Octavia heard the late-night bar long before she even laid eyes on it. It was exactly what she expected to be open at such a late time in the night. The dull thud of the bass reminded Octavia of a Pilohippus banging rocks together, and probably carried the same calibre of musical finesse with it. She spotted a young colt pointing a hoof at her as she waited outside, his friends chuckling amongst themselves. They had absolutely no chance of being let in; manes spiked with gel, hoofs shod with trainers, and dressed in trashy tracksuits that Octavia imagined must be really, 'hip,' with these types of vagrants.
Octavia herself, on the other hoof, had no issues with entry. She casually trotted to the bouncers attending the door, smiling and bowing her head slightly. She raised the cello case and nodded at the doorway, and the bouncers parted. It crossed her mind that the bouncers must have assumed she was part of the music setup, but hadn't realised there was no orchestral involvement in the thudding uproar she could hear. She hoped this indicated the possibility of a more cultured ensemble taking over the music later on.
Octavia managed one last glance, punctuated with a haughty smile, at the little rodent colt, who's jaw was parted wide with shock. The sight only stretched her smile further as she entered into the club. Although, in hindsight, she was glad the gangster pony days had ended. If this club allowed anypony with a violin case to trot right in, it couldn't have been safe otherwise.
She navigated her way through the narrow corridor leading from the entrance, delicately stepping over an inebriated, and probably unconscious, filly before entering into the club proper. The pulse of the strobe lights she had attempted to prepare herself for almost blinded her, like a flash-bang spell. She barely managed to stop herself toppling over onto a couple sitting near the door, who were similarly paralytic to the filly in the hallway.
Octavia righted herself, her eyes vainly attempting to get up to speed with the situation and clarify the proceedings for her. Both sound and vision were assaulted with rhythmic booms. Flares of light and heavy thuds attacked Octavia's senses. She had just came here for a drink. Order one, pay the bill, and sit in a corner. As far from the titanic sub-woofers as possible. She ignored the spiky-maned colts who were - despite looking like they'd barely earned their cutie marks - heading up the entrance corridor behind her. Their cat calls were devoured in the fog of the music as she pushed through the crowd to the bar.
It transpired that after a fervent hoofful of minutes spent yelling over the bass, Octavia found herself sitting in an otherwise unoccupied corner, sipping a glass of Buck Daniels and cursing the utter lack of any class in this place.
The moment she had arrived at the bar, the barcolt had looked at her and implied.
"A classy filly like you'd drink pina coladas, right?"
Octavia's shocked expression must have told him all he needed to know. That he'd believe she'd drink that trampony's urine disguised as foals' orange juice was beyond her. He apologetically offered her the Buck Daniels on the house, it being the only whiskey he stocked, and Octavia felt it barely qualified. She had taken her leave with a polite, but sharp, thank you, forging her way through the tightly-packed crowd to her seat in the corner.
Octavia now found that most of her vehement glaring was now directed at the DJ coordinating the attack on her eardrums. The bassy undertones were cut up with wavering yet harsh overtones of electromagical music. The sort of ethereal, strange noises no physical instrument could make. That no sane pony would want to hear, Octavia felt. She bitterly swilled a sip of the vulgar whiskey pass-off. Once more, she felt the night wasn't turning how she wanted. What she had wanted was a quiet, wind-down session with some tasteful alcohol and silence. She had instead been given cheap pigswill and ear-invasive thuds. She further focused her irritation at the music, a screeching mass of fluttering magical tones and notes. It had no class, no refinement, no skill at all!
Though that being the case...why was her hindleg bobbing in time with the beats?
She suppressed the treacherous limb, and instead focused her attention on the DJ creating the noise. Her shimmering white coat, the crude cyan mane streaked with electric blue, the eyes hidden away behind lustrous, purple shades that glimmered like jewels in the pulsing light. Her head rocked back in forth in time with the music she created, hooves working a frenzy on the tape decks as her mane whipped back and forth with her head. Octavia assumed she compensated for lack of precision with speed and pure volume.
A pair of mares caught Octavia's attention a table over. One was an exuberant pink filly with candy-floss like hair, the other an irritated sky-blue pegasus garnished with a rainbow mane and tail. Octavia watched as the pink mare tried to drag her unwilling friend by the hoof, presumably into the crowd. The pegasus, of course, was having none of it, at least until the pink one planted a kiss on her cheek, causing the pegasus' wings to burst out from her back. The incident knocked a passer-by to their hooves. A flustered motion of apologetic help from the embarrassed pegasus was blended with the pink filly's giggles, before the pair dissolved into the crowd to avoid any more mishaps.
It was at that moment that realisation washed over Octavia. She hadn't actually given thought to the bar's name, simply beelining for the door in search of a calm drink. However, it was only now she looked at the bar mats for the drink glasses.
'Fillyfools,' how quaint. Well, Octavia would do her best to get her drinks and leave before anything like that happened. She was a modern pony, and had no issue with it, of course. Unless a pony hoped it involved her, then she would happily evade any attempts.
She turned her irritated and flustered attention to the DJ once more. It was then she noticed the glasses turn towards her midway through another spirited headbang. A glow of white magic enveloped them, and Octavia saw a pair of red eyes crest the horizon of the spectacles as they were lowered. The red eyes behind them seemed to pierce the fog of special effect and cigarette smoke, staring straight at Octavia's own. A grin unfolded over the DJ's face, and the glasses were once more lifted to cover her eyes, her headbanging now only succeeded by the riot that had developed in the crowd. Octavia noticed the security guards were making no attempt to restrain the rowdy, 'audience.' Typical. The look in the DJ's eyes intrigued Octavia. She had expected, if anything, contempt from the trendier mare playing the decks.
However, Octavia wasn't entirely sure contempt was what the eyes were trying to convey.