Canterlot -- a glamorous place, home to the princesses and regularly the leading edge in Equestrian fashion trends. But for all it's cultural glitz and refined glamour, it remains a city at its heart, and for every bright light, shadows are cast.

Shadows that Vinyl Scratch was sorely wishing she could be standing in, her iconic purple-tinted shades firmly affixed to her face and doing as much as they could to ward off the sun, which seemed intent on punishing her for her adjustment to moonlight. At least her coat was white and wasn’t absorbing heat. If that were the case, that might have been the deal-breaker.

But, as it was, Vinyl was no stranger to such hardship, and she was a mare on a mission in one of the swankier districts of Canterlot, so she creased her brow, sucked it up, and pressed on, finding a staircase and taking the steps two at a time, slipping past a pair of socialites going the other way and getting weird looks.

Vinyl Scratch did not live in upper-class Canterlot. She sincerely doubted she even had any fans that lived in upper-class Canterlot. And for the sake of public image, she did not have much reason to visit upper-class Canterlot often. But today, that changed, because a little public image was nothing compared to what the alternative was.

Vinyl checked a much-crumpled note against a very fancy-looking plaque bearing the building number and name: Blueblood Tower. A near-famous apartment block, home to some of Canterlot’s biggest movers and shakers, star children, and child stars.

Vinyl swallowed nervously, and nodded to herself as she walked over to the side of the transparent, glass double doors, and waited, eyeing the keycard-controlled doorway. Vinyl Scratch also did not have any keys to any buildings in this part of Canterlot, so her mission was definitely going to be a challenge.

Her patience was rewarded very quickly, when the doors swung open, pushed by a slender, graceful looking mare with a champagne-pink mane and a very fancy purse hovering near her side. She didn’t spare the door a glance as she walked through, and didn’t see Vinyl quietly slip towards the closing door, a faint glow of telekinesis keeping the door open for the DJ to slip in undetected.

The door closed behind Vinyl with a gentle click, and Vinyl rolled her neck, making a beeline for the nearest set of stairs. Third floor was what she wanted, a mantra she repeated to herself over and over so she didn’t forget where she was going; the crumpled notepaper she’d used to note her destination was crumpled in the garden outside -- if she was supposed to be in Blueblood Tower, she should know exactly where she was going, right?

As she neared the third floor, she moved to the side once more to make way for another pair of socialites going the other way.

“Morning,” Vinyl said nonchalantly, with a nod.

The socialites didn’t deign to respond directly to her, although when they were out of direct sight, Vinyl heard a very brief discussion in whispers.

“When did she move here?”

“They’ll let anypony in these days, it seems. There goes the neighborhood.”

Vinyl snorted quietly to herself, and stepped onto the third floor. And what a floor. The navy-blue carpet was a beautifully rich color, and yet not overbearingly blue. As Vinyl walked, she realized it was even a little padded, and felt like whistling. Maybe she should consider moving out of Canterlot Heights and angling for a place here. The padding and winding up of socialites would almost make the undoubtedly exorbitant rent worth it.

Focus. Vinyl shook her head, and started counting doors, mumbling numbers to herself until she found the one she wanted.

It was amazing how different apartment doors could be. Her own apartment door was grubby with flaky olive-green paint, had a rough patch-job where a prior tenant had kicked a hole in it, and a rounded, rectangular hole through which mail could be placed. This door, on the other hoof, was a simple, white sheer piece of wood. There was no mail slot, just a door handle and a peep hole underneath the door number. Doubtless there was a mailbox downstairs to save the door’s aesthetic.

It almost made Vinyl not want to hit it with her hoof by way of knocking. Almost. It didn’t trump her quest, and she knocked loudly on the door. There was no response, and Vinyl wasn’t exactly surprised. She wouldn’t have answered the door either, once upon a time. Another thing she wouldn’t have done was...

Vinyl placed her hoof on the doorhandle and it clicked, the door giving way and opening. Vinyl didn’t waste any time letting herself inside proper and locking the door behind her again. She turned around and let her eyes adjust to an environment that was more her speed.

Dark, because the blinds were still all shut and keeping the sun out. Vinyl wanted to keep it that way, but the mission overrode personal preference. Besides, a little light on the situation would probably help.

With a long-range telekinetic yank, Vinyl twisted the shades and lit up what would normally be a tastefully-furnished upper-class apartment with an open-plan kitchen and fuzzy white carpet. Normally. Now, it looked a bit of a mess; there were assorted stains dotted here and there on the carpet, and the open-plan kitchen surfaces were awash with garbage, among other things. Vinyl spotted one particular item, and started seeing more of its kind throughout the rubbish. Tricky to see if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

She took it with her, and walked through the living area, and towards what she guessed was a bedroom, door ajar and letting snoring seep out. Vinyl took a breath, stepped into the room, stepped out of some wet mess she hoped was just vomit, and reached out for the blinds once more, twisting them.

Sunlight lanced into the room, burning all retinas present; Vinyl’s, and those of the grey mare curled up in the middle of her bed, sheets astray and stained to match the floor around it. On the bedside table, a lamp lay on its side, sharing space with more little packets similar to the one that Vinyl was trying to hold onto.

Vinyl handled the transition from dark to light reasonably well. The grey mare did not, moaning pitifully and curling tighter into a ball at the disruption. As Vinyl was wiping her hoof on the carpet, further distributing the vomit from the middle of the doorway, the mare gave in and cracked open a bleary eye, trying to identify the other pony in her bedroom.

“Vinyl?” she croaked, trying to sit up with her mane all over the place, some held in place from sleep, other chunks caked solid with Luna-knew-what.

“Morning, Octavia,” Vinyl said. “Fine day, huh?”

“Mmgh,” Octavia commented, trying to shield her eyes from the sun that was going straight through the window and into her eyeballs. “Close the blinds,” she mumbled.

Vinyl closed them halfway, and stepped forward to sit on the edge of Octavia’s bed in a clean patch. Octavia rubbed an eye slowly and groaned some more, looking at Vinyl. A thought seemed to occur to her, and she pointed her other hoof at the white unicorn.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Well, I saw you last night,” Vinyl said. “You know, while I was working. Haven’t seen you for a while, so I figured I should swing by, and we could catch up or something.”

“Mmm,” Octavia nodded weakly. “Is Friday good?”

“Yesterday was Friday.”

“Next Friday, then?” Octavia tried.

“How about right now?” Vinyl said.

“Kind of...” Octavia twisted. “Not now. Not decent.”

“Yeah, not decent,” Vinyl said. “And no wonder. I saw you last night.”

“You said,” Octavia groaned, giving up on trying to find a position where she wasn’t being bothered by something and sprawling.

“More specifically,” Vinyl said, “what you were doing. Lines of it off the top of the table, even.”

Octavia turned to look Vinyl in the eye. Where confusion and mild to moderate discomfort had been a few seconds prior, now only anger remained.

“That’s none of your business,” Octavia croaked. “Butt out, Scratch.”

“It is my business when one of my best buds is doing sparkle,” Vinyl said tersely.

“So?” Octavia tried to sit up again. “Lotsa ponies do. You give them grief too?”

“I would if I could,” Vinyl said. “But that’s a job for their loved ones.”

“Then get off my back,” Octavia said. “We’re not even family.”

“No, but I’ve known you since we were foals,” Vinyl said, standing up and shaking Octavia’s shoulder, “and I am not going to sit back and watch while you struggle with this problem of yours.”

“It’s not a problem!” Octavia said angrily, wrath lending her the strength and coordination to sit up properly.

“Sparkle addiction is a huge bucking problem!” Vinyl said, jabbing a hoof at Octavia as she lost her own cool a little. “And you’ve got it in spades!”

“I’m not addicted!” Octavia protested. “I just haven’t cleaned up this apartment for a few days, is all.”

“Really, now?” Vinyl challenged, holding up the baggie she’d snagged. Inclining a horn at the transparent bag, she fired a thin beam of light at it, and the crystals began to sparkle and glitter on their own; Vinyl watched as Octavia’s eyes went wide, the glittering bag reflected in their depths as the musician reached out for it.

Vinyl pulled it away, and the spell was broken. Octavia looked at Vinyl angrily.

“Alright, fine, so I’m a little hooked,” Octavia said. “Just lemme take one more hit and that’s it. No more sparkle for me.”

“Funny,” Vinyl said, not giving her the bag. “That’s exactly what I said, once. And I kept saying it. Just one more, right? Always one more.” Vinyl gripped the baggie tighter with her telekinesis, and the bag crumpled and squashed. “No more.”

“You asshole,” Octavia groaned, lunging forward and awkwardly flopping onto the edge of the bed.

“It’s not even good stuff,” Vinyl pointed out. “It’s junk. Crap. Mostly cut and padded with powdered sugar, for Luna’s sake.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Octavia said weakly, struggling to find her hooves.

“And I didn’t ask for any either,” Vinyl said angrily. “It took years for me to break the cycle on my own, and the one thing I wish for right now, is that I had help. I still can’t even look at a bag of sparkle without some part of me wanting it.”

Octavia remained silent, propped up on an elbow and looking at a distraught Vinyl, who slowly removed her sunglasses, red eyes slightly redder than usual.

“I’m not stupid, ‘tavi,” Vinyl said quietly. “I can see the road you’re walking. It’s a road I walked by mistake and I’ve regretted walking it ever since.” Vinyl looked at Octavia. “And it’s a road I don’t want you walking. Ever. You’re better than this. You deserve better.” Vinyl stepped towards Octavia, and held out a hoof. “But I can’t stop you walking on my own. If you want better, you have to want it, too.”

Octavia eyed Vinyl’s hoof silently.

“Please, Octavia,” Vinyl said. “The first step to fixing this problem is admitting you have one. Help me help you.”

Octavia raised a hoof, and after a moment’s pause, placed it in Vinyl’s. With a bit of effort, Vinyl pulled Octavia upright, and the earth pony cellist staggered towards Vinyl, bumping into her and embracing her long-time friend.

“Alright,” Octavia said quietly. “I’ll try. For you.”

“And that’s all I can ask,” Vinyl said back. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll give you a hoof cleaning this place up a bit.”

Vinyl turned, and with one leg around Octavia’s neck, gently led the mare out of the bedroom, and onwards. First to a bath, and then probably a janitorial closet for cleaning materials, but ultimately, a brighter future.