When Vinyl opens her eyes the following morn, she is surprised to find her body not cradled by the hospital's cheap blankets by a cloak of purple velvet, a thick material much more refined than what she is used to. What feels like drunken stupor overtakes her mind in a lazy tide of warmth, and she begins to thrash slightly, scattered blankets around her hooves and springs crying uncle underneath her figure. A further divulge into her surroundings reveal an unfamiliar landscape, heavy curtains eclipsing the morning sunlight, a small room with purple wallpaper, the feel of a grandmother's house. Thick coats of glossy varnish hugging a nearby varnished crate create a snowy luster, courtesy of a minute streak of sunlight that finds a weakness in the window coverings. From this limited light, she gropes for her trademark glasses, eyes yawning into the back of her skull. She doesn't find them, but she does locate a photo frame on the nightstand juxtaposed perfectly angular with her bed. Two faces smile back at her, and the picture comes into focus rather casually, revealing to be the profiles of herself and Octavia. She inclines her back into the bed, energy gone, a balled up portion of the blanket digging into her spine and forcing it into an arc. It must be Octavia's guest bedroom, or maybe it is Octavia's bedroom. She's calculating the number of faint cracks on the ceiling, as they remind her of Steve, when shock registers in her veins. Is Octavia perhaps sleeping on a couch below, and has Vinyl kicked her out of her own home? Before she can launch a full investigation, a shadow sneaks under her blankets, and she is met with the face of her friend, leaning over the bed with a tray of baked goods. Breakfast. At least Vinyl didn't lose her sense of smell.

The head of a curious rose pokes through the top of the tray's plastic barrier and falls onto Vinyl's lap, pulling along with it a pen. In fact, upon further investigation, it appears that the rose is in fact a pen, a tip saturated with ink sticking from its bottommost stem, and Vinyl taps it against her lap curiously. A little ink splatters in puddles across the blankets, and she hurries to rub it out before Octavia takes notice. A pad is pushed toward her by gravity's doing, and the tray now rests on her lap. Octavia's smile breaks the dark spell enchanting the room, or perhaps it is the light that is created when the classical musician spreads the curtains. Vinyl brings her attention back to the pad.

Scrawled in messy handwriting is a previously existing message. "How are you today?" Judging by the nearly incomprehensible script, it most logically appears to have been written by the hoof of Octavia. She lifts the pen a few inches off the tray, and promptly drops it, the loose ink creating abstract art on the surface of the white tray. It's been about a week since she's used magic, and the few lasting effects of the hospital drugs are still affecting her movement. Vinyl tries again, this time successful, and manages a short response. Her calligraphy is graceful, Octavia notices from the corner of her eye; every letter has its own movement and body, jumping off the page like a crouched tiger. She trots away from the window with the intention of retrieving the pad, but Vinyl has already forced the object to careen stiffly to Octavia's awaiting hooves, a blue tinge surrounding the pad. She scans the elegant writing.

"That's kinda ironic, don't you think? Fine as I could be, though, thanks. Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why am I here?"

The non-use of magic on Octavia's part makes her response take longer, about two minutes, and the fact that where Vinyl's responses are brute, Octavia's are exquisite. But Vinyl is uncharacteristically patient on this morning, and has lost the voice to complain anyway. A bird warbles outside. The two's first conversation since the date of the accident is born.

"They must have given you some powerful drugs, Vinyl. You really mean to say that you cannot remember arriving here? Odd. Medicine is quite fascinating. Well, in answer to your question, there is no way you can live alone any more, nor would I possibly allow that, that is for certain. So until we have a permanent solution to your living situation, you are staying here."

"Look, I can take care of myself. Don't trouble yourself. I'll just lay low for a bit, okay? Let things simmer down in the Gabby Gums territory."

"Vinyl, half of Equestria already knows of your accident. It has been on news non-stop for the past week. Half of Equestria also knows where you live, thanks to your rather infamous parties. Do you not think that thieves are going to be targeting your place left and right? It's not safe."

She doesn't have anything to say to that, and decides to cut the conversation short by forcing closed the leather covering of the book. Avoiding her friends' eyes, she pulls herself out of bed, pad under arm. The tray sways slightly, placed to the side and its food long eaten. Plates clang as if symbols, and chip. The bed objects to the movement, shifting uncomfortably under the applied weight. Blankets struggle to bring back the white mare to the bed's surface, pulling her spine slightly, but she pulls them off like linen bandages and manages to land on all four feet. The floor, she now notices, is carpeted with frayed throw rugs of varying sizes. She decides it's as good a time as any, now, to test it out.

"Well?" she says to Octavia. "You gonna show me around, or what?"

Her voice shakes slightly, but she has no way of knowing that.