A second chance to succeed is often found in the most unlikely places.
Down on her luck and stuck in a rut, Vinyl Scratch is looking for any way at all to cease her hardship. Her luck may change when she can't help but notice an enticing grey mare from across the bar...
Ruby eyes misted over in the dim light of the bar, music blaring through the speakers but failing to register in her mind as nothing more than mere noise. She took another long, drawn out sip of the bitter liquid, feeling the traveling burning sensation rest in her stomach. The stress of the past few months had been forgotten long ago at her third drink and now she was simply continuing on for no reason in particular. The bar itself wasn't anything out of the ordinary; typical mahogany tables that gleamed in the light, chairs occupied by either extremely miserable or inebriated ponies, idle inaudible roars of chatter, the trustworthy bartender who could've possibly graduated with a phD in psychology and knew everything about everypony. And, of course, that one mare or stallion who chugged down far too many drinks.
Tonight, that was Vinyl Scratch.
“That's enough, Vinyl.” The unicorn bartender's voice was stern, but his intentions were strictly to keep his customer and friend out of harm's way. “Keep this up and I won't let you leave 'till you're sober, which will be about six hours from now.”
The mare smirked and rolled her eyes from behind her purple mirrored sunglasses, although the bartender couldn't see the gesture. “Chill, I'm fine. I'll show you.” She made her barstool spin around in hopes of proving her false sobriety. Instead, Vinyl landed face-first on the wood flooring, the sudden impact forcing the alcohol and her stomach to have a rather hostile quarrel inside of her. With an obvious grimace and cough, she swallowed the day's food back down before anything ugly occurred.
“That didn't go as planned, huh?” He cocked an eyebrow, an amused grin plastered on his face. His horn became aglow as Vinyl was surrounded in an aura, his magic propping her back up on the barstool.
She was swaying back and forth as if on a boat tackling rough seas. “Just one moreee.” Her sunglasses dipped down on her snout as she pleaded, red eyes as big as saucers.
“No can do, Scratchie.” His stance on this matter was unwavering and rock solid. “As much as I would love to keep on taking your bits, I'm too much of a nice guy to let you hurt yourself like this.”
“In my hum-bler-y-est opinion,” Vinyl slurred, raising an uncoordinated hoof matter-of-factly. “you're not being too nice tonight. You know I've been down on my luck for the past, like, trillion years.”
“Humble. The word your looking for is humble. And it's only been a few months.”
“Don't go pushing your fancy word-smithing on me. My music doesn't even have lyrics.”
With a huff and an almost fatal drunken stumble, Scratch hopped off the stool and attempted to navigate through the bar to the front door. This proved to be an almost daunting task and she had a particularly paranoid suspicion that everypony was laughing at her in their sick heads. She truly was in a rut; she felt as if her entire music scene was slowly dying. Attendance to various shows or parties had been on a steady decline and as a slippery-slope effect, no clubs were hiring her. This left her without the perpetual flow of income she had been accustomed too. She had to resort to providing the music for some fashion show in Ponyville, for Celestia's sake! Her days of being the superfantastic DJ P0N-3 may as well be over.
As she shuffled along in her mental fog Vinyl noticed a grey mare sitting in a secluded section of the bar, the isolation obviously intentional. She was doing nothing more than absent-mindedly stirring her vibrant red drink with the straw, a scowl seemed to be biologically etched into her features. This pony was obviously troubled or deep in thought, her amethyst eyes seeing through reality into whatever was ailing her. Vinyl was searching for the appropriate words to describe the sight but through the alcohol and clutter in her brain, all she could conjure up was, Ooooh, pretty.
Trying not to fall flat on her face yet again, the DJ began what seemed like a treacherous journey onward to the striking mare. Dodging and weaving through equally hammered patrons and chairs that she could have sworn got in her way on purpose, she came to a conclusion that she had no idea how to approach her drunken love at first sight. Even more of an issue, did she even like other mares?
Only one way to find out, ol' Scratchie!
After completing the obstacle course, Vinyl locked in on her target. Making bets with herself on how the situation would paint itself out, she established that she would either get lucky or strike out. Her judgement skewed and distorted, she found herself failing to care.
In fact, it reached far out of elements and all the way into mixtures and compounds; ones that she happened to think were juvenile and outright uninhabitable for a pony of her prestige. The yelling rowdy stallions, the blaring jukebox with the most distasteful music, and just the trashiness of it made her feel like she needed to be dipped in bleach to wash it all away. To be frank, it was so disgusting that-...
She sighed inwardly, cursing herself that she would ever think with such ignorance. She wasn't a judgmental pony, she merely had her preferences and chose to stick to them. Besides, it was her sole idea to unwind at this bar after the raging chaotic storm of a night she just had. She had a prerogative to let loose after the events that took place at the Gala, although the actual "letting loose" part didn't quite happen. She furrowed her brow as she cursed the alcohol for not working enough, thinking of the travesty of a party it had been.
"Uh, hi."
The grey mare's brooding flashbacks were cut short by a pony that had undetectably slipped into the booth with her. She looked over at the intruder with only her eyes, not even bothering to turn her head. She was another mare; unicorn, milk white, sunglasses (which Octavia found to be rather odd, considering they were indoors and it was night), and the most peculiar hairstyle the cellist had ever seen.
"Hello?" Octavia replied, the greeting translating into something more rude and pretentious than intended, which caused her to immediately feel a bit of guilt.
"Well, I, uh..." The unicorn stammered, awkwardly scratching the back of her head with her hoof. "I just saw you from across the bar and, uhm... Come here often?"
"No, actually. This is my first time." Octavia finally turned her head to the other mare and cocked an interested eyebrow. Of course, she's had her fair share of suitors and stallions approach her, more often than not shallowly wanting nothing more than to use her for their sick breed of pleasure. But a mare? This indeed was one of the most amusing nights of her life.
"Well," The unicorn continued. "You totally should. 'Cause I'm here a lot and, well, that's all I got right now." She shrugged.
Octavia cleared her throat nervously, a thought uncomfortably weighing down on her. "What sort of bar is this?..." Nothing out of the ordinary had been seen but she refused to take any chances. Octavia wasn't opposed to fillyfooling; she liked to think of herself as a rather open-minded pony. That being said, just because she wasn't prejudice against it didn't mean she was going to take body shots off Princess Celestia. It didn't tickle her fancy, and that was that.
"Oh!" The white mare gave a loud laugh. "It's nothing like that here, I promise."
"Oh, that's good, because for a moment I could've sworn-"
"So, what's your sign?"
The grey mare sighed. The establishment may not have been 'like that,' but this unicorn sure was. Octavia decided to play along; surely messing with this pony would help her forget the Gala disaster and instill some entertainment. There you go again, thinking like a bitter old hag. Just be nice.
"I'm a Libra." She forced a smile.
"Woah, no way!" The other mare said. "Me too!"
"Oh, fascinating." Octavia had heard this one a million times. "When's your birthday?"
The unicorn's demeanor was suddenly downcast, obviously caught in the act of zodiac-fraud. "Just kidding!" She composed herself a little too quickly. "I'm a Pisces. I was just testing you." She grinned victoriously, as if she just won some sort of quarrel.
Octavia couldn't help but giggle a bit, which caused the unicorn's smile to swell. This mare certainly was something else; there was a sort of obnoxious charm, to put it lightly. This blend of spontaneity and a strange brand of innocence was enough to keep the grey earth pony around some more.
The giggles came to a halt when Octavia noticed that the unicorn had grown quiet, her eyes wandering down to her-...
"Excuse me. Are you staring at my fla-"
"You're a musician?" The white pony's ears perked up and Octavia noticed a look of curiosity from behind the cryptic sunglasses. Ah, the cutie mark! For the second time that night, a feeling of guilt crept over the grey mare for being so quick to judge yet again.
"Yes, I am." Octavia was relieved for the shift in conversation. "I play the cello."
"As you can see," The unicorn shifted so that her own cutie mark was visible. "I happen to be a musician as well. I'm a DJ; just mostly arranging beats so godly and infectious that even Celestia herself would go down on m-... Wait, you play the what? The cello?!" She erupted into a fit of laughter as big as the entire Gala itself.
"Oh?!" Octavia felt the smoke spew from her ears. "And what, may I ask, is so funny?" She crossed her hooves.
The white mare removed her sunglasses, her eyes closed as she wiped a comical tear from them. She replaced her shades, eyes still shut; this intrigued Octavia for a split second but then brushed it off, remembering to be offended.
"They still make those?!" The unicorn obviously had no regard for the respect of another musician's talent. Either that, or the alcohol was making good use of her vocal chords.
"Yes, why wouldn't they?"
"Like, you can actually go to a store and buy a cello?"
"Yes, in fact, you can."
The unicorn's amused smile suddenly faded, her ears falling to display her emotion. She shook her head. "Hey, I'm sorry. I promise I'm way nicer and less overbearing when I'm sober."
Octavia's defenses were breached and the anger quickly dissipated at the apology. "It's quite all right. To each their own."
"Anyways, I should probably stop trying to get in your pants... Or your bowtie. You're obviously not interested." The unicorn gave a sad attempt at a smile, which struck a rather sympathetic chord within Octavia. The alcohol's side-effect of emotional instability and moodswings were ringing clear within the other mare. She continued, her voice much less enthusiastic, "What brings you here? Come to drink away your sorrows?"
"Not quite..." The unicorn finally toning down put Octavia more at ease, allowing her to open up a bit (although not enough to give anything away. A pony must retain her class, you know). She spoke of the Gala that night, of how she had been personally hoof-chosen by Celestia's royal court to be a part of the musical ensemble; a prestigious honor, indeed. She then explained the disaster and how some insane pink pony insisted that they play the "Pony Pokey" (this earned a chuckle from the unicorn). After being scolded by the head of the musical planning department, the entire place just basically collapsed. And now here she was, attempting to unwind after a series of mishaps and disappointments. It was then the unicorn's turn to share her grievances, her story being much more forlorn. According to her, her music scene had been hit by a harsh plague of disinterest, resulting in less and less gigs; that's all she covered on the matter. Octavia sensed it was a rather large problem, so she was slightly taken aback when the unicorn just laughed it off as if it was nothing.
"Will you be okay?" The cellist inquired, unaware at why she was suddenly concerned.
The other mare waved it off. "I'll be fine." She seemed contemplative for a moment before proceeding, "Say, I have an idea; if you're up for it, that is."
Octavia nodded, signaling for her to continue.
The unicorn's horn flickered with magic, stealing a pencil from a nearby table and bringing a napkin closer. She spoke as she wrote, "Here's my address. Come by tomorrow some time. You and me, Cello-Butt, are gonna make some music."
Octavia took the napkin, questioning her own sanity for actually thinking about going through with this. I've lost my Luna-forsaken mind. Going with some random, strange pony like this. Her mind began its infamous battles. Shush, Octavia. She seems to be stuck in a rut, the least you could do is aid her.
"I'm such a dunce." The unicorn said abruptly, giving a soft chuckle. "I never got your name. I'm Vinyl Scratch."
"I'm Octavia."
"Well, Octavia," Vinyl Scratch said, making her way out of the booth and to the front door of the bar. "I'll see you tomorrow."
A/N: This chapter is completely revised and edited, and I combined chapters two and three. Yay for improvement! Enjoy. :3
Vinyl Scratch began the trek back home, achieving something between a skip and a waddle. (A skwaddle! she mused, then chuckled at herself for being so easily enticed by her eccentricities). Luna's moon beamed brightly from its resting place in the sky, almost out-shining the artificial lights of the buildings that lined Canterlot. The architecture of the capital was truly something to be admired: everything seemed to glimmer regardless of the time of day. The structures were tall and elegant, striking a feeling of inferiority into ponies who passed through. Mostly constructed out of pure marble, the entire city screamed with ornate class and prominence. Although the best part, in Vinyl's opinion, was that no matter your coordinates or where you stood at any particular moment, the castle was always visible. She often used the impressive monument as a makeshift compass; making her clumsy way down the street she noted that the castle was located to her west, meaning that her apartment was east or somewhere along those lines, according to her.
As she shuffled closer to her destination, it failed to surprise her that she was receiving curious stares from a majority of the passing ponies, most likely wondering why in Equestria she was walking like that. Had Vinyl been an angry drunk (or even an angry pony at all), they would've been begging for a brawl. However, the DJ was indifferent to the world surrounding her and, as she had always used to say, 'Live and let live... or something like that.' After a few more sideways glances, bizarre glares, some instances of getting lost ("I'm not lost!" she exclaimed to a night shift security guard who had inquired on if she needed directions, "I just misplaced my house."), and a Hansel and Gretel-esque session of step-retracing, Scratch had finally made it back to her apartment. After some difficulty opening the door and an even harder time trying not to trip over absolutely everything, her glorious bed was in sight. Without bothering to remove her sunglasses, she fell asleep almost the moment her head came in contact with the pillow.
The morning came as it always did, with the DJ sprawled out in some unnatural sleeping position that was somehow comfortable to her (although, to the common onlooker, it might have appeared painful), her mouth slightly agape, and her infamous habit for easily being the heaviest sleeper in all of Equestria on display. Scratch was in the midst of a rather vivid dream where things between her and a certain grey cellist were getting saucy and-...
Knock, knock.
"Ugh," Vinyl huffed and slammed her hoof nowhere in particular with unnecessary roughness. "Just ninety more minutes."
Knock, knock.
"Are you serious? Can't a pony get some slee-" Vinyl shot up with dreadful realization, eyes feeling weighed down by anvils and her head pounding louder than the bass of her songs. Oh my Celestia, I forgot about Octavia.
Scratch scurried out of bed, heart racing in sync with the roaring migraine that devoured her brain like a raging manticore. Sprinting to the doorway, she shouted, "Octavia? Come back in, like, fifteen minutes!"
"All right, if you say so..." Came the muffled response from beyond the door.
Vinyl felt a tinge of resentment for her own irresponsibility, but shrugged it off. As much as she'd hate to admit it, the feeling was a common one and she was all too familiar the guilt that accompanied it.
With haste and urgency that was rarely seen from her, she tossed her sunglasses to the side and took the fastest shower ever recorded by ponykind; to her delight, the water provided relief for the abominable hangover. Once the hygiene issue was taken care of, the ruckus that resided in her apartment needed to be exterminated. Vinyl's eyes grew large in distress and a bit of horror as she surveyed her cluttered abode. Piles upon piles of random trash and assortments of clothes, books, pillows, bottles, knick-knacks, and, well, everything. The unicorn hadn't even noticed the mounds of stray junk that had accumulated over the months, always so consumed with more important DJ-like business, of course. Plus, company was scarce, considering she much preferred to be out and about; and even if she did have ponies over, their opinion of her failed to phase her ego. It never dawned on her that one day, one fateful day, she might actually need to impress somepony. Some really gorgeous, fancy pony. she added, a sudden determination to clean like the dickens manifesting inside her.
***
Vinyl assessed her apartment's newfound cleanliness, almost in disbelief that she actually had it in her to accomplish the seemingly impossible task. She plopped down on her sofa, sinking into the worn leather like a comfortable quicksand. "Dang," she said to herself, lightly tapping her horn with her hoof with pride. "I haven't used my horn so much since that one night in Manehat-..."
Knock, knock. "Vinyl?" The DJ heard Octavia's smooth voice float through the mail slot of the door like a sweet ghost, drifting through the living room and landing in her ears. A goofy smile was etched on Scratch's face as she proceeded to open the door, almost forgetting her signature shades. Heh, she thought to herself as she expended her magic to retrieve them. Wouldn't wanna scare her off on our first sober encounter.
"Hellooooo," The unicorn held the door open (as any gentlemare as polite and dignified as Scratch would've done) while the cello-toting Octavia proceeded in. "And welcome." Vinyl was a millisecond away from mentioning how absolutely smokin' hot she looked today and how the bowtie really brought out the color of her eyes but decided against it, remembering how she probably already maxed out the earth pony's weird-meter from the previous night.
"I must say, Vinyl," Octavia began, drinking in the sight of the spotless house. "I don't mean to sound rude but from my first impression of you last night, this is hardly how I had imagined your home." She gave a small, quaint chuckle (which Vinyl thought was cutest thing in all of the Cute Kingdom since the concept of 'cute' was invented). "To be honest, I came here with the notion that the entire place would be a pigsty. How terribly ignorant of me."
"Heh." Vinyl gave a nervous laugh. "Yup, that's me. Clean as a whistle. My friends call me Clean-yl. Because, ya know, I'm so clean." She threw a sheepish grin towards the grey mare, praising Celestia that her glasses concealed the apprehension in her eyes.
"So, Vinyl," Octavia began, seemingly indifferent and unscathed by the outlandish behavior. "What plans did you have in mind for this music project of yours?"
"Oh, right. Music. Yeah, that." Scratch stuttered like a schoolfilly with her first crush, privately disgusted at being reduced to a blubbering pile of mush because of somepony she just met. She couldn't believe herself; she was Vinyl freakin' Scratch, the DJ P0N-3. She was known for breaking hearts and blaring beats. Last time she checked, she could get any mare by merely flashing a smile (or so she thought). She cast her frustration aside, recalling that Octavia had no interests besides a nice, musical, platonic, totally non-romantic friendship. Right? The irritating, yet somehow always correct, sector of her subconscious spoke up. Right.
Vinyl motioned for the grey mare to follow her, noticing the encased heavy cello weighing down on her back. "Oh, here. Lemme get that for you." Despite her horn being immensely drained from the earlier speed cleaning spree, Scratch conjured up the remaining energy she had and telekinetically relieved Octavia of the heavy instrument, making it float lazily ahead of them.
"Thank you, Vinyl." She smiled in appreciation. "You were right, you ARE less overbearing and much more tolerable when you're sober."
Awe, yeah. The unicorn was bursting at the seams within herself, hoping against hope that her joy wasn't external. Take THAT, stupid inner-voice of reason. You still got it, Scratch. Smooooth.
The DJ stopped in front of a door that didn't seem to differ much from any of the others, yet a serious look befell her face. "Lady Octavia, behold..." As the door opened, the pair seemed to be blinded by a burst of celestial-like white light. "THE BEAT LABORATORY!"
"The what?" Octavia replied flatly, unamused. Although, the room was a truly impressive sight; a plethora of equipment and thing-a-ma-jigs and newfangled technology that the cellist couldn't even fathom occupied every corner. Records upon records stacked in an uncharacteristically organized manner lined the pure white walls. Microphones of various shapes and sizes, turntables and wires intricately and methodically placed in all the intended spots.
Vinyl's grin beamed much like the room, almost looking like a proud mother. "This is where the magic happens."
-------------------------
"All right, just play something."
"Well, what would you like me to play?"
"I dunno. Just something cool."
"Vinyl, I can't just play something."
"Stuff just doesn't come into your head? You only play that boring ol' sheet music?"
"That boring sheet music happens to derive from great classic composers such as Tcoltovsky and Bethoofen." Octavia stated as if lecturing a class, forgiving the unicorn for being so daft. Of course rippling melodies and solid accompaniments rang through her head several times a day, but she found very little use for them other than personal entertainment and a cure for boredom. In this day and age, nopony wanted to hear cello solos, intricate ensembles, or booming orchestras. She may have been a mare with an old soul but she understood that original pieces would be a complete flop and failure. So, Octavia was accustomed to a life of regurgitating the measures and notes of ponies that were a few hundred years old, her musical core privately yearning for its own personal innovation.
"And look where that got them." Vinyl smirked. "Dead."
The cellist narrowed her eyes, the DJ's logic flying right over her head. "They are rightfully immortalized by their accomplishments and their works have far outlived them. They provided the genesis for every single thing you listen to. So, without these 'dead' ponies, your music would just so happen to be dead as well." Octavia was taken aback by the fact that the unicorn was already comfortable enough to crack snide jokes despite the short time they've known each other. It took months, years sometimes (depending on the pony's overall demeanor), of friendship for Octavia to even lightly tease or make a witty remark about somepony's personal life.
Vinyl's eye twitched behind her sunglasses. "Touche'."
The grey mare gave an almost untraceable victory-smirk, satisfied with getting her point across, as Scratch tinkered around with knobs and dials of all sorts, adjusting settings and fiddling with Celestia-knows-what. Octavia noted that she looked almost like a scientist in the preparation stages of an elaborate experiment, the way she was dabbling with the audio equipment with the utmost care; in fact, it was almost refreshing to see somepony as seemingly reckless as the unicorn take such consideration for something. It almost warmed her heart.
Almost.
Raising the volume on a colossal stack of amplifiers and speakers, Vinyl spoke up. "All right, Miss Fancy Hoofs, I know for a fact that you're not this boring and by-the-book. Aren't musicians known for their creativity and imagination?" At this, Octavia was a millisecond away from making a remark, wanting to state that she would hardly consider random assortments of recycled and repetitive synths a display of anything close to the creativity that was involved with classical music; not to mention the competitions of who-could-blindly-inject-the-most-bass-into-a-single-song was something she could not even begin to fathom.
But, as a lady would, she kept it to herself and stowed it away in a very cynical chamber of her brain.
"Gimme your best shot, Cello-Butt." Vinyl flashed that smirk again; that endearing, somewhat charming, irritating grin that grated into Octavia more than anything at the moment. "I mean, unless all you know is the score to The Sound of Music." The unicorn blatantly must have found herself hilarious because she was hunched over her equipment in paralyzing laughter.
Oh, I'll give you something to laugh about. Maintaining her unwavering diplomacy, she lifted her bow with profound tact and poise. With a spiteful appetite to prove to the chortling DJ that all of her misconceptions were false, Octavia pounded down on her cello, furiously playing a significantly deepened version of the infamous, "Nightmare Moon Went Down to Equestria." Vinyl's laughter ceased as if it had crashed into a brick wall and was abruptly replaced with a blanket of awe, rebuking her previous insults and fallacies. The cellist's dexterity and unrelenting skill sliced through the room with every slide of her bow and it seemed as if the instrument was actually playing her. Throughout the course of the song, the DJ's mouth had somehow fallen open as Octavia's speed enthralled her. The climax of the song's second solo pierced the air of the home-studio, each note like a sharp puncture into the fabric of oxygen. Sweat formed on the cellist's furrowed brow as she concluded the final measure, the denotation of 'concentrated' scribed on her face. With a shrill, elongated shriek of the instrument, the song ended. As if it had been absolutely nothing at all, Octavia flipped her dark hair back, the corners of her mouth resisting the urge to laugh right in the unicorn's face.
Meanwhile, Vinyl was attempting to mop up the amorous-induced drool that ran at the sight of the impeccably fast and punchy performance. Every delusion and prior judgement had been abolished with this single feat of the unity between raw talent and obvious hours of disciplined practice. The notes had flown freely, but with defined purpose and grace despite the harsh melody of the song, making Vinyl bet with herself that this cellist could morph even the most raunchy and distasteful of songs into a choir of angels. Behind her sunglasses, Vinyl's crimson orbs were locked on Octavia in an awestruck trance.
She was thoroughly impressed.
She was thoroughly beginning to take notice that this mare sure was something. Much more than the shallow, superficial, drunken infatuation from before.
"And that is how you effectively prove somepony wrong." Octavia said matter-of-factly, clearly reveling in her victory. "I do believe you owe me an apology, Miss Scratch."
Keep it cool, Vinyl. She doesn't know you're sortakinda starting to sortakinda like-ish her a little bit more than before; she can't read your mind. Unless she's a... She gulped, a large lump blockading her throat... a mindreader! In a haste to disprove her theory she conjured up the dirtiest, most lewd thought she could think, then looked at Octavia to see if she would react to her cognition. Phew, close one. Now, whatever you do, DON'T go full-creeper.
"I'mmm sorryyyy, Octaviaaaaa." She droned, expertly bluffing her nervousness. To further improve her facade, she melodramatically collapsed to her front hooves and proceeded to exaggeratively bow. "Not worthy! Not worthy!"
"You're impossible." The earth pony retorted while attempting to hold back a small smirk, secretly amused at how animated the other mare was; truly a character.
Vinyl composed herself, suddenly getting back to business. "Now that I know what you're capable of," She grinned, teeth shining. "this brings us back to our prior conversation. Just play something!"
Scratch's wildly fired-up smile was contagious, causing the cellist to relax and laugh a bit. Loosening up as if somepony were skillfully massaging her social muscles, Octavia armed herself with her bow and was truly prepared to, as Vinyl would put it, 'tear this track up.'
The DJ returned to her rightful spot at the foreign equipment, expertly tampering with them like a captain would steer their ship. The cellist would hate to admit it, but looking at the complex turntables and how Vinyl seemed to effortlessly master them slightly intimidated her.
"Hey, Octavia," Scratch said, her hoof hovering over a button. "You dropped something."
"Hmm? Did I?" Genuinely concerned, her eyes darted across the floor.
"Yeah," Vinyl's grin was magnified. "THE BASS." She pressed down on the button and the deep, rhythmic drums pounded away from the large speakers, layered on top of a constant droning with the faintest hint of organization. Octavia's balance was nearly thrown off, the abrupt sound hitting her like a gust of wind.
Regaining her composure, she raised her bow like an armed weapon and struck her cello, making an impromptu melody that she at least assumed correlated well with whatever noise was spewing from the speakers. Octavia tried, she really did, to appreciate all forms of music and art, attempting to keep in mind that art was such a subjective concept and the same piece of work could be skewed and adopt a whole new meaning depending on the onlooker (or listener). But this? If this friendship remained, the music was definitely going to be an acquired taste.
While she played whatever appropriately popped into her head, she stole a glance at Vinyl. The unicorn seemed to be listening intently while changing pitches and distorting tidbits of the track, bringing Octavia back to her comparison about Scratch resembling a devout scientist. Well, I do assume that's why she calls it 'The Beat Laboratory.' She discarded the thought as soon as it entered her skull, almost ashamed of making the seemingly ridiculous connection. Oh, Celestia. I'm getting cheesy just being in the same room as her.
Vinyl held a hoof up, indicating Octavia to halt her playing.
"Something wrong, Vinyl?"
"Total opposite, my friend." The DJ's apparent satisfaction was seeping from her every pore. "We're about to make every clubpony's head explode." Her horn became aglow, controlling the equipment with her magic and making the beat reemerge. "Just keep playing."
A/N: I finally updated, haha. Sorry to keep you guys waiting so long! You know how busy the holiday season is. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. :3
Fun fact: I don't hate Ke$ha. Actually, I totally have a rampant girl-crush on her.
With a final deep hum of the cello, Octavia concluded her day-long session of aiding Vinyl, relishing in the fact that she could finally take a break and rest her aching hoof. It was no secret that musicians, particularly ones that lacked the assets of magic, often strained their muscles to dangerous limits depending on their instrument of choice. Octavia could recall several of her fellow bandmates whose hooves would become limp, antagonized with the stress of constantly resting in an unnatural position. To reverse this, surgery was needed and that was something Octavia was dead set on avoiding like the plague. Now, she took an almost ridiculous amount of precaution, scared beyond belief that the twinge of pain and tightening she had recently began to feel would mark the end of her career.
The cellist shook her foreleg, already feeling her ligaments breathe a sigh of contentment at loosening up. She returned to all-fours as she rested the large instrument on the only spacious wall in the room, her hind legs feeling equally as harrowed. She was a firm believer of the notion that classical musicians, particularly those of the earth pony persuasion, were severely under-credited for the amount of effort expended to train their body to contort in such ways. However, that was life, and she was strangely accustomed to feeling less than appreciated.
"Well, I think that about wraps it up," Vinyl began as she stored away the record that their work for the day was copied onto, her satisfaction and joy seeming almost tangible. The zest and hope she once remembered so fondly was returning in small portions, although she always tried not to get too confident; that was surely the enabler of her last downfall. Her outward pride subdued, however, when she noticed Octavia stretching, small traces of a wince on her face signifying some form of pain. "Speaking of wrapping, I'd better get you a brace. You all right?"
Octavia immediately ceased her post-playing procedure and looked up, almost caught off guard that the unicorn had noticed something so subtle in her features. "Yes, I'm fine." She half-lied, not necessarily feeling apt to tell Vinyl that she was secretly petrified out of her wits that she eventually might need to surgically have the muscles in her foreleg tinkered with like a toy. "Nothing to worry about, really."
Vinyl was anything but convinced. "Nope, I've heard of this." An aura engulfed her horn, the magic ensnaring Octavia's foreleg as well. She brought the appendage to eye level, studying it carefully without even removing her sunglasses. "Hoof-el Tunnel, or some fancy doctor name like that, right?"
The cellist nodded, the magic's grip feeling odd and foreign, almost as if somepony was injecting a constant stream of ice cold liquid through her bones. "Vinyl, honestly, how can you get a good look while wearing those things?" She motioned her free hoof to at least touch the peculiar shades, but Vinyl instinctively dodged as if a football was about to collide with her face.
"It's not important." The unicorn laughed, either amused by something Octavia couldn't quite understand or just trying to divert from the subject; either way, she found the arcane accessory unnerving and obnoxious, for lack of a better word. A filly-ish thought crossed her mind that the glasses were permanently ingrained onto the DJ like a body part, but the rational side of her deemed it a preposterous concept.
Vinyl released the foreleg from its mystic captivity and plopped down lazily on her flank as Octavia rubbed her newly-freed hoof, attempting to regain feeling from the outlandish sensation of magic. Without notice, the DJ gripped the earth pony's foreleg with both hooves and gently pressed down, just enough pressure to feel the extent of the tightened muscles.
The cellist froze a bit, her own private bubble being invaded. She had never quite felt comfortable when somepony touched her, preferring to keep an ample amount personal space. "What are you doi-"
"I'm helping you out." The unicorn frowned, getting a clearer picture of the damage; she couldn't even fathom the discomfort that Octavia might have been experiencing. She had some earth pony guitarist and drummer friends, and Hoof-el Tunnel was said to be quite debilitating when left untreated. "Ouch. Ya know, you should really do something about this." A veil of stupidity immediately hung over her mind. Wow, Captain Obvious. When did you get so smart?
Octavia's downcast expression was accompanied by a sigh, truly not wanting to be reminded of the perplexing fact. "Something unfortunate will happen to somepony around you," she began, as Vinyl carefully kneaded the sore tendons and listened intently. "And you automatically assume that it won't happen to you because, if truth be told, ninety-percent of the things in the world won't happen to you. Then you begin to see the signs, but deny it; I guess we're all ignorant in that aspect." She gave a forlorn chuckle, gazing back at her cello and not wanting to imagine the day when she would have to part with it. "But don't mind me, I'm merely being melodramatic."
"You wanna know what I think?" Vinyl said, still tenderly rubbing the screaming muscles and silently relishing in the fact that she was so gloriously close to the grey mare. "I think you think too much and that thinking too much causes stress and that's probably why your muscles hate you." She gave an exaggerative ear-to-ear grin. Before Octavia could protest, the DJ kneaded deeper into the aching flesh which caused an involuntary whimper to flee from the earth pony's throat.
"Dear Celestia, where did you learn how to do this?" She gasped, exasperated. As Vinyl increased the pressure, Octavia wanted to succumb to the urge of simply melting like goo into the floor; this was exactly what she needed.
"I work the turntables for a living." Vinyl smirked. "I gotta know how to work my hooves and find all the sweet spots." For added effect, she clicked her tongue and winked, although she wasn't quite sure Octavia caught it through the sunglasses. Stupid move, strike two. She had forgotten how self-conscious liking somepony else made her feel, which didn't cater to her carefree and outgoing demeanor very well; in fact, she concluded that the two were sufficiently incompatible. "Hey, I have an idea!" She exclaimed suddenly, content with the notion that just popped into her brain.
"Hmm?" Octavia replied drowsily, the comfort of the spontaneous massage driving her eyelids to close half-way and the awareness of her surroundings to diminish almost completely.
"Let's go out tonight," Vinyl beamed, ceasing the massage. "Ya know, to celebrate the pure awesomeness we just created."
Octavia genuinely contemplated it; Vinyl turned out not to be so bad or obnoxious as she had previously assumed, and she owed the DJ one for the kindness of the massage. Oh, what the hay, I have nothing else planned. Or anything better to do, for that matter. She assumed that something good could possibly manifest itself out of having just a tiny bit of fun. "That sounds wonderful, Vinyl."
"Sweet!" Vinyl smiled (she's always smiling... Octavia mused rather thoughtfully) and trotted towards the door of the room. "I need to clean myself up real quick. Make yourself at home."
Octavia wasn't necessarily one to take up that offer, being inclined to respect a pony's home and possessions. So, she merely followed Vinyl out of the studio and sat on the worn couch, the old leather being surprisingly comfortable and causing her to sink into its cushions. She took a look around the apartment, curious to comprehend the inner workings and psyche of the quirky unicorn. It seemed uncharacteristic, but Vinyl's abode was actually quite basic and plain in its scheme; almost everything was a mere black and white, whereas Octavia expected a plethora of vibrant hues and abuse of the color wheel. She presumed the residence of a DJ who prided herself on sheer creativity would be involved in the concept of orderly chaos that helped pump the blood of inspiration. Alas, her impression was invalid. Black and white. Everything.
Octavia heard the water running from the other side of the apartment, along with what sounded like an ensemble of shuffling, bumping into various objects, and shrieks of ow! The earth pony smirked and rolled her eyes, wondering how the DJ didn't end up in a full body cast. Slightly over the low roar of the water, Octavia could have sworn she heard... singing?
"Wake up in the mornin', feelin' like P. Filly," it began, a melody the cellist only wished she could forget. "Grab my glasses, I'm out the door. I'm gonna hit this city!"
Curiosity killed the pony as Octavia slowly rose from her place on the couch and made her way over to the source of the noise. She stealthily maneuvered towards the bathroom, tip-hoofing her way like a spy in the aged cartoons she used to watch as a filly. She pressed an alert ear to the door as more horrendously off-key and out of tune singing seared the atmosphere.
"DON'T STOP, MAKE IT POP. P0N-3, BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP. TONIGHT I'MMA FIGHT 'TILL WE SEE THE SUNLIGHT."
The song continued, as did the torture on the cellist's ears. Between Vinyl's obvious lack of vocal ability and the fact that the song itself could be deemed hazardous to mental health, Octavia was a mere five seconds away from strangling herself with her own bowtie.
"Ain't got a care in the world, but got plenty of beer."
One... Octavia thought morbidly, reaching up to her bowtie for dramatic effect.
"Ain't got no money in my pocket, but I'm already here."
Two...
"And now the dudes are lining up,"
Three...
"'Cause they hear we got swagger."
Four... "Goodbye, cruel world." The earth pony pretended to tighten the small pink cloth around her neck and began to choke mockingly. In the midst of her pseudo-cide, she heard the life-saving noise of the water shutting off, the song halting as well. Vinyl opened the door and steam flowed from the bathroom as if there had been a raging fire, stepping back in surprise as she came nose-to-nose with Octavia.
The cellist cocked an eyebrow. "'P0N-3, blow my speakers up?' Really?"
Vinyl chuckled nervously and shrugged, her mane still slightly dripping. As if to specifically cater to Octavia's annoyance, the sunglasses were still adorned on the DJ's snout, as cryptic and enticing and aggravating as ever.
"We're gonna pretend that never happened." Vinyl said, the antsy laugh still ringing through her voice. "You ready to go?"
Octavia gave a short chortle and shook her head, amused. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Vinyl, really, where are we going?" The earth pony lagged behind as she attempted to keep up the pace with her friend (I suppose she's earned that title...), the DJ nearly sprinting with excitement.
"Trust me," she said, weaving through pedestrians and any other objects that interfered with arriving at her destination. "You're gonna love it."
The pair careened through one of the more upscale districts of Canterlot, Vinyl rushing headfirst through the populated streets as Octavia muttered quick pardon me's to the poor civilians that were nearly trampled by the unicorn's brutish behavior. Octavia had been to this part of the city only a few times, although never for leisure or to relish in the finer things in life; the only reason she stepped hoof there was merely to perform for the insanely rich only to be rewarded with their noses in the air, the Gala included.
The cellist was so consumed in bitter recollection that she failed to realize Vinyl had stopped completely in front of a building with extremely elaborate architecture, resulting in her crashing into the DJ and toppling her over. The momentary shock forced Octavia into a dumbfounded daze, her vision dotted with brightly colored stars as if her eyes had been replaced with scoops of rainbow sprinkled ice cream. Through the mental fog, she felt her head on something warm. It was soft, like fine velvet, and it smelled of fresh soap...
The crash had landed her right on top of Vinyl.
Octavia's eyes widened as reality collided with her the same way she had with Vinyl. With unmatched haste, she quickly jumped off of the DJ and collected herself accordingly. She felt the blood race to her cheeks and she mumbled something that faintly sounded like, "terribly sorry about that." She proceeded to lend a hoof to the pony she had nearly given a concussion, concluding that the least she could do was aid her back to standing upright.
Meanwhile, still paralyzed with an unexplainable embarrassment, the unicorn's blush mirrored that of Octavia's, although she was certain that the reasons behind them were worlds apart. The feeling was blissful, of course, but Vinyl decided to keep that detail a secret. As much as she wanted to pull the cellist back down on top of her, she did what she was best at: covering it up with a laugh.
"Geez, Octavia," she said as she grabbed the earth pony's outstretched hoof and regained her composure, silently thanking Celestia that she wasn't born a pegasus. "I haven't even gotten you drunk yet and you're already all over me."
Octavia grunted in annoyance, resisting the urge to push the egotistical unicorn back down and simply walk away; rationality was her strongpoint, though, so she chose to ignore Vinyl's spontaneous remarks that were increasingly becoming easier to get used to.
She surveyed the building that the DJ had led her to, the new-age design capturing her interest. It stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the city, harshly contrasting with the traditional Canterlot architecture that surrounded it on either side. All of its windows were tinted pitch black and the entire structure was painted a deep purple. It lacked a proper sign or lettering that indicated what breed of establishment it was, that little detail making Octavia's stomach unsettle into an anxious knot.
The two musicians entered the peculiar building, the inside proving to be even more outlandish. Despite its oddities, Octavia couldn't help but feel impressed; the place was obviously much more lavish and tasteful than she had expected, especially considering that it had been Vinyl's idea. The bar was a sleek polished black with an impeccable shine to it, the walls adopting the same scheme as well. Other than that, its entire area and perimeter were the same purple as the exterior; purple tables, seats, plush couches, stage, and-...
"Vinyl, are those stripper poles?!"
"Well, would you look at that! Those definitely weren't here last time." The DJ smirked as they took their seats at the bar, Octavia unable to tell if she was blatantly lying or if it was an attempt at another one of those horrid, under-the-radar jokes of hers; she was betting heavily on the latter. The cellist brushed it off with a small laugh. You could at least try to loosen up some. The nagging voice that always seemed to make itself known buzzed around her ear in a fly's fashion, beginning to sound too much like the unicorn seated next to her. Live a little, or else they'll start calling you Uptight-Octy. She sighed inwardly and assumed that the grating voice had a point, noticing her reflection in the glimmer of the wood.
A petite mare, in which Octavia assumed was the bartender, approached the pair, her hair perched on top of her head in a rather crude sloppy bun. Her tired eyes seemed to instantly become aglow at the sight of Vinyl, and her pace towards them increased.
"Hiya, Vinyl!" Octavia observed that the bartender's voice sounded particularly similar to a dragons' nails being dragged violently down a chalkboard or an irreparably out of tune violin.
"Hey, Everclear." The unicorn smiled back, kindness resonating through the gesture. "Gimme two glasses of the strongest stuff ya got."
"Coming right up!" she piped; awkwardly chipper, in Octavia's opinion. Before she turned away, Everclear glanced between the pair and smoothly added, "It's on the house tonight."
Vinyl's smile swelled as she gave a quick nod of appreciation. Octavia, on the other hoof, did not share the sentiment and was anything but amused.
"So," She turned in her seat to completely face the DJ, her voice laced with thick sarcasm. "Do you know every bartender in Equestria, or just Canterlot?"
"D'aww." Vinyl chimed as if speaking to a filly. "Is fancy-schmancy Octavia jelly-welly?"
"Hardly, Vinyl." The cellist scoffed, her snout turned up to the air. "Jealousy is a foreign concept to me."
The DJ was about to retort when Everclear returned, her bun bouncing up and down with each step, antagonizing Octavia's lack of patience for mares like this. She placed the drinks in front of them, the bartender mumbling something to Vinyl that the cellist chose to tune out. The babbling, high-pitched voice was like an engine that ran off of pure helium and its agitating nature made the dark brown liquid appear more and more inviting.
As Everclear returned to her job (if you could even call that an actual job, Octavia grimaced bitterly), Vinyl raised her glass up for a toast, eyes shining brightly behind the shades. "I can't thank you enough, Octavia." Her voice was low and almost distantly thoughtful in approach, catching the cellist off guard. "For awesomeness!"
