Thirty-Minute Pony Stories

by Silvernis

208: Beautiful Music

208: BEAUTIFUL MUSIC

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Octavia couldn’t sleep. The meditation exercises that usually calmed her pre-performance jitters hadn’t worked, nor had a glass of milk, her favorite book, pacing around the living room, or even a half-hour of brainless late-night TV. She’d finally given up and had returned to the bed, staring out the window at Luna’s moon and trying to will herself into slumber. It hadn’t worked.

Vinyl, of course, was out like a light. Octavia turned over and looked at the unicorn quietly snoring beside her. A small, petulant part of her thought it was entirely unfair that she was still awake while Vinyl was not. They had been extra rigorous tonight; the landlord had even called and said he’d been receiving complaints and could they please show a bit of restraint, which had naturally sent Vinyl racing for her box of rope, and—Octavia blushed in the dark just thinking about it. At any rate, she had expected to be too worn out to do anything but sleep soundly. Why couldn’t she? Why could Vinyl? Wasn’t the DJ nervous about tomorrow, or rather—she glanced at the clock—today?

But then, Vinyl was Vinyl; Octavia knew there wasn’t much that could throw off her mad groove. Octavia smiled and reached over to gently stroke the unicorn’s tousled mane. She still wasn’t sure how two ponies so perfectly unsuited for each other had ended up like this. Once upon a time, Octavia had been a strait-laced professional with tidy schedules, inviolable practice regimens, and rarefied tastes. Then had come that debacle at the Gala, then the dingy nightclub where she’d tried to drown her sorrows in overpriced brandy, then the DJ drenched in a gaudy neon glow as she coaxed bone-rattling sound from a stack of amps. Vinyl tore through her hitherto well-ordered life like a cyclone of cheerful, bass-dropping chaos, and Octavia, to her shock, had discovered that she enjoyed it. More than that, she loved it. She loved being together, sharing a drink, a flat, a bed, a life. She loved that big-hearted, talented, beautiful unicorn, her ever-present grin, her spiky blue mane, her startlingly red eyes—

Wait, when had Vinyl opened her eyes?

“Sorry,” whispered Octavia, pulling her hoof back. “I—I was just . . . ”

Vinyl gave her a lopsided smile. “’S’okay, Tavi. You don’t have to make excuses to touch me.” She glanced around at the darkened room, then pushed closer to Octavia. “Can’t sleep? Even after all that?”

“Hush, you. I’m just . . . anxious, I guess.”

“It’s gonna be fine. You’re waaaay over-thinking this. They’re gonna love us.”

“I hope so, but—”

“I know so. Octascratch is gonna be the funkiest, most awesome-est act to hit Manehattan in, like, forever.” She jabbed a hoof at the window and the city outside. “They’re gonna be crazy about us, Tavi.”

“I’m still not sure about the name.”

“C’mon, ‘Octascratch’ is perfect. It elegantly encapsulates the fusion of your cello and classical technique with my boundary-pushing electronic sounds. Our duo’s name will serve as a symbol of the seamless joining of old and new, of the unexpected but totally awesome, uh, stuff of the . . . stuff.”

Vinyl grinned sheepishly, and Octavia couldn’t help giggling—which, she reflected, had probably been Vinyl’s intent. It was easy to forget that the aggressively informal DJ held degrees in theory, performance, and marketing.

Still . . .

“What if they don’t like it?” said Octavia, more to herself than Vinyl. “It’s never been done before.”

“I know! It’s gonna be wicked!”

“Vinyl, what if it’s not?”

Vinyl snorted. “Please. Tavi, you’re amazing. I’m amazing. Everypony’s gonna eat us up.” She leaned over, her voice dropping to a throaty whisper. “Though I’m only gonna let you eat me out, lover.”

Octavia bopped her gently on the horn. “Vinyl, please. I’m being serious here. I know your fans will probably like it, but what about mine? I’ve already taken fire for that mess at the Gala, and I know this new music isn’t likely to win me any favor in classical circles.”

Vinyl closed her lovely eyes and lay in thoughtful silence. After a long minute, she opened them again and looked steadily at her. “Octavia?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like the music? Really, truly, like it?”

“Yes, insane though it may be.”

“And do you like playing it? I mean . . . with me?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . what’s the problem? Who cares what anypony else thinks? I love having fans, Tavi, but I love my music even more. I love you even more. So long as we’re together making music we love . . . that’s all that matters.”

Octavia blinked. Then she blinked again, pulled Vinyl close, and kissed her tenderly.

“Thank you,” she said. “I love you, Vinyl Scratch, and . . . ” She looked into the unicorn’s eyes, smiling crookedly. “And I do very much want to make beautiful music with you.”

Comments

[Arteries]

Oh, romance. So many feels.

Speaking of which, regardless of one's feels for 'Octascratch' (which is the centuries old battle that no one will give up), what you have here is d'aww~, with just the right amount of mushy. Kudos for that. Maybe a tad too much innuendo for some, but it always makes me smile.

BUTBUTBUTBUT.

She still wasn’t sure how two ponies so perfectly unsuited for each other had ended up like this. Once upon a time,...

I don't know if I'm the only one that gets bothered by this, and I'm not blaming you because it's short, it took about thirty minutes, it was probably just to bridge thoughts and keep the ball rolling, and the rest of it I adore. But I can't take phrasing like this in romance. Or in almost any genre. Ever. Even when it's used in first-person, and the character narrating is thinking ironically. Every fluid I have will become bile. It's not even the word choice itself that bothers me so much (though it does bother me, but that's just my nitpicking). It's that the writing directly points to the idea of the emotion that it's attempting to portray, and says, "This is what I'm about, just wanted to make sure you got that", when the writing would already do that quite successfully without wearing a shirt that says so. A set-up for reflection might work in a longer piece, depending on what was said before, and how far along the story is when it's presented, and maybe a few other choice instances, but... ugh.

[Nightmare mare]

That kiss was the bomb

[PresentPerfect]

She still wasn’t sure how two ponies so perfectly unsuited for each other had ended up like this.

That makes two of us. :V

Still, this was nice.