"What in Equestria happened last night, Vinyl?"
I am an intelligent mare.
Oh... oh dear, that may have come across in a way that presents me as being somewhat arrogant. By no means am I attempting to… well, the way Vinyl would say it is ‘big myself up’, but I am not entirely convinced that would be an appropriate choice of wording. Perhaps I said it too bluntly.
Here, I’ll start over.
My father always taught me that a lesson learned the hard way will stay with you forever. This is a belief he holds to heart, and that I, in turn, have also learned to take to heart. And for the most part, I do. If I make a mistake that has consequences of a sufficient severity, the chances of my repeating said mistake are almost nil. Over time, my life experiences both good and bad have blended together, and shaped me into the mare I am today. And from these experiences I would say I have obtained a fair amount of wisdom.
There. That might be a much better way of phrasing it, if not quite as succinct.
Now, this may be considered an unusual way to introduce oneself, but I’m sure if you just bear with me a short while longer, you’ll understand. As I have explained, my life experiences have lent me a decent amount of wisdom as I’ve grown into the mare I am. So how is it that I can manage to be so astronomically moronic whenever a situation arises where alcohol is involved?
I suppose this could be considered a somewhat common issue among many ponies. At night, a glossy veneer seems to cover the more entertaining aspects of inebriation, and obscures our common sense – which, to be fair, isn’t terribly common any more – blinding us to the inevitable outcome that awaits us the following morning. I of course refer to hangovers. But, as is the norm, we get far too caught up in the moment to care about what the future holds. One of the benefits of being fairly young, that. I’ll say ‘carpe diem’ before I drink, and then Vinyl comes along and says…
Urgh, I can barely bring myself to say it... ‘YOLO’.
Though I suppose to Vinyl's credit, they do in fact mean more or less the same thing, but after hearing enough pouting young teenage mares saying it as they take ‘selfies’ whilst pulling those ridiculous duckfaces… I think I’m more than justified in my preference of the more cultured equivalent. No doubt a result of my upbringing. I certainly get some odd looks from time to time, but then again a Trottingham accent isn’t terribly common in Ponyville. And anypony I meet doubles down on their shock and/or amazement when they find out that I'm in a relationship with Vinyl.
Oh dear... am I rambling? I do apologise, I could waffle on for Princess and Country sometimes. But I suppose you’re here to hear something a bit more interesting than my opinions on the youth of today, or my distaste for modern slang.
Firstly, yes, Vinyl Scratch and I are dating. That is, in fact, the same Vinyl Scratch who regularly DJ’s at Club Zero in Ponyville, the same Vinyl Scratch who has several of the all time best selling dubstep records in Equestria, and also the very same Vinyl Scratch who was arrested three years ago for aggravated assault on that other DJ… Neon Lights. Deeply unpleasant fellow, she spent a night in a prison cell after he had provoked her. However enough testimony from onlookers, myself included, saw the charges dropped. The tabloids unfortunately like to dredge it up any time they sniff out some potential to get a rise out of her.
But yes, that’s her. And she is dating me, somepony who has an Honours Degree in Musical Theory – Classical, of course – from West Manehatten University, is first chair cellist for the Royal Canterlot Symphony Orchestra, and holds a family name that has commanded the respect of the classical music community for tens of generations. Now, you would not be the first pony to think it, if you said that we appeared to be a mismatched pair. In this case, ‘opposites attract’ would be a very appropriate expression.
Secondly, I will say the night leading up to this particular series of events is one big blur to me. The last thing I recall is sitting at the bar in Club Zero, marvelling at how much I enjoyed the taste of the fine scotch they had in stock. Beyond that, I have no recollection of anything up to the point where I begin this story, which is my unceremonious awakening the following morning.
If I think back to high school, I can recall my Classical Civilisation studies, where we read the collected works of a historian named Hoofrodotus. He wrote a fascinating recount of three hundred soldiers standing their ground against an army of hundreds of thousands. Specifically what comes to mind is a passage stating that the earth beneath them trembled at the sheer mass of hooves marching towards them. That is, somehow, my first thought as I awake this morning, as it feels like every single one of the hundreds of thousands of ponies that made up that invading Fursian army are all walking through my head. Simultaneously.
That is my first conscious thought at least, as I drift unwillingly out of the depths of inebriation and into a cruel world of relentless headaches and overwhelming dizziness. A cough fights its way out of my throat, which feels as scratchy and dry as the Saddle Arabian desert, but also treats me to a trifecta of inconvenience as the cough rises up and brings with it the overwhelming aftertaste of bile.
Oh. Wonderful.
Then as my perceptions of my immediate surroundings begin to flicker back to life, I become aware of another sensation. A blissful warmth. Though making no effort to make its presence stronger than the more painful sensations dancing around my head, it is most definitely there. And I open my bleary eyes, rapidly blinking though the gunk and the piercing light shining in through the window to...
Vinyl? What in Equestria...
It’s important you know that while Vinyl is a very caring marefriend, she isn’t hugely affectionate. I mean, we do cuddle up on the sofa and in bed, but I’m always the one cuddling up to her. She prefers to wear the trousers, as my friend Lyra would say. Conversely, others might call her the big spoon. She’ll always wrap an comforting hoof around me, but that’s the extent of it. So I am very surprised to find myself lying on the sofa, with my head resting against Vinyl’s chest. Both of her hooves are wrapped around me like I'm some kind of oversized stuffed toy. What’s most astonishing is the look on her face; she’s asleep, but she’s wearing a small but contented smile.
Normally I wake up to find that she’s rolled over in the night and dragged half the duvet across with her. A quick glance down to my lower half reveals that she’s brought the duvet downstairs with her, choosing to snuggle up on the sofa with me when there’s a perfectly large double bed upstairs. She’s more than aware of that; she takes up most of it normally. If our bed was divided into equal territories, then she declares a land-war against me on a nightly basis.
Then I notice something particularly unusual. Sat on the coffee table, next to Vinyl's glasses, is my photo album. The old brown leather one with pink stitching, a book I’ve had in my possession almost all my life. The first two decades of my existence, all of it folded up within the tarnished pages. Vinyl must have brought it down at some point in the night, to look through while I was sleeping. Now I am beginning to feel very confused indeed, so I lift my head up higher to get a better look, just to see if my eyes are playing tricks with me.
Oh sweet Celestia, this is a big mistake.
A wave of pain surges through my head, as the sword of Damarecles drops and pierces my skull. Before I can stop myself, a low moan escapes my lips. My throat burns in protest from the exertion, and on cue, Vinyl’s eyes shoot straight open.
It is immediately clear that she had nowhere near as much to drink last night as I did. She doesn’t like to admit this, but I seem to hold my drink better than she does. Even so, here I am feeling like absolute death, and she just smiles at me without a care in the world.
All right, all right, nopony likes a show-off.
“Mornin', beautiful,” she says, squinting at me with mixture of cheer and affection that... seems somewhat out of character for her. “Rough night?”
“You’re more than welcome to speculate,” I reply as clearly as possible, but it barely comes out louder than a rasp.
She simply chuckles, kisses me on the forehead, and eases herself out from underneath me. After donning her glasses, she has a quick stretch. Her spine gives some grotesque-sounding pops, she lets out a serene sigh, and she trots off towards the kitchen, humming a jaunty little tune to herself. I realise my lower jaw had made a downwards migration in my disbelief, and I quickly close it. Vinyl’s morning routine has never been any more graceful than me shaking her awake, normally receiving some groans and the odd moment of flatulence in return, before she’ll finally tear herself away from the bed. And that’s after a sober night, too.
I slowly haul myself up into a sitting position, the thin strip of daylight shining through the curtains feeling absolutely blinding to me. Sweet Celestia... oh how much did I drink last night? I don't think I've ever felt this awful in my life. After a few moments to gather myself, two things occur to me as my conscious mind finally catches up to my mortal coil. Firstly, I hadn’t imagined it. It is my photo album sat on the coffee table. And secondly, no less disturbing, Vinyl had addressed me as ‘Beautiful’.
Vinyl. Addressed me. As ‘Beautiful’.
This is a mare who has, until this point, never referred to me in a romantic sense as anything sweeter than ‘Babe’. I was never fond of pet names along those lines, but it's a dislike that has been a constant for most of my life. ‘Tavi’ is a common-ish nickname for me, and it’s one that I hated during its inception period when I was at boarding school. It’s grown on me over the years, but until fairly recently, I preferred to be referred to by my proper first name. Then Vinyl came along, and suddenly ‘Tavi’ became one that felt quite sweet. ‘Octy’ was one that started around high school for me, and whilst my aversion to it wasn’t terribly strong, it also grew on me. Again, when Vinyl came along and started using it, it became more than bearable. So don’t get me wrong, I’m used to nicknames, but ‘Beautiful’? That caught me with one hoof off the merry-go-round, I can say without any shadow of a doubt.
“You want some aspirin?” she calls from the kitchen.
“Please,” I shout back, immediately regretting it as the pain echoes through my skull again. The exertion causes my throat to burn like acid, as if it was the lynchpin holding all my pained extremities together in one long chain running through my head and neck down into my chest, where my stomach is now beginning to feel uneasy.
Actually, scratch that. ‘Uneasy’ doesn’t quite justify the intensity of the wave of nausea that suddenly washes over me, without any warning. After breathing heavily for a few seconds, I manage to deduce exactly what is about to happen, shoot up onto my hooves and run to our downstairs bathroom as quickly as I can manage in my condition. Luckily, I arrive without a moment to spare, and proceed to violently empty my stomach contents into our toilet.
I believe I have already pointed out how inconceivably dim-witted I can become whenever I am presented with alcohol, and the fact that within minutes of waking up I was throwing up profusely, that could only serve as an irksome reminder of said dim-wittedness. After a few moments hunched over the basin, making sure I’d got as much up as I could, my chest tightens up as a warm foreleg wraps itself delicately around me. I feel the distinct shape of a muzzle nuzzling against the back of my head. I hadn't even heard Vinyl walk in.
“Got it all up?” she asks soothingly.
“Just…” I stop midway through my raspy sentence as a tickle washes over my throat, causing me to erupt in a brief coughing fit. “Just err… just about,” I gasp.
She kisses the back of my head, before letting go of me and walking out of the cramped toilet. She returns a few moments later, carrying some pills and a glass. I put the toilet lid down and sit on it, as she passes me the pills and fills the glass up with water from the sink.
“What happened last night?” I ask as I swallow the pills and take the glass from her, chugging it all down in two large gulps.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” she says, the corners of her lip trembling in a telltale sign of a smirk being suppressed. “It’s gotta be the worst I’ve ever seen you, Tavi. Seven scotches on top of everything else, I’m amazed you didn’t drink yourself into the ground.”
“Bugger me,” I gasp. “Did you say seven scotches?”
She simply nods in return.
“So what happened then?”
“Well, we got to Club Zero, and then…”
“No, no,” I say, cutting her off mid-sentence with the limp wave of a hoof. “What happened?”
“Whadda ya mean, Octy?” she replies. The muscles twitching either side of her head indicate that behind those glasses, her are eyes shifting from side to side, and her ears subtly droop about an inch.
I’ve been dating her for long enough to know when she’s hiding something. Even without the more unusual occurrences that I’d noticed this morning, I could have seen it. I've mulled to myself more than once that there's no point in us lying to each other. I know her tells, and I'm pretty sure she knows mine. Even if I don't...
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” I say, the glass of water having done nothing to quell my raspy voice and dry throat. “My photo album on the coffee table, the kissing and snuggling, the fact you called me ‘beautiful’ earlier. What’s going on?”
“What, you don’t think you’re beautiful?” she asks. Ah-hah, deflection, another classic Vinyl Scratch move. I can scratch that one off the bingo card for the morning. Fortunately, she's about as convincing as a politician's promise.
“Please don’t try and turn this around, Vinyl. I have a monstrous hangover, and I would appreciate you sparing the bullshit,” I snap. While I don't particularly enjoy cursing, the words slip out every now and then when my mood takes a dip. She knows I only swear when I’m drunk, or when I’m in a foul mood, or both. The effect is immediate.
“Look,” she says, her ears drooping all the way down now. “Something did happen last night, but…”
“But what?” I ask.
“Just… ugh, look, it’s complicated. And I’d much rather talk to you about it when you’re not hung over.”
Blimey, she sounds inexplicably serious there. Reading between the lines, I instantly know from the look on her face that she was really playing the whole thing down when she said ‘complicated’. Her body language changes dramatically as her cheerful mask slips all the way off. She seems completely unable to bring her eyes up to meet mine, a sure sign that something was very, very wrong.
And I panic.
“I need some air,” I say firmly, standing up and shakily making my way towards the front door. Giving a cursory glance back as I walk outside, I notice Vinyl stood absolutely still, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom door, head drooped down. The polarised lenses of her glasses betray no visibility to the red eyes behind, but the expression on her face presents every facet of a troubled soul.
It may sound clichéd, saying that two ponies who have been together long enough can read each other like a book, but it’s only clichéd because it’s true. Spend enough time with somepony and you’ll find out quite a lot about them. In this case, I know that Vinyl isn’t chasing after me because she knows that I need my space right now. My mind takes a moment within the complex layers of anxiety to spare her a modicum of gratitude for this. The morning air feels refreshing, but this is a trivial detail given my pounding headache and aching stomach.
Thinking about it, it is truly surprising how quickly the next few hours pass by. It turns out it was just before lunchtime when I woke up, so I walk into the town centre to my favourite café just opposite town hall. Ponyville really is a marvellous little community, where you can sit outside and relax in the tranquillity of small town life, as opposed to the hustle and bustle you may receive in larger cities like Canterlot. I bask in the warm early-afternoon sunlight as the spring breeze washes over me, sipping orange juice as the pills I had taken earlier slowly begin to take effect. And the time simply disappears.
I move onto tea as the weight dissipates from my skull, and later on when my stomach settles, I order some dandelion sandwiches. Our fridge at home is always well stocked, so I rarely get anything too heavy whenever I eat out, but I decide I need a treat. Several friends stop by to natter over the course of the day, just for quick chats as they go about their business. Lyra happily explains how she would be judging at the Ponyville Swim Meet in a couple of weeks, and shortly after that, Rarity joins me to tell me about the costumes she’s designed for Sapphire Shores. Princess Twilight stops by briefly as well, tailed by those sweet Cutie Mark Crusader fillies that always get up to some kind of mischief around town. I'm happy for the distractions, but of course, my mind lingers elsewhere.
Moments like earlier, where my instincts lean away from fight and more towards flight, they are few and far between for me. But the time to myself is a mixed blessing. While I can recover in relative peace and quiet, the moments of solitude are spent filling my head with possible theories about last night. Had Vinyl met another mare? Were the kind acts some way to make up for something?
But every theory I come up with falls to pieces when I thought about the photo album. Why did she bring it down? I can't come up with a single logical theory. There are pictures of us together in it, but not that many. It is primarily pictures from my childhood, long before she knew me. Had she partaken in infidelity, she might have wanted to look at photos of our time together afterwards for... comfort? Out of guilt? For her own amusement?! There are plenty of albums in our room, ones that are full to bursting just with pictures of the two of us together. She could have taken any of those, but she chose mine instead. Why?
By the time I ask for the bill, I’ve been here for nearly five hours. I’ve been asking for regular refills the whole time, and I’ve probably drunk ten times more tea than I normally do on a weekly basis. So it isn’t hugely surprising when the bill amounts to nearly forty bits. A quick pat down reveals that, in my haste to vacate my house earlier, one thing that hadn't been on my mind was bringing any money.
“Shit,” I gasp, much louder than I intended to.
“A bit short?” asks familiar voice behind me. A chill runs from my spine all the way into my tail, and I tense up as a purse hits the table in front of me. My purse.
“Thank you, Vinyl,” I say quietly. “How did you find me?”
“Well, you’ve been gone long enough,” she replies, taking the seat opposite me. She still can’t look me in the eye. “I know this is your favourite place to wind down, and once I’d given you a few hours, I noticed you’d forgotten your purse. You never come by here without having at least one cup of tea, so it wasn’t hard to put one and two together. You feeling better?”
“Slightly,” I say as I dig the coins out from their pocket. “The headache’s worn off, and my tummy seems to have settled for now. But I gather that’s not exactly the question you’re asking.”
“Well... yes and no,” Vinyl says as I drop a pile of coins onto the small plastic tray the bill had came with, tipping as I normally do. Given my presence here for more than a few hours, I lay out a couple more coins to add to the tip. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I’d rather you weren’t in a bad mood when I talk to you about last night.”
“We don’t always get what we want, Vinyl,” I say matter-of-factly as I stand up, taking my purse with me. “Come on, you can explain everything on the way home.” Her ears droop again when I say ‘explain everything’, and I can see the look on her face as she realises I won't allow her to deflect my questions again.
Now, please don’t look at this situation and think that we’re an unhappy couple. The truth could not be more contrary to whatever evidence would suggest this, but we do have our fights. Every couple has a fight now and then, and it can be oddly therapeutic. Vinyl is a difficult mare to live with, and when we do fight, I find myself venting a lot of pent-up stress. Vinyl cares for me dearly, and assumes a more timid role in these disputes, my guess being that she thinks she’s crossed a line, and doesn’t want to do anything to push me further over the edge. She’s really quite sweet when you scratch away at the surface.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence as the town square fades into the distance behind us. “Start explaining.”
“Well, you were pretty wasted. I mean, way worse than I’ve ever seen you before.”
“I felt like it this morning.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she says, chuckling slightly. “I carried you home last night.”
My natural instinct is to start apologising for causing her such an inconvenience, but she continues before I get the chance.
“So while I was carrying you back, you mistook a garbage can for a mare, told an extremely offensive joke and threw up on me.”
“What offensive joke?” I ask, trying not to dwell on the other things.
She pauses briefly. “I’ll tell you another time. So then, I made this offhoof comment, saying that telling that joke was about as mature as a prepubescent colt, and you said…” She stops mid-sentence, looking around; seeing if we were alone. We were.
One thought enters my mind. I couldn’t have said that. At least, I sincerely hoped I hadn’t.
“And you said you used to be one.”
Fuck. I did say it.
Right, it’s official. I am never drinking again. I know most people say that just to comfort themselves during the monotony of hangover pain, but I mean it. One hundred percent. Alcohol made me indifferently blurt out the biggest secret of my life, as if all the suffering I went through meant absolutely nothing. Tartaurus in Equestria in boarding school, endless ridicule from high school to high school as everypony treated me like some kind of freak, and now that I’ve found somepony who makes all those hardships worthwhile, I blow the whole thing to smithereens.
“Is it true?” she asks. Her voice... it's taken on such a soft and tender touch, she knows what a dangerous question it is, and she's posing it as delicately as she knows how. The very act of asking is a mere formality. It's clear as daylight that she already knows the answer.
“It’s true.”
We walk in silence for a few moments. I struggle to compose myself, and ask the question balancing on my tongue.
“Do you want to break it off, then?”
She stops walking, and shoots me a look of confusion. “Break what off?”
“It. Us,” I say. “Do you want to break up with me?”
“Why the hay would I want to do that?” she asks. The fact she’s asking it is a relief, but the tone of accusation in her voice is very disconcerting.
“Because of what I am,” I say, the shame of keeping her in the dark for so long beginning to overwhelm me. In my mind's eye, I begin to picture all the good times we’ve spent together up to now. It occurs to me that now they’ll soon be nothing but memories. A painful reminder of how our love fell apart to become something rotten and unsalvageable. A tear slides down my cheek as I fear for my future, now hanging on a precipice just as I had become certain I’d finally found somepony I wanted to share it with.
I'm so deep in thought that it catches me completely of-guard when Vinyl strides up to me and pulls me in for a kiss.
Every fear dissolves in an instant as we stand still, our lips locked together in a tender embrace that I would give anything to have last forever. My stomach becomes alive with butterflies and my legs tremble as they threaten to completely give way. Ecstasy dances throughout my body, pounding frantically in a manner that would put to shame anypony on any dance floor in Equestria. My brain becomes overloaded as every sensation combines to fuel an intense adrenaline rush; the taste of Vinyl’s mouth pressed against mine, the smell of her sweat in the afternoon sun, and the feeling of her forelegs wrapped tightly around me, holding me close as if her very life depended on it.
You know, it may just have been the best kiss of my life.
She finally pulls her head back, and looks me right in the eyes. She doesn't dare let go of me, but I don’t struggle. I always feel safe with her forelegs wrapped around me. Her horn ignites and lifts her glasses off her head. She blinks a few times as her beautiful eyes adjust to the daylight, but soon her gaze meets mine with the ferocity of an inferno.
“I love you,” she says, speaking slowly and clearly. “I love you so much, but not because of what you are or who you were. I love you for who you are. I love the beautiful, caring, and all-round awesome mare you are, here right now. The days behind you, those are your business, but I would be honoured if you would let me be a part of every day that lies in front of you. Please, I don’t want you to delude yourself into thinking that anything could ever cause me to love you any less than I really do. I love you, Octavia. So, so much.”
I begin to well up as she speaks, and I gaze into her deep red eyes. They’re strong and striking eyes, ones that can stare endlessly at a computer screen for hours upon end as she crafts her music, but they're also also sweet and sensitive enough to comfort me when I’m feeling down. It's her curse that she has to wear those glasses, if only more ponies could see the beauty behind them.
“Vinyl, I…”
She simply hushes me, gently resting a hoof against my mouth.
“I don’t need to know everything right now,” she explains. “You can tell me as much or as little as you feel you need to, whenever you want. Some of it may be difficult for me to hear, which I’m prepared for, but I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you.”
The tears begin to flow freely now. I had been preparing for the worst, but of all ponies, Vinyl Scratch just proved herself to be the best mare I could possibly have ended up with. She pulls me in for a hug, and I cling to her as if she'd float away if I dared to loosen my grip. Tears stream torentially down my cheeks and a relieved sob escapes my mouth. The warmth of her body against mine is such a wonderful sensation, one I want to feel every day for the rest of my life.
“I gotta say, it’s a bit weird though,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“Going through all that, and you end up dating mares anyway.”
Typical Vinyl. She’s joking of course, and though I should by all rights be offended, I find myself giggling slightly. If humour helps her come to terms with everything, so be it.
“Sexual preference and gender identity aren’t synonymous,” I explain.
“Now you’re starting to sound like my old Octy,” she replies.
I laugh again. Granted, two mares randomly hugging each other in the middle of town may have been an odd sight, and I do catch a few ponies shooting us the occasional stare, but frankly I can’t care less. It's Ponyville for fucks sake, they should just be grateful it isn't another hideous monster attack. Myself, I'm just overjoyed beyond any degree of explanation with Vinyl’s reaction to a secret that has plagued me for years, and for the time being, nothing else matters.
“Just one more thing I need to know, though,” she says, breaking the blissful silence.
“What?”
“Why exactly didn’t you tell me this before now?”
Oh bugger. Somewhere nearby, a fan is about to be hit by something unpleasant.
“My father always encouraged me to keep it completely secret.”
As much as I’d rather continue our embrace, Vinyl pushes me away, but only so she could hold me close and look at me in confusion. It's almost cute, the way she cocks her head and drops an ear when she's quizzical. Like a great overgrown puppy.
“What do you mean?” she asks. Her face reads confusion, but her eyes betray a growing indignation.
“Well, father always taught me never to tell anypony about it. He said that ponies would treat me as some kind of freak if I told them.”
Indignation burns away, an explosion of anger takes its place. But I continue.
“I mean, he was the one who arranged for the treatment, the surgery, everything. But looking back, I think he was always reluctant to do so. I can’t say I ever felt like he truly accepted me as a daughter. Mother seemed perfectly happy, but father would always be more concerned about me tarnishing the family name.”
As the last sentence escapes my lips, it's like inside Vinyl somewhere, a change takes place with the rapidity of flicking a switch. One moment she's stood there, and the next she's off, charging down the road towards our house. I run after her, the image of her eyes still fresh in my mind from the moment before she returned her glasses to the bridge of her muzzle. Red; beautiful and striking, but above everything else, they were angry beyond all reason.
Yep. The shit just hit the fan.
“Vinyl, wait!” I call after her, but to no avail. By the time I turn the corner onto our street, she's already disappeared into our house.
She’s never met my parents. I kept putting it off, desperately trying to avoid the encounter. See, my mother and father are very traditional Trottingham ponies, and our family is one of the most well known and respected in the state. I'm certainly not looking forward to telling Vinyl the story that father had used to cover up my transition. That would be like adding fuel to the fire. Along with a few tonnes of dynamite…
I arrive at our door, still ajar after Vinyl had presumably burst through it. I can still see my photo album on the coffee table in the living room, but I ignore it. Vinyl is sat at the table in the kitchen, so I slowly walk towards her.
Stepping through the hallway, I catch a quick look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I look absolutely dreadful, with blood-shot eyes and a terribly bedraggled mane. Everypony I’d spoken to today must have simply been too polite to say anything.
As I approach the kitchen, I notice that she’d set the table before she left, using our finest plates and silverware. Freshly picked roses sit in my favourite vase in the middle of the table, and she’d set out the candles she’d bought me for Hearts and Hooves day, but not yet lit them. I can smell vegetable casserole, my absolute favourite meal, sitting in the oven on a low heat to keep it warm.
And then I notice something else. Vinyl has laid out a quill and a roll of parchment on the table. The sweetness of the dinner gesture makes me feel slightly weak at the knees, but the parchment confuses me slightly. Vinyl glares at me, hooves crossed like a filly throwing a tantrum.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, gesturing to the parchment.
“I think you should write a letter,” she says. Her voice is dripping with venom, but I get the distinct impression that none of it is actually being aimed at me. She's like a pot of water brought to boil: her anger is overflowing.
“What am I writing, exactly?”
“A message for your parents,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I haven't met them yet, but I think it’s about damn time I did.”