//------------------------------// // The Second Coming // Story: The Music Box // by DaFunkySquirrel //------------------------------// Chapter 2: The Second Coming (Sub-chapters: The Revelation, The Attack) “...And that’s how you explained it to me, Doctor. All of it that I can remember.” He sat there, unmoved and munching on his sandwich. “An’...” He paused to swallow some of the bread. “What m’bout...the part wif...the...the...” Octavia facehoofed. “Dear gods, Doc. Were you born in a barn?” He blushed and downed the rest of the bite. “Well, maybe...I can’t quite remember...it might’ve been an armory...or an outhouse...” “Oh, shut up and eat your sandwich,” she complained,giving him a light, good-natured shove. The uneven click of hooves falling on marble made her turn her head. The smile that had lit briefly upon her face was replaced instantly by its usual scowl. “Keep, you had better be sobered up...” The thin stallion rubbed his face with a forehoof. “Mos’ly.” He yawned and meandered around to the side of the center bar in the kitchen, pulling up a chair and leaning his head on his hooves with a heavy sigh. The Doctor turned his look from the other stallion to Octavia, questioning and turning his head to the side like a dog. She shrugged and quietly said to him, “I’ll explain later.” He turned his attention back to the hungover alicorn. “Hello.” Octavia blinked. There was something so familiar and homely about the way he said that, that she almost hugged him, right then and there. She didn’t. Keep spoke without looking up. “‘ey Doc. ‘ow’s it?” He hesitated, again looking to her. She just pushed him on with a wave of a hoof. “Um...I’ve been better, but...it’s...it’s good right now.” She saw Keep flash a smile for a split second before it faded from his face as he turned and walked towards the stairs. “That’s good.” The Doctor watched her face. He saw too many years lived in this...pony -- Oh, it’s gonna take me a long time to get used to saying that... -- in the mare’s eyes. And not just with him. There was something else in her eyes. Things he had seen in the reflection of his own eyes. Pain, loss, rage, sadness...loneliness. He mentally filed this away, telling himself to ask her about those reflections of himself. “You must know I...” He paused, glancing around. “I’m not from around here, and seeing as you know more about me than most do...” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “you wouldn’t mind tell me your secrets?” She chuckled. “You’re still pretty bad at that one, Doc.” The grin on her face was somewhere between angelic and haunted, but testified to him the genuine happiness she seemed to be feeling in that moment. “But, I digress. As I said before, I am Octavia Melodyssey. My father was Octavio, my mother was Cavatina Philharmonica. I played with the Royal Canterlot Orchestra from N.L. 998 to 1053, and I had a colt with Vinyl Scratch, but he...he died only a few months after he was born.” She took a swig of whatever drink was in her glass before continuing. “Mother told me the day I was born, a strange stallion came to visit her, and myself, by extension, in the post-natal ward. He said, ‘She will do great things.’ I suppose it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who that was.” She deadpanned at the time lord. He lowered his head, grinning like a fool. “I’ll make a note to do that.” Octavia subtly rolled her eyes. “I grew up with you at my side, Doctor. And you did too.” She swiveled on a hind hoof, waving at her surroundings. “You made me a better person, and I’d like to think I made you a better pony. You helped me find who I was meant to become, what I needed to do to become that. I don’t know that I could ever repay that.” The Doctor hesitated for moment. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ clause in there somewhere.” His eyes flitted around, a wave of paranoia crashing over him like some sort of precursor to a tsunami of danger yet unseen. Octavia glanced out the not-quite-closed blinds, stiffening as she felt the moon call out to her from its quarter-night perch. A passing envy of Luna’s ultimate control over the celestial body flitted through her brain, before being swept away in an incoherent fury of other emotions. “Yes, Doctor. There is.” The Doctor’s eyes widened as hers turned to lock with his. “I’m a ferocious hellbeast, intent on absolutely mutilating everything I find threatening.” He noted with mounting alarm that her fur had lengthened, she had gained perhaps a half-foot of height over his medium-height stallion form, and, rather off-puttingly, her voice had dropped an octave between the two sentences. “And right now, my head is telling me-AGH!” She dropped to her knees as the transformation overtook her muscle control. He dropped off his seat, about to race to help her, but she put in a considerable effort to raise her - now beclawed - hoof and stop him. “My head is telling me you’re a threat.” Her eyes flicked open, slitted pupils glowing golden, black lips pulling back to reveal pointed canines. “Run.” The command was all he needed, turning tail and fleeing out the kitchen doorway, looking for the nearest exit that would take him to his TARDIS, his box of respite. He bolted out the back door, which he had left open, he noted with some guilt and some thankfulness, and took a flying leap off the stairs to the backyard. He heard crashing and scrabbling feet on tile as he shoved the door to the time and space machine open. He dashed to the opposite side of the console, intent on locking himself in before the — What do I call her? Ponolf? Wereny? Lycanthropony? He settled on werepony for the time being — could enter. He glanced up as he spun, threw, pushed, and tweaked various knobs, switches, buttons, and settings respectively. His face dropped as he spied her at a full sprint, teeth bared. He panicked, moving his hooves as quickly as the ungainly things would let him. The sound of crunching grass changing to clicking claws alerted him to the fact that he had not been fast enough. He gritted his teeth. Time for a new plan. “I’m not quite sure how much you know of me, miss Octavia Melodyssey.” His hooves worked manically to change as much as he could in the few milliseconds he had, and when the cellist-turned-wolf had gotten too close for comfort, he darted to the opposing side of the console, again manically flipping and twisting levers and dials. “But if you knew the first thing about me.” Again he darted, pulling, twirling, whacking. “You would know that I never.” Throw. “Ever.” Turn. “Run.” Smash. The TARDIS began its scraping, whirling startup procedure, and the werepony howled, clutching at her head. The Doctor’s head jerked around to face the source of the noise. His mood dropped instantly when he saw the writhing form of the cellist whimpering in pain. That ruined a perfectly good post-monologue high. He cautiously padded over to the mewling wolf, keeping his distance but still trying to find a source of her pain. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, dropping low and attempting to look into her tightly shut eyes. She rolled pathetically across the floor of his roving home, holding her head with appendages that phased erratically between hoof and paw. He felt the jostle of the TARDIS as it settle into its parking phase 12 hours ahead, and then realized what had happened. The movement of the TARDIS inside the time vortex must have toyed with her natural clock. It would have unbalanced the natural phase length of her transformation, and stuck while she remains inside the TARDIS. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily and settling onto his haunches. Silly old Doctor. His eyes opened, and he made his way to the noticeably less active werewolf and threw her onto his back, subconsciously noting his sudden innate strength. The sensation of the body parts changing on his coat felt like nothing he could describe. “Time to go in, wolfie.” He walked to the door, pony in tow, and pushing it open, observed a sunny day, with green grass sprouted happily at his feet. He felt the weight on his back shift, becoming smaller and less active, and heard a light snore. He smiled inwardly, keen to not destroy the moment. He paced forward, heading towards the house. Making his way inside, he saw the carnage she had left the previous night. He simply shook his head and made his way upstairs, looking for a bedroom where he could leave his charge. The sleeping form of the pseudo-alicorn blacklisted the first bedroom, but it was quickly followed by another bedroom opposite and slightly further down the way. The Doctor gently laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers over over her sleeping form. “You did, Octavia. And I’m sure you’ll continue to.” He patted the covers and looked up wistfully. “But I think it’s time I met someone properly.” He stood and made for the door, but hesitated in the sill as he heard her speak. “You made me...Doctor.” He glanced back and smiled at her. “Sleep well, my little wolfie.” He turned and headed out, not sparing a second glance as he cantered easily downstairs. If he had been listening, he might not have been smiling as she spoke again. “...But she will make you.”