You should take up smoking. Seriously. Everyone in this town has a /thing/ so you should get one too. So far you've only seen minotaurs and griffons smoking, and they only drop by this little town once in awhile. You could be like the local smoking monkey. On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea.
Sundays are the only times you have off. Between tough work at the train station and sleeping the whole of Saturday to rest off all that hard work you have little free time. You spend it walking mostly. Ironic, exerting yourself when you've got a long day tomorrow. Whatever, doesn't matter, the system works.
You go for your walks on Sunday mornings. Today is quiet. A few ponies trot around, one or two wave at you — maybe recognizing you from the train station. Not to be rude but you can't really recognize any of them. Maybe they're just being sweet. Speaking of sweet.
Maybe you should get a girl. It's nice to have a partner, isn't it? A warm feel lights up your chest, that's weird. Most people in town are already paired off. Seems being single in Ponyville is unusual. You haven't really been looking but now that you think about it most mares are wrapped around stallions, husbands and boyfriends. Or would it be coltfriends? Then what's the word for husband in pony. . .?
At noon you usually stop at a cafe, whatever is closest, most are good. The Blue Moon is your favorite though. Today you dropped into the Red Dress. It's a new place you think. Small, not too many tables, their menu is about as limited as the seating. You aren't complaining though, means less people to bother you. You sit out in the patio, the sectioned-off open air place in the back.
Three tables out here, one with an umbrella cover. It's such a mild day you decide to pick the completely open one. The slight chill just biting enough that the heat from the drink would do away with it. You'd be caught in a small little bubble of caffeine that would ward off the cold magically.
Perfect day for a cup of Joe! And it seems someone else agrees with you. A grey, angry looking mare sits across from you at the other table, coffee in front of her, staring intently at the tabletop. She's alright. The hair, er, mane. Black but almost silvery in the light. Long lashes, curled just a little.
You sort of like gruff girls. They have a certain quality, you don't have to baby them. Something about her tired eyes, tense form and aggressive air makes you want to approach her. That's kind of a stupid idea, isn't it? Disturbing someone trying to relax. Your muscles tense up and your mind flicks between options. Ah, to approach or not approach. To be young and lacking confidence again!
Picking up your coffee and sitting across from her is going to be quite the trip. Ponies are usually really open, she probably won't turn you away, even if she wants to. If she wants you gone you'll read her body language, down that coffee and split. If she wants you to stay, maybe you'll make a friend. Well it's now or never, you think, cupping the underside of the dish with your hand. It's natural!
As quickly (but also as carefully) as possible you skirt around your table and settle down next to the mare. She scowls up at you from the table. Your face can't seem to form a smile right now so you just move your eyebrows up.
"May I help you?" She questions.
Hmm, nice voice. Pleasantly deep, assertive.
"Well?"
Oh, damn, you've been staring at her, eyebrows raised, for far too long.
"I just, I just felt... Hmm."
"You felt... Hmm?" She asks, mocking you a bit, putting on a condescending face.
"I felt compelled to sit with you," you blurt out suddenly, if you had more time to think about it you may have convinced yourself that bravado was a smart move.
"Is that right?" she says, eyes getting ready to roll themselves.
"Yes, that's right," you get a hold of yourself and say it proudly, puffing out your chest.
You sip at your coffee with the faintest twinge of nervousness. The wind picks up just enough to be noticeable, rustling her mane. You shiver slightly. Bubble popped, cold getting inside the fort!
"I guess I can't stop you," she says with a huff, looking back at the table. Looks like she hasn't touched her coffee.
"Are you a musician?"
She perks up, eyes wide and nervous, unblinking in their curious defensiveness. "I might be, why do you want to know?"
"Well, if you're not and you're carrying around such a large instrument I'd be concerned."
You point to the cello case leaning against the table. Genius!
"Oh, right," she slacks again and that spark of near happiness seems snuffed, "yes, I play the cello."
"That's nice. I played the recorder in school."
Her eyes become slightly lidded and her mouth opens for a snarky remark but she just doesn't bother.
"I was never the musical kind of person," I continued.
"So what kind of person are you?"
Her tone sounds reluctant, but she still asked. But, she isn't really looking at you, she's staring off into the streets. Near devoid of people at this hour. Maybe because of the odd half-grey sky and tickling cold.
"I work at the local train station. I guess I'm a train kind of person."
"Sounds boring."
You take another sip, squinting at her, "so does rubbing a bow against a cello."
She gives you a crude smile, "you might be right on about that one."
"Wait. I don't think I've caught your name, what is it?"
She takes a moment to think, which is strange.
"Octavia, and yours?"
"Anonymous," you reply proudly.
"Oh you're going to be one of those?"
"One of those?"
"Mysterious, you can't know my name types."
You let loose a quick chuckle. "No, no. That's really my name."
"Strange name," she says, squinting at you.
You shrug while taking a sip.
"Very strange name."
"Octavia isn't so common either, you know," you retort.
"I guess not."
"Do you live around here?"
"Yes I do, around the block actually. Yourself?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"Well, all my possessions are here in the apartment I rent, but I've got a little place in Shady Hollows. Nice vacation spot. So I suppose I live there too."
"You own a home? Impressive."
Was that sarcastic?
"Lucky night of betting with a rich real estate agent. Heh. Maybe you'd like to see it some day?"
"Anything is possible in your dreams," she replies, smiling widely.
"So you're a musician and a comedian, 'impressive'."
For the first time she takes a sip of her coffee with a shaky hoof instead of a firm one.
"You alright there?"
"I'm fine," she growls.
"Jeez, no need to get defensive."
"Bah," she barks like an old crone, "I suppose you're right. I just haven't slept in awhile."
"Then why are you drinking coffee?"
"I don't really know. I bought it just to get a spot in the cafe. Thought maybe a nice relaxing sit in the open here might do me some good. Can't very well write my music without any sleep."
You let that sink in, "how long have you been awake?"
She sighs and taps the table twice.
"Should be about three days now. Don't get too worried. At this rate you're going to bore me to sleep," she cracks another smile.
"One of these days Alice. Bang-zoom," you punch the palm of your hand.
"Straight to the moon!" She follows up, weakly throwing her hoof up to the sky.
"Surprised you know that one," you say, tapping your chin.
She grins at you weirdly. You're getting the feeling this one probably doesn't talk to others much. Too sarcastic for the other ponies around here. She's kinda weird.
"So tell me," she begins, look at you with her tired eyes, "What's it like working at the station?"
"It's okay. Pretty boring, tough work, but it pays well enough."
She nods at you, looking around.
"I would imagine being a musician is pretty cool."
"Not at all," she stifles a laugh, "between having to write the music, and the jerks I preform for, it's a real pain in the butt. Plus the pay isn't so good."
"Maybe you should consider coming to work at the station."
"I'm not built for manual labor."
You gaze off into the distance, something catching your eye. Looks like two mares having a scuffle. You nod subtly to Octavia, encouraging her to turn around.
"Oh hey. I know those two," she says with a vague interest.
"Oh yeah? Do they whip out the claws on each other often?"
The mint and white mare have come to blows, even if they are soft.
"More often then they'd like to admit. They love each other though."
"Oh, lesbians?"
"W-what? No, they're girlfriends."
Wait...
"I'm debating breaking up that fight," Octavia grumbles and taps at her mug.
"Wouldn't that constitute manual labor, in a way."
She gives you a look of condescension, "Weak! It's gonna be a few years before you're as witty as me, kid."
"Kid? We can't be more than a few years apart."
She looks back at the two fighting. Now they've begun hugging. Are they sobbing? Ponies are odd folks.
"How old are you?" she asks.
"I'm twenty. You?"
"I'm seven."
"Hell, you don't look it."
"And you don't look twenty."
"Are we talking horse years here?"
"What the heck is a horse year?"
"So, you going to that summer festival?" Your coffee is almost running as low as your conversation topics. You're feeling something here,
"Of course, everyone does," she takes another meek sip, glancing into the cafe interior.
The sun is getting a bit low. How long have you too been talking?
"You going to be preforming there?"
"Not this year."
"But you have in the past?"
"Once or twice. It's horribly set-up. I don't know why I agreed the second time."
"It always looks pretty organized."
"Looks are deceiving. Like you looking about six when you say you're twenty."
"6? That's a bit low don't you think?"
"Not at all."
A pause. You stare at each other and size the other one up for the umpteenth time today. Always ends the same way, the both of you letting out a "blah" and turning your heads in opposite directions.
"Moving on. I've always wanted to try the Ferris wheel they set up, but every year I just forgot to get on it. You ever given it a spin?" You laugh at your own wordplay.
"Forget? More like scared I bet," she smiles at her own joke. "And no. I've never gone on it."
Did she blush just then? You can't even tell, not with all that fur. Damn horses, so hard to read.
"Well, I suppose if you're not too busy we could go on it sometime."
"Sometime would have to be between July 20th to the 23th," she says regally, pretending to be disinterested by inspecting her hoof.
"Why is that?"
"That's when the Ferris wheel is up."
"So is that a yes?" you ask with a smirk.
She squints at you, but then gets distracted by something in the distance, "the sun is setting."
"So it is."
"You thinking of heading home?" She asks.
"Well if you're going I will."
"Then you can walk me home," she says gruffly.
She doesn't smile directly at you, but when she thinks you're not looking she smirks. You take her instrument for her, trying to be a gentlemen or something.
"Why thank you. It's nice to know you think so low of me."
"Huh?"
"I can hold my own bag."
"I thought you weren't built for manual labor?"
She laughs.
"You need to work on your jokes, pal."
You grin to yourself, trailing a few paces behind her. For letting you stay so late without complaint you left quite a big tip behind at the cafe. You also paid for Octavia's unfinished drink.
The pair of you stand outside her door, Octavia looking up at you curiously, her instrument back in her possession.
"So. Summer festival, next Sunday, you'll pick me up at six so we have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves."
"Right," you say with a hint of sarcasm, but you know you'll show up at five-fifty to be a little early.
"Good night," she adds before moving to turn around.
"Try to get some sleep. And if you can't, why not try out my bed?" you suggest coolly.
She stops, "not a bad idea, you can put me to sleep with more talk of that train station."
She heads inside, leaving you with a smile on your face. You considered giving her a kiss but decided against it and now it's too late. You stalk home to get some rest before you hard day of work tomorrow. Octavia is a sweet girl.
Ding dong! Your confidence is at a high, hands in pockets, smile on smug. You've got this in the bag, how could you not? You totally hit it off with her last week! The door creaks open, the artificial yellow of a lamp from inside breaks into the cool semi-dark of evening outside. Octavia rubs her eyes and looks up at you. Her mane is an absolute mess.
"Did you forget?" you ask, a little off guard.
"Forget what? Why are you waking me up at this hour?"
"It's six o'clock on a Sunday."
"It's Sunday? Her eyes bolt open, "I've got to date with a cute guy today, move out of the way, I'm late!"
"Whoa, don't worry, you found him," you say proudly, thumbs sliding into your belt-loops.
She gives you a confused look, "It is true what they say. . ." she mutters.
"What is?" you lean in to listen.
"People look better in your memories of them," she says with a sarcastic huff. She turns her back to you, but leaves the door open.
Your can't help but have a little smile when you walk in behind her. She heads deeper into the house, past the messy living room and kitchen. You notice some magazines on the coffee table. The whole thing is cluttered with them!
"Hey, need me to brush your mane, little horsie?" you call jokingly.
You don't wait for a reply, rather choosing to indulge your curiosity. These magazines seem old. Articles about Octavia, her performances, pictures of her. She's pretty photogenic. And look at all this high praise, several different critics all showering music with adverbs to describe just how good it is, and how much you need to hear it.
Something is off though. These pages are worn, some of the print on the newspapers rubbed out. Suddenly the date catches your eye, the most recent one was from two years ago! And it's also the smallest mention of her. You scan them, it's like a timeline almost. How did she go from cover material to barely worth a sidebar in less than a year?
You toss the scraps back on the table when you hear her clopping back inside. She looks at you lazily, but you can see right past that thin veneer of cold carelessness.
"Aren't you going to wear something aside from a bowtie?"
She looks down at the black, poorly tied thing, "no. I'm a pony, I've got no need for clothes."
"Well, now I feel a little overdressed," you comment, looking down at your simple, but body covering, clothes.
Beat.
"Shall we?" you question, a slight bow and hand gesture toward the door, "a myriad of carnival amusements await our beck and call."
"Yeah, lets get this show on the road," she strides past you, waving mockingly at your superfluous motions. Following close behind her, you close the door when she seemingly forgets.
"Wow," she says softly, surprise showing in her voice.
Wow, indeed. Just around the corner they had set up the festival, stretching several blocks both ways. The sights and sounds captivating, spreading the celebration of the warm weather to parts of town not done up in decoration. Like a light bulb in a dark room, washing over things that didn't want to feel happy with its inherent excitement and joy. You feel like you are nudging a wallflower to the center of the dance floor in a way. The notion that Octavia didn't get to enjoy herself much seemed to make sense to you. If you're reading her right, the pair of you are more similar than appears.
She soaks in the bright, multicolored lights, smells and sounds. Cheers of laughter, cooking food, the exchange of hard-earned bits for long lasting fun. And you soak her in. Her expressions and movements, its more interesting than any pinwheel or carnival treat by far—to you at least.
"I think they've got more stands set up this time," she says.
"Have you eaten yet? Maybe we could get a snack."
"Sure, what do you like?"
You look around, it's all the classics: popcorn, caramelized roasted nuts, cotton candy. Scruffy, but happy, looking carnies (they've even got them in Equestria!) serve their wares at overly expensive prices to eager children and reluctant parents alike. The lines were so long, and you were feeling pretty hungry.
"I'd like—" you cut yourself off when you realize Octavia is gone, you zip your head around trying to find her.
"Looking for me?" she says through clenched teeth, two cones of cotton candy in her mouth, you spin on a heel to find her behind you, "you were taking too long so just snagged some of these."
You take one of them from her mouth.
"How did you get these?" you ask skeptically, the pair of you opting to walk around the quieter backstreets to avoid the crowds.
"I just walked around the back of the cart and grab two, they didn't even see me," she says coolly, taking a bite out of hers.
You think for a moment, "isn't that stealing?"
"Au contraire, not if I left some money in their tip jar."
"All that without being seen?"
"I have my talents," she says with a false sense of coyness.
"What other special talents do you have?"
She taps her flanks, "only those two. Trust me. And you?"
"I'm really lucky."
Her nose scrunches up, "what does a luck cutie mark even look like?"
"Four leaf clover?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
You turn your head, looking down the way back at the main street of the festival. A stage catches your eye, a performance of some type!
"Hey look, I think they're gonna play music!"
She turns her head to look but quickly darts it in the other direction, back down the other darker end of the street. You don't draw attention to it, but you feel like you should say something. Luckily, your eye gets caught by some pony getting up on stage before you have to think about a response.
"Oh it's a magic show!" you say quickly.
Trixie Lulamoon pops on stage, posing and saying something you can't really make out. The crowd cheers. Octavia turns her eyes back toward it.
"Lets watch it, I suppose," she says, voice a little shaky. The pair of you walk up, all the way in the back of the crowd. Trixie sends up some sparklers and sprouts of multi-color magic. It's like baby fireworks!
Grumbling and groaning comes bubbling up from next to you. Looking down, you see Octavia struggling to see past the giant stallion in front of her. She plops down on her rear and resigns herself to not being able to see. If you hadn't noticed she'd be having a bad time right now. But you don't need her permission to give her a helping hand, so you pick her up.
"Whoa, whoa!" she squirms and kicks, narrowly hitting a mare in the head, as you raise her up onto your shoulders. "Put me down!" she stomps her forehooves nervously down on the top of your cranium, warm belly pressing against the back of your head.
"You're shaking like a kitten," you coo, holding firmly onto her thighs, so she stays in place, "relax, I've got you. Can you see now?"
You feel her shake her head, which gives you a smile. After a few seconds of watching the show she does relax a bit more, leaning forward and resting more comfortably on your head. (Too bad it's not very comfortable for you!)
"For my next trick," Trixie begins, leaning in and scanning the audience with her eyes, "I'll need two helpers!"
"Oh no—" Octavia begins.
"How about you two, the intrepid and tall lad and the gray lass atop his head!"
"Hell yes!" you call, doing a fist pump, which nearly knocks Tavia off you.
The crowd hoots and hollers, wooing you on stage. The ponies part before you, you're a giant wading through them. You set Octavia off on the stage from your shoulders before clambering on yourself, with help from Trixie.
"Okay! What are your names, you two?"
"Anonymous!"
"Uh, Octavia," she says softly.
"What was that?" Trixie asks again.
"Octavia!" she replies, shouting now.
"You got a fierce one, bud, watch out," the magician says.
"Oh I'm aware," you reply, netting you a punch in the leg from Oct.
"This daring pair is going to be under my spell for the next few minutes, they'll be my play things!" Trixie puts on an evil laugh.
She gestures for you two to stand about 5 meters apart, that's when you start to feel funny. And based on Octavia's face she's feeling it too.
"I've just ensorcelled the dashing Anonymous and the graceful Octavia."
You mouth 'dashing' to Octavia, who blows you a raspberry and looks away toward Trixie.
"Anonymous now thinks he's a vampire, hungry for his love's blood!"
You body moves on its own, possessed by magic, stalking forward like a mummy, until you grapple the frozen Octavia.
"Bahh! I've come for your blood, my dear!" you say loudly, putting on your best Nosferatu face.
Trixie turns her head and quickly gives you a approving nod. You hold Octavia tight and close, bringing your mouth to her neck.
"Not so rough," she coos playfully in a whisper to just you, "everyone is watching."
"We're on stage!" you reply, "act!"
She rolls her eyes at you, "oh no! The beast has me!" she cries.
You try to smile through your magically enforced vampiric grimace. Before you can really sink your teeth in the magic freezes you Trixie accepts the crowd's cheering approval with a bow and claps her hooves to release the two of you.
"One final trick to torment these two! They'll now play the roles of charming prince and princess of snow."
A semi-translucent table is conjured up, and Octavia lifted onto it.
Trixe produces an apple, "a bite of this please," she commands, handing it to Octavia. The musician, clearly not one versed in fairy tales, shrugs and takes a big chunk out of the blood red apple. As if struck by lightening, she goes erect, then her eyes become heavily lidded. With a woozy motion she appears to faint and splays out on the table. The crowd collectively gasps. And you almost feel a pang of fear, but quickly realize it's a show.
"Only a kiss imbibed with the power of true love will rouse her from her magical slumber," Trixie winks over at you and discreetly gestures you forward.
Stalking forward, you almost feel a bit of nervousness approaching Octavia so you move slowly. (Not to mention you need to build up hype!) She looks so peaceful, chest rising rhythmically, slowly. Short huffs of breath are all you hear, the sounds of everything else are nothing to you. Leaning in, you're bowing over her nearly.
Gently you cup a hand around her neck, just below her ear, a few fingers brushing into her mane. So warm, and soft. You pull her in for a kiss. Lips press against lips, soft, springy and just slightly wet. She gasps as she wakes, startled by you and pulling back slightly. You jump back too, but she calms once she realizes its you. Her cheeks are flush, that's a good sign, right?
There is a round of applause, and Trixie bids the pair of you farewell and directs you off stage as she resumes the show. Discreetly, you flick her a sizable tip, which she quickly catches with magic and responds with a wink of thanks.
Octavia is a little shook as you pace off, but she seems collected enough.
"So, did you enjoy our first kiss?" you ask, elbowing her.
She huffs but doesn't respond at first. The pair of you continue, idly making your way to the promised land—the Ferris wheel, gently spinning ahead.
"Bit of a boring performance I'd say."
"What!? That was amazing! I had a lot of fun being a vampire," you exclaim.
"Meh," she shrugs, "it put me to sleep."
"Oh," you pat your chest, "that pun hurts me somewhere deep."
She lets out a merciless laugh, throwing her head back a bit. Pretty mane, for sure. You round the corner of the back street, facing right down where the amusement ride was. What a long line! There has to be at least twenty ponies waiting to get on the joy ride.
"Damn, so many!" Octavia pouts, "how are we gonna get on?"
You look at the inattentive ticket taker, and the distract crowd of people talking between themselves more than focusing on who's next. The gears in your heard start churning, and you get an idea.
"Come on, follow close!" you bow down to hide yourself just a bit, Octavia in tow. You sneak around the back, as one group hands over their tickets, you're standing right under the next carriage to descend. You heft Octavia up and slip her in, and then climb in yourself. No one seems to notice.
You're positively giddy as your carriage clicks into place, Octavia looking like she's about to burst with anticipation.
"Hey wait," the stallion with the stubble says, "did I take your ticket?"
"Yeah pal, you're holding them."
He looks down at the three he pocketed from the previous group, "oh, lookie here, my bad!"
"I can't believe that worked," Octavia whispers, leaning on you.
You slyly slip an arm around her, "you might say it was really lucky."
"Aha! Your special talent at work," she nuzzles your side.
Warmth spreads in your chest, and not because of the little bundle of mare your holding. It's hard to keep your face straight and your smile down. The Ferris Wheel raises up without a hitch.
"Scared?" she asks.
"Oh I'm shaking in my boots."
"Don't worry, I'm here, I'm protect you."
"So sweet."
"As long as I'm in no danger myself."
"So comforting," your words practically dripping sardonic tone off them.
The glimmering lights below seem so far from the top, the thatched roofs of the houses so distant. Time freezes, and you feel at peace.
"This is nice," Octavia says bluntly, eyes closed, hoof resting on your chest.
"Yeah, it is nice."
A few minutes of silence pass, the Ferris Wheel clicks back down slowly. You make sure to enjoy every second, lapping it up like water in a desert. You want to go for another ride, but once you reach the bottom you realize Octavia's gently snoozing into your side. Your face feels slightly sore from smiling, and all that does it make you want to smile more.
Carefully, very carefully, you lift her up and hold her in your arms. Boy she is heavy, that's no joke. But she's finally getting rest, and you don't want to disturb that. Meticulously you pace back to her home, taking the side streets, where it was quiet and dark. Finally you get her back home, and with some difficulty you get the door open, and her into her bed.
She does own a lot more clothes than you expected, and they were all strewn about the floor. Occupying the other side of her bed, her cello, resting in an indent in the mattress. You give her one last look, and run a hand through her soft mane, before turning away.
"Hey," she grumbles, her voice giving away that she was half asleep.
"Yeah? Are you under an evil spell and in need of true love's kiss?"
"No, there is a chill and I want a blanket."
Chuckling softly, you nab one from a pile and cover her. As you pull away your hand though, she reaches out touches it with her hoof.
"And, now a goodnight kiss."
"As you wish."
You cup your hand around her neck and fulfill her request.
