From everything up to that point that Pen had seen, it was perhaps the most poorly devised deal he'd ever made.
To be fair, that might have been a slight exaggeration considering Vinyl did come back with a ticket to uphold her end of the bargain. But to say it had been a wise choice was questionable, as Pen certainly did a fair amount of questioning as he stood in the dark alley behind the club at which the ever-delightful Ms. Scratch was performing.
The alley had been slicked down with the wet shine of a recent shower so that lights from the road managed to crawl back into the constructed darkness. He had been standing there for the better part of a half hour. It wasn't exactly a long time, but it was certainly longer than he would've liked.
Then, the doors behind him clanked open, revealing the same aggressive mess of mane that had greeted him originally in his library, somehow still just as vibrant in the darkness, as if providing a type of natural neon glow. He swore he could feel it heating his face but refrained from basking with closed eyes.
"There he is! The stallion of the hour, the guy to see, the—"
"I've been standing here for half an hour."
A slight waver creaked over her façade of excitement, but she maintained the smile. "Yeah . . . sorry about that. But hey, you made it! And besides, it looks like you were able to handle yourself just fine."
"I'm pretty sure there's somepony living in that dumpster."
The faint singing of a voice, crushed and grated from years of some sort of abuse, hummed from inside the metal container while smoke curled from the lip of the lid and spiraled into the wet air. Vinyl seemed unconcerned.
"That's just Jerry. He's got a thing for finding cigarettes in the garbage; it's actually kinda rad. Check it out. Hey yo, Jerry!"
The singing stopped and a "huh?" in the same ground-up voice reverberated inside, followed by rattling and the dumpster jostling as the pony inside was likely working to find his bearings. Pen gazed with shock-glazed eyes, and he ushered Vinyl back through the doors.
"Okay, that's enough of this."
"Aw, hey! I was gonna have him show you the thing he does with his eye!"
The set of metal double doors might as well have been a gateway to a parallel world, leading to a place that was different yet somehow cut from the same cloth as the alley, bound together by cosmic threads. A blast of comfortable, warm air enveloped the pair, brushing off the cool dampness from outside, although the barbed odor of cigarettes came on stronger than it had from the dumpster. Despite the countless number of powered lights—coming from all walks of life: stage, spot, flood, strobe—the interior still sat at an ambient level two notches above annoyingly dim. For the moment, the middle-rate nightclub was mostly quiet aside from the stray shout of a sound pony or stage member. Once the two were fully past the doors, which had latched behind them with a solemn thud, Vinyl stopped dragging her hooves.
"Ooh, getting hoofsy on the first date, huh? I have been trying a slower approach lately, but if you insist—"
"Oh please, you know that's not what I—I . . . you said, uh, date?"
She puffed air from her lips, a stray stream of it catching strands of her mane, and smiled. "Well duh. What else are we doing here?"
"I, uh—I thought this was just part of our deal."
"Our deal? Oh, for the book? Well, I mean, if you want our acquaintance to remain mutually formal . . ."
His stomach crowded his throat, knocking the wind out of his heart on the way up. "No," he borderline shouted, the sudden volume startling him. Vinyl bared her delicate, toothy smirk at whatever his expression was, apparently deriving great pleasure from it. "Er—I mean, that's not exactly what I—"
"Relax, dude." He realized Vinyl was chuckling, but her eyes remained soft, like angora, yet still pulsed with energy. She pivoted on her hooves and turned away. "Lemme show you around."
She led the way, winding through trip hazards made of cables that stretched from sound equipment and lights to whatever destinations they desired. While, granted, he had been in front of her the whole time in the library, he was surprised he hadn't noticed the spunky way her hips swayed when she walked, gliding from side to side and snapping into place at the upturn of each step, although he tried to maintain decency and instead take in the sights she was showing him; that is to say, the sights of the club, not of her hindquarters. He wondered if she had checked out his ass when they first met.
"And last, the place where all the magic happens," she said, stepping up a few stairs onto an elevated platform outfitted with myriad devices and pieces of music and mixing equipment. "This is mama's kitchen, where only the best beats are made."
"Is that your slogan or something?" Pen asked, looking over the spread of knobs and faders.
"Yeah, I actually had a banner made." She rolled her eyes and walked to the front of the platform. "Hey, toss me up a chair!" she said to one of the employees.
"I wouldn't have expected you to sit during a set."
"I'm not; it's for you."
Pen blinked as a chair floated up to the platform and she set it to the side with her magic. "What do you mean? I'm up here with you?"
"Currently, yes"—she smirked and sidled closer—"but you'll also be up here for my show. You get to see everything, experience everything." She looked up into his face, thanks to the few inches of height he had over her, and now stood no more than a foot from him. The scent of her mane drifted upward, rising on the warmth of her breath as she uttered, "I wasn't kidding when I said 'all-access.' " Magnetic energy flashed across her magenta irises while the words dripped from her lips in an unexpected manner. Pen shivered despite the warmth of the club.
Did she just bite her lip? he thought, but in the interior twilight, it could've been simply a stray streak of light; perhaps his eyes were playing tricks and he was seeing things, perhaps in a Freudian manner.
Vinyl pivoted before he could respond, the tips of her mane brushing his chest as she turned, and sauntered back to her equipment. After their hoofshake at the library and his pushing her into the venue, this was their third instance of physical contact. He wondered why he was keeping track.
Pen, with her gaze off him, regained his bearings, flummoxed by whatever out-of-body sensation he just experienced. He muttered, "What the hell is going on with you, Pen?"
He stepped to the edge of the platform and inhaled deep into the bottoms of his lungs to steady himself, catching a hint of moisture—rain—that had wormed through the air. Pen looked out over the venue and saw a stream of ponies that had begun filing in, filling up the small building at a steady rate. It looked like Vinyl hadn't been kidding: despite only playing locally, she seemed to draw quite a crowd.
A sudden urgency to speak with her before she began gripped him. He didn't know what exactly he felt he needed to say, and he knew there was always after the show or they could shout over the music, but the prodding urge remained. He stepped next to her, searching his mouth for conversation.
"So, uh . . . how long does a set last?"
She spoke while still adjusting the pieces of equipment, her attention unbreakable. "Depends on the night. Tonight's gonna be about two hours, which is pretty average for me, although I've done bigger events for longer—closer to four hours one time."
"And is there, like, an intermission or something?"
She smirked while she worked. "Intermission? Where's the fun in that? If ponies need a breather, they sit down, but there are no breaks on this train."
Images of a group of ponies writhing in sweaty exhaustion swept into his mind. He was suddenly grateful he wasn't on the dance floor. "Well, do you at least get any breaks?"
She laughed, grabbing a cord on her left and plugging it into the equipment in front of her. "You kidding? There's no time for breaks. It's nonstop work up here."
"What do you mean? You can't take a break?"
She stopped and stared up at him. He didn't realize how close he had gotten until she faced him. "You have no idea what a DJ does, do you?"
Pen was silent, and through his coat, a thin blush glowed on his cheeks. He tried looking away, but her deep eyes brought him back. She sighed.
"That's a little frustrating, but I can't hold it against you. Everyone thinks a DJ just hits 'Play' and their job is done." Her voice lacked its usual beat and wit, sounding more fatigued. After a moment, she breathed and smiled softly at him. "Here, move that chair up closer."
Pen dragged it forward with his magic and set it next to her. "You aren't going to hit me with it, are you?"
Vinyl laughed, her voice easing back to normal. "No, you nong. I'm gonna show you exactly what I do up here. You're a book guy, so I'm sure you like to learn, and I bet you've never read a book on DJing." He shook his head. "That's 'cause we're all illiterate."
"It's all starting to make sense now." She gawked at him through a grin and socked him in the shoulder, the two sharing each other's laughter. When she looked away, some unknown force compelled him to utter, "Four."
"What was that?" she asked, turning back around.
Pen blushed, saying, "Nothing, it was nothing." Vinyl continued to wear her grin as she eyed him up and down, contemplating him and his response. The tip of her tongue poked between her teeth as she seemed to feel out something to say when a venue employee approached the bottom of the stairs.
"Scratch, you good to go?"
Pen couldn't help but, for a very brief iota of a second, loathe the pony's existence, although he corrected for the extreme internal response and came to be only mildly irritated by the pony's temporary interruption. Still, whatever moment Vinyl and Pen had been sharing flitted away.
Vinyl's eyes flicked to the pony in an acknowledgement of his presence but came back to Pen for a second longer, her lips still a smile, before she turned to fully face the employee. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."
The employee nodded and walked away, leaving Vinyl and Pen relatively alone again. The present situation—their awkward shuffling accompanied by the growing murmur of the crowd below—had entered their awareness, leaving them trading glances and bearing stupid grins. It was Vinyl who spoke up.
"Well, I guess are you ready to see the magic happen?"
While initially Pen had no desire to witness any act of magic, he had to admit that she was the only magician he'd ever want to see perform. The awkwardness faded, and his grin grew sincere.
"Wow me."