OctaScratch Pranks: Experimental FiMfic #1

Read the description first, just to know what you're getting into. Thanks!

CHAPTER 1: OUT OF A PANTSING…

The performance was going magnificently! Absolutely swimmingly! Octavia Philharmonica closed her violet eyes euphorically as she ran her bow across the freshly tuned strings of her cherished cello. The audience was for all intents and purposes enraptured at the delicate sounds of Buch’s Cello Suite Number One reverberating off the maroon velvet cushion-lined walls and high ceiling of Ponyville’s small music hall. ‘This could not be a more different environment than the last time I stood on this stage,’ Octavia thought. It was true; the Grand Galloping Gala had been an unmitigated disaster for Octavia’s whole ensemble.

It was as if nopony appreciated the refinement of classical music anymore. (Even as a filly, Octavia was sometimes teased for her love of it.) But today was so very different.

Despite still getting paid handsomely for their services at the gala, the quartet insisted on holding a free performance solely to make up for the previous events. Frederic Horseshoepin, the leader and pianist, had insisted that they needed to prove themselves and truly demonstrate that classical still “reigned supreme”. Octavia couldn’t help but smile at the memory of said discussion. All four bandmembers, including herself, were more than open to admit they had egos. They’d rented this particular venue using some of their gala wages and now, on a clear and perfect spring afternoon, an audience of old and young ponies alike was being delighted by the relaxing chords flowing from the strings of Octavia’s instrument as she closed the show with a solo.

The gray earth pony stood onstage, dressed exceptionally in her best dress shirt, silk vest, and black trousers, boldly accented by her pink bowtie. It was easy for Octavia to get lost in her own music, especially when playing alone. Oftentimes it seemed the cello played itself, happy to entertain and let its owner’s mind drift into a blissful state where she could ponder freely. She was feeling more at peace than she had in a good long time, as if she could drift into slumber right there, playing a gentle lullaby to herself. Her music seemed to have that effect on the audience much of the time, it seemed. Truly, her playing was beyond compare! At the very least, if she did put herself to sleep she’d get more standing onstage than likely would at night in her apartment.

For the past three months now, Octavia’s sleep patterns were growing more and more erratic. Curled up in bed, tossing and turning, shoving multiple pillows over her ears did nothing to curb the pounding, occasionally synthesized beats that emanated through her ceiling. Attempting to scribe compositions in B minor while living underneath a struggling DJ composing her own… music, if Octavia was able to call it that without wrinkling her nose, was not a fate she would wish upon her worst enemy. And yet the manic, overblown works of Vinyl Scratch seemed to be getting more and more popular each passing day. Octavia would never think to call her and Vinyl Scratch friends or even musical acquaintances, but was it possible they would actually wind up rivals for ponykind’s musical affections?

According to other tenants, Vinyl was not a bad pony, just one with tastes that Octavia simply couldn’t wrap her head around. Nothing about Vinyl’s career was artful, it was just hedonistic. Octavia’s acquaintances were refined gentlecolts where Vinyl often brought outright troublemakers home with her, usually quite intoxicated. When she had got wind of what occurred at the gala in fact, Vinyl had burst out laughing with seemingly no thought given to how humiliated Octavia had felt that night.

Eyes still shut, Octavia’s face scrunched slightly as her thoughts came back to the concert. She was not going to let thoughts of her neighbor’s idiocy ruin this for her. If only it could’ve lasted.

It all happened very fast. From the shadows, one of the stagehands called, “M-Miss Octavia! Look out!” A familiar, much closer voice exclaimed, “Yoink!” Octavia’s playing halted, the bow screeching across the strings, and her eyes snapped open as she felt a sudden draft below her waist. The audience let out a shocked gasp in unison. Octavia was horrified to glance down, barely daring to move a muscle.

The first thing she saw was the last pony she’d hoped to see at this event: Vinyl Scratch, fellow resident of Ponyville Apartments, crouching beside her, forelegs outstretched, dressed in her usual punkish getup complete with plastic jewelry and that ludicrous stud in her lip. The white unicorn’s eyes were hidden by overlarge, purple-tinted glasses, but she was grinning broadly up at Octavia as if satisfied with herself. Then Octavia took in all of what had happened and her face went bright pink in embarrassment and horror. Her trousers were at her ankles. Her mind ever so briefly cycled through all the various schoolyard pranks she’d been the victim of in her youth — Vinyl had pantsed her.

It appeared that Vinyl had teleported into the concert hall or perhaps even directly onstage, scooted up to Octavia, and given her trousers a sharp yank before anypony could fathom what was going on! For a moment, all seemed still. Octavia stood staring out at all the ponies watching her and Vinyl, who was still beside her with a two-hoofed grip on Octavia’s pants. “Y-You!” Octavia whispered, gripping her bow tight in one hoof and the body of the cello with the other. She couldn’t believe what was happening; her blush deepened to red as she realized the full scope of the situation, including the fact that her underwear was now on display for about fifty or sixty ponies. They were her lucky underwear worn only for concerts, a pair of very nice white panties with a pattern of assorted musical notes. Octavia liked them a lot. And now they (along with her treble clef cutie mark) had been exposed against her will in front of a captive audience.

Now said audience was laughing, and Octavia didn’t know where to turn. She was a statue, her dignity slipping away by the second. She bit her lip and shivered as though the stage were made of ice.

Vinyl grinned broader. “Gotcha, Octy,” she chuckled. “Got you good!” Octavia’s eyes glistened and started to well up. Despite this, the crowd before her only carried on laughing with seemingly no thought to the cellist’s feelings. Somewhere in the audience a young filly’s voice called out, “I see Cloudsdale, I see Prance!” The childish saying only brought Octavia back to her schoolfilly years and made her feel even more embarrassed. Vinyl turned her head in the direction of the mocking voice and hollered back, “Awww, yeeeeah! I like ya, kid!”

Time finally seemed to return to normal speed, and Octavia let out a faint whimper as the tears now came flowing from her shining eyes down her red cheeks. She glanced robotically down at Vinyl. “H-How… How dare you… how could you?”, she stuttered. Unable to speak properly, she let go of her bow, which clattered to the stage, and her cello, which was fortunately in its stand and remained upright. Then she did all she could think to do. She hid her face in her forelegs and, stepping right out of the trousers Vinyl still held onto, cantered off stage left.

Vinyl stood up, her glasses gleaming in the sun streaming through the skylight, and held Octavia’s trousers over her head. “Aaaaalright, everypony!” she yelled, only stirring up the audience into further rowdiness. “Who wants ‘em?” she asked, waving the pants around with one hoof like a victory flag. Several cries of, “Me!” or “Over here!” met Vinyl’s ears and she grinned again. She loved turning on an audience, unlike Octavia who took hers entirly for granted it seemed. Instead of throwing the garment to the spectators, however, she made a show of tossing it over her shoulder. “Just kidding, folks!” she laughed. “As much as you shouldn’t be privy to this info…” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Even I’ve got limits!” She gave a mock shudder but couldn’t help giggling. “Nah, seriously, I gotta give these back, even if it IS to my stuffshirt neighbor Octavia.” She heard a stallion’s disappointed groan, “Hey, man, I’m not that evil!” Vinyl jokingly called back before letting out a frenzied laugh. “Everypony just stay cool; you’ve earned this show by being so patient! Today, my loyal subjects, you have all had the privilege to witness a drawer-droppingly epic prank by the reigning rave monarch herself, DJ PON-3!” she cried, striking a dramatic pose. “Now then. Time to see the results of my sweet victory! Take it easy on the poor thing; she tries her best! Ooooocty!” she called in the direction Octavia had run. “Take a bow, Octy!” Octavia didn’t emerge. “Aw come on, cutie pie!” Vinyl continued jovially. “At least you remembered to wear panties!” She paused. “This time.” That punch line amplified the audience’s hysterics. Vinyl was loving this!

Then all the laughter died like a light switch. An appropriate metaphor, given that entire ballroom suddenly went pitch dark with a loud clanking sound that meant somepony had purposefully killed the lights. Nopony could see their hooves in front of their faces, but the audience members’ unanimous murmurs of confusion were suddenly interjected with an explosion of voices from the stage. It sounded like an immense physical struggle interspersed with a scrape that sounded like wood against wood. A few things could be made out above it all:

“OW! Hey, what are ya…? Who…?” Clearly Vinyl.

“Come here, you!” Octavia, it seemed!

“Octy, I know…”

“Hush up, you…”

“S-stop it! H-hey! You can’t take my… OUCH!”

“…intolerable, vicious…”

Hooves ascending what seemed to be wooden stairs.

“YOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWIIIIEEEE!”

A crack like splintering wood and a loud twang.

“OOOOOOCTYYYYY!”

“And don’t call me Octy!”

The lights flashed back on, and a great many ponies blinked and groaned. For a moment, they were still without sight. Then their eyes adjusted, and upon looking back up at the stage, they were met with a truly bizarre sight. Off to one side of the stage stood a wooden ladder about twenty feet tall. Octavia was standing on the very top of it, no longer looking terrified or embarrassed, but downright icy. She was still wearing only her underpants below the waist, but a closer look showed her to be donning a new pair of pants, specifically a pair of baggy white jeans adorned with several superfluous zippers and pockets. These were unlike any pants somepony of Octavia’s taste would likely own, and it took a moment for the crowd to realize the full scope of what was going on.

Directly opposite Octavia, Vinyl appeared to be hanging in midair, all four legs dangling limply. She was no longer wearing her glasses (close inspection showed them discarded on the stage), revealing her deep crimson eyes. It quickly became apparent, however, what else she didn’t have on anymore. Below the waist, Vinyl was dressed only in a pair of bright orange boxer shorts with a pink and orange striped waistband and an adornment of pink polka dots; her own cutie mark of an eighth note peeked out from under the shorts. She wore an expression of bitterness to match Octavia’s; the two seemed to be squaring off. Octavia pulled what were obviously Vinyl’s jeans all the way up and secured them with two snaps, though their bagginess was something she was not used to and she was forced to hold them up with both forehooves. ‘How this pony can stand walking around with her pants falling down is beyond me, not to mention indecent,’ Octavia had long thought. She was always noticing Vinyl’s underwear showing above the top of her pants whenever she saw her at the apartment complex or about town and willing her to pull them up properly.

To the crowd staring transfixed, all this would have been crazy enough. However, beyond forcibly removing her rival’s pants under cover of darkness and claiming them for her own to conserve what little pride she had left after being pansted herself, Octavia had gone even further.

It was no magic keeping Vinyl suspended twenty feet above the stage, it was Octavia’s cello bow! She appeared to have bluntly impaled it into the side wall of the stage by way of the ladder and hung Vinyl from it by the top of her boxers, creating possibly the highest (and perhaps most creative!) hanging wedgie in the history of Equestria!

Vinyl gritted her teeth in pain and frustration as her boxers dug deep into her flank. She let out a strained “Owwwww…” that trailed off. Octavia looked back at her indignantly. “Humph!” she said with an sniff. “Serves you right for my utter humiliation down there!” She pointed forcefully downward with a hoof, causing Vinyl’s pants to slip down slightly on one side and give the crowd a flash of the panties they had already seen every detail of down to the last eighth note. She blushed again slightly and hiked them up. “Damn it, Octavia,” the unicorn grunted, crossing her forelegs bitterly. (Despite her personality, she was not known to curse.) “I just bought these undies last month!”

“Well,” Octavia said, giving another sniff that indicated she was not to soon be in a forgiving mood. “You should’ve though that through before exposing mine!” Her spirits were lifted slightly when she heard a laugh from the audience, recognizing it as Black Keys, a former student of hers. “Great comeback, Miss Octavia! Knew you had it in you!” he yelled out, prompting Octavia to blush again, but this time with pride and pleasure. She was one-up on DJ Pon-3 and that was worth yet another botched concert as far as she was concerned.

She began descending the ladder, though this proved tricky as she also struggled to keep the stolen pants from slipping down but she did make it. “It’s not a bad look for you, honestly!” another stallion’s voice called in earnest, referring presumably to the white jeans adorning the gray pony’s hind end. Octavia hitched them up once more and laughingly called back , “Oh hush, you flirt!” with another faint blush, prompting a genuine laugh from the whole crowd. From above, Vinyl was calling, “H-Hey! You can’t leave me like this!” and screwing up her face as her a slight rip began to form at the place her boxers were speared to the wall. “I swear, if you wreck my good pants…” she added coldly. Octavia smiled to herself as she calmly grabbed her cello and began trotting offstage. “Oh don’t worry, Ms. Scratch,” she replied without so much as a backward glance before disappearing from the crowd’s view once again. “When it comes to revenge, I’m not one to go too far!” She heard the audience laugh again at that and softly giggled to herself.

She retrieved her cello case from one of the stagehands and, ignoring his bemused expression, replaced her instrument inside and made her way toward the side exit. There was no sign of her bandmates, presumably getting a pampering in their dressing rooms after doing their part in the concert. Despite her relatively lifted spirits, Octavia was quite happy they weren’t around to see her now… or indeed any of what she had just been through. Carrying the case in one hoof and hitching up the loose jeans once again with the other, she stepped through the side door and out into the streets of Ponyville.

The town was one Octavia had grown attached to — far less classy than Canterlot by her standards and yet quite a bit more welcoming, not in the least thanks to that pink pony who had caused Octavia’s ensemble so much bother at the gala. In fact she never had any problem with the locals, who always seemed to look past her reasonably high social standing. As she walked homebound down the road, however, she felt herself receiving a few funny looks from some of the ponies passing by. It was undoubtedly what she was wearing, she thought, and went slightly pink again remembering that a good many had just seen her fall apart onstage after getting her pants pulled down. She felt utterly ridiculous having to walk all the way home looking like this: classy on top, punk on the bottom. ‘When I eventually confront Vinyl again,’ she thought, ‘we’ll see who owes who a new pair of GAAAAAAAAH!’

Octavia let out a sound somewhere between surprise and alarm as she felt a sharp tug around her waist and heard a familiar tomboyish laugh from behind her. “‘Sup, Octy? Miss me?” She couldn’t believe it! Vinyl was right behind her and tugging with both forehooves on the back of the cellist’s lucky panties, which had remained relatively exposed despite Octavia’s best efforts to hold her new pants up. Octavia instinctively went bright red at the thought of inadvertently mooning however many passersby. But this was hardly the worst yet.

As ponies’ heads turned to observe the commotion with shocked or bewildered expressions, Vinyl gave another tug that all but tripped Octavia up. Octavia threw her forelegs out in front of her for balance, realizing too late what a big mistake that was. Fully letting go of the white jeans instantly caused them to pool at her ankles, permitting everypony in the vicinity a complete view of Octavia’s underwear for the second time that day. Octavia’s cheeks burned and she thought instantly she’d never work in this town again!

She managed a scared glance back at her assailant and briefly took in a few things: Vinyl’s shades were back on, but she was still wearing only boxers below the waist. However, they were no longer the orange and pink ones, but a green pair with yellow smiley faces. “You… how… those…,” Octavia managed to squeak out. Vinyl chuckled. “Oh, these? Found ’em backstage! Wicked, huh?” she asked. “I think I’ll keep ‘em considering my other pair ripped off! You’re lucky I’m a unicorn and know, like, cool hovering spells and stuff! That must’ve been twenty feet!” she continued, now pulling Octavia’s panty waistband back. Octavia cringed, feeling the stares from all around. “I needed new shorts, what can I say,” Vinyl said casually. “I mean, I’m pretty loopy but not enough to, ya know, gallop around in the nude!” Octavia went even redder at Vinyl’s choice of words, but she was suddenly shaken back to where she was by a situation she’d never dreamed she would face in all her days.

As Vinyl gave the note-print underwear another hard tug, Octavia heard the unmistakable sound of unicorn magic powering up and the crinkling of a heavy plastic bag. She glanced up just in time to see dark blue bag simply labeled ICE in bold white letters floating above her head, contained in a pale blue shimmering aura. Octavia didn’t need to see Vinyl’s face to know her horn was glowing the same way. “P-Please, don‘t!” she cried out “Vinyl, plea…!” She futilely tried to escape Vinyl’s grip one more time, but it was no good.

And now the bag was turning upside-down in midair and its frigid contents were emptying themselves into the back of Octavia’s panties. She let out a shriek as the first bits of frostiness made contact with her backside, followed by a good five pounds of chipped ice which poured themselves into her underwear. Vinyl was grinning from ear to ear as she watched the ice rapidly build up into a pile right on top of Octavia’s plot. The heaviness of the ice was clearly becoming a factor for the now shivering Octavia too. Her eyes widened as she suddenly felt the newfound weight in her panties starting to pull them down. She grabbed the front of them and held on tight, teeth chattering out of a mix of freezing and mortification, just waiting for this to end. When the bag was almost empty, Vinyl telepathically brought it higher and let the last few ice chips plunk Octavia lightly on the head. She held onto the waistband with her left hoof a moment longer and pumped her right in ecstatic victory.

Vinyl at last released her hold; Octavia, now extremely heavy from the rear, collapsed forward onto the ground. She didn’t hurt herself and the fall managed to send a great many pieces of ice careening out of her now sorely-stretched panties and at least allowing her to finally stand. She got to her hind legs awkwardly, still feeling cold, rough textures against her plot. She knew her favorite pair of underwear was ruined. And though she’d remarkably managed to survive this entire final ordeal without shedding a tear, she now began to feel wetness in her eyes for the second time today. ‘How could somepony do these things to me? What have I done to deserve this?’ she wondered dispiritedly. She didn’t need to look around to know that at least fifty more ponies were staring at her in shock and awe at the display they’d just witnessed, not a word being said. Octavia was going to be the laughingstock of the Equestrian musical realm.

Octavia looked back at Vinyl, a single tear rolling down her face. How could even THIS utterly bizarre pony be so downright mean? After several more awkwardly silent seconds, Vinyl’s expression slowly changed to something more… passive? In fact she looked almost worried she had gone too far. ‘You think?! You… You…,’ Octavia wanted to say though her thoughts remained so jumbled after such a reputation-destroying experience that she couldn’t even think of any sort of reprimand.

With seemingly nopony willing to come to her aid, she finally snatched up the fallen jeans almost defiantly and quickly stepped into them, grabbed her cello case, and ran. She just ran. Away from the stunned and laughing onlookers. Away from the scattered bits of ice on the ground only now starting to melt in the noonday sun. Away from Vinyl Scratch, left standing in the middle of the dirt road with no pants on, an empty blue plastic bag in her hoof blowing gently in the light breeze… and tears of her own making her white fur glisten.




CHAPTER 2: …CAME GREAT FRIENDSHIP

“Completely reprehensible! An utter disgrace to the already nearly-forgotten name of classical music!”

“Frederic, if you’d please li…”

“In all my years I’ve never had to witness such mockery of the arts! By one of their own, no less!”

Frederic Horseshoepin was trotting back and forth, ears tetchily twitching, leaving Octavia rather worried for his health by this point. But she was immediately shaken back to her own current situation by twin glares from either side of where she sat on a velvet hoofstool as if in an interrogation procedure (which this situation seemed to, by all accounts, be becoming). If enough had not already happened to qualify this day as the worst of Octavia’s life, this new development fully cemented it. Once the ensemble members had discovered the events that concluded today’s concert, all three had arrived at Octavia’s apartment. Without so much as a hello after being invited in, Frederic, flanked by Harpo and Beauty Brass, had immediately launched into a tirade against the Octavia that had lasted about ten minutes now. The cellist, dressed only in pale blue pajamas, sat quivering slightly on the stool, trying desperately to make herself heard as Frederic’s rant filled her drooping ears. “Please, Frederic! All of you, if you’d just listen…” “I think it’s you who needs to listen, given how much we already had to listen about you cavorting around the stage and through the streets in your… your… undergarment.” It was as though his stuffiness barely allowed him to say the name of a simple article of clothing.

Octavia nearly rose at the indignation of the accusation only to receive another disapproving look by both the saxaphone and harp players. She sunk back into her seat and tried again. “None of that was my fault. I was caught off g…” Brass scoffed, “As if! You’re quite lucky the royal guards haven’t carted you away on an exhibitionism charge, Octavia!” Octavia looked into her young colleague’s green eyes, her own starting to well up again as a blush crept across her cheeks for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing! “Y-You have to believe me! None of that was… was… intended! You all think I wasn’t utterly humiliated!? You actually think that I enjoyed what that punk did to me?!” Frederic raised an eyebrow. “I see no evidence to the contrary,” he smirked. “I know of your kind, so desperate for attention they’re willing to doff their trousers in public. In front of foals!”

“There’s no place for a flasher in our ensemble,” said Brass. Harpo silently nodded in agreement. “As this is more juvenile than outright criminal,” Frederic carried on, ignoring Octavia’s horrified expression at being called these things, “…we’re not going to have you arrested. But as of this moment, you’re out of the band as they say.”

The world, the apartment, the hoofstool itself seemed to spin. Breathing short but silent breaths, Octavia watched as Brass and Harpo stood up on either side of her and joined Frederic as he headed toward the door. No more words were exchanged as if Octavia needed to hear anymore. Her career was over. She was never going to play again. Her eyes glazed over as the three ponies left without looking back.

It felt like an eternity before Octavia finally got to her hinds legs, or perhaps she tried several times and stumbled on the first few, her spinning head flat-out blocking any pain of impact with the floor. She could feel the tears though, fully flowing now and leaving the fur on her face soaked. Her lip quivered and her stomach felt as though it had free-fallen into the bottom of her hindquarters. She turned her head mechanically to glance out the window, watching her ex-bandmates depart into the night. How could they have not believed her? Had there truly been no weight to her claims? Or… had they simply wanted an excuse to be rid of her? Octavia’s thoughts swam with distressing questions but she was too exhausted, embarrassed, and hurt to try and answer them.

After a long while spent seemingly staring out the darkened window, deep silver clouds rolling in under Luna’s moon, the earth pony walked over and opened said window. The night air was pleasantly cool without being chill, and the faint breeze made the wetness of Octavia’s cheeks sting slightly. Taking a deep breath, Octavia reached for a lavender bathrobe laying on a chair under the window and, donning it, turned away and headed towards her front door. Wiping her face briefly with her sleeve with no thought given to her eye makeup, she left the her apartment.

Unfortunately she had nowhere to go; this time of night, most places in the town would be closed. With a glum sigh, she instead took a seat at the top of the stairs leading to her floor, her tail curled into her lap. She knew she had to stay strong and not let today’s events destroy her. She thought of her cello, still safe in her apartment. ‘I can still play it,’ she thought to herself. ‘Even if there’ll be… nopony to hear but me.’ She thought of the apartment itself. ‘At least I have a roof over my head.’

‘But for how much longer?’ she asked herself in response. ‘How am I to pay the rent now? Where’s the pay going to come from now I’m…’ Frederic’s cruel words echoed. ‘…out of the band?’ Her struggle to think positive continued, but with each passing moment her heart was telling her to just weep into her hooves.    

Before she could halt her emotions’ argument, however, a very familiar voice from behind broke the silence. “Octavia.” Hearing Vinyl speak her name provoked rather mixed feelings from Octavia to say the least, but it was spoken in such a way that sounded so unlike the pony who had shamed her mere hours earlier that she turned her head almost impulsively. There was Vinyl in what was presumably her own sleepwear, nothing more than a pair of blue boxers with white polka dots and a white t-shirt bearing the words WUB WUB; she definitely gave off an air of having no modesty at all. She had her glasses off as well, showing those startling red eyes, the look in them resembling that of a broken doll. “H-Hey.” she softly uttered. Octavia’s instincts were telling her to leave Vinyl to rot but somehow, Vinyl looked so concerned that she ignore them. Instead she sniffled and silently patted the spot next to her on the top stair with a hoof. Vinyl hesitated, looking about to say something else, but she finally took the offered seat and cringed slightly. Octavia noticed and quietly asked, “How’ve you been since… earlier?”

“I’ve been okay,” Vinyl replied sheepishly, never quite meeting Octavia’s gaze as she faintly blushed. “That was a heck of a wedgie, Tavi; flank’s still stinging a little. Hope yours isn’t too ch…” She broke off, realizing she should never finish that sentence as long as she lived. Octavia, however, barely heard anything following what she’d just been called: Tavi. Octavia didn’t know many ponies who tossed these sorts of pet names around but something about it struck a chord.
     
“Otherwise, I’ve been… better,” Vinyl continued, breaking Octavia out of her pondering. “I caught a little crap from my manager. Turns out my next gig got pushed forward a week. To today in fact, and I sorta forgot.” There was now no denying the redness of her white cheeks. “I guess I was a little distracted thinking about how I was gonna prank you." Her eyes finally met Octavia’s. “I’m… not even gonna ask how your, uh, get-together with those guys went. I heard them talking as they left.” She paused and sighed. “I’m really, really sorry about this morning.”

Octavia bit her lip. She was startled how many emotions were still fighting for control within her. “I’m out of a job because of you,” she said frankly. “I’m sure to get quite a few odd looks whenever I go into town. And yet…” She blinked and smiled a tiny smile. “…bizarrely enough, I’m sorry you got in trouble.”

“Don't be. That's super sweet but…” Vinyl paused again, her own eyes glistening. “…but don’t be. It was my fault. Just like everything else today. I’m sooooo sorry. I just… don’t always think about things. It was totally immature, embarrassing you like that. You lost your job, probably your reputation….” She broke off again. Fighting back tears, she said, “I, uh, I still have your… your pants from back there. Want me to, like, give ’em back?” Octavia couldn’t help but giggle softly in spite of everything. She understood exactly what this offer meant. Sure, she and Vinyl could not be bigger opposites but did it really mean they hated each other? Somehow, Octavia refused to believe that. And after all, hadn’t she taken some fairly radical steps at the concert to get back at Vinyl? Could a friendship be blossoming out of nothing short of humiliation?

“In fact, uh, since you might not necessarily be bringing in as many bits as before, would you maybe…” Vinyl’s hesitant words broke Octavia’s pondering. The two ponies’ distinctive eyes met again as Vinyl blurted, “Do you want to live with me?” No catch, I swear,” she added, seeing the subtle but clear surprise in Octavia’s expression. “I’ve never had a roommate before but we’ll share everything — you and me, fifty-fifty, down the middle. Fairer trade than my record deals at least! And my gigs bring in a bit or two, I’ll tell you that.” She looked almost desperate, but not like somepony attempting a shady business deal so much as somepony simply seeking… camaraderie? “I know this isn’t even beginning to make up for messing up your concert, but I want you to know I am sorry,” Vinyl continued. “If I promise never to sabotage your shows or anything like that again, could you ever forgive me and think it over?”

It was obvious now. Octavia knew the feeling exactly; despite many fashionable acquaintances throughout Equestria, she realized not for the first time she had nopony to call… a best friend. A surrogate sister, a shoulder to lean on as a lyric in one of her favorite foalhood songs said. And on that note, she slowly replied, “I’ve already forgiven you. The answer is yes.”

Vinyl was herself taken aback but didn’t show it, her cheeky smile returning in full now. “Heh, thanks. I’m not usually this soft but I guess you bring out my fun side,” she said half-jokingly. “Oh?” Octavia replied with a smile of her own. “And exactly which side were you demonstrating when you pulled my trousers down?” She reached a hoof out and wiped Vinyl’s eyes. “C’mon,” she said gently. “Let’s start over. My name is Octavia Philharmonica. Your turn, Vinyl.” Vinyl playfully mussed Octavia’s mane. “DJ Pon-3 at your service, Tavi, but you’ve earned the privilege of calling me Vinyl Scratch. Oh, sorry,” she caught herself. “Octavia, I mea….” Octavia softly hushed her. “It’s at least better than “Octy”,” she said.  

With a concurrent blush, the two ponies stood, Octavia giving Vinyl a wink after that last remark. Then, for no particular reason, she took Vinyl in a hug that seemed to come as another surprise. “What?” Octavia queried, sensing this. Vinyl replied, “I just NEVER thought you'd be so cool after ev…” “Not another word, Vinyl,” Octavia murmured. “Show me to your place. I might as well get comfortable there since I’ll be out of my own before long.” Vinyl smiled wryly. “Yeah. Let’s scram before we get caught in our pajamas.” Octavia momentarily eyed Vinyl’s boxers and her cheeks went a little pink. Then the DJ took the cellist’s hoof and began leading her up the stairs to the floor just above.

As they ascended, both ponies thought this day was the start of something new between them. One thing leads to another, as they say. Vinyl was wondering whether she’d actually gotten the stuffshirt to loosen up a bit, considering she never expected her to forgive her, let alone agree to her offer. Octavia on the other hoof just wanted a semi-decent cup of tea and a good night’s sleep on her soon-to-be roommate’s sofa. And who knows? Ideas for a few retaliatory pranks (preferably involving Vinyl’s undies and a can of shaving cream) might just come to her in a dream.