//------------------------------// // The Weighted Scale // Story: Octavia's Last Night // by Rune Soldier Dan //------------------------------// Two sounds broke the silence of the filthy study. The damp, irregular scratch of a quill on crinkled paper. Dots, dashes and lines appeared with machine speed, stopping only to replace the feather or dunk it in ink. The writing was smudged and sloppy, but the language was clear: music. Notes and bars wound together in the strange communion that created the whole. The second sound was the grandfather clock by the desk. A gift from a Canterlot patron, enchanted to remain wound for a thousand years. Untouched and covered in dust, it nonetheless maintained its work. The pendulum swung, and the thinnest hand ticked with every second’s death. Neither was heard. The room’s lone inhabitant sat fixed, unmoving from her work. False teeth moved the quill with manic speed until the last inch of paper was used, then a grey hoof rose to push it to the stack of hundreds. The other hoof snapped a fresh sheet into place, and the labor resumed. The pace grew faster. The notes, sloppier. A dry, weak cough barked from the grey mouth, sending the quill dangling at the edge of the cracked lip. But the teeth clamped down once more, and a hoof was already bringing the next page into place. Her rump shifted in the chair. She released a quiet hiss as the cramped muscles worked their knives. Three days since she ate. Two since she drank. She hadn’t risen since yesterday evening, and already it was nine at night. Bar and note. Line and beat. The withered old mare worked on. The door to the house clicked open. A tapping sound came as clawed feet trod the wooden steps up to her study. The mare didn’t notice. She couldn’t have. Octavia Melody was as deaf as could be. Halfway down a fresh page, her pace abruptly slowed. This bar was drawn a little more evenly – the five precious rows from which all music runs. The notes were drawn with crisp, careful strokes, and spaced evenly through its length. A quarter-note. A dot. A slow rising of the hoof to place the half-filled paper on the stack. No more writing. Octavia settled her head to the back of the chair and gave a long, slow sigh. The quill fell to the ground without notice. Her eyes blinked slowly, turned upwards to the bland white ceiling. The eyes themselves were purple, and cloudy as exhaustion stole upon them. They drifted closed, and she welcomed the looming sleep. She did not think she would wake up. That, too, was welcome. She had nothing left to do. Yet something happened that jerked her mind from the warm nothingness. Purple eyes flew open, the dry mouth gasped, and Octavia was alert once more. From the doorway behind her… she heard clapping. Not the heavy tap of hooves on hooves, but the thin clack of two claws being brought together in slow, mocking applause. “Bravo, Miss Octavia Melody. Bravo!” The speaker moved before she could turn her head, appearing before her desk in a puff of blue smoke. Yellow eyes, fanged grin – the patchwork creature that was Discord. Octavia had only seen him once or twice from a distance, back in her Ponyville days. Still, he could scarcely be forgotten, and never mistaken for another. Today he wore a party hat, and threw clawfuls of bright streamers into the air. Octavia’s mouth fell open. She could only stare. Discord went on, his eyes turning with a grin to the messy pile of papers. “Not much to look at, but oh, the contents! Octavia’s Tenth Symphony, the greatest of them all. The greatest of all music! Completed here, given gloriously to the world on this…” With the pause, the misshapen face leered to an evil smirk, and his voice grew low. “The last night of your life.” Without missing a beat, his boisterous cheer resumed. “Tell me! Tell your fans! What are your thoughts right now?” Octavia closed her jaw, letting the surprise pass. Her gaze fixed on Discord, now looming far over the desk with a microphone in his griffon claw held close enough to touch her lips. A grey hoof rose and slapped the claw away. “I think the one good thing about being deaf was that it spared me the prattle of fools.” Discord righted himself, grinning all the while. “Oh, don’t be like that, Octi.” “Octi’s not here,” Octavia cut in sharply. “Now get out.” “But I just arrived!” “Not my problem.” Octavia waved to the door. “Out. Shoo.” To her satisfaction, Discord did begin to move. He strode around towards the door, his endless smile growing small and witty. “Talk about ungrateful. Not even a, ‘Thank you Mister Discord for miraculously restoring my ears?’” A dry, bitter huff came from Octavia’s throat. “Good timing with that.” She scowled, glaring pointedly at the final page. A curious thing, Discord. But she was no longer a curious mare. Her precious Tenth Symphony was done, against all odds. She’d fought the cancer for too long already, and was more than content to settle back once more. A thin smile came to her face as she heard the door close. Odd, to hear again after so long. Of course, Discord and oddness went hoof-in-hoof, and she was not at all wistful for his return. Whatever his business was with her, she had none with him. Her eyes rose from the paper, and the lips tightened to a new frown. Discord had returned. Sitting down in front of her desk on a conjured stool, grinning at her sunken humor. “You aren’t wanted,” Octavia said. “I rarely am,” came the cheeky response. Discord thrust his elbows on the desk and lowered his head, leaning into Octavia’s glare. “Seriously, though: it’s every pony’s nightmare to die alone. And here you are living – eheh, dying – the dream. So I said to myself, ‘Discord, you rotten old sod, go pay the mare a visit!’ It’s your last chance to properly meet her, and it’d be a shame to let the night pass without seeing the genius behind the Tenth.” A paw gestured to the stack of papers. “And it is genius, of course. I’ve heard it. I mean, I will hear it, but that’s neither here nor there. Although I suppose it is, if you think about –” “Stop!” Octavia slammed a hoof down on the desk with as much anger as she could muster. “Just stop. I don’t care, you idiot. Get out!” “Oh. I’m sorry.” Discord’s grin told he was not sorry at all. “I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I’m sure you have some very important dying to do.” “Go back to your statue,” Octavia hissed. “Now that was personal.” Discord pointed a claw at her, expression more amused than angered. “Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to scale back a bit? I am, after all, Discord. You know: the god of all chaos and mean-spirited humor?” Octavia only groaned. “I’m dying, you twit. What can happen to me?” Discord opened his mouth… and closed it. A strange expression came to his face. The smile remained, but it had fallen to nearly nothing. The eyes were softer. They didn’t threaten or mock, but seemed to warn her with a brief, earnest gaze. “A funny question,” Discord said quietly. Octavia’s ears flicked up as a new sound brushed them. The gentle creak of her front door, then the clap of hooves on wood. She looked to the empty hallway, at once aware of how dark the rest of the house was. “Who…?” She glanced back to the study, but Discord had vanished, and the question died on her lips. She pressed them together and breathed, willing her discipline back to the fore. She was old, tired, and bitter. Not some idiot filly to be frightened by sounds. But that was just it: Sounds, after so long without. A miracle of miracles, making the pit of fear in her stomach all the blacker. Discord’s pranks she could endure, but what was this? The newcomer did not make her wait long. Hooves beat steadily through the house, treading their way from the parlor to the darkened stairs. A shape came slowly to sight in time with them, then emerged from the inky blackness to the light of her study. The legs of a pony. Then… something more. The first impression was of weak, pathetic dotage like Octavia herself. A patchwork creature like Discord, with an unkempt grey beard dangling from its reddish, bull-like face. Four pony hooves carried its body, but where the head ought to be instead grew into a second chest like a catfolk or minotaur, carrying the head and two spindly bare arms. The torso shrunk at the belly, and ribs could be counted on both the pony-body and torso. Yet the eyes removed all sympathy – black as pitch, save for two bright yellow pupils fixed upon her. Perhaps shrunken, perhaps weakened from some unknown height, but not a natural thing at all. Even wizened it stood erect, proud, its black eyes cruel and interested. Octavia’s throat bobbed, and her ears went flat. Animal instinct screamed at her to flee, though stubborn mind overrode it. She tore her gaze away and immediately regretted it. The hungry eyes hinted of evil, but the creature’s shadow spoke it loud. The lamp-cast image was not withered at all, but a huge, hulking demon who seemed to watch her from the walls. “Are you frightened?” The creature’s voice was old and reedy. A ‘clink’ followed it. Octavia saw a chain gripped in a four-fingered claw, leading backwards to a silent second: a pony-sized creature in a red cloak, with the chain latched tightly to the neck. The cowl was pulled low, denying any hint of what lay beneath. The question eased Octavia, but only barely. Just enough to form words of her own. “I am.” “Don’t be.” The creature trod closer, followed by its stumbling captive. “Fear is for those whose fates are in question.” “I hope you’re not here to tell me I’m dying.” It was a breathless, nervous sarcasm, but Octavia’s wits had returned. “I’ve gotten quite enough of that from Discord, and I needed none in the first place.” The mad god’s name brought the first change in the stranger’s face. The neutral expression twisted to a scowl, but Octavia blinked and it was gone. A flash of light shocked the nerve-rattled Octavia out of her seat with a cry. The stranger also startled as Discord appeared between them, somehow managing to look both sheepish and mocking at the same time. “Oh, how rude of me! I am so sorry.” Discord clapped his hands once together, then gestured to Octavia. “Introductions! This fine young mare is Octavia Melody: composer, musician, and professional grump.” “Do tell,” the stranger said, with the bored voice of one humoring an idiot. “And this…” Discord turned back to Octavia, flourishing towards the stranger with a claw. “Is, well, he has a lot of names. Which do you prefer?” The stranger opened his mouth to respond, but Discord didn’t give him the chance. A scroll appeared in the bear paw, thick plastic glasses appeared on his head, and the mismatched goat loudly cleared his throat. “Let’s just do all the pomp and circumstance, shall we? You stand before Tirek, Master of Evil and Chief Prisoner of Tartarus, Lord of Flies and Lord of Lies, empowered by the Divine Truce to claim wicked souls and torment them forever until such a day that… am I allowed to say? Well, until and unless the–” “She gets the message,” Tirek noted, rising from his seat. Octavia most assuredly did. Nothing but legends, of course: Of the fiendish jailer who imprisoned and tortured the wicked, from the lowest Manehatten thug to the great evils of the ancient world. The king of imps and devils… here? How was that even possible? Her life had not been normal, but mercifully bereft of otherworldly attention. Now not one, but two hateful intruders… Her eyes widened as Tirek walked towards her, dragging the red-cloaked pony along. Octavia shrank away, pressing her back to the desk. He smiled, with thin lips and an expression of soft politeness. On the wall, his shadow doubled over with silent laughter. “No need to waste breath. Just call me Tirek.” He brushed past Discord, not sparing him a glance. “This is unusual, I admit. I don’t fault you your fear, but really you should feel honored. I don’t personally escort many ponies to their eternal damnation, but you’re… well, you already know you’re special. To call you ‘genius’ is to belittle your skills. You are one of a kind, Miss Melody, and I could not possibly miss the chance to throw you into the fire myself.” “What!?” Octavia squawked, shaking her head wildly. She pressed even further away and babbled. “No, no, absolutely not. I haven’t done anything! I never hurt anypony, or lied, or…” “Vinyl Scratch.” The words froze Octavia. The fiend grinned with sharp and tiny teeth. “Or Concerto. Remember him? He accidentally trod on your tail and you fired him on the spot. Or the old mare you hit with your cello case, who fell and broke a hip? You weren’t much help with the hospital bills.” Octavia jerked up her head. “It was an accident! And I was broke!” “Everyone has excuses, Miss Melody.” Tirek said lowly in his thin voice. “And that’s just three. Let’s be honest, because there’s no point in lying anymore: you were a nasty pony. Rude, aggressive, insulting, impatient. Chock-full of unkindness, and eager to share it.” “But I’ve done good, too!” Even as she spoke, Octavia knew it was useless. His brief summary of her life was an honest one. “Not really.” Tirek shrugged casually. “Your music is all well and pretty, but ‘pretty’ doesn’t bring you to the nice places. ‘Good’ does, so tell me: how many good deeds did Octavia do in life?” “My music –” “Ah-ah!” Tirek wagged a finger, his sly smile only widening. “You wrote your music for one pony, and that was you. It earned you money and fame, and what did you give back? What did you ever do for another?” Octavia’s mouth worked, but she couldn’t utter a sound. Her mind tore backwards, searching for some release, some kindly action to hold as an example. But nothing came. Her whole life had been in fervent pursuit of her music, meeting distractions with barbed tongue and rapier wit. She never cared much for her musicians, never looked up from the writing… She flinched and shivered as a brown-red hand settled on her shoulder. Teeth beamed happily from the bull face. Black eyes sparkled at her, and in their reflection Octavia saw her doom. Spitted by tridents, roasted in a lake of fire for all time. “Although…” Tirek’s expression turned thoughtful as he uttered the word. Octavia’s ears flicked up, and the image of damnation vanished from the eyes. “Perhaps we can make a deal.” Octavia seized it like driftwood in a whirlpool. “Yes! Yes, of course.” “It is within my authority to bargain for the weight of a soul. Yours is heavy – I meant what I said about your genius – but we’ve already established that it’s really worth no more than your music. Octavia Melody gave nothing else to the world. Nothing good, anyway.” He seemed to muse back and forth, the eyes flickering with hidden fire before brightening upon her. “Yes, that is fair. Your music.” Tirek drew back his hand. “Trade it to me, all of it. I will take that in exchange. We’ll make a contract.” “What will happen?” Octavia asked. “It will be gone. I will rend it from time and space. It will never have been. No memory, no hint of existence will remain.” “But that’s all I have!” Octavia cried. “Without the music, my… my whole life will...” Tirek tilted his head, peering down his nose at her. “Your music, or your soul. Trust me when I say Tartarus does not take it easy on composers.” A numbness struck Octavia, chilling her heart so cold she almost fainted. She collapsed in a chair, mouth working stupidly. Her vision flew, then found Tirek and blurred. Animal whines barked from her throat, all words forgotten. “It’s a lot to take in,” Tirek muttered. He turned to the door and pulled on the leash. “Your time is very short. But there is a little left. I shall return at midnight to claim either your music or your eternity.” He shuffled, disappearing into the dark hall. Octavia barely heard his last words over her own rushing blood. “Consider very, very carefully. Few get a second chance like this.” She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Octavia trembled in place, gasped for breath. Her limbs gripped the dusty, overstuffed armrests. Something clinked on her right hoof. Her eyes focused to it. A tiny glass with an amber liquid. Octavia scooped the tumbler and downed it in one motion. Molten whiskey burned down her throat, easing the chill panic. She gave a dry cough, realized at once how thirsty she was. Something bumped her other hoof. A tall, clouded glass of cold water. Octavia drank it down. Once empty, both cup and tumbler vanished from her hooves like a magician’s trick. She took a deep breath, held it. Felt her frail heart tap-tapping inside, weak and fast as it had for years. Back in control. Then memory returned, and she breathed out with a sob. She looked to her right, and there on her desk sat Discord. Neither smiling nor sympathetic, gazing back with even neutrality. A queer expression on one so strange, the yellow eyes blankly eyeing her like a card in a poker game. “Why?” Octavia croaked and coughed again. Inevitably, Discord’s fanged mouth turned up in a smirk. “Why is Tirek evil? My dear, you do not have enough time left for me to explain that one.” “No!” Octavia’s voice cracked with age and fear. “Why this? Now? Me! I am no princess, no Element-Bearer! I have nothing to do with gods and devils, so why do you come for me!” Discord stirred his own whiskey with a claw. “What’s the point in being a god or devil if you can’t inflict yourself on helpless mortals? If you ask me it’s no different from Celestia, except she likes to play house whereas Tirek melts his toys in the fireplace.” “So that’s it?” Octavia asked with shrinking voice. “No recourse, no argument? No justice?” “Hm, you’re not asking the right demigod.” Discord popped his glass into his mouth and swallowed. “I don’t really do ‘justice,’ you know? I’m a bit more of a rules-breaker.” Octavia’s head snapped towards him and the hidden whisper in his words. Discord’s smirk spread, enveloping his face with a jovial grin. “Can you help me?” It came out so weak, so desperate. Octavia did not care. “Can you help me...” Discord repeated, then gestured for her to finish. She did not care. “Please.” Smoke flashed and abruptly he was standing, throwing his arms out to the air. “Of course, Octi! What are friends for? My goodness, you’re lucky I happened to come on by.” Octavia blinked. Then she too was standing, wearing a pink tie like in her concert days. Wood creaked beneath her hooves, for they were at a train station. Fog enveloped the structure, and though ponies shuffled around them, all she could see clearly was Discord. He wore a brown travel suit and cap, seated at a bench with briefcase in one claw and pocket-watch in the other. “Late, as always...” he grumbled, then gestured for Octavia to sit next to him. “But that’s all for the best, isn’t it? One word of advice, my dear girl: never trust anyone who promises to make the trains run on time.” Octavia stumbled as something caught her leg, then stared at it. A carrying case, black and longer than her. Ripped leather covered its outside, revealing the scratched, cheap wood beneath. Her eyes traced it – every familiar blemish and tear, The worn rubber handle with its rusty hinges. The needlework keeping its edges together. A tag tied on with a purple ribbon: not ‘Octavia’ but ‘Octi,’ in hoofwriting that was not her own. Her old cello case. No point in thinking about it, she hefted the thing onto her shoulder. Heavy, but an old and familiar weight, no worse now despite her age. She carried it to the bench and sat down by Discord’s side. “Where are we?” “The train station, I should think that was obvious.” He clicked shut the pocket-watch. “Or, apparently, something only pretending to be a train station because real ones naturally involve trains. Which I do note the absence of.” “You know what I meant,” Octavia snapped, feeling her bitter wit rise back to the fore. Discord sent her a cheeky grin. “Now, now. Be nice to the demigod who is doing you a solid.” Octavia grunted. She slid the case beneath the bench and rested her hind hooves on it. Odd, how quickly the old motion had come back to her. She did a lot of travel in her concert days, and propping the legs made these wooden benches a little easier to endure. She shrugged. The panic was gone. “Frankly, I wonder if this is some cruel joke. The train will take me to Tartarus, won’t it?” Discord actually looked surprised. “Do you really think I would do that?” Octavia glared off into the fog. “You tell me.” “Hmm...” Discord thought a moment, tapping his most prominent fang with a claw before finishing. “Maybe to someone who really had it coming.” “Apparently, that includes me.” “You’re taking this well.” A growl ripped from Octavia’s throat. “I’m more than half resigned to it at this point. You would rather I keep blubbering?” “Heavens no, I much prefer your rapier wit to the ‘oh poor me I’m being damned to eternal torment’ routine. Been done, never interesting.” “So what are we waiting for?” Octavia asked, then sharply turned her head. “‘The train,’ yes, how funny. For real.” “The train,” Discord said, holding up a talon to forestall her protest. “Buuuut the train is a metaphor. See, I can help you, because I do have incredible power. Of course, the Divine Truce forbids me from mucking with anything global or stepping directly on other gods’ sensitive hoofsies, but that’s just the thing about you, you’re none of that. Hardly an ordinary mare, but a strictly mundane one who kept her head down along with the others through all the cosmic conflicts and such inflicted on your generation. No one will notice if I butt in on a decrepit earth pony about to kick the bucket.” He sniffed, then smiled as a train whistle went off in the distance. “Well, almost no one. Tirek, of course, wants your soul, and he knows I love to meddle. We have a past, him and I. I won’t bore you with it. I can’t do anything for the you of the now and here, but I don’t need to. Chaos can bend any rule, including time itself. So we will simply go back before you became literally damned...” “And make it right. He will never know or care about me.” Octavia gave a quick, tight smile which then vanished. “How?” Discord stood up, beckoning for Octavia to follow. “Any number of ways, really. You know the Butterfly Effect, of course. Everyone’s heard of it by now what with all the movies and video games and such. Anything we might do to fix or adjust or change, setting you down an altered path forever.” Octavia laughed out loud, deep and worn. She rose from the bench and kicked the cello case fully underneath it without a second glance. “Is that all?” she asked merrily as they got in a line with nopony else. “I thought it’d be a harder cure than that! Come, let’s go fix it all.” Discord looked at her curiously, but for once held his peace. A fog-crowned train pulled up before them, and the pair stepped on together into the past.