//------------------------------// // Op. 1, Movt 4: Ma Non Troppo // Story: Private Gig // by NavyPony //------------------------------// Private Gig by NavyPony Op. 1, Movt 4 Ma Non Troppo Sitting down together, it didn’t take Twilight long to realize something remarkable: Octavia van Clef was a bona fide conversationalist. She was engaging and sociable, and seemed thoroughly interested in everything the unicorn had to say. Every comment Octavia made was suggestive of a keen mind and a clever wit, but she tempered it with a natural and good-natured graciousness. She neither dominated the discussion nor remained passive in it, having just the right amount to say at just the right times. The conversation moved naturally, and it refused to run out of steam – not only was Octavia interesting, but she seemed to know something about everything. Not a topic came up in which the earth pony didn’t have something useful to contribute. By comparison, Twilight felt like she had much less to offer. “Octavia,” she asked, levitating a pair of plates onto her kitchen table. “Would you prefer the cake or the… you know, I’m sorry. May I call you Octavia, or would you prefer your full name? Or an honorific – ‘Miss Octavia’, maybe?” Twilight asked, becoming sidetracked. “Although Rarity called you ‘Miss van Clef’, and I think she knows you better, so-” “Miss Sparkle, the pie looks delicious, and being that we’re not in public you’re welcome to call me whatever you desire,” Octavia van Clef said, brushing aside questions with a casual gesture of her hoof. “I’m unparticular. You, on the otherhoof… are my client. Do you have a preference?” “Just Twilight, please. If that’s okay with you, I mean. It’s what my friends call me.” “Friends, then,” commented the musician genially. “Well, if that’s how you want to think of us, you’re more than welcome to call me Octavia, or whatever else you find natural.” “But you’re…” Twilight’s face colored slightly. “You’re Octavia van Clef. Is that alright?” “In the privacy of your home? Naturally. Different ponies prefer to call me by different names, and I don’t mind. Call me whatever you want; it neither changes nor dilutes who I am.” Twilight found herself enjoying the stark wisdom of the comment – it almost seemed like the kind of thing to write to Princess Celestia about. “I suppose you’re right,” she acknowledged, finally remembering to pass a slice of pie across the table. “After all, what’s in a name?” “What’s in a name?” As naturally as breathing, Octavia continued the line, albeit taking certain liberties. “That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. So Octavia would, were she not Octavia called, retain that dear perfection which she owes without that title. Twilight, doff my name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all yourself.” Even had she tried, Twilight Sparkle couldn’t have refrained from accentuating her words with a couple hoofclaps of applause as she exclaimed, “That’s spectacular! Romaneo and Juliet, act… two, I think?” “Act two, scene two,” Octavia confirmed. “Although I can’t admit to being a particular fan.” “Not a fan?” Twilight had been levitating a bite of cake towards her mouth, but it stopped in midair. “Of Shakesaddle?” The musician covered her mouth daintily as she chuckled. “No, no,” she corrected, composing herself, “the Bard I quite enjoy. I’m referring to Romaneo and Juliet specifically, and I’m not talking about the play. It’s the characters themselves to which I refer.” “Oh.” The answer satisfied Twilight enough to smooth her brow and allow her to resume eating. “Why is that? “They’re simply so… naïve. They’re teenagers who meet each other at a party, and despite knowing nothing about love, they decide that they’re soulmates and that death is ultimately preferable to life alone?” Octavia interrupted herself with a melancholic sigh before continuing. “It seems pointless to me… even silly, and that’s what makes it a tragedy, I suppose. But what about you, Twilight?” she asked, turning the conversation away from herself as she emphasized the unicorn’s name. “I take it that you’re a particular fan of Shakesaddle; what are your favorites?” “Well, Haymlet is definitely my favorite tragedy, and as for comedies…” She paused momentarily, head tilting to the side as she considered the question. “I think my favorite is ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, but ‘Breaking of the Nag’ is a close second.” Octavia pursed her lips inquisitively. “You don’t mention any of the histories.” “I talked to the Princess about them once,” she confided. “About how different things must’ve been back in those days – all the emergencies and attacks and rebellions from which she saved Equestria. I asked her why that doesn’t happen anymore, you see – if it was a social change, or improved international relations, or something else.” The grey mare chimed in just as she was supposed to. “And what did she say?” “She said,” Twilight intoned with a dull sort of humor, “that the biggest change since then, was that ponies don’t publish fiction like that nowadays. And now I can’t really enjoy them.” Twilight shrugged her shoulders helplessly and shook her head. “I mean, how can they be called ‘histories’ if they’re actually fiction?” “I don’t really know,” Octavia responded, taking a tiny bite of her pie. “Although I imagine that you have plenty of other options from which to choose, being that you live in a library.” She glanced about the room, surveying the mostly-empty building with an eye many times sharper than her casual expression. The shelves were organized, but with random volumes missing, and the ledger was mostly unused. A few tomes were tucked in special nooks and crannies, all of them tired and dog-eared. The entire place was warm, comfortable, and obviously loved. It was apparent to Octavia that this wasn’t just the building in which Twilight Sparkle lived – it was her home. “It seems cozy. Intimate, even. Have you lived here long?” “Umm, no, actually.” Despite her usual comfort with the subject, Twilight permitted a sheepish grin to paint her face. “Umm… Princess Celestia set it up for me when I moved here, just a little bit back. I moved to Ponyville on special assignment from Her.” Her tone was marginally boastful, but in her defense, it was true. Nopony, least of all Octavia van Clef, could have mistaken the tone with which Twilight said the Princess’ name. “The two of you must be very close, for the Princess of all ponies to be sending you a birthday present like me.” She smiled, and it was perhaps the most honest one she’d worn all night. “This is a very strange gig.” Twilight misunderstood entirely. “Strange?” she asked anxiously, the canvas of her brow creasing expressively. “But not in a bad way, right? If something’s wrong, it’s definitely my fault, and not because of the Princess! She was probably just too busy-“ Octavia cut off the lavender mare with a raised hoof and a gently expression. “Nothing’s wrong Twilight; I’m enjoying myself immensely. I simply meant that my you’re not much akin to my expectations. I’ve met ponies that would kill to be as close to the princess as you are, you know, and few of them were much like you.” She paused momentarily, turning on one of her more charming smiles. “You’re very interesting.” “Umm, thank you?” Twilight did her best to mimic the other pony’s expression. It was, after all, a very pretty smile. “You’re… very interesting, too.” “That’s very sweet of you to say. Would you-” “Oh! I forgot to offer you something to drink!” Twilight dashed to the kitchen before Octavia could decline. ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ “I never realized it was such an event out here. The entire town spends that long on it? And they really do it entirely without magic?” Octavia asked, cradling a half-empty glass of warm milk between her hooves. She somehow preserved her air of refinement despite the vaguely slouched posture. “I can hardly imagine such a thing, let alone its success. Whatever happened?” Twilight’s reply was good-natured in tone, although it had hints of conspiracy around the edge. Here, at least, was a fellow Canterlotian who knew how things were supposed to be done. “Well, between you and me, they were really disorganized. I don’t think they’d ever finished on time in the last couple years. And it wasn’t because not using magic made it more work, I think. Instead, it was literally because they didn’t use magic. Rather than planning a course of action, they just attacked every problem independently on a micro-level. They eventually reached a sort of Nashian equilibrium, caught in a circular tug-of-war.” “You think that if they’d approached it from an arcane perspective, they’d have realized they were facing issues of OSP?” “More or less,” she answered, taking a sip from her mug of tea. “Without the focus on economy of action that we learn from basic- Wait, what? You’re familiar with the Opposing Schools Phenomenon?” Octavia smiled and took one of the last few bites of the bit of pie that remained on her plate. “Somewhat,” she offered enigmatically. Twilight hesitated. She wanted- no, she had to sate her curiosity… But she didn’t know how to share her thoughts without coming across wrong. The solution, therefore, was to ask. “Would it be racist for me to ask how you, I mean… know magic theory?” With the intentional slowness demanded of anypony using hooves instead of magic to wield her silverware, the musician lowered her fork and knife onto the edges of her plate. “You know, Twilight, I don’t believe anypony’s ever asked me that question.” Twilight’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “I’m sorry! I don’t think earth ponies are stupid or anything, it’s just that I’ve never met a non-unicorn who knew about the basics of magic, and-” “And I’m an earth pony,” Octavia filled in. “I should be more precise – I’ve never had anypony ask if that question was inappropriate.” Realizing the agitated look on the librarian’s face, she added, “And it isn’t.” “Then… How? Why?” “Twilight,” the other mare intoned with a melodic sort of weight to her voice, “I live and work in Upper Canterlot. The majority of my clients are unicorns, and most of the rest wish they were,” she explained. “The most recent magical breakthrough is always in vogue, after all, and I wouldn’t be much of an entertainer if I were unable to talk about what my clients were talking about.” “So… you know about magical theory as a… a conversation piece? Does that mean that you do this often?” Twilight inquired scratching her head. “Sit down with ponies and just… chat with them?” “Yes, actually. Being good at conversation is important for many facets of my job. The social scene, of course, is my bread and butter – attending events and giving a good impression, that sort of thing. It’s advertising, in a way, and nothing gives a bad impression like being a dullard. Nopony wants to hire a dullard for anything.” Octavia laughed melodically, as if what she said were some sort of private joke. “Then there are there some of my more public engagements – gigs that take me into the spotlight.” “Like the Grand Galloping Gala?” Octavia refrained from rolling her eyes at the memory. “Not quite. Sometimes my larger employers enjoy making public appearances with me in tow – dinner and whatnot. Kind of… showing off, you might say. Other times I perform at events kind of like this one…” she waved a dainty hoof at the room, drawing attention towards remains of this afternoon’s party, “and the guests want to speak with me. In both cases, it’s important that I can converse with them – gossip, fashion, and politics are the most common topics, although anything is fair game.” Twilight’s gaze became somewhat more distant, although it maintained its deadlock on Octavia. “Oh. I guess that explains why you’re so well-read.” “Somewhat,” she admitted, “but it doesn’t compare to the last reason I do this.” “And that is?” “Well… this,” the hired mare sang. “Just… talking. Conversation. Intimacy. So few ponies are willing to take the time to understand each other nowadays, and I’m popular because I take the time to do just that. You might be surprised how many of my clients want somepony to sit down and really listen to them – to talk to them.” Octavia drained the last of her glass of milk. “Some ponies even purchase my time for the sole purpose of conversation, choosing to… ignore my other services.” Twilight was taken aback by the suggestion. “Really? That seems… strange. Especially with you, Octavia. Why would they-” “You feel that way, then?” Octavia smiled coquettishly at the mare across from her. She rose from her chair and began to exit the kitchen. “Well I have nowhere to be tomorrow and we have all night. Would you like me to…” “Yes, that’s…” Twilight gushed, seeming too pleased for words. “Of course! I’d love to hear you play some more!” Twilight didn’t notice the tiny break in Octavia’s gait when she heard the request. “Of course.” The grey mare changed direction midstride, sauntered over to her cello, and prepared to play. “Do you have any requests?” “What’s a piece you think that I would like?” ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Octavia didn’t know what possessed her to choose the first of Benjamane Britten’s Cello Suites. Being neither pleasant nor comfortable, it was far from the kind of song that seemed at ease in a library, and it was nothing alike the nighttime serenades that she normally played in these situations. But on the other hoof… It seemed right. Octavia progressed slowly but relentlessly through the song, drawing it out as best she could, and when the song finally ended, Cello Suite No. 1 somehow became Suite No. 2, which itself became No. 3. The night waxed, and much to her surprise, Octavia found herself engrossed in the performance, if only because it was so different from her typical routines. There was a faint sheen of sweat on her face as she started the tail end of Suite No. 2, and she was struggling to keep tears out her eyes when she got to No. 3’s Seventh Movement. Octavia played and played and played, and she did so perfectly. Twilight Sparkle was only halfway aware of any of this. The faceted themes of the piece, coupled with the deeply passionate tone Octavia lent it, had enthralled the young mare from the very beginning. Though she’d fixed herself another mug of tea as the musician went through the Second Suite, the young mare soon found herself dancing in and out of consciousness, melodies playing through her head as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. It was only when the music finally ended that she returned from her half-slumber, a languid smile on her face. “That was… beautiful,” she declared. “Thank you.” “It was my pleasure,” Octavia intoned, taking a slight bow. “Is there anything else you’d like?” “I, ah…” Twilight had to stop and cover her mouth as she yawned. “I would love to listen to more, but I think it’s – wow, is it really that late?” The nearest clock professed that they were closer to sunrise than sunset. “I’m afraid I should be getting to sleep.” She yawned again. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you to the bedroom.” No longer sure what to expect from the unicorn, Octavia followed the other mare, and one staircase later, she found herself in a surprisingly crowded chamber. It looked out of place compared to the structured organization of the actual library, with disorganized and overcrowded bookshelves lining several walls, cluttered desks, and all kinds of writing implements and magical paraphernalia littering the floor. A trio of clocks adorned one wall, including a beautifully hoofcrafted cuckoo clock, and the far side of the room was dominated by a doorway to a stargazing platform. Little bits of artwork, random pieces of clothing, the remains of magical experiments, and an eclectic assortment of official-looking awards and photographs littered the room, all distracting the observer from the one thing that made this Twilight’s bedroom: the bed. Of which, conspicuously, there was only one, and it was quite large enough for two ponies to share very comfortably. “In that case, shall we…” Octavia started to untie her bowtie and began a slow amble toward the star-and-moon-decorated covers. “Actually, one moment, please.” Twilight illuminated her horn and cleared much of the room in an impressive display of telekinesis, made more so for her obvious fatigue. “Let me just make room for the guest bed.” “Guest bed?” “Of course. I take it out when other ponies spend the night…” Twilight yawned once more as a purple glow enveloped two dozen pieces of… stuff in the closet. With no apparent effort on the unicorn’s part, the pieces drifted out and began assembling themselves – bed frame, headboard, and mattress all coming together perfectly. “Unless you’d prefer the sofa?” she added, halting the construction. “It’s comfortable too, but I think you’d prefer the bed. It’s better for your back.” Ever the gentlemare, Octavia nodded passively and took a couple petite steps towards the bed. “If you think your guest bed is the better choice, I will take your word for it. Thank you.” With one last flicker of Twilight’s magic, linens and pillows winked into existence on the guest bed. “No problem, then.” Her task complete, the purple mare flopped onto her own bed and crawled under the covers as Octavia did the same across the room. She sighed three words as she drifted to sleep. “Good night, Octavia.” “Good night, Twilight.”