Sunday Evening: Questions
The sky grayed with the rude entrance of the storm clouds, disturbing what was a perfectly sunny day. The light filtered through the barred windows, filling the concrete floor of the interrogation room with its slanted pattern. Octavia sat motionless at a long, white table, staring at a brown pitcher filled with what the cellist guessed to be water. The door to the room opened, breaking her thoughts.
“Hello, Miss Octavia,” saluted a stallion’s voice.
The cellist looked up and saw a police stallion with abundant facial hair dressed in a beige suit, a shiny golden badge partially hiding behind a neatly pressed vest. He closed the door and walked to the seat across from the mare and reached over for the brown pitcher.
“Thirsty?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of water.
“No thank you,” she replied.
The cop pulled back a quick gulp of his glass and set it down next to a folder that had been in the room with Octavia the entire time she was there.
“Miss Octavia, I’m Lieutenant Hardball, and I’m gonna be asking you some questions regarding an incident that occurred last Friday night by your apartment suite. But before I begin, I have to ask if you would like to speak with your lawyer first.”
“I don’t have one,” she said, smoothing down the hairs on her leg.
“Very well. Then let’s get started, shall we?”
She nodded.
The police stallion picked up the envelope and began to unwind the string that kept its contents confidential. His suspect sitting across gazed at his hoof, entranced by the swirling motion that would eventually reveal what they had gathered from the scene she remembered all too well.
“Alrighty then, Miss Octavia, can you tell me if you recognize that fella right there?”
He grabbed a large photograph and slid it across the table until it was inches away from the cellist’s chest. She ducked down to take a closer look when she immediately recognized the arrogant smirk and the blue mustache.
“Yes. His name is Fancy Pants.”
“Good. Can you please tell me in what ways you’ve come to know him?”
“Yes. He used to come to our practice sessions, attempting to woo us to sign a lucrative label.”
“And you refused?”
“That’s correct.”
“Did that create any tension at all, Miss Octavia?”
The cellist nodded. “My compatriots were on board with the idea, which bothered me to say the least. I mean, we started the group on the basis of love for music, not the love for fame and fortune. But one day, I walked into a music studio where rehearsals were moved and found our pianist talking with Fancy Pants about a deal.”
“And that made you pretty angry I bet?”
She nodded again. “I thought we had made it quite clear since the beginning about where we stood as a group on record deals, but it seemed the majority had changed the dynamic of the group without consenting me first. I walked out of the group after that.”
The police stallion put a hoof to his rough chin. “I see. Now, according to the file we have on you, you refused to sign a contract that would’ve cemented your group with his record label.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“Now that’s really interesting, Miss Octavia.”
“How so?”
The cop rested his forelegs behind his head and leaned back. “Why would Fancy Pants give each member an individual contract for something that sounds like a group deal?”
The cellist didn’t respond.
“Sounds fishy if you ask me.”
“Well, I never thought of that personally, but perhaps every member needs to sign something on the dotted line for it to become official. It doesn’t make sense to have only one representative on a contract.”
“I guess so, but couldn’t he have just had everypony sign on one contract? Why’d he make four?”
“I have no idea, Lieutenant.”
“Interesting.” The police stallion gathered himself in a regular seating position and reached into his envelope. “Anyways, just curious really. Has nothing to do with our little investigation here. Now, can you tell me what this here picture is of?”
He slid another picture in front of Octavia. This time, it featured the janitor lying lifeless on the sidewalk of her apartment. Just like she left him.
“Y-Yes. It’s the janitor from my apartment complex.”
“Got any idea what happened to him?” he asked, his voice becoming more serious.
“W-well,” she began. “I saw him on the night in question. I was trying to enter my apartment when the key wouldn’t turn. I left to peek inside my window when I noticed all of my belongings were gone.”
“Wait a sec,” the cop interrupted. “All your stuff was gone and you didn’t report it?”
“Well, I didn’t think to at the time. And besides, I don’t own a cell phone so I had no way of reaching the police at the moment.”
“Weird. Go on.”
“So, I heard someone locking my door, and it was this gentlecolt. I asked if I could gain entrance into my apartment, but he wouldn’t allow it because I could’ve been a robber or something. I used his cell phone to call my mother to convince him to let me in, but for some reason, she said she didn’t know me.”
“So, does she own the place?”
“Well, my father does, but she’s an executive partner.”
“Interesting.”
The cellist sighed. “I tried to convince him that I was who I said I was, the daughter of the owner, but he wouldn’t listen. I grabbed him by the shoulders and pled with him, but he told me to let go. I did, and he tripped down the stairs.”
The police stallion leaned forward and stared at Octavia. “Didja kill him?”
“What? No! I mean, harm him, perhaps. But it was an accident, I swear!”
“Continue, and lower the volume please, Miss Octavia.”
“Yes, of course, forgive me.” She swallowed hard. “I followed him down stairs and he was motioning to me to reach into his pocket. I pulled out a prescription bottle, but it was empty. I searched for his cell phone and found it among the bushes and dialed the authorities. That’s when I discovered he was…dead.”
“I see.” Hardball scratched some notes into a yellow pad and rested his pen on his lip. “Then what did you do?”
Octavia licked her lips. “I ran.”
“You ran?”
“Yes, from the scene, literally. I didn’t know what to do. I feared if I had stayed, the cops that were dispatched would’ve arrested me for murder. I-I guess it was instinct, you could say.”
“Yes, instinct for guilty ponies.”
“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”
“If you don’t mind, Miss Octavia,” he said, fiddling the envelope. “I’ll be the one asking the questions.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” she replied.
“What did you do after your ran?”
“I wandered around aimlessly for a while until I realized I had left my cello case back at my apartment with my cello inside. I was confident that by then the authorities would have left scene already. I returned to find not my cello case, but a coupon.”
“A coupon? For what?”
“A coupon for one free extra-large yogurt at the Canterlot Medical Center,” she said, drawing circles on the table. “It had balloons on it and the text suggested it was made for a small child. That’s when I remembered I had promised a filly I would visit her and her friend at the hospital on Saturday.”
“What filly?”
“Just a filly I met at Seaport Village. I don’t suppose you need a name, do you?”
“No. She’s irrelevant to the case. How did you make it to the hospital?”
“Well, I didn’t have a car or any money, so I figured I’d walk. With several breaks in between to rest, I figured I’d make it to the hospital in about four to five hours. It was three in the morning by then, so I would have made it by the time the filly would’ve awoken.”
The police stallion reached into the envelope and pulled out a sheet filled with numbers. “According to this copy of hospital records, cameras picked you up arriving sometime after 9 pm. What happened in all that time in between?”
“It took me a little longer than expected.”
“You mean to tell me it took you eighteen hours to get from your apartment to the hospital?” The police stallion chuckled and brushed his mustache. “Either you’re the slowest walker in all Equestria, or there’s something to your story that you’re leaving out.”
“Well, if you’ll allow me to explain,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Uh, sure, sorry. Go on, Miss Octavia,” he said, still smiling.
“Thank you.” She smoothed out her mane and continued her testimony. “I am a musician, not an athlete if you couldn’t tell. And aside from that, I hadn’t had any sleep, so after about two hours of walking I became more tired than expected. I paused to rest on a bench. It was just going to be for a moment, but then I found myself waking up to a late afternoon sunset.”
“So, you walked for a couple hours, fell asleep on some bench like a homeless pony, and then walked the rest of the way. Am I right, Miss Octavia?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “As I awoke, I noticed someone had left a purse with a few bits inside next to the bench. At first I thought maybe some mare had accidently left it, but then I realized that I had taken up the whole space of the bench when I fell asleep, which only meant one thing.”
“Somepony left it there for you,” Lieutenant Hardball said.
The cellist nodded. “I decided to use the bits to hitch a ride on a taxi. It took a while to flag one down, but eventually I was able to get to the Canterlot Medical Center at approximately nine o’clock, just as the records indicate.”
The door to the interrogation room opened and a police officer marched to the Lieutenant, bending down to whisper something into his ears. Octavia fidgeted her hooves under the table as the Lieutenant nodded slightly. When the police officer left, he grabbed all the photos and placed them back into the envelope.
“Well, Miss Octavia,” he said with a soft smile. “Seems like you’re off the hook. Your story matches both receipt records and eyewitness accounts at the hospital cafeteria.”
“Receipt records?” she said.
“That coupon you were talking about? Turns out a grey mare redeemed it last night around 9:30 pm for one free extra-large yogurt. You’re free to go, Miss Octavia.”
“Just like that?” she asked. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but I thought there would be more to this.”
“If you’re referring to your little scuffle with the croaked janitor, don’t sweat it. As far as I can tell, the old geezer tripped on his own and it was his forgetting to refill his prescription that killed him.”
Lieutenant Hardball stood up from the table and opened the door for his ex-suspect. She walked out, pausing after a few steps to address her former interrogator. “Lieutenant Hardball?”
“Yes, Miss Octavia?”
“I sort of have a favor to ask of you, if that’s alright.”
The cop grinned. “What? You wanna spend the night in a cell or something?”
“No,” she said, chuckling lightly. “I was wondering if you knew anything about a friend of mine.”
“Is she connected to this case?”
“In fact, she is. She was the sousaphone player in our group. Her name’s Susie Tuba.”
The lieutenant scratched his shoulder. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, but if she’s connected to this case, I can’t reveal anything to anypony.”
“I really just want to know if she’s okay.”
The lieutenant looked over his shoulder and spoke with a low voice. “Alright. Apparently, she got into a little accident yesterday in her Fancy Pants’s car.”
“What was she doing in his car?”
“Didn’t you know? Susie Tuba is the daughter of the stallion who tried to make money off you.”
The mare gasped.
“I don’t really know much else, but she’s in the Canterlot Trauma Center. Doctor’s weren’t too hopeful.
Octavia gripped the door knob and bit the tips of her hoof. Oh no. Susie Tuba.
“If you wanna go see her, I’d suggest you go now before someone wants to ask you more questions.”
“Yes. Thank you Lieutenant.”
Octavia made her way to the front doors of the police station, her pace quickened by the urgency of her friend’s situation.
I’m glad she’s still alive, but what if she dies before I get there?
What am I saying, she won’t die, but who knows?
Fancy Pants is her father? How did this happen?
Uncertainty turned into confusion, and confusion degraded into guilt. Her heart fell with every step closer to the exit as if she were carrying large bags of sand, each spilling at the seams with the coarseness of fear, anxiety, guilt, and shame. As she reached for the door, a duo of police officers barged in, knocking the cellist off her feet. An elderly looking mare they apprehended shook in her temporary harness violently, but her efforts were proving fruitless to escape.
“Unhoof me you idiots! You have no idea what you’re doing!”
As soon as Octavia stood to her hooves, she froze at the sound of the familiar voice.
Mother?
“Well well, and who is this?” asked Lieutenant Hardball.
“We found several calls to Fancy Pants on her record on the night after the discovery of the janitor,” announced 5-0, emerging from the one of the cubicles and handing the lieutenant a record sheet. “All were within one hour of the time the crime was committed.”
“Making sure the job gets off without a hitch,” he said, looking over the papers. He looked up at Octavia’s mother and flashed a grin. “Or were you calling your little sweetheart?”
“You’re making a giant mistake, Lieutenant.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The group walked into the hallways of the station, disappearing into the bustle of the afternoon’s normal activities. The cellist remained frozen with shock, a whirlwind of emotion drifting her light head into a daze of confusion and exhaustion. She felt her hooves give way on the cold, tile floor and the rush of the fall pulling her down to it. Her weary face would’ve met with the flat surface had it not been for the aura of purple magic that surrounded her, overpowering the force of gravity and lifting her gently towards a nearby bench. She could sense a light, fuzzy presence blowing on her skin, but the sideways view of the station threw her off guard. The world flying outwards from the sides of her head as if she were being pulled back only served to heighten her anxiety, but her turbulent spirits were quickly calmed as soon as her rear touched the woody seat and the world was upright.
“Octavia, are you okay?” asked a gentle voice.
The cellist shook her head and focused her eyes on her rescuer.
“Twilight? What are you doing here?”
“I rushed in as soon as I saw you falling. I’m really glad I caught you just in the nick of time. How are you feeling?”
“A little tired,” she responded, rubbing her head.
“Was the questioning really intense?”
“Not particularly, but the event that occurred afterward could be described as such.”
“What happened?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now, Twilight,” she said, her voice cracking. “Can we please maybe go outside?”
“Of course. Everypony’s waiting outside for you.”
“Really?” The cellist looked out the glass doors and, sure enough, everyone from the hospital save Rainbow Dash, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom stood on the stony steps of the station waiting anxiously for the grey mare to emerge, well they hoped.
“I hope that won’t be a problem. They just wanted to make sure you were okay after your rendezvous here at the police station.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. She got up from her seat and walked towards the exit.
The unicorn caught up with the earth pony and the two walked out into the bursting sunlight, using their forelegs to shield the sudden encounter.
“There they are,” yelled Applejack, pointing. The other ponies stood to their hooves and bore welcoming smiles tainted with worry.
“Darling, are you alright?” asked Rarity, her eyes large with concern.
“Did they hurt you?” asked Pinkie Pie.
Octavia paused a moment to look at the pink pony with distaste. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I wasn’t hurt. They just asked questions, that’s all.”
She continued towards the street, barely acknowledging the other ponies that were there.
“I just wanted to know,” said a dejected Pinkie.
“Octavia, dear,” said Rarity, following the grey mare down the sidewalk towards the intersection. She was followed by Applejack. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“No, thank you.”
The pursuing mares looked at each other.
“Y’all sure y’all ‘re alright?”
The cellist stopped right at the corner and turned to address her followers, a look of annoyance featured on her face. “I am fine. I just need to spend some time alone, which means you two can go back with the others at the hospital.”
“But where will you go, my dear? It will become dark soon and a mare in your condition needs to be indoors.”
“You’d be surprised, Rarity.”
She turned around and walked alone to the other side of the street, leaving the two ponies struck with disbelief. Back at the police station, Twilight and Pinkie sat on the steps watching the sun set behind fluffy clouds of purple and orange.
“Hey,” piped Pinkie. “Where’s Fluttershy?”
“That’s a good question,” replied Twilight, looking around her. “I thought she was right here.”
“I thought she went with Rarity and Applejack to talk to Octy.”
“She’s not with us,” said Rarity, arriving along with her farm friend to where the two ponies sat. “We thought she was here with you.”
“Well, she couldn’t have gotten lost,” said Twilight.
The mares thought for a silent moment before Applejack took her hat off and looked up into the darkening sky.
“Y’all know that Fluttershy’s the only one that can fly out of all of us, right?”
The ponies mimicked the farm pony’s gesture and sure enough, the light pink tail fluttered softly in the night wind and disappeared into the sky like a wayward balloon.
“Where do you think she’s going?” asked Rarity.
“Maybe there’s a poor little bunny hanging on the edge of a cliff that needs saving!” suggested Pinkie Pie.
“I highly doubt there’s a small, troubled creature that’s caught Fluttershy’s interest,” said Twilight. “But I think there’s definitely a pony who has.”
“Oh Fluttershy, doesn’t she know Octavia’s wantin’ some peace and quiet right about now?”
Twilight sighed. “I don’t know Applejack. Maybe that’s exactly what she’ll get from the most peaceful, quiet pony we know.”
Octavia kicked an empty soda can off the sidewalk into the lonely street and grunted. She looked up at the sky for the first time in a long while and noticed that the sun just barely peeked over the mountains beyond the horizon. The sudden arrival of nighttime angered her even more.
“Dammit!”
She set her sore rump on the edge of the sidewalk and brought up her knees, burying her head between them. Light drops of sweat trickled down her muzzle giving her an annoying tickling sensation which she swiped away with more force than needed. As a result, she scratched herself with her coarse hoof, and the stinging took no time in sending the bothered cellist into a fit of internal rage. She simply hissed through gritted teeth, and allowed the floodgates to open from her eyes.
What’s next?
As if answering her thoughts, a notepad flew out of the window of a passing car and landed with a slap on the sidewalk next to the crying musician. She looked at it whilst wiping her eyes, curiosity shifting her sight down the road where she spotted the speeding vehicle crossing the intersection, ignoring the red light. She looked back at the cover of the notepad.
Math.
How strange. Who would throw their math notebook out the window?
She opened the gently used notepad and found several scribbles of formulas and practice problems filling the first ten pages. The next twenty or so pages were covered in random doodles.
A spaceship.
A field of futuristic looking plants and flowers.
A pony with robotic legs and a visor across the eyes.
It’s obvious where this pony’s mind was during class.
The cellist closed the book and set it to her right, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it, no matter how strange its contents seemed.
“I’ve got to find a pen,” she mumbled to herself.
She looked all around her and, as fate would have it, a capless pen rested snuggly within the crack between two sidewalk blocks. She reached over for it then grabbed the notepad and opened it to the next blank page. She scribbled a set of curls on the top of the page until the ink reappeared from its elongated slumber.
“Good, it works,” she said, smiling for the first time all day.
She folded the pad over and rested it on her lap. She looked up into the sky and thought about her next entry.
Her first entry in two days.
April 17, 2012
Early evening
Two days.
It feels more like two weeks. Maybe even two years.
What does a pony say when they haven’t spoken with a friend for so long? I wouldn’t know since I rarely converse with anyone. I would imagine it to be like returning to a hobby after leaving it for some time. I couldn’t tell you how that would feel either since cello is all I’ve ever done. Maybe it’s like eating a favorite meal after a long time dining on other things on the menu? I haven’t had a decently cooked meal in so long, I may as well be a food critic with no sense of taste.
No. I don’t know what it’s like to go back to something after abandoning it. This is rather sad. I’ve always had something to do that was consistently present. My cello would always wait upright next to my bed for the next practice session. My bow tie never had a speck of dirt on it; instead, it was clean and fresh and presentable throughout the day. My apartment was always orderly, clean, and safe. And the lock always opened whenever I turned the key.
My entire day was scripted to perfection with firm scenes and dependable players. Some ponies consider this a blessing. I can see what they mean.
I’ve experienced the other end of the world.
It all began with a failing transmission. I don’t even remember the estimate given to me.
Would I take back all that I’ve seen, heard, even smelled?
It’s hard to say. I felt comfortable in my little niche. It was a place where I could freely be me and there was nopony there to deny, criticize, or express disdain. If I wanted, I could conduct a symphony right there in my living room and everyone would stand up in a rousing cheer at the sound of the last note. I could escape into the depths of my blankets and allow the warmth to envelope my weary body and lose my consciousness within. I had the right to voice my own opinion and I had the power of consensus. No one could challenge me, I was the best. I was the smartest, the most talented, and the prettiest. I was whatever I set my mind to.
I was the best.
Then, I was the worst.
Why can irony be found in consistency? Perhaps the real mystery is this: Is there consistency? Where can it be discovered, created, planted, harvested, rejuvenated, reborn, or accepted? Should ponies even wish for consistency? I do. Celestia knows I do. Every waking moment is now a desperate search for some kind of solid meaning to all of this mess. I can tell you, oh I will be the first to raise my hoof and say that I have sought after consistency like…
Like…
A magic student with her teacher’s rules and a poor stallion’s concerns in her heart.
A farm pony juggling an ailing little sister and a farm in need of attention.
An athlete seeking optimum performance with minimal effort.
A lyrist whose decisions were made for her since the beginning.
Replace “lyrist” with “cellist.”
My cello. Is not mine really.
It was yours.
It was your dream.
Your dream was it.
I was your dream.
Was I your dream?
I was yours.
Who am I?
The pen quivered in its place, the hoof of a writing cellist. But it wasn’t music that was penned. And they weren’t tears of joy that decorated the pages.
Who am I?
Suddenly, a gentle hoof placed itself on top of the trembling one, and with soft, swift movements guided the troubled mare to write:
You are Octavia.
“Now you write it,” said the voice of the hoof.
The cellist’s breathing shook as she felt the warm guiding hoof separate from hers. The air was cold, but the voice from behind remained calm.
“Go ahead, Octavia. Write who you are.”
“But, how do I know this is me? I’m just a shell of my parents. Of my father.”
“Not anymore.”
The cellist’s voice shook. “How do you know?”
The hoof touched her cheek with gentle wisdom that soothed the beats of her heart. The other hoof reached down and together, they hugged her neck with wise love.
“Thy Princess knows that a thousand years is not enough time to overpower the dormant truth inside.”
The grey mare turned around and gazed into the face of the ruler of the night, her deep blue mane flowing with ease, a smile so warm that it pierced the darkness she regally oversaw. Octavia was wide-eyed, speechless, and frozen.
“Thou art not a shell of thine father, but a pearl of infinite beauty and worth formed by experience and valued by many.”
Princess Luna looked behind her and out from the corner of a building, Fluttershy poked her head and smiled at Octavia. The cellist just stared at the pegasus with a reverence that was still analyzing the significance of the moment. After a moment of pensive silence, the grey mare broke free of the ruler’s embrace and bent down to pick up the pen and pad.
“So, I’m…”
“Yes,” said Luna, preparing to take flight into the dark sky.
The cellist opened to the page she wrote on and penned the words:
I am Octavia.
She slowly picked up her head and found Luna smiling down at her like a mother would do to her daughter. And the earth pony couldn’t help but allow a childlike grin to accompany her sparkling eyes of wonderment.
“Enjoy the night, Octavia, for it signals the soon arrival of a new day.”
Princess Luna spread her feathered wings and with the grace of a shooting star she lifted herself up into the night, the power of tempestuous wind reverencing the two ponies remaining on the ground. The wind enveloped and soothed the cellist, shutting her eyes, raising her hooves, quieting her heart and silencing her rattling spirits. Fluttershy emerged from her hiding spot and walked next to Octavia, a look on her face showing a fear to touch the anointed.
“Octavia?”
The grey pony looked down in her notes, then back to the shy pegasus with a smile.
“Yes, that is my name. What is it that you want, friend?”
A toothy grin exploded onto Fluttershy’s face, and with the excitement of a morning teapot, she wrapped her legs around the musician and shared the happiness and joy of the moment. For a minute they lost themselves in the warmth of the embrace, not the passage of cars nor the flickering of old, weathered streetlamps detracted a single iota from the sentiment. For the first time, Octavia had something to hold onto that was alive.
“Thank you for coming, my dear Fluttershy,” said Octavia, breaking away from the embrace to wipe her eyes.
The yellow pony just smiled and cleared her own tears away, eliciting a few giggles from the pony across from her.
“Tell me something, Fluttershy. Did you invite the Princess here?”
She blushed. “Well, I just thought if anyone could help you, it would be her.”
The earth pony’s eyes grew wide. “But how on earth did you manage to convince her to come so easily?”
“That’s what makes the Princesses so amazing,” she said, looking up at the stars. “Even though they have so much responsibility, they always have time for a hurting pony. Sometimes, I even wonder if they’re really…”
“…like us?” completed Octavia.
Fluttershy nodded.
“As do I.”
“What’s that place?” asked Fluttershy.
The two mares began the trek back towards the center of downtown Canterlot and Octavia took it upon herself to introduce the visiting pony a few notable places along the way.
“That’s the Gaslamp Quarter. As you can tell, it is still lit using the old gaslamps and features very exclusive dining and shopping. I believe Hoity Toity owns a few shops here.”
“Rarity would love this place,” said Fluttershy.
“And over here,” continued Octavia, pointing to the left. “Is Horton Plaza. It’s a rather simple mall, but every winter it boasts the largest ice skating rink in all of Equestria, right in the middle of the food court.”
“Oh, sounds fun!”
“We used to go all the time, my father and I. And right next to Horton Plaza is the world renowned Museum of Natural History.”
Fluttershy stopped her steps and marveled at the large pillars from bottom to top that supported the ruin-like statues of ancient pegasus ponies battling the ruthless earth ponies in one of the most memorable battles ever fought.
“That’s amazing.”
“My father and I loved going every Wednesday when the admission was free for children. He loved looking at the paintings. His favorite style was still life.”
The musician paused her steps and looked to the ground, a pensive look of someone lost replacing her former joyous appearance of the tour guide. Her pegasus friend stopped much later, having to back track just to be within conversing distance.
“You okay, Octavia?”
“My apologies, Fluttershy. I guess I haven’t fully grasped what I’ve been taught by the Princess tonight.”
“I’m sure it’ll take some time to get used to, but you have us.”
“Us?”
The pegasus nodded. “Yeah. I mean, us girls from Ponyville. I’m sure the others would be more than happy to help you however you need it.”
“A place to stay would be nice,” said the cellist with a sigh coming at the end.
The yellow pony gasped. “You mean, you don’t even have a home? You poor thing!”
“No, it’s alright. I’m sure I can find a decently priced place soon. That is, as soon as I can find a job first.”
“This is just horrible!” The pegasus began to pace. “I didn’t know you were homeless! Oh goodness! You must come to Ponyville. I’m sure all of us would let you stay in our homes until you find your hooves. In fact, they’d insist. I insist!”
Octavia chuckled at her friend’s emotional pleas. “Well, I mean that’s kind of you to offer, but I’d hate to intrude on such short notice.”
“No, Octavia, it wouldn’t be intrusion. I mean, you can do whatever you want, but when they hear you don’t have a place to stay. Oh! I just can’t even begin to imagine how many offers you’d get for staying. You simply must come to Ponyville with us.”
The cellist smiled. “You won’t take no for an answer, am I correct?”
The shy pony lowered her head. “Well, I didn’t mean to sound so pushy, but I can’t stand the thought of you living on the streets with nopony to go to, whereas you have plenty of friends that love you so much in Ponyville. But you’re right. It’s your choice to make.”
Octavia couldn’t help but laugh, then she couldn’t help but hug a worried friend. “Then I’d better pack my things!”
This time Fluttershy was the one who couldn’t contain her joy, as she wrapped her hooves around the cellist once again and nearly squeezed the notes out of her. “Oh, you’re just gonna love Ponyville! There’s the library, and Sugarcube Corner, and Sweet Apple Acres, and so many other wonderful things!”
“I can’t wait,” began Octavia, breaking from the tight embrace. “But first, I need to see somepony.”
“Who? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“That’s the thing.”
Octavia sat on the steps of the museum, followed by her pegasus friend. “I have good reasons for both, but I don’t think I can see both.”
“Why?”
“Well, a friend is in the hospital fighting for her life with a negative outlook. My mother is probably being sentenced to a long time in prison, and quite honestly I have no desire to see her but for one thing.”
“And what is that,” pressed Fluttershy.
Octavia sighed. “She’s the only one who knows where my father is, but if I go to see him, I may miss out of being by Susie's side for her last breaths of life. I’m tied. If I go to one, I’ll regret not seeing the other.”
“So, what are you gonna do?” asked Fluttershy.
“Such a common question to which I haven’t the faintest answer.”
“Well, what would Octavia do?”
The musician looked at the pegasus, piqued by the question. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know what your old self would do, but what about the real you? What would she do, knowing what she knows now?”
Octavia thought for a moment. “I know the old me would’ve ran to mother, begged for forgiveness, and maybe skip asking for her father’s whereabouts. The old me would also avoid her mother completely and walk to the hospital, hoping that Susie would make it through the night behind a closed door.”
“And now?”
“Now,” she said, standing up. “She does what’s best for her.”
“And what is that,” asked Fluttershy, standing with her.
Octavia looked down the street and saw the two places of high importance. One to the left, the other to the right. She took a deep breath and walked, her pegasus friend following close.
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I love this story, I really do.
I believe it's the first Octavia based story I've read and it'll definitely be one I won't forget anytime soon.
Keep up the brilliant work!
M.Mother fucking BEAUTIFUL.
I knew I was onto something when I first found this ge
Ponyville = Paradise
Canterlot = Detroit
Nuff said. ;D
Manly tears have been shed.
Finally an update!
ALL THE CRY!
Nice adding Luna into the mix.
Keep it up.
Holy shit, Canterlot's like fucking Manchester.
Mint as always. Feeling sad that the end seems to be nearer. Oh well.
you can bet your arse that I'll be reading your future stuff as well.
Amazing story and not sure if I've said this before, but thank you for making an Octavia story that does not involve shipping her with vinyl.
I almost cried dude(or dudette). and im a senior in high school. dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Octavia.png
You know what that means?dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Octavia_O_O.png
You sir (or mam), have done an amazing job so far.dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Vinyl_Scratch.png
Luna's appearance kinda felt like a deus ex machina.
Also, why can't she just go see Susie, then her mother?
Thank you again for giving this to me.
Aw snap!
There are only but a few words to describe this:
"Bravo! Brava Bravissimo! Encore, Encore!"
You, fair author, are a masterful weaver of tales.
... Damn. I'm floored by this. What a turnabout!
No matter what Octavia chooses, thanks to Luna and the girls... she's on a certain path now. And that's truly a wonderful place to be.
876436
Actually I'm not. I'm from Phoenix, but was born and raised for half my life in San Diego, from which most of the places I name by name in OTTB are inspired from. Museum of Natural History I think is just a very common name for a museum, and I had no idea there was one in NY. I also never thought (based on the comments above) that so many major cities would share similar characteristics. It's kinda neat really
... It stopped? No! Why did it stop!?!
iambrony.steeph.tp-radio.de/mlp/gif/133027617488.gif
I sense we're coming close to wrapping things up. Don't stop now!
Finally an uplifting chapter after so much (admittedly entertaining) melodrama! dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Lyra.png
And hooray for Luna cameo
873375 This is the first Octy story I read that isn't Octy Scratch!
I am loving the story, and can't help but wonder if it was left open-ended as an invitation to the readers, to see what they would like Octavia to do.
876964
So there's one in San Diego too? The things i don't know..
I read this entire story. Then I voted up. Then I faved. Then I email-updated. Now I wait.
I liked this chapter a lot.
Go see your mom and demand that bitch tell you where your father's at
Well well well... what a story... what a chapter. At first I thought the questions would just be about questions asked at the police station... then it turns into one of the most important questions of all. 'Who am I?'
I thought it was Fluttershy at first that had written 'You are Octavia', however I find it a lot more fitting that it is Luna to help her. I believe that the Princess of the Night would have that 'Who am I?' problem herself.
Now... the choice... both linked to her old life one way or another... and one choice over the other will show how Octavia has left her old life behind.
By going to see her mother and find out the location of her father, Octavia would finally be able to overcome her fear for her mother. To show that she will no longer obey her every order.
By going to see her friend, she'll also show that she is not a robot and able to make connections to ponies... strong ones. As well as over her father who she seemed to be clinging to a lot.
Both have their pro's and con's... I personally think that the second one would most likely be the most mature of the options...
Being a sucker for a happy ending however, I want their to be a third option were both happens... or I guess you could do two chapters were she picked a different choice....
874440
Rule of Drama
april 17.
My birthday!
This is quite the tragic story, it is such a beautifully written piece and I have so much emotion for what is going on here. I am really looking forward to the next installment and am really excited to see what octavia does next. Keep up the good work!