdrop against which the ponies could display their spectacular dresses. Oh, they're a spectacle, all right. You'd need spectacles after looking at one for too long.
What am I even doing here? she found herself wondering. I've been a virtuosa at the cello for years and here I am doing mood music. Don't I deserve something a bit more prestigious? Shouldn't they be watching me? She noticed a tension in her body, a small stridency in her playing, and forced herself to relax. Okay, so I may not be the main event at Saddleson Square Garden, but I'm still at the Saddleson Square Garden. Things could be worse.
She decided to just make the best of what she had. She'd earn her recognition in time. She'd get noticed. Until then, she resolved to play as well as she could and not let anything distract or disrupt her. Not resentment, not ennui, not even—
A massive electronic blast assaulted her ears: the sound of an abused subwoofer crying for mercy. Octavia dropped her bow to cover her ears and cringe. What in the hay? She and the rest of her ensemble looked around for the source of the ghastly sound.
“Sorry, everypony! Just making sure the speakers are working!” On the opposite side of the massive chamber, a blue-haired white unicorn waved to the stunned crowd from another raised podium. After a moment, the guests went back to their small talk and order-making, and the unicorn disappeared behind a large turntable. Octavia thought she saw sparks flying out from the turntable's back.
“Oh, damn,” Beauty Brass said, sticking a hoof into her face. 'The expo's been double-booked.”
Octavia was skeptical. “You really think they'd hire... whoever the hoof she is at this kind of event?”
“Maybe she's playing... easy listening?” Frederic suggested. Octavia looked over at the DJ's podium and noticed the words DJ PON-3 on the base in the same neon-blue color as her hair, with lightning bolts on either side of the lettering.
“Yes, I'm sure that easy listening is her thing,” she muttered. She turned back to her ensemble and tried to compose herself. “Okay, we've played through worse than this. Remember the Grand Galloping Gala?” They all nodded, remembering the inexplicable appearance of a hyperactive pink mare who had forced them to play the Pony Polka and sang along with some rather odd improvised lyrics. The night had only gotten worse from there. “Whoever this pony is, she can't possibly be worse than that night. Let's just play through it.”
Octavia returned to her cello. Beauty Brass put her lips back upon her sousaphone, and Frederic held his hooves just above the piano keys in preparation. “We'll pick up from measure 33 in three, two, one.” They resumed playing with practiced ease, almost as if they hadn't stopped. In fact, nopony seemed to have noticed that they had stopped for what must have been a whole minute. That's... kind of depressing.
What she didn't notice were two ponies who were paying attention to her: the unicorn DJ, her head peeking out from behind the turntable, and a brown stallion in a corner wearing ridiculously large glasses.
“I hope you're all getting this,” he murmured, seemingly to thin air. “I'm going to all this trouble to synchronize my brainy specs with the ship, and sit in at a... a fashion show.” He grimaced.
“Could you zoom in a little more on Octavia?” Bon Bon asked—ever the personification of gratitude—back in the TARDIS. Lyra and Derpy stood beside her. Vinyl had been led into a chair, where she sat and watched the scanner without complaint: Octavia was no more willingly compliant than before. They watched as the view from the Doctor's special glasses was magnified several times, showing them the past Octavia frowning with barely-suppressed annoyance upon her podium.
“That's better, thanks,” Lyra said. “Anyways, from what I heard, there were some crossed wires at the event, so they accidentally hired both musicians.” The Doctor turned his head to look at past-Vinyl, who was nodding her head in time with Octavia's music. Suddenly, she grinned and ducked back behind a speaker, making noises that suggested the methodical disabling of machinery.
“Oh, Doctor,” Bon Bon interjected, a little smile on her face, “You should probably be turning the volume down again. I think Vinyl's just had an idea.” The Doctor managed to dial the volume down just before—
—a short but huge burst of static blasted from the speaker, piercing the air like a hail of broken glass and interrupting all activity on the floor and on Octavia's podium. Octavia covered her ears and shot a glare at DJ PON-3, who waved back at her. She's not even sorry that she's ruining the show, and that she's ruining my performance with her utter—
Octavia took a long, deep breath. “Let's... let's try that again. Measure 57, I think...” No DJ is going to get me frazzled. “And one, two, three, go.” She drew her bow across the cello—
—and was interrupted again by more, for lack of a better word, sounds. But this time was no brief distraction; this seemed to be the main event, in all its obnoxious glory. “Hello Manehattan!” DJ PON-3 called to the stunned high-society ponies from behind her turntable, then raised her glasses off her face and looked Octavia directly in the eyes. She winked and gave Octavia a challenging smirk, before scratching one of her records a few times.
Octavia felt a little something inside her snap. Her eye twitched. She mouthed three words: “It. Is. On.”
She turned to her ensemble. “That's it, change of plan. We're not playing the Prelude in C Minor, we're playing the Sabre Prance on my count.” She walked over to their own speakers and turned them up, then looked back at her ensemble. They, in turn, looked at her like she'd grown an extra head.
“She's not actually trying to out-loud the DJ.” Beauty Brass pleaded to Frederic. “Please tell me she's not.”
“Listen, Octavia, don't let yourself get worked up over nothing.” Frederic had to yell to be heard above the dubstep. “Look.” He pointed to a group of large uniformed stallions to the side of the room, who were starting to move toward DJ PON-3. “Security will be here any minute, they'll—”
“Sabre Prance, on my count,” Octavia repeated, as calmly and firmly as she could manage. “We are not letting that vulgarian steal the show. Ready?” She raised her bow, and despite their misgivings, her band mates followed her lead. “Three-two-one-go!”
The ensemble blasted their bombastic piece through speakers cranked up to double their previous volumes, enough to drown out DJ PON-3 in a classical tsunami. Now the crowd and the security turned to face her ensemble instead.
Octavia looked triumphantly upon the DJ, only to see her turning up her own speakers to drown them out. The security guards turned back to her in confusion, unsure of who exactly was more of a danger to the Expo.
“Louder!” Octavia yelled, cranking up the speaker's volume by another half as they moved to the first stanza of the song. The shrill notes of her cello assailed the room.
Now what, DJ? Going to turn it up again? Instead, PON-3 switched her music off. Feeling victorious, Octavia was about to motion to her band to stop as well, when suddenly the DJ's turntable began playing the Sabre Prance precisely in time with her ensemble. Every part from bass to melody to percussion was played by synthesizer—impressive, in its way.
After a stanza of this, she turned off everything but the bass and percussion, stood on the turntable, and picked up an electric guitar with her magic to play the next line. It was unrehearsed and a little rough, but rather well done despite that. After the stanza was finished, she pointed the guitar at Octavia, challenging her. Daring her. Octavia was more than willing to respond.
Back in the TARDIS, Octavia's struggling became less violent, and Vinyl began taking more interest in her surroundings. “It's working!” exclaimed Lyra. “Your plan, it's working!”
“Forget the plan, this is brilliant!” replied the Doctor, eyes fixed on the show. The two musicians had never met, but they played as though they'd known each other their whole lives—and he wasn't the only pony to notice. The crowd stopped cringing at the noise and began to enjoy it, especially as it moved into a slightly quieter section; all thoughts of dress-selling were gone. The security guards milled about in the middle of the crowd, unsure of whether to let the two ponies play or throw them from the hall.
Finally, after a few more minutes of bombast, riffing, and wild improvisation, the two of them finished. Octavia was flushed with success, and she grinned at DJ PON-3, who smiled right back and grabbed a microphone. “Okay Manehattan, give it up for my good friend Octavia!” she yelled.
After some hesitation, the crowd began to applaud politely. Then the applause became louder, and louder, and grew to a thunderous ovation that must have lasted a full thirty seconds. She even heard a few ‘brava!’s. It was more acclaim than Octavia had ever hoped to achieve here, and she and her ensemble bowed deeply in gratitude. When she raised her head, however, she saw a security guard trying to be discreet in her peripheral vision. Oh no.
“Excuse me, miss Octavia.” He beckoned for her to move closer to him. “I'm very sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.”
“Why?” she blurted, all her good feeling evaporating to be replaced by dawning horror. Because I was just goaded into interrupting the biggest fashion show of the year to get into a loudness contest! With a DJ! That's why! Oh Celestia, I'll be lucky if I ever get hired again after this.
“Please, miss.” The security pony shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. “I'd rather not make this more difficult than it needs to be.” Octavia glanced at the crowd to see if they would support her, but they had stopped looking almost as soon as they noticed security.
“Hey!” DJ PON-3 appeared behind them. “You can't do that, she was awesome! If you throw her out, you'll have to throw me out too!”
“That's the idea, Miss... PON-3.” The security pony sighed. “Look, I don't want to do this—I thought you both were great—but the director told me that you need to go, so—”
“Excuse me! I couldn't help but overhear you.” The three of them were joined by a new pony wearing a coquettish smile: it was the fashion designer from Ponyville that Octavia had noticed earlier. “Did you say that these dazzling musicians are going to be thrown out like common gatecrashers?”
“I'm afraid so, miss... um...”
“Miss Rarity, if you please, and don't be so absurd! You thought they were excellent, I thought they're excellent, and everypony here—” she gestured toward the crowd of appreciative ponies “—seemed to think they were excellent, except for this director of yours.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose there's no accounting for taste, but nevertheless I'd like to have a word with him. Would you be so kind as to escort me?” She batted her eyelashes.
“Well... sure, I, uh, guess,” the flustered guard said, and led Rarity away from the two musicians. Octavia felt no less flustered, and turned to the DJ to try to speak, but got cut off.
“Ha! Knew that would work.” Her devilish grin only annoyed Octavia more.
“Because of your antics, I'm one fashionista away from being thrown out of one of the biggest shows I'll ever play at, and my career is—is probably ruined.” She took a deep breath, doing her utmost to calm down. “In what way did that 'work', Miss PON-3?”
“Hey, I'd say they were at least half your antics. And please, Miss Octavia, call me Vinyl.” Vinyl smiled—or rather, continued to smile. Except to protest to the security guard, she didn't seem to have stopped all night.
A thought occurred to Octavia. “How do you know my name?” she asked. “Nopony told me that there would be a second act here.”
“Oh, I just read the program!” Vinyl produced the little brochure seemingly from thin air and flipped to the back page. “See, there you are! Octavia and ensemble, right at the bottom. In tiny little letters. Very flattering.” She pulled a face. “Let's face it, girl, your 'career' wasn't going to take off even if this thing had gone according to plan.”
“You can't know that for sure—”
“Really? Look, Octy—”
“Octavia—”
“You wouldn't've done what you did if you thought this expo was worth your time, would you?” Vinyl gave her a questioning look. “You'd have just waited for security to haul me off.” The DJ seemed to have read her mind: hadn't she been thinking what a waste of time the expo was? How much she wanted to move on to bigger, better things?
Vinyl was absolutely right—and by Celestia, Octavia wasn't going to tell her that. “That's a big step between having... less-than-charitable thoughts for the expo and willfully disrupting it to prove a point!”
Vinyl shrugged. “Eh, you've gotta rock the boat once in a while, you know? Subtle never gets you very far anyway.” Octavia started, hearing her own exact thoughts out loud. Dear goodness, she is reading my mind. “And you have to admit, you thought it was fun either way!”
“... yes.” Octavia smiled. “You were good, by the way.”
“You were better!” Vinyl laughed. “So why not show these ponies just how good you are?”
"Hello again!" Rarity returned with a dazzling smile on her face. “I've just managed to persuade that philistine of a director to let you two play a few more songs for all of us!”
Octavia was genuinely surprised—she hadn't thought that Rarity could do it. “Wow... that is to say, um, thank you for arguing on my—our—behalf. That was really generous of you.”
“Oh, generosity is my thing, you know.” She winked. “Now trot-trot, you've got a show to do!” A few seconds later, as Octavia watched her return to her stand, something clicked in the cellist's brain. Her name is Rarity, and generosity is her thing. Her eyes widened as she realized who had saved her career.
“Knew that would work too.” Vinyl's grin had grown, if possible, even wider. “Any suggestions for some more rockin' classical, Octy?” Octavia didn't respond, still dumbstruck. “Hey, Tavi, you okay?”
“That was the Element of Generosity,” Octavia whispered.
Vinyl laughed. “I know!” she replied, not a trace of surprise in her voice. “I once DJ'd one of her fashion shows, and let me tell you, she really is one of the most generous ponies I've ever seen.” She wolf-whistled. “Although you're giving her a run for your money in that department. Anyway, song choice?”
Octavia checked her mental library, and came up with an idea. “Have you ever heard of the 'Pranse macabre'?” She smiled when Vinyl shook her head. “Do your best, then.”
“I'll try!” She was about to caper off, but Octavia stopped her.
“One more thing—I couldn't help but notice something about the brochure earlier.” Octavia dropped her voice to a whisper. “You're not on it.”
“Yup!” Vinyl grinned mischievously. “And I bet I'll still get paid for this!”
Octavia's smile was just as mischievous as she watched Vinyl bound back to her turntable. Why, you common gatecrasher.
“And let me tell you, I did get paid—hey, where am I? What happened? Why's Octavia tied up?”
“And my work here is done,” said the Doctor, turning his gaze away from the past Vinyl Scratch to talk to the present one. “Welcome back, Vinyl Scratch! I'm sorry about Octavia, but she was biting with more than just her wit. Lyra, if you could untie her?”
“Hang on, who the hay are you?” he heard Vinyl say through the glasses. “Where are you? And where am I?”
“I'm the Doctor. I introduced myself already, along with Bon Bon and Lyra and Derpy,” he replied. “Do you remember anything? From, say, the last fifteen minutes?”
“No... well, sort of... it's kind of weird, like...” Vinyl took a moment to try to explain. “Like a really bad dream where you just do crazy things and you can't stop yourself. Did Octavia really say—”
The Doctor cut her off. “Yes, she said all those things—but she didn't mean any of them.” He exited the expo and walked across the street to a dark alleyway, where his unassuming blue box had been parked. “And then what happened?”
“Well, that's when it sort of started,” she continued. “The dreamy part, I mean. And I just sort of walked around for a while... and the roads were made of soap, I think? Then somepony grabbed me... that was you, actually, and then I was watching that recording from the Saddleson Square Garden, and that's when I woke up, I guess.” The Doctor pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, poking his head in to see Octavia shrugging off the last coils of the scarf.
As she got out of the chair and turned to look at the door, her eyes widened in recognition. “You!” she exclaimed. “You were backstage with me and Discord!”
“Discord! Ohhhhhhh...” Comprehension dawned on Vinyl's face. “So that's why you were being so...” Octavia lowered her head, remembering all she'd said and done.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “And sorry for hitting you all.”
“Don't worry about it!” exclaimed Derpy. Bon Bon also accepted the apology, after some consideration.
“By the way, that wasn't a recording.” The Doctor grinned. “That was live video. Come on, have a look around!” The Doctor beckoned the five of them to come outside.
“Haha, live video. Good one.” Vinyl walked out. “Seriously, though, where am... I...” Her brain seemed to shut down as she tried to take it all in.
Firstly, there was the Saddleson Square Garden right across the street, when she'd been in Ponyville minutes earlier. Secondly, she could hear the Pranse Macabre being played inside, as only she and Octavia could play it. Finally, she turned around and saw the blue box she'd just left, but the outside was too small to fit the room she'd been in. Vinyl's and Octavia's jaws dropped.
“That's the TARDIS,” the Doctor explained, as Derpy, Lyra and Bon Bon looked on with smiles. “Short for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. It's a time machine, and yes—its inside is bigger than its outside, might as well get that out of the way now. That over there—” he pointed to the brightly lit arena “—is in fact Saddleson Square Garden, and you and Octavia are playing there right now, several months before what you would consider the present day. Your first gig together!” He paused to see if they would say anything.
After a few seconds, Vinyl spoke. “I'm still dreaming, aren't I.” She smacked herself several times on the cheeks to check. “Um... wow, not dreaming, okay. Maybe you are?” she asked Octavia, who shook her head.
“Good, isn't it?” The Doctor ambled to their side, lost in contemplation. “All of time and space, yours for the viewing. You can walk on planets of glass, watch the birth of a star... revisit old, happy memories...” A smile lit up his face, if only for a moment. Then he turned back to them. “And I wish I could show you all of that—not least because it'll all be new to me as well—but I can't.”
“What do you mean, you can't?” Octavia asked. "And who are you, really?”
“Like I said, I'm the Doctor, but I'm not from Equestria. I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous, another universe away. And I need your help. Discord's taken over your world, and he's neutralized the Elements of Harmony. It's up to all of us to stop him.” The Doctor paused to let them take it all in. “It's a lot to drop on you at once, I know. And I'm truly sorry, because if I could do this myself I would, but I need help.”
There was silence from the six following this speech.
Eventually... “Just to be sure... you're asking me and Vinyl to confront Discord, the god of chaos, without the Elements of Harmony on our side.”
“We've got the Elements themselves, but not their wielders.”
“So we can't use them.” Octavia seemed torn, but she made up her mind. “Doctor, I really wish I could help, but without the Elements on our side, attacking Discord is a suicide mission.”
“But....” The Doctor hesitated. How much can I tell them? How can I persuade them to come along with me?
“Um, sorry, Doctor, but....” Lyra raised a hoof. “Are you sure you need all of us?”
“Yeah!” Oh boy, now Bon Bon's jumping in. “We've just met you; you can't ask Lyra to do this!”
“And me and Octy! You're the one who's a Time Lord from the constellation of whatever with the time machine. What do you need us for?”
“Can I sit this one out?”
“Why don't you just—”
Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
They all stopped talking at Derpy's high-pitched whistle and turned to look at her. “Do you think Discord is just going to go away? That he's gonna just leave us alone? Nopony in all of Equestria can stop him—not Twilight Sparkle, not Celestia, not Luna—nopony but us.”
The Doctor was surprised at the outburst; the other four were dumbfounded to see her so fiery. “The Doctor says he can beat Discord, but he needs our help. So help him!” she bellowed.
After a few seconds of dumbstruck silence, the Doctor spoke up. “We'd better get back in the TARDIS before anyone sees us.” They followed him back into his ship, all of them still quiet. The Doctor nudged Derpy as she entered. “Thank you.”
“And ponies call me dumb.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “At least they listened.”
“Why wouldn't they?” he asked. In response, she reopened and rolled her misaligned eyes at him.
“Because why would anypony listen to dumb old Derpy.” She snorted. “It's not even my real name, just a nickname everypony used to call me.”
“Not a very nice nickname."
“'Derpy Hooves, Derpy Hooves, can't do basic flying moves,'” she chanted. “No, it wasn't.”
The Doctor scratched his head. “So you started calling yourself that because...”
“Then they couldn't—at least, they couldn't insult me with it. And... well, it's not that much worse than my real name.”
“Which is...”
“If you must know... Ditzy Doo.”
The Doctor chuckled, and led her to the central console. “You're right, it's not. So, you lot,” he called, addressing the group at large. “What do you say?”
Bon Bon spoke up. “Don't take this the wrong way, Doctor... but why do you want us?”
“Do you trust me?” he asked in response.
“To do what?” She was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Do you trust me to use all my power to keep you and your friends safe, and save your world?”
After a pause: “Yes.”
The Doctor turned to Lyra. “And do you trust me?” She nodded. “And you?” he asked Octavia, who nodded as well.
“If Octavia trusts you, you're all right,” said Vinyl, before the Doctor even asked.
“I trust you.” Derpy was firm in her assent.
“Good,” said the Doctor. “Because I've seen a little of who all of you are. And I trust all of you to do exactly the same. And that's why it has to be us.” He started preparing the TARDIS for flight.
Before they went, he had one last question. “Are you all ready?” They all said yes. “Well, no point waiting around now... we've got a world to save.”
He pulled the lever, and they took off.
To be continued in:
Discord and the Doctor—Part 2
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i love this story more than simple words can describe!
scifiscoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/tom_baker_doctor_who.jpg
3179440 He used his old scarf, that thing is indestrutible and it links it to my favorite doctor. Thanks for realising that or I would have missed it.
Well, I love this version of Derpy.
It was Doctor Hooves fanfic that got me interested in seriously reading fanfic in the first place. I've only just finished part 1, and I can already tell this is going to be one of the most amazing fics I've read in this subgenre. I'm not faving until I catch up with this story (keeping down clutter), but have a well-deserved like for now.
On to more timey-wimey adventures. Allons-Y!
P.s. This is my favorite version of Scratch and Octavia I've read so far.