Ivory Keys stood on the balcony, gazing out over the gardens. They were a decent approximation of the ones in the Princess’ Castle back in Canterlot. Decent, but much smaller, and generally much less impressive. Just like the family that owned it. Boom. Gottem. It was a shame, because central Equestria was absolutely gorgeous normally. Could have let that shine, but no, they just had to put on this sad little mockery of Canterlot. Really said it all.
WIth a chuckle to herself, Ivory drained the champagne from her fluted glass. That was the only upside of these fancy parties, she could drink without needing to sneak around or flash a fake ID. The downsides were literally everything else. The stifling dresses, the snootiness, the annoying colts thirsting for either rump or money. She just wanted to get back to school. At least there she’d be away from mom.
“Hey filly~” A voice from behind her, close. She leapt about a foot clear in the air, rounding on the pony who had crept up on her.
She was a pegasus, but not their hostess. She was clad not in a dress, but a dapper, long tailed suit that curled about her wings and cutie mark. She was tall, with a wingspan to match, and lithe, powerful limbs. Her mane was cut short on one side and swept off to the other, rakishly over the left of her muzzle, which bore a sardonic grin.
“Do not sneak up on me, please.” Ivory said, stiffly.
“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to.” The newcomer strode by, leaning forehooves on the railing. “Just needed to get some fresh air, like you I’m guessing. Pretty stuffy in there, huh?”
“Trying to get on my good side?” Ivory asked, plastering on the most hurtful sneering smile she could muster. “Did mother put you up to this? Do you have a son or brother I’m supposed to meet? If so, let me cut you off at the pass. I am not interested in romance of any kind.”
“I do have a brother, but. . .” The pegasus cast an appraising eye over her, mane to tail. “You look like fun. I think I’d rather keep you all to myself~”
A heady blush immediately covered Ivory’s face, then her neck. The pegasus’ eyes roved over her once again, and then met her own. Ivory opened her mouth, and just let it hang there. What just happened?
“My name’s Tradewinds. No title, just a buisinessmare. What’s yours?” The pegasus just plowed right forward. Her eyes stared off into the greenery, no longer looking at Ivory. She had scored a point and now mounted an effective defense. Ivory wasn’t used to coming out behind in social exchanges.
“Ivory Keys. Marquise of Rubiton.” Ivory leaned on the banister next to Tradewinds, attempting nonchalance. “Do you need a quick rundown on titles? I can explain if you do, though I doubt it matters much to you who funds your business ventures, no?”
“First off, rude. Second, hang on.” Tradewinds seemed to do some quick math in her head. “So that’d make you. . . But wait, you can’t be that old-”
“I am twenty, for the record.” Ivory sipped her champagne. “Go on, you’ve clearly studied well for this encounter. You’re really selling me on the fact that you are not selling me something.”
“. . . Your mom is the duchess?” Tradewinds said, after a long pause.
“You almost seem sincerely ignorant.” Ivory laughed, draining the rest of her glass. “It was entertaining. Thanks for the brief relief from boredom, but I fear I must refill my glass, so, goodbye.”
“Hold up, if that’s the problem-” Tradewinds took a step closer, a rakish grin conquering her features. “Why don’t we just blow this taco stand? I’ve always wanted to be the legionnaire in shining armor, and you’re basically a princess, right? We could reenact a fairy tale!”
“What?” It was such a bizarre thing to say that Ivory burst out laughing. It was all she could do to stay upright as she gasped for breath. “That was terrible and made no sense on every level. What, exactly, was that mixup of racial lore supposed to be? A pickup line?”
“Well,” Tradewinds scooped up one of Ivory’s hooves, caressing it gently with her wingtips. Ivory’s laughter faded, blush returning in full force. “It made you laugh, didn’t it? Come with me and I promise that whatever else, you won’t be bored.”
“I-I can’t. Mother has servants watching the doors.” Ivory sighed. “Not that I’m even agreeing, mind you!”
“Who said anything about doors?” Tradewinds flexed her wings, grinning. “Have you ever flown with a pegasus before?”
=======
Vinyl stirred. A stabbing lance of sunlight struck her, and some sort of grunt emerged from her. She sucked in a breath, and rolled away from the sun. The movement awakened her awareness of her body, and she gagged. Her stomach was in open revolt, churning and writhing like it was trying to escape. Her head and hooves throbbed with waves of pain, and the rest of her body felt like she had been hit all over with hammers.
More importantly though, she needed a bucket. Like, right the buck now. Her eyes scanned the room, and her magic snagged one. Too late. Thankfully, it seems like her stomach was mostly empty, and she spat out only the remaining alcohol and acid. It burned her already charcoaled throat, and she groaned, quietly. This was a bad morning. One of the worst she could remember, probably. Top five, at least. She dry heaved a few more times, then wiped her muzzle with a hoof, getting a nice dusting of dried mud over it in the process. Blech.
With the most pressing issue out of the way, she began to take stock of where she was. Judging from the second, unused bed, the horrible decor and the really old TV, she was in a motel. Vinyl poked her head into the bathroom and closets for good measure. So, she was alone in a motel. Good start. Now she just had to figure out where the motel was, and if she’d been alone the whole time.
Vinyl began to try and coax back her memories, like coaxing back a cat you had scared under a couch. Headache and hangover aside, her head was filled with something not unlike molasses, maybe related to exhaustion or hunger, or both, which made it very difficult. Last night remained an utter blur, though memories of Octavia’s disdain last week, unfortunately, came back first. How many times was she going to fall for this? Fortunately, concern overpowered heartbreak in this moment, and she was able to shove Octavia from her mind, where she would hopefully stay.
She made to take a peek past the ugly brown-red curtains, but the glare of the sunlight stopped her cold. Maybe hold off on that. She decided to hunt for her phone instead, which was thankfully there, on the bedside table. It was unlikely, then, that she was in real trouble. Her saddlebags were next, tucked away in a closet neatly. There were bits, her cards and such still in there, as well as four tiny glowing bottles. Well, very doubtful anyone had robbed her either, not and left all that.
She was about to give up on this when she spotted one of those little racks of pamphlets, a little all-you-can-eat of tourist traps. All of them had one thing in common: Las Pegasus. Her legs threatened to give out again. How the heck had she gotten all the way here? Did she have a gig? She honestly wasn’t sure. It had been a bad week. She’d be the first to admit it. But she’d never actually woken up in Las Pegasus before. It seemed like the punchline to a half-joke. She fervently hoped she hadn’t gotten married during her blackout.
Some half-and-half-pragmatic-and-idiotic part of her brain suggested starting with a shower. Weird sleeping places aside, she was a mess. Her coat was matted, her hooves were muddy. Not to mention the vomit. And it’d be that much easier to get up and face the day if she treated it like any other day. Depressingly, this really wasn’t that out of the realm of normal for her. Did she have a problem?
That pleasant thought hounding her, she slipped into the bathroom, locking it up tight and ensorcering the door and window for good measure. There was a new toothbrush and paste in the sink, and a bottle of her favorite mane and tail shampoo. Huh. What? Whoever had dumped her here knew her, at least. Was that good or bad?
Whatever. It was here, she’d make the best of it. She cranked the temperature up as high as it would go and stood underneath it like every heroine in every bad romance. The thought made her chuckle. The scalding water unkinked her coat, and began to massage away some of the aches and pains of whatever she had been doing. WIth the aches fading, she began to feel the exhaustion in full. She was curious, but every time she thought back towards the past week, Octavia’s specter raised its angry gray head, and she retreated.
Unfortunately, even this crappy shower had that weird magic that showers have, the ones that make a pony get all introspective and junk. Vinyl’s jerk of a brain, being denied access to recent memories, cast further back, and teased Vinyl with her half remembered dreams. Vinyl shuddered, despite the heat. She’d dreamed of Tr- Of Tr- Tradewinds? Her brain fought itself in a three round cagematch just thinking of the name. Princesses alive, she was an absolute disaster, wasn’t she? She closed her eyes, and tried to empty her thoughts. . . empty them like a big ol’ bottle of whiskey. . .
=======
“Dang, filly. I didn’t know you could shake it like that!” Tradewinds wheezed as the pair of them bellied up to the bar, panting. Ivory laughed as well, breathless. She hadn’t known it either, but she wasn’t about to say that. Ballroom hadn’t really translated, except for a sense of rhythm. Tradewinds pushed a hoof twice towards the roof and winked at the barmare, who started pouring them another round. A double.
“I find myself really enjoying this music.” Ivory mused, looking around at the club. It wasn’t packed, but it was busy. “It’s rhythmic, but complex. I’m thinking some kind of zebran influences? Zebran and old pegasi drum music perhaps?”
“Buck if I know,” Tradewinds tossed back her double, and shook her head with a wince. Her eyes surveyed the crowd. “I just like shaking my flank.”
“That makes sense. You are kind of a slut.” Ivory smirked. She covered her eyes as a strobe light hit them directly. “I’m not sure about all these bucking lights though. They give me a headache.” Tradewinds rolled her eyes, and flicked a pair of round sunglasses off a snoozing drunk with her wingtip, catching them on the other wing and passing them to Vinyl.
“There, problem solved. And you get a cool accessory at the same time,” She chuckled, covering the act with a stretch of the wings. “Spice up that bland look.”
“What kind of idiot wears sunglasses inside?” Ivory put them on anyway. They were slightly purple tinted, which did help, actually. Made the light show rather pleasant, in fact. “Besides, these don’t fit. Put them back. If you want to give me a gift, you should buy it.”
“You’re little miss moneybags over there. Buy your own glasses.” Tradewinds seized another drink, swirling the amber liquid without taking a sip. She glanced sideways at Ivory through lidded eyes. “You ready to get back out there?”
“Maybe, but tell me something first.” Ivory slammed her own drink and stared Tradewinds in the eye. “You must have figured out by now that Mother doesn’t even like me. You aren’t going to get anywhere with her by buttering me up or sneaking me out. Yet this is the third time you’ve done it. Why are you still doing it?”
“Why?” Trade turned to face her, a feather pressed thoughtfully under her chin. “Is it so hard to think I just like you? Not a title or a bag of money, but you, the pony?”
“Yes.” Ivory said, bluntly. She rapped a hoof on the bar for another drink. Nopony here bothered to check her ID, which was lucky. “Nopony is ever friends with me for no reason. They always want something.”
“Buck. You need therapy, Ives.” Trade gave her a sympathetic look, which turned slightly sinister as she leaned in. “I guess I wont say I don’t want anything from you. I know you said you weren’t interested in romance, but I gotta admit I kinda am.”
“With another mare?” Ivory turned away, hiding her blush.
“Gotta tell you, Canterlot toffs are the only ponies in Equestria that make a big deal out of that.” Tradewinds scoffed. “Nopony else cares. Yeah, I like mares. Back home that’s about as noteworthy as being left hooved. Maybe less, cos it’s more common.”
“I see.” Ivory sipped the new drink. Her head was pleasantly buzzing now, all the better not to think too closely about that fact. It would make her mad, most likely.
“I see. . . you being evasive.” Tradewinds prowled around her to get back in her field of vision, a grin sneaking on her muzzle. “I’m whispering sweet nothings here. What do you think?”
“I think. . .” Ivory couldn’t help but giggle. “I think you need to try a little harder. I am used to rather extravagant flirtations, after all. You’ll need to really work for it.”
“Literally throwing rocks at your window and sneaking you out like a Shakeshoof play isn’t good enough?” Tradewinds cast a wing dramatically over her forehead. “You’re killing me, Scratch.”
“Scratch?”
“Yeah, like, y’know, money? And that classic line?” Tradewinds sighed. “They can’t all be winners, alright? But I like nicknames.”
“Scratch.” Ivory turned the word over in her mouth. She kinda liked it. Maybe not with those connotations, but. . . Something to think about. “I don’t get that reference, but I’ll accept the nickname.”
“Nice!” Tradewinds puffed up, like a lake effect cloud. As she turned smugly away, Ivory snuck a little kiss onto her cheek, and was nearly knocked off her stool as the pegasi’s wings sprang to attention. Ivory felt her own blush intensify, heat spreading through her whole body-
=====
Vinyl yelped as the water pouring on her turned ice cold. Very awake all of a sudden, she fumbled with her magic for the tap, breathing a sigh of relief as she shut it off. Great. That was just what she needed. All of her muscles that had relaxed somewhat from the heat were back to the enraged state they had been in when she woke up. And her headache was back too. Great.
She scuffed herself dry with magic and one of the towels stacked by the closet, which was surprisingly fluffy and nice. She shook out her mane as best she could, trying to keep the short side from flaring out too bad. She’d be a mess either way but she could at least try and be a hot mess. She wandered idly to her bags as she ran the towel over her head, hoping she’d find some painkillers.
“Hey. I, uh, brought breakfast.” A voice. Familiar. One she’d heard just moments ago in her dream. The towel ceased moving. Vinyl’s hoof froze midstep. Her bags dropped to the floor with a thud. Her horn sparked and went out, leaving her blind under the towel, and happy about it. There’s no way. That was just her imagination. She was still tripping or something. She’d totally cracked. Something.
She took a few shallow breaths, counted to ten. Set her hoof down before she fell over. Delayed a little more. Thought about hoofball. Finally pulled the towel off her head. Did she want to be proven right? Or wrong? She glanced over.
Tradewinds sat on the other bed. A grease stained paper bag by her side, and a tablet on the bed in front of her. She had matured. Her youthful charm had been sharpened and developed into a mare in her prime, her curves padded out a little, her wings larger and glossier, her mane clipped a little shorter, a pinch of sharp makeup. Vinyl felt the bile rise in her stomach again, and she seized the same trash can, wheezing into it.
Unfortunately, there was nothing left in her to reject, and she was forced to set it down, and face her ex.
“Greasy food’s supposed to be good for. . . that.” Tradewinds said. She nudged the bag closer with a wing. Her eyes were fixed just above Vinyl’s head, like she wanted to look at her but couldn’t. “Seems like you had a rough one, so-”
“What,” Vinyl said, or rather screamed, surprising herself. Her voice ripped loose like a living creature, a poorly trained dog tugging its owner down a trail after a cat. “Are you doing here?! Why am I here? Did you. . . Did you kidnap me?”
“What? Whoa! No!” Tradewinds leaped up, and hovered backwards a few wingbeats. “I was looking out for you, I-”
“I don’t want jack from you!” Vinyl realized her horn was sparking, a gleaming barrier brandished before her. Years of magic self defense classes acting on their own. She was less her own pony and more a mishmash of wild instincts. “What are you taking that you would possibly-”
“You texted me!” Tradewinds shouted back, a note of pleading in her voice. She hovered close to the ceiling, out of easy reach. “You said you needed help, and from what I saw, you really did. You want me to leave? Fine, I will. But I came because you asked, Vi.”
“Don’t-” Vinyl’s voice cracked. A tear leaked from her eye and she evaporated it with a spark of magic. “Don’t call me that. I didn’t mean to text you, believe me. I’d rather sleep in a ditch than talk to you.”
“That’s fair. I get it.” Trade settled to the ground, gently. She stayed away, eyes still tracking the air above Vinyl’s head. “You just seemed like you were- Well, you know. On a bender. You okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’m sun-cursed peachy.” Vinyl snapped, vaporizing every tear that dared escape from her traitorous eyes. It was a full time job. “Just got dumped again by another insane, jealous mare for an incredibly stupid reason. Sound familiar?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Trade said. Her voice was quiet. Her hoof traced a shape idly on the carpet. Vinyl waited for a snip or quip, but she didn’t continue. That, somehow, made her even angrier.
“Oh yes, unfortunate.” Vinyl spread her hooves, as if preparing to charge the pegasus. “It must have been so unfortunate getting free money for your stupid buisiness. How much did mother offer you again?”
“It was a lot.” Tradewinds scuffed the ground. “But it was my dream, Vinyl. Would you have given up music for me?”
“That’s a load of horseapples!” Vinyl shouted again, her voice giving out midway through ‘apples’. It did not return. “False dichotomy! You didn’t need her money, just like I didn’t! I proved it! You could have made it work just fine! I wouldn’t have dumped you for bits!”
“I’m not you, Vinyl!” Tradewinds was shouting now as well. “I’m not smart or skilled or lucky! I don’t have your talent. Even without your mother or her money you’re a bloody genius! I’m just a nopony!”
“You were enough!” Vinyl wheezed, hunching over as her exhaustion rose to claim her, sinking its claws into her muscles, her mind. Her horn flickered out. “You were funny, and you were kind, and you were mine. Now you’re hers.”
“I’m not hers, Vinyl. I never was.” Tradewinds took a hesitant step forward. “I could be yours again, if you want. I never stopped, as far as I was concerned.”
“As if I could trust you again.” Vinyl whispered. Her tears were dry now, as was her anger. All that was left was charcoal in her soul, and a wry grin on her muzzle. “Nopony wants Vinyl Scratch because of Vinyl Scratch. That’s just as true now as it was when I was Marquise Ivory Keys. Mother, you, Stellar, even Octy. You want money or status or some platonic ideal of Vinyl Scratch, not me, the pony.” She and Tradewinds finally locked eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment.
“You have money to get home?” Tradewinds asked, finally.
“Yep.”
“Alrighty. I’ll pay up here for the room, so, have a safe trip.” She opened the door, pausing midway out. “You have my number, obviously. . . Maybe someday you’ll let me prove you wrong.”
Vinyl collected her stuff quickly, and scampered out after. She didn’t look around. She kept her eyes on the pavement. There was a part of her, a tiny, miserable part of her, that would gladly take Tradewinds back. Of course, that part of her also whined about making up with mother, or Octy. And even if Tradewinds was wrong about everything else in her sorry life, she was right about this.
There was one thing Vinyl would never trade, not for gold nor jewels nor love. Her life.