//------------------------------//
// Chapter 9: Questions 
// Story: Room 213 
// by Whirring Gears 
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	“Not all of them…”

Octavia’s words make your stomach feel hollow as a smouldering doubt builds in the back of your mind. A mix of negativity swells within you. Cold tingles shoot down your spine as realization sets in that you might lose the mare of your dreams after one day. You walk on hard set hooves, tense in frustration that parts or even all of yesterday might have been a lie.

But a warmth beats in your heart, hopeful that you may keep all the promises you’ve made.

“Pardon me, please?” Octavia says suddenly. Looking up, you see her waving at a passing mare.

They have a blonde mane on teal fur. She gives a smile as Octavia trots up to her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we may find a restaurant serving breakfast at this time around, would you?” she asks.

The mare puts a hoof to her chin and hums in thought. “Well, there’s ‘The Simple Sandwich’ just down the road,” they say, pointing in the direction. “About two blocks from here, inside a place called the Fifth Street Towers on the skyway level. They have some pretty good breakfast sandwiches.”

Octavia looks where she’s pointing and gives her a nod. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem!” the mare responds happily with a wave before going on her way.

Octavia turns back to you. “Come on. We need food and you need answers,” she says simply.

You simply nod in agreement. The anxiety coursing through your body settles a bit. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all explained.

Trotting down the street, a chilly wind passes by. Neither of you give it any mind, your thoughts being directed towards what Harpo said and Octavia’s thoughts are in who knows where. Even though it blows persistently, it does little but scatter a few leaves on the ground.

Coming up to a couple tall buildings, you look around for the place the kind mare told you about. All there seems to be are big office structures with long, reflective windows wrapping all the way across with different shapes and sizes of concrete making up its outer wall. However, between two skyscrapers is a small building with tall red windows, metal statues of ponies, and the sign FIFTH STREET TOWERS above the door.

“Over there,” you say, pointing towards it.

Octavia turns, nods, and proceeds towards the door with a quick trot. You jog a little to be able to reach the door first and hold it open for her. Bleakness and worry is no excuse for a lack of chivalry.

When you’re both inside, you take note of the interior. The white tiles you stand on give way to dark gray carpets against light gray walls. There are various chairs aligned in rows. Ponies in varying degrees of business attire walk to and from in here. It’s almost a stark contrast to the mix of all kinds just on the sidewalk outside. A sign on the wall near the door has various locations of the building listed along with a map. Octavia takes a look and finds the restaurant you were told about.

“This way,” she says, trotting towards the stairwell.

Trotting up the flight of stairs, you feel your stomach rumble through all the twists and knots in it. Hopefully, everything would be satisfied soon. The upstairs looks more like the same with one way going out on a path that goes above the streets. Daylight floods the area through its massive windows as the hall seems to go into another building entirely.

However, that’s not the way you’re headed. Just a ways from you is a stand up sign with the words DAILY SPECIALS printed at the top with various dish options on display with discounted prices. Octavia pays it no mind, instead walking straight up to the orange counter and waiting for one of the ponies to take her order.

Trotting up to join her, you wait as well. They seem to be fairly busy, passing trays and papers amongst each other, trying to get sandwiches prepared. You look around a bit, some peculiar ceiling art catching your eye. Warped pieces of wood with dangling lights hang down to illuminate the area. Very stylish in a strange sort of way. You’d probably never see something like this in Canterlot.

“Do you have a question?” asks a green mare behind the counter.

“We’re waiting to have our order taken,” Octavia explains.

“Oh, first time here?”

“Um… yes.”

“Well, just fill out your order at one of those stations and we’ll get your food out to you as soon as we can!” she says before turning back to her work.

You and Octavia raise an eyebrow at each other as you take a couple steps over to the first of these ‘stations’ aligned in a row on the counter. It’s a pad of paper with their menu and spaces to write how many of each you’d like. Seems like a waste of time at first, but as you think about it, this keeps all the workers preparing food.

You’d definitely never see something like this in Canterlot.

“Okay…” Octavia says as she tentatively picks up a pencil next to the stand. “What would you like?”

You look over the menu. Despite everything, you feel that little bit of dread of having Octavia pay for your meal. “Egg and cheese sandwich,” you say, knowing that only arguments would come of trying to go hungry.

“I’ll have that, too,” she says, marking a 2 next to the space on the menu. “Along with a bagel for me. What sort of side dish would you like?”

“Oh, I have my sandwich, I think I’ll be-”

“Order it.”

“Hash browns.”

She jots down your request. “And two coffees.”

Looking over the order one last time, she gives a little nod before signing her name at the bottom. As soon as she sets the pencil down, the paper begins to glow and floats up towards the kitchen. Whether it’s unicorn magic or if the paper is simply enchanted, you can’t tell.

“We’ll have your order prepared soon!” says the green mare behind the counter. “Have a seat and we’ll call you up when its ready.”

Walking over to the nearest table, you let your gentlecoltliness shine through again by pulling the chair out for Octavia, just like breakfast in the hotel. She doesn’t smile this time, or even say anything as she takes off the cello case and puts it beside the table. You scoot it up for her to sit before walking around to your seat across from her. Carefully setting down her bags, you take some time to look at her.

Her shoulders are stooped, her normally perfect posture is waning a bit, and her ears look like they’re only upright by force. Her jaw hangs a little slack as you notice her hindlegs swinging back and forth just a little.

She must have as much on her mind as you do.

Suddenly, she looks up. Her brow furrows a bit.

“Are you doing that noticing body language thing?” she asks.

A dry swallow works its way down your throat. “Yes,” you admit.

She lets out an irritated sigh.

“I’m just concerned,” you say.

“I know.”

She sits still for a while, trying to avoid giving any signals whatsoever. Unfortunately, that itself gives away quite a bit of information rather easily. You don’t push the issue at all, though. She said that you’d talk after food and after food it shall be.

Instead, you turn back to study the lights hanging from the ceiling again. You focus and study the form of it, if only to take your mind off the final tense moments before finally getting an explanation. Those swooping shapes, sort of like a plane propellor you’d see in a cartoon. And from the looks of it, the lights are actually attached on top and come down through the holes in them.

Did you call this ‘stylish’ earlier? You’re tempted to take back that thought.

“Odd ceiling fixtures,” Octavia comments. Apparently she saw you staring and looked to see what it is that holds your attention. “But I don’t think I’d mind having something like that back at the house,” she says, turning back to you.

Your nose scrunches a little in confusion. “Look at it again,” you say.

She turns back around.

“Keep looking at it.”

She adjusts herself in her seat and continues to look up at the light. You see her eyes start to squint and her ears fold back. Her lips open just the slightest bit as her head gives a little tilt, draping some of her black mane over her shoulder. Turning herself almost completely around, she continues to study it. Her reaction is almost like when you were visiting the art gallery.

The moment that thought enters your mind, you feel a rush of relief from nowhere, like water pouring on the quarreling fires of anxiety in your chest. A little reminder of your time together showing instances that this high society mare can be nearly the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. Her cuteness shines especially when she’s concentrating on something she’s unfamiliar with.You almost have to restrain yourself from giggling.

“Would you still want it?” you ask.

She shakes her head, turning back to her original position. “Absolutely not.”

A giggle manages to escape your throat and Octavia’s confusion is redirected at you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to calm down.

“You’re laughing an awful lot for nothing,” she says.

“Okay, it’s just…” You take a breath to steady yourself. “You’re so cute sometimes.”

Her eyes widen a little in surprise. Her cheeks start to redden as her lips start to smile as she starts to giggle as well. The noise makes you resume your own quiet laughter and, for the moment, all seems right.

But her mood suddenly drops again, this time her ears staying folded back, her leaning back in her seat, and now avoiding your gaze. The sudden change makes you stop as well.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

She licks her lips and takes in a deep breath. Holding it in, she does expel the air, but rather says, “I know I’m supposed to be answering your questions here, but… would you mind if I asked something first?”

You wish she’d look at you, but you respond anyway. “I don’t mind.”

She sinks a little deeper in her chair. “With everything going on now, my bandmates, the upcoming show, and my own overreactions…” She finally gives out a sigh as she closes her eyes. “Do you regret yesterday at all?”

“What? No!” you say, “Of course not! Why would you ever think I would?”

“Because of everything you’ve been roped into now,” she explains, still not looking up. “These threats and having to avoid ponies and just… so much that’s happened the moment we weren’t miles away from it all.”

“Well, that’s different,” you retort. You try to lean over to meet her eyes, but she turns away again. “Everything that’s happening is because of what we want in the future, not because of what’s already occurred.”

“So, do you regret wanting to be- no wait,” she interrupts herself with a shrug.

“See, even you think what you were about to say is ridiculous.” You reach your hoof a little closer to her. “None of yesterday would have happened had I not been willing to go this far with you. I regret nothing about this, Octavia.”

You feel a little shock of terror as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when a thought occurs. The sensation is even enough to make you draw your hoof back a little.

“You don’t… regret anything about yesterday, do you?” you ask.

“No!” she says suddenly, turning towards you at last. Her eyes lock with yours and you stare into those purple pools to calm yourself down. “At least…” she speaks up again. “I regret what this might be doing with you.”

You give another little giggle. “Don’t,” you state plainly. “Yesterday was probably the best day of my life. If we get through today, we’ll probably have a lot more like it.”

She smiles again. Not just a little smile, but a genuine one as she reaches with her own hoof to put in yours. The soft fur over her musically toned grasp is an amazing comfort right now. While you still have questions, at the moment you feel invincible.

“And we will get through today, won’t we?” you ask.

She nods. “Of course.”

“Order for Octavia!” somepony suddenly yells behind the counter.

You both look over to see a couple trays with all the food you’ve ordered on it. Octavia gets up.

“Could you hand me the small saddlebag, please? My purse is in it,” she requests.

Obliging, you pick it up and give it to her. “Why do you keep your purse inside a bag?” you ask.

“Because it fits. I prefer having less total bags to carry.” She searches around in it and draws out a few bits. Still holding your hoof, she gives you a little tug. “Come on. Let’s get our food.”

Getting out of your chair, you’re a little disappointed that she has to let go of your hoof so she can still carry the bits and walk at the same time. Walking up to the counter, the green mare says, “Four bits for everything.”

Octavia gives her the amount and she slides the trays towards you. “Thank you and have a nice day!” she says in that peppy, trained foodservice voice. Octavia grabs a few napkins for her tray and yours before you take your own food. Going back to your table, you sit down as the combination of savory smells begin to make your mouth water.

Deciding to go straight for the main course, you pick up your sandwich and sink your teeth into it. The pepper adds a nice bit of zest along with the natural cheesy flavor and the eggs. Octavia holds her sandwich, waiting for your judgement before indulging herself. You give her a confirming nod as you pick up a napkin to dab crumbs and grease of your lips of the initial bite. She bites in herself and you see her as delightfully surprised as you were.

“Alright,” she says, getting your attention. “I don’t know what Harpo said on the phone or what conclusions you may have come to. So, ask away, any questions you may have.”

You take another bite of your sandwich as you think. The gooey cheese blends in nicely with the fluffy egg under the slightly crisp bun. Honestly, you don’t even know where to start. Thinking about what the answer to certain questions may be, you decide to go with the big ones first. Octavia sips at her coffee while she waits.

“Did you lie to me?” you ask. Wow, this is a good sandwich.

She closes her eyes a takes in a slow breath over her coffee. Setting it down, she licks her lips and nods.

“Yes. Quite plainly,” she answers. The ease at which she admits that twist the knot in your stomach even tighter.

"About… never trying anything in Canterlot?” you ask.

Her eyes widen a bit in surprise as she leans back a little. “Well, that’s one I know you heard from Harpo,” she says. “But if we were to be technical about it, then yes, I have tried certain establishments in Canterlot.” She shakes her head. “It’s just that they were boring. One clothing shop, which you can see how well that went over…” She sweeps a hoof over her undressed form.

You give a nod of understanding before she continues.

“And two five-star restaurants, the finest in Canterlot,” she says using her hooves for sarcastic quotes over the last words. She gives a little mirthful chortle as her hoof returns to her coffee. “They wouldn’t know a decent serving portion if it broke wind in their mouths.”

The last comment makes you snicker a bit, relieving some of the tension you were feeling.

“So I’ve had the best of the best, so to speak.” she says rolling her eyes, “but that’s it. Don’t you worry, there’s plenty for us to do when we get back,” she concludes with a smile.

Well, that’s one satisfying answer. The other seems small in comparison to this, but you figure it’s worth asking anyway.

“And what about the part for Beauty Brass’ horn?” you ask. “Did you really forget that?”

“Ooh, how to explain that…” Her smile doesn’t fade, but she taps the table with her hoof a couple times. “The answer is yes and no,” she says.

You raise an eyebrow, looking for something more. She gives a little giggle at your confusion.

“I honestly did yesterday morning, when you and I were still rather impaired,” she explains while you take a bite of your hash browns. A good mix of salty and crunchy, better than the hotel. “Having just awoken in a strange room with a stallion and a hangover, I hope you can forgive me for not knowing which way was up at that moment.”

Tilting your head with a shrug, you concede her point. You weren’t really one hundred percent at that point in time either, so that was understandable.

“So that’s when you didn’t lie about forgetting. When did you actually lie?” you ask.

“Before we left on the train.” Her eyes drift off to the side in thought. “Come to think of it… did I even mention it before we were here?” she asks before going to take another drink of her coffee.

“Well no, but there was in the hotel lobby if I recall correctly,” you say.

“Mmh,” she voices around her coffee, giving a slight nod as she drinks. “Then yes, I had lied about it.”

“But why?” you ask before taking another bite of your sandwich.

“Because I didn’t want to make it known that there was any sort of trouble brewing within the ensemble,” she explains. “The ‘forgetting’ of Beauty Brass’ mouthpiece was just an excuse. I just wanted some time away from the others after the show.”

“Then what was the phone call in the lobby about?” you ask.

“I was just calling Harpo to make sure he didn’t do anything crazy when he discovered I wasn’t in Canterlot anymore. It got rather heated, as it often does, but they’re still the ponies I make my living with.” She takes a bite of her bagel.

“And forgetting the train schedule and how you couldn’t rent another room in your name?”

She holds up a hoof and swallows her bagel before responding. “Those were legitimate,” she answers with a pointing of her hoof for emphasis. “I did not know of the hotel’s policy, nor was I planning on leaving once I got there. I was just worried about what you would do.” She breathes in deeply and lets it go in one long exhale, her posture falling a bit. “But I am sorry for lying,” she says, guilt weighing heavily on her slumping shoulders. “I promise, no more lies. No matter how small.”

You offer a smile to her statement that she returns. You’re glad that the ‘lies’ were just a series of misunderstandings and her not wanting to reveal the turmoil within her group of friends. But now that you’re going to be a rather involved part of her life, you trust that she’ll not hesitate to share or stretch the truth.

But there was still something you’re curious about what Harpo mentioned.

“There’s another thing I’d like to ask about,” you say.

Octavia has another bite of sandwich in her mouth that she must have taken when you were in thought. She chews quickly and swallows before saying, “Go right ahead.”

“Harpo happened to say something else. Something about your feelings for me before yesterday,” you explain before taking another bite of sandwich.

She raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Like what?”

“He said how you were… obsessed with me,” you say. “How obsessed is, well, obsessed in this manner?” You take another bite.

She opens her mouth to answer, but stops. Biting her lip, she slowly shrugs while shaking her head. “Well, there’s an answer to that,” she states. “But first, how would you define ‘obsessed’?”

“How would you?” you ask.

“That wouldn’t work. Crazy obsessed ponies don’t think of themselves as such, or at least they don’t want to,” she explains. “So whatever my definition is would exclude me from it.”

“That’s still good, though,” you offer with a single hoof shrug. “Tell me what you don’t do. Tell me where that line is drawn.”

“Okay…” she says, drumming a hoof on the table. “I don’t stalk you or secretly follow you to wherever you live. I don’t spy on you. I don’t keep any pictures or artwork of you. No stealing and worshipping of your personal belongings.”

You nod as you feel the collective doubt in the back of your mind get washed over with a cool wave of relief. While you didn’t expect Octavia to be crazy, and would probably excuse it if she were, it’s still nice to hear and be a hundred percent sure there weren’t any screws loose.

“So what’s your definition?” she asks. “Let’s see how I stack up to an outside opinion.”

“Okay, uh…” You start to think while she pops the final bite of bagel into her mouth. “I guess the most basic way to describe it would be how you can’t stop thinking about it,” you say. “You can’t get it out of your head, no matter how hard you try. Just keep thinking and thinking and wishing and hoping.” Looking down, you see your sandwich is pretty much gone. Taking the last bit, you chew slowly to savor it.

Octavia gives a slow nod to your explanation. You begin to polish off your hash browns as you wait for her to give some sort of response. She just looks down into her cup, before bringing it up to her lips. Tilting it up, that probably means she’s finishing the last of it. Giving a tiny sigh, the faint smell of coffee carrying on her breath, she sets the cup down.

“Are you okay?” you ask, after her moment of silence.

“Yes, I’m just…” She runs a hoof through her mane. “Thinking.”

“...I guess I was obsessed, then,” she says. Her cheeks redden a bit as she still seems hesitant to meet your gaze.

“To be fair,” you reply, “I can say I was, too.”

Her ears perk up. “Really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “I don’t think yesterday would have happened if we weren’t just a little obsessed with each other.”

She giggles, the beautiful smile returning to her lips. “I guess that’s true. I’m still a little embarrassed to say it, though.”

“It’s flattering to hear, at least,” you offer.

“It really is.” She takes the last bite of her sandwich as you finish off your drink. “We should probably get going. We don’t want to be late,” she says, dabbing off the crumbs on her mouth with a napkin.

You nod in agreement and instinct causes you to reach for her empty cup and plate. Both standing up, you deposit the paper dishes in the trash can nearby. She picks up her cello as you take her bags before trotting back down the stairs and towards the door. Stepping out into the cool air and busy streets, you look around to try and find another taxi.

“So, any other questions?” Octavia asks, raising her voice to try and talk over the crowd.

You try to think while looking for a cab at the same time. Trying to form new inquiries, you think back to what Harpo said on the phone. As briefly as possible, anyway. The conversation still gives you a nervous shiver at the thought of having to eventually meet him face to face.

One question comes to mind, but you’re a little afraid to ask.

“Uh…” you vocalize, still scanning or a taxi.

“Yes?” she asks.

Oh well. If she’s offended, she’ll let you know.

“Harpo happened to mention…” you begin, pausing when you see a cab approach. Waving a hoof to get their attention, you stand by the side of the road.

They see you and begin to steer towards you and Octavia. Adjusting the weight of the bags on your back, the two of you wait as the cab puller trots up. Their brown fur, tan mane, and cap on their head look somewhat familiar.

“‘Ey, look a’ that!” he says with a slight accent. “It’s the cab-hoppin’ pegasus makin’ his marefriend carry th’ heavy loads!”

You roll your eyes at the comment. While you’re quite surprised the puller could recognize you from two days ago, his ribbing was something you could do without right now. Although, you feel a bit of warmness in your cheeks when he refers to Octavia as your marefriend.

“Hello again, sir,” Octavia says with a chuckle. “Would you be so kind as to take us back to the Glues 601?”

“Sure, hop on in!” he says, gesturing back to the cart with his head. You let Octavia up into the cart first (earning a resounding pfft from the cabbie) before stepping up yourself. “Ya’ two lovebirds get comfy and I’ll get ya’ there in a jiffy!”

His comments actually do get a grin from you this time. Looking over, you see Octavia smiling widely. She takes off her cello case and places it carefully in the back as you do the same with her bags. Free from the burdens, she leans over and rests her head against your shoulder, her silky mane spilling down your foreleg.

“Thank you so much,” she says to the cart puller. You realize that her statement is probably for more than just getting the two of you to the hotel again. You share a bit of that sentiment, having a stranger be okay with a couple in the back of his cab, moreso the fact that it’s you and Octavia. As the two of you begin moving, you reach up around her back and put a hoof on her shoulder and lightly stroke it back and forth over her soft fur.

“You had a question?” Octavia asks.

“Oh right…” you say, a bit of embarrassment taking you out of the moment somewhat. “Well, first off, feel free not to answer this if you don’t want to.”

“This ought to be good,” she says, jokingly.

“While it may sound a bit petty,” you admit. “Harpo said something about other suitors you’ve had. I must say, I’m a little curious about them,” you explain.

Octavia begins to snicker, her chest pressing against your arm shaking as she laughs. “Oh my, now that is an interesting question,” she says.

A particularly cold wind passes by the cart, causing Octavia to shiver before she can explain further. You fold out a wing, wrapping her up in the warmth of your feathers. She snuggles in nicely, pressing her body against yours, hidden away within your appendage.

“Where to begin…” she purrs into your neck.

Your face immediately blushes from feeling her hot breath on your fur. “Well, at the start is as good a place as any.”

She raises an eyebrow, but closes her eyes. The bumps of the road while you’re getting pulled along causes your furs to brush together. Her supple belly slowly and softly pushes against your side as she breathes.

“Barring any throw-away relationships in the academy, I’d say the first pony I got serious with was somepony by the name of Fire Streak,” she explains.

“Fire Streak?” you repeat, the name on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t take long for you to realize. “Wait, the Wonderbolt?”

“That’s right.”

Another tidbit pops into your mind. “The… gay Wonderbolt?”

“Me and my ensemble were new in Canterlot,” she starts to explain. “We had played at a party with their attendance. He was impressed with our performance.” She adjusts herself, now wrapping both of her hooves around your waist. “But that was the extent of it.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, bringing your other hoof to one of Octavia’s forelegs around you.

“He just liked classical music. That was our only common interest. And I mean only.” She breathes a sigh through her lips. “He’d mostly just listen to me practice during the evenings. More practice than I would otherwise, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” you say, giving her a little squeeze in your half-hug for comfort.

“So that was the extent of our time together. He had never tried to take things to the next level and when I finally tried to escalate things, he would always shy away.”

“I see,” you respond, trying not to imply an obvious observation.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she states, her tone dropping to a lower, but still playful level. “But he didn’t realize who he was while we were together.”

“So how’d it end up?”

“Not terribly… but not great,” Octavia admits. “I was hurt when he had finally discovered himself, but I knew it wouldn’t help anything to try and force it. We went our separate ways.”

You nod to yourself. Rather noble of her to not try and push for something against the happiness of another pony. “So who else was there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“There was another by the name of Thorn,” she recalls. “A manager in the Cloudsdale weather factory I happened to meet in one of my trips. We met and something just clicked. Although…” She groans under her breath. “I always suspected some ulterior motive.”

“Oh dear, really?”

“He kept going on about how he wanted to be a famous Canterlot actor instead of what he does now. We both had our jobs and distance put a damper on things, but he kept insisting on visiting. When he was here, he kept insisting on having me introduce him to my friends.” She shakes her head. “I eventually became so fed up, I ended it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you offer.

“Don’t worry. He’s doing fine, last time I checked.”

You give her another comforting squeeze. While you hadn’t had such unique dating experiences as she apparently has, you can at least empathize.

“He wasn’t even the worst of them,” she says.

Your ears perk up, interest and curiosity piqued. “Care to share?”

“Sure. It’s been long enough that I can laugh about it.” She stretches a little, pushing hard against your wing before settling back down. “His name was Zephyr. A royal guard in the Sky Patrol.”

“Sky Patrol? I thought that was primarily a Wonderbolts division,” you ponder, trying to remember the different military branches and functions.

“There’s some overlap. I actually met Zephyr through Fire Streak after he found himself,” Octavia explains. “Zephyr was… a mistake. I kept with him for only one reason and it wasn’t a good reason.”

“What was it?”

“He intimidated my friends. This was when resentment started to set in, so his presence was welcome in meetings. If only to keep the others off my back.” She breathes a sigh through her teeth. “But when we were alone, he really didn’t turn that off. He was just loud, boisterous, and obnoxious. He became worse than Harpo, Frederic, or Beauty Brass.”

Worse than them? A stone lands in your stomach at the thought. “So what happened to him?”

“Well, having a coltfriend with somepony to intimidate ponies around you… gets hard to break up with, as you can imagine,” she begins. You just nod as she continues, “But thankfully, I wasn’t the one who stopped it.”

“Why’d he break up with you?” you ask.

“Oh, he didn’t.”

“What?”

“First, I should explain that not everything about our relationship was bad. He was the one who gave me my taste for red wine,” she says. “Although, he had more of a taste for it than I did. It really came to a head one night.”

“What happened?”

“He was found in the palace wine cellar, late at night, singing very loudly in Princess Celestia’s regalia,” she lists off with a giggle. You almost buckle over forward with your own chortles, but hold yourself to let Octavia keep her place against you. “Charged with disorderly conduct, theft of palace and royal property, found guilty and dishonorably discharged. And let me tell you, it is so much easier to justify not seeing somepony after something like that.”

You and Octavia share a hearty chuckle, although yours is a bit more forced. On the one hoof, he made Octavia uncomfortable, but you don’t know to what extent and whether or not it merits the enjoyment of him losing his job and being thrown in jail. Also, the fact that he could dissuade abuse from her friends is an ability you wish you had. Probably best to shrug it off and not think too hard about it. If Octavia’s happy, then that’s good enough.

Although, something about all her stories begins to tickle the back of your mind. You try to put your hoof on it. All of her past coltfriends: a Wonderbolt, a Weather Manager, a Sky Patrol royal guard, and now you.

Your eyes light up when you realize. “Octavia?”

She looks up at you with a curious hum.

“I hope I’m not jumping to conclusions here, but…” You take a moment to run through the list in your head again, making sure you’re not making an error in judgement before you ask.

“Yes?”

“Has every pony you’ve dated been a pegasus?”

She’s silent for a moment. Eventually, you feel her nodding against your shoulder. “Yes. It would seem that that is the case.”

“Any particular reason?” you ask, this time with a giggle wrapped in confusion and worry escaping along with the question.

“It’s nothing personal. Or maybe it is…” she mumbles. “It’s just that I know what I like and maybe not all ponies have certain, well, qualities that I enjoy.”

“Qualities like what?” A bit of excitement replaces the nervousness at the idea that you have something special that Octavia enjoys about you.

Octavia looks at you. Then, down to the wing wrapped around her. Then, back up to you.

Oh.

“Huh,” is all you can manage. A smirk begins to smear itself across your muzzle.

“You think it’s silly, don’t you?” she asks.

“No, not at all. It’s fairly common in some ponies,” you quickly reply to hide your still expanding grin. Laughter is building and bubbling in your chest, threatening to break loose. “It’s just that I didn’t expect something like that from you.”

“Why not?” she inquires. “If it’s common, then why is it so unexpected?”

“It’s just hard to imagine,” you admit. “An earth pony in Canterlot, the unicorn capital of Equestria, being… a wing pony.” That last part escapes with a chuckle hanging onto the end of it.

“Okay,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“A feather fiend.”

“That’s quite enough,” she states with a little giggle.

“Flight junkie.”

“Alright…”

“Plume paramour.”

“We’re here!” the cart puller suddenly yells, the taxi coming to a stop next to the sidewalk. You hear Octavia sigh from relief from the announcement lest she be subjected to more of your teasing.

You unwrap Octavia from your wing as she takes back her hooves. Reaching back, she picks up her cello as you get her bags again. Stepping off the cart, you help Octavia down as she turns towards the puller.

“How much?” she asks.

“Six bits.”

She reaches into a bag hanging over your side. Pulling out the coins, she gives them to the cabbie.

“Thank ya’ kindly again!” he says, stashing them under his hat.

Before Octavia steps away, she motions with her hoof to the cabbie. He leans over with his ear as she whispers something to him. Tapping his chin a couple times, he glances towards you before whispering back to Octavia, pointing down the road and making some gestures. She nods and gives one last thanks.

“Anytime,” the cart puller says before looking out to rejoin traffic.

As they pull away, Octavia steps back towards you. “What was that about?” you inquire.

“Just asking about something for later,” she replies.

“May I ask what?”

“A surprise,” she answers as you both approach the doors of the hotel.

A surprise from Octavia? The first possibility that sticks out in your mind is some sort of revenge for making fun of her preference of wings. It’d probably be only fair, you suppose. You decide not to push. If anything, it gives you something to look forward to.

Compared to meeting all of Octavia’s ensemble at once. Which you are about to do.

Holding the door for her, she trots in as terror floods your veins. An icy grip tightens around your heart as you look up at the clock. 12:58, two minutes before Frederic said he’d be calling authorities to hunt you and Octavia down.

“Do you know where in this place you’re supposed to meet?” you ask.

“Back in their room,” she replies. “I’m afraid I don’t know which one that is, though.”

“Room 314,” you reply. “Harpo told me over the phone.”

“Excellent. It raises some questions, but excellent,” she says, turning towards the stairs with a quick trot.

“What sort of questions?” you ask as you both go up the first flight of stairs. “If you answered my questions from earlier, it’s only fair I answer any that you have.”

“Well…” she begins as you start to ascend to the second level. “What did Harpo say exactly in your call?”

“Just trying to convince me that you were lying and trying to hurt everypony,” you reply. “Went on about how ‘self-destructive’ you’ve been acting.”

She just groans in a mixture of embarrassment and despair as you both reach the intended level. Turning down the hall, you begin counting off the room numbers.

Although, remembering that part of the conversation reminds you of another question you have. One that seems silly, but might be worth asking anyway if you can find the right words. However, you still want to be fair to Octavia and answer anything she may want to know.

“Any other questions?” you ask as you approach the door with 314 on it.

She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “Nothing really. Except maybe if he gave any notable mention of how I was acting in such a manner. Did he?”

“He only mentioned one specific instance, and that was in regard to us,” you answer. “He said that you dating a waiter would ruin your reputation.”

“Pfft,” she vocalizes before getting caught in a bout of chuckles as you both stop in front of the door. “That’s not seriously something you think I’m concerned about, do you?”

You shrug. “After all that’s happened, I guess not. There’s still a little worry since Harpo mentioned it, what ponies may think.”

“There are very few ponies whose opinions I consider to have value,” Octavia says. “And do you know what I think of them in regards to you and me?”

Before you can answer, she knocks on the door. You hear a bit of chatter on the other side before hoofsteps start to make their way towards you. After a pause, you hear the clicking sound of the lock being undone.

As soon as the door begins to open, a hoof takes you by the chin. In the instant before you can register what’s happening, Octavia’s soft lips press against yours as her other hoof wraps around your head to keep you from pulling away. For a beautiful moment, the rest of the world and its worries melt away as your heart flutters for the sudden embrace. The irresistible taste and warmth of Octavia fills your mind and soul for a few more seconds before she pulls away, leaving you gasping for air.

As the world slowly comes back into view, you turn to see a very annoyed group of ponies in bowties.

“We made it just in time,” Octavia says nonchalantly as she trots into the room.

You take a few steps to follow, still trying to recover from the major impromptu affection, but a hoof against your chest holds you back.

“You wait outside,” Harpo says, still holding the door.

“He comes in,” you hear Octavia retort.

“He has no business being here.”

“He has my bags.”

Harpo turns to glare at Octavia. “Fine. He may set them down, then leave.”

“He may set them down and stay.”

“This is not up for debate, Octavia.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Harpo lets out an annoyed growl through clenched teeth. You take the opportunity of his attention elsewhere to look around the room, avoiding the looks of Frederic or Beauty Brass.

The carpet and walls look similar to the ones in 213. However, the room is notably bigger with two beds, a couch where Frederic and Beauty sit, and what looks to be a minibar. A couple more lighting fixtures hang from the walls as well as more trim and detail around the corners of the room. Definitely feels like a step up from the room you stayed in.

“Are we to practice?” Octavia inquires.

"In what little time we have, we should,” Frederic chimes in.

“Then we should prepare.” Octavia slides the cello case off her back and carefully sets it on the ground. Undoing the clasps that keep it shut, she opens the lid and begins to prep her bow. While she’s doing this, Harpo turns to you again.

“What will it take for you to leave?” Harpo asks you.

“I, um…” is all you can manage.

“He is staying,” Octavia calls over her shoulder.

“We have matters to discuss, Octavia,” Harpo quips. “Private matters.”

“He won’t be any trouble.”

“These are not words meant for him to hear!” Harpo says, his voice starting to rise. You may be witness to one of these band’s fights if you don’t try to diffuse the situation now.

“Uh--what about, um--” you stammer.

“I think he should stay,” Frederic says suddenly. Everypony in the room turns towards him. “He does have a certain effect on her. He calms her down considerably. Keeps her from acting too…” He rolls his hoof in the air as if searching for the right word. “...rashly.”

Harpo snorts in frustration. “What you witnessed at the train station could have been anything,” he states.

Frederic shrugs. “First time I’ve ever seen it.”

“Did you forget how he called security on us?” Harpo nearly yells.

“From what I heard, all the way back in this room no less, is you and Beauty screaming outside his door,” Frederic retorts. “Anypony in that hallway could’ve called and complained.”

You and Octavia look at each other in disbelief. Is Frederic actually defending you?

“Why do you think he has any business being here?” Harpo asks.

“Well, we are going to be talking about him, and we all know how Octavia gets when we do.” Frederic turns and gives you a sharp look. “I want to see if he can do it again.”

“Every moment she spends in his vicinity puts us at risk,” Harpo says fiercely. He steps over towards Frederic. “We’ve been so close to finally convincing her to give up this silly dream that tears us apart. To cease her actions that risk everything.”

“By what means?” Frederic asks as Beauty begins to scoot away in her seat. “All I remember is shouting and fighting, growing more and more since your little tirade began.”

“What are you saying, Frederic?” Harpo asks in a low voice.

“That maybe, just maybe, there’s a place for this pony that we can all be- PFUH!”

You jump back as Frederic nearly falls over on the sofa. Harpo keeps the hoof he just brought across his bandmate’s muzzle outstretched for a few moments before slowly bringing it back to the ground. Frederic leans back up, rubbing the cheek he was struck by tenderly before shooting a nasty look at Harpo.

“You son of a--”

Harpo raising his other hoof interrupts Frederic. He turns towards you, his expression very worryingly blank.

“We do not want you here,” he says to you. “And so you will leave. There will be no more questions.”

“He will be staying,” Octavia says again, moving to stand between you and Harpo. They stand glaring at each other as you try to think of someway you can help.

You study Harpo’s stance. Everything in his body, his legs, neck, muzzle, are all fixed rigidly. He’s trying to keep himself as still as possible. Trying a little too hard. There is a definite fear to facing down Octavia.

Reaching forward, you put a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. She looks over to you briefly and you give it a little pat to show your confidence in her. She turns back to Harpo, this time with a smirk.

However, your action only seems to make Harpo angrier. He begins shaking slightly in his left hoof and his eye gives a single twitch. Still, he backs down before it escalates further.

“Fine,” he says. “We shall talk later. But no exceptions!”

Octavia doesn’t say anything.

“Shall we practice, then?” asks Frederic who is nursing his wound with a cold drink from the minibar. You wonder how he can shrug off getting punched in the face like that.

“Very well,” Harpo grumbles.

Beauty Brass gets out of her seat and trots over to her horn case. Frederic reaches over the side of the couch to pull up a little keyboard. Harpo’s harp is already set up and waiting by the bed. Octavia gives you a genuine smile along with reaching up and squeezing the hoof you put on her shoulder. She then turns to finish preparing her bow.

The next few moments are silent, save for a few tuning sounds, but still tense with the events that had just occurred. You’re still surprised how everypony here could just carry on like nothing happened. What’s worse is imagining what it might have been like had you not been there at all and Octavia flew the handle.

Another thing you wonder about is Beauty Brass. She had said nothing the entire time. She lives with Harpo, has a relationship with him, but she didn’t speak up at all during the exchange. You know she normally doesn’t speak a lot, but still, nothing at all?

After a little while longer, the ensemble is prepped and ready. Every pony with their instrument, ready to play.

"We start at the very beginning,” Harpo says as he moves his hooves to the strings. Frederic positions his hooves over his keys. Beauty Brass and Octavia stand proud and tall.

You’re getting to see the best band in Canterlot perform in a hotel room. It’s almost like a little private show, although you don’t think any of them would take too kindly to such a thought.

Frederic presses a button on his keyboard to make the sound of a metronome. They all bob their heads ever so slightly to the beat. After a few clicks, they begin to play.