Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
The Red Dress
The night ended in silence.
The night ended, as it began, in a small cart deemed romantic by the general public; travelling down the same road, albeit from the expensive restaurant; carrying the same two ponies, unfortunately in a much worse mood than how they had arrived.
The night ended with Octavia — sitting as far to the right as she could, hooves gently cradled in her lap, staring out into the distance with lips thinly pursed and eyes narrowly prised.
She was wearing a red dress.
The night ended with Vinyl — sitting as far to the left she she could, chin in hoof, sneaking looks out of the side of the eyes before turning away with a huff of indignation.
She was wearing something Octavia liked.
The cart trundled them home, flowers wilting in the corner. They, like the night, had been a gesture, one quite unlikely, one quite scintillating in its ability to catch another unawares.
This particular gesture only came once a year, and everyone involved tried their best.
Vinyl’s throat itched.
She coughed.
Octavia glared, piercing eyes shooting cautionary beams toward her partner, who cleared out the rest of her strangely itchy throat under her breath.
A bead of perspiration trickled through foundation and blush, cutting a trail through the dusty plains of Vinyl’s cheek.
She wiped it away.
Things smeared.
But it was fine. No one was looking anymore.
The one who once grinned shyly at her attempts now glowered at the edge of her seat.
The one who once appreciated the effort had lost her own.
Vinyl stared at the swirls and whirls of the wood of the cart floor. It was just like her thoughts — a jumbled mess of circles and lines, and red dresses.
The cart stopped, shuddered, and hitched, as a pony alighted. When the time was right to look up, Octavia was already unlocking the door.
Vinyl gazed to the side.
The flowers were gone.
She looked up.
The driver gave her a little shrug and a piteous smile.
Vinyl went home.
As she peeked around the doorway, she caught sight of the flowers on the hallway table, placed roughly aside. She caught sight of Octavia, peeling herself out of her red dress.
Vinyl stood there, unsure of her next step.
Octavia slanted her eyes, furrowing her brow. She had the red dress in hoof, bunched up like a paper ball.
Vinyl caught it upon her face as it came flying over. The smell of fermented grapes, sticky and sweet, permeated her nostrils. She tore it off, holding it close to her chest.
Octavia pointed, with a hoof, off to the side, off into the darkness of a corridor.
Vinyl turned, dress slung safely over her shoulder, and walked silently to her destination, opening a small windowed door and throwing the red dress into a machine.
With a few pressed buttons and a few whispered prayers, Vinyl entrusted the machine to do its duty, and mayhaps trade the red dress in for a white one come morning.
It was all she could do.
Tired, now, tired, and back to the living room, did Vinyl go, trundling her way.
She sighed, looking to the ceiling.
There, the circles and lines drew themselves across the plaster, painted by her thoughts.
Perhaps, the circles said, it was not the act but the steps taken to excuse it.
Maybe, the lines told her, it wasn’t the clumsiness but the ego.
Vinyl stopped in the living room.
There Octavia stood, above her treasured turntables, a mug balancing precariously on her hoof.
It was fair, wasn’t it, Octavia glared. One precious thing for another.
Vinyl’s mouth dropped open in silent shock, her eyes flicking about at the sight of it.
Octavia jerked the mug forward.
Vinyl stepped closer, her hoof raised.
The mug began to tilt.
Bodies were frozen in place.
Octavia upended the empty mug, giving it a few shakes to let the last of the air out, and hammered it down on a side table.
Vinyl breathed again, her eyes drying slightly, she shoulders wilting.
She accepted it. It was not entirely undeserved.
Her friend stuck her tongue out at her, the tip of it waggling about as she retreated back into her room for the night. Suddenly her baneful eyes didn’t seem quite so sharp, but they were still tipped with ire.
Vinyl sighed.
The night ended in silence.
But they would probably have to talk come morning.
The night ended, as it began, in a small cart deemed romantic by the general public; travelling down the same road, albeit from the expensive restaurant; carrying the same two ponies, unfortunately in a much worse mood than how they had arrived.
The night ended with Octavia — sitting as far to the right as she could, hooves gently cradled in her lap, staring out into the distance with lips thinly pursed and eyes narrowly prised.
She was wearing a red dress.
The night ended with Vinyl — sitting as far to the left she she could, chin in hoof, sneaking looks out of the side of the eyes before turning away with a huff of indignation.
She was wearing something Octavia liked.
The cart trundled them home, flowers wilting in the corner. They, like the night, had been a gesture, one quite unlikely, one quite scintillating in its ability to catch another unawares.
This particular gesture only came once a year, and everyone involved tried their best.
Vinyl’s throat itched.
She coughed.
Octavia glared, piercing eyes shooting cautionary beams toward her partner, who cleared out the rest of her strangely itchy throat under her breath.
A bead of perspiration trickled through foundation and blush, cutting a trail through the dusty plains of Vinyl’s cheek.
She wiped it away.
Things smeared.
But it was fine. No one was looking anymore.
The one who once grinned shyly at her attempts now glowered at the edge of her seat.
The one who once appreciated the effort had lost her own.
Vinyl stared at the swirls and whirls of the wood of the cart floor. It was just like her thoughts — a jumbled mess of circles and lines, and red dresses.
The cart stopped, shuddered, and hitched, as a pony alighted. When the time was right to look up, Octavia was already unlocking the door.
Vinyl gazed to the side.
The flowers were gone.
She looked up.
The driver gave her a little shrug and a piteous smile.
Vinyl went home.
As she peeked around the doorway, she caught sight of the flowers on the hallway table, placed roughly aside. She caught sight of Octavia, peeling herself out of her red dress.
Vinyl stood there, unsure of her next step.
Octavia slanted her eyes, furrowing her brow. She had the red dress in hoof, bunched up like a paper ball.
Vinyl caught it upon her face as it came flying over. The smell of fermented grapes, sticky and sweet, permeated her nostrils. She tore it off, holding it close to her chest.
Octavia pointed, with a hoof, off to the side, off into the darkness of a corridor.
Vinyl turned, dress slung safely over her shoulder, and walked silently to her destination, opening a small windowed door and throwing the red dress into a machine.
With a few pressed buttons and a few whispered prayers, Vinyl entrusted the machine to do its duty, and mayhaps trade the red dress in for a white one come morning.
It was all she could do.
Tired, now, tired, and back to the living room, did Vinyl go, trundling her way.
She sighed, looking to the ceiling.
There, the circles and lines drew themselves across the plaster, painted by her thoughts.
Perhaps, the circles said, it was not the act but the steps taken to excuse it.
Maybe, the lines told her, it wasn’t the clumsiness but the ego.
Vinyl stopped in the living room.
There Octavia stood, above her treasured turntables, a mug balancing precariously on her hoof.
It was fair, wasn’t it, Octavia glared. One precious thing for another.
Vinyl’s mouth dropped open in silent shock, her eyes flicking about at the sight of it.
Octavia jerked the mug forward.
Vinyl stepped closer, her hoof raised.
The mug began to tilt.
Bodies were frozen in place.
Octavia upended the empty mug, giving it a few shakes to let the last of the air out, and hammered it down on a side table.
Vinyl breathed again, her eyes drying slightly, she shoulders wilting.
She accepted it. It was not entirely undeserved.
Her friend stuck her tongue out at her, the tip of it waggling about as she retreated back into her room for the night. Suddenly her baneful eyes didn’t seem quite so sharp, but they were still tipped with ire.
Vinyl sighed.
The night ended in silence.
But they would probably have to talk come morning.