When two ponies jobs both involve bars, it's inevitable that they meet, right?
When two ponies jobs both involve bars, it's inevitable that they meet, right? That's what you would think... except one involves beer, and the other involves baritones. Though, when Celestia's 457th orchestra's attendance begins to run exceptionally low, it is up to Octavia to find out, with a surprising amount of help where she least expects it: everypony's favorite Wubmaster, Vinyl Scratch.
Get that beat as sick and gnarly as you can. *WUB WUB*
When this is all over, they’ll be crying for more. *DUB DUB*
Hay yeah, this is gonna be--
“Would you turn that infernal racket down?!”
The mare jolt out of her sleep, disturbed by the sudden yelling.
“Young lady, I am about to evict you from this building if you do not stop this!”
She attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes, internally debating on telling Marble House off or not.
“I will give you five seconds, or you’re out!”
Aw buck…
“All right, just let me get to the alarm clock!”
As she started towards the alarm clock on her night stand, she heard the fumbling of keys from outside the door. She wasn’t sure what exactly the landlord wanted other than her alarm turned off, but she was about to find out.
“Listen, I turned off the alarm, so there’s no need to-“
“I’m already in, Miss Octavia,” The landlord began surveying the room, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust, “and I must say- I am highly disappointed. If you do not have this room- and your act- cleaned up by the time I come back from Manehattan, you will be evicted from here immediately.”
Octavia had always had an ability to suppress any rogue emotion that would seem impolite at the time- but Brick was certainly pushing it. As he continued his look-over of the room, his eyes happened upon a bottle of Vodka, and he gave an audible gasp.
“Young lady! How could you even think of having such an… unrefined drink in here? You’re almost convincing me of going back to my “No tenants under 30” rule!”
“Well, I’m sorry, sir. I had company over last night, and-“
“You? Company? Oh please, stop yourself right there. I might actually lose my composure over the very idea. You have never had company over aside from your parents!”
Her ears flattened against her head, and her jaw clenched as she continued to fight back the impulse to tell him to buck off.
“And in any case, that would still be nowhere near an excuse. If this has something to do with your newfound midnight habits, then I would suggest that you change them- the sooner the better.”
“Of course, sir.”
Octavia rolled her eyes as Marble House started his monologue of how he had gone from a lower class, unsophisticated birth to become one of the most prominent ponies in Canterlot, and how he was rather disappointed with the newer generation, stating they “expected too much for too little”. The first time she had heard it, during her tour of the luxurious apartment building, she had actually been quite impressed. There were few ponies she had ever met who would have had the determination that he had.
But now, the 9th or 10th time she had heard it, she was impressed again. Not from the amazing story, but because she found it amazing anypony could titter on about their own overinflated ego for over twenty minutes. She allowed her mind to drift away from House’s monologue, keeping it close enough that she would be able to tell when he was almost finished, towards her more recent night life.
After all, it was her night life that had gotten her into this mess. She was doing a report for her orchestra’s conductor, Enlightened Baton, on the local clubs and bars- not because Baton was interested in which bar had the best mai-tai, but because as of late, their concerts had been getting less packed. Baton had suggested that the best place to figure out why wasn’t through their listeners- that would be plain rude to ask them; but also because if they knew why other ponies weren’t coming, they wouldn’t either- but rather through bars. Something about how fantasy stories always beginning at bars, and what-have-you, she couldn’t remember. She at the time was more worried about walking into places typically referenced as being “Smelly, unclean, and full of drunkards”. After walking into the first bar on her list- “The Drinking Trough”- that she had almost immediately given up. She had spent less than 10 minutes within the establishment and she had already been accosted by a drunken stallion and some filly in the dark corner had been staring at her the entire night.
“And so,” Octavia’s mind flew back to the scene at hand as she heard her que, “That is why I have become so opposed to allowing riff-raff into my apartment building. So- are we going to have this discussion again?”
“No, Sir.” She barely moved her head as she spoke- enough that she seemed sincere but not too much as to seem she had reverted back to her fillyhood.
“All right.” He left the room as blazenly as anypony still walking with a stiff arrogance about him could.
“Yeesh, I thought he’d never leave!” Octavia mumbled to herself, as she began to clean the apartment of any evidence of her last night’s debauchery.
The vodka bottle would definitely need to go- she had an image to uphold, even if it were only for the housekeepers. The housekeepers had never really said much to her, or about her, and she had always appreciated that. She left them a rather hefty tip on the night stand- after all, she did leave quite the mess, and would feel absolutely guilty if she hadn’t. Besides, she had thought it best to at least give them as much of a tip as the bar tender from last night.
“Dear sweet Celestia, why did I ever even think of going there…” She slowly began to recall all of the events of last night, her face reddening more and more as the events became all the more clear.
“So then, you want into Space 34, just because your orchestra is low on audience members and you’re trying to figure out why?” The bouncer scoffed at Octavia’s request.
“Yes, sir, I am.” She began to glare at the bouncer, rather irritated that someone of her stature would be barred from going in.
“Listen, lady, I can tell you right now, nopony here would be caught dead at one of your concerts. That, or they’d probably die of boredom.”
“How dare you say such a thing!” Octavia’s temper was only being held in check right now because of almost a decade of etiquette training, though she was almost reaching her breaking point here. “Celestia’s 457’th Orchestra is certainly far from boring!”
“Listen,” The bouncer gave a roll of his eyes as he waved towards the line of ponies behind her, “If I let everypony who had done something in their life in, I’d be out of a job. So, I suggest you leave and stop wasting my time.”
Octavia turned to leave, her head hanging down low, when a pony with a muzzle full of groceries came strolling up past the entire line.
“Oh, hey Vinyl, enjoy your shopping?” The bouncer stepped aside as he and revealed a small platform- perhaps large enough to hold a small filly right next to the door, which Vinyl set her groceries on.
“Hey Brick. What’s up with the long face on that filly?” Vinyl gestured over towards Octavia with her tail.
“Oh, her?” He pointed his hoof towards Octavia to make sure they were talking about the same filly, “She’s from some orchestra trying to figure out why their usual ponies haven’t been showing up.”
Octavia was prepared for the mare to make some snide remark about orchestra music sucking flank, and wasn’t in the mood to hear the rest of it. What she wasn’t ready for was what she heard.
“Let her in.”
“What?” Both Octavia and the bouncer said in unison.
“I said: Let her in.”
Octavia stammered, not really ready to respond to such an act of kindness. Brick, on the other hand, began making some defense that Octavia seemed to be a mood killing sort of pony.
“Yeah, well, she may be a mood-killer, but the I can understand where she’s coming from. And besides,” She added in as an aside to the bouncer, “I might just be able to fix that.”
Vinyl spun around to get a better look at what she had to work with- a well-groomed, well-dressed, un-inebriated mare. All three of which had to go.
“Anyway, umm… What’s your name? I never actually heard it, so…”
“Oh, I- my name is Octavia.”
“Octavia…?”
“Yes, that is my given name. Why?”
“Eh,” Vinyl replied with a shrug, “it sounds way too formal. How ‘bout ‘Tavi’?”
“I don’t really see what the point of giving myself a nickname is…” Octavia couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed in the idea of misrepresenting herself with a nickname. She had always represented herself as Octavia- Cavatina for those who actually cared for last names- and had been brought up that “Stage names” were something to be looked down upon.
“Well, it’s a lot easier when you can just say a smaller portion of the other pony’s name instead of the entire thing. Plus, if you do go with ‘Octavia’, every time I see you I’m going to keep calling you ‘Octaaaaaaaaavia’”. Vinyl did her best to sound like one of those super-nanny mares she had heard about with the overly thick accents.
“Well, I- all right, ‘Tavi’ it is.”
“Great! Oh, and one more thing, you look like you’re dressed for a funeral.” Vinyl poked, indicating Octavia’s bow tie.
“I do not look like I-“
“You want in, or not?”
Octavia bit her lip and muttered out a “Fine”.
“All right- follow me through the club- I’ve got a room upstairs, and I think I have a few duds for you to borrow.”
Vinyl didn’t even wait for Octavia to respond, she just headed straight into the club. Octavia began to follow, un-entirely sure of where her “guide” had disappeared to. The only real indicator she got was the reflection on Vinyl’s glasses. As she followed Vinyl through the crowd, she couldn’t help but notice how Vinyl was able to move through the crowd so smoothly- like water over rocks, maybe. Never really forcing her way through, but rather just always finding that one way through. Octavia would have loved to ask the DJ how she did it—if she wasn’t constantly getting barraged by other ponies bumping her about, and occasionally pushing her towards the wrong direction. Some went as so far as to ask “What the buck are you doing?”, and others actually tried to continue rubbing against her. By the time she reached the stairs, she couldn’t help but be relieved. The stairs were barely wide enough for a single pony to get up- let alone two- so the odds of anyone hanging out on them were slim. That, and she was entertaining the feeling of claustrophobia. She quickly ascended, eager to find Vinyl, and perhaps tell her that this was a mistake—this club was way too crowded for her, she was getting a stomach ache, there were fumes... just something to get her out of here. As she neared the top of the stairs, she noticed that the steel grate stairs had turned into carpeted steps, and instead of railings there was drywall.
Well, this certainly is a nice change…
At the top of the stairs stood a large oak door, with the inscription of “Life is one grand, sweet, song, so let’s start the music.”
“I remember Princess Celestia saying this when she came to my class’s graduation. Had she taken any longer saying it, I probably would have passed out from the stress. Though I think I may just do that now.” Octavia chuckled to herself, as she recalled the embarrassing event. Come to think of it, that’s how she had even ended up here in the first place! If she hadn’t played her hooves off, the Enlightened Baton might as well have never even noticed her, and she might have been able to avoid this whole mess! She could have been passed up for the Symphony, and then… okay, so she wasn’t that desperate to get out of here.
Shuffling uneasily, Octavia began to wonder if maybe Vinyl was tricking her. Or perhaps, she had just forgotten. It wouldn’t be the first time she had been left, standing in front of somepony’s door, looking like an idiot. Though this time, at least she could possibly get out without everypony staring at her down the block. Heaving a small sigh, she turned to head down the stairs.
“The last time I try talking my way into any bar—“
“Hey! Where ya goin’?” Vinyl had opened the door, wearing her devil-may-care grin as she called down to Octavia.
“Well, I thought you had forgotten that I was following you.”
“Naw, I’d never do that. Anyway, come on up here! You’re still not going down there again wearing that tie!”
“On second thought, this is that bad.” Octavia began overlooking the clip-on cuffs that Vinyl had put on them, saying they “needed decoration”.
“Aw, come on! You only have two cuffs on each ear! And besides, we haven’t even started on your hair!” “Listen, I appreciate the effort, but is all of this necessary?”
“Well,” Vinyl began with a smirk, “you want to get ponies talking to you, right?”
“I—well, yes, of course I do!”
“You want to know why they haven’t been talking to you much before?” Vinyl began to shake a can of hair spray she had picked out of her large organizer labeled “Upper Accessories”.
“Oh, and by the way, you’ll want to keep your mouth closed.”
“And why would I—“Octavia began before she was interrupted by a small blast of hair spray, causing her to hack and wheeze.
“Thing is,” Vinyl began, almost ignoring Octavia’s coughed protests, “ponies aren’t really going to loosen their lips if you look like you have a ruler is tucked in your mane, ready to smack them the second they answer the question wrong.”
“I dum mff—“
“Oh,” Vinyl added in between giggles, while staring at Octavia’s scrunched up face, “and you can open your eyes and mouth, I stopped spraying almost a minute ago.”
“I’m not entirely sure I want to open my eyes, after all that spraying you did.”
“Don’t worry, it’s temporary. Though, if you ask me, you should make it permanent.”
“Oh, fine, I might as well face the music—“ Octavia’s sentence stopped dead in its tracks as she opened her eyes to finally see her mane—it was tied back into a tail, with a long purple streak running the length of it.
“Pretty cool, right?”
“I- it’s-“
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway,” the DJ proceeded to levitate her glasses off of her face, “mind holding these while I go wash this spray off of my hooves?”
Without even waiting for a response, she dropped them in the stuttering mare’s lap, and skipped towards her sink.
As Vinyl’s glasses came off, Octavia’s stuttering gave a brief pause, before continuing anew for a different reason. “Did I just see that right?” Octavia mumbled to herself, as she slowly crept towards the sink. Her eyes… they’re… almost a magenta? But I— “Oh yeah,” Chuckled Vinyl as she began to wash her face in the mirror “almost forgot my contacts.” While every single lesson in etiquette came screaming at her to look away, she couldn’t help it. Every story she had heard painted Vinyl as some deviant that lived in a shoddy apartment, looking over a club with eyes as red and deep as the blood that ran through her veins. Of all the thoughts in her head, a single one escaped her mouth.
“Why?”
With a startled yelp, Vinyl made a quick turnaround, holding one hoof over her eye.
“Geez, you always try to give heart attacks to everypony while they put in their contacts?”
“I- er- sorry.” Great, now I sound, feel, and no doubt look like a stammering, blundering idiot.
“It’s… fine.” Holy hay is she cute when she turns red. “Just help me find my contact, and I’ll answer whatever it was.”
Ripping her eyes from Vinyl, Octavia began to search the floor for the missing contact, which was not made any easier by the clay-colored marble floor.
“What was your question? I was a bit busy jabbing my eye from getting scared to death to hear it.”
“I- I was wondering why you do it.”
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific. Unless you mean—“
“Found it!”
“Great, can you wash it and put it in for me?”
“I—well, I’m not sure—“
“You’re the one who plays the fancy instrument and has the not throbbing eye, not me.”
“All right, if you really insist…”
As Octavia began to head towards the sink, contact in hoof, Vinyl couldn’t help but notice her thoughts—or lack of thoughts, as it were—didn’t head straight to Octavia’s flank. Sure, there was plenty to look at, but try as she might, Vinyl just could not find it in her to imagine doing anything with it. It just… felt wrong.
“See something you… um… like, sailor?”
“I wasn’t—I don’t—I—“
“Oh, I’m glad to see I’m not the only one getting her ponyfeathers all rustled!”
Am I... flirting? Oh, I hope she doesn't take that the wrong way...
“I—just get it in already.”
With Vinyl staring at her, one eye the beautiful magenta, the other blood red, Octavia almost felt guilty. She, of all ponies, was able to see this—and now, she was covering up.
“So, what was it you were wondering?”
“Well, I…”
Holy hay, she’s trembling! Is Octavia really that afraid of this, or what?
“I guess I’m wondering why all the acting, all the secrets, the contacts? Just… why?”
Tapping her hoof on the floor, Vinyl deliberated with herself if she should tell Octavia the truth or not. On one hoof, she could just as easily be walking into a trap, just so that she would spill her deepest, darkest secrets. On the other, she hadn't had any reason to suspect Octavia before now. Besides, who would believe 'Tavi if she came out and said "Vinyl is a bucking liar?" It wasn't like she hadn't that name-- and worse-- thrown at her before.
“That’s seriously a tall order, ‘Tavi. If I tell you, you gotta promise me you won’t tell anypony.”
“Yes, I promise.”
“On your cello.”
“All right, I—“ Wait, what? I didn’t mention playing cello, did I….?
“How the hay did you know I play cello?”
Rolling her eyes, Vinyl made it clear she wasn’t going to elaborate without Octavia’s promise. Oh, this definitely has my attention. Celestia knows who else has been given the honor of knowing this!
“I, Octavia Cavatina, promise on my cello, that I will not breathe a word of this to anypony.”
“You might want to be sitting down for this one, because it’s a doozy: I didn’t really plan any of it.”
“Any of what?”
“My image, or any of that. I guess it all started with that interview I got with the Manehatten Manestream. I hadn’t been able to sleep on the carriage ride from Ponyville to Manehatten, hence the shades and eyes. Everything was really, really bright, and my eyes were bloodshot. Sadly, they mis-printed it. Instead of “bloodshot, red, puffy eyes”, they ended up with “Blood red eyes.” So, I’ve been wearing these contacts since.”
“Your apartment?” Octavia prompted, wondering how any reporter could misconstrue the lavish apartment they were in for the ragged, beaten, musty, two-cent apartment Vinyl was known to live in.
“Well, the apartment part was true, at the time. I own this place- heck, my father owned it back in his day. Thing was, this place was getting a retrofit for new fire safety codes, so when they did the “in my habitat” interview—whatever good they think it will do to interview me at my house—I had to rent out an apartment, and the cruddy one the interviewer described was the only one available.”
“What about you hating orchestral? Was that the truth, or was that not right, either?”
“That one, I guess you can blame me and my agent. My agent for suggesting it, and me for going along.” Vinyl chuckled as the ill-fated advice began to ring in her ears. Vinyl, your fans don’t care that you enjoy some fancy music, they want to know their idol is like them—down in the grunge pits, ready to blare it for anypony who will listen, got it? You saying you love classical would be like Hoof Bay saying he loved romantic dramas without any explosions, get it?
“Anyway,” Vinyl shook her head, chasing the bad advice off, “anything else?”
“Well, no, I guess not… thank you, though.”
“For what?”
“Well, for… everything, I guess.”
“Aw, it’s no problem, ‘Tavi. Anything to help a fellow musician.” Fellow terminally and unbearably cute musicians.
“Speaking of music, I think that we may want to get back to the club?” Octavia ruefully reminded herself and her host of her original goal.
“Yeah…” Well, buck. Tavi’s right, we couldn’t stay in here forever—however much I would like to.
“Let’s saddle up and get going, then.”
Vinyl froze, not entirely sure she was hearing Octavia correctly.
“You sure?” Her head shifted to the side, as though to drain some imaginary water from her ears.
“Am I sure that I will need to leave here eventually? Well, yes, I—“
“No, not that,” Vinyl replied, remembering that her company was not used to club lingo.
“Then what is it that I would be unsure of?”
“Well, in these sorta clubs, “saddling up” takes on a different meaning… sorta.”
Oh, of course it does. Why can’t a pony just say what she means to say and not have any other meaning?
“I take it from your reaction that “saddling up” means something rique, even in club terms?”
“No, it isn’t anything like that, trust me. Thing is, I thought you meant like actual saddles.” Vinyl could feel her face heating up as she continued the explanation. “And in clubs, when you’re wearing a saddle, that means you’re taken, so I thought—“
“Oh, my goodness gracious, I- I didn’t mean anything like that, I just meant it as in “Let’s get going”, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, I figured, but I’m just a bit more used to club lingo, that’s all.”
After a nervous chuckle, Octavia queried if there was any other club lingo she should be aware of.
“No, I think that’s good… but whatever you do, don’t order any drinks you hear of that aren’t on the menu, okay?”
“Off-menu drinks?”
“And if someone offers you a drink, and you don’t know them, don’t take it.”
“All right, but—“
“And I don’t know if you smoke, but all we got around here is wacky tabaccy. Nothing you could find in a store.”
Octavia began another question, only to be cut off once more.
“And WHATEVER you do, DO NOT take body shots off of Lime Rickey.”
“Why?”
“The last mare to do that ended up in a dumpster. Nopony knows how, and nopony asks. Just don’t.” That certainly is the most disturbing thing she has told me yet—bodyshots. Octavia shuddered at the thought of sucking alcohol off of some stallion she hadn’t even met was just… disturbing. “O-kay then, suit yourself. Though you may change your mind by nights end.”
Well, aside from the drum corps. practicing a never-ending crescendo in her head, this wasn’t the worst Octavia had imagined her first hangover being. Everything else was relatively quiet, it was warm, and the pillow was breathing a low, soothing hum.
“Pillow…” The gears in her head slowly began to begin churning, attempting to process the breathing pillow.
“Oh, hey.”
Breathing, talking pillow? No need to freak out…
“Last night was really amazing. How did you get your tongue to do all that?” … Never mind.
Octavia awkwardly bolted off the bed, switching between profuse apologies, and something else, she really couldn’t figure out what the other half was, though it slowly became into a coherent lecture as she began to recognize the mare whose chest she had just seconds ago been using as a pillow.
“Oh Celestia,” Vinyl gasped between guffaws, “that was too mean!”
Octavia was sure that if she could get any more irritated, steam would begin bursting from her ears.
“Vinyl,” Octavia began after collecting herself, “I will only ask you once.”
The DJ’s laughing was instantly ceased, and instead replaced by a silent, saucer-eyed stare.
“What. Happened. Last. Night.”
“I swear to Celestia, that comment about your tongue was a joke!”
Octavia’s scowl remained, obviously expecting a more detailed explanation.
“Okay, right, I should tell you what all happened last night. But first, you want some coffee?”
“I guess… I’ve heard coffee is good for headaches.”
With a flick of her tail, Vinyl beckoned Octavia to follow her into what would be assumed as the “kitchen” area, which was just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house- a clear door refrigerator with a small LED readout of the temperature being the first thing to greet you ask you walked in, flanked by a stainless steel oven. To their immediate left was a washing machine below a marble salt-and pepper windowsill, to match the rest of the countertops, overtop mahogany cabinets. If she hadn’t been in the rest of the house without a hangover, she would have sworn it was the hangover decorating the place.
As Vinyl began to pour the coffee, Octavia took into account that for her first hangover, she didn’t do that bad: She knew whose house she was in, and their plot- of land, she told herself- wasn’t that bad either.
“It isn’t decaf, is it?”
“Viennese cinnamon.”
“I know it’s a bit much to ask, but do you have actual creamer? I cannot stand that powdered stuff.”
“Trust me; I hate that stuff just as much as you.”
“I suppose there isn’t any real rush to it, but I would like to know what all happened.”
“The first part,” Vinyl began, “Actually starts with Doc Suds, as far as I know. He’s the bar tender,” Vinyl explained, cued by Octavia’s head tilt.
“Anyway, apparently, you can’t say no to a free sangria.”
Octavia blushed and decided that now was an excellent time to inspect her coffee, recalling at least that much of the night.
“He mixed them perfectly…”
Vinyl chuckled at the mare’s embarrassment—nopony had ever been able to reject a drink mixed by Doc Suds—she certainly was a first-timer to Space 34.
“Anyway, I’ll tell you now, the only thing you need to worry about is getting better at karaoke.”
“What?”
“After Doc ran out of wine, you sauntered up to the karaoke stand, and did a really…” Vinyl began an inspection of her own coffee, trying to think of the right word for the performance.
“Let’s just say you shouldn’t quit your day job.” Vinyl decided that any word she could find was either too weak, or too true.
“Why”, Octavia feigned offense, “I’ve always been told I had a beautiful voice!”
“Yeah, how did they tell you?” Vinyl returned the sarcasm in kind, “In sign language?” Their fit of laughter was interrupted by a small growl emanating from Vinyl’s stomach, only to be answered by a loud roar from Octavia’s.
“Hey,” Vinyl began, through giggles at Octavia’s renewed inspection of her coffee, with heated cheeks to match, “I think we should go get some food before people around here start to think you’re secretly a manticore or something.”
“Well, I suppose we should ‘Rustle up some grub’,” Octavia agreed, exciting even more enthusiasm from Vinyl, “lest I start eating like one.”
“Ooh! That’s a great idea!”
“But—“ Octavia wasn’t entirely sure what she said, but obviously her prior sentence carried some hidden meaning.
“How did you know The Orchard was my favorite?”
“The… Orchard…?”
Right, I'm talking with a mare who doesn't do hot with slang. I think.
"You meant 'Go to The Orchard get some breakfast', when you said 'Rustle up some grub,' right?"
"No... and I've never been to any restaurant named 'The Orchard'."
Vinyl’s eyes widened until they lost their whites, and her jaw went slack.
“You’ve never been to The Orchard? As in, the restaurant run by Sweet Apple Acres?”
“No,” Octavia shook her head, unable to see what the big deal was.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Vinyl began cleaning out her ears, trying to see if there was some major blockage.
“I’ve never had anything from Sweet Apple Acres.” Octavia was giggling, seeing anypony so worked up over a restaurant was hilarious.
“I’m sorry… I don’t…”
Octavia was almost at the point of laughing uncontrollably as Vinyl rushed to pick a dictionary from the shelf.
“Those words…” Vinyl trailed off as she began searching through the dictionary, “Is it possible to use them together in a sentence like that?!”
“Oh, trust me, that will be fixed, as soon as we get going, to wherever ‘The Orchard’ is.”
“All right!” Vinyl began hoof pumping the air as she almost bounced towards the door.
“Just don’t let them hear—“
Octavia’s stomach volunteered it’s vocal services, almost knowing where Vinyl was going with that sentence.
“That,” Vinyl poked Octavia’s side playfully as she swung the door open, “or the fact you’ve never been.”
“Why?” Octavia replied with a chuckle, “Do they badger you into trying something they’re famous for?”
“Sorta like that…”
As Octavia watched Vinyl hop out the door, she could have sworn she saw that look in Vinyl’s eyes before. What it was, she couldn’t really tell—it was a mix between mischief, and Celestia knows what else. All she knew was, it was going to be funny for Vinyl, and Celestia only knew what it meant for her.
Quick Author's note: Personally, I don't know where the funny tried going in there, but oh well. First person to point out the 2 references gets an internet cookie!
Trotting towards Sweet Apple Acres, Octavia continued to fruitlessly quiz her self-acclaimed “guide to Ponyville”.
“All right, Vinyl, can you at least tell me what this ever so fabulous restaurant looks like?”
“Nope!” Vinyl continued to snicker, enjoying Octavia’s stream of guesses and questions.
“Are we going to be at “Orchard” soon, at least?”
Before Vinyl could reply, a voice rumbled behind her, “Eeyup.”
After the initial shock of having somepony sneak up behind her wore off, Octavia finally opened her eyes to take in the behemoth of a stallion before her. While she was no stranger by any means to large ponies—the Orchestra’s benefactor being Celestia herself—she had never seen anypony noticeably taller than herself up close. And he wasn’t just tall; he was well built! To say that Octavia was intimidated by the mysterious stallion would have been an understatement.
“Hey Big Mac!” Vinyl’s already wide grin grew larger as she sauntered right up to stallion, giving him a borderline playful slug on the shoulder.
“That tickled. You gettin’ soft, on me, Vinyl?” He joked as he pushed her over as though she were a leaf.
“Oh, I’ll show you soft!” Vinyl quickly returned to her hooves, only to tackle the larger pony with a pounce.
As the two began making quips at each other, Octavia finally realized what was going on. They weren’t siblings, that much was obvious. And the only other ponies who playfully roughhoused followed it up with…
“Vinyl!” Octavia finally burst out, waiting for the right moment in-between insults, “I thought you were taking me to a restaurant, not having me watch you and your coltfriend ‘do it’!”
The pair on the ground stare in silence, looking between themselves.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Her question was responded to with a roar of laughter from both ponies.
“Well shoot, Ah though Ah taught those two better,” came a new voice from behind Octavia.
“Hmph.” Were it not for her seeming attempt to bore holes through the two roughhousing before her, she probably would have been startled just as much when Big Macintosh had spoken.
“Ah heard what ya said, an’ ya don’t have ta worry ‘bout it.”
“Oh, really?” Octavia deadpanned.
“They’re both gay.”
That particular bit of news was enough of a shock to Octavia to distract her from her attempt incinerate them with her eyes.
“That massive hunk of…?” Octavia stare doe-eyed.
“Yep. Pretty big disappointment to quite a few mares in town. Anyhoot, my name’s—“
The new, Stetson-clad pony was interrupted by a growl from Octavia’s stomach, which elicited a suppressed giggle.
“Is Applejack, and this is Sweet Apple Acres—more precise, our new restaurant, The Orchard. What’s yer’ name?”
“Hungry,” Octavia joked as she followed her host into the barn with a newly lacquered sign that read “The Orchard.”
“Well, ‘Hungry’, ya came to the right place...” Applejack chuckled as she lead her guest into the bustling restaurant.
As ‘Hungry’ left, she soon considered changing her name to ‘Stuffed’.
“Oh man, there is nothing like seeing a first-time visit to that place!” The DJ beside her howled with laughter, seeing Octavia’s face—almost ready to toss her apples from the amount she had just eaten.
“Ugh,” Octavia moaned, ignoring her overly-peppy companion, “I cannot believe I ate that last pie…”
“Yeah, well, the one place I can tell you to go—though, I can’t be caught dead in there—is the Bubbles and Buttercup Spa.”
“I feel like I’m… Wait a second!” Octavia’s distended stomach was immediately forgotten at the mention of a spa.
“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe they have one here! And you will be caught dead, because you and I are going there!”
“Umm… I completely forgot where it is?”
The un-amused stare she received told Vinyl that there was no escaping it, that she was going to the spa, and she was going now.