Octavia... didn't actually really mind boats.
They were, to her, kind of quaint in a way. Something about the idea of these massive, hulking beasts of wood, or metal, or aluminum just streaming across the seas with the ease and seamlessness of a sled on a winter hill impressed her more than she could even wholly comprehend. How did it work, anyway? Was it just because they were hollow on the inside, acting like a more structurally sound pool noodle? Was it just because their wide figures distributed more weight across the water more evenly, like the old interesting fact of lying on a bed of needles instead of planting just a hoof into it? Octavia had a lot of questions, and to be fair, she'd always held a large sense of wonderment at the mechanics of boat floating, but in the end, she usually didn't set her body on one with the intention of pitching any of them.
She'd had her fair share of being on boats, and not in the She-Went-With-Her-Father-And-Slash-Or-Her-Grandpa-On-Fishing-Trips kinds of ways. Her Symphony carriages usually went to and fro along cobblestone-lined streets, past quiet buildings and infinitely quieter inhabitants, only noticeable by the yellow tint of their indoor lighting seen from their exterior windows. Her head would usually thunk against the sill of the carriage door, too heavy and so blasphemously burning that she wouldn't even feel the hooves trying to pull her away from a serious case of hemorrhaging... or whatever you got from hitting your head too hard. She was pretty sure it was hemorrhaging. Maybe there was another name for it.
But yes, there were times when her carriage would find itself not clicking and clacking along a still, pleasantly peaceful street, instead met with the sound of boarding ponies, creaking wood planks, and billowing smoke stacks. The Canterlot Symphony was, clearly, plenty much popular in Equestria, and any amount of time they weren't stuck couped up inside some chokingly dry concert hall, they were being shipped off like drafted soldiers on a claustrophobic, massive, technically isolated cruise ship. A yacht, every blue moon. Both occasions would begin with a multitude of denial, bargaining, and outright anger bursting from Octavia herself, all ending up with the astute observation that being cramped in a dumb old boat for a few days or weeks wasn't something any single pony on the face of the earth could bear in the slightest. She had to admit that she'd recently glossed over these seaways trips in her previous... whatever these happened to be, but, to be fair, they weren't fond memories of hers that she'd like to actually acknowledge, and all for one simple reason.
By the end of it, she'd be absolutely piss drunk, rocking around completely out of sync with the tiny tiny waves clashing with the ship's bow, and overall whooping and hollering like some kind of speed-hungry Pegasus zipping across the bright blue sky. She may have embarrassed her oh-so-wondrous bandmates a couple times—as Octavia liked to pretend that she couldn't count up to one hundred and twenty-seven because of course she'd counted shut up—but, to be so incredibly karmic and just, they mostly deserved it, and if she could just lose herself for a bit while doing it, it was the greatest responsibility to not have any responsibility.
This rang true for a rather inappropriate time of debauchery she'd ridden on... on the maiden voyage of one of the newest, most modern, most luxurious, and most grand cruise ships, one E.Q. Celestial Sunrise. The parting ceremony and christening were some of the biggest wastes of alcohol the mare had ever witnessed, and while ponies all across the ship were celebrating and shouting with joy and hopping around with outright happiness for something they probably shouldn't have, Octavia was out and about hoping to find a nice bar where she could get a nice drink. She'd had to, for the next week, bugger off to her room every once in a while just to rest her aching head. Margaritas the size of her head were so enticing, but, yet, so vampiric.
The staff of the cruise ship—or the yacht, lest she forget—were always so decently kind and charitable. Sneaking her a drink, or giving her a high hoof, or showing her pictures of their dogs. Sailors, surprisingly, had an odd liking of Corgis and other small dogs, though it was probably because they were easy to smuggle and just bring along with you on trips you shouldn't be able to bring anything alien on. Corgis were pretty... eh, to be perfectly, brutally, completely honest. Sure they had those cute, little stubby legs of theirs, but she was, understandably, more a Labrador kind of mare.
The floors were always kind of well-maintained, with custodians walking along with a soaking mop by their side about every single hour that Octavia found herself trotting around the corridors and hallways and expanses that the ship had to offer. There was not a single speck of dirt or grime marring their admittedly beautiful surfaces, but the occasional dust bunny, piece of candy, and cigarette butt still remained, like the twisted, bestial, black forms of trees after a devastating forest fire that was sure to take everything out in its wake.
...
Oh.
Octavia scooted a few inches to her left, her nose dipped and pointing toward the barrel that the rather twig-like griffon was now bending over to pick up. With a huff, a puff, and a snort out of his nose that would have torn some poor piglet's house down, he rose to his prior altitude with the aid of his hindlegs, regarded the mare with a cocked eyebrow and a silent frown, then turned around and firemare-carried his take back across the deck of the apparent Scuttlebug. Returning to her spot with an overexaggerated sidestep, Octavia set her jaw and swallowed a lump down her throat. It was one thing to be in a city like Baltimare or Tall Tale—though the latter was really the only unexplored territory—but something about being on the front step of an unfamiliar pirate ship with bandana-wearing and sword toting griffons uprose a slight twinge and unsettling in her gut.
It was definitely a far cry from being on the deck of a cruise ship. While she could very easily and safely compare a cruise ship's deck to a nice, polished, freshly dish washed piece of imported china, this pirate ship's deck was more akin to a pre-teen's bedroom right at the very cusp of both angst and self-proclaimed grunge music. Teen spirit held a bit of a bitter smell; spoiled dreams, deep lyrics, and outright nonsensical beliefs usually led to such. Octavia had been a teen at some point in her life—that much she'd admit—so her recognition and acknowledgment of such things weren't just petty assumption.
She wasn't a stranger to singing; she was sure most teens back then weren't. The times when one were alone were usually well-spent on bursting out in song or talking audibly to oneself, and Octavia had had her fair share of spouting out Cigare Brûlé songs whenever her parents decided to go out and do something besides watch over their dumb little children. Fall Creek Colts Choir had been a favorite of hers, as distorted and layered as its lyrics had been, and the occasional Slew Of Choices with its falsettos worked wonders for the pipes she'd always wished she'd harbored.
Honestly, singing wasn't too much of a stranger to her in her adult life either. She couldn't go a single week without hearing the citizens of Ponyville bursting into seemingly rehearsed song and dance numbers, and there had been many a cold morning when she swore they were getting closer and closer to her home for the sole goal of rattling her eardrums and receiving some kind of restraining order. She wouldn't have the gall to actually go through with something—and it was mostly just a stretch of a joke anyway—but she couldn't say it hadn't crossed her mind at some point or the other.
These seafaring griffons surely weren't singing about anything regarding friendship, or smiles, or whatever—in fact, it sounded vaguely like it discussed drunken sailors bedding captain's daughters—and it was kind of beginning to both worry and reassure her.
Octavia's eyes darted down to the hard, creaky wood beneath her. Her hooves shuffled almost hesitantly along the surface, and she felt her ears flatten against the sides of her head. Seeking something worthwhile she could engage in, she reached a foreleg up to adjust her prior perfectly positioned ballcap's bill. Her attention high up thanks to it, she was now forced to look at the lovely crew toiling about with the aimlessness and general carefree attitude of a stay-at-home father. A duo of gold-beaked birds stood in the middle of the deck, eyes toward the sky as they yanked at a set of pulleys that squeaked and creaked with the sea salt presumably living inside them.
Her ears flicked upward involuntarily as she swore she caught the sound of her name, but they went back down when she lost the conversation amidst the sea of other conversations surrounding the ship.
Sea.
Ships.
Godsdammit.
"Hey there, Gibbs, still got the cobwebs?"
Through the swarm of male voices came Lavi's feminine one, and so Octavia turned her head to the left to find her approaching a navy blue and gray griffon who held a rather... ghetto—for lack of a better term—looking guitar in her talons. Gibbs got up and, setting her guitar down next to the bench she was previously sitting on, promptly slapped Lavi right on her armored ass. This display of Hoofball-esque camaraderie went apparently uncared for by Lavi, who wheeled about and socked Gibbs in the arm. Both chuckled to one another, rubbing at their now stricken areas absent-mindedly.
"Eat a dick, Lavi," Gibbs shot back finally, shaking her bandana-wrapped head with a grin.
"One day, Gibbs."
Octavia caught the sight of T making a relaxingly calm pace toward the distant set of double doors at the far left of the ship, a usual telltale sign of the captain's quarters. She didn't really read pirate stories too often, but she knew enough to know that the large rear end of the deck always housed the leader's living space, where they counted their plunder for the week, sharpened their curved swords, and polished their seventeen horribly crafted flintlocks. She felt a tad proud that she had slyly sleuthed about and knew that beforehand, but her eyes took notice of the large lettering above the doors that read Andy Trout, and she frowned against her cheeks. She could never really win, could she?
Realizing that she'd missed what T was attempting to do, she shook her head to dispel the thoughts and curses rummaging around her brain, brushed a few locks of her mane out of her eyes, and looked back to the captain's quarters to find the griffon sitting in front of a pony-tall bookcase. With books in both talons, he looked from his left and to his right like he was judging the two articles. His scrutinizing eyes that Octavia could see even from her rather distant position darted to and fro; obviously some kind of incredible dilemma for him. To be fair and true, Octavia had done the same thing a few times back in grade school with library books. There were always so many she wanted to read, but due dates were quick and students could only borrow two at a time.
Gods, that librarian was so kind. She had a hedgehog named Barb that she'd let out a few times when Octavia's class went over. Cute as a button, and oh so curious. Not like a dog, though. It still would've been infinitely cooler if it were a dog.
"Kind of daunting, isn't it?"
Octavia perked up, the dumb smile on her lips instantly faltering as she looked around for whoever had interrupted her.
Her search was quick, as she needed only look directly to her right to find the source.
"Sorry?"
W chuckled. "I said, 'kind of daunting, isn't it?'"
Octavia scoffed, a hoof flailing around as she blew far too many raspberries. "Oh, it's nothing."
"You're a bad liar," came Sesame from her left.
"Wanker," Octavia spat, turning to him with a soft glare and only half-kidding.
Sesame opened his mouth to give a witty quip, but, apparently feeling he was satisfied, simply shook his head with a grin and looked up at the sky.
"We won't be long here; don't worry," W reassured her, his neck craning around so he could stare down at her, "we just need to tell Andy here that we wanna head out in the next few days."
"That soon?" Octavia asked, cocking her head. "You only just got here yesterday."
W nodded his head back toward the crowd of pirates with a snort. "Yeah, well, I think with the way Val's acting right now, she'd kill me if we didn't head out sooner."
Octavia wheeled about, her mane tossing and whipping at her left cheek. From across the deck, indeed, was Valkyrie. She might as well have had hearts in her eyes; strolling alongside Andy Trout, she looked to be hanging on every single word that he spoke without giving out any of her own. What looked to be a soft sigh escaped her beak every ten seconds or so, and the absolutely botched grin on it as well wouldn't have looked out of place in some sort of cartoon. Octavia didn't rather want to compare Valkyrie to her precious canine loves, but if she really had to choose something—and this something caused her quite honestly the greatest pain she could ever experience in her life—it would be a two-week-old French bulldog with no vaccinations and all the wandering, following, and tailcoat-gripping of an infant foal.
Gods, foals scared her sometimes.
"Are those Lavi's?" Octavia didn't even have time to look at W before she felt his claws reach around to the bags over her spine and unclasp the clip along the strap. Shaking his head as he yanked them off her with a single arm, he rolled his eyes. "Goddammit. Lazier every day, I swear–"
"Oh, it's fine!" Octavia replied, "I told her it was alright for her to do so. They weren't too heavy anyway."
W looked her up and down—foreleg pressed against his right shoulder and still clutching the straps—and frowned. "You're shaking."
Octavia looked down. She locked her legs. She looked back up.
"No."
To be fair though that was an immense weight off her back—literally. She shook herself like a dog as a delightful shudder ran up and down her spine. Maybe she should've just given the bags to W earlier.
She looked back at the accessory with an observant eye and a judging mind. They didn't look too heavy to her, but she guessed that her assumptions were a tad skewed thanks to W basically hiding it away from her on the other side of his body. From what she could see, though, Lavi really needed to take more care of her bags. There were small tears, holes, and what looked to even be claw markings from some kind of bear/panther hellspawn. Octavia's insistence on orderly fashion raised a bit of an uproar with the honestly thousands upon thousands of open zippers and pouches lining the backpack's surface, most of which appeared to hold many important looking items and papers.
Oh yes, her ticket home was in there somewhere too. She had forgotten which pocket she'd put it inside. Now that she thought about it, maybe keeping it behind her collar's lining was a better idea. Lavi could very easily misplace her ticket amongst the hundreds of other assorted articles nestled next to it like some kind of sardine can. Honestly, she'd already forgotten what it looked like.
...
Her ears flicked upward and a grin drew on her face. Oh, there it was!
...
Wait. She'd zipped the pocket closed, hadn't she?
...
She blinked.
Her eyes followed it as it continued to drift with the light breeze courtesy of the harbor. Without even a single word, motion, or thought, Octavia watched her ticket float lazily down toward the dock like a descending autumn leaf, barely miss the wooden planks marking the dock itself, and settle atop the calm, murky green waters. In that instant, a nearby seagull—casually paddling across the sea—suddenly darted toward Octavia's train ticket and, believing it to be some kind of artificial, stamped, inked, wood-birthed, bleach white, definitely-not-food food, promptly dipped its head, opened its beak, and gobbled it up. Looking back up to the source—Octavia—as if to thank her, it opened its beak yet again, cawed, then opened its wings and quickly flew off.
Octavia, leaning against the railing of the ship, could only blink and very lightly, very nonchalantly, very destroyed, dead, broken, and battered both inside and outside, press a frown against her cheeks.
Her salvation didn't last even an hour or so.
She sucked in a small breath after realizing that she was having a bit of a difficult time swallowing the normal, healthy amount down.
W, completely unaware of what had just occurred, leaned forward from Octavia's right and asked, "You drop something?"
Sesame, having watched the entire thing alongside the mare like the two were watching a Godsdamned movie, simply widened his eyes, grinned, and swiveled about to stare at her.
Octavia let out a long sigh, leaned further against the railing, and dragged her two front hooves down the entirety of her face, groaning all the while.
Finally, she turned back around to face the deck of the Scuttlebug, face completely drained. Pausing yet again to wipe it with a hoof, she moaned into the appendage and, in a raspy voice, exclaimed, "I need a drink."